More Than Surviving—Thriving Through the Unknown

 

Graduation season is here—a time of tassels and tears, celebration and contemplation. For some, it’s the thrilling launch of a new adventure. For others, it’s a deep breath of relief, the exhale that comes from crossing the finish line of a long, hard race. And for many, perhaps too many, it’s a question mark—now what?

As I reflect during this season, my heart carries both pride and concern. I am a mother and grandmother in a family touched by autism. We’ve known the uphill battles and unexpected blessings that come with it. I've watched my daughter and grandson navigate a system that often felt rigid and unyielding, working tirelessly to ensure her child had what he needed to grow and learn, even when the world didn’t always understand him or her.

I remember my own apprehension—wondering how my child would manage in an education system not built for every kind of brilliance, wondering how they would find belonging when “fitting in” often came at the cost of authenticity. And now, as a grandmother, I feel those familiar concerns stirring again. The world still isn’t easy, and the future still feels uncertain.

But here’s what I’ve learned through the years: survival is not the goal. Thriving is.

I want more than just coping for my family—I want flourishing. I want joy that bubbles up in the quiet victories, strength that grows from hard-won resilience, and a future not defined by limitations but by love, creativity, and purpose.

Whether you’re a graduate stepping into the unknown, a parent holding your breath for what’s next, or a supporter of someone who experiences life a little differently—here are some gentle steps for moving forward with courage and faith:

Every step, every challenge, every hard-earned success matters. It took faith, grit, and grace to get here. Take time to celebrate, reflect, and thank God for bringing you this far.
“He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion…” (Philippians 1:6)

Not everyone walks the same road—and that’s okay. Some take longer, some need more support, and some blaze trails others can’t even see. Encourage and respect those who think, learn, or move through life differently. They reflect the creative beauty of our God.
“I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” (Psalm 139:14)

Grace matters. Give it generously. To the one struggling. To the one succeeding. And to yourself. Life is hard enough without judgment. Choose compassion over comparison.
“Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” (Ephesians 4:32)

You may not know what comes next—and that’s okay. Ask God for strength for this day, not the entire journey. He gives grace for every moment.
“But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength…” (Isaiah 40:31)

We weren’t made to do life alone. Surround yourself—and others—with people who listen, love, and walk with you. We all thrive better together.
“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2)

Even when it feels dark or uncertain, hope is still there. It's not naïve—it’s anchored in the truth that God is with us and has good plans ahead.
“For I know the plans I have for you… to give you a future and a hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

 

To every graduate and every family whose journey has been filled with detours, therapies, setbacks, and small miracles—I see you. I know the depth of what this moment means. It’s not just a diploma; it’s a declaration that says, We made it this far. And we’re not stopping here.

To my daughter and my grandson—your courage humbles me. Your persistence inspires me. And my prayer for you both, and for all who walk a similar path, is that you don’t just survive this life—you thrive in it.

Because thriving doesn't mean life is easy. It means choosing to grow anyway. To rise anyway. To believe in joy anyway.

And that is worth celebrating.

This Isn’t A Romance Novel Life

Today is our wedding anniversary.   (I wrote this May 15th)

Not exactly the storybook kind. No candlelit dinner, no romantic getaway. One of us is in the hospital, lying still as a surgeon works on his heart. The other—me—is wide awake in the middle of the night, painting a bathroom because I can’t sleep and I refuse to wallow in self-pity.

We are not living the romance novel life.

But this is the kind of love that vows were meant for—in sickness and in health, for better or worse. And tonight, I find myself just hoping for one more year. One more chance to walk hand-in-hand, even if the steps are slow. One more conversation, one more shared sunset, one more ordinary day that we used to take for granted.

Life has a way of pulling back the curtain, reminding us how fragile we truly are. A diagnosis, a procedure, a single moment—and everything shifts. We realize how quickly the balance can tip and how little control we actually have.

And it brings the question to the surface: What is all this really about?

The more I sit with the Word of God, the more I see that the Bible isn’t just a book to help us live well—it’s God’s preparation for the one appointment every single one of us will keep: the day we stand face to face with Him. On that day, no romantic ending, no perfectly healed body, no earthly achievement will matter. Only one thing will: Did we trust Him?

I’ll be honest—I wrestle with disappointment. Our marriage hasn’t always looked the way I thought it would. Our life hasn’t followed the script of happiness that culture writes. And the healing we’ve hoped for hasn’t come tied up in a bow. But then I remember: God never promised us a fairytale.

Paul writes from prison in Philippians 1:21, “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” That’s not a romantic ideal. That’s gritty, raw faith. That’s a man who’s seen pain and still declares Christ as the only goal worth chasing.

We who follow Jesus aren’t promised a comfortable life. We are promised His presence, His power, and His peace that passes understanding. The world may cling desperately to youth, ease, and control—but we live differently. We hold this life loosely. We look toward eternity.

And on days like this—anniversary or not—I have to choose that mindset all over again.

So here I am, not crying into a pillow, but painting a bathroom at 2 a.m. with worship music playing in the background. It’s not glamorous. But it’s sacred. It’s a quiet rebellion against despair. It’s faith in action.

It’s choosing not to mourn what we lack, but to praise God for what we still have. For breath. For love that has weathered storms. For hope that isn’t based on outcomes, but anchored in eternity.

And even if this anniversary didn’t come with roses or laughter or plans made for two, I still celebrate. Because we are still here. Still loving. Still hoping. And no matter how many more anniversaries we’re given, we know the end of the story—Christ is faithful, and in Him, we are never without purpose, even in the pain.

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith…” (2 Timothy 4:7, ESV). That’s the love story I want. One that finishes well.

Created to Run: A Divine Design in Motion

God had a purpose in mind when He formed humanity on the sixth day. Crowned with His image, we were made to walk with Him, to steward creation, and to reflect His glory in all we do. But oh, what wonder when He sculpted the horse!

Majestic. Powerful. Graceful. There’s something in the thunder of hooves and the sweep of a mane that echoes divine artistry. As Psalm 147:10 says, *“His delight is not in the strength of the horse, nor his pleasure in the legs of a man, but the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear Him.”* Still, you can’t help but marvel when the two—the horse and the man—run in harmony toward their calling.

I’m not a gambler, but I really love horses. There’s something about watching them run that moves me—deeply. They remind me that we, too, were created to run—not aimlessly, but with purpose, with design, and with fire in our souls.

The 151st Kentucky Derby was no ordinary race. It wasn't just a display of speed; it was a testament to spirit, breeding, and legacy. Sovereignty, against all odds, surged down that final stretch in a heart-pounding finish, nose-to-nose, grit meeting grace in a photo finish that stunned the world. In that moment, it wasn’t just about victory—it was about design. The kind of design that only a Creator could imagine. You see every horse in this race was a descendant of Secretariat.

**Secretariat**

 the legend of legends, needs no introduction:

Born with the fire of thunder in his veins,

He didn’t just run—he flew.

A heart twice the size,

Beating with heaven’s rhythm,

He shattered time at Belmont,

As if earth itself couldn’t hold him.

Secretariat was more than a horse; he was a whisper of God’s sovereignty. A reminder that some things are birthed for greatness—not by chance, but by divine decree. Just as God told Jeremiah, “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you” (Jeremiah 1:5), so too He ordains the path of every living thing, just in the life of Secretariat.

**Sovereignty**

Sovereignty—the quiet hum beneath every gallop and heartbeat. The invisible hand guiding wind and will. The same God who crafted the equine frame, so perfect for motion, also knits together our souls with a purpose no less intentional. We are not accidents. We are assignments.

But my heart finds its greatest poetry not in the champions, but in the mothers.

**Zenyatta.**

She danced before the gate,

Like royalty wrapped in velvet thunder.

Her stride—liquid strength.

Her gaze—quiet fire.

But it was in motherhood

That her crown gleamed anew.

Zenyatta, the queen of hearts, undefeated for so long, carried her power with elegance. But it’s in her role as a broodmare, passing on strength and spirit to the next generation, that we glimpse the sacred rhythm of nurture and legacy. Her quiet, enduring work mirrors the love of God—a strength clothed in gentleness, a calling rooted in giving.

So it is with us.

We were made to run, yes—but also to carry forward purpose, to shape legacy, to reflect the Creator who designed both stallion and soul.

God, in His breathtaking creativity, has made each of us with spectacular gifts. We’re not here by chance. We’re handcrafted by the Creator of the universe—“fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:14, ESV). Within each of us are talents, passions, and abilities designed with divine precision. You carry a unique imprint of God’s glory, and He has prepared a race just for you.

But gifts are not meant to sit idle. Just as a racehorse isn't bred to remain in the stable, your gifts weren’t meant to lie dormant. They’re meant to be identified, trained, and released—used boldly and faithfully for God’s purposes.

We must:

* Identify our gifts through prayer, self-reflection, and wise counsel.

* Train them through discipline, effort, and humility.

* Use them in service to others and obedience to God.

* Shine them as a reflection of His glory—not for personal fame, but for divine honor.

“As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God’s varied grace” (1 Peter 4:10, ESV).

Just like derby horses have their own tracks, we each have our own calling. Don’t waste your energy comparing lanes. Don’t shrink back because someone else’s stride looks longer or louder. The race God designed for you is perfectly matched to your gifts. The worst thing we can do is watch from the sidelines, holding back what God intended to release.

“Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus...” (Hebrews 12:1–2, ESV).

This isn’t a sprint. It’s a faith-filled, purpose-driven journey. You weren’t made to blend in or bury your talents. You were created to run—a divine design in motion.

So saddle up your courage. Trust the One who designed you. Whether your calling feels like a championship race or a quiet pasture of faithfulness, run your race! And let the world see what happens when someone fully alive in Christ dares to run free.

God doesn’t just make fast horses. He makes people with eternal callings.

Happy Mother's Day all you Mother's out there!

Retracing the Roads: Grieving with Hope

I’ve driven these roads many times.

Some led to family dinners, hospital visits, or unexpected emergencies. Others carried quiet conversations, everyday errands, or Sunday afternoons wrapped in peace. But recently, as I retraced these familiar roads, I felt the weight of memory settle beside me.

I am not a widow. But I have loved deeply. I have lost family, and I have watched closely as women I care about have faced the soul-shattering journey of losing their husbands. This reflection is written with them in mind—with you in mind, dear reader, if that is your road. And though I may be asleep when you read this in the quiet hours of the night, please know I have prayed that these words will reach your heart like a hand stretched across the darkness.

Emotions Are a Gift from God

Grief teaches us to feel in ways we never expected. Joy, pain, anger, sorrow, numbness, gratitude—sometimes all at once. But emotions are not failures. They are part of what makes us human, created in God's image.

"You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?"

—Psalm 56:8 (ESV)

God sees every tear. And not one falls unnoticed.

Grief Is Not a Timeline

People often speak of "stages" of grief, as though healing is something you check off like a to-do list. But grief is more like waves than rungs on a ladder. Some days you're steady. Other days, it hits you hard and unexpected.

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to weep, and a time to laugh..."

—Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4 (ESV)

Let grief be what it is without judgment. God understands your season.

Grief Affects Every Part of Us

It isn’t just an ache in the heart. Grief can bring brain fog, fatigue, even physical pain. Spiritually, it can shake your foundation.

"My soul melts away for sorrow; strengthen me according to your word!"

—Psalm 119:28 (ESV)

It is okay to ask for help, to seek counsel, to lean into the arms of others—and most importantly, to lean into the arms of God.

Take Care of Your DEAR Self

Even when your world feels like it's falling apart, the small things matter. The acronym DEAR is a gentle reminder:

• Drink water
• Eat nourishing foods
• Actively move (even a short walk)
• Rest when you can

"Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you...?"

—1 Corinthians 6:19 (ESV)

Your healing matters to God. So does your body. Be tender with it.

The Quiet After the Checklist

The funeral ends. The headstone is placed. The phone stops ringing. Friends return to their routines. And you're left staring into the silence. This is where grief begins in earnest.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me..."

—Psalm 23:4 (ESV)

God never leaves in the silence. He draws near.

Lament Is Worship

You don’t need to pretend to be okay. Biblical lament is a raw, holy expression of pain before God. It says, "I trust You enough to tell You how badly I hurt."

"Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God..."

—Psalm 42:11 (ESV)

Let your tears become prayers. God hears them all.

The Five Stages (But Not in Order)

You may feel:

• Shock: “This can’t be happening.”
• Anger: “Why did this happen to us?”
• Bargaining: “If only I had...”
• Depression: The deep sadness, the fog.
• Acceptance: The beginning of new understanding.

"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit."

—Psalm 34:18 (ESV)

And remember: You do not walk through these alone.

Grief Can Give Birth to Compassion

Pain can soften us. As I reflect on losses in my own life, I’ve seen how grief can carve out room in our hearts for others. You may not feel it now, but God is still writing your story.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ... who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction..."

—2 Corinthians 1:3-4 (ESV)

Three Life-Giving Reminders

I Should Grieve

Scripture shows us examples of deep, sacred mourning:

“And they mourned for him thirty days...” —Deuteronomy 34:8 (ESV)

“David and all the people... wept and fasted until evening.” —2 Samuel 1:12 (ESV)

I Should Grieve in Community

Jesus cared for His grieving mother. Job’s friends showed up, even in silence.

“When Jesus saw his mother... he said, 'Woman, behold, your son!'” —John 19:26 (ESV)

“And they sat with him... for they saw that his suffering was very great.” —Job 2:13 (ESV)

I Should Grieve with Hope

This is not the end. Our hope is alive.

“But we do not want you to be uninformed... that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.” —1 Thessalonians 4:13 (ESV)

The Road Ahead

If you’re reading this in the quiet of night, feeling the ache that won’t go away, let me remind you: You are not forgotten. The God who counts your tears walks with you. Your grief is not a detour—it’s part of the road.

Familiar roads feel different now, I know. But they can still carry you forward. And on every stretch, whether you feel Him or not, God is near.

There is grief. But there is also grace.

And grace will carry you home.

A Prayer for When You Don't Have Words

Lord God,

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to feel. I miss him so much, and the silence is too loud.

Be near to me, even now.

Hold me in the places I cannot hold myself. Breathe peace into my restless heart. Catch the tears that won’t stop falling. Remind me I am not alone.

When I forget what is true, whisper it again: You are faithful. You are good. You will never leave me.

Give me strength for this hour, and enough for the next. Surround me with your mercy and send comfort to my aching soul.

Jesus, Man of Sorrows, you know my pain. Sit with me in it. I need you.

Amen.