Grief has a way of hitting our lives without warning. It doesn’t wait for the “right” moment, nor does it care about our plans, responsibilities, or the image of strength we try so hard to uphold. It arrives as a reminder that something meaningful has shifted in our lives. During a recent Sunday sermon, the pastor said something that echoed across the sanctuary and settled in many of our hearts: “Grief is the proof that we loved deeply and gratitude is the reminder that God still loves us.”
Browsing: Ain’t That A VHIT
You see, paper, whether literal or digital, has become both our shield and our shackle. It’s how we document, justify,
So, as I keep walking this journey, I’m learning to balance the fire with stillness, the mission with the moment, and the purpose with peace. Because at the end of the day, both the gift and the weight are part of what makes me, and maybe you, exactly who we’re meant to be.
Sometimes, we get so caught up in chasing what’s next that we forget what got us here. We forget the people who believed in us when we doubted ourselves, the ones who stayed up late helping us study, the mentors who gave us tough love, and the community that kept us grounded when we didn’t have much to stand on. Whether it’s a degree, a promotion, or a little more financial security, those wins can slowly make us forget that success doesn’t mean we’ve “made it”, it means we’ve been entrusted with a little more to give back.
There’s something powerful about being anchored. Not just physically, but spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. It’s what has kept our people grounded through generations, when the world shifted, when the winds blew, when the storms of life seemed too heavy to bear. Whether you picture a small ship fighting to stay steady in deep waters, or a palm tree bending but not breaking beneath fierce winds, the message remains timeless: when your roots run deep, you may bend, but you will not break.
To have a renewed mind is to make a daily decision to grow, emotionally, professionally, spiritually, and socially, no matter what life throws your way. It’s choosing not to let your past define your potential, and to believe that change isn’t just possible, it’s necessary.
I’ll be honest, the holidays hit differently in your forties. When I was younger, the season was full of laughter, noise, and the familiar rhythm of family, someone always cooking in the kitchen, kids running through the house, and old-school music playing in the background. Back then, joy came easy. It felt natural.
Patience. Just the word alone can make most of us take a deep breath. In a world of same-day delivery, instant streaming, and quick-turn responses, waiting feels almost foreign. We live in a time where everything is designed for speed, answers, results, even relationships. Yet, spiritually speaking, the moments that shape us most deeply are often the ones where we have no choice but to wait.
There’s something about hearing Kurt Carr’s “For Every Mountain” that still stops me in my tracks, even after all these years. It’s not just a song; it’s a testimony wrapped in melody. Every time the choir belts, “For every mountain You brought me over…” I can’t help but pause, breathe deep, and think about the mountains I’ve had to climb, and, more importantly, the grace that carried me through them.
At 46 years old, I’ve learned that life isn’t just measured by the victories we celebrate; it’s also defined by how we handle the darts that come our way. And truthfully, those darts don’t always come from strangers. Sometimes they come from family and friends. Sometimes they come from co-workers, people in your organization, or even church members, the very places you expect support.