This Is What Grace Looks Like (Trigger warning)

 Growing up, I knew God because of my great-grandma—my Granny. She was my safe place, my comfort, and the one who first taught me about Jesus. When she passed away on October 3rd, 2008, I was 14 years old, and it shattered me. That day is one I will never forget.

After she died, I didn’t just lose her… I felt like I lost God, too.

In my heart, it felt like He had taken my best friend from me. My safe place was gone, and everything after that started to fall apart. My family struggled, and somewhere in all that pain, I walked away from God. I was angry. Hurt. Lost.

I graduated in 2013 and got accepted into the College of the Ozarks, a Christian school. But I hated it. I wasn’t in a place where I wanted anything to do with God, and eventually I was given a choice—to change or leave. So I left and went to OTC instead, continuing to live life on my own terms.

Then in 2015, something changed.

I went to a camp for deaf young adults because some friends invited me. I hadn’t seen them in a while, so I went—but I walked in with an attitude. The kind that says, “try me.” I thought I had everything figured out, or at least I acted like I did.

God knew exactly what I needed.

I met several people there—Vivian, Bob, Linda, and others—but Vivian played a huge role in my story. When I walked in, they all kind of looked at each other like, “Oh boy…” and Vivian actually tried to escape into the kitchen.

But I love to cook… so of course, I followed her.

I asked if she needed help, and instead of judging me or pushing anything on me, she showed me grace. She showed me love. She just let me be—and that’s exactly how God reached me.

After a day of being there, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time. A pull.

So I asked to talk to them privately.

And I let everything out.

I told them about losing my Granny and how angry I was at God. I told them about being sexually assaulted at 16/17 by a 25-year-old man. I told them how my life felt like it was spinning completely out of control.

And then Vivian said something that changed my life forever.

She told me, “God didn’t abandon you. He was right there with you—holding your hand and hurting with you.”

In that moment, I broke.

I cried, and for the first time in a long time… I let God back in.

But my story didn’t end there.

A few years later, I lost my way again. Addiction will do that. I spiraled. I became suicidal. I strayed far from who I knew I was supposed to be.

But even then… I felt it.

The conviction. The guilt. The quiet reminder that God was still there—because once you’ve truly let Him in, you can’t ignore His presence.

Then I got pregnant.

God gave me my son, Jeb, and he changed my life. My firstborn healed parts of me I didn’t even know could be healed. I still struggled, but something inside me started shifting.

But on April 1st, 2021, everything came crashing down.

I had been doing better. I was trying. I was healing. But I was told I was a horrible mom… that I didn’t deserve my son because I had allowed my mom to take care of him while I focused on my mental health.

Those words broke me.

I went to my grandpa’s land… and I tried to end my life.

But God wasn’t finished with me.

I was found. I had to be life-flighted to the hospital. And somehow, I survived.

God knew it wasn’t my time to come home.

After that, everything changed.

I went back to church. I started rebuilding my life. I started walking back toward where I had always belonged.

In January of 2022, I moved to Kansas City to be closer to my now fiancé, bringing my son with me. Life continued, and while I believed, I still felt like I was teetering—half in, half out.

Then my miracle baby came… and again, everything shifted.

And one day, I had this overwhelming feeling that I needed to check on my stepson.

When I did, he was actively overdosing.

That wasn’t a coincidence. That was God.

From that moment on, I stopped holding back. I stopped living halfway in my faith. I gave myself fully.

I am not perfect.

I have never been perfect.

And I never will be.

But I love God with everything I have.

And I’ve learned this—God doesn’t expect perfection. If He did, He wouldn’t have chosen the people He did. Just look at the disciples… broken, flawed, real people.

Just like me.
Just like you.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 

There’s something about raising boys that feels both wild and sacred all at once. The noise, the mess, the endless energy, and then the quiet moments that somehow feel louder than everything else. The moments when I realize they’re watching me more closely than I ever notice. Because the truth is, my boys are learning more from what I do than what I say.

The other day, I glanced up into my rearview mirror, and there they were, my boys, just 5 and 1, sitting in the backseat, singing and praising the Lord like it was the most natural thing in the world. No one told them to. No one made them. They were just doing it. And in that moment, everything slowed down. It hit me in a way I can’t fully explain… they’re not just hearing me talk about God, they’re seeing Him in our lives. In the music we play, in the words we speak, in the way we live. And somehow, in the middle of all the chaos and noise, something is taking root.

I used to think teaching my boys about Jesus meant Bible stories, bedtime prayers, and making sure they knew right from wrong. And yes, those things matter. But I’ve learned something deeper, something quieter, but stronger. They’re watching how I handle frustration, how I speak to people, how I show kindness, how I forgive, how I trust God when life feels heavy. They’re watching my faith in the everyday moments, the ones that don’t feel big, but mean everything.

I don’t always get it right. There are days I lose patience, days I feel overwhelmed, days I fall short of the kind of woman and mama I want to be. But maybe that’s part of it too. Because I let them see me apologize when I mess up. I let them see me pray when I’m struggling. I let them see me lean on God when I don’t have the answers. They’re learning that following Jesus isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being real. It’s about coming back. It’s about choosing Him again and again, even on the hard days.

The world will try to teach my boys that being strong means being tough, quiet, or emotionless. But I want them to see something different. I want them to know that strength looks like compassion, patience, and gentle leadership. That real strength is found in faith, in love, and in choosing kindness when it would be easier not to. I want to raise boys who grow into men who love deeply, lead with humility, and walk with God, not just in what they say, but in how they live.

And the truth is, it’s not always the big moments that shape them. It’s the small ones. Praying together before bed. Talking about God in the middle of an ordinary day. Thanking Him out loud for the little things. Letting faith be something they don’t just hear about, but something they live inside of. Something they see in me.

I don’t expect to be perfect. But I pray that when my boys look at me, they don’t just see their mom. I pray they see someone who is trying, someone who loves God, someone who keeps going back to Him. And maybe one day, when they’re grown, they won’t just remember what I told them about Jesus, they’ll remember how I lived.

Because at the end of the day, I’m not just raising boys. I’m raising hearts that are watching, learning, and becoming. And if they can see Jesus in me, even in the imperfect, everyday moments… then maybe I’m doing something right.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.” — Proverbs 3:5–6

Welcome to My Little Corner of Grace

 Hi, I’m Halye.

I’m a mama to boys who run wild and love big. A woman learning to walk by faith, even when the path feels quiet. A storyteller, a creator, and someone who has learned that strength doesn’t always look loud.

Sometimes… it looks like surviving.

This blog was born from a mix of chaos and grace—sticky hands, sleepless nights, whispered prayers, and the kind of healing that doesn’t happen overnight.

It was built in the middle of growth, in the middle of questions, and in the middle of learning how to trust God even when I couldn’t see what He was doing. In the moments where I felt stretched thin, overwhelmed, and unsure… this became a place to breathe.

A place to be real.

A place to remind myself—and maybe you too—that there is purpose in the messy, beauty in the broken, and grace in every single step forward.

Here, I share motherhood in its truest form—the loud, the tender, the exhausting, and the sacred. I share faith that isn’t perfect, but persistent. A life that isn’t polished, but deeply rooted in love, resilience, and God’s presence.

Because even in the quiet…
even in the hard…
even in the unseen moments...

God is still working.

And this space is a reflection of that.