The end. Goodbye Liminal Letters

a new ship

I’ve always loved the analogy of a ship on a voyage. When you think of a ship, you think of the storms it’s come through, the repairs it’s needed, the wood being replaced over and over again. And at some point, you have to ask: is it the same ship — or a different one?

Different people will tell you different things. Some will say yes, it’s the same ship. Others will say no, it’s a different ship.

That’s how I think about my writing in 2026.
A different ship.

My message — the reason I write — has narrowed down this year. It’s for that one girl who is crying to herself, struggling with insecurity, her mental health, and adulting. So she knows she is not alone — that somebody before her was there, and somebody else made it out. And to show her that in all season God will carry her.

I’m looking back, looking forward, looking sideways in my life story. It’s close and intimate, and since these are things I’ve already processed, faced, and conquered with God and community. One of the things I've been doing since January is removing all the dates at the top or bottom of my writings. I want one girl to come to the words and immediately know she is seen.

God has been using my voice and for that I'm so honored and so grateful. One person said, “I’m always overthinking. How did you overcome this? How did you learn to trust God will protect you?”
Another said, “I’m waiting on something too. How do you have so much joy in obedience?”
Another said, “I struggle with people-pleasing — how do you stop forcing friendships?”
Another said, “You stay present and pause. How do you always make me feel seen?”
Another said, “How are you speaking out there and stay so secure as someone who stutters?”

One girl connected. One girl connected. One girl connected.

We spoke outside the page — conversations filled with prayer, hope, and honesty. And I realized this is bigger than me. What if I had sanitized my poems? writings? What if I pretended I had never been there — never  described what it can feel like.

Now my writing isn’t just about myself. It carries the stories of the women who reached out to me, the quiet courage behind their messages. My writing is raw, honest, and my audience is that girl. So, I will always linger in the past to help a girl name her present. 

Because if I don’t look forward, backward, and sideways in my life story, how can I bring somebody else along with me? 

I want to live a life that is not just for myself, but one that walks with other women facing these things. I am healed. I am whole. But wholeness means you don’t gloss over where you’ve been.

“Return home and tell how much God has done for you.” — Luke 8:39 (NIV)

The woods in my ship has changed. Not suddenly — but steadily, piece by piece, through seasons of growth and surrender. We're not going backwards but looking ahead. Liminal Letters is narrowing — not shrinking, but focusing. Leaning into a clearer vision: to point one girl through my life story to Jesus through the Heart Call.

I’m choosing to let go of timestamped Letters.
Trusting that one girl after another will step into the words as her present reality — and realize there is more on the other side of what she’s facing.

And this is the new ship I’ll be steering with God this year. Same name but a new vision.

xoxo,
Lynn :)

Photo Credits : Ranjith Alinga.