My Journey with the Serenity Prayer
The first time I saw the Serenity Prayer, I was about ten years old.
It hung on the wall near our kitchen table — a year-long calendar with those words printed across the top. Every time we sat down for a meal, my eyes — always drawn to words — would land on that prayer:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
I didn’t fully understand it then, but something deep inside me resonated with it. Because even as a child, my life already felt a little out of control. I longed for peace — for order, for safety — for someone to step in and make sense of the chaos.
“I’ve seen a limit to all perfection, but your commandment has no bounds.”
— Psalm 119:96 (CEB)
My Name Is Jennifer…
…and I am a grateful believer in Jesus Christ who struggles daily with trying to order the chaos around me.
My parents married young — not unusually young for their time, but still young. Within the first year, my mother became pregnant with me. My biological father didn’t want a child. He didn’t want me.
Still, my mother chose to carry the pregnancy. She went to every appointment alone, cared for me without emotional support, and did what she could with what she had. When I was born, it was my grandmother who brought us home from the hospital.
“Even if my father and mother left me all alone, the Lord would take me in.”
— Psalm 27:10
One night, holding me in a bar where my father was drinking, my mother’s spirit stirred. She heard it clearly:
“This is not the life I want for my daughter.”
By the time I was one, she was divorced, and we had moved in with my grandparents. Eventually, she met the man I now call Dad — the man who chose to love me, adopted me when I was three, and has never left my side.
“This is my commandment: love each other just as I have loved you.”
— John 15:12
Loss and Love in the Same Breath
I do not know my biological father. His absence has always been part of my story — a quiet ache. But also present was the steady love of a man who chose me. I’ve learned that both loss and love can live side by side.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he saves those whose spirits are crushed.”
— Psalm 34:18
I Grew Up Watching People and Hiding Myself
I’ve always been a reflective person — someone who processes life on the inside. As a child, I didn’t know what to do with the abandonment I felt. And I didn’t feel I had permission to grieve, because I had an adoptive father who loved me well.
That tension stayed buried — unspeakable, but heavy.
“You have kept track of my every toss and turn. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. Are they not listed in your scroll?”
— Psalm 56:8
I became very good at tuning in to other people’s needs and emotions, even when I couldn’t name my own. I learned to avoid conflict, keep quiet, and maintain peace — even at the cost of myself.
What started as survival eventually turned into silence. I lost my ability to ask for what I needed or to even recognize when I was hurting. Over time, that became a kind of brokenness: poor boundaries, silent suffering, emotional exhaustion.
Drowning in the Silence
Twenty years later, I was drowning — not just sad, but unable to function. My emotions were numb. My thoughts were foggy. My prayers had no words.
“My God, my God, why have you left me all alone? Why are you so far from saving me?”
— Psalm 22:1
In that silence, I had just enough clarity to recognize that life wasn’t working. I wanted to be a better mom. I wanted to live. But I didn’t know where to begin.
A Small Retreat and a Crack of Light
I wasn’t expecting a breakthrough at a church retreat. I just needed a quiet place to feel close to God.
But during a small group conversation, two women gently invited me to begin naming what I was feeling — even if I didn’t yet understand it. They didn’t try to fix me or offer shallow advice. They simply held space for me to be honest.
“Carry each other’s burdens and so you will fulfill the law of Christ.”
— Galatians 6:2
One woman, in particular, shared her own story. She spoke of codependency — a word I had never heard — and how Celebrate Recovery had given her the tools to find healing, boundaries, and a deeper walk with God.
At first, I thought: That’s not me. I’m just tired.
But her story stayed with me. The words she used gave shape to my pain. And I knew deep down: I could not keep living the way I had been.
Walking into the Unknown
I didn’t know a soul the first time I walked into Celebrate Recovery at Cokesbury, in Knoxville TN.
I slipped in quietly, hoping not to be noticed — and yet hoping to be understood.
“Come to me, all you who are struggling hard and carrying heavy loads, and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28
As a preacher’s kid, I rarely felt free to be my full self — especially in church. I felt watched, labeled, expected to perform. But in Celebrate Recovery, I could simply be. No more pretending. No more polished image. Just me — broken and beloved.
Finding My Voice
The first gift CR gave me was freedom: freedom to stop performing and just be real. Over time, my husband and children began to come with me. We worshiped together — as we were, not as people expected us to be.
The second gift was my voice. In my women’s share group, I listened first. Then slowly, I began to speak. I started to name what I felt. I learned how to set boundaries — not out of fear or anger, but from a place of love and wisdom.
“Speak the truth in love, growing in every way more and more like Christ.”
— Ephesians 4:15
And I learned something critical: I didn’t get here overnight. I wouldn’t climb out overnight either. Healing came slowly, but it came.
Letting Go of What I Cannot Fix
Part of me had hoped that if I got help, my family would too. That if I healed, they might follow.
But I learned a hard and beautiful truth:
“Each of us will have to give an account of ourselves to God.”
— Romans 14:12
I can love people. I can encourage them. But I cannot fix them. That role belongs to God.
“Salvation comes from the Lord!”
— Jonah 2:9
The Prayer Comes Full Circle
Looking back, I can see it: God was working in me long before I ever knew what recovery meant. That Serenity Prayer I read as a child? It was a seed.
When I heard the full version of the prayer at Celebrate Recovery, I was ready — not just to recite it, but to live it.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart; don’t rely on your own intelligence. Know God in all your paths, and God will keep your ways straight.”
— Proverbs 3:5–6
The Full Serenity Prayer
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.Living one day at a time,
enjoying one moment at a time,
accepting hardship as a pathway to peace;
taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it;
trusting that You will make all things right if I surrender to Your will;
so that I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with You forever in the next.
Amen.
“I am confident of this: the one who began a good work in you will continue to complete it until the day of Christ Jesus.”
— Philippians 1:6
Your Story Matters Too
If any part of my story echoes in you — the silence, the sorrow, the search for peace — please know this:
You are not alone.
You are not beyond hope.
And you don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine.
There is grace enough for your story — not just the polished parts, but the broken ones too. There is a God who sees, who heals, and who walks with us from chaos to peace — one step at a time.
Pieces of the Puzzle 