When God Works with the Few
“ The Lord said to Gideon, ‘You have too many men. I cannot deliver Midian into their hands, or Israel would boast against Me, “My own strength has saved me.” ’ ” (Judges 7:2).
In the book of Judges, the Lord reduced Gideon’s army from thousands to merely three hundred men, a remnant that seemed insignificant in the face of a vast enemy. Yet it was through that one percent that God displayed His power and secured victory for Israel. The Lord intentionally chose the small, the least, and the unlikely, so that no one could boast in human strength. This story still speaks today: God is never limited by numbers, resources, status, or what appears impressive in the eyes of the world. He delights to work through what seems inadequate, in order to reveal that His grace and might are more than enough.
I have witnessed this principle in my own life. There have been seasons when I felt painfully underqualified, under-resourced, and overwhelmed by the size of the battles before me. Yet time and again, the Lord has stepped into those very places of lack and turned them into testimonies of His faithfulness. He used the little that I had, the smallest opportunities, the weakest moments, and transformed them into open doors, restored relationships, surprising provision, and quiet breakthroughs that only He could have orchestrated. My story is simply another echo of Gideon’s: God uses the least to perform wonders.
If you feel as though your strength is too small, your faith too fragile, or your situation too far gone, remember that the God of Gideon is your God too, and your limitations do not diminish His capacity. The question is never, “Am I enough?” but always, “Is God with me?” and in Christ the answer is a resounding yes.
Prayer: Lord, take the little that I have, the weakness that I feel, and the battles that I face, and show Yourself strong on my behalf, that my life may testify that You alone are the God of the impossible. Let this be so and so it is in Jesus’ name. AMEN!
Xoxo,
Lady Abena.
Independence Day 2026
Independence Day feels different when you’ve chosen this country as your home. As an immigrant, I look at the fireworks and see more than bright colors in the sky—I see the long journey that brought me here. This land has blessed me with opportunities I once only dreamed about, and even though the path has not always been easy, I carry a deep and quiet gratitude in my heart for the chance to live, work, and grow here.
My story in America has been full of highs and lows, moments of triumph and moments of doubt. There were days when I felt overwhelmed, out of place, or unsure if I truly belonged. But those challenges have been some of my greatest teachers. I cherish the experience and the “training” I’ve received through them all: learning resilience through setbacks, patience through waiting, courage through fear, and humility through starting over. Each struggle has shaped me into someone stronger, wiser, and more compassionate.
What means the most to me is that this country has not only given me room to build a life, but also the space to give back. Using my gifts and talents to serve my community - whether through my work, my time, or simply showing up for others - has become one of my deepest joys. On Independence Day, I celebrate not just the freedom I’ve found here, but the beautiful responsibility of contributing to the place that has welcomed me. This journey has changed me forever, and for that, I am endlessly grateful.
God bless the United States of America. Happy Independence Day!
Xoxo,
Lady Abena.
Soft Heart, Strong Spine
There’s a new woman walking around in my skin, and I quite like her. She doesn’t lose sleep over who approves of her, she happily exits any room that costs her peace, and she has zero interest in performing emotional gymnastics to keep anyone comfortable. She is not mean, bitter, or hard, she’s just done with chaos, confusion, and conversations that require a decoder ring. If it’s not clear, kind, or grounded, she’s not signing up.
For years, I’ve been labeled “too strong” or “she can handle her own,” as if strength disqualifies a woman from softness or support. The funny thing is, the stronger I’ve become, the easier I love, and the easier I release. I can care deeply and still walk away or shut the door gracefully when my peace is on the line. That’s not coldness; that’s emotional adulthood. I no longer see relationships as auditions where I’m trying to prove I’m worth choosing. I know my value. If someone can’t see it, that’s not a crisis; that’s a quiet redirection.
This isn’t about not wanting people in my life. It’s about refusing to shrink to keep my seat at a table that was never built for the fullness of who I am. I’m not squeezing myself into any box labeled “less,” “quieter,” or “easier to manage.” I’m choosing the wild luxury of wholeness over the discount version of myself that will make someone comfortable. Call it selfish if you want. I call it stewardship. I am finally curating my life like it’s the only one I have - because it is. And peace, I’ve decided, is my non-negotiable.
Nice to meet you….
Xoxo,
Lady Abena.