As I reflect on this final Sunday Reflection for March, wrapping up our month of Sacred Belonging, I am prompted to explore moments when I feel…
alone.
Not lonely.
Just aware that nobody is beside me.
There is a strange in-between here.
between being alone and still desiring connection.
I’ve noticed what appears to be two ends of a spectrum: those who thrive on constant connection and those who feel most at home alone.
And somewhere in this reflection, I ask myself:
Where am I?
Because while I enjoy people, especially my circle, I have grown deeply fond of my alone time. Sometimes I wonder if, when left to my own devices, I would choose solitude over connection more often than I should.
And I see the other side as well. The full calendars. The constant hustle. The exhaustion that results from always being “on.”
I remember those days.
When I set myself on fire for everything and everyone.
Family. Career. Social obligations.
Never leaving space for my SELF.
I wore that identity with pride. Overachiever. People pleaser. Always there for others.
Now I catch myself wondering…
Have I gone too far in the other direction?
​
This question becomes even more relevant when I consider partnership.
Because while I value my independence, I still long for a partner, if I’m honest.
Since becoming single, I’ve done the work. I’ve healed old wounds. I’ve built a life that reflects my values. I’ve taken long walks with God where I’ve untangled what wasn’t true and returned to what is.
I know who I am in a way I didn’t before.
And yet, I sometimes wonder...
Am I meant to have this kind of love?
This is vulnerable to admit.
But if I’ve had the thought, I have to believe I’m not the only one.
Did I miss it?
Did I choose wrong too many times?
Did I accept versions of love before I understood my own worth, and in doing so somehow disqualify myself?
It’s a quiet thought.
But it lingers.
And when I trace it back, I can see where it comes from.
I was shaped by environments where love was conditional, where approval could be earned or withheld based on my performance.
So, of course, part of me learned to believe that love works that way, that if I had done everything right, maybe I would have it by now.
And here in Act III of my life, I can honestly say I haven’t yet experienced the kind of love where I felt fully chosen, deeply loved, and protected.
But then truth arrives.
God chooses me.
God protects me.
God loves me.
And that truth interrupts everything I thought I knew.
So how do I hold both?
This human longing for connection…
and the spiritual truth that I am already loved?
Because I truly believe we are meant for connection.
From the very beginning, we weren't meant to navigate this life completely alone.
We are wired to be seen, known, and held in a way that reflects something sacred back to us.
And yet, our culture sends such mixed messages.
If you are single too long, something must be wrong with you.
If you desire partnership, you’re told not to need it too much or try too hard.
If you choose to be single, you must be avoiding something.
Somewhere in that noise, it's easy to question yourself and wonder if your longing is a flaw.
But I believe that longing reveals the truth. We all want to feel chosen and loved without conditions.

I was reading a blog post from my IFS coach about how choosing the right rooms attracts the right people into your life. To meet high-caliber people, you need to be in the rooms with those individuals. Makes sense, right?
And I caught myself thinking:
I don’t think I’m in the wrong room…
I’m not in any room.
My life has become quiet and grounded.
And perhaps that’s part of this feeling.
But I also wonder if this could be a room, too.
A sacred one.
A room where I have been learning to sit with myself, to understand who I am, and to become someone who no longer abandons herself just to be chosen.
A room where my life has become fulfilling in ways that aren’t always visible to others.
I don’t see this season as a punishment.
But I’m not going to rush to label it something neat and resolved either.
It is what it is. And if you know me, you know I dislike that phrase, but it works here.
It is…
A space where I am still becoming.
A space where I am learning to trust that I will not miss what is meant for me.
I believe God sees me.
I believe God knows the desires of my heart.
And I believe that love—real, steady, safe love—is not something I have disqualified myself from.
So for now, I will continue living my life.
I will keep showing up.
Maybe even step into a few new rooms when the time feels right.
But I will not shrink my longing.
And I will not turn it into a story of punishment.
I’m still here, Untucking…
And I trust that I will not be overlooked.

Prompt:
Where in your life have you learned that love must be earned or performed for, and how might you begin to let go of that pattern?
Peace be with you.
J~

Seeing the Pieces
I tend to find symbolism in everything. It’s something I’ve always done. Honestly, it’s probably a part of me that I exiled because it was different. I have a curious mind and often question things and people, but at a young age, that kind of curiosity got me into trouble. So instead of asking questions out loud, I decided to just try to figure things out on my own.
And at the exact moment of writing this, a random memory from third grade comes to mind. So, I’m going to trust that it is meant to be placed right here.
In third grade, our class was divided into reading groups based on ability. I was placed in the larger group with most of the other kids, but according to my teacher, I was a slow reader. That day, we were working on spelling words together. When it was my turn, the word she wrote on the board was cupboard.
I looked at it and said the only thing that made sense to me.
“Cup Board.”
The teacher shook her head and told me to try again.
‘Cup…board?’ as if questioning.
Again, she said no, and I could feel her rolling her eyes in frustration.
The group had to stay there until I got it right. Everyone was already thinking about recess. I could hear the moaning and snickering around me, especially from two boys who made their disgust very obvious.
But the truth is, I honestly didn’t understand what she was asking me to say. The word on the board clearly had two parts. My mind saw them separately: cup and board. I wasn’t trying to be difficult; I was simply reading what I saw.
It’s strange how memories work. Even forty-seven years later, I can still feel the heat of that moment and the shame of being the reason everyone was late for recess. It’s like my brain was wired wrong.
On one of my report cards, the teacher wrote: Jeannine is slow to complete her work. She does not make wise use of her time.
Slow.
That word stayed with me for a long time. It shaped me into an overachieving FIO! (FIO is the title I gave to my Figure It Out part.)
But what I understand now is something that a little girl in a third-grade classroom couldn't yet know.
Sometimes, what the world calls slow is just the mind taking its time to notice what others rush by.
Where the teacher saw a mistake, my mind was simply noticing the pieces.
Cup.
Board.
Two things joined together to make something new.
And as I remember this memory, I can’t help but smile at the subtle symbolism of it all.
Maybe that's exactly what I've been doing my whole life.
Seeing the pieces.
Holding them long enough to understand them.
And then discovering how they fit together.
There are so many gifts I want to nurture in this little girl now: her curiosity, her imagination, her wit, and, yes, her ability to see things differently.
Part of living Untucked is embracing that girl for who she is, just as God created her to be.
Last year, while walking the Camino in Spain, I kept hearing a quiet phrase in my heart:
Bridge the gap.
At the time, I didn’t completely understand what that meant. Honestly, I still don’t.
Since then, I’ve repeatedly tried to define what “bridging the gap” means. I thought it might be about connecting faith and philosophy or bringing together different perspectives on life. But the more I tried to define it, the more elusive it became.
Now, as I recall that third-grade classroom, I wonder if the answer was there all along.
Maybe bridging the gap just means doing what I've always done, seeing the pieces and helping others understand how they fit together through writing about them. And in seeing the pieces, maybe I’m not meant to be the one who has the meaning or even the answer.
It is simply about allowing God to work through the life I have lived and the words that seem to come when I sit quietly enough to listen, noticing what they reveal about grace, healing, and the subtle ways God moves through ordinary lives.
For most of my life, I believed my job was to figure everything out. After all, that is what my little FIO part learned to do so well.
But faith is asking something different.
It's more about letting things happen than figuring them out.
Perhaps the path we surrender becomes the very place where our calling grows.
Now, looking back, I see that little girl in the third-grade classroom differently.
She wasn’t slow.
She was simply taking the time to see the pieces.
And it makes me wonder…
Where in your life might you be invited to slow down and surrender, so you can begin to see the pieces?
Peace be with you.
J~
Note: This reflection wasn’t what I originally intended to write today. The memory appeared unexpectedly while I was sitting quietly, and something about it felt important enough to follow. Sometimes the stories that surface on their own are the ones that still have something to teach us.

I no longer live in urgency.
I live in presence.

I do not confuse control with care.
I trust what unfolds.

I let my brain offer its plans
and my heart decides the pace.
I honor both, but I follow peace.

I no longer perfect myself to survive.
I survived.
Now I get to live.

I allow things to be messy, human, unfinished.
Truth does not require polish.
Love does not require performance.

I release outcomes
I show up fully
and let God handle the rest.

I belong to my body again.
I sing.
I laugh.
I dance.
I look at the moon and feel small in the best way.

I return to tradition in devotion
I pray without fear.
I hold faith without fences.

I let joy and grief sit at the same table.

I trust thresholds.
I honor endings.

I live untucked.
Nothing hidden for approval.
Nothing softened for safety.

I am not here to convince.
I am here to witness.
​
This is healed life.
This is consciousness.
This is home.

​Lately, I have been sitting with the question:
Where can I arrive as I am and not disappear?
It is a simple question, yet it carries a lifetime of longing. And it takes a lot of honesty to contemplate.
Looking at the year so far, I have noticed something unfolding. The reflections I’ve written have naturally followed the same rhythm as the sections of Untucked. January echoed the spirit of Stillness Speaks, February mirrored The Courage to Rise, and now, as we step into March, I find myself leaning into the theme of the book’s third section: Sacred Belonging.
This wasn’t planned. But now that I see it, I feel called to follow it. If the rhythm continues, April will turn toward Nature Heals, which feels especially fitting as the earth begins to awaken again.
But for now, I find myself sitting with this deeper exploration of belonging, not belonging as fitting in, but belonging that grows from the sacred relationship we cultivate with the God of our understanding, the presence that lives within us and within all beings.
For much of my life, belonging meant molding myself to fit. Like many of us, I tucked parts of myself away, sometimes consciously, sometimes without realizing it, because the human longing to belong is powerful.
Unfortunately, in doing so, I slowly moved further away from my true self. And when I drifted from my true self, I also drifted from the sacred connection I have with God.
What is being spoken to me now is something both simple and profound:
I have a responsibility. I have been given one body and one soul to care for. When I step back and honestly reflect on how I have lived at times, I can see the many ways I allowed myself to move away from where I truly belong just to fit in.
So a deeper question comes to mind: Where can I arrive as I am without disappearing?
Over the past few years, I have spent more time in real solitude. In that quiet space, I have discovered something sacred waiting there.
In solitude, there is nothing to prove.
There is no label to carry.
There is only presence.
In that stillness, I meet God.
And in that same stillness, I begin to meet my truest self again.
Henri Nouwen writes that solitude must come before community. Because if we have not learned to sit comfortably with ourselves, we often enter community looking for validation, reassurance, or a role that proves we matter. Without realizing it, we begin asking others to fill a space within us.
Take a moment to reflect on the “rooms” that you enter. Do you notice when people feel the need to be the loudest voice, the fixer, the doer, the one who takes charge? Is that person you?
Sometimes we step forward quickly because being needed feels like belonging. We fill the silence with activity, leadership, or responsibility, hoping it will quiet the deeper question within us. Do I belong?
I know this pattern because I have lived it.
As I have slowly untucked myself, it has become clear that striving to be needed is not the same as belonging. True belonging does not require us to perform a role or prove our worth. It asks something much quieter of us: the courage to simply arrive as we are.
Only then can we step into a relationship without disappearing inside it.
Sacred Belonging asks of us:
Where can I arrive as I am and not disappear?
And just as importantly:
How can I offer others that same sacred space?
I invite you to take a few quiet moments today and return to the question:
Where in my life do I feel most able to arrive as I am, without disappearing?
Notice what comes to mind.
Notice where your spirit softens.
Notice where you feel at home.
Sacred belonging rarely begins in the crowd.
It begins in the quiet places where we remember who we are and discover that God has been there all along.
Peace be with you,
J~

Many of us quietly carry the belief that the patterns or circumstances we grew up with are the ones we are destined to repeat.
There is a voice that whispers, This is just who you are. 
But there is a deeper voice, patient and loving, that says something entirely different:
You are not finished. You are not defined by your past.
We are not meant to remain forever in the shadows of old pain. We are not required to carry forward every inherited pattern. The cycle can stop with us.
But breaking it takes courage.
It means looking honestly at the choices we've made. It means acknowledging the impact of what others have done to us. It means facing how the world has shaped us and consciously choosing to respond differently.
It is slow and sacred work.
For me, I know I could not have done it alone. I have experienced Love that meets me in my most tucked-away places and calls me forward.
Whether you call that Love God, grace, truth, healing, or something else entirely… it is real. And it does not define you by your worst moment or your oldest wound.
It invites you into something new.
And so today I share this prayer with you from Fr. John Burns. It weaves together Scripture in a way that feels warm and deep to my soul.
“My beloved one, before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. I drew you with human cords, with bands of love. I fostered you like one who raises an infant to his cheeks. Yes, you are my beloved child, and in you I am well pleased. I have chosen you and not cast you away. Your name shall be my delight, for I delight in you, as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride. And even though the mountains may fall away and the hills may be shaken, my love will never fall away from you. I have loved you with an everlasting love. Therefore, I have continued my faithfulness to you. Do you not perceive it? For I know well the plans I have in mind for you, plans for your welfare and not for your woe, so that I can give you a future full of hope. When you call me, I will listen to you. When you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, for I am with you. I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you, I will fight for you, and I will not withdraw my merciful love from you. And so, my beloved one, let me see your face, let me hear your voice, come to me, return to me with all your heart, for Behold, I am always with you. Do not be afraid. I have called you by name and you are mine. You are precious in my eyes and honored. And I love you. You are precious in my eyes. You are honored. And I love you. You are precious in my eyes, and you are honored, and I love you.”

Thank you for joining me here today! I hope this speaks to you and that you know you are loved! 

Peace be with you!
J~