Here’s the simple truth: their healing is not your homework. What we can carry is discernment—the God-given ability to see their chaos for what it is without letting it derail our peace. Think of discernment as your spiritual GPS. It whispers when to reroute, when to slow down, and when to take the next exit entirely.
God, I thank You that I reserve the right to change my mind. I thank You that I am happy, healthy, healing, whole, and well. I thank You that with You, there’s nothing in this world I cannot do.
God’s answer to me lately has been one word: Move. Not move cities or move houses—just move. Physically. Take the walk. Stretch your legs. Get up! Jesus walked. He communed with His Father as He moved, and there’s something sacred and holy and divine about that. When I go on walking meditations, I hear God more clearly, more fully, more deeply. I see Him in the diversity of the leaves on the trees, in the falling leaves, in the rhythm of my steps, the chirping of birds, and in children’s laughter.
Shame has been a mother tongue because I was taught to be ashamed—ashamed of my body, my size, the fullness of my nose, the width of my hips, the gap in my teeth, the volume of my laughter, the chocolate brown of my skin, and the depths of my joy. But those very things I used to hate, those very parts of me I used to loathe, have become the parts I love the most.
Faith allowed you to ask. Work and action allowed you to have, to be, to do. Do, be, and have all you’ve ever dared ask Me for!
Reflecting on the moment when the impossible happened, I’m amazed by how often we dismiss what we can’t explain. Guarding your heart isn’t about withholding but about creating space for God’s timing to unfold. There’s a season for every revelation, and not every thought or plan is ready to bloom just yet.
This is why we share. Not to teach or preach, but to connect! To let God move between us, weaving threads of grace and truth that bind us to one another and to Her. It’s a sacred exchange, a divine collaboration, where each word spoken and received becomes part of the greater whole.
When I listen, God speaks to my innermost being, to my interstitial spaces. When I obey and act by faith, God moves big and bold on my behalf.
The only way to truly do this wrong is to not do it at all. So here I am, taking my own advice—showing up, even if it’s imperfect. Because what’s the alternative? To keep my thoughts to myself, trapped by the idea that I need to fit into some imaginary mold? As my nephew used to say at the beautiful, ripe, polite age of 2, ‘No, thank you, please!’
