The next week, Miriam handed each woman a small note: This week's challenge — stand in front of a mirror and speak God's truth over yourself. Out loud.
Naomi stared at the note in her hand, a mix of dread and hope twisting inside her. That night, in her small apartment bathroom, she stood before the mirror, heart pounding. She looked at the curve of her belly, the softness of her cheeks, the tiredness in her eyes.
"I am fearfully and wonderfully made," she whispered. The words felt foreign, awkward—almost like a lie. But she said them again, louder. I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Tears welled up as she repeated the phrase, the weight of years of self-criticism pressing against it. It wasn't magic—she still saw the flaws. But somewhere in the sound of her own voice, a crack appeared in the wall she had built.
Grace tried the exercise in the quiet bathroom while the children napped. She kept her eyes closed at first, took a deep breath, then whispered, "I am fearfully and wonderfully made." Her voice trembled, her fingers clenching the sink's edge. When she dared to open her eyes, she forced a small smile.
Isabel locked her bedroom door and stared at her reflection, the glow of city lights filtering through the curtains behind her. Her mouth was dry, her heart racing. "I am fearfully and wonderfully made." She swallowed the lump in her throat and repeated it until the words softened from a foreign phrase to something almost familiar.
Ruth stood in the hall mirror, steady and calm. "I am fearfully and wonderfully made." She said it with the quiet conviction of someone who had weathered many storms and was ready to believe in new beginnings.
None of them knew what the next days would bring. But they knew this—truth spoken aloud was the first step toward freedom.