Healing Hidden in Hardship

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Romans 8:28 — And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose for them.

November 2023 began like any other month—until one phone call changed everything.

When I answered, I found out that my husband, Chris, had been in a head-on collision. Both of his feet were broken. In an instant, life got hard. Really hard.

It was hard because you hate to see someone you love struggle. Chris is at his best when he’s serving others, and now he was the one needing help.

But he handled it with more grace than I think I would have. But even for a man of deep faith, I knew there were days when he sat in the quiet, wondering what God was doing behind the scenes.

I prayed constantly—not just for healing, but that God would use this season for something greater.

Now, two years later, praise God, Chris can walk again and is thriving.

But just a few months ago, as I was dropping off our son at daycare, I noticed his teacher, Ms. Linda, with her arm in a cast. She’s the kind of woman whose joy usually transforms a room, but that morning her face told another story.

She couldn’t pick up the babies, change them, or do any of the things that normally make her feel alive.

I knew Chris would be stopping by during his lunch break, so I prayed that God would give him the right words to encourage her.

When he called me later, I could tell the conversation had gone well. He said he shared a few doctor recommendations, but more importantly, he got to tell her he understood what it feels like to feel purposeless and to be unable to do the things you once took for granted. And he got to encourage her with the word of God.

What an answer to prayer.

And maybe that’s the thing. What if brokenness is really a bridge to healing? Did God break Chris’s feet? No. But He didn’t waste what he went through either.

Maybe the lessons God is teaching you in your darkest seasons are really meant to help light the way for others in theirs?

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Finding Family in Faith

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Psalms 68:5-6a — “Father to the fatherless, defender of widows—this is God, whose dwelling is holy. God places the lonely in families; He sets the prisoners free and gives them joy.”

I was anxious, yet so ready for this day to come. It was a day I had dreamt of for many years but unsure if I would ever see it.

Our son, Lennox was being dedicated to the Lord. Our church does it special for each baby. They have stood in the gap for us and prayed for this child long before he was born, so when we stepped onto that stage, it felt like a win for everyone.

My pastor spoke blessings over him, even sharing what his name meant. It was the kind of moment you wish you could hold on to and save for later. I couldn’t help but look around and glance at all the faces in the crowd of people who showed up for us.

Although many were there, I felt a pit in my stomach for who wasn’t. My family. None of them. They live hours away, and our lives aren’t as intertwined as they once were.

The hardest part was knowing my mom would have been there, cheering the loudest, if she could. But she is already in Heaven.

I almost found myself drifting to a place of despair, but in that moment the pastor called family and close friends up. That was the moment I remembered I was surrounded by love.

No, my loved ones could not be replaced, but I was amazed at how God had multiplied my community shoulder to shoulder with us. Praying.

As I looked to my right and left, I saw and felt the strength of those friends who had become family who I know will help us raise him in love.

And I’m sitting with this truth today. Yes, there will be tough moments in life where those you love cannot be there for you, but Jesus already knows and has already gone before you. He is preparing community for you through the Body of Christ.

You do not have to walk this alone or figure it out by yourself. He sends the right people before you even realize you need them. So, look around. Who is already standing beside you today?

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Letting Go To Let Life Grow

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Psalms 90:12 — “So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.”

Sometimes, when the house is quiet and Lennox is napping, I find myself scrolling through my phone. My feed is full of “mom content”—sweet little videos of babies laughing or taking their first steps, with soft music and captions playing in the background.

At first, it feels comforting—a brief escape from responsibilities. But then the captions hit: “They’ll never be this little again.” “You only get eighteen summers.” “You’re going to miss this.”

And there it is—that sinking, anxious feeling in my stomach. I came here to relax, but instead I’m face to face with the truth that time is slipping through my fingers.

Then all the questions start: Am I doing enough? Am I making the most of these moments I will never get back?

It sounds so dramatic, but it honestly makes me sad.

The joy I feel playing with Lennox slowly shifts into a panic. Things will never be the same. But in one of those moments, God spoke to my heart.

“He’s supposed to grow. He’s supposed to change.”

I sat with that truth. Lennox growing and changing is proof that he is alive. Thinking about how the good times don’t last always ever steals the beauty of the “right now.”

I want to encourage you with the same thing too. Change is scary, but I believe the best thing we can do is surrender all the good things back to Jesus.

So, I’m practicing open hands.

I take in the sweetness, I thank God for it, and then I release it back to Him. I choose to love Lennox today, and to trust God with His tomorrow.

And maybe years from now, when he is taller than me, I’ll understand this better. The best way to keep a moment is to fully live it.

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Speak Up But Speak Life

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Proverbs 18:21 — “Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits.”

If you have lived through a Louisiana summer, then you know—August is brutal.

And people are not shy about letting you know it. You hear it everywhere: “ Whew I am hot.” “It is miserable outside.” “I cannot take this.”

It is like the official small talk of summer.

Honestly, I have been guilty of it too. You do not even realize how often you say it until the words start to echo.

But a few days ago, it hit me: talking about how hot it is does not change the temperature. It does not make the sun go away. Complaining about a season does not make it pass.

That made me wonder, “What if our words are part of the problem?”

What if, instead of feeding frustration, we practiced shifting our focus? Maybe it is hot—but maybe that means your day just became slower. Maybe it is hot—but maybe you remember your vacation isn’t far away. Maybe it is hot—but that local snowball stand is open and has your favorite summertime flavors ready for you.

There will always be something to complain about. There will always be something we wish we could change. But the truth is, the more we talk about what is wrong, the more it takes root. And I am learning—if I want to feel lighter, I have to speak that way.

So, the next time you catch yourself getting ready to complain, pause for a second. You do not have to fake it. Just find the good. Find the beauty. Let your words lift you up, not drag you down.

Speak life. Even when it is hot.

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A Lesson Beyond the Classroom

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Philippians 2:3 — “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.”

It was hard to get a read on Mr. O’Connor.

He was not mean, exactly; he was just tough. He was the kind of teacher who did not smile unless something was funny, and to him, most things were not.

He was a Vietnam veteran and a numbers guy. His math class was a no-nonsense zone. No one expected warmth from him, nor did he offer any.

“It drives me crazy when people say school should be fun,” he said. “It is nice if it could be, but you cannot make school fun.”

That about summed him up.

So, when senior Pat McGoldrick volunteered to help with a student blood drive and walked into Children’s Hospital Los Angeles, he was not thinking about Mr. O’Connor at all. But the second he mentioned that he went to St. Francis High School, all eyes lit up.

“Oh, you must know Jim O’Connor,” the nurses said. “Isn’t he just the best?”

Pat had to pause. Were they serious?

As far as he knew, “Jim O’Connor” and “the best” had never appeared in the same sentence. Something was clearly missing from his understanding, so he started asking questions.

That was when he found a plaque in the hospital that read, “Jim O’Connor, record blood donor.”

Not only that, but when he was not solving equations or terrifying freshmen, Mr. O’Connor spent three days a week in the hospital nursery. He fed, rocked, and comforted sick babies. He had done this for twenty years.

No one at school had a clue.

He had never been married. He had no children of his own, but you could tell he had fallen in love with those babies. They were his.

And now, Pat could see his math teacher in a whole new light.

“I have always respected him,” he said, “but now it is at a whole different level. I want to emulate him. He is the epitome of a man of service.”

Sometimes, you think you know a person, but you do not have the slightest idea.

Sometimes, you think you are learning calculus.

But the real lesson is love.

And that changes everything.

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God Never Skips Over You

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Colossians 3:23–24 – Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward.

Sunflower seeds, red dirt, and Gatorade. That was the theme of my childhood summers.

I can still smell the nacho cheese from the concession stand and see the red lips of other kids eating snowballs by the bleachers. Everything about those days stuck—on my cleats, in my memory, in who I was becoming.

Those days playing softball was where I learned how to work with others, how to win well, and how to lose without falling apart.

That is, I thought I had learned it until the all-star list went up.

We were all crowded around the bulletin board. I was bouncing on the balls of my feet, pretending not to care as much as I did. One by one, the names were called out. I leaned in.

And then it was over.

My name was not there.

I blinked, waited, and checked again. Maybe they skipped a line. Maybe someone forgot something. But they had not. They just… did not choose me.

I stood still. My face burned. I could feel my throat get tight. Everyone else was laughing and hugging. I just stared at the list offended. I had been one of the best on the team. At least, I thought I was.

By the time we got back to the car, I was quiet in that heavy way you are when you feel hurt. My arms were crossed, eyes out the window. I hoped no one would say anything.

But later on, my dad came to me, handed me my glove, and said, “Let’s get to work.” There was no lecture, no pity, just steady love.

So, I kept going.

That year I worked harder, not to prove them wrong, but to become someone who did not give up so easily. The next season, I was the starting pitcher.

Looking back now, I think God used that moment to teach me the kind of lesson you can’t learn when everyone is clapping for you. He used it to show me that being overlooked by people does not mean being unseen by Him.

If you are walking through something similar—feeling forgotten, wondering if any of it matters—please hear this. It does matter. You matter. You matter even when no one calls your name.

The invitation is not to quit or to prove them wrong. It is to put in the work, to trust who God says you are, and to grow like it is true.

Because it is.

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Stop Running, Start Resting

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Psalms 46:10 — “Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!”

Ann was elbow-deep in tomatoes at the grocery store when a voice from the past stepped into aisle four.

It was Mrs. Martin, her second-grade music teacher. She had the same no-nonsense expression and same silver hair pulled tight. The only difference were the wrinkles and the orthopedic slippers replacing her old patent pumps.

Just like that, the memories returned. Music class. The rhythm drills. The clapping.

Ann never could get it right. Her classmates moved together in sync, but she always lagged a step behind. Mrs. Martin would pace the front of the room, heels tapping the tile, calling out.

“Beat, beat—rest,” she said. “You have to feel the rest! You cannot feel the rhythm if you do not know when to stop.”

Ann tried, but her timing always felt off. After a while, she stopped trying altogether.

Now in her fifties, she stood in that grocery aisle watching her former teacher, and a quiet thought rose.

I think I finally understand what she meant.

She had not clapped in years, but the pressure to stay in rhythm never left. Life just swapped playgrounds for deadlines. Instead of rhythm drills, it was school pickups, doctor’s appointments, late-night emails, and holidays to plan. Ann kept the pace. She showed up, but underneath it all, she felt like she was always a little behind—missing something she could not name.

Maybe that something had been rest.

Not a nap. Not a vacation. But the kind of stillness that leaves space for breathing, listening, and being.

Lately, she had begun making time for it—ten quiet minutes in the morning, a walk without her phone, a chair by the window in the late afternoon sun. At first, it felt useless, but over time, those moments became something sacred. She felt a different kind of peace began to rise, not from finishing the to-do list, but from laying it down.

And now she could hear it clearly: the rhythm that had always been missing. The rests were not interruptions. They were the invitation.

Ann glanced at Mrs. Martin once more and smiled. Some lessons just take longer to land.

So, friend, if your heart feels out of rhythm, just know that you were you were not created to run without stopping. You were made for a rhythm that includes real rest, and that is not selfish. It is where your soul remembers who God is.

What if you made space for it today? Not someday. Not after everything is done. Just one breath. One quiet prayer and moment of stillness. You might be surprised at the peace you finally feel.

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When Faith Is Fun Again

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Psalms 16:11 — “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”

It started with a bag of pretzels and a quiet parking lot. I was sitting with my car engine off while finishing a snack before heading home. That was when a dad and his two young kids came out of the store.

I was not trying to stare, but they caught my eye. There was something about the way they moved—like they were late for a plane. But they were not running.

Oh no. They were speed walking.

I mean it. Elbows bent, legs moving in exaggerated strides, eyes locked on their destination: the family car. It was so dramatic that I laughed out loud because it hit me—they were racing for the front seat.

Of course they were.

The younger one kept glancing over at his sibling to measure the gap, then picked up his pace. He was still technically “not running,” likely because their dad had told them not to. That just made it funnier.

And suddenly, I was seven again. My brother and I did the same thing. We would fling open the store doors and speed walk like our lives depended on it. Riding shot gun was sacred. You got to sit by Mom. You controlled the radio. And best of all, the coldest blast of AC hit you first.

I smiled at the memory. Then, a different thought crept in.

When was the last time I brought that kind of energy into my faith? That full-hearted, joy-soaked, eyes-on-the-prize kind of intentionality? It struck me because I think a lot of people can relate.

Somewhere along the way, faith can start to feel heavy. We forget that God calls us not just to run the race, but to enjoy it—to walk with Him not only seriously, but joyfully.

We need both. Steady purpose and deep delight. Obedience with laughter. Reverence that still knows how to smile. That is the kind of pursuit that changes you.

Are you moving toward God with that kind of energy? Are you making room for joy along the way? Do not pick between the two. There is power when you choose both.

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Twelve Dollars of Love

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Hebrews 13:16 — “And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.”

One mom, Stacey, always tried to keep birthdays simple. No fuss, just a meal and some laughs. So, when Nathan turned twelve, she let him pick his favorite spot—Waffle House.

After they slid into their booth, Stacey leaned across the table and flagged down the lone waiter on duty, Philip.

“Hey, just so you know,” she said with a grin, “it’s my son’s twelfth birthday.”

She figured it might get him a free dessert or something, but she wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

Philip grinned right back and disappeared behind the counter. A minute later, he came back with a stack of twelve crisp dollar bills, one for each year Nathan had been alive.

He placed them in front of Nathan with a genuine, “Happy birthday, Buddy.”

Nathan’s eyes widened. He had never seen generosity like that up close. Stacey found herself blinking back tears. She knew the weight of that gift. She could picture Philip working long shifts, relying on every tip to make ends meet. Yet here he was, giving generously.

It was a lesson she’d been trying to teach her son for years, and here it was demonstrated in a roadside diner.

As they left, Stacey squeezed Nathan’s hand. She hoped he’d carry that moment with him, that he’d remember it long after the waffles were gone. Because, she thought, sometimes the best way to live is to give—even when it costs you something.

Friend, maybe you’ve been waiting for the right moment to put someone else first. Don’t wait. Little sacrifices, given freely, can turn a simple thing into a memory that lasts a lifetime. Let’s live that kind of story.

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Sunday Morning Struggles

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Isaiah 26:3 — “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.” 

The dogs were barking at the squirrels and frogs again this morning. Lennox was wanting my attention. My teenage stepdaughter was hunting through my closet for a cardigan. Chris was glued to ESPN, and my hair was refusing to cooperate.

It’s safe to say, Sunday mornings at my house are a bit chaotic these days.

But sometimes, in the midst of the noise, I remember my mom. She would stand near the window on Sunday mornings, playing her flute. She always chose that old hymn that made her smile. I can still imagine her lifting her voice in praise.

“Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face.
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.”

In those moments, everything just settled into peace.

This morning, however, I felt anything but calm. I told Chris to go on without me. We both serve at church, and showing up in a bad mood is never ideal. I just needed a few more minutes to get my life together.

In the stillness that followed, that old hymn crept back into my mind. I felt a gentle question press on my heart: Have you spoken to God yet? It stopped me in my tracks.

It was Sunday, of all days, yet I had rushed right past Him. My eyes had been fixed on the chaos instead of the One who brings peace.

The dogs still barked. The cardigan remained missing. The ESPN highlights rolled on. But somehow, those things seemed smaller when I turned my eyes back where they belonged.

If your life feels loud and chaotic like mine does, know this: there is another way to see it. When you lift your eyes to Him, the noise fades into the background. The chaos shrinks, and the peace grows. So, take a deep breath and look up. Let Him carry the weight that was never yours to bear alone.

Turn your eyes to Him, and watch the chaos shrink in the light of His grace.

 

LYRICS

O soul, are you weary and troubled?
No light in the darkness you see?
There’s light for a look at the Savior,
And life more abundant and free!

Refrain:
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

Through death into life everlasting
He passed, and we follow Him there;
O’er us sin no more hath dominion—
For more than conqu’rors we are!

His Word shall not fail you—He promised;
Believe Him, and all will be well:
Then go to a world that is dying,
His perfect salvation to tell!

Hymn by Helen H. Lemmel

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