Trusting Through the Thorns

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Romans 8:18 — “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.”

Honeysuckle and honey bees.

Growing up in the country, I could spend hours walking the fence line of our horse pasture. That stretch of land was thick with flowers and wild blackberries. I would breathe in the honeysuckle—it was the kind of aroma you want to bottle up and keep forever.

I would pick blackberries until my fingers were stained purple. The metal bowl clinked with every drop. Then I would take them inside to Mama. She would pour evaporated milk over them and sprinkle sugar on top. That bowl was better than Dairy Queen—better than anything, really.

But those berries did not come easy. The vines were full of stickers and prickers. To pick even a small bowl meant taking your time, moving slow, steady, and careful. If you got in a hurry or grabbed too quick, those thorns would draw blood.

It took precision. Patience. A little pain, too. But again, it was worth the scratches.

The older I get, the more I see how life works the same way. It will poke and prod and prick you along the way—especially when you dare to dream big, when you want to follow what God has placed on your heart. He never promised a smooth path. He never said the thorns would not come. But He did say He would be with you.

So if the road feels rough today, if your hands feel scratched from doing the right thing—keep going. The reward is real. The sweetness is still ahead.

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Comparison Kills Calling

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Ephesians 2:10 — “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.”

I have been reconnected lately with a few of my old high school classmates, and honestly, it has been a lot of fun. There is something sweet about reminiscing with people who remember your bad haircuts and awkward stage.

I graduated from Tallulah Academy. My class had twenty-seven people, so yes, when I say I finished fifth, it sounds great. But let’s be honest… fifth out of twenty-seven is not exactly a headline.

Still, for me, it’s more than just a number. It reminds me of a mindset people often fall into. The way we all kept score in high school. Who was the smartest? Who made the team? Who got invited where?

And it is funny how those habits follow us through life. The scoreboard just changes.

Now I catch myself comparing houses, talents, jobs, and ministries. I notice who gets more recognition. Who seems to have more influence? Who is moving faster? And that same quiet voice creeps in—”You are behind.”

I have looked around and wondered, “Why can’t I do what they do?

But here is the thing—I was never meant to be them. I was made to be Tammi.

God had a plan for me long before I knew how to spell my own name, and He did not get it wrong. He knew what He was doing.

So, friend, instead of keeping score or asking why you can’t do what someone else can, maybe ask this—”What has God put in me that only I can bring to the world?”

What lane has God put you in? That is not a mistake. It is a calling, and no one can run it quite like you can.

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The Gift Hiding in Your Faith

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2 Timothy 1:6 – “For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands.”

The day I discovered I could decorate cookies was the kind of day that you press your forehead to the window glass. Cold. Wet. Rainy.

I was little, and let me tell you, growing up, I didn’t spend much time in the kitchen. Baking, cooking, anything involving an apron? That just wasn’t my scene. I was the girl with scraped knees and a dirt-smudged ball cap, more interested in climbing trees than learning how to simmer or sauté.

But that dreary day, stuck inside and restless, I found myself asking, “What can I do today?”

A few weeks before, I had met a woman who was an artist—but not the gallery kind. Her canvas was soft-baked sugar, and her paint was glossy royal icing. I remember her saying, “You don’t have to be Leonardo da Vinci to make something beautiful. You just need to enjoy the process.”

She must’ve seen the doubt in my eyes, because she followed it up with, “Come over sometime. I’ll show you.”

So that rainy afternoon, I took her up on it.

She set out the piping bags and cookies. I followed her lead, awkward at first, like I was writing with my left hand. But hour by hour, the icing began to turn into art. The cookies started to look like something someone might actually buy.

And more importantly, I felt… creative.

Turns out, God had tucked something inside me that I never knew was there. I had always assumed creativity was reserved for the artsy kids with glitter pens and sketchbooks. But here was me, the tomboy, squeezing swirls of color onto little edible canvases and loving it.

Now, I decorate and sell custom cookies through my little online business: Taste of Tallulah. It still amazes me to say it out loud. What started as a rainy day experiment was the start of a God given talent I never knew I had.

And I wonder—what might He have in store for you? Don’t talk yourself out of it.

You don’t need permission from the world to try something new. You don’t even need good weather. Just a little curiosity, a little courage—and maybe some powdered sugar.

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Make Today Count

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Hebrews 12:11 – For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.

I was not the kind of kid who begged to be outdoors in the summer. I liked comfort, routine, and air conditioning. So, when my mother announced I would be attending back-to-back camps all summer long, I assumed she was joking.

She was not.

There was no negotiation. One week it was tennis. The next, basketball. Then came YMCA camp followed closely by dance camp. I remember thinking she must have mistaken me for someone else—someone coordinated, competitive, and social.

She had not.

She just loved me enough to be firm.

Her tough love was not up for debate, and though I wanted to resist, something slowly began to shift—not in her tough love, but in me.

There was this one camp—a Christian camp—where the rhythm of the days caught up with me in a different way. The mornings began with quiet time. It was the kind of quiet that made you think about things you usually avoided.

I learned to listen, not just to the camp leaders, but to my own choices. I noticed how much easier life became when I got enough sleep, ate what my body actually needed, and spent time with people who made me feel safe, not small.

At the end of the summer, I left with a small pin on my shirt that said, “Honor Camper.” It was just a pin, but it felt good because what I really achieved was a new mindset.

Looking back, that summer was not about sports or schedules. It was about learning how to show up for myself, for others, and for the Lord. And it turns out, showing up takes practice. It takes daily choices, honest reflection, and uncomfortable effort.

Maybe life is not all that different from summer camp. Every day, you get a fresh start. You can opt in or out. You can show up or shrink back. You can waste the time God gave you or let it change you.

What if you stopped waiting for a “big moment” and just lived today like it mattered? Try something new. Build honest friendships. Sweat a little. Laugh a lot. Choose the kind of effort that builds you from the inside out.

And remember—God did not give you this life so you could sit on the sidelines.

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This Is Not God’s First Rodeo

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2 Corinthians 10:5 – “We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ.”

I was ten years old the first time I saw a trick rider up close, and I could hardly breathe for how bad I wanted to be her.

It was rodeo night in Winnsboro, Louisiana. The spotlight swept across the dirt as the music kicked up and the trick riders took the field. They twirled lassos, stood on galloping horses, flipped and flew like they were born in the saddle. Their hair trailed behind them like ribbons. The crowd roared, and I sat still, wide-eyed and smitten.

The minute we got home, I found a rope and made it my mission. I swung it over my head until my arms ached. I practiced spinning it on the ground and tried, again and again, to jump in and out like the woman in the spotlight.

I gave it hours. Days. I got rope burns, blisters, and more than one scolding for flinging it too close to the furniture.

My daddy loved rodeos too. If he was not on the tractor or the combine, we were on the road—to Monroe, Crossett, Jackson—anywhere a rodeo could be found. We never missed a chance, and every time the trick riders came out, I felt that spark light up again. I would go home, dust off my rope, and try one more time.

But I never did master that thing. Somewhere along the way, the dream started to dim. It got too hard, and it was not the rope that wore me out—it was the thoughts that crept in. You are not made for this. You will never get it right. I listened. And eventually, I let go.

So no, I never became a Trick Rider.

But years later, I found myself back in those same small towns. Only this time, I was pursuing a different kind of calling. God opened doors I never saw coming in southern media. I got to work with farmers and cowboys and stand in the very heart of the culture I once dreamed of performing in.

No, it was not what I pictured at ten years old, but it was good. More than good. It was full of purpose. Still, I wonder what might have happened if I had not let discouragement write the ending to that first dream. Could God have done even more if I had held on just a little longer?

So here is what I want to tell you: if there is a dream in your heart, do not hand it over to negativity. When your mind starts to wander—when those discouraging thoughts circle in close—fix your focus. Lasso the thought. Take it captive before it takes root and give it back to God

No, you do not need to be perfect. You just need to trust God.

He is not afraid of the size of your dream. And remember—He is not new to this. This is not His first rodeo.

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Take Back Your Thoughts

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Philippians 4:8 — “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”

Everyone said the newborn stage was hard—but this was something else. Clara felt distant from everything, even herself. When her daughter cried, she just felt numb and frustrated.

She hated admitting that, even to herself.

She feared that if she spoke the truth—how lost and detached she felt—someone might think she was unfit to be a mother. So she said what people wanted to hear. “We’re adjusting.” “Just tired.” “Everything’s fine.”

But nothing felt fine.

The fog made every day feel slow and heavy. Her body ached from doing the simplest things. Medication helped her function, but it did not bring her back to life. She missed joy. She missed herself. Mostly, she missed peace.

Then she found the right therapist. It was an answered prayer in disguise.

Clara showed up scared and ashamed, convinced she was failing, but the woman across from her never flinched. She just listened. No judgment. No pity.

One day, Clara said, “I cannot stop thinking these awful things.”

Her therapist replied, “What if your thoughts are not telling you the truth?”

Clara had never considered that. The woman continued, “Your feelings are real, but they are not in charge here. You are not stuck. You can choose where your thoughts land.”

It sounded impossible. But Clara gave it a try.

At first, it felt awkward. But little by little, she noticed the patterns—the quiet lies pulling her under. She began replacing them with something better. Sometimes it was her daughter’s breath against her chest. Other times it was the smell of breakfast or a sunbeam piercing through the curtains. Small things. But they were enough to turn her thoughts toward something better.

Since then, she has found hope, steadiness, and joy in this postpartum. It is all thanks to her new thoughts.

Clara still has hard days. But now she knows where to take her thoughts. She says “I can choose what I focus on. I am not my depression. I can find light, even here.”

And that has made all the difference.

So, friend, if your mind has been loud lately, maybe this is your moment too. You do not have to believe every thought that crosses your mind. Choose what is true, what is kind, and what is lovely.

Because the voice of God speaks louder than shame, and His truth gets the final word.

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Running Back to Love

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Romans 8:38-39 – “For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

I wasn’t always the frilly-dress type. When I was eleven, I was happiest with a BB gun in my hand, barefoot in the backyard, trying to see how many things I could hit before supper.

My daddy had built our barbecue grill out of a 55-gallon drum. It was welded together like a tank and sat right next to the sliding glass door leading into our living room.

For some reason I decided it would be a good idea to aim at that old drum grill.

So, I aimed, I fired, and I missed.

That BB zipped past the grill and hit the sliding glass door square-on. It exploded and shattered into a kaleidoscope of a million pieces. The bang rang out across the whole yard, and my stomach flipped.

I dropped the gun and took off running, full speed, to my friend Tracy’s house next door. Now, we lived out in the country so her house was about half a mile away. But I decided that I would now need to live with Tracy and her family. I knew Mom and Dad were going to be furious.

You can guess what happened next. Tracy’s mama called mine. And Mama, in the most calm, matter-of-fact voice, said, “Send her back.”

I walked home slowly. Shoulders tight. I was ready to pay the piper, and I figured I had it coming. But what met me was not the fury I expected—it was love.

Sure, my parents were upset, but they wrapped me up in their arms and said, “That glass can be replaced. You cannot.”

There are some lessons you carry into adulthood, and for me, that is one of them.

I still mess up and still flinch when I know I have let someone down. But the older I get, the more I see it—God is not watching from a distance, waiting to punish me. He is the One who meets me at the door with love. Every time.

He knows what shattered, and He still wants you.

You are not replaceable. You are not forgotten. You are loved beyond measure, and you always have a place to come home.

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Get Back in the Saddle

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2 Timothy 1:7 — For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline.

Daddy had me in the saddle of a horse before I even had my first loose tooth. I remember my little legs jutting out like sticks, trying to hold on to Dugar, my Palomino, whose coat shimmered like honey in the sun.

Daddy loved horses, and I loved that he wanted to share them with me. Every Saturday, he’d saddle up Dugar and hand me the reins, his big hand steady on my back. I’d watch his face as he tightened the cinch, his eyes full of pride.

We rode together for years, me and Dugar. I learned to sense his moods—when he was feeling feisty, when he was calm, when he’d rather graze than gallop. I’d talk to him like he was my best friend, which he probably was.

Then came the day everything changed.

It started like any other morning, but that day, Dugar had a wild streak in him. He bucked hard, harder than he ever had before, spinning and kicking like he wanted to leave me behind. My heart pounded in my chest as I clung to the saddle, every nerve screaming for me to let go.

But I didn’t. I held on until the saddle slipped, and then I hit the ground. Hard.

My head slammed into the ground, landing just inches from my father’s disc harrow. If you’ve never seen one, imagine a row of sharp, spinning blades pulled behind a tractor. Think of a guillotine on wheels ready to chew up the dirt—and me.

Daddy was there in an instant. I don’t remember much, but I remember the look in his eyes—wet, relieved, scared. But I was alive. No broken bones, not even a concussion. He said it was a miracle. We found out later that the cinch had not been latched properly. It was a small mistake, but it nearly cost me everything.

The next morning, Daddy leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes soft. “You ready to ride again?” he asked.

Every part of me wanted to say no. My stomach twisted at the thought of that wild-eyed horse and the way the ground had rushed up to meet me. But Daddy held my gaze, his voice steady. “If you don’t get back on that horse,” he said, “you’ll carry that fear with you the rest of your life.”

So, I took a deep breath and swung my leg over Dugar’s back. My heart thudded with every step he took, each hoofbeat a reminder of the risk, but also of all the rides we’d shared—sunny afternoons, slow walks under the oaks, the way his breath felt warm on my cheek. I chose to trust him again. And in that moment, I chose to trust myself too.

Life has a way of bucking us off when we least expect it. It’s messy and wild and sometimes leaves us face down in the dirt. But staying there isn’t an option. It’s not how we’re made. It doesn’t matter how many times you get bucked off—what matters is how many times you get back on.

So, dust yourself off. Get back on that horse, friend, and let Jesus take the reins.

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The Vacation We Already Had

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1 Corinthians 16:14 – “Let all that you do be done in love.”  

They say time flies when you’re having fun, but that nine-hour car ride to Tennessee felt more like crawling through molasses.

We had piled into two cars—my dad, his new wife, her boys, my sister and her family, my best friend, and me—and drove the whole way. For a tween, that felt like forever and a day and a thousand “are we there yets” stuck in a car.

When our caravan finally rolled into Gatlinburg, we checked every tourist box: souvenir shops, ice cream stands, hiking a mountain or two. And yes, an old-timey country music show that I vowed—loudly—not to attend.

We went anyway. And if I’m honest, the only thing I remember is seeing a cute boy and getting my very first crush.

But years later, that’s not what I hold on to.

The real treasure was back at the rental house.

That little cabin tucked in the trees, became the center of it all. We would pile into the kitchen and cook up whatever groceries we grabbed. We played board games with missing pieces. We argued. We laughed and laughed and stayed up too late.

And that was the best part.

Not the boy. Not the Smoky Mountains. Not even the pictures we took.

All the places we visited were just backdrops. The real story? It happened around the dinner table, on the living room floor, over pancakes and pillow talk and time together.

And here’s what I have come to believe:

You don’t have to travel to find that kind of wonder.

The best parts of life don’t require tickets or plans. They require simple love. A few unhurried moments around the table together. A Bible open before bed. Laughter that’s not rushed. Togetherness that isn’t scheduled, but chosen.

That is what it’s all about.

So, don’t wait for a vacation to make space for the people who matter. Start now. Tonight. Right here, in your own home. Because the best part of life? You don’t even have to ask, “Are we there yet?”

You’re already there.

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Banjo Strings and Blessings

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Colossians 3:14 — “And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.”

There’s a kind of joy you don’t plan for. It just shows up with paper plates and a guitar. That is how it was sitting outside under the pines at one of my family’s old-fashioned pickin’ and grinnins’.

I was across the table from Uncle Benny. He was working his way through the same question for the fifth a. I kept answering him, because what would be the point in correcting him. Right?

The little ones were darting around barefoot, chasing each other with sticky fingers, dripping popsicle juice everywhere. Someone’s toddler squealed with laughter, and a cousin hollered something about fire ants. If I remember right, a few of the grown-ups rolled their eyes when somebody forgot the ice. Bless it.

The heat was doing what Southern heat does. I kept swatting mosquitoes and trying to smooth down my hair, but before I could even be bothered, the music started.

One by one, a guitar, a banjo, and eventually a karaoke machine made their way out. People gathered near the porch, clapping and singing—some on key, some not even close. It was wonderful.

I couldn’t tell you what we ate that day, probably hot dogs and potato salad, but I remember the sound of my aunt’s laugh. I remember the cold bite of watermelon, and I remember feeling so full, not from food, but from the people around me.

When I think of those “pickin’ and grinnin’” days, my heart aches a little in that sweet way. I want to go back. I want to relive the moments where everything else fell away and all that mattered were the people right in front of me.

So, today, I’m choosing to live like every day is a pickin’ and grinnin’. I won’t wait for the weather to be perfect or for someone else to bring the ice. I want to bring my own glad heart, be interruptible, laugh, and sing off-key.

There’s a lawn chair waiting. Maybe you’d like to join me?

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