The story in Luke 7:11-13 always moves me. Jesus encounters a grieving mother as her son—her only son—is carried out of the city in a funeral procession. In His deep compassion, Jesus stops the procession and brings her son back to life. It’s a powerful reminder of how Jesus meets us in our sorrow, in our moments of loss, and breathes life into what feels gone forever.
Recently, I’ve been walking through my own version of that story. Except this time, the “dead person” being carried out isn’t someone else—it’s the old me. The version of me I clung to for so long. And as much as I wish I could say it’s easy to let her go, it’s not. It’s heartbreaking.
The old me was deeply tied to her identity—how she appeared, what she achieved, and where she lived. She carried the weight of being on the top floor, like that somehow made her more valuable. She resented rebuilding her life in a one-bedroom apartment because it felt like starting over was a failure.
But here’s the exchange: as the old me is being carried out, a new me is being rebuilt. The woman I’m becoming cares less about appearances and more about freedom—freedom to come back home, both to myself and to God.
The old me was legalistic, rigid, and convinced everything had to be a certain way “just because.” But now, I’m learning to ask, “Does it really have to be that way? What’s the heart behind this?” It’s freeing to let go of those self-imposed rules that kept me bound.
As I grieve the loss of the old me, I hear Jesus whispering that He’s with me, no matter what. Even when I slip, when I say or do things that the old, legalistic me would condemn, He’s there. He loves me not because of what I do or don’t do, but simply because I’m His.
I’m learning that it’s okay to be in process. God sees my heart, my faith, my desire to keep trying—even when I’m not perfect. And He’s been with me through every hard moment. I have receipts of His goodness, even when I didn’t deserve it.
As I step into a new month and a new week, I feel an overwhelming sense of hope. The old Monique is dying away, and the new Monique is being unearthed—piece by piece, moment by moment. I know the months ahead will be fruitful because God is preparing me to come back home, to fully step into the woman He’s been rebuilding all along.
So, if you’re in a season of transition, I want to encourage you: let yourself grieve the old, but don’t forget to embrace the new. Jesus isn’t just watching from the sidelines—He’s walking this journey with you, holding your hand, and breathing life into what’s next.
Thank you, God, for never leaving my side. I’m ready for what’s ahead.