Years ago, when my heart was empty and my days were full, God used a nearly forgotten hammock to remind me I was made for more. I shared a sliver of that story in my Encouragement for Today Devotion, but I want to share the whole story with you here. Because sometimes we need a reminder to stop waiting for tomorrow to savor the life Jesus offers today. And, friend, if you’re ready to trade your weariness for wonder, I’ve created some resources just for you. You’ll find them at the end of this post.

At the tender age of twenty, my groom and I were transitioning from our college dorm rooms to a humble apartment on the edge of campus. We had plenty of dreams to fuel our new life together, but we had few possessions to stock the tiny space we’d call home. 

Understandably, our wedding registry was marked by prudence rather than opulence. Though the items on our list weren’t exciting,the idea of building a life together was, so we celebrated every bath towel and casserole dish, pillow case and pot holder. 

When our stack of presents finally whittled to one, I shook the last box and wondered what was tucked beneath those silver folds. I winked at my husband, ripped the delicate wrapping, and lifted the lid. Buried under a layer of crisp white tissue paper lay a charming surprise: a handcrafted hammock built for two.

“We didn’t even register for this!” I exclaimed as I leaped to my feet and held the hammock high for my husband to see.  

We marveled at the exquisite handiwork and the vibrant hues. And, instantly, I imagined the meaningful moments we’d spend cocooned between those colorful cords.

My husband gave me a playful wink as I tucked the hammock back into the box. Suddenly a swell of hot tears welled in my eyes, and I blinked back the unexpected emotion.

I couldn’t have explained it on that long-ago day, but our final wedding gift stirred a wordless longing within me. While many of the presents we’d received would help us manage our time, the hammock built for two was an invitation to savor it. A silent summons to not merely do life, but to slow down and delight in it

Later that day we crammed our towering pile of gifts into a borrowed pick up truck and headed to our new home. We hung drapes and towel racks, coat hooks and picture frames.  But there were no trees for hanging hammocks in the slender slip of courtyard green.

So, we left our final wedding gift in the shoe box and dreamed of the day we’d have a yard where we could hang a hammock built for two. 

As a starry-eyed bride, I had no idea how long it would take for our dream to come true. Or that once we hung that hammock, God would use it to stir my heart with a new longing.

The hammock stayed in the box while we finished our college degrees and moved overseas. It stayed stashed out of sight while we changed diapers and zip codes, churches and jobs. It tarried on the shelf while we chased big dreams and little toddlers, embraced the chaos of our growing family and relinquished the comfort of our own plans.

Then, one day, fourteen years after we’d said “I do,” we moved four kids, one dog, and hundreds of boxes to a house on a hill with a tree-lined yard.

And as I unpacked underwear and board games, casserole dishes and sippy cups, I discovered a simple shoebox with a winsome gift inside.

I smiled like a new bride when my not-so-newlywed husband strung those rainbow ropes between a sturdy tree trunk and a faded wooden deck post. 

And we tried not to laugh out loud when our littlest girl asked in a reverent whisper, “Is that a butterfly net, Mommy?”

Before I could answer, big sister wrapped her arms around the little one, and heaved her into those rainbow ropes. Then she climbed in beside her with a happy squeal.

For days, our long-lost wedding gift was the first place my children visited in the morning and the last place they landed at night. It was the swaying stage for singing shows and the swinging chair for bedtime stories. It was the dangling table for afternoon snacks and the lilting lounge for star gazing.

Despite my children’s initial excitement, I was certain when the novelty wore off, they’d quickly lose interest.

After all, ours was a fast-footed crew. They were prone to scamper instead of saunter, to skip instead of sit. They created and played, hopped and raced from sunup to sun-down. 

A hammock couldn’t soar as high as the tree swing in the trees or send them sailing like the slide in the backyard. It wasn’t as fast as their bikes or as swift as their scooters. The gift it offered could only be seized if they were willing to slow their feet. 

However, day after blue-skied day, my assumption was proven wrong. Our kids were drawn to those rainbow ropes like sailors drawn to the sea.

Sisters snuggled in its vibrant strands with baby dolls and books.

Friends rocked in its cordial swaddle with whispers and giggles.

Brothers swung in its woven web with jokes and jabs.

Soon, a subtle swoosh and sway became the cadence of our days. And flanked between dinner time tales of barefooted races and bicycle chases were accounts of wonder captured like a butterfly between the vivid threads of those rainbow ropes.

“When I was in the hammock, I noticed a cloud that looked like a giant zebra.”

“When I was in the hammock, I heard a cricket singing a funny song.”

“When I was in the hammock, I saw a ladybug doing a little dance.

The same kids who dug for dinosaur bones in the backyard and searched for gold in the sandbox were discovering a whole new world between a sturdy tree and a faded deck post. A world they’d failed to notice until they slowed their feet and climbed into a hammock built for two.

Meanwhile, God was using those rainbow ropes to respark the longing that had surprised me as a starry-eyed bride. But this time, it wasn’t a wink from my groom that stirred my heart. It was whispers from my First Love.

The longing greeted me at dawn when I sat with a cup of coffee in one hand and a Bible in the other, my mind already racing to plan the day and conquer my never-ending to-do list. 

Don’t just check in with me; cherish me.

It joined me in the afternoon when I took a walk with my littles, hurrying them along if they paused to pick dandelions or inspect the cracks on the sidewalk.

Don’t just endorse me; enjoy me.

It showed up at night when I swept crumbs into patchy piles on the kitchen floor, streams of moonlight beckoning me to gaze at the starry sky.

Don’t just serve me; savor me.

Somewhere between my starry-eyed I-Do’s and my never ending to-do’s, I’d lost the wonder that had once marked my relationship with Jesus.

Oh, I still read my Bible and served at church; I memorized scripture with my children and prayed before I fell asleep, but tucked beneath my good girl checklist and measured faith was a quiet cry for more.

I knew life with Jesus was meant to be more than going through the motions. I knew He’d paid the price on the cross so I could have intimate access to Him at any time in any way. But, as I got swept up in the speed of life, I’d turned my relationship with Jesus into a duty rather than a delight. Worse yet, I’d convinced myself that the intimacy for which my soul longed was impossible to attain in the spin and churn of my ordinary days. After all, I didn’t have hours to linger with my Bible or funds to send me to an organized retreat. I didn’t have a life marked by quiet or calm. 

But I’d watched the way simple moments had infused my children’s world with awe when they slowed their feet and shifted their gaze. And I wondered what would happen if I made a deliberate decision to do the same.

So over the course of a summer long ago, I made the choice to slow my feet and connect with Jesus in the middle of my daily grind.

Sometimes that looked like leaving the dishes in the sink and opening my Bible when the kids settled in for an afternoon rest.

Sometimes that looked like sitting on the deck with my prayer journal and praise songs when the moon rose high and my house grew quiet.

Sometimes that looked like scribbling one verse on a notecard and taking a morning stroll instead of hopping on social media and losing myself in a morning scroll.

I didn’t have a complicated formula or a five-step plan; I simply decided that life was too short, too urgent, and too beautiful to stumble through my days with holes in my heart that Jesus was willing to fill.  

My attempts weren’t perfect and they didn’t always work. But once I began to savor my Savior, there was no turning back. I will forever be drawn to His outrageous kindness; hooked on His winsome presence, slack-jawed by His grace. 

And I will forever be grateful that God used a nearly-forgotten wedding gift to remind me that my deepest longing isn’t an irritation; it’s an invitation. An invitation to do more than manage my relationship with Jesus; to marvel in it. To not only shoulder my faith, but to cherish it.

In the book of Philippians, the Apostle Paul writes a letter to believers who are growing weary and discouraged. Like us, their days are full of duties and demands, hardship and distractions. 

Yet, as Paul brings the letter to a close, his encouragement doesn’t include a prescription for managing their complicated lives or suggestions for making more impact. Instead, he reminds them of their highest calling and their greatest privilege: 

Celebrate God all day, every day. I mean, revel in him! (Phil 4:4, The Message)

I can almost hear the swoosh and sway of rainbow ropes as Paul pens those poignant words from his prison cell. And I wonder what would happen if we took Paul’s unusual advice to heart?

What if as we slow our feet and shift our gaze, we discover the delights God has tucked into the folds of our ordinary days:

*The peace He promises (Phil 4:7).

*The joy He offers (Phil 1:25)

*The strength He extends (Phil 4:13)

*The wisdom we need (James 1:5)

We don’t need to wait for a season with more margin, more resources, or more clarity. We can let the lives we’re living right now drive us to the One who is always with us.

Dear Jesus, I want to stop going through the motions of my life and start savoring life with you. Show me how to delight in you as you delight in me. In Jesus’ name, amen.

I’ve created a 31-day digital devotional to help you delight in Jesus wherever you are. You can learn more about it and purchase a copy here: https://aliciabruxvoort.net/encounter

And don’t forget to grab your free prayer guide, too! You can download it here.

The post For the One Who’s Tired of Going Through the Motions appeared first on Alicia Bruxvoort.

“ … He saved me to His delight; He took joy in me.” Psalm 18:19b (VOICE)

I wasn’t expecting anything profound to slip from my 4-year-old’s lips while we chatted over lunch on that hot summer day. I was just trying to keep my capricious girl at the table long enough to finish her peanut butter sandwich before she raced off to play.

“What did you learn at Vacation Bible School today?” I asked as I leaned over Maggie’s pink plastic plate and wiped a drizzle of peanut butter from her chin.

My daughter lifted her sandwich to her lips, took a bite and peered at me over the crust like a friendly neighbor peeking across a backyard fence.

“I learned that Jesus really likes me … ” she said with a giddy grin. “Soooo much!”

Her words floated through the air on the wings of a happy-sing-song. Then she reached across the table and gave my hand a tender squeeze. “And, Mommy,” she said as she laced her sticky fingers through mine, “I think He really, really likes you, too!”

She waved her arms like a baby bird taking flight, and I felt as if my heart might take flight, too.

After all, I’ve long believed that Jesus loves me — the cross is proof of that — but some days when I look at the woman in the mirror, it’s hard to believe my Savior likes me, too.

I don’t know about you, but some days, I just feel unlikeable.

Some days I feel messed up and maxed out, exasperated and exhausted.

Some days I’m not grateful or gleeful, flexible or fun.

Some days I don’t bring delight to my husband, my kids or even my dearest pals.

And to be totally honest, some days I don’t even like myself.

Yet like a forgiving friend, the Bible echoes my little girl’s winsome words.

Scripture reminds us that the One who took our place on Calvary’s cross doesn’t merely tolerate us through gritted teeth or embrace us because of holy compulsion. As preposterous as it sounds, the One who first loved us, actually likes us, too. And here’s proof:

• Today’s key verse says God takes joy in us.
• Psalm 149:4 declares He delights in us.
• Zephaniah 3:17 affirms He rejoices over us.
• And Psalm 147:11 proclaims that we bring Him pleasure.

It’s crazy when you think about it — that the perfect Prince of Heaven takes joy in His flawed followers on the dust of earth. But when I remember this simple truth, it changes the way I pursue my Savior.

When I acknowledge that Jesus enjoys me, I look for ways to enjoy Him, too. I seek His company as I go throughout my day, whether it’s talking to Him as I drive across town or laughing with Him as I watch a puppy’s winsome play.

I notice His kindness in the depths of my daily grind — the brazen sunset over the trees in my backwoods, or the unexpected phone call from a friend on a hard day.

And I relish His presence in the midst my pandemonium. I savor the song of the birds beyond my window, the unexplainable peace in my hurry, the echo of an encouraging Scripture verse that runs through my mind.

In short, when I remember how the One who died for me also delights in me, I’m drawn to delight in Him, too.

So, I’m gonna keep singing that Sunday School song I learned as a child: Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so. 

But I’m also going to celebrate that oft-ignored truth that a 4-year-old once spoke to my soaring soul through a mouthful of peanut butter.

Jesus really likes me.

And you know what? I think He really really likes you, too … soooooo much.

Dear Jesus, Thank You for loving me enough to save me and liking me enough to savor me. Teach me how to delight in You, as You delight in me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Happy Valentine’s day friends. I don’t know if this day causes you to smile or groan, but I do know this—you are deeply loved. If you need a reminder today of how much you are loved (and liked) by the One who made you, pursues you, and cherishes you, I’ve made a printable for you. You can download it for free here: You are Loved Grab one for yourself or for a friend who could use a Valentine message filled with truth that will never change.

If you were encouraged by this blog post and would like to receive occasional encouragement in your inbox, you can subscribe here for free. Or if you’re looking for a resource to help you flourish in your daily walk with Jesus, check out my digital devotional, Encounter. I created it to help you connect with Jesus right where you are.

Also, I’m still booking speaking events for the upcoming year and would love to meet you in person this year. If you’re interested in having me come speak near you, would you please pass my name on to the women’s ministry leader at your church or an event planner in your community who is still searching for just the right speaker for her next event. You can find videos of my speaking and all the details you need for contacting me here. I’d love to meet you face to face in 2026!

Finally, if you have a moment before you go, tell us your favorite way to spread love right now (and maybe we’ll all get inspired to love our people in new ways on this Valentine’s Day)

The post I know you Love me, but do you Like me? appeared first on Alicia Bruxvoort.

“Those who know your name trust in you, for you, LORD, have never forsaken those who seek you.” Psalm 9:10 (NIV)

“Who is your mommy talking to?”

I was on my knees with a mop rag in my hand and a prayer on my lips when the raspy whisper reached my ears. I glanced up to see my young son, Lukas, and our little neighbor boy standing in the kitchen doorway, their faces flushed from a game of backyard soccer.

I rose to my feet to greet them, but before I could say a word, my 5-year-old answered the question that dangled in the space between us: “My mommy’s just talking to her friend.”

Our 4-foot guest craned his neck and scanned from wall to ceiling in search of my conversation mate. “What’s her friend’s name?” he asked curiously.

My son shrugged his shoulders and flashed me a smile, “Just Jesus.”

The boys spotted the cookies I’d set on the kitchen table, so they raced across the room to enjoy an afternoon snack. But when their conversation shifted to preschool chatter, my thoughts still lingered on my son’s guileless words.

“Just Jesus.”

I’d sung that name in Sunday school as a child and scribbled it in my journals as a teen. I’d whispered that name in my prayers and hummed it over my babies. But I’d never realized that just Jesus had a name to meet all my needs until a wise woman ushered a simple challenge.

I was in a season of silent discouragement at the time, overwhelmed with the daily demands of my growing family. Although my life was filled with good things, I woke each day with a wordless sense of dread and fell into bed each night with a nagging sense of disappointment.

When I finally shared my struggle with a group of women in my Bible study, a wiser, older friend wrapped her arms around my weary frame and pulled me close. “Honey,” she said, “you’ve got a Savior who has a name to meet your needs. You’ve just gotta call on Him.”

She pulled out her Bible right then and there and flipped those time-worn pages to Psalm 9. With tender reverence, she read me these beautiful words found in verse 10: “Those who know your name trust in you, for you, LORD, have never forsaken those who seek you.”

She gave me one more hug and promised to pray. Then I went home determined to seek Jesus in the midst of my daily grind.

As I started studying His names in Scripture (there are more than 700 of them!), I discovered that every name of Jesus reveals a unique piece of His heart for us. And each name invites us to trust Him in a special way.

• When we’re anxious, we can trust Him to be our Prince of Peace. (Isaiah 9:6)
• When we need assistance, we can bank on Him as our Helper. (Hebrews 13:6)
• When we’re confused, we can seek Him as our Truth. (John 14:6)
• When we’re alone, we can believe He is Immanuel, God-With-Us. (Matthew 1:23)
• When we feel weak, we can rely on Him as our Strong Tower. (Proverbs 18:10)

I began calling out to Jesus as I pressed through the hours. I talked to Him while I folded laundry and meandered to the grocery store, while I lingered in the sunshine and as I rocked babies in the dark. And the more I called my Savior by name, the more I found Him to be faithful and true.

Eventually, the name of Jesus became so much more than a mere reminder of my faithful Savior. The name of Jesus became a catalyst for my faith. The name of Jesus didn’t just shift my thoughts to the Friend I hold dear; the Name of Jesus anchored my heart to the only hope that holds.

The cookies had disappeared, and the boys were making plans for their afternoon play. They murmured thank-you through a mouthful of crumbs, then headed back outside, leaving me alone with my mop rag and my sticky kitchen floor.

Me and just Jesus.

Friend, I don’t know what uncertainties you’re facing as you step into the new year. But I know one thing for certain: Jesus is with you and for you. He knows you and He loves you. And even when you’re unsure of what’s to come, you can hinge your hope on His faithfulness.

If you’d like to explore the names of Jesus more, you may enjoy this message based on Luke 2:21 and Isaiah 9:2-7. You can find more of my teaching videos here. I’m also still booking events for 2026 and would love to serve you in person this year. You can learn more about my speaking ministryhere.

If you were encouraged by this blog post and would like to receive occasional encouragement in your inbox, you can subscribe here for free or you can purchase my digital devotional, Encounter, to help you connect with Jesus right where you are.

Finally, if you need a reminder of God’s certain promises in uncertain times, grab this free printable and let us know in the comments what promise you need most right now.

The post The Surest Place to Hinge Your Hope in the New Year appeared first on Alicia Bruxvoort.

One of my children’s favorite spots at Grandma’s house was a door frame filled with brightly colored pen marks accompanied by carefully scribbled names and dates. Tenderly dubbed the “growing wall,” that door frame was a visible testimony of all the ages and stages we’d witnessed as the grandkids grew.

When we visited my kids would sidle up to that familiar frame and hold their heads high as Grandma documented their growth with a new pen mark.

And once the new mark was put in its rightful place, we’d step back and look at all the lines that dotted the door frame. Grandma would often point to each child’s name scribbled in other places on that door frame like a roadmap of the past. And with hugs and cheers, she’d marvel at the change that had happened over the years.

“Can you believe you used to only be this tall?” she’d say as she pointed to a mark knee-high from the floor. “You couldn’t even reach the counter. Now you can help me cook without a step stool…”

“Do you remember when you were this size?” she’d ask as she pointed to another mark. “You were still small enough to sleep in a crib…”

The stories would make my kids giggle and marvel right along with Grandma at the growth their little lives displayed.

And sometimes, when the kids weren’t around, I’d walk by those pen marks with a tear-streaked sense of awe as I stared at the visible record of transformation that was taking place in my midst as I went about the daily grind of wiping sticky faces and sticky fingers and sticky floors.

It’s transformation that the Apostle Paul is talking about in Galatians chapter 5. In fact, Paul offers us a “doorframe”of sorts in verses 22-25 as he paints a picture of what it looks like to grow into the fullness of who we are made to be.

 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,  gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.  Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.  Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit. 

This is a snapshot of who we are becoming as we are transformed to look like Jesus.  It’s a picture of our truest identity.  When God created humankind He designed us in His image (Genesis 1). In simplest terms, we were designed to look like Jesus.

But then sin marred the picture. 

I can’t speak for you, but on most days it sure seems like there’s a huge gap between who I am and who Jesus is

Thankfully the good news of the gospel is we don’t have to look like Jesus before we run to Jesus. The same God who created us to reflect His image also accepts us just as we are.  Because of Jesus’ death and resurrection, we can join God’s family even if we look nothing like His son.

However once we join God’s family and we begin to live in relationship with Jesus, the Person of the Holy Spirit is committed to restoring this picture of Christ in us.

And that’s why Paul is saying in Galatians 5:22-25. As we grow in Christ we become more like Christ- more loving, more joyful, more peaceful, more patient, more kind, more good, and gentle and faithful and self controlled – because that’s who Jesus is. 

Transformation is simply bridging the gap between who we are and who we were created to be. But if we don’t understand how transformation works, the picture of who we are meant to be can feel discouraging instead of inspiring.

I remember one night long ago when we were staying at Grandma’s house, I found my pajama-clad little one standing in that door frame and craning his neck to see the highest mark bearing the name of an older cousin.

He stared at that line above his head, then closed his eyes and tried to stretch as tall as his little body could reach as if with sheer will-power he might add a few inches to his frame. Finally, he plopped on the floor with a discouraged sigh.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” I asked, scooping him off the floor and gathering him in my arms.

“I’ll never grow that big,” my little one murmured.

I swallowed a laugh and assured my son that he wasn’t the one who needed to make himself grow. That was God’s job. He needed to cooperate by taking care of his body with sleep and exercise and good healthy foods, but he could trust God to do the work of transforming him day by day.

It’s easy to giggle at the memory of my little boy trying to grow. But if I’m honest, for much of my life Galatians 5:22 has felt a doorframe displaying marks of growth I’ll never attain.

Instead of encouraging me with a picture of what was possible, Paul’s list of Christ-like-qualities once left me feeling frustrated and discouraged. I wanted to be more loving and good, kind and patient. I longed to be described as joyful, peaceful, gentle and self-controlled. And I tried to develop these virtues in my everyday life. But when I was stressed or stretched, tired or frustrated, the “fruit” I wanted to display seemed to disappear. In the end, my try-hard efforts didn’t ever really lead to any lasting change.

The problem with approaching the fruit of the spirit like a self improvement plan is this– we can’t grow ourselves into Christ-likeness. That’s God’s job. Not ours.

Through the indwelling power of the Holy Spirit, we are equipped to grow into the image of Jesus. It’s His power along with our partnership that enables us to reflect the image of Jesus to a watching world.

2 Corinthians 3:18 says it like this: “Now all of us, with our faces unveiled, reflect the glory of the Lord as if we are mirrors; and so we are being transformed, metamorphosed, into His same image from one radiance of glory to another, just as the Spirit of the Lord accomplishes it.” (The Voice)

The fruit of the spirit is not something we do for Christ; it’s who we are becoming in Christ. As we live in intimate relationship with the Holy Spirit, we are changed by His power, not our effort.

That’s why after Paul paints a picture of who we can grow into; He tells us how we can grow: “Since we live by the Spirit, Let us keep in step with the Spirit.” (v 25)  

Just like my little boy couldn’t grow himself taller by sheer willpower We won’t be transformed to look like Jesus by good behavior or earnest effort. Our job isn’t to create the fruit of the Spirit in our lives. Our job is to cultivate a relationship with Jesus through the person and power of the Holy Spirit

And as we grow in relationship with Jesus, walking in His ways and remaining connected to His heart, our lives will begin to bloom with the fruit that looks like love and joy,peace and patience, kindness, gentleness, and self control.

So today, instead of pouring all our frustrated efforts into trying to produce fruit for others to see; let’s pour our energy into fostering a relationship with the unseen Holy Spirit. And as we do, let’s allow Him to grow us into people who bear an uncanny resemblance to our Savior.

Because that’s who we’ve been created to be.

To learn more about how a relationship with the Holy Spirit can transform you from the inside out, check out my full message below on the fruit of the spirit. Also, if you missed my devotion on the Holy Spirit at Proverbs 31 ministries today, you can find it here.

If you enjoyed this blog post and would like to receive occasional encouragement in your inbox, you can subscribe here and receive a free download called 7 promises from the God who is with you. Also, if you’re looking for a speaker for your next event, I’d love to partner with you in ministry. Check out my speaking page and let me know how I can serve you as we seek Jesus in the new year.

Thanks for spending time with us here today. Please let us know how we can be praying for you as we step into the new year.

The post How to become who you were always meant to be appeared first on Alicia Bruxvoort.

Our waiter sensed we were fighting before he even took our order.

As he filled our water glasses and made a joke to lighten the mood, he pretended not to notice the silence that engulfed us or the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes.

In any other season, a night out with my husband would have thrilled my heart. The space between us would have been filled with lively conversation and laughter, quirky questions and deep connection. But on that long-ago night we were too weary to swap stories, to discouraged to share dreams.

We were in a season of struggle that had emptied us in a way that even a rare candlelight dinner couldn’t fill. The sheer effort it had taken to show up— to find a babysitter, to clear our schedules, and to get out of the house for a rare date night—was proof that our waiter was right. We were fighting.

And that was good. We were fighting to stay connected. We were fighting to choose unity rather than detachment. We were fighting to lift our eyes above the murky moment and see the hope that hovered near. We were fighting to hold on when it felt like life was unraveling.

It would have been easier to stay home and disconnect, to end our day on a screen that provided distraction or a task that offered accomplishment. But we knew all too well the quiet ache of doing life side by side but not heart to heart. And on that long agon night, we were choosing to fight the raging temptation of apathy with the quiet power of presence.

As we lingered in the candlelight with tattered hearts and wearied minds, we were making a bold declaration without speaking a word: “I will reach for you even when life is trying to tear us apart.”

It’s the same declaration David makes to God in Psalm 63:8: “My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me….”

David didn’t speak those words over a candlelit dinner. But he may have spoken them beneath a starlit sky. Because Psalm 63:8 wasn’t a cry that rose from a throne; it was a commitment David made when the wilderness was his home. The king he’d sworn to serve had become his stalker and the people who’d sung his praises sought his life. But as uncertainty engulfed him and armies pursued him, David fought for hope by clinging to Love.

And, friends, wherever you find yourselves today, you can do the same. We may not always approach God with shouts of praise and joyful singing. But we can remain in His presence with honest tears and humble clinging.

“My soul clings to you...”

Those words may sound like wistful poetry; but they express a willful choice.

Clinging is a decision to pursue God’s heart even when ours is hurting. It’s choosing to draw near when we’re tempted to disengage. Clinging helps us hold on to God even when it seems like He’s holding out on us. Clinging propels us to press in even when we’d rather check out.

Sometimes clinging is expressed with quiet tenacity and sometimes with clamoring cries. But always it requires intentionality and humility, tenacity and trust.

That’s why in seasons when I’m weary and discouraged, I remember that long-ago night when my husband and I battled the noisy lies of discouragement with the quiet truth of presence. I picture David in the wilderness, seeking the presence of God when is heart was aching and his mind is quaking. And then I ask Holy Spirit to help me reach for Jesus with the same resolve.

For me, clinging sometimes looks like lighting a candle to remind me of God’s nearness as I sit in silence in the dark before dawn. Other times, it looks like taking a quiet walk in the woods or belting out an off-key praise song as I do the dishes. Sometimes it looks like rehearsing God’s faithfulness aloud or penning scribbles of gratitude on a blank journal page. But whatever shape it takes, clinging helps me show up when I want to give up.

“My soul clings to you...” Those are fighting words.

And as we fight to hold on to Jesus, we discover a LOVE that will not let us go.

My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.

Friends, if you’re out of words, you can always use God’s Words to cling to Him. I’ve compiled some of my go-to scripture prayers when I’m reaching for God in times of struggle. You can download a copy for yourself or a friend here. And if you have a moment to share the go-to-verse you love to pray when you’re hanging on to hope, we’d love to hear it in the comments.

If you’re looking for a way to reach for Jesus right now, I’ve created a digital devotional, Encounter, to help you draw near to Him in the midst of your daily grind. You can purchase it here. And you can find another devotion I wrote on clinging prayer over at Proverbs 31 Ministries today.

If you enjoyed this blog post and would like to receive occasional encouragement in your inbox, you can subscribe here and receive a free download called 7 promises from the God who is with you. Or if you’re looking for a speaker for your next women’s event, let’s connect! I’d love to partner with you in ministry. Check out my speaking page and let me know how I can serve you as we step into a new year of seeking Jesus.

The post How to Fight Without Words When Your Heart is Hurting appeared first on Alicia Bruxvoort.

“Those who know the LORD trust him, because he will not leave those who come to him.” Psalm 9:10 (NCV)

“I want my mommy!” the 3-year-old on the bathroom floor screamed with red-faced fury.

And I want to go home, I thought to myself. I bit my bottom lip so my surly thoughts wouldn’t slip from my mouth, as I tried to hide my own frustration. After all, I was the babysitter, not the baby.

I’d been babysitting in my small town for years, and I’d never encountered a child I didn’t like. Until I met my new little charge and his big sister for the first time that morning. We’d gotten along fine until I spoke the word that sent that precarious preschooler into a tailspin: No.

“No, you may not pull the cat’s tail.”

“No, you may not cross the street alone.”

“No, you may not throw rocks at your sister.”

I’d said it without raising my voice or sporting a scowl. I’d paired it with gentle correction and playful redirection. Nonetheless, the rambunctious boy responded with a wary howl. Every. Single. Time.

As the day wore on, my patience waned, and I was tempted to cry right along with him.

“You may not toss your Hot Wheels in the toilet,” I said as I rescued and dried the sinking toy. “But we could go outside and race it on the sidewalk.”

The 3-year-old held my gaze for a long moment, and I held my breath in hope. But then he shook his head and began to cry again.

I sighed and stepped into the hallway to check on his big sister. Thankfully, she was content.

She looked up from the book she was reading and gave me a compassionate smile. “My brother doesn’t cry when Mommy says no,” she said with 8-year-old say-so. My heart sank, but then she added, “It’s just ‘cause he knows Mommy better.”

Her words floated between us, and an epiphany dawned: The boy on the bathroom floor didn’t know me.

He didn’t know I was for him instead of against him, that I would help him instead of hurt him. He didn’t know I was committed to his safety and eager to enjoy his company. And because he didn’t know my character, he didn’t trust my counsel.

Years later, I found myself harboring the same kind of distrust toward God. It was easy to applaud His directions when they aligned with my desires. But when His guidance redirected my steps or His decrees challenged my decisions, I felt frustrated and wary.

I acknowledged His instructions, but I often questioned His intentions.

I wanted His wisdom, but I felt confused by His ways.

When His answer to my prayer was “no,” when His guidance wasn’t clear, when His timing seemed too slow, when His voice was hard to hear, I wavered between sadness and suspicion.

I wanted to trust God more, but I couldn’t silence my struggle.

Then, one day, as I read Psalm 9:10, I was reminded that trust doesn’t sprout in the absence of doubt. It grows in the presence of relationship.

The psalmist declares, “Those who know the LORD trust him, because he will not leave those who come to him.”

The original word the writer uses for “know” doesn’t merely mean head-knowledge. It implies an intimate understanding gained through personal experience.

Armed with this fresh truth, I began to focus my energy on experiencing God rather than eradicating my doubts. I focused less on the mysteries of His counsel and more on the certainties of His character.

I lingered in God’s Word and took note of His faithfulness. I praised Him for His goodness and paid attention to His love in action. And just as that leery little 3-year-old grew to know me more as we spent time together, I, too, grew to know the Lord better as I sought His company.

In time, I discovered what the psalmist says is true — knowing and trusting go hand in hand. And it’s easier to trust God with all our heart when we’re intimately acquainted with His.

Dear Jesus, help me to know Your character more fully so I can trust Your counsel more completely. I want to trust You in all circumstances. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Friends, thanks for spending time here with us today. If you are looking for a way to spend time with Jesus, my digital devotion is designed to help you linger in His presence and draw near to His heart. You can grab a copy of Encounter here.

You can also check out my Proverbs 31 devotion today and find more encouragement for trusting God in times of uncertainty. Also, don’t hesitate to leave us a comment and let us know how we can pray for you right now. We’d be honored to intercede.

May you know His goodness even if you can’t understand His ways.

The post What To Do When You Don’t Really Trust God appeared first on Alicia Bruxvoort.

“Teach us to number our days so that we may truly live and achieve wisdom.” Psalm 90:12 (The Voice)

I knew something had to change on that long-ago day I grumbled at my 4-year-old for studying a caterpillar on the sidewalk.

We were about to head to swimming lessons when I realized I’d forgotten my purse in the house. I told my daughter to wait on the driveway, and I’d be right back.

When I returned moments later, my curly-haired girl was nowhere to be found.

I eyed the swing set, peeked between the towering pine trees and checked in the garage.

We’re gonna be late, I ranted silently as the tension of haste settled heavy between my shoulder blades. Finally, I spotted Lizzy squatting on the sidewalk just beyond the driveway.

“Mommy, look what I found,” she crooned, her blue eyes sparkling with awe.

I raced to her side and spotted a fuzzy orange caterpillar in the shadow beneath her knees. I forced a smile, acknowledged the delightful find, then tugged at her arm. “We need to go,” I urged as I tried to steer her towards the waiting minivan.

“Just a minute,” Lizzy pleaded. “This caterpillar’s gonna turn into a butterfly. And I really wanna see a miracle.”

I sighed and prodded her once more with a gentle nudge. “We don’t have time for miracles today,” I grumbled, scooping up my girl and carrying her instead of waiting for her legs to join my agenda.

I buckled my little caterpillar-spy into her car seat and sped across town toward the pool.

The dashboard clock taunted me; worse yet, the eyes in the rearview mirror haunted me. Those eyes that had been alight with wonder now waned dim with glassy tears.

“I thought you liked swimming lessons,” I harrumphed, trying to ignore the silent streams of sorrow zigzagging down my daughter’s cheeks.

“I do,” Lizzy replied, her voice small and strained. “But hurry makes my heart hurt.”

A familiar lump of sadness rose in my throat.

In an attempt to give my kids opportunities to learn and grow, I’d packed our days with good things – art classes and swimming lessons, church programs and playgroups. But lately, even those good things had lost their glimmer. Our schedule was full, but my heart felt empty.

When we arrived at the aquatic center my daughter joined her classmates in the water and I settled on the edge of the pool to watch. With slow, methodical strokes, the instructor demonstrated how to move through the water with legs and arms in sync. Then he planted himself in the middle of the pool and beckoned the watching children to mimic his movement and swim to his side.

When it was her turn, my daughter took a deep breath, dunked her head beneath the water and kicked with all her might. At first she moved toward her teacher with impressive speed, but then she began to flail. Her torso sank and she yelped in fear.

The teacher lifted my trembling girl out of the water and held her steady. “Slow down,” he chided as Lizzy gulped for air. “You were moving so fast you forgot to breathe!”

The image of a fuzzy orange caterpillar flashed through my mind, and my stomach lurched with conviction. Though a haze of unsolicited tears blurred my vision, suddenly I could see the truth clearly. I was flailing instead of flourishing.

In the midst of all our hurry, I’d forgotten to leave time for our souls to breathe. We had no time for lingering on sidewalks or pausing to help a friend in need. We had no time for delighting in God’s Word or savoring a sunset. And in the words of a frenzied mom, we had no time for miracles!

My caterpillar spy is now grown, but the lesson God taught me through a curious four-year-old on a long-ago day continues to instruct me: Constant hurry doesn’t just spur my feet; it saps my soul.

There’s a simple plea in Psalm 91 that’s become my personal prayer: “Teach us to number our days so that we may truly live and achieve wisdom.” Psalm 90:12 (The Voice)

In the Psalmist’s original language the phrase “to number” meant to “count” but it also carries the idea of being sacred and set apart.

That one little phrase says it all. We’re made for more than counting our days. We’ve been created to make our days count.

To merely tally time doesn’t require much forethought, but to truly steward our time requires Spirit-inspired wisdom. Because a full calendar isn’t the same as fully living (John 10:10).

While the Bible doesn’t contain a template for perfect time management, the Psalmist’s simple prayer reminds us that God alone knows the best rhythm for our lives. He knows how to direct our time without draining our souls. He knows how to establish our pace without hurting our hearts.

If we want to truly live, we’re wise to seek His vision as we set our schedules.

And as we learn to number our days, we’ll have margin for miracles … because you never know when you might stumble upon a fuzzy orange caterpillar just waiting to turn into a butterfly!

“Go in confidence and grace – no rushing, no frantic escape. There’s no need to be anxious – the Eternal One goes before and behind you. The God of Israel paves the way with assurance and strength. He watches your back.” Isaiah 52:12 (The Voice)

Thanks for spending time here today. If you enjoyed this post and would like to receive more Biblical encouragement, just subscribe here for free and I’ll quietly slip into your inbox now and then to meet you where you are and point you to Jesus.

Also, if you’re looking for a way to connect with Jesus more consistently, I’ve written a digital devotional just for you. You can get a copy of Encounter here. You can find more Biblical resources at Proverbs 31 Ministries, including my devotion, The Quickest Way To Miss Jesus Today

Finally how are you making your days count right now? Tell us in the comments so we can learn from you, pray for you and cheer you on.

The post When Your Hands are Full but Your Heart Feels Empty appeared first on Alicia Bruxvoort.

“Don’t forget me!” a wobbly voice chimed as I distributed rainbow popsicles to a sun-streaked swarm of little campers.

I lifted my head from the cooler where I stood and assured the worried one there were enough popsicles for all.

“Don’t forget me!” the same voice pleaded as I handed out life jackets for our canoe trip down the river. I squeezed the anxious one’s hand and confirmed there was a seat in my boat for her.

“Don’t forget me!” that familiar voice warbled as I moved from bunk to bunk passing out bedtime hugs and whispering prayers in the moon-lit darkness.

“Why does she always say that?” a sleepy voice asked from the bottom bunk.

The question caught me off guard, and I didn’t have capacity to engage in a lengthy mid-night discussion. So, I kneeled beside the bunk and simply murmured, “Nobody wants to be forgotten.”

I didn’t think about the truth tucked into my brief response until we were having a playful discussion around the breakfast table the next day.

“If you could have one super power, what would it be?” the camp counselor beside me asked as we munched on French toast sticks and slurped down orange juice.

“I’d want to fly…” one kid said as he leaped to his feet and started flying around the table like an airplane.

“I’d want to be able to read your mind,” another chirped as she gave me a devious wink.

“I’d want to be invisible,” a third chimed.

It was the third idea that got everyone chattering. “Yeah, then we could go into to the kitchen and eat all the cookies,” one camper suggested.

“And sneak out for a night hike without anybody noticing,” another added.

But when the clamor of ideas grew quiet, one camper around the table dissented.

“I’d never want to be invisible,” a familiar little voice admitted. “If you can’t see me. You’ll definitely forget me.”

The kids just shrugged their shoulders and moved on to a new topic of conversation, but I found myself thinking about those words for the rest of the day.

And I realized my anxious camper’s signature line wasn’t just a cry to be remembered; it was a plea to be seen.

Of course, it’s not just children that long to be noticed. Tucked in the heart of every human is a desire to be seen. When it’s warped by fear or marred by ego, that longing can drive us down a road of destruction. But the desire itself isn’t a sign of weakness or proof of pride. It’s not the outcrop of neediness or the stamp of self-promotion.

It’s simply the signature of a child of God.

We were created to delight in the gaze of our good Father. And when we recognize His eyes of love are always on us, we no longer fear being forgotten.

The very first book of the Bible tells the story of a woman named Hagar whose story reminds us of this timeless truth.

Hagar was a woman and a slave who knew the pain of rejection and injustice. When she fell prey to a wounded woman’s jealousy, she fled to the desert, pregnant and unprotected, hopeless and alone.

And in that place where she seemed invisible to man, she encountered the gaze of God.

Genesis 16:7-9, 13-14 says it like this:

“The angel of the Lord found Hagar near a spring in the desert; it was the spring that is beside the road to Shur. And he said, “Hagar, slave of Sarai, where have you come from, and where are you going?”

“I’m running away from my mistress Sarai,” she answered.

Then the angel of the Lord told her, “Go back to your mistress and submit to her.” The angel added, “I will increase your descendants so much that they will be too numerous to count.”

She gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.”

In one remarkable moment, Hagar realized she wasn’t forsaken; she was found.

When Hagar’s earth-bound vision could see no hope, the God of Hope said, “You are seen”.

And being seen by a God who was with her in her present distress and committed to her future good changed everything.

Her frustrations didn’t immediately fade.

Her struggles didn’t instantly disappear.

But the presence of God upended the lie that she was alone.

It refuted the whisper that her pain was unknown.

Being seen by God restored Hagar’s perspective and rewrote her purpose.

It gave her peace for the present and assurance for what’s to come.

The gaze of God changed Hagar’s story. And it can change our story, too.

On that long-ago day at camp when the breakfast dishes were cleared away, we opened our Bibles to Genesis 16.

And as we read the account of Hagar in the wilderness, and I reminded my little listeners of the timeless truth tucked in that ancient tale:

We don’t need a superpower to be remembered or revered. We are intimately known and immeasurably cherished by the God Who Sees.

Our circumstances may make us feel forgotten. Our fears may tell us we’re invisible. But no matter where we go or what we do, we’ll never roam beyond the gaze of Love.

And when we fix our eyes on God, we realize His eyes are on us, too.

“Listen, the eye of the Eternal is upon those who live in awe of Him, those who hope in His steadfast love...” Psalm 33:18

Thanks for spending time with us today. If you could use a little reminder of God’s deep love for you, download this scripture prayer for free.

I’ve also created a digital devotional, Encounter, to help you create a personal rhythm of connecting more intentionally with Jesus. You can purchase Encounter here.

Finally, for more encouragement, I hope you’ll subscribe to my monthly blog posts, find me on Instagram or Facebook  or head over to Proverbs 31 and read today’s devotion. Because pursuing Jesus is more fun when we do it together!

The post How to Know For Sure You’re Not Forgotten appeared first on Alicia Bruxvoort.

I’d passed the yard on my walking path countless times, slowing my steps to admire the manicured patch of green. I loved the pristine flowers, the vine-covered wall, and the stately Oak in the center of it all.

But on this day, it wasn’t silky blooms that caught my eye. It was a ragged rope dangling from the knotty limb of that old Oak. A paradox amidst the pristine, it looked as if it held a thousand stories in its braided strands.

How many little hands had clung to that tattered cord dangling in the space between earth and sky?

How many little legs had wound themselves around those threadbare threads, too tired to climb higher and too tenacious to let go?

Grungy and grayed, frazzled and frayed, the rope struck me as a picture of prayer.

I wouldn’t have seen the visual metaphor years ago. For much of my life my prayer practices looked more like that stately Oak than its weathered rope. I’d reached for Heaven with bold words and fluent praise. I’d stood steady on evergreen hope and flourishing faith.

Then an unexpected storm of grief wounded my heart and deflated my soul. And prayer as I knew it stopped working.

My prayer life shifted from endless talk to ugly tears, from audacious appeals to awkward silence.

But as I lingered in the Psalms, my definition of prayer expanded.

When I was short on words and long on ache, David’s example in Psalm 63:8 invited me to pray in a different way.

“My soul clings to you…” (Psalm 63:8).

David knew all about praising God in triumph, but he was intimately acquainted with reaching for God in distress, as well.

He didn’t write the words of Psalm 63 from the comfort of a palace; he scribbled them from the confines of the wilderness. The king he’d sworn to serve had become his stalker and the people who’d sung his praises now sought his life.

But as uncertainty engulfed him and armies pursued him, David clung to God like a weary child grips a weathered rope swing. His prayer wasn’t glossy; it was gutsy.

My soul clings to you.

Those five words were my prayer when I crawled out of bed in the morning and when I lay awake in the dark of night.

My soul clings to you.

Those five words were my prayer as I did the dishes and as I drove across town.

My soul clings to you.

When I couldn’t describe my hurt, I murmured those words to the One who heals.

When I couldn’t figure out my next step, I whispered those words to the One who is the Way.

When I couldn’t articulate my anxiety, I proclaimed those words to the One who is Peace.

My soul clings to you.

I sang it in the shower and shouted it in the woods.

I scribbled it in my journal and stuck it to my mirror.

My soul clings to you.

David’s tenacious proclamation became my dogged declaration. And as I echoed his honest words, I discovered this: Sometimes prayer is a way to speak up and sometimes it’s a way to hold on.

When I felt like my life was unraveling, that simple prayer stretched between me and God like a tattered rope.

And day after day, it held.

David knew it and I’m learning it, too— even when we have nothing to say, we can still choose to pray.

Because prayer isn’t always a rambling thread of conversation; sometimes it’s a weary-whispered declaration.

Prayer isn’t always a bold request; sometimes it’s a humble reach.

Prayer is more marvelous than we can fathom and less manicured than we’ve imagined.

Sometimes prayer is like a beautiful Oak and sometimes it’s like a battered rope.

But always, it is a tether, tying our wandering hearts to a Love that won’t let go.

My soul clings to You; Your right hand reaches down and holds me up. -Psalm 63:8, The Voice

Thanks for spending time with us today. For more encouragement on the topic of prayer, be sure to read my devotion at Proverbs 31 today. And, friend, if you’re in a clinging season right now, leave us a note in the comments so we can pray for you.

Also, if you’re looking for an easy way to connect with Jesus this summer, I’ve written a devotional to help you seek Him more intentionally. You can purchase a copy of Encounter here: https://aliciabruxvoort.net/encounter/.

Finally, there’s still room on my speaking calendar for the 2025/26 school year, and I’d be delighted to speak at your next event. I’m happy to share one of my favorite messages or create something new to best fit your vision. Check out my events page for more information and don’t hesitate to contact me if you’d like to explore the possibility of partnering in ministry in the year to come.

Keep clinging, friends! We have a God who holds even when life unravels (Isaiah 41:10).

The post How to Cling to Hope When Life Unravels appeared first on Alicia Bruxvoort.

I was in an unexpected season of change and everything about my life felt unfamiliar and unsteady.

A role that had empowered me had shifted. A dream that had excited me had shattered. And a relationship that had inspired me had dissolved.

I sensed the Lord calling me to something new, but I felt stuck in the fog of my loss. My imagination for what could be was stunted by the loss of what had been.

Even though I’d worked through my sorrow, the cloud of disappointment that had settled over my present was dimming my vision for the future.

It felt dangerous to dream again; risky to believe God would provide what I needed when He’d allowed me to lose what I’d wanted.

“What do you need to move forward?” a friend asked one day on our weekly walk. We’d been talking about the new dream God seemed to be nurturing in my heart, and I’d finally admitted my inward struggle.

The question dangled between us in silence for a while.

Then, I responded with an honest whisper. “I need to find the courage to trust Him again..”

My friend smiled and said, “I could name 10000 reasons you can trust Him, but I’m just going to ask Holy Spirit to remind you of God’s faithfulness instead.”

After our walk, I headed home and was unloading groceries when a gallon of milk slipped out of my hands. It landed with a splat on the kitchen floor and instantly a puddle of white liquid pooled at my feet.

With an exasperated sigh, I went in search of a mop to clean up the mess. When I returned to the kitchen, the sight of the milk jug sitting on the floor next to the snow-hued splatter triggered a memory I’d long forgotten.

So I let my mind wander to a long ago day when another gallon of milk had been the megaphone God had used to reveal His goodness…

We had just moved to a new state with two small children so my husband could complete his medical training. Our bills were tall and our income was short.

We’d reached the limit on our grocery budget and pay day was a week away. There was no milk in the fridge and no money to buy more. Unaware of our lack, my toddler continued to ask for milk.

All day long, I’d calmly explained that we had no milk. But eventually, my daughter’s frustration and exhaustion turned to tears. And as the afternoon gave way to evening, she threw herself on the floor and cried over the sippy cup that held water instead of what she really wanted.

I knew our milk shortage wasn’t a dire situation. But it was a quiet reminder of all the uncertainty that had come with our move—the financial insecurity, the relationship drought, and the unknowns of a new community. Suddenly, my own exhaustion and anxiety seeped out of my eyes in a torrent of tears. And with a muffled wail, I dropped to the floor and cried right along with my little girl.

Later that night, I was getting ready to put the kids to bed when the doorbell rang. With my toddler planted on my hip, I opened the door and found a young woman standing on my front step with a gallon of milk.

She hadn’t known our specific need, but the Lord had prompted her to swing by our house after her trip to the grocery store.

Two decades later as I mopped a murky puddle of milk off the floor, my fog of forgetfulness lifted. Thanks to my friend’s prayers and the Holy Spirit’s creative reminder (John 14:26), I stood in my kitchen and practiced the discipline of remembering. And as I looked back at God’s faithfulness, I could see it clearly—how He is always a step ahead of us and right beside us, too.

As I finished putting the groceries away, I picked up the phone to tell my friend how God had answered her prayer through a splatter of milk. And I invited the Spirit to keep reminding me of God’s goodness…one forgotten memory at a time.

Because looking back is often the key to hoping forward.

And when my heart is wary and my faith feels wobbly, I need to remember what I’m quick to forget:

God is faithful. Yesterday. Today. And Always.

“O True God, You are my God, the One whom I trust…” Psalm 63:1a, The Voice

Friends, thank you for seeking Jesus with us today. If you’ve got a moment to share, we’d love to hear how God has been faithful in your own life. Tell us in the comments so we can look back and hope forward together.

If you need help remembering God’s faithfulness, I’ve created a free download for you. Following King David’s example, we’ll use Psalm 63 to help us look back with gratitude and move forward with hope. Let the practice of remembering infuse your prayer life and your heart with fresh hope!

You can download it here. And if you’d like more encouragement, you can find another devotion I’ve written about the practice of remembering at Proverbs 31 today.

Also, if you’re looking for a new way to connect with Jesus this summer, I’ve written a devotional to help you draw closer to Jesus. You can purchase a copy of Encounter here: https://aliciabruxvoort.net/encounter/.

Finally, did you know that I don’t just love to write about God’s Word; I love to teach it, too! There’s still room on my speaking calendar for the 2025/26 school year, and I’d be delighted to speak at your next event. I’m happy to share one of my favorite messages or create something new to best fit your vision. Check out my events page for more information and don’t hesitate to contact me if you’d like to explore the possibility of partnering in ministry in the year to come.

The post When You Need to Remember What You’re Quick to Forget appeared first on Alicia Bruxvoort.