Miriam walked to the whiteboard at the front of the room, her fingers tracing the words she had written in neat black marker:
I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well. — Psalm 139:14
She turned back to the group, her eyes soft but steady. "This verse isn't just a nice thought," she said. "It's a powerful reminder that each of us is created on purpose—fearfully and wonderfully made. Not because of what we look like, or what we achieve, but because God chose us."
Naomi's heart fluttered. She thought about her mother's laugh, a bright, unstoppable sound she had inherited. A small spark of warmth flickered inside her chest. Maybe she wasn't just the number on a scale.
Grace glanced down at her hands folded tightly in her lap. She pictured the tiny arms she held each night, the quiet moments when her children's fingers tangled in hers. For a flicker of a second, she felt seen—not for her body, but for what it could do.
Isabel's mind drifted to the comments on her latest post—the compliments she didn't believe. She thought about the loneliness that swelled when her phone was off, and for the first time, she allowed herself to wonder if maybe she was more than her filtered photos.
Ruth's eyes lingered on her own hands resting on her knees. She remembered Harold's words about her hands making beauty. Maybe those hands still held value, still told a story worth hearing.
Miriam smiled, breaking the silence. "When we believe this truth, it starts to change how we see ourselves—and how we live. It's not about perfection. It's about accepting that we are enough, exactly as we are."
The room felt softer somehow, the edges less sharp. Naomi met Grace's eyes and gave a small nod. Isabel looked up from her phone and smiled faintly at Ruth. Ruth returned the smile, a warmth blooming in her chest.
For the first time, they all sensed that this journey—difficult and messy as it might be—was one they didn't have to walk alone.