Most of us like to think we’re fairly adaptable—until life proves otherwise. One unexpected phone call. One change in plans. One situation that didn’t make it onto the calendar. Suddenly, we’re scrambling to regain our footing, wondering how everything unraveled so quickly.

This month brought a new experience for us at the safe house. A family who had only been with us a short time chose to leave unexpectedly. In our three years of operating, we have not had this happen before.

There was a time when I believed healing should move faster.

Not because I lacked compassion—but because I didn’t yet understand the depth of what survivors are carrying. I thought that with safety, support, and opportunity, women would naturally be ready to move forward within a reasonable timeline. A few months. A clear plan. A visible sense of “next.”

It’s often something small.

A woman finishes a piece she’s been working on—slowly, carefully, learning each step with her hands. A leather bag. A woven textile. Something useful. Something beautiful. She turns it over, checks the stitching, and for a moment, her shoulders lift just a little.

Someone notices.

The question often comes quietly.

It doesn’t arrive all at once, and it rarely sounds dramatic. It comes during a conversation near the end of a woman’s time with us, when the urgency of rescue has settled and the reality of what comes next begins to surface.

Who am I now?

She stood in our classroom holding a pencil for the first time.

Not unsure. Not embarrassed. Just still.

The room was quiet, the kind of quiet that happens when someone is doing something brave. A chalkboard wall stretched across one side of the space, covered with letters written by other women—some careful and practiced, others uneven and tentative. When she lifted her hand and made her first marks, no one rushed her. No one corrected her. We simply stayed.

She stands quietly in our clothing closet, her youngest on her hip, the other two close enough to touch her legs. The room is small and warm, shelves lined with folded jeans and soft shirts, shoes in careful rows along the wall. Nothing about the space is dramatic. And yet, this moment matters more than most people will ever know.

By the time February rolls around, the energy of the new year often fades. Life speeds up, schedules fill in, and we find ourselves running from one commitment to another. The faster the pace, the easier it is to feel unsteady—like we’re chasing life instead of living it.

Every January, conversations about human trafficking surge. We share posts. We learn statistics. We remind one another that this is happening closer than we think.

Awareness matters. But it has never been enough.

The beginning of a new year often feels like a blank canvas. We set goals, make resolutions, and imagine what life might look like if we could just get everything together. But sometimes the weight of tomorrow sneaks in before today even gets started.

As we step into this new year, my heart is filled with gratitude. I’ve been reflecting on the families who have found freedom over the past year—women and children who are now living on their own, building new lives, and walking forward with hope. Seeing families thrive beyond crisis is a powerful reminder of God’s faithfulness and the impact of walking alongside someone for the long haul.

As I have returned from Guatemala with the last team for the year, my heart is filled with deep gratitude for the privilege of traveling back and forth to Guatemala. Each trip is a reminder of the incredible ways God is moving among the women and children we serve. What a gift it is to witness His faithfulness up close—again and again.

As I sit down to write this month’s update, I’m once again reminded of how grateful I am for each of you. I absolutely love this time of year—the crisp air, the changing leaves, and the spirit of Thanksgiving that invites us to slow down and reflect on God’s goodness. As we move into this season of gratitude, I can’t help but think of you…

November often carries a mix of emotions. On one hand, we’re surrounded by reminders of gratitude and the joy of gathering with family and friends. On the other hand, the holiday season can stir up stress—meal planning, travel, financial strain, or simply the weight of expectations. Before we know it, worry can overshadow the very things we want to enjoy.

Have you ever noticed how many things in life try to steal your rest? Sometimes it’s an overcommitted schedule that leaves no room to breathe. Other times it’s work creeping into evenings and weekends or the endless pull of screens and notifications that never let our minds settle.

This month, I want to give you an update not through a list of events or announcements, but through a story. It’s a story of pain, resilience, and ultimately—hope. It’s the story of a young man named Augustine, and how your support helped change the course of his life.

September has a way of throwing us into transition mode. Kids head back to school, college students launch into a new semester, and the calendar starts filling up with meetings, sports, and events. Before we know it, the slow rhythm of summer gives way to a faster, more demanding pace.

Hello Friends,September always feels like a month of transition—summer fades, routines return, and new things start to take shape. At Dare for More, this season is no different. God is moving in beautiful ways, and we’re so excited to share a few meaningful updates with you.

We’re so excited to invite you to be part of something special—the live recording of Reba Bowman’s updated Return to Me Bible Study!

This is more than just a Bible study—it’s a journey of rediscovering God’s heart, drawing closer to Him, and finding renewed passion for His presence in your life.

Hello Friends,
I just returned from a powerful week in Guatemala, and I couldn’t wait to share some of the amazing things we experienced! Our team represented several different states, but came together as one to serve, encourage, and witness firsthand the incredible work God is doing through Dare for More.