I used to know who I was: a Bible teacher guiding groups of women, a wife ministering with her husband, a data scientist leading colleagues daily. Then life shifted—and shifted again. Suddenly, I’m a full-time caregiver living in my mother’s spare room.
My condo doesn’t feel like home anymore. Mama’s house feels like home—but it’s not mine. My sister requires me to clear every trace of myself from the spare room whenever she provides a break from caregiving.
The life that once connected me to others now connects me to a laptop in solitude. Even writing and speaking—my calling—feels achingly lonely sometimes.
Maybe you know this feeling. Not just the loneliness, but the deeper disconnection: from the life you built, the person you were, the community you belonged to.
The church at Ephesus knew this ache. In Revelation 2:4, Jesus said, “You have forsaken the love you had at first.” They hadn’t abandoned faith—they’d just drifted.
When life pulls you away, how do you find your way back?
Reconnection doesn’t happen by accident. It requires intentionality and the correct order. We reconnect with God first, then rediscover who we are in Him, and then reach out to others. We anchor in remembering, sustain through rest, and rebuild through creative hope. Here are six practices that helped me find my way back.
The Ephesian church didn’t stop serving—it just stopped connecting. Its works continued, but its intimacy faded. Does this sound familiar?
You didn’t abandon God. You just got busy surviving. Prayer became a task list. Scripture reading became guilt. Worship became ritual. Somewhere between caregiving schedules and grief’s fog, you lost the closeness.
Jesus said, “Remember the height from which you have fallen and repent” (Revelation 2:5). Not condemnation—invitation. Return to what you once knew.
What first drew you to God? When did His presence feel tangible? In my mother’s sunroom—not the one my sister asked me to empty—I’ve created a small prayer corner—not necessarily permanent, but intentional.
Reconnection doesn’t require the perfect space. It requires showing up.
This week: Return to one “first love” practice. Morning coffee with God? Evening walks while praying? Start there.
Transition doesn’t just change your circumstances—it threatens your identity. I was a Bible teacher, a wife, and a data scientist. Now I’m “just” a caregiver. “Just” a daughter living with her mother.
When life pulls you away from the roles that defined you, who are you?
Your identity isn’t found in what you do—it’s rooted in who you are. Before I was a teacher, I was God’s beloved. Before I was independent, I was His daughter. And now, even in this spare room, even in transition, I am still 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).
This week: Complete this sentence in your journal—”Apart from my roles and responsibilities, I am…” Let God speak identity over you that has nothing to do with productivity.
Once you’ve reconnected with God and remembered who you are in Him, you’re ready to connect with others—from overflow, not emptiness.
Transitions isolate. You stopped reaching out because your life looked different. The things you had in common evaporated before your eyes. Fear whispered, “You’re moving in different directions. They won’t understand.”
But Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 reminds us: “Two are better than one… If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.” Hope rises when we risk connection. And if old connections no longer fit, try new connections.
Not with everyone—but with someone. One text. One honest conversation.
For me, that looks like hosting dinner parties at Mama’s house—inviting neighbors and building community where I’m planted now. Not because I’m extroverted (though I am), but because hope doesn’t grow in isolation. I’m bringing people to Mama since going out is hard for her. In the process, I’m connecting, too.
This week: Reach out to one person. Don’t apologize—just show up.
In transition, memory gets selective. You remember what you lost, not what God gave. You see the disconnection, not the divine appointments.
Hope rises through remembering—not toxic positivity, but holy remembering. “I will remember the deeds of the Lord” (Psalm 77:11).
I didn’t want to be a caregiver living with my mother. I wanted my independent life back. But God has shown up in ways I couldn’t have scripted: neighbors who check on us, unexpected income streams, moments with Mama I’d have missed otherwise.
Remembering His faithfulness in this season keeps hope alive for the next.
This week: Write down three ways God showed up in your current transition. Not the miracles you wanted—the mercies you received. Then share one story with someone who needs to hear it.
Reconnection requires protection. After you’ve reconnected vertically, internally, and horizontally, you need rhythms that sustain those connections—or they’ll drift again.
Caregiving devours margin. Rest feels like failure. Sabbath becomes another should, not a sanctuary.
But reconnection doesn’t survive without rest. Not productivity rest (“self-care so you can work harder”), but Sabbath rest—stopping because God is already enough.
As a caregiver, rest feels impossible. But if I don’t rest, I disconnect from everyone—including Mama.
We hired an aide to take care of Mama for four hours each day in the afternoons, Monday through Friday. On First Fridays, though, she comes for eight hours—a full workday. So, I protect first Fridays. There are no caregiving tasks, no writing deadlines, just me, God, and quiet.
It’s not selfish. It’s survival.
“Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy” (Exodus 20:8). Holy doesn’t mean perfect. It means set apart.
This week: Protect one hour of Sabbath. No productivity. No agenda. Just presence.
You’re waiting to reconnect once life “gets back to normal.” But what if normal isn’t coming back?
God’s Creative Process™ begins with Step 1: Remain Connected—not after everything settles, but during the chaos. Reconnection isn’t the destination; it’s the foundation for rebuilding.
I kept waiting to reconnect once I “had my life together again.” But life isn’t together. I’m in transition. So, I’m reconnecting now—in Mama’s sunroom, on First Fridays, whenever opportunities arise.
Rebuilding doesn’t wait for readiness. It starts with connection.
This week: Identify one area where you’re waiting. Take one small step toward reconnection today.
Reconnection doesn’t require going back to who you were. It requires showing up as who you’re becoming—in sunrooms, at dinner tables, on First Fridays, whenever opportunities arise.
You don’t need to have it all figured out. You don’t need to wait for the spare room to feel like yours or for life to settle down. Jesus told the Ephesian church: “Repent and do the things you did at first” (Revelation 2:5)—a command, yes, but also an invitation. Return is still possible.
When life pulls you away, hope rises the moment you start finding your way back.
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