When the Whale Becomes a Blessing

I didn’t plan on being swallowed by a whale — but that’s what it felt like.

Not a literal whale, but a season that brought everything to a halt. A season that swallowed my plans, slowed my pace, and forced me into a kind of stillness I never would’ve chosen. Only later did I realize: sometimes God sends a whale not to punish us, but to save us from the path we were never meant to keep running on.

That truth didn’t click for me right away. It started slowly, in a new place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, trying to build a life from scratch.

Learning to Build Community Again

When we moved to South Carolina, I knew one thing: if I wanted community, I would have to seek it. Back in New Jersey, I didn’t have to think about it — we had family, friends, and a church that felt like home. Roots so deep, I never imagined living without them.

But here, those roots had to be planted again.

So I made a quiet promise to myself: be brave, show up, say yes, even when it feels awkward. I prayed, and I jumped in where I could. Mornings with women in prayer over my kids’ school. Preschool moms’ group. A Bible study I still haven’t made it to. The list of possibilities kept growing.

But one invitation stood out: a foster and adoptive mom group. Something I had longed for in New Jersey but never found. So I went.

The first week was beautiful — encouragement, understanding, women who step into hard places because Jesus once stepped into ours. I left feeling full.

The second week, I didn’t want to go. I was tired, spent, stretched thin. But I remembered the peace I felt after the first time, so I showed up anyway.

That night’s topic? Jonah.

When God Interrupts on Purpose

We talked about how Jonah ran from what God asked of him, and how the storm — and the giant fish — weren’t random. They were grace in disguise, redirecting him back to obedience.

And as I listened, something inside me whispered: You’ve had your own whale.

It came in the form of a baby girl — small, beautiful, and in deep need of care and security. Her entrance into our family didn’t just shift our lives, it broke them open. The nights were long, the weight was heavy, and my plans to keep pushing forward with my shop and side business suddenly felt impossible.

So I stopped. I laid it down. Not because I wanted to, but because I had nothing left to give.

All I had was prayer.

I prayed while rocking her, prayed on exhausted car rides when she cried, prayed in the dark hours when nobody saw how hard obedience really is. And somewhere in that surrender, words began to come. Not for an audience. Not for a platform. Just for air. For sanity. For worship.
That’s when this blog was born.

When the Whale Becomes a Blessing

Eventually, the storm quieted. Our daughter found peace. My hands slowly opened again, and I picked up the shop because we needed the income — but the passion was gone. What once felt meaningful now felt like striving.

And once again, I hear the whisper: Lay it down.

Not temporarily. Not until things calm. This time, fully.

It doesn’t make sense on paper. It rarely does. But the older I get, the more I see that obedience usually comes before clarity — not after.

Maybe the whale wasn’t meant to trap me. Maybe it was meant to pause me. To let me breathe. To make me listen.

The belly of the whale is dark, but it’s also where transformation begins.

Maybe You’re There Too

Maybe your whale came as a diagnosis.
A baby.
A move.
A closed door.
A holy interruption you didn’t ask for.

Maybe you feel swallowed and stuck — but what if you're actually being held?

What if the thing that looks like delay is really God’s redirection?
What if the stillness is where the voice of God gets loud again?
What if the whale is not the end — but the beginning of your obedience?

So I’ll ask gently:

What is your whale?
And could it be — just maybe — a blessing in disguise?

🌿