Welcome, Soul Sister 🤍
If you’ve found your way here, chances are you’ve lived a little.
You’ve been hurt, misunderstood, betrayed, or stretched in ways you never asked for. You love God—and you’re still healing. Still unlearning. Still figuring out what wholeness looks like now.
This is a place for truth-telling and tenderness.
A place where faith and healing meet—without judgment, without pretending, and without pressure to be “over it.”
At Seasoned Soul Sister’s Place, we talk about the real things:
the scars we carry, the lessons they taught us, and the God who never left us while we were breaking. We believe healing is not rushed, forgiveness is a journey, and strength doesn’t always look loud.
You don’t have to explain yourself here.
You don’t have to be perfect.
You don’t have to have the right words.
Come as you are. Sit for a while. Read slowly. Breathe deeply.
This is a sisterhood rooted in Christ, guided by grace, and committed to becoming whole—together.
You’re safe here. And you’re not alone.
— The Seasoned Soul Sister
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As 2025 Comes to a Close
Take a moment before the year ends. Sit with what was. Thank God for what He carried you through—even the parts that still ache. You don’t have to have clarity yet. You don’t need a five-year plan. You just need faith for the next step.
Jenn Grant, The Seasoned Soul Sister
12/26/20252 min read
As 2025 Comes to a Close
As 2025 gently folds itself into memory, I’m not rushing to summarize it neatly. Some years don’t wrap up with a bow—they sit with you, heavy and honest, asking to be acknowledged before they’re released.
This year stretched many of us. It revealed what was unresolved, what was fragile, and what could no longer be carried into the next season. For some, 2025 brought unexpected loss. For others, it brought quiet victories no one clapped for. And for many of us, it brought both—sometimes on the very same day.
I’ve learned this year that healing isn’t loud. Growth doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it looks like getting up when you’d rather stay in bed. Sometimes it looks like choosing peace over proving a point. Sometimes it looks like finally telling the truth—to yourself first.
There were prayers in 2025 that weren’t answered the way I hoped. And yet, looking back, I can see God’s covering in ways I didn’t recognize while I was in it. Doors closed that I begged to stay open. Relationships ended that I tried to save. Plans unraveled that I thought were essential. But hindsight has a way of revealing mercy disguised as loss.
This year taught me to stop romanticizing endurance. Strength doesn’t always mean holding on. Sometimes strength is knowing when to let go and trust God enough to step forward empty-handed.
As we stand at the edge of a new year, I’m not making loud declarations or grand promises. I’m carrying quieter intentions into 2026:
To listen more closely to God than to noise
To honor rest as obedience, not laziness
To choose discernment over desperation
To love deeply, but wisely
To stop shrinking to make others comfortable
If 2025 wounded you, I pray it also refined you. If it humbled you, I pray it grounded you. And if it broke you open, I pray it made room for something truer, steadier, and more aligned with who God created you to be.
Take a moment before the year ends. Sit with what was. Thank God for what He carried you through—even the parts that still ache. You don’t have to have clarity yet. You don’t need a five-year plan. You just need faith for the next step.
Here’s to closing 2025 with gratitude, honesty, and grace.
And stepping into what’s next—not hardened by what hurt us, but seasoned by it.
