Give Yourself Grace

Welcome back, inspiring and inquisitive minds, to another beautiful Monday! Today’s post marks the final chapter in the Eternity series and also serves as a follow-up to the “Leap of Faith” post. If you haven’t had a chance to read that one yet, I recommend starting there—you can find it [here].

Hopefully, it’s a bright, blue-sky kind of spring day wherever you are. While spring isn’t my favorite season, I can’t help but admire how the delicate flowers, trees, and bushes come back to life, it truly is a sight to see.

Now before we dive in, go ahead and pour yourself a cozy cup of tea or coffee, and get nestled into your favorite reading spot or book nook. Let’s settle in together.

As you sip and settle, take a deep breath and let your mind wander for a moment—because today, we’re talking about something that touches us all. Time has a way of slipping through our fingers—quietly, quickly, and without warning. People come and go, just like seasons, and with them come lessons—some subtle, some earth-shifting. Each experience, whether fleeting or lasting, leaves its mark and often teaches us more than we realize in the moment.

The story I’m about to share today is one of those moments—an experience that left a lasting impression on me, one I won’t ever forget. It didn’t just come and go like so many others. It opened my eyes in a way I didn’t expect and reminded me of the quiet, steady importance of having a strong foundation—whether that’s in faith, self-worth, relationships, or even how we move through the world.

Some time ago, a meaningful experience unfolded between a friend and me. And no, it’s not what you might be imagining—we didn’t have a wild night out, we didn’t get lost in the middle of nowhere, and we certainly didn’t have some dramatic falling out. It was something quieter, but far more impactful: a heartfelt, eye-opening conversation that eventually led to me inviting her to a church service.

Before that day, we had talked about many things—life, work, family, and all the little in-betweens. One conversation I remember clearly was about how we were both raised in predominantly German-inspired households. Not in the sense that we spoke the language or observed every tradition to the letter, but in the values, customs, and beliefs passed down through generations. Neither of us spoke a word of German, but we recognized how culture still found its way through family practices and generational influence.

As we talked, she casually mentioned that many German immigrants to the U.S. had historically been Lutheran—something I hadn’t really considered before. That thought lingered with me, especially as our conversation deepened. Later that day, she opened up more personally, sharing that she wished she had been raised with religion or even some form of spirituality. In difficult moments, she said, she often felt like she had nothing solid to lean on.

Her words stayed with me—they struck a chord I didn’t expect. They helped me see my own upbringing in a new light and reminded me to be grateful for the spiritual roots my parents nurtured in me, even if I hadn’t fully realized how grounding they were until that moment.

These kinds of unfiltered, vulnerable moments are often the ones that spark the most meaningful conversations. They open the door for curiosity, create space for trust, and invite a deeper understanding of someone else’s perspective.

Although my realization didn’t happen in real time, and I never had the chance to share with her the impact she made on me, the moment stayed with me. It planted a seed—one that quietly took root and grew into a deeper appreciation for the foundation I had been given.

Sometimes, it’s in these gentle exchanges, the ones that seem ordinary at first, where we find the greatest clarity. We see ourselves a little more clearly. We remember what grounds us. And we’re reminded of the quiet beauty in sharing stories, even when we don’t realize their impact right away.

While I was surprised—and honestly a little blown away—to hear such a deep, intimate fear from her, I wasn’t entirely sure how to offer comfort in that moment. The best way I knew how was to gently encourage her to come to church with me. She had expressed a longing for some kind of structure, and because she seemed open to the idea of exploring faith, I hoped she might feel what I often feel: peace, clarity, and connection. Maybe, just maybe, the loving and encouraging community could bring her a sense of ease too.

To my surprise, she said yes. She was open to it.

But the story didn’t end there. At the time, I was juggling work and spending my weekends supporting my family, while she was deep in the midst of schoolwork. So, naturally, a couple of weeks passed before we were able to coordinate and make it happen.

Still, when the day finally came, I was genuinely excited. It’s not every day that someone is open to religion—let alone willing to step into a church with me. At least, not that I know of. I’m not outwardly expressive about my faith, nor am I particularly outgoing about it. That is, unless I sense that someone is open to the experience or comfortable discussing it.

In many ways, I’m a bit of a paradox when it comes to faith. Growing up, I didn’t consider myself “religious,” because faith was so naturally woven into my everyday life—it didn’t feel like something separate or performative. It simply was.

To me, “religious” meant something more extreme—people who lived and breathed church culture, always dressed modestly, never strayed from tradition. That wasn’t me. And for a long time, I didn’t think I fit into the “spiritual” category either. While I’m growing more comfortable with the spiritual side of things—its depth, nuance, and openness—it wasn’t how I originally identified.

Honestly, how I viewed myself often depended on the company I kept. If I was around friends who were deeply involved in Bible studies and church activities, I’d see myself as less religious by comparison. If I spent time with people who never mentioned faith or spirituality, I’d notice how my occasional reflections on God or purpose made me feel more religious.

It’s been an evolving journey—fluid, not fixed. And I’ve come to understand that faith, like most things in life, isn’t one-size-fits-all.

The morning of the service, we met up and I offered to drive us to the church. We arrived early enough to settle in and mingle a bit before it began. I really wanted her to get the full experience—to sip on some warm coffee, enjoy a little treat, and feel the kindness and support that’s always been a part of this community.

As we were sitting at a table in the gym, enjoying our drinks and chatting, a woman approached us with a plate full of colorful macarons. And wouldn’t you know it—macarons just happen to be one of her favorites. A small but sweet coincidence that felt like the universe giving her a warm welcome.

Soon after, we made our way into the sanctuary and found a spot in one of the pews. Throughout the service, I could tell she was engaged. She swayed gently to the music, listened closely to the message, and seemed at ease with the atmosphere. At one point, the pastor invited newcomers or those in need of prayer to fill out a connection card. With her permission—and without sharing anything too personal—I filled one out for her, requesting prayers for her to feel supported and strengthened, especially as she was juggling the pressures of school and life.

After the service, we mingled a little more and let others know she was visiting for the first time. Then we got back in the car and talked about her thoughts. While I could sense that the message didn’t resonate with her quite as deeply as it did for me, I was still incredibly proud of her. Just the fact that she was willing to step out of her comfort zone and try something new spoke volumes.

New experiences can be intimidating, especially when they brush up against topics as personal and complex as faith. It’s easy to stick to what we know—it feels safer, more manageable. But one thing I’ve learned on my own journey is that growth often begins where comfort ends. The first step is always the hardest, and she took it with grace. That alone was a win.

What made it all the more admirable was knowing how much she already had on her plate. Life was busy, and yet she carved out time for something unfamiliar. That spoke not only to her openness but to her strength.

Now, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed that she didn’t connect with the experience the way I had hoped. But I understood. Faith, spirituality, religion—whatever name we give it—often carries a heavy reputation. And while there are certainly people who misuse their beliefs to judge or divide, the majority of faith-based individuals I’ve known have been the most compassionate, generous, and uplifting souls.

I did gently encourage her to come back a few times after that first visit. Not because I expected her to instantly fall in love with the experience, but because I believed that one service alone couldn’t capture everything faith and community can offer. Still, when she eventually let me know that she didn’t feel comfortable continuing, I respected that. I told her I was always there for her, and that if she ever needed someone to pray for her, I would. After that, I didn’t bring it up again—not out of defeat, but out of love and respect for her personal journey.

There are many takeaways from this experience, but the one that resonates most deeply is this: each of us is on our own unique journey—discovering what grounds us, what brings us peace, and ultimately, who we are at our core. That journey doesn’t always look the same for everyone, and that’s more than okay—it’s beautiful.

Another important takeaway I hope you gather from this post is the reminder to extend grace—to both yourself and others—as you navigate the inevitable trials and errors that come with discovering who you want to be in this world. It’s all too easy to get swept up in comparison or self-doubt, especially when stepping into something new or unfamiliar. You may find yourself questioning your worth or wondering if you’re enough—but let this be your gentle nudge that growth isn’t linear, and becoming who you’re meant to be takes time, patience, and a whole lot of compassion.

That lesson—like so many others—has stayed with me ever since, reminding me to stay open, curious, and kind not only to others but also to myself.

As friends, family members, teammates, classmates, colleagues, collaborators, neighbors, or fellow believers, our role isn’t to dictate the path someone should take, but rather to walk alongside them with open minds and open hearts. We’re here to encourage curiosity, extend unwavering support, engage in conversations that matter, and celebrate one another’s differences with love.

Because it’s in those differences that growth is possible. When we welcome new perspectives, we expand our own. We gain clarity, understanding, and even a deeper appreciation for experiences we may never live ourselves. Inviting others in—without pressure or expectation—creates the space where genuine connection and transformation can flourish.

This experience reminded me that faith doesn’t have to be shared to be respected, and that simply creating a safe, loving environment can be enough to plant a seed. And sometimes, that seed takes root in ways we may never see, but it matters all the same.

As we wrap up this final post in the Eternity series, I hope this story serves as a gentle reminder that eternity isn’t always found in grand, sweeping moments—it often lives quietly in the connections we make, the compassion we show, and the growth we invite. Sometimes, it’s just one conversation, one invitation, one small act of love that echoes far beyond what we can see. Whether your journey of faith is well-rooted, just beginning, or still unfolding, may you continue to seek, question, and grow with grace. And as always, thank you for being here—your presence is part of the story too.

Check back next Monday for the start of a new series, The Making of Me, where I’ll be diving deeper into the experiences that shaped me and the lessons I’ve gathered along the way.

As a signature of my blog, I’d like to end this post with a suggestion to “Pass on kindness.” There’s no time like the present to Inspire Those Who Inspire You. Acts of kindness, no matter how big or small, can have a direct, positive impact on someone else. Go out there today and change someone’s life for the better!

***These are my personal opinions and may not be those of my employer.***