For This House
Every Season. Every Space. All for Him.
Every Season. Every Space. All for Him.
October 14, 2024 | 13 min read
Joey Hodges
If I’m honest, this story still freaks me out. I’m not a new Christian; I’ve been in church my whole life. But I would say I’m a relatively baby Christian when it comes to establishing a personal relationship with Christ and relying on prayer.
I’ve struggled with prayer my whole adult life. It came easier as a child because I didn’t analyze it too much. But as I got older and exposed to more, prayer started to morph into something I didn’t quite understand and I certainly couldn’t master. It felt performative — but not necessarily in a bad way. More like in the way that some people are talented at it and others are just…well, not.
And I was just…not.
If you called upon me to pray for the room at any given moment, every word in the English language would immediately fall out of my head, and I would stand there staring at you waiting for the floor to swallow me whole.
When I was in high school, I asked a good friend, who was pretty open about his relationship with Christ, about prayer. I confessed how much I struggled with it and that I didn’t do it much because of that.
“Prayer can be anything,” he told me. “I talk to God like he’s my homeboy. Sup, Lord. Thanks for this killer burrito.”
I thought about what he said for a moment, my guarded wall around prayer slowly breaking down. Huh, I thought. That makes more sense.
“It’s like talking to a parent,” he continued. “I don’t talk to Him any differently than I would talk to my Dad.”
Ah, there it was. My hang up. The great fatherly love.
I don’t think my friend knew it at the time, but he helped me unpack a lifetime of complications in that one simple statement.
I wasn’t well versed in chatting vulnerably with my dad. That’s just not the relationship we had. And frankly, it wasn’t a relationship I wanted to have.
And that somehow complicated my ability to establish a personal relationship with Christ through prayer.
With my wall starting to crumble slightly, I asked a question that I can still, to this day, pinpoint as the moment my prayer life and relationship with Christ changed forever.
“Can I pray in a journal?”
I’ve been writing my entire life. I’ve always felt more comfortable getting my thoughts out through written word. Ask me to speak and the world caves in. But writing? That, I can do. That’s where I’m comfortable. That’s where I show up as my most authentic and vulnerable self. Journaling had been my lifeline.
“Of course,” he replied. And the rest is history.
So now, it was February 2023 and I’d been feeling some kind of way for weeks. I was six months into a new job, one that radically changed my day-to-day life. I had been a new mom struggling with leaving my son daily to spend 8+ hours in a toxic environment that was sucking the life out of me when the answer to the problem fell in my lap.
A new job. Fully remote. 4 days a week. More money. And so family friendly that they were fully supportive of me pulling my son from daycare and keeping him home with me.
Too good to be true. That was the first thought that entered my mind when the offer came through. But I needed out. I needed to be with my son. And frankly, we could use the money.
I put in my notice at the toxic job and a month later I was setting up my cute home office and pulling my kiddo from childcare.
I really didn’t understand then why six months in I was feeling the way I was. Something just felt…off. I was full of anxiety despite not having a single reason to be anxious. And I felt change coming. I can’t quite articulate it any differently than that — I just felt it in my bones.
Being no stranger to that feeling, I started to explore what it could all mean in the only way I knew how, prayer journaling.
Over time, I started to get little breadcrumbs. I felt nudged to overhaul my online presence. That felt strange to me since I’d been online my entire adult life. As one of the original bloggers, I always felt more connected to my website than any social media platform, so the instructions I was getting felt confusing to me.
Create a TikTok account.
Weird. As I said, I’ve always been more comfortable writing than speaking. Deep down, I’ve always been drawn to the idea of video content, but it wasn’t something I’d ever committed to. Afraid.
Regardless, I listened. I found myself creating an account; Lots2smileabout — a nod to my AIM days.
I knew I wanted to connect with people, meet them where they were, help them feel seen, inspire and encourage them. So, with that theme in mind, I started brainstorming what the account might look like.
I set a date to launch this silly endeavor. An arbitrary date picked out of thin air. February 28, 2023.
The cool thing about journaling, especially prayer journaling, is that even if you forget, the pages remember. Oftentimes we pray in such moments of desperation, begging for clarity and guidance and just a little help oh my gosh, please.
But then the blessing comes and we’re on to the next thing, totally forgetting about that private, vulnerable moment between us and God.
I like the proof.
And the proof is what makes this story so powerful. I’ve yet to share it with anyone who didn’t immediately have chills up and down their arms.
Yeah, the proof is pretty cool.
February 28th, 2023 started like any regular day. My alarm sounded at 5 AM. I stumbled to the coffee pot and then to my office. I liked to get as much work done in those early morning hours before Captain Distraction, cough my son would wake up.
That morning, though, my heart felt heavy. Unable to shake the feeling, I pulled out my journal and penned down something that had been swirling through my head for weeks.
I mentioned earlier that I was a blogger. I’d been blogging since 2009, but I also went to school for Creative Writing. I’d been writing, in no official capacity, my entire life. When I graduated college with a seemingly useless English Degree with a concentration in Creative Writing right at the start of the recession, well. What else was I supposed to do? I took a job at a tanning salon and challenged myself to write a book.
I just wanted to see if I could do it.
And I did. I finished the draft the month before I got married and proceeded to do absolutely nothing with it for several years.
Fast forward to 2013, and I got sick. A scary kind of sick where they were throwing terrifying words at me at only 27 years old.
And all I could think was I don’t want to die before publishing a book.
Dramatic. I know. But it’s the truth.
So when I got better, which praise Jesus, I got better, I did exactly that. I rehabbed the draft, turned it into something relatively commercial and self-published it.
Again, my only goal with it was to do it. Maybe that was the wrong approach, I don’t know. But it was something I enjoyed and I just wanted to do it.
So I did it.
And that was enough for me.
I never pursued traditional publishing. And while I always hoped in the back of my mind that someday I could make a living from writing books, it was, as we were constantly reminded in school, a pipe dream.
So I’d settled into a very normal, very regular, very stable and very safe career.
But that February morning, I finally put pen to paper, giving life to the whispers in my heart. But this time, I got God involved and prayed.
The moment I closed the journal, I forgot about the prayer completely. I got back to work, my son woke up and the day went into its typical warped speed.
Until everything stopped.
Slack: Got a second for a quick chat?
My stomach dropped.
I don’t know how, but I knew. On some level, I just knew. When the words came tumbling out of my boss’s mouth, who also happened to be a very dear friend, everything went still.
When telling this story, I usually say that I immediately panicked, but that’s not actually true. As the call ended, a still calmness washed over me.
I’d been here before. Not there, specifically, but somewhere like it. Standing in the moment between then and the future; whatever the future was going to be.
You’re not there long. That moment, it’s fleeting. And it’s a unique sensation like an immediate transformation but one you didn’t have to sign consent for. And one you didn’t have a chance to prepare for.
It’s terrifying, that moment. But it’s also exciting; exhilarating. Anything can happen.
After making the necessary phone calls (my husband and my mom – because even though I’m a woman in my late thirties, you always need your mom), I took a shower. I don’t know why — maybe I felt like I needed to wash the experience from myself, or I needed a physical reset. But either way, in the quiet of the shower, it came to me.
Post a video.
What?
Post. A. Video.
Of what?
Your story.
Confused but obedient, I did what I felt guided to do. Raw and real, I showed up.
Hi, you don’t know me, but my name is Joey. And I just got laid off.
And I’m super freaked out because I was the breadwinner in our family and we have a 16-month-old…
Something else you probably don’t know about me is that I wrote a book back in 2014 and I published it; it’s called Yeah, maybe*, and I never did any proper marketing for it because I was too afraid.*
And you know what?
Now, I’m in a situation where I cannot afford to be too afraid.
I have gone in on Amazon and made it as cheap as Amazon would literally allow me to make it. It’s $2.99.
If you have it in your heart to help a mama with her little family and would purchase that book, I would really appreciate that.
If you cannot, totally fine, share this with anybody you know.
Share this with anybody you know.
If you could help me out, I would appreciate it so much.
I need to make a few things absolutely clear here:
It was not, even in my most dire of circumstances, in my nature to share that business on social media. It just…wasn’t. So when I tell you that creating and uploading that video to TikTok was so outside of my norm, I can’t stress that point enough.
At that point, I’d done everything I knew to do. I’d quickly reached out to my network, informing them I was open-for-hire and, for whatever reason only God knew at the time, I’d uploaded the super cringe video to the internet. There wasn’t anything left for me to do at that exact moment.
So, as someone prone to spiraling, I made a conscious choice. I think back to this moment often, honestly. Because that day could have been excruciating. But instead, I consciously handed it all over to God — I actually said it out loud. God, you’ve got this. And I took my son to a playground. Without any other immediate responsibilities, I spent the day intentionally with my son. Something I didn’t often get to do.
We played and enjoyed the sunshine. We went for a walk. We visited my mom. I made dinner and my husband came home from his job in education.
That’s important to note here. My husband works. But he works in education; and if you know, you know. My earning capacity has always just been higher.
He was full of supportive encouragement that I’d find another job soon.
I have a good feeling, I agreed. The thing is, though, my situation was kind of tricky.
Pulling my son from daycare wasn’t just a selfish decision. As he was growing into toddlerhood, it was becoming clear he was struggling with sensory issues. And those issues were making group settings difficult.
And if you’ve ever had a child needing childcare, you know finding said childcare usually involves waitlists. Very. Long. Waitlists.
So, I didn’t just need a job. I needed the right job. One that would be remote, family-friendly, understanding, etc etc etc.
I tried not to focus too much on any of that, constantly reminding myself nope, God’s got this. Breathe.
As we sat down to eat dinner, I quickly checked the video I’d posted several hours earlier.
0 views.
I shrugged, oh well. I tried.
Later on, with my husband now in full-on dad mode, I retreated to the bedroom. My heart and mind finally started to process what had just happened. And for the first time that day, the fear really began to creep its way in, sending electricity through my veins.
A whisper. Look.
What?
Look again.
I opened the TikTok app and did a double-take.
“Babe?” I shouted. I jumped off the bed and ran to the doorway of the bathroom where my husband was busy giving our toddler a bath. “I think TikTok is TikToking.”
“Huh?”
I shoved the phone in his face. “Look.”
There, before our eyes, the numbers climbed.
And climbed.
Likes.
Comments.
Saves.
Shares.
Followers.
What. Was. Happening?
The next several days were a whirlwind of disbelief. My TikTok account climbed to 5,000 followers in a matter of days. My Amazon KDP royalty reports were showing numbers I could not believe. People were reaching out demanding to know how else they could support me, my writing, and my family. And most shockingly, people were devouring the book.
It was surprising enough to me that people were willing to buy it and help us out. I didn’t really expect them to read it.
I certainly didn’t expect them to love it and demand that I write more.
I shared one video in the days following talking about how I was working on my resumé and someone commented: Resumé? Girl, you’re a career author now!
WHAT WAS HAPPENING?
When things finally started to settle, I grabbed my journal and thought I’d take some time to process on the back porch with a cup of coffee while my son was napping.
I opened the notebook to my last entry, pen poised to write when I saw it.
The prayer from that morning.
February 28th, 2023; 5:15 AM
I keep hearing “Share your stories.” I feel like this is from God and that he’s been telling me this for years and years. Is this you, God? You just want me “to do” and forget the rest? I’m excited to and willing to but definitely need your guidance.
What does this look like?
I sat, stunned, an electric current running through my veins as I reflected on everything that had just happened. Things I could only ever imagine happening in my wildest dreams. Career-changing things. Life-changing things.
As it was all happening, I couldn’t understand any of it. But there, in that moment, seeing the prayer before me in clear black and white, it all made perfect sense.
I asked what it looked like.
And He showed me.
Joey Hodges is the Amazon bestselling author of Yeah, maybe and Not so much. She writes the kind of stories that will transport you right back into those vulnerable coming-of-age moments. Whether you’re a teenager who needs to feel seen or an adult who needs to remember what it was like, you’ll find it in the pages of her books. For more stories by Joey, you can visit her blog and find her daily antics on TikTok. She married her high school sweetheart and they live in North Carolina with their son, two dogs and cat.