Kristen LaValley grew up deeply immersed in Christian spaces, loving God sincerely. And, like so many of us, she also learned ways of viewing herself that were shaped by fear, pressure, and self-erasure. Her writing doesn’t just theorize about healing; she lets us walk inside it and experience it with her. The excerpt you’re about to read comes from her book Growing Up Saved. It’s a story of movement: of running, breathing, remembering … and of discovering that God meets us not when we disappear, but when we finally show up as we are. It’s a joy to welcome Kristen to the farm’s table today…

Guest post by Kristen LaValley

My feet are slapping the pavement, one after the other.

I can feel the rhythm of my sneakers on the sidewalk, sending vibrations through my calves and straight to my racing heart. I try to time my pace to the beat of the music in my ears. Griff is singing.

“I miss staring at the ceiling ’cause it felt so tall /
I miss sleeping to the sound of the kids next door, I do /
I miss me, I miss me too.”

Tears are streaming down my face.

This is holy. Sacred space.

“He invites us to himself—to be fully known and fully loved without fear.“

I meet with God on these sidewalks, in this playlist. I miss me too. I miss me too. I wonder if I’ve even met me. I’m a stranger to myself, settling into myself. I feel like I’m on the cusp of something. A metamorphosis, maybe. I miss me. I’m finding me. I’m becoming me.

I don’t know if a runner’s high has anything to do with this, but every step feels like I’m running straight into the arms of God.

I envision him ahead of me with open arms, celebrating the movement of my body and the resilience of my mind. I feel him next to me, running alongside me, whispering things that are true about who I am. I don’t feel broken anymore. I feel strong. I feel like I’m running to myself.

“The work of healing is not just to unlearn all the malformations of faith but to relearn what it means to truly live.“

I think that at the end of this run, I’ll collide into the version of me I’ve always been—one that’s been hidden by my trauma, my self-hatred, the lies I’ve believed about myself. I’m proud of how my body has carried me. I’m grateful for the ways I’m able to move and stretch and run. I’m acutely aware of how my mind has limited my physicality, and I’m drunk on the joy of feeling at home in my body at last. I pick up the pace as Griff sings the last chorus. I missed me too. But I think I’m home now.

For so many of us, faith has never felt like freedom—it has felt like restriction, fear, a means to an end.

We’ve spent years fearing rejection, bracing for loss, trying to earn what was meant as a gift, instead of resting in the love of God and our community. But the invitation God gives to all of us has never been to live anxious, with our shoulders tight, hiding and hating who we are. He invites us to himself—to be fully known and fully loved without fear.

The work of healing is not just to unlearn all the malformations of faith but to relearn what it means to truly live.

When we believe that God is out for our good and not for our harm, our lives begin to mold around these beliefs. Goodness and mercy are following me, chasing after me—every day, for all my life. God isn’t out to get me. God wants good things for me. God wants me to live abundantly. God wants me to have joy. God wants me to have desires (and those desires don’t have to be only for spiritual things). My delight is not a sin. God delights in me. (Zephaniah 3:17, Psalm 149:4, Psalm 18:19, and Isaiah 62:3-5, Ps. 147:11, 2 Samuel 22:20) )

What would happen if you believed that God was both safe and good?

What if you truly believed and embodied the idea that God is conspiring for your good?

“God is joyfully conspiring for your good. Not to get you, not to teach you, not to harm you, not to bargain with you, not to reward you—just because he loves you.“

Like a mother planning a magical Christmas morning, or a long-distance boyfriend turning off his location and secretly texting all his girlfriend’s best friends so he can surprise her for her birthday, God is joyfully conspiring for your good. Not to get you, not to teach you, not to harm you, not to bargain with you, not to reward you—just because he loves you.

This is the antidote to spiritual anxiety and hypervigilance: to embrace the idea that God is both protector and pursuer of our goodness.

When we accept this reality, it transforms how we live and how we embody our faith.

We can face life’s challenges with openness and hope because we know that God is our defender and our comforter.

We can celebrate our abundance with abandon because God is the giver of good things and our hope in the midst of our lack.

The more we seek the true character of God, the more we’ll understand him and the more colorful our picture of God will become.

Kristen LaValley is an author, speaker, and workshop facilitator whose work centers on healing, wholeness, and embodied faith. She is the author of Even If He Doesn’t and the forthcoming book Growing Up Saved, which explores what happens when the faith that forms us also leaves wounds and how God meets us there with gentleness, safety, and love.

Growing Up Saved is for anyone who learned the language of faith early but is still learning how to live free inside it. Through personal stories, theology, and compassionate reflection, Kristen invites readers to release shame, reconnect with their bodies and desires, and rediscover a faith rooted not in fear, but in belovedness.

You can learn more about Kristen and her work at kristenlavalley.com, and follow her on Instagram @kristen.lavalley. Growing Up Saved is available wherever books are sold.

{Our humble thanks to Tyndale Momentum for their partnership in today’s devotional.}