We’re living in a generation where the Bible is often seen as a collection of make-believe stories, just another piece of ancient literature written thousands of years ago. We call ourselves believers, and yet, so often, we deny its power and authority. We skim through it, pick and choose the parts that are easy to accept, and quietly skip over the words that cut deep.
Instead, we find ourselves clinging to quotes from social media, listening more intently to influencers and celebrities with millions of followers, trying to figure out how to live life well. We hustle, we grind, we build the lives we want with our own hands. We’re told to strive harder, to become someone, to be self-made, self-reliant, and self-sufficient.
Especially for us women, we’re encouraged to carve a name for ourselves. Be strong, be independent, don’t depend on anyone. Success is measured by how little we need others. And so we strive. We dream of being the rich tita, the independent career woman, or the ideal housewife. We work on ourselves not just for growth, but to be seen as worthy, as someone valuable.
Because deep inside, we all long for that. We want to be someone—a good daughter, a loving wife, a successful entrepreneur, a faithful worker, a woman with purpose. We chase titles, affirmation, and worth.
But we don’t want to be seen in our failures, in our shame, in our disgrace. We want to be known for our strength, not exposed in our weakness.
And as a young woman searching for identity and direction, I still wrestle with the definitions of womanhood the world throws at me. Sometimes, I don’t know where I stand in all of it. But I'm learning, day by day, to let God define me. To trade confusion for clarity, striving for surrender, pressure for peace.
And that’s when Luke chapter 1 stopped me in my tracks.
I’ve read it before, but this time was different. This time, my eyes met Elizabeth’s, and suddenly, I felt seen.
Luke opens with a story of an old man and a barren woman, righteous in God’s eyes. But I never realized that this woman, Elizabeth, carried such a deep sense of disgrace. In her culture, being barren wasn’t just a struggle—it was seen as a curse. A disgrace. And yet, she lived blamelessly before God, faithfully walking with her husband, longing for a child she never had.
Then one day, God answered. A miracle came. And Elizabeth said:
“The Lord has done this for me. In these days, He has shown His favor and taken away my disgrace among the people.”
—Luke 1:25
That verse wrecked me. Elizabeth didn’t earn God’s favor by working harder or trying to prove her worth. No. God simply saw her. And He removed her disgrace. He took away the disgrace she had quietly carried for years.
Her story is tucked in a chapter that ultimately points to Jesus, and yet, even before Christ was born, redemption was already happening. In Elizabeth's life, we see the foreshadowing of the grace that Jesus would bring to all of us.
To every woman reading this:
How many of us are striving, hoping, aching to create a life that finally makes us feel enough?
How many of us feel like a disgrace?
Maybe you feel disgrace because your arms are still empty from the child you long for.
Maybe your heart still aches from a divorce you never expected.
Maybe someone promised you forever, then left you raising a child alone.
Maybe you carry disappointment for not reaching the dream your parents once spoke over you.
Maybe you’ve been waiting for years—still single, feeling forgotten in the background.
Maybe you're the breadwinner, bearing the weight of everyone’s needs, trying so hard not to break.
Maybe your heart is shattered over a promise of a ring—left waiting, then left behind.
Maybe you just graduated, but never received the license you worked so hard for.
Maybe you’re a mom watching your child rebel, unsure how to reach him again.
Maybe you’re a wife holding the family together, quietly carrying a weight no one else sees.
Maybe you’ve wrestled with thoughts of ending it all—carrying a pain no one seems to notice.
Maybe you feel disgrace because of your weight—your body not fitting the trend, the mold, the standard.
Maybe the mirror reflects a kind of disgrace you never speak of, but always feel.
In the quiet and the chaos, in the ache and the waiting, God sees you. He knows every tear, every silent prayer, and every step you take just to keep going. Just like He saw Elizabeth, He sees you, and He’s not finished. You don’t have to prove your worth because in His eyes, you already have it. So maybe it’s okay to rest, to stop striving so hard because His grace reaches even the places where disgrace has stayed far too long.
And it’s all possible—only through Christ. So go, run, chase God—girl, you're gonna get to know Christ. Let His truth rewrite your worth, His love heal your ache, and His grace remove every trace of disgrace.
