W hen I returned from the beach, I was certain I would hit the ground running again. My body had rested, but my spirit was still learning a different pace. The first week back filled itself with distractions, and rather than force momentum, I chose to pivot. I refused to let the gift of rest be wasted. Then came another uphill climb. Plans unraveled. My rhythm needed recalibrating. And I was reminded of a lesson I seem to learn again and again: every time I try to sprint ahead of my season, God gently calls me to the bench. So here I am—moving from bed to couch, wrapped in tissues and herbal tea, nursing a cold, allergies or sinusitis that refuses to be ignored. No resistance. No striving. No desire to push through. Just stillness. Responsibilities were canceled. Deadlines released. Rest became the assignment. On a simple Trader Joe’s run for chicken noodle soup, fluids, and another round of medicine, I found myself pausing to breathe in gratitude. The world keeps spinning without...
I heard a message yesterday that said: You don’t get what you give. You get what you require. And those words lingered long after they were spoken. Too many times, I mistook loyalty for a life sentence. I stayed long after my spirit had outgrown the space, long after peace had packed its bags and left. Guilt whispered that obligation was noble, that carrying the weight was my responsibility, even when the burden was crushing me. I became devoted to potential, enchanted by the illusion of what could be, instead of honoring the reality of what was. Some truths arrive gently. Others break your heart before they set you free. So hear this: Never abandon yourself to remain in someone else’s story. Never shrink your needs to fit inside another person’s comfort. Never spend your life begging for purpose in places that drain it, or searching for peace where it has never lived. Peace does not come from enduring what is meant to end. Purpose is not found in self-betrayal. And when the...