At seventy years old, Brenda did not expect to begin again. For decades, her life had a rhythm. Morning coffee in the same chair. Familiar rooms filled with shared memories. A future she thought was already written. And then one quiet season, everything changed. The house felt bigger. The evenings felt longer. The silence felt louder. She could have folded into the ache. She could have let the ending define her. Instead, she opened her Bible one morning and whispered, “Lord, what now?” That question became a journey. Not a dramatic, overnight transformation. Not a loud comeback story. But a steady, sacred rebuilding—one day at a time. She began writing what she was learning. The tears. The prayers. The small victories. The mornings she didn’t feel strong but got up anyway. The nights she chose faith over fear. The gentle truth that purpose does not expire just because a chapter ends. Those pages became Not Finished Yet. It is not a book about pretending pain doesn’t exist. It is about walking through it with dignity. It is about discovering that an ending is not the same as being finished. That breath still means purpose. That wisdom gathered over years is not wasted. Each day inside its pages is a step—soft, honest, steady—guiding women through loss, transition, and uncertainty toward renewal. Because sometimes the most beautiful chapters are not the ones we planned. They are the ones we write after we thought the story was over.