No Accidents, Only Plans

I have been thinking about what to share with you next, and this time, instead of trying to force clarity before writing, I decided to simply begin with what has been sitting in my heart. Sometimes the most honest place to start is not with a polished idea, but with reflection — with the thoughts that surface when life slows you down just enough to notice them.

Recently, I experienced a fall at home. It wasn’t dramatic, and it wasn’t caused by anything external. I was simply carrying too much at once. I lost my balance, and I couldn’t recover it in time. The result was pain in my left hip and pelvic area, and the strong suspicion that I had irritated or possibly torn something — perhaps a labral tear. What followed was not only physical discomfort, but an emotional response that surprised me with its weight.

When the Setback Feels Self-Inflicted

One of the hardest parts of this experience was not the pain itself, but the realization that I felt responsible for it. I wasn’t pushed. I didn’t trip over something unexpected. I made a decision to carry more than I should have, and I paid the price for it.

That made this setback feel different.

There is something uniquely discouraging about suffering that feels self-inflicted. It carries an added layer of frustration — the quiet accusation of “You should have known better.” I found myself replaying the moment in my mind, wishing I had slowed down, taken two trips instead of one, or asked for help.

And so, in addition to physical healing, I had to work through the emotional weight of blame.

The Bible tells us,

Psalm 37:23 “The steps of a good man are ordered by the LORD: and he delighteth in his way.”

But in moments like this, it can be hard to reconcile that truth with what feels like our own misstep.

Learning to Pause and Listen Again

Because of the pain, I stopped doing certain exercises. I didn’t stop moving altogether, but I became more careful, more intentional, and more aware of my body. Over time, the pain did begin to ease. I am not 100% healed yet, but I am a lot better than I was (and fully resumed my activities).

That season of slowing down forced me to listen — not just to my body, but to what God might be teaching me in the pause. Awareness is not always comfortable, but it is often necessary. I had to admit that pushing through everything is not always wisdom, and that rest, restraint, and adaptation are sometimes acts of obedience rather than weakness.

Discovering What I Didn’t Know I Needed

During this time, being more conscious of my physical limitations and my need for stability, I became aware of a class at my local gym that I hadn’t known about before. I visited one day, observed it, and after some thought, decided to join.

The class includes movements and exercises I would not normally choose for myself — balance work, stability training, and intentional strengthening of muscles that support confidence in movement. In many ways, it felt less like a typical workout and more like therapy to me.

It challenged me in ways that were unfamiliar but necessary.

Looking back, I can see that had I not fallen, had I not been forced to reassess my physical condition, I might never have noticed this class at all.

A Face From the Past

One of the most unexpected moments came when I realized who the instructor of the class was.

When I was in high school, I was part of the archery team. We practiced for competitions, and one of the instructors was this same woman. She knew me then — when I was about eighteen years old — long before life, injury, and time had reshaped my body and my story.

Now, here we were again, twenty-five years later, crossing paths in a completely different season of life.

It was humbling. A little amusing. And quietly meaningful.

God has a way of reconnecting us with people from our past, not to return us to who we were, but to show us how far we have come — and how He has been present in every chapter.

Wrestling With Responsibility

Despite all of this, I still wrestled with the fact that the fall had been my fault. That internal dialogue didn’t disappear overnight. I felt upset that I had created another obstacle for myself, another hurdle in a life already marked by recovery and limitation.

Then, during a sermon, the preacher said something that stopped me in my tracks.

He spoke about moments when we ask God, “Why did this happen? Why am I dealing with this?” And then he shared a simple but profound truth:

God said, “I don’t have accidents. I have plans.”

That sentence settled into my spirit.

Seeing Through a Different Lens

What I saw as a self-inflicted setback, God saw through a different lens entirely. I may not know all that His plan includes, but I am learning that even when our choices contribute to difficulty, God is not limited by our mistakes.

Scripture reminds us,

Romans 8:28 “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”

“All things” does not exclude our misjudgments. It does not exclude our missteps. It does not exclude moments when we wish we had done things differently.

Faithfulness Without Immediate Results

I have only been attending this class for a couple of months. I cannot point to dramatic changes or grand results. But the instructor has mentioned noticing improvement in my balance, and that encouragement matters more than I might have expected.

I plan to continue attending — not because I can already see the full benefit, but because I trust the process. I believe it cannot hurt. It can only help.

Faith often looks like continuing to show up before we see the outcome.

Trusting the Plan I Cannot Yet See

I didn’t plan the fall.

I didn’t plan the pain.

I didn’t plan the class.

I didn’t plan the reunion.

But God did not waste any of it.

Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”

When “Little” Still Produces Fruit

As I have been attending this class and paying closer attention to my body, I have been reminded of something the apostle Paul wrote — a passage I have read many times before, but one that feels newly personal in this season.

1 Timothy 4:8  “For bodily exercise profiteth little: but godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come.”

Paul does not say that bodily exercise profits nothing. He says it profits little. And that distinction matters.

Anyone who has ever exercised consistently knows that movement produces results. Muscles respond. Balance improves. Strength increases. Confidence grows. Even when progress feels slow, persistence always leaves evidence behind. You can feel it. You can measure it. You can tell when something is changing.

And yet, Paul tells us that even those tangible, visible gains — the kind we can see and feel — are small when compared to the profit of godliness.

That stopped me.

Because if something as “little” as physical exercise still produces noticeable progress when done faithfully, how much more would consistent, diligent time in God’s Word produce lasting fruit?

If showing up regularly to strengthen muscles yields improvement, what might happen if we applied that same discipline to Scripture? If we approached the Bible not casually or sporadically, but with intention, patience, and persistence?

Paul reminds us that godliness carries promise not only for this life, but for eternity. The gains may not always be immediately visible, but they are far greater. They shape the heart. They steady the mind. They strengthen faith in ways no physical exercise ever could.

This realization convicted and encouraged me at the same time. It reminded me that growth — whether physical or spiritual — does not come from intensity alone, but from consistency. And while my body may show improvement over time through exercise, it is my soul that requires even greater care, attention, and discipline.

If I am willing to trust the process with my body, I must also be willing to trust the process with my faith.

What felt like an interruption may have been an invitation. What felt like a setback may have been direction. And what I once labeled an accident, I am learning to trust as part of a plan — one still unfolding, still healing, and still held in His hands.

 Be encouraged. 🧡

                                             🎵 Your Sunday's Coming

When the Vibrations Became a Reminder

A Memory That Returned Unexpectedly

Recently, a memory surfaced that I had not visited in years. It came quietly—uninvited but important. It carried me back to those early, foggy weeks after my motorcycle wreck, when I lay in the ICU, unaware of how fragile my life was and how deeply God was already working.

My memories from that time are scattered and dim, like fragments from a dream. But this one—this memory—came back sharp enough to feel again.

I remembered the vibrating hospital bed.

I remember how much I disliked that bed. It shook beneath me with a relentless hum that traveled straight into my bones. I could feel it rattle my teeth at times, and each vibration slowly pushed my body downward until the nurses had to come in, lift me, and reposition me. I hated the sensation. I hated the loss of control. I hated how helpless I felt.

But I also know now why they used it. It was meant to protect my lungs—lungs that had already suffered from a collapsed lung, the trauma of the ventilator, and my inability to swallow correctly. Pneumonia was a very real threat, and that vibrating bed was part of the fight to keep it away.

And it worked.
I never got pneumonia once—not in the ICU, not in therapy, not during my entire hospital stay.
Looking back, that is nothing short of mercy.

Psalm 34:6 “This poor man cried, and the LORD heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.”

The Tenderness of Small Acts

As that memory opened, more pieces drifted back with it. Small things… but when you’re helpless, small things become enormous.

I remembered a nurse in the ICU who noticed that my eyebrows had been manicured before the wreck. She didn’t want that care to fade, so she would come in with tweezers and gently shape them, keeping stray hairs away. I couldn’t talk. I wasn’t coherent. I couldn’t tell her thank you. But she cared for me in a way that reached far deeper than grooming.

I remembered my mom leaving a CD of music that played constantly in my room, creating a peaceful atmosphere that helped settle my mind even when my thoughts were tangled and unclear. Sometimes they would turn the television to a hospital channel that showed nature scenes with relaxing music. At the time, I didn’t realize the purpose. Now I know—they were trying to create beauty around someone who could not create beauty for herself.

They were always finding ways—small, simple ways—to make my world better.

Those quiet kindnesses mattered.
Kindness always matters.

Ephesians 4:32 “And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted…”

The Fog Between Dreams and Reality

Much of what I “remember” from ICU feels like dream fragments. Some moments were so blurry that I questioned whether they happened at all. Medication, trauma, exhaustion, and fear blended everything together into a haze.

I recall visitors in the limited time they were allowed, and I remember being troubled—worried that some of them thought I was faking. I wasn’t, of course. But that fear lived somewhere deep inside the confusion.

Was it reality?
Was it a dream?
Was it my mind trying to make sense of something too big to understand?

Even now I’m not entirely sure.

But what I am sure of is this:
God was present in every foggy corner of that room. Even when I couldn’t think clearly. Even when I couldn’t pray out loud. Even when I wasn’t myself. He was there.

Psalm 61:2 “When my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”

A Journey Forward — Literally and Spiritually

Fast forward to just a few weeks ago. I went on an extended solo road trip where I spoke to three different groups and had multiple opportunities throughout the week to share pieces of my testimony—about the wreck, the recovery, the impossible things God brought me through, and the things He is still helping me overcome.

Before leaving, I worried.
What would I say?
Would I remember enough?
Would my nerves get in the way?
Would the right words come?

But God met me there.
He was faithful.
He brought things to my memory that I had forgotten.
He reminded me of details I didn’t even know had significance until I stood in front of those people.

He was with me—guiding, strengthening, steadying.

And as I spoke, I reflected on the woman I was back then, lying in that vibrating bed, unable to move, unable to speak, unsure of what was real and what wasn’t.

And then I looked at the woman standing there those nights—driving through the state alone, carrying a testimony, sharing hope, offering encouragement, and declaring the goodness of God.

The difference is stunning.
The journey is long.
And the grace is immeasurable.

Psalm 118:23 “This is the LORD's doing; it is marvellous in our eyes.”

Not 100%… but No Longer Who I Was

I’m not fully whole.
I still face limitations.
I still navigate frustrations, pains, and the ongoing results of that wreck.

But I am no longer the woman in that ICU bed.
Not physically. Not emotionally. Not spiritually.

God didn’t just heal parts of my body—He grew my faith, sharpened my gratitude, and expanded my purpose. He gave me words. He gave me strength. He gave me a testimony.

He gave me a new life.

Psalm 118:17 “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the LORD.”

What I Know Now

If the vibrating bed taught me anything, it’s this:

Sometimes what feels uncomfortable…
sometimes what rattles us…
sometimes what shakes us to the core…
is what keeps us alive.

Sometimes the things we hate become the very things that save us.

And sometimes the memories we try to forget become the testimony God uses to encourage others.

He wastes nothing—not suffering, not confusion, not fear, not tears, not time.

God was faithful to bring back to my mind things I hadn’t thought about in a long while. Even though I’m not physically at 100%, I’m definitely stronger than I used to be. And I’m trusting Him to keep writing my story. He’s not finished with me yet. There’s more ahead, and I’m looking forward with expectation, believing that to be true.

A Reflection for You

As you read this, I hope you’ll pause and think:

• What moments in your life felt painful or confusing, yet protected you in ways you didn’t realize at the time?
• What has God brought you through that you can now share to help someone else?
• How has He strengthened you in places you once felt weakest?

Your story matters.
Your scars matter.
Your survival matters.
And your testimony has the power to lift someone else from their own vibrating bed of fear, uncertainty, or pain.

Be encouraged. 🧡

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Finding Good Things in Hard Places

Life doesn’t always look the way we imagined. Sometimes the simplest joys—like a walk down the driveway or picking flowers—feel out of reach. But even in those hard places, God has a way of showing us hidden blessings. This is my journey of learning to see differently, to be honest about the struggle, and to keep finding the good things—even when life feels heavy.

Lately, I’ve been trying to find the good things. To be honest, it’s not always easy. Many times, I want to appear strong—unshaken, like I have the answers, like I know what everything means and where it’s all heading. But the truth is, I don’t always know.

More and more, I’ve caught myself thinking about all the things I see others doing—the things I can’t do. Such as active or adventurous hobbies, like biking, hiking, or playing games outside. Even simple things like walking outside down a path in the forest or a meadow without assistance to pick fresh flowers to bring inside and decorate the table. These small, everyday joys seem so effortless for others, yet for me they come with limits and barriers.

I can’t just take a leisurely walk down the driveway or down a trail. I need my walker or the assistance of someone else. Even then, my walking doesn’t look as graceful as I wish it would. That reality can feel heavy sometimes. And yes, it can feel lonely.

I hesitate to even admit that, because vulnerability often feels like an invitation for pity or sympathy—neither of which I’m asking for. What I do want, though, is to let someone else know: if you’ve ever had these thoughts and feelings, you’re not alone.

The Quiet Battle of Comparison

One of the hardest struggles for me lately has been comparison. It sneaks in quietly when I’m watching others live their lives with a freedom I don’t have. It whispers: Look at what they can do. Why can’t you?

Maybe you’ve felt that way too—not necessarily about walking or balance, but about something else. Maybe you’ve compared your family, your finances, your career, or your health. Maybe you’ve watched someone else receive the blessing you’ve been praying for. Comparison is a thief.

And yet, I remind myself that even when I cannot do certain things, there are still blessings in front of me. Even when my body doesn’t cooperate, I can still find reasons to praise the Lord.

The Bible tells us in 1 Thessalonians 5:18, “In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” That’s not always easy, is it? Giving thanks when life feels heavy and when you’re reminded of what you’ve lost doesn’t come naturally. But it’s in those moments—those valleys of comparison and loneliness—that gratitude becomes the very thing that lifts us up.

Learning to See Differently

I’ve realized lately that sometimes the Lord calls us to see life differently. I may not be able to walk down a wooded path, but I can still enjoy the fresh breeze through an open window. I may not pick flowers from a meadow, but I can still place a vase on the table and let its colors brighten the room.

It doesn’t erase the ache of what I can’t do, but it helps me to notice what I can. Sometimes, the good things are not in the loud, obvious moments but in the small details—the gentle reminders that God’s creation is still around me, even if I engage with it differently than before.

Psalm 34:18 says, “The LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.” What a comfort that is! God doesn’t stand far off when we are hurting. He draws near. When my spirit feels crushed, when loneliness creeps in, when my heart aches with comparison, the Lord is not distant—He is present.

Choosing Honesty Over Perfection

I think sometimes we feel pressure to appear strong, as if admitting our struggles is the same as admitting defeat. But it isn’t. Honesty is not weakness—it’s courage. It opens the door for someone else to say, Me too. I’ve felt that way as well.

If you are reading this and struggling with loneliness, comparison, or unmet longings, I want you to know you don’t have to hide it. God sees you. He understands what you haven’t even spoken out loud. And He cares deeply.

He tells us in Isaiah 41:10, “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

When we feel like our own strength is gone, He promises to uphold us. When we feel unseen, He reminds us that He is near.

Loneliness Is Not the End of the Story

Loneliness has a way of making us feel forgotten. But I’ve been reminded that even when people don’t fully understand, God does. Even when I can’t explain my feelings, He already knows them.

King David knew loneliness. Many of the psalms are filled with his cries of feeling forsaken, surrounded by enemies, or cut off from comfort. And yet, David also sang of God’s faithfulness, declaring in Psalm 27:10, “When my father and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up.”

That means even if the closest people in our lives cannot walk with us through certain valleys, God will. He is faithful in every season.

Looking for the Good

So I return to where I started: I’m trying to find the good things. Not the big, extraordinary, once-in-a-lifetime moments—but the little daily graces. A smile from a friend. The sound of laughter. A verse of Scripture that meets me right where I am. A reminder that even in the midst of longing, God’s blessings are still present.

Gratitude doesn’t always erase pain, but it shifts the way we carry it. It doesn’t deny the hard realities, but it allows us to see beyond them.

So if you’ve been struggling—whether with health, with comparison, with loneliness, or simply with the weight of life—know this: you are not alone. Your story matters. Your feelings matter. And God has not forgotten you.

Maybe we can walk this road together, choosing to be honest, choosing to be thankful, and choosing to see the good things even in hard places.

Learning New Skills and Finding Joy

As I’ve prayed and reflected, I’ve also tried to lean into new things that bring joy and purpose in this season. Another thing I’ve been thinking about doing lately is grinding my own wheat berries to make fresh flour for baking. There’s something deeply satisfying about the thought of taking something so simple—wheat—and turning it into nourishment with my own hands. It takes effort and time, but the end result is worth it: bread that is fresh, wholesome, and made with care.

In a way, I think that’s a picture of life right now. Not everything comes quickly or easily. Some things require extra steps, patience, or different tools than I expected. But just as wheat can be ground into flour and then baked into something that blesses others, my life can still be shaped and used in meaningful ways.

Jesus said in John 6:35, “I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst.” That verse reminds me that while bread can fill the body, Christ Himself fills the soul. And in the same way, the process of baking reminds me that God is still working in me, even through the pressing and grinding seasons, to bring forth something good.

Along with this, I’ve also been spending time learning for my part-time office job. The technical aspects stretch me, but in good ways. I’m excited about what I’m learning and the chance to implement new systems that will help things run more smoothly and serve customers and colleagues better. It’s a blessing to know that even with my limitations, God still allows me to contribute in ways that matter.

Wrestling With Questions of Faith

Another area I often wrestle with is faith and healing. There are times when I wonder: if I just had more faith, could I handle my healing differently? Could I even be healed? And then, when I start down that path, I ask myself—Is my faith not big enough?

But then I step back and remember all that God has already done in my life. Physically, financially, emotionally, spiritually—He has proven Himself to me over and over again. In so many ways, I feel like my faith is enormous because I’ve seen His hand at work.

Yet still, I wrestle. I wonder if maybe the point isn’t about the size of my faith, but about what God is teaching me through the valleys. Maybe the afflictions we face are not meant to prove our weakness, but to shape our trust in Him. Maybe it’s not about my healing, or any one specific need, but about learning to glorify Him in all circumstances.

Paul spoke about this in 2 Corinthians 12:9–10, where he shared the Lord’s words: “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” And Paul’s response was, “Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me… for when I am weak, then am I strong.”

That truth humbles me. Healing is in God’s hands, not mine. Faith is not a measuring stick—it is trust, even when the outcome doesn’t look like what I wanted. And sometimes, the very thing I wish away might be the thing God is using to build my faith and draw me closer to Him.

So I continue to pray, to trust, and to rest in knowing that whether healing comes now, later, or in eternity, God’s grace is enough.

At the end of the day, I may still face limits and longings, but I’ve also discovered treasures I might have missed otherwise—quiet mercies, deeper faith, and the nearness of God in hard places. And that’s the good I’m holding onto. My prayer is that you, too, will find those hidden blessings right where you are.

 Be encouraged. 🧡

Without Valleys, There aren't Mountains

For many years now, I’ve relied on a transdermal scopolamine patch to help control my saliva production. It’s a small, round sticker that I typically wear on my neck, just behind my ear. Every three days, I change it for a new one. This routine has become part of my life, and while it may seem simple, it’s one of the little things that makes my daily life more manageable.

I’ve realized that this tiny patch represents more than medicine — it’s a reminder of how God can use small things to meet big needs. Sometimes we overlook His daily mercies because they come in ordinary forms. But when one of those little helps is missing, we suddenly see just how much we rely on His provision in every detail.

Lately, though, things have not gone so smoothly. The current brand my pharmacy has been giving me does not remain adhesive for the full three days. Sometimes it lasts 24 hours, sometimes 48, but rarely the full 72. Because of this, I’ve had to reapply patches sooner than I should. Normally, I receive 30 patches at a time—a 90-day supply—but since they fall off too soon, I ran out before my insurance would cover a refill. That left me with seven long days without a patch.

Trying to find a solution, I’ve had several frustrating phone call encounters with my doctor’s office as I’ve tried to remedy the situation. My personal physician is on maternity leave, and the covering doctor in the office preferred not to prescribe anything since she does not know me. When the nurse called back, I was told no one in the office would see me, and that I would need to wait for my regular doctor. But the earliest appointment I already had scheduled with her wasn’t until December—and it’s only a telehealth appointment, not in person.

So currently, I’m in that week-long waiting period with nothing to help me, and my saliva is overwhelming to say the least. I’ve already shed tears, and I expect there might be more along the way. I’m not sure what I can do to expedite or change these circumstances, and the helplessness feels heavy.

When Help Doesn’t Come

Needless to say, it’s been a real fiasco — no patches, no guidance, and absolutely no help or suggestions from my medical office. I’m beyond disappointed with that level of service. If you can’t care about your patients, I truly feel you’re in the wrong field.

It’s hard when you’re treated like a number instead of a person. I hung up the phone that day and just sat in silence for a while, wondering why compassion seems so scarce in a field meant for healing. But then, I remembered — even when people turn us away, God never does. His line is always open, His ear always listening.

So, I did the best I could. I started looking for an over-the-counter option and found a generic motion sickness pill that I could crush, thinking it might help. It wasn’t time-released, so I figured it would be safe. What I didn’t realize was that there are different kinds of motion sickness medications. The kind I picked said to take two pills for 24 hours, so that’s what I did.

But soon, I started feeling strange — drowsy, jelly-like, and just plain awful — with no improvement in my saliva at all. After half a day of feeling miserable, I reached out to a family member with medical experience and sent her a photo of the box. Thank goodness I did! It turned out the medication I had bought was similar to Benadryl — which explained everything I was feeling.

She sent me a photo of the correct version, the “Fast Act” type, which directs up to eight tablets for 24 hours. The boxes looked almost identical, right down to the color and design — only the tiny print underneath the “Motion Sickness” label was different. It’s a good reminder to double-check those details that are so easy to overlook when you’re just trying to find relief.

For now, that’s what I’ve been using until my insurance approves my prescription again. Hopefully, it won’t be much longer. In the meantime, I’m just thankful for the bit of wisdom and help that came through family — when professional help didn’t.

James 1:17 “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights...”

Even though my doctor didn’t help, God still provided the help I needed — through a family member who knew what to look for. He always finds a way to care for us, even when it’s not through the channels we expected.

When life brings these moments of frustration, of waiting, and of helplessness, it can be hard not to feel forgotten. My tears over something as small as a patch remind me that nothing is too small to bring before God. He sees even this struggle. The Bible says:

Psalm 56:8 “Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?”

Isn’t it amazing that God keeps track of every tear we cry? They are not wasted. They are not overlooked. To Him, they matter.

Right now, I don’t know what will happen with my prescription or how soon things will change. But I do know this: God is still faithful in the waiting. He is still present when the answers are delayed. He is still strong when my body feels weak.

Psalm 55:22 “Cast thy burden upon the LORD, and he shall sustain thee: he shall never suffer the righteous to be moved.”

I’ve tried to distract myself from the discomfort by telling myself I’m fine and keeping my mind occupied. Easier said than done.

These waiting days remind me of how much I depend on Him—more than any patch, more than any pill, more than any earthly fix. Medicine may fail, systems may be slow, and people may not always understand the urgency of what we face, but the Lord remains constant.

I think of Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 12:9: “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

This doesn’t mean the weakness disappears—it means God’s strength shows up right in the middle of it. If He can sustain me through seven days without my medicine, He can sustain you through whatever “waiting period” you may be walking through, too.

So today, I cast my burden on Him once more, knowing He will sustain me. My prayer is that even in my weakness, someone else will see His strength.

Waiting seasons can refine us in ways comfort never could. They teach patience, deepen prayer, and remind us that peace doesn’t come from perfect circumstances but from perfect trust. Every delay becomes an invitation to lean harder on the One who never fails.

What are you waiting on God for today? Whatever it is, may you be reminded that He sees your tears, knows your struggles, and is faithful to carry you through.

 Be encouraged. 🧡

When Waiting feels like Wasted Time

A little bonus for you: an audio reflection at the end to celebrate one year of this blog — I hope you’ll listen!

I would like to share with you today about a very common season that many of us endure—one I am currently walking through myself. It is not an easy season, and honestly, it has been a bit frustrating because it feels self-inflicted. Not long ago, I stumbled, and that little misstep has affected my left hip and leg area in a big way.

At my initial appointment, the doctor reassured me that the bones looked great. That was good news. But as many of you know, a healthy bone structure is only part of the story. Around the hip joint, where the femur fits into the pelvis, there is cartilage. And cartilage, unlike bone, does not show up on a simple X-ray. The way I described my pain and the limitations in my leg movement led the doctor to suspect that the cartilage could be the real issue. So, he referred me to a specialist.

Here’s the part that challenges me: I have to wait about three weeks before I can even see this specialist and find out what’s really going on. Three weeks may not sound like a long time, but when you’re in pain, when your routines are interrupted, and when you have questions without answers—it feels like forever.

In the meantime, I have to lay off leg workouts completely. No cardio workouts either. My natural tendency is to push through, to keep pressing forward. But right now, I can’t. I must hold back so that I do not further aggravate the situation. And that is where the frustration sets in.

When Life Feels Stuck

What do we do in the waiting, when we cannot move forward like we want?

It sort of makes you feel stuck. I have goals I want to meet and things I want to accomplish. I like to see progress in my physical strength and health. But in this moment, I am unable to pursue them the way I want. That makes it feel, in a way, like wasted time.

I find myself wishing I could get in to see the specialist sooner, but that door isn’t open yet. And it made me stop and think: how many times in life do we face situations that force us to wait? Waiting for answers, waiting for healing, waiting for jobs, waiting for direction and guidance. Waiting for prayers to be answered.

The truth is, we all face things that require waiting. And if we’re being honest, most of us don’t like it.

Tick, tock

Biblical Examples of Waiting

As I wrestle with this season, I find comfort and strength in looking at the lives of those in Scripture who also had to wait.

• Abraham waited many long years for God’s promise of a son to come to pass. The waiting tested his faith, but ultimately, God proved faithful.

Genesis 21:1–2 “And the LORD visited Sarah as he had said, and the LORD did unto Sarah as he had spoken. For Sarah conceived, and bare Abraham a son in his old age, at the set time of which God had spoken to him.”

• David was anointed king while still a young shepherd boy, yet he spent years running for his life from Saul before he ever wore the crown. His waiting wasn’t wasted—it prepared him to be a godly king.
• Israel waited for deliverance from Egypt, and even once freed, they spent forty years in the wilderness learning dependence on God.

These accounts remind me that waiting is not a punishment; it is often a part of God’s process.

What Waiting Produces

When I step back and view waiting through the lens of faith, I begin to see it differently.

• Waiting strengthens our dependence on God. When our own efforts cannot move us forward, we are reminded that only His hand can guide the timing and outcome.
• Waiting teaches patience and humility. It brings us to a place where we must admit we are not in control.
• Waiting deepens trust. Each day that passes without the answer we want is another opportunity to choose to believe that God’s timing is best.

Isaiah 40:31 says:

“But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”

Notice that strength is not promised to those who rush ahead, but to those who wait upon the Lord.

Waiting as Training, Not Wasted Time

Something the Lord has been showing me is that waiting seasons are not wasted seasons. They are actually training grounds.

Think about an athlete who is told to rest. At first, it feels like everything is being taken away. But in reality, the body is repairing itself, and the rest is building a stronger foundation for the future. The same principle applies spiritually.

When I cannot use the elliptical or rowing machine, I can walk deeper with God in prayer. When I cannot build muscle in my legs, I can strengthen the muscle of my faith. The waiting becomes a different kind of workout—not of the body, but of the heart.

And if I’m being honest, that’s not the kind of workout I would have chosen for myself. But God, as the perfect Trainer, knows what area of my life needs attention, and He is wise enough to slow me down when I would have only pushed harder.

A Personal Struggle

I will admit to you that lately I’ve had a real personal struggle with my lack of physical abilities. It is hard not to think about the things I used to be able to do but cannot do right now. Those memories have weighed heavily on my mind.

But I remind myself: just because my body feels limited does not mean God is limited. When I cannot move physically the way I want, He is still working spiritually. He is shaping me, reminding me that my value is not measured by how many miles I can walk, how much weight I can lift, or how far I can push myself in cardio. My value is found in Him alone.

Encouragement for You

Perhaps you, too, are in a season of waiting. It may not be a hip injury like mine. Maybe it’s waiting for a door to open in your career. Maybe you’re waiting for healing in your family, or for clarity about a big decision. Maybe you’re waiting for God to restore something broken in your life.

Whatever it is, I want you to know this: God does not waste seasons of waiting.

He uses them to stabilize us, to anchor our hearts in Him. He uses them to prepare us for what is next. And though we may not understand the “why” right now, we can be confident that His timing is perfect.

Psalm 27:14 gives us this encouragement:

“Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD.”

Friend, do you notice how the psalmist repeats himself? “Wait, I say, on the LORD.” God knew we would struggle here. He knew we would need the reminder not just once but twice in the very same verse. Waiting is not easy, but it is powerful when it is done with faith.

Closing Thoughts

So while I wait these three weeks to see the specialist, I am choosing to wait on the Lord as well. I may not be doing leg workouts or cardio right now, but I can strengthen my heart in Scripture, in prayer, and in trust.

What are you waiting on today? Is there an area of your life where you feel “stuck”? I encourage you to place it in God’s hands, to lean into Him during the waiting. Because while we may feel like nothing is happening, He is always at work.

And when His timing comes, the answer will be worth every moment of the wait.

 Be encouraged. 🧡                                                         

As I mentioned at the top, this month marks the one-year anniversary of this blog. I’ve recorded a short audio reflection to share my thanks and some encouragement with you — I hope you’ll take a moment to listen.

 

From Breakdown to Bronco

The Gift of Driving Again

It still catches me by surprise sometimes—I’m driving again. After years without my license, it's hard to believe that I’ve had it back for around two years now. Each time I take the wheel, I feel that deep sense of appreciation. Driving is more than transportation for me—it’s independence, opportunity, and a fresh breath of life.

I’ve been blessed to drive a 2010 Subaru Forester. It wasn’t brand-new, but it was mine, and I was grateful. I took care of it the best I could, handling some of the expected upkeep and even a few unexpected issues over the past couple of summers. It got me where I needed to go, and for a while, that was enough.

But over time, things started to shift.

When Problems Keep Piling Up

This past season, I noticed a few concerning things. Three warning lights appeared on my dash, and the acceleration started acting strange—revving and struggling in ways I didn’t provoke. Then came the big one: I turned the ignition off, and the car wouldn’t turn back on. Between that and a few unsettling noises, I began to feel uneasy.

I had already been spending money on repairs, maintenance, and some unrelated expenses. But I couldn’t shake the feeling—what if something else failed soon? Was I going to end up stranded somewhere? I started wondering if it was time to stop pouring money into an aging vehicle and consider something newer, safer, and more reliable.

The Weight of a Big Decision

The idea of buying a different vehicle came with its own set of anxieties. I haven’t had a car payment in many years, and my income is based on disability and part-time work. Taking on a monthly bill felt heavy. But I also had to weigh that against the peace of mind that could come from a more dependable vehicle. After praying about it, I began to consider upgrading.

It was not a decision I took lightly. I know what it’s like to go without. I know what it’s like to make do. But I also know what it’s like to trust God with the unknown—and this was one of those moments.

Setting Criteria and Starting the Search

I set some boundaries to help guide my search:

• A model year between 2015 and 2020
• Less than 100,000 miles
• Within a price range I could responsibly manage
• Large enough to handle my walker and mobility needs—so likely an SUV

I started browsing online listings at local dealerships. Hours passed as I sifted through options, making mental notes and weighing pros and cons. I was cautiously optimistic but determined to find the right fit.

The One That Got Away

Then a certain vehicle caught my eye. It looked like a perfect match—it checked all my boxes. I called the dealership, hopeful and maybe a little excited. The salesman answered and informed me, “Ma’am, that vehicle sold 30 minutes ago.”

I was disappointed. I’m sure he could hear it in my voice. After all those hours of searching and starting to get hopeful, it felt like the rug had been pulled out.

But God Was Already Ahead of Me

Before I started this journey, I had prayed—specifically. I asked the Lord to guide my steps, to shut doors that needed shutting, and to provide the right vehicle for me, not just any vehicle. Others had been praying with me, too. I didn’t want to settle for something outside of God's best just because I was anxious to make a move.

The salesman continued, “We do have more vehicles on the lot.” He mentioned one that met all the criteria I had prayed about. I agreed to come by the next afternoon and take a look.

And truly—you will not convince me that God didn’t orchestrate the whole affair. I called about a vehicle that was already gone, and ended up having a conversation about one I never even looked at once I was at the dealership. But once I arrived, it was clear: God had given me the right place, the right salesman, and the right vehicle.

And I couldn’t help but think back to something that had happened just a few weeks earlier. My Subaru had been in the shop for repairs, and I hadn’t driven it beforehand because I didn’t feel it was safe. So I borrowed my mom’s large SUV to run a couple of errands. Afterward, she asked me how I felt about driving it, and I told her—it felt good. It didn’t make me anxious at all.

That moment stuck with me. Looking back now, I believe the Lord allowed me to drive her vehicle again as a gentle reminder: I could handle something different. I could adapt. Two years ago, when I first got my license back, I had driven her SUV a few times before getting the Subaru and it intimidated me then. Maybe I needed to be reminded that a bigger vehicle was not only manageable—but even comfortable.

Arriving at the Dealership

When I pulled into the dealership, I had more than just specs and numbers on my mind. I was thinking about past conversations, the opinions and wisdom of others, and most of all, how I was feeling in that very moment. I didn’t want to rush into anything out of desperation. I also didn’t want to back myself into a corner financially—buying something that didn’t feel quite right, when maybe something slightly newer and more enjoyable might have been possible with a similar payment.

I shared all this with the salesman, trying to be as honest and clear as I could. I even opened up a little more and told him that this whole process was new for me. I had never made such a purchase on my own before—not without my husband. I felt the weight of that as I navigated this major decision. It was a new chapter, and it came with uncertainty, and even some grief.

He listened kindly, then said, “Let me go speak to someone. I have an idea.”

A few minutes later, he came back and said, “What if I told you I could have you in a brand-new Ford Bronco Sport, and keep you within the same financial range you’ve been talking about?”

I was surprised.

I hadn’t even considered a new vehicle—not at all. But something in me paused, and I realized: the Lord knows exactly what we need.

The Test Drive and a Clear Path Forward

So, we continued talking—and then test driving. I was paying attention to everything: how it handled, how I felt in the seat, how easily I could see around me and get in and out with my walker. And honestly? It felt right.

To my amazement, all of the financial pieces came together smoothly. There were no snags, no hard haggles, no confusing roadblocks. Everything just… worked out.

And for that, I will be forever grateful.

Driving Off the Lot

I’ll admit—I was a bit nervous when I finally sat in the driver’s seat and buckled my seatbelt to drive off the lot. This was really happening. I took a deep breath, adjusted all of my mirrors, and eased out onto the road, thankful and happy with the outcome.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, I was still smiling. My mom knew I had originally gone to look at a 2019 white Toyota Highlander, and when I stepped out of my new green Ford Bronco Sport, she looked at me, smirked, and teased, “Well… that’s no white Toyota.”

Looking Back—and Forward

Since that day, I’ve felt nothing but peace about the decision. Yes, it was a big step. Yes, it involved finances, trust, and letting go of old routines. But what I gained is more than a new vehicle—it’s a reminder that God truly does go before us.

He hears our prayers.
He sees the parts we can’t see.
And He provides what we need, when we need it.

I’m still adjusting to this new season—this new independence, this new car, and the ongoing journey of doing life differently than I once did. But I’m not alone. I never have been.

A Word of Encouragement

If you’re facing a big decision and feeling unsure, I want to encourage you—don’t rush. Don’t settle. Pray. Wait. Watch. The same God who guided me to the right vehicle in His timing can guide you in whatever you’re facing.

“And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, This is the way, walk ye in it...” Isaiah 30:21

He is faithful. He is personal. And He cares about even the practical parts of our lives—yes, even car shopping.

God’s Hand Was in it All

When I think back on the whole journey—driving again after so long, dealing with the old Subaru, praying through every option—I just have to stop and thank God. He really was with me through every single part of it.

Even the things that felt frustrating at the time—like unexpected repairs or a vehicle that just wouldn’t cooperate—turned out to be part of the path He was clearing. His provision didn’t always come all at once, but it always came on time.

“But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:19

I saw it in little ways and big ones. Like when He gave me peace to wait instead of rushing. Like when He helped me ask the right questions, or put the right person in my path. He didn’t just meet my need—He went beyond it. He took care of things I hadn’t even thought to pray about.

Stand Still and Be Amazed

You know, sometimes we forget just how awesome God really is. Not just kind. Not just capable. He’s full of glory. The kind that makes you stop in your tracks and say, “Wow… that was You, Lord.”

“O LORD our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth! who hast set thy glory above the heavens.” Psalm 8:1

I didn’t just end up with a car. I ended up with a story—a reminder that God sees, God cares, and God still moves mountains in our lives. And I want to encourage you: if you’re in a season of waiting, or things just don’t make sense right now, hold on. Keep praying. He’s working in the background.

God’s timing is perfect. His provision is sure. And His love is so much bigger than we understand. I’m still in awe of Him. And I hope you are too.

 Be encouraged. 🧡

Sleep, Spit, Repeat: my nightly routine, 16 years later

"What do you do at night? Do you still have to manage your saliva?"

That’s a question I’ve been asked before, and the short answer is: yes.

Just because I lay down and close my eyes doesn’t mean the saliva issues I deal with during the day suddenly disappear. They don’t. The need to spit doesn’t clock out when I do.

Ever since my time in the hospital and getting a G-tube, my sleep habits have changed. I used to sleep on my stomach, but now that’s no longer an option. For some reason, I always end up falling asleep on my right side, even if I don’t start there. That’s just what my body prefers now.

The good news is that I don’t have trouble falling asleep—never really have. But that doesn’t mean I sleep through the night uninterrupted.

Waking and Spitting: The New Normal

I often wake up during the night and use my cup to spit out excess saliva. Sometimes I wonder if that’s the reason I woke up—or if something else stirred me. There’s no way to know for sure. Either way, the need is there, and I take care of it.

There have been a few rare nights when I slept a solid four to six hours straight—and when that happens, I’m thrilled. It feels amazing. But most nights, I’m up at least once or twice. Thankfully, I don’t usually have a hard time getting back to sleep.

Early Rising, Always

No matter what kind of night I’ve had, I almost always wake up early. If I’m always awake by or before 6:30 a.m., that’s pretty standard for me. If I somehow sleep past 7, it’s considered impressive. But if I make it to 8 a.m., now that’s rare—and I mean rare.

On the rare occasion I make it to 8:00 a.m., my mom has actually come to check on me, just to make sure I’m still breathing. That’s how uncommon it is. It’s not meant to be dramatic—it’s just a funny truth about how in-tune my family is with my routine.

The Patch Factor

One thing that does affect my saliva level is what day I’m on with my scopolamine patch. (mentioned more in-depth in previous posts) Whether it’s day 1, 2, or 3 makes a difference in how much saliva I produce. I’ve learned to recognize those patterns and plan around them—because when you live with something daily, you become a quiet expert in how your body behaves.

What My Nighttime Routine Really Looks Like

One question people might wonder is: Do you choke while sleeping? And the answer is—thankfully—no. I don’t need to be propped up on pillows or sleep in a recliner. I can lie flat just like anyone else.

That said, I do have to be careful with when I eat my last meal. Because of some acid reflux issues, I try to wait at least an hour or two before lying down. If I don’t, there's a chance the liquid food could come back up—especially if I cough while spitting. It’s not something I like to dwell on, but it’s part of the reality. Sometimes when I clear my throat or cough a little to get the saliva out, that effort can pull liquid back up, and that’s definitely no fun.

Keeping It Simple: No Special Gear, Just a Cup and a Towel

My nighttime setup isn’t complicated. I don’t have special bedding or fancy tools. When I was in the hospital and had zero control over my saliva or nasal drainage, they used to place a washcloth on my shoulder to catch the excess liquid. But I’ve come a long way from that.

Today, the only thing I keep nearby at night is a white Styrofoam cup with a paper towel tucked inside—the same setup I use during the day. It sits on my nightstand within reach, and that’s all I need to manage my saliva until the morning.

Whether I’m Home or Away

If I’m traveling—whether it’s vacation or just staying at someone else’s house—nothing really changes. I don’t need a lot of special prep. I just make sure I have a fresh cup ready before bed, and that’s it. That one cup usually lasts me through the whole night, all the way until breakfast the next day.

With a little planning, I can rest just about anywhere.

Do I Still Dream?

Yes, I do still dream. I’ve never been someone who dreams a lot, but I do have them from time to time. The G-tube or saliva management doesn’t interfere with that. And thankfully, the waking moments I do have during the night don’t rob me of peace.

“I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.” Psalm 4:8

Saliva and Spiritual Spaces

One area where I’ve become especially aware of my saliva management is during public worship and prayer time at church. While I don’t usually feel self-conscious about it in day-to-day life, there’s something about being in a sacred space, around others, that can make me feel a little more guarded.

I’ve found that I sometimes hold back during worship, not because I don’t want to praise freely, but because I’m concerned about how things might look if I appear messy or if someone notices me spitting. It’s not about shame—it’s about wanting to maintain reverence while also navigating something practical and very human.

But I’m working on that.

Because the truth is, God already knows. He knows my needs, my process, my heart. And if I’m going to worship Him in spirit and in truth, I have to let go of what people might think and focus instead on what He sees—and He sees surrender, not embarrassment.

“For man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7

“Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.” 1 Corinthians 10:31

Managing saliva isn’t something I love talking about—but it’s real, and it’s part of my life. I hope by sharing these details, you can see that God’s grace reaches even the parts of life that feel uncomfortable or unspoken.

Healing looks different for everyone. For me, it’s been slow, practical, and deeply spiritual. And if you’re walking through something similar, please know: you’re not alone.

“He knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.” Psalm 103:14

I’d Love to Hear from You

Have you had to adapt your nighttime routine for a health reason? Do you sometimes feel like you hold back in worship due to a visible struggle?

Feel free to share in the comments, message me privately, or just know I’m praying for you. Your journey matters.

16-year Anniversary: July, 24, 2009

As I share this, I can’t help but remember that sixteen years have passed since the wreck. Sixteen years of surgeries, stretching seasons, unexpected turns, and silent prayers. Some nights I lay down and wonder, Lord, is this really all the farther I’ve come? But then other nights, I feel a holy hush settle over me—and I realize just how far His grace has carried me.

I think about all I’ve lost—physical ease, old dreams, plans I once held tightly. But then I remember all I’ve gained: faith that’s been fire-tested, compassion born from pain, and a closeness with God I never would have known without the breaking.

Healing hasn’t been flashy or fast. It’s been quiet, sacred, and sometimes invisible. But it’s real. And on this anniversary, I don’t just thank God for the distance I’ve come—I thank Him for every moment He’s never let go of my hand.

“And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten...” Joel 2:25a

Father,

For the one reading this who’s carrying quiet pain or unspoken struggles, I ask for Your peace to wrap around them tonight. Remind them that they are not alone—that You are near to the brokenhearted and acquainted with every detail of their journey.

For every loss, let there be unexpected gain. For every sleepless night, let there be a whisper of Your presence. For every change that feels hard, let there be grace that feels deeper.

Lord, restore what the years have taken. Renew what has grown weary. And let Your glory shine through the cracks of our stories.

Thank You for being the God who stays—not just in the daylight, but in the long, silent nights.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Be encouraged. 🧡

Feeding Myself, Finding Freedom: my journey with a g-tube

“But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.” James 1:4

What Does It Mean to Truly Rely on Others?

When I first had my G-tube placed, I had no idea how dependent I would be. In the hospital, the nurses handled everything for me—adding the extension, holding the syringe, pouring the formula, even administering crushed and diluted medications through the tube. It all happened without me having to lift a finger, because at that time... I couldn’t.

The feedings were simple in schedule—just three meals a day—but physically and emotionally, it was anything but simple. I was weak, healing, and overwhelmed. I didn’t have the strength, coordination, or understanding to participate in my own care. I just had to be still, let someone else take over, and trust the process.

The Transition Home: More Calories, More Challenges

Once I returned home, my schedule changed drastically. I was in physical, occupational, and speech therapy three days a week, three hours at a time. That much movement increased my need for calories—and fast. I couldn’t survive on three small feedings a day. I needed five, sometimes six, just to keep up.

But each of those meals still had to be administered by someone else.

It’s one thing to be dependent in a hospital setting, where care is expected. It’s another thing entirely to feel helpless in your own home, having to ask someone every few hours, “Can you feed me?” Or, “Can you crush this medicine for me?”

That stage of life required humility, patience, and a whole lot of grace—not just from God, but from those around me, too.

Gradual Progress: A Milestone in My Hand

The first real sign of independence didn’t look like much to most people—but to me, it was a miracle.

I could hold my own syringe.

My hand didn’t wobble as much. I could brace my arm just enough to steady the extension. Someone else still had to pour the liquid, but the act of me holding it—of physically participating in my feeding—was monumental.

It was a moment where I felt my body obeying again, just a little.

“Despise not the day of small things,” the Scripture says in Zechariah 4:10. And I didn’t. I celebrated it.

Learning to Pour, Bit by Bit

From there, I graduated to pouring small amounts of formula myself. I couldn’t do it from any container—I needed wide, short ones where I had a steady grip. My dexterity was still weak. But I was pouring. I was contributing.

Each stage wasn’t just physical progress—it was spiritual, too. Every new step was a reminder that healing doesn't always come all at once. Sometimes, it’s gradual. Sometimes, it’s slow. But always, it’s in God’s time.

“Faithful is he that calleth you, who also will do it.” 1 Thessalonians 5:24

“He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.” Isaiah 40:29

Growing Capable: From Partial to Full Independence

“I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” Philippians 4:13

After those small, early milestones, I gradually began doing some of my feedings completely on my own—not all of them, but just one or two a day to start. It was a matter of endurance and timing. Some parts of the day I had more energy and stability, so I’d feed myself during those windows. Other times, I still needed help.

But that’s how growth works—it’s not always linear. Sometimes progress feels slow, even invisible, but it’s still happening.

Practice, Therapy, and Confidence

Through continued therapy and intentional practice, my coordination steadily improved. Little by little, my hands stopped trembling as much. My arms grew stronger. The movements became smoother. I was building not just muscle, but confidence.

Now, I’m able to prepare my tube feedings entirely on my own. I gather the syringe and extension set, which locks securely into my G-tube—just a small, button-like piece that protrudes slightly from my stomach. It’s what’s known as a Mickey button, and though it’s a permanent part of my body, it’s also become something I’ve grown quite comfortable managing.

Creating My Setup: Simple, but Mine

I’ve also developed my own little system—a setup that works for me. I lay a hand towel across my lap like a large napkin, just in case of spills, which still happen from time to time. Feeding myself isn’t always clean or perfect, but it’s mine.

That towel isn’t just fabric—it’s part of my independence. It represents my readiness. My ability. My ownership of this process.

“For thou hast girded me with strength unto the battle: thou hast subdued under me those that rose up against me.” Psalm 18:39

From Synthetic to Whole: Rethinking My Nutrition

Over the years, what goes into my body has also evolved. I used to rely strictly on hospital-supplied formula—calorie-dense, shelf-stable, but not very wholesome.

Eventually, I began using over-the-counter protein shakes and powders, tweaking my nutrition to better fit my needs. Now, I use a combination of those protein supplements and real food blend pouches for my main meals. These are made of pureed, whole foods—balanced and easier on my stomach. They also give me a greater sense of eating something real, even if it doesn’t pass through my mouth.

I’m currently back to three meals a day, carefully calculated to meet my body’s needs. On days I go to the gym, I try to reach up to 2,500 calories. My baseline goal is at least one gram of protein per pound of body weight, because I know that protein builds strength and keeps me full.

There’s a strategy to all of this, and it’s one I’ve learned through time, prayer, and discipline.

The Gift of Feeding Myself

I no longer have to wait on someone else’s schedule. I don’t have to feel guilty for asking for help or worry about whether someone is available. I can respond to my body’s needs when I feel hungry. And yes—I do feel hunger and fullness, just like anyone else. Occasionally, I’ll burp and taste the food I’ve put into my tube. That may sound strange to some, but to me, it’s a reminder that my body is still connected to the act of nourishment.

This autonomy is one of the greatest gifts God has given me in recent years. Not just the ability to feed myself, but the freedom to do so confidently.

“The Lord is my strength and song, and is become my salvation.” Psalm 118:14

“And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” Galatians 6:9

Freedom to Come and Go

Being able to completely manage my tube feedings now is a tremendous blessing. It gives me freedom—not just the ability to eat when I’m hungry, but the independence to come and go as I please.

Whether I’m at home, visiting a friend, out for a day trip, or even on an extended trip for several days or weeks, I can take care of my feedings without help. I don’t have to structure my life around someone else’s availability. That kind of independence is something I once only dreamed of, and now it’s part of my daily life. And I thank God for that.

A Lighthearted Spirit

One more thing I want to say—because it matters. I’m not sensitive or easily offended when it comes to talking about my G-tube. In fact, I’m very open about it, and I even joke about it myself sometimes. So if someone else cracks a joke or brings it up, that’s fine with me. It doesn’t upset me or make me feel ashamed. It’s just part of my life, and I’d rather laugh about it than let it weigh me down.

“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.” Proverbs 17:22

This tube doesn’t define me—but it has certainly helped shape me into a stronger, more patient, and more joyful version of myself.

One Step at a Time

They say Rome wasn’t built in a day, and I try to keep that in front of me when progress feels slow. Every new movement, every time I pour without spilling, every feeding I do myself—each one is a brick in the foundation of my healing. I'm not where I used to be, and that alone is reason to give God praise.

Sometimes we rush toward the end goal, forgetting that the journey is what shapes us. But I’ve learned through this process that the small victories are sacred, and the daily steps are holy ground.

“Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6

“The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and he delighteth in his way.” Psalm 37:23

Final Thought

If you’re walking through your own slow journey—whether it’s with a feeding tube, chronic illness, or just the process of learning to do life differently—know this: progress isn’t always loud, and healing doesn’t always look like it used to. But every step counts. And every step brings you closer to strength, stability, and the peace God has for you.

Up Next…

I often get asked, “What do you do at night? Do you have to spit your saliva while sleeping?”
That’s a great question—and I’ll be addressing it in an upcoming post. So stay tuned!

Be encouraged. 🧡                                                                     🎵Hold On