Hey friend!

Welcome to Tales of Grace. I’m truly so glad you’re here.

Lately, I’ve been deeply challenged by something I hadn’t noticed before—how often I read the Bible and forget that the people in those pages were real. They walked dusty roads, cried real tears, carried deep heartaches, laughed with friends, and longed for healing—just like we do. Somewhere along the way, their stories can start to feel like distant, sacred tales rather than moments from real, messy, human lives.

So over the next few weeks, I want to do something a little different here. I’ll be sharing the stories of people who encountered Jesus—real people, facing real struggles, met by real grace. And one day soon, I hope to start sharing your stories too. If you’ve experienced the grace of Jesus in a way that’s changed you, I’d love for you to send it in to be featured.

But for now, I’ll begin with some of my favorites from Scripture.

This week, I’ve been spending time with the story of the woman who had been bleeding for twelve long years. Her story is tucked into Matthew 9:20–22, Mark 5:25–34, and Luke 8:43–48—and it’s one that’s been quietly wrecking me in the best way.

I’ve read this story so many times before, and usually, I focus on the miracle—how she touched the garment of Jesus and was healed her. But this time… something else gripped my heart: the weight of her condition.

I’m no doctor, and my medical knowledge is pretty limited, but you don’t need a medical degree to realize that bleeding nonstop for twelve years would leave anyone weak, frail, and utterly exhausted. And yet—she was still standing. Still moving. Still hoping. That alone feels like a miracle to me.

Think about it. Twelve years. Day after day. Year after year. Losing blood, strength, dignity. Who knows what other complications she faced? And yet, somehow, she still had the strength to press through a crowd just to get close to Jesus. That kind of endurance… it’s unmatched.

And then there’s the loneliness. In her time, a woman on her period was considered ceremonially unclean. That meant no one could touch her. Anything she touched was unclean. Can you imagine the isolation? The rejection? For twelve long years, she was likely treated like she didn’t belong anywhere.

She tried everything. Spent everything. Saw doctor after doctor. And still—nothing changed.

But she didn’t quit. Somewhere deep in her, beyond all the disappointment and heartache, there was still a flicker of belief—Jesus might be different.

She could’ve let fear stop her. The crowd could’ve condemned her for daring to touch anyone, let alone Him. But her desperation was louder than her fear. And with what little hope she had left, she reached out—and she was healed.

This quiet, nameless woman is teaching me so much. Her story gently asks me: How often do I give up after one prayer? How often do I stop hoping when things don’t shift right away? She didn’t give up after the first doctor. Or the fifth. Or the tenth. She kept believing until her healing came.

And now I find myself wondering—what could our lives look like if we had that kind of faith? What if we kept praying, kept pressing in, kept reaching—until Jesus meets us right where we are?

Friend, if you’re waiting on a breakthrough… if your heart is tired and hope feels hard to hold onto, I want to stand with you. Leave a comment below so I can pray for you and believe alongside you. You don’t have to walk through this alone.

And if her story stirred something in you, would you share this post with someone who needs a reminder of what relentless faith looks like? And let me know what story you’d love for me to explore next—I’d be honored to journey through it with you.

With all my love,
Tales of Grace

P.S. Mother’s Day is around the corner, and if you’re looking for a meaningful gift for the women in your life, check out the Loved Beyond Measure journal. You can grab it here or find it on Amazon. It’s a gentle reminder of just how loved and seen we are.