Tag: christian encouragement

Posted in Moments and Musings

Moving Forward When Self-Doubt Holds You Back

Posted on by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

There are moments when I realize the greatest resistance to the life God is inviting me into isn’t the enemy, my circumstances, or a lack of opportunity—it’s me.

More specifically, it’s my self-doubt, my habit of comparison, and my tendency to procrastinate when obedience feels unclear or uncomfortable.

I second-guess everything.

Even when God opens a door, I pause at the threshold, questioning whether I heard Him correctly, whether I’m qualified, or whether someone else could do it better. Instead of moving forward, I linger in uncertainty, convincing myself I just need a little more confirmation, a little more clarity, or—if I’m honest—a safer plan.

Self-Doubt: When I Question What God Has Already Confirmed

Self-doubt has a quiet way of disguising itself as humility or wisdom. But often, it’s simply unbelief dressed up as caution.

God speaks, and I immediately respond with questions:

  • What if I’m wrong?
  • What if I fail?
  • What if I misunderstood Him?

Yet Scripture reminds me that God is not vague or confusing with His children.

“For God is not a God of confusion but of peace.” (1 Corinthians 14:33)

When I constantly second-guess what God has already made clear, I end up trusting my insecurity more than His voice. I forget that He knows my limitations—and still chooses me.

“Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion.” (Philippians 1:6)

Comparison: Looking Sideways Instead of Forward

Comparison is another trap that pulls me out of alignment with God’s will. When I focus on what others are doing, how fast they’re moving, or how successful they appear, I lose sight of my own assignment.

Comparison distorts my perspective. It makes me feel behind when God never asked me to run someone else’s race.

“Let us not become conceited, provoking and envying each other.” (Galatians 5:26)

God’s plan for my life is personal and intentional. When I measure myself against others, I unintentionally declare that His design wasn’t enough—or that His timing needs improvement.

Procrastination: Delayed Obedience in Disguise

Procrastination often shows up when faith is required.

When God asks me to step out before I feel ready, I default to waiting. Waiting to feel more confident. Waiting to feel more prepared. Waiting until I have a clear, step-by-step plan.

But delayed obedience is still disobedience.

“If you know the good you ought to do and don’t do it, you sin.” (James 4:17)

Faith was never meant to be comfortable. It was meant to be trusting.

My Obsession with Process vs. God’s Invitation to Faith

I love a process. A formula. A clear roadmap.

But God keeps reminding me that while processes have their place, they are not meant to replace faith. He doesn’t always give me the full plan—He gives me Himself.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” (Proverbs 3:5–6)

I want God to hand me a detailed outline, but He asks me to walk with Him instead. His Word is my guidebook. His presence is my assurance. His promises are my process.

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” (Psalm 119:105)

A lamp doesn’t illuminate miles ahead—it shows just enough for the next step. And that’s where faith lives.

Choosing Faith Over Fear

Walking in the fullness of all God has for me requires surrendering my need to control outcomes, timelines, and certainty. It means believing that obedience matters more than perfection, and movement matters more than mastery.

“For we live by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7)

God isn’t waiting for me to feel fearless. He’s waiting for me to trust Him enough to move forward anyway.

When I stop second-guessing, stop comparing, and stop postponing obedience, I make room for God to do what only He can do.

And maybe the fullness I’m longing for isn’t found in having everything figured out—but in finally saying, “Yes, Lord,” and taking the next step.

Closing Prayer

Father God,
Thank You for Your patience with me—for never giving up on me even when I hesitate, second-guess, or delay obedience. You see the places where self-doubt has silenced my confidence, where comparison has distracted my focus, and where procrastination has kept me from stepping fully into what You’ve already prepared for me.

Lord, forgive me for the times I’ve trusted my fear more than Your voice, my need for control more than Your promises, and my own understanding more than Your Word. Teach me to walk by faith and not by sight. Help me release my obsession with having every step mapped out and instead anchor my life in You.

Your Word says You have plans to prosper me and not to harm me, plans to give me hope and a future. I choose to believe that today. I ask for courage to take the next step—even when it feels uncomfortable—and humility to follow You even when the path is unclear.

Let Your Word be my guidebook, Your Spirit be my counselor, and Your presence be my confidence. I surrender comparison, fear, and delay, and I choose obedience, trust, and faith.

Have Your way in me, Lord. I want all that You have for me.In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Photo by Jonathan J. Castellon on Unsplash
Posted in Moments and Musings

Faith Over Fear: Keeping Mentally Healthy in Today’s World

Posted on by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

Everywhere I look—online, in comment sections, in “art,” in think pieces, in endless rants—I see fear dressing itself up as righteousness and anger masquerading as concern for the world.

People claim they’re terrified about the state of things. They say their mental health suffers. They say they feel overwhelmed, exhausted, and anxious.

And then they point fingers. They blame this political party. Or that one. Conservatives. Liberals. “The other side.” Labels fly around like paper at a ticket tape parade.

Outrage as Performance

They post nonstop. They wield their talents not to clarify, calm, or illuminate—but to shout, insult, mock, and divide. They call it “speaking out,” but it functions as little more than venting rage. They share half-stories without context, half-truths without accountability, opinions soaked in fear and contempt.

And then they say, “let’s just be kind.”

If you agree with them, you join the misery club. If you don’t, they shame you, attack you, and label you.

Let’s be honest: this isn’t about justice. It’s about outrage addiction. And it’s exhausting.

Politics as a False Foundation

Here’s the hard truth people resist: they feel miserable, angry, and fearful because they put their hope in politics—and politics will always fail them.

I want to be very clear: I haven’t celebrated every election outcome. I haven’t always liked who got elected. I’ve worried about policies, priorities, and leadership.

But here’s what I did differently:

  • I didn’t let fear control my life.
  • I didn’t let anger consume my witness.
  • I didn’t weaponize my art, my voice, or my platform.

Why? Because of Jesus.

Taking My Anxiety to God

When President Biden took office, he wasn’t my choice. I admit I spiraled—I read article after article, obsessed over policies I disagreed with, feared where our country was headed.

I felt anxious. Frustrated. Afraid.

Then one day, while walking, I brought it all to God—not to social media, not to comment sections, not to people who might validate my emotions. I went straight to God.

And in that quiet moment, God spoke clearly:

“Vikki, why are you fearful? I am still God. I am still on the throne. You have two jobs: put ALL your faith in Me, and pray for those in power.”

It wasn’t gentle. It was corrective. And it hit hard.

Trusting God, Not Politics

God didn’t ask who I voted for. He didn’t ask if I agreed with every policy. He didn’t ask me to fret over the future. He reminded me who He is.

So I obeyed. I prayed for my president—whether I liked him or not, whether I agreed with him or not, whether I trusted his decisions or not.

Because my trust never belonged in a person or party. My trust always belongs in God.

Once I embraced that truth, fear lost its grip. I knew God had me if taxes rose, if policies passed against my values, if the cost of living increased, if the world felt unstable. God had me then. God has me now. God will always have me.

Life Without Jesus Leaves Fear in Charge

That is not denial. That is faith.

Here’s a truth many resist: the problem isn’t who sits in the Oval Office. The problem is trying to navigate a broken world without Jesus. Life without Him will always feel overwhelming, unstable, and produce fear, anger, and despair—no matter which party holds power.

If your peace rises and falls with election results, your foundation is wrong.
If your joy disappears every four years, your hope is misplaced.
If your mental health collapses whenever a politician speaks, politics has become your god.

Presidents will fail you. Governments will disappoint you. Policies will change. Leaders will lie. Power will shift.

But Jesus Christ remains on the throne.

True Peace Comes from Jesus

He ruled before any president. He rules before any political party. He will rule long after every name we argue over fades into history.

True peace does not depend on the right candidate winning. True security does not depend on the right laws being passed. True fulfillment does not depend on shouting louder than the other side.

It comes from knowing Jesus. Everything else will eventually let you down.

And that’s not political commentary—that’s eternal truth.

Photo by Katie Moum on Unsplash
Posted in Moments and Musings

Lent: A Season of Redirection and Rest

Posted on by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

As a born-again believer, Lent is not about ritual for ritual’s sake. It’s not about earning God’s favor or proving my devotion through sacrifice. Salvation has already been secured through Jesus Christ.

“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works.” — Ephesians 2:8–9

Lent, for me, is about intentionality. It’s about creating space. It’s about laying something down so I can pick something greater up.

This year, I’m giving up social media—not as a rule to follow, but as a redirection of my heart.

Lent Is About Drawing Near

Scripture calls us to draw close to God:

“Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.” — James 4:8

But drawing near requires space. And if I’m honest, social media often fills the quiet spaces where God wants to meet me. The moments in line. The first minutes of the morning. The last minutes before bed. Instead of prayer, I scroll. Instead of reflection, I consume.

Lent gives me an opportunity to examine that.

“Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.” — Hebrews 12:1

Social media may not be sin in itself, but it can become a weight. And anything that distracts me from running fully after Christ is worth reevaluating.

Redirection: From Scrolling to Seeking

Fasting, biblically, is about dependence.

“Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.” — Matthew 4:4

When Jesus fasted in the wilderness, He wasn’t just abstaining—He was relying fully on the Father. In the same way, I’m choosing to fast from social media so I can redirect that time and attention to the Word of God.

Every urge to scroll becomes a reminder to pray.
Every moment of boredom becomes an invitation to worship.
Every quiet space becomes sacred.

“You will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.” — Jeremiah 29:13

I want my heart to seek Him more than it seeks updates, notifications, and validation.

Mental Rest in a Noisy World

Social media is constant input—opinions, headlines, comparisons, trends. Even when it’s positive, it’s loud. And over time, that noise affects the mind.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

Stillness is hard to find when your mind is always processing content. Giving up social media for Lent is an act of mental rest. It’s stepping away from comparison culture. It’s quieting the voices so I can better hear His.

“You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.” — Isaiah 26:3

Perfect peace doesn’t come from disconnecting from the world alone—it comes from fixing our minds on Christ. But disconnecting from distraction can help us refocus.

Focusing More on Jesus

My life belongs to Jesus.

“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me.” — Galatians 2:20

Lent reminds me of the cross—of Christ’s sacrifice, His obedience, His suffering, and His victory. If He gave everything for me, surely I can surrender something small for a season to draw closer to Him.

Paul writes:

“That I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings.” — Philippians 3:10

That is my heart for this season—to know Him more. Not just intellectually, but intimately.

Less scrolling.
More Scripture.
Less comparison.
More contentment.
Less noise.
More Jesus.

It’s Not About Legalism—It’s About Love

Giving something up for Lent doesn’t make me more saved. It doesn’t make me more righteous. Only Christ does that.

But love responds.

“We love Him because He first loved us.” — 1 John 4:19

This fast is my response of love. It’s me saying, “Jesus, You are worth my attention. You are worth my time. You are better than distraction.”

And when Lent ends? Maybe I’ll return to social media. Maybe I’ll return with boundaries. Or maybe I won’t return in the same way at all. But I pray that after these forty days, my habits will reflect a heart more anchored in Christ.

“Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth.” — Colossians 3:2

That’s the goal.

This Lent, I’m not just giving something up.
I’m making room.
I’m redirecting.
I’m resting.
And I’m fixing my eyes on Jesus.

“Looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith.” — Hebrews 12:2

Photo by Josh Applegate on Unsplash
Posted in Moments and Musings

From Goal-Getter to Grace-Seeker

Posted on by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

I need to be honest here. Like pull-up-a-chair-and-confess honest.

I made goals. Big ones. Intentional ones. Prayerfully-written, color-coded-in-my-mind goals. If you’ve been with me at all this year, you already know this. If you haven’t, don’t worry—you can read all about them right here.

All five of them.

Yes. Five. With sub-goals accompanying each one. Because apparently I believe I am part human, part productivity app.

When I wrote these goals, I felt incredible. Inspired. Motivated. Practically unstoppable. I was that girl—the one who drinks her coffee while staring thoughtfully out the window, convinced she is about to become her “best self” by next Tuesday.

Fast forward one month.

Friends, I am unwell.

Instead of feeling accomplished, I feel anxious. Like someone blew a whistle and yelled, “GO!” and I didn’t realize I had signed up for a marathon—barefoot—while carrying a planner, a Bible, and unrealistic expectations. Suddenly it feels like time is running out and I’m already behind… even though no one set a deadline. Except me. I set the deadline. And then I forgot to give myself grace.

I keep reminding myself that new habits take time. Growth takes time. Change takes time. But apparently my patience has a very short shelf life. I want instant results. I want progress I can measure. I want gold stars. And when I don’t get them? I spiral.

To make matters worse, I lost an entire week to the flu. A whole week accomplishing absolutely nothing except surviving on crackers and cough drops. How dare my immune system interrupt my grand plans?!

So there I was, walking Percy, my emotional support dog who listens to my internal monologues whether he wants to or not. All of this was swirling in my head—the goals, the pressure, the frustration, the feeling that I was failing something I had just started.

And then the loudest thought rose to the surface, cutting through the chaos:

Keep God at the center of all this.

Because here’s the truth I know deep down: I can’t do anything without Him. Not one thing. Not one goal. Not one habit. Not one tiny step forward.

And that’s when the Lord gently—but very clearly—spoke to my heart:

“Then why are you trying so hard?”

Oof.
Here we go.
Another loving, well-timed, Holy-Spirit mic drop.

“Be a Mary, not a Martha.”

If you know, you know.

Martha—busy, frazzled, doing all the things, exhausted, resentful, stressed out, wondering why no one appreciates her hustle.
Mary—sitting at the feet of Jesus, fully present, fully at peace, choosing the one thing that actually matters.

And suddenly it hit me.

When I wrote my goals, I did do it prayerfully. I really did. But if I’m being honest? I haven’t prayed much about them since. I’ve been too busy chasing them. Too busy managing them. Too busy trying to force progress instead of trusting the process.

Somewhere along the way, my goals quietly took the place of my stillness.

Goals are not bad. Not at all. They can be good, healthy, and God-honoring. But they were never meant to outrank obedience. They were never meant to compete with communion. They were never meant to pull me away from sitting at the feet of Jesus.

And here’s the big realization:
The best goal I could ever have—the only one that truly matters—is to be with Him.

To sit.
To listen.
To rest.
To trust.

So I’m choosing this: my goals will no longer be more important than what God wants me to do. If He asks me to slow down, I slow down. If He rearranges my plans, I’ll let Him. If He says, “Come sit with Me,” then that’s the win for the day.

Because I have this quiet, holy feeling that if I place my goals back into His hands, He’ll arrange them in a way that actually makes sense. In a way that brings peace instead of pressure. Purpose instead of panic.

And maybe—just maybe—I can finally stop running around like a chicken with its head cut off… and start walking at the pace of grace.

Mary chose the better portion.And honestly?
I want that goal more than all of mine combined.

Photo by Randy Tarampi on Unsplash
Posted in Moments and Musings

Seen, Known, and Included

Posted on by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

This past Sunday, my church held one of those services that stays with you long after it ends. It was a time of anointing with oil, prayer, and words spoken over individuals—words filled with encouragement, affirmation, and God’s tenderness. Even watching online, I could feel the weight and beauty of the moment. The Holy Spirit doesn’t recognize distance, after all.

Because I live more than an hour away, I attend church virtually. I’m grateful for technology, but I’ll be honest—there are moments when watching from a screen can stir a quiet ache. I’m not physically in the room. I’m not standing at the altar. I’m not being anointed or prayed over in the same visible way. And yet, this Sunday reminded me of something deeply important: God is not confined to buildings, stages, or proximity.

As each person went forward and received a word, I found myself rejoicing with them. Truly rejoicing. I felt joy rise up as I watched my brothers and sisters be seen, encouraged, and loved. And then I noticed something else—something subtle but significant.

There was no jealousy in my heart.

That realization stopped me in my tracks, because it hadn’t always been that way.

There was a time when moments like this would have been painful for me. I would have smiled on the outside while quietly shrinking on the inside. I’d think, Why not me? I’d convince myself that God must have forgotten about me or placed me on some invisible list of people who were just… missed. I believed blessings were handed out to those who were better, stronger, more faithful, more put-together.

I assumed I simply didn’t measure up.

But as I watched and rejoiced this time, I sensed God’s gentle voice speak into my heart—not loud or dramatic, but kind and sure:

“Yes, daughter. Take those words for yourself. I know your heart. I see you. What is being spoken over them is for you too.”

I can’t fully explain what that did to me.

In that moment, it felt like God reached right through the screen and straight into my soul. He wasn’t correcting me; He was inviting me. Inviting me to receive without striving. Inviting me to stop disqualifying myself. Inviting me to believe that His love and affirmation are not scarce resources.

Scripture tells us, “The eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to Him” (2 Chronicles 16:9). Not those who are perfect. Not those who are visible. Not those who live closest to the church building. Those whose hearts are His.

For far too long, I’ve carried a quiet belief that something about me was fundamentally wrong. That “wrong” followed me like a shadow. I assumed I was always falling short, always behind, always watching others receive what I could only hope for. I compared myself to people who seemed to do everything right, who always had answers, who never appeared to struggle.

But comparison is a heavy burden, and God never asked us to carry it.

Thankfully, that is not how God works.

God does not measure us the way the world does. He does not withhold goodness until we perform well enough. He is not waiting for us to fix ourselves before He loves us. Scripture reminds us, “But God shows His love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).

That truth changes everything.

I am not seen through the lens of my failures, my doubts, or my past. I am seen through the blood of Jesus. Because of Christ, I am fully accepted, fully forgiven, and fully loved. “In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace” (Ephesians 1:7).

There is no hierarchy in God’s family. No favored children and forgotten ones. No inner circle and outer edges. We are all equally known and deeply loved.

“For the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you” (Deuteronomy 31:6).

What a comfort that is.

What a gift it is to realize that God sees the quiet ones, the unseen ones, the ones watching from a distance. He sees the heart that longs for Him. He sees the tears no one else notices. He sees the faith that keeps showing up—even online—even from far away—even when it feels small.

And He calls us His.

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are” (1 John 3:1).

If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself in these words—if you’ve ever believed that blessings were for everyone else, that you were somehow overlooked or forgotten—I want you to hear this clearly: you are not invisible to God. You are not an afterthought. You are not disqualified.

Sometimes the words spoken over others are also an invitation for us to receive by faith. To say, Yes, Lord, I’ll take that too. To believe that what God is doing in the room, He is also doing in us.

You are seen.
You are known.
You are deeply loved.

And in God’s Kingdom, there is more than enough grace to go around.