We didn’t make it to a building this Sunday. My toddler wore pajamas, I reheated my coffee, and worship played quietly over the hum of real life. No pews, no silence, no routine — just a mama and her boy, making space for God in the chaos. And somehow, it still felt like church.

Some days I don’t feel strong. I don’t feel holy. I don’t feel like a “good mom.” I just feel... tired. But God doesn’t ask me to feel worthy — He just asks me to be here. And I am.

I didn’t start this because I had answers. I started this because I needed somewhere to put the ache. Somewhere to tell the truth about single motherhood, slow faith, and what it means to be held in the hollow places.