At 12:37 a.m. on January 6, 2024, we finished our midnight feeding with Wyatt as a one-week-old. It’s really hard for me to comprehend how fast time has passed. In the moment, while laboring, time felt like it was moving by at a snail’s pace. In contrast, his first weeks of life have raced by at the speed of a freight train. 

If I’m honest, it doesn’t always feel real. The number of times I’ve whispered “I’m someone’s mom” to myself in disbelief is immense.

It does, however, feel so big and so full of emotion that I might burst. 

Constantly, I find myself back and forth between extremes – full of both fear and joy; exhaustion and amazement; overly insecure, yet incredibly excited. 

It has been the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt… and, also the most vulnerable.

But mostly – I’m wildly in awe of what God can do in a very small amount of time. I’m humbled by being called to this space.

Our Birth Story

Wyatt entered this world at 5 pounds and 12 ounces, without incident or stress (on him), after a full 12 hours of laboring and almost three hours of pushing.

Our birth story isn’t full of too many crazy moments, but it is a full 24 hours that I didn’t anticipate would happen when it did or what would take place when I got there. 

I had almost 10 months to understand, comprehend and prepare for what I would be up against. Yet, for the first time in what is probably my entire life, I chose to not plan.

I was assured by Dr. Bailey that whatever path we decided to take, we would get there together. 

Honestly? That’s all I needed to hear. So, I did what my brain does best… I closed the door on thinking about what the actual day of birth would be like. I lived my best, ignorance is bliss, pregnant life.

I actively chose to show up and do what I was told to do when that day came. Which… is probably how I didn’t even know I was in labor. 

Yep, this incredible story of welcoming this tiny human life into the world came to be… without me even knowing that’s what was going on. 

A Morning of Surprises

Our original due date was January 17, but we were scheduled to induce on January 9. While I was A-OKAY with being ignorant of the whole labor and delivery process until it was necessary, I needed dates on the calendar for when the whole thing would go down. 

Scheduling to be induced helped my brain process (as much as it could) my inevitable role as a mom. 

It helped us to have a schedule where Evan and Madison could be a part of their little brother’s arrival.

It also helped to make more concrete plans for work. With the 9th circled on the calendar, I scheduled/prepared for maternity leave to begin January 1. I did this to have a trial week for our team at work to call and ask questions if they needed to, to take a few days for myself and to get some last-minute house things ready.

God laughs at me and my best-made plans every single day, so I shouldn’t be surprised that the ultimate plan for Wyatt’s entrance into the world was not fazed in the slightest by my agenda.  

Although the entirety of my pregnancy was rather uneventful, something was different enough between Wednesday, December 27 and Friday, December 29 for me to take note. 

I didn’t know what it was then, but I felt off. Specifically, I felt like my body was on a slow battery drain. 

On Thursday evening, I got home from work and experienced a few new-to-me pregnancy symptoms. So, I did what any sane human would do… I Googled it. Of course, the Internet told me it could be one of about eight things – including labor. So, I chalked it up as one more “normal” aspect of pregnancy and that I shouldn’t overreact or stress.

Instead, I decided I would wait to see if the symptoms persisted. I told myself that if it was still an issue the following morning, I would mention it at my scheduled doctor’s appointment. 

I did, however, mention to Nick that I thought we might have a baby by the weekend.

In the kindest, dearest way possible, he looked at me like I had two heads. In his defense, I didn’t tell him it was because of said symptoms. We were also operating under the impression that the first pregnancy and labor would be long with a very, very low chance of being early. 

On Friday morning, Nick brought me both coffee and my morning pop-tart. I left the coffee unbothered and was so exhausted that I barely sat up in bed to consume the pop-tart. I also decided to not go to the gym (in hindsight, this was probably the best decision I made that morning). 

Slowly, I rolled out of bed, showered and got ready to go into the office early. It was my last full day in office before maternity leave, and I had a laundry list of things I needed to close out before being able to leave for 12 weeks. 

Typing that sentence now makes me cackle. 

I knocked out about half of that list before our doctor’s appointment at 8:30 a.m.

We reported for our ultrasound and Wyatt’s biophysical profile test. He got an 8/8 for movement and breathing practice – which resulted in another great test of physical fitness.  

The tech did mention that he seemed to be squashed with very little room to move. But, my fluid levels were in the normal range and our baby boy seemed to be both happy and healthy. 

I assumed that if the symptoms from the night before were an issue… it would have been spotted here, so my priority level for asking questions lowered tremendously. 

When we got into the actual appointment, my NP asked if I wanted to be checked to see if there was any real progress towards labor. 

I declined. If you know, you know. 

Other than being exhausted and the randomness of the night before, I had zero signs or symptoms of anything else. No pain, no discomfort, no nothing. Whatever I experienced the night before had stalled, so I assumed it was a one-off random thing. Checking to see if I was near labor seemed unnecessary.

At the end of the visit, she asked if I had any additional questions.

I began with a few about formula, what to bring to the hospital and what to expect when checking into Labor & Delivery on January 9. 

We got through all of that, and something told me I needed to at least mention the night before… just in case. So, I did. 

I can still see the face she made at me. Without hesitation – she asked, “Did your water break?” To which I responded, “Eh? I’m new here. It wasn’t like the movies. So, I don’t know?”

While that was one of the possible answers to the questions I Googled the night before, my experience did not match the stereotypical experience for water breaking or what was described by those Google results (which is really why I didn’t think this was a thing).

She validated that she did, indeed, need to check to see if my water broke with two tests. One was an instant strip – a positive indicator of my water breaking would turn the strip blue. 

Because nothing is ever that simple, my test strip turned green with some faint blue coloring. 

The other test would take about 10-15 minutes to process. 

Naively, I asked what a positive test would mean. That’s when she shared that it would mean I was in labor, and we would have a baby… not on January 9, but on December 29. 

As a shocking turn of events for all of us, she came back to the room with a big grin. It was positive. In what seems to be the most anticlimactic way possible, my water had broken the night before.

And just like that, in a very fast 10 minutes, we went from thinking we would both go back to work to having a baby. 

My best guess is that no one is surprised by the fact that I asked if I could go back to the office for a few hours, first. I had a video for New Year’s Eve to complete, a press release to write and some closeout processes and instructions to leave in my absence.

I needed to close out my desk. 

I HAD THINGS TO DO.  

When that didn’t work, I asked if we could at least run to the house to grab our bags. I was almost packed – but I could have used a once over to make sure I had everything… like the Weller Special Reserve we would drink as a celebratory toast and my pajama pants that were in the dryer. 

Priorities? Yes. 

Nevertheless, she said no. Even though the voice in my head whispered “How will they know?”, I’m a rule follower at heart. 

We both, alternately, began calling and texting family, work and friends. Nick wasn’t packed at all, but thankfully, the kiddos were at the house. Maddie was able to put together the stuff he would need. 

With hospital registration initiated, we drove across the street to Labor & Delivery. 

It’s at this point, where I would like to share that I could have – in fact – gone back to the office or home. We didn’t see the doc for another few hours and my body didn’t feel like it was having a baby until mid-afternoon. 

I’ll also admit that I was in denial for several hours about Wyatt joining us on this side of the world that specific day. I wouldn’t even sit in the hospital bed. 

Until the nursing/doctor team arrived to talk through the gameplan, I sat on the couch working both my personal and work phones to compile a list of remaining tasks that would need to be taken care of. 

It’s at this point in my career when I’ve managed to talk on one phone while texting on another in the depths of a canyon on a vacation AND also in the labor & delivery room. 

It took me a few hours, but reality did begin to sink in. I accepted that I couldn’t wrap everything in a neat little bow like I wanted to and that there were plenty of people who could help do what needed to be done.

I’ve been very adamant that I wanted to soak up this entire chapter of our journey and be present. But, I felt like I needed to leave everything neatly and with a road map to do so. This is just another example of my failed attempt to let my agenda be in the driver’s seat. Again, God laughs at me daily.   

Getting the Party Started

After our NP informed us we were having a baby, she also informed us that Dr. Bailey wasn’t in town. Normally, I would have used this time to panic about the only plan I made not going accordingly and having a doctor I didn’t know deliver my child; but, in all the ways that God delivers – he quickly quieted my soul. 

We ended up with an incredible labor and delivery team who talked us through every single step of the way. 

By Noon, I received a dose of pitocin to get things started. There, we began our 12-hour labor adventure. Because I wasn’t dilated even the smallest unit, it took what felt like forever. 

“Your having a baby, today!” equated to a few hours in my brain. 

Boy, was that the wrong assumption. 

By late afternoon, my body finally reached four centimeters.

I was very vocal about wanting an epidural as early as possible, but a part of me also wanted to see how far I could go before needing it. After four centimeters, the contractions were hitting every minute and a half… growing in intensity. 

I thought I was stronger.

I will proudly share here that I am not.

When the contractions got to be too much, the angels descended with an epidural in hand and all was right in the world.

Between this time and 10 p.m., we FaceTimed Staci and Kevin, had visits with family and a few friends, watched “Captain America – Civil War” and “Thor: Ragnarok” and grew hungrier and hungrier. Remember that pop-tart? That was the only food I had all day.

Around 9 p.m., they administered oxygen to help Wyatt move on down a little further.

Around 10 p.m., I was at the magic number.

Looking back, the whole thing felt pretty surreal and out-of-body. But when we hit 10 centimeters, I entered into an overwhelming tunnel of uncertainty and fear. Before they ushered everyone out of the room, I asked my dad to pray over us. When they left, the feelings continued to grow stronger. 

When the nurse walked in to get started, I looked at Nick with more fear than I had ever felt and told him I couldn’t do this specific thing, that my body wasn’t capable and that I was scared to fail. While I’d love to pin those tears and emotions on the amount of hormones coursing through my body – they weren’t responsible.

I was fully terrified of the responsibility that sat on my shoulders. 

I have lived most of my life with a “fake it until you make it” mentality. I hold a big bucket of pride for being willing and eager to work through obstacles, figuring it out as needed. 

I don’t always ask for help (to my detriment). Yet, as we entered the pushing phase… I was more vulnerable than I’ve ever been – openly admitting that I didn’t feel capable of the one job I had to do. 

The words Nick shared over me at that point were everything I needed (and more). He assured me I could do this whole thing, but it wasn’t just the words. It was a force of belief that was palpable. He believed enough for both of us.  

For another few hours, he held my hand, supported my back, changed the playlist when I was annoyed by the song… and during the moments when I felt my “I can do this” sentiment disintegrating into thin air – when I didn’t think I could keep going – he sensed what I felt and continued to encourage, count breaths and believe in me. 

I’m not sure I’ve ever truly accepted the idea of soul mates, but Wyatt’s birth validated they do exist and God put Nick on this earth to be my husband.  

When someone can fully step into a moment of vulnerability and carry the weight for you, it’s special and it’s rare. I didn’t think I could love him any more than I already did, but I don’t ever want to forget the single moment when we worked together to bring our son into the world. 

The next few hours were long and tough, with a much-needed break around the 11:30 p.m. mark. Wyatt wasn’t moving in the right direction very much. When he would make progress through pushing, he’d take several steps back during the rest breaks. Of course, I didn’t blame him. The world is a scary place.

There was talk of using a vacuum.
A c-section would be discussed if that didn’t work.
But, we decided to continue on a natural path.

The clock got closer to Midnight, and somewhere between another nurse and the doctor coming in, we pushed harder than I ever thought was possible… then, an entire team of people descended into the room just in time for Wyatt to make his entrance at 12:37 a.m. on December 30, 2023. 

I cried tears of joy and exhaustion at the same time.

I knew I would love him. I think that goes without saying. But, I just didn’t know how big or powerful that would feel.

I had no idea that I would feel so connected to someone so tiny, that my heart could explode and also that I would put everything in me on the line if necessary in one fell swoop.

Now, I can’t imagine life without him.

Stepping Into His Name

Wyatt means war strength, brave warrior. 
Davis means son of God, beloved. 

We were between two names when Nick suggested Wyatt. It was pulled from the list early-on but with a few weeks to go, Nick lobbed it back on the table.

Although Nick did do his fair share of campaigning, I wasn’t as convinced until I looked up the meaning behind the pair we were considering. 

We wanted his name to be short and strong, but having the meaning of the actual name speak life into that strength is something we want to continue to pray over him. We want him to always know that life is full of hard things, that he can be brave and a warrior – as he is called into his purpose. 

We also want him to know that while he is ours and we love him with a measurement that doesn’t exist, he is fully a son of God. 

The Journey Begins Here

The hours and days that have followed Wyatt’s official birthday have proven that motherhood isn’t just a title.

I feel like I’ve done a lot of hard things in my 37 years of existence, but man – I had no idea.

If you add in the BRUTAL punch of hormones that have jumped up and down and side to side, it’s safe to say that the inside of my brain looks and feels like mush at all times. But, I’m immensely grateful – to be on this journey with Nick and to be Wyatt’s mom. 

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” – Isaiah 41:10

When the Lenten season began, I shared that my heart was in a disheveled space. It was a devastating work week, filled with some harsh realities of the world.

It was also the week Milo decided to make my reading nook his targeted area for the day – perhaps maybe feeling moved to also taste the Word of God as he shredded my Bible.

It wasn’t the entrance into the Lenten season I planned.
Y’all, I was planning for a soft reflection – quiet moments of prayer each morning and experiencing Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday with Nick by attending the corresponding Mass service for the first time.

It was a buttoned-up picture in my head. And just like my Bible, my plans were shredded.

Instead, I got 40ish days of new moments that often left my heart both wrecked and humbled. My Lenten experience ended up looking just like that first week.

Soft reflection morphed into face-to-face moments with God, the truth of how Jesus walked on Earth and the painful reconciliation that crowds of people – people just like me – literally called for Him to be crucified.

My faith walk as an adult, where I’ve been trusted to make decisions on my own, has been wayward at best over the last ten years.

I know it sounds hokey and Sunday School-like to say; but, this season specifically has been deliberately marked by God in ways I’m still trying to navigate.

As a child, Easter Sunday was the shining moment of church throughout the year. The day was stacked with a church service, family lunch, Easter Egg hunts and Sunday dresses (that I typically fought mom on wearing – my blue jeans were just fine thankyouverymuch).

I also asked for Easter chicken tenders because ham is at the top of a very short list of foods I will not eat. But, I digress.

It was always special and I remember understanding the premise of what is real about Easter. But this year, I’ve seen the week and this season from a very raw perspective – one that began at the beginning of Lent but one that really hit its height last week during Palm Sunday.

I’ve been attending Mass with Nick for almost a year. I’ve grown accustomed to the readings and recitations (and the sitting-standing-sitting), but I didn’t expect the part of this particular service where, as a church, we took on the role of the crowd in the account of the crucifixion.

As the priest, deacon and elder read through the moments that led to Jesus being hoisted upon the cross, the church read together parts assigned to the crowd on what is categorically one of the worst days in history.

Together, we read, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”

It punched me.

I re-read the passages again to see if the church was also assigned other parts as if there just weren’t enough cast members to play single roles. Nope. We were only assigned the role of the crowd.

Like anyone who has been punched, my gut reaction was to be both offended and defensive.

How dare they assign all of us the role of the crowd?
How dare they assume that “I” – a Christian – wouldn’t be Team Jesus standing on the hill, mourning with Mary.

Yes – I hear myself and how ridiculous that sounds.

The service left me frayed, internally processing a feeling I wasn’t sure how to categorize.

I quickly recognized, however, that my gut reaction stemmed from a very raw part of my heart that exhibited shame.

Shame for the moments I don’t always present the best version of myself.
Shame for when my heart feels entitled to things I don’t deserve.
Shame because I absolutely deserved to read the role of the crowd.

My feelings of being offended quickly transitioned to being humbled.
And, this is where God really began to teach me about a Bible story I thought I knew but had never fully assessed in my heart.

The truth is – I’m not sure I’ve ever looked inward enough to know where I might place myself in the journey to the cross.

It’s always been very easy to read the Easter story with an outside perspective – to point at the crowd and be mad at them for what they did or to point at Judas and ask, “How? How did you still betray Him after He told you what would happen?” Same for Peter.

But y’all… the reality is that I’m just as selfish as Judas.
I am just as impulsive as Peter.
And, It is very likely I would have been yelling with the crowd.

Yet, He still died to serve as a bridge across a divide we could never cross on our own.

I’ve spent the last week trying to process the heaviness associated with the week, to reconcile how good God is and how undeserving I am.

Good Friday was messy and raw – filled with all that is harsh about people and the world.
And even though that day on a hill was nothing shy of difficult, dark and devastating – Sunday still happened.

Because of Good Friday, the plan of God prevailed and the blood of Jesus saved the world.

Regardless if I had been standing in the crowd calling for his crucifixion, the blood of Jesus saved me.

I don’t know what message you need to hear this week, today or this weekend – but that’s one I hope I never forget.

Since 2001, my warrior verse has been Exodus 14:14. “The Lord will fight for you – you need only to be still.”

The passage was used by my youth pastor (heeey Kevin Cooper) in the days that followed 9/11. And, I’ve revisited the pages of my teenage Bible too many times to count in the past 21 years. It never fails to provide comfort during scenarios of uncertainty that plague my heart. It seems my 35-year-old heart has a hard time letting things go, worrying about the things I cannot control and sweating the small stuff just as much as my 14-year-old heart did.

Yesterday morning, my devotional recalled those words to me again – but in a different book of the Old Testament.

I can barely wrap my mind around the compassionate side of the Bible in the New Testament, let alone the very, very technical, law-driven world of the Old Testament. When it said we were taking a deep dive into 2 Chronicles, I felt a twinge of frustration. Honestly… Some mornings, I just want an easy word from God while we sit – not a suitcase to unpack. But, I’m trying to do the hard things even when my brain isn’t fully processing because coffee hasn’t kicked in. So, I dove in.

Deep into the weeds of 2 Chronicles, I found myself enthralled with the story of King Jehoshaphat and several other hard-to-pronounce names preparing for a battle where they were outnumbered… and there in the midst of it was a real-life moment representing what has always been metaphorical to me – “The Lord will fight for you – you need only to be still.”

It reads:

14 Then the Spirit of the Lord came on Jahaziel son of Zechariah, the son of Benaiah, the son of Jeiel, the son of Mattaniah, a Levite and descendant of Asaph, as he stood in the assembly.

15 He said: “Listen, King Jehoshaphat and all who live in Judah and Jerusalem! This is what the Lord says to you: ‘Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God’s. 16 Tomorrow march down against them. They will be climbing up by the Pass of Ziz, and you will find them at the end of the gorge in the Desert of Jeruel. 17 You will not have to fight this battle. Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the Lord will give you, Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Go out to face them tomorrow, and the Lord will be with you.’”

Outside of all the words that are hard to sound out or places on a map you can’t find, it’s probably important to know that King Jehoshaphat was worried about a lot… as a leader, as a warrior, as a follower of God. But what stands out to me the most is his vulnerability to know where his team was weak, his obedience to God’s instruction and his ability to carry those who were following him into that obedience.  

How many times have I been discouraged and fearful because of what is ahead?

More than I can count.

It’s never been a real army that is bigger and stronger than me – but I know my overdramatic interpretation of things can make me feel like they are. 

The last several weeks have been filled with a good bit of worry – pointed in a lot of different directions. Some of it is mine to carry and some of it is on behalf of others I love and care for. 

Regardless of where the worry stems from, God deliberately reminds me: 

“Calm down. These battles aren’t yours to fight. You are here and you do play a role, but you won’t be the one swinging the sword. Your role is to stand firm and be still. Samantha, let me do my job.” 

(Obviously this is my interpretation and not His actual words… but I imagine it’s what He would say to me right after he popped a Tums for the 764th time I’ve questioned all the things.) 

This week specifically, He’s used overlapping messages from different sources to tackle the worries of my heart. Every day, I’ve read passages dealing with fear (Matthew 6:36), conquering anxiousness (1 Peter 3:13-17) and obediently praying through difficult moments (Acts 27:25). 

I wasn’t looking to unpack a whole lot when I sat down yesterday morning, but I’m grateful for the honesty and grace it presented before me. Everyone – EVERYONE – is carrying something these days and we all need the reminder to lay down the battles that aren’t ours to fight and to find rest in the relationship of the One who will always fight for us.

Prior to the fall of 2017, I wrote a column for a local paper and magazine. Each month, I contributed one article titled “Real Talk with Real People,” which provided an opportunity to highlight people in my community who are sometimes complicated and sometimes a beautiful mess – but at the very core, very real. In February of 2017, I wrote about my friend Sid Collins. Fast forward five years later, and this piece still holds so much advice and truth.

I was raised by the uniform. With a large number of family members in both law enforcement and the military, I’ve always been able to pick those folks out in a crowd. I can’t tell you the exact date I met Sid Collins – but I immediately knew he fell into that category. 

Shortly after meeting Sid through our Versus Strength and Conditioning outdoor workout group, I learned he was in the National Guard and worked at Camp Shelby. Bingo! 

When I made my list of people I wanted to feature here, Sid was at the top. While being friends for the last year and a half, I realized I didn’t really know him outside of our Versus connection. And that’s where this story unfolds.

Throughout the last month, I’ve exchanged several emails with Sid (who is currently in Kosovo, serving as the Director of Public Works for Area Support Team – Balkans). I’m not sure if either of us knew what to expect from these ping-pong emails, but I know one thing for certain … my world is better for knowing Sid and I’m excited to share him with you.

Building a connection.

Sid didn’t say much at workout during those first few months when he joined us, but to be fair … it is at 6 a.m. I don’t talk much, either. Even still, I found his witty commentary on Facebook and in our group text messages to be contagious. 

It didn’t take me long to learn that Sid’s love for coffee is right up there with Jesus, his wife Julie and his two children – Emily (14) and Keith (11). And in time, I’ve learned something else… he has an extraordinary connection with many in our community. 

When he left for Kosovo last summer for his year-long assignment, my Facebook feed quickly transformed into the “Sid Show.” I didn’t know we had so many overlapping circles of friends and from that, I immediately recognized three things:

1. His church community would need to be quick on their feet in terms of who would serve them the best of coffee during his absence.
2. People of all ages love him. 
3. His family would be taken care of well, while he was away. 

And after looking back through all of our conversations … I understand why those things were so prevalent. 

Sid has a strong sense of family – not always bound by blood – but by his genuine connection to people who desire to help, lift up, encourage, and motivate one another. 

I’ve always been told you get what you give in this world… and I know first-hand that Sid’s communities – family, work, church and gym – are built by what he and Julie give.

Community in the valley.

Sid and Julie have been through several life moments that could have easily worn any one of us down to a hopeless place of self-pity. But, not these two. 

They met in the early 90s at Parkway Heights United Methodist Church when Sid interviewed for the position of director at Early Encounters. After several tours with the Army, they were later married. In 1999 they left Hattiesburg for Knoxville for Sid to pursue his PhD. 

Within five years, they had Emily, Keith, a half-finished PhD and a small side business. But due to unforeseen circumstances in 2006, Julie was suddenly out of work. 

“Living indoors and eating food requires us to work full time, so we decided to move back to Hattiesburg. It was the one place where we had a support network, friends, and family – especially at Parkway Heights,” he said.

Sid went on to tell me that their church family made all the difference for them at that point – but it had nothing to do with the sermons or the songs. “It was never one specific thing that made it matter the most. It was all of the little moments. Julie is from Jackson and I am from Natchez, but we’ll both tell you that our home is Hattiesburg and Parkway Heights.” 

Since moving back to town, their church family continues to remain a solid place to plant their feet – but for more than the coffee on Sunday. 

In 2010, Sid was involved in a car accident that left him with a bruised heart, a collapsed lung, an internal laceration of the liver, four broken ribs, countless burns of severe degree, and more.

This is the part of Sid’s story where I am speechless. There aren’t any words to describe the damage seen in the photos from the wreck. 

“I didn’t understand the extent of my injuries [that day] and that my life was close to ending. But I prayed and I plead with God. I had only been back from Iraq for 3 months and I wanted more time with my family. I remember putting faith in Him, and I faded away. I woke up from a coma nine days later,” he said.

I’m baffled that he was able to survive that kind of impact, but I admire how he refers to his church family’s response after the wreck. 

“[October 28, 2010] was the day of the accident and one of the most awesome moments in a loving community ever.” 

Sid went on to describe an unparalleled response in the form of phone calls, visits, support and prayers; and he attributes much to their Parkway Heights family during that time in their lives. “They made so many things possible, and even six years later, they continue to do so.”

He said, “For the last several years, I’ve continued physical rehabilitation. Although my lung was reinflated after the wreck, I never regained the use and ability I had prior. I am tired all of the time; and when I arrive at church, it’s like I have coasted into a gas station on fumes. But being around my friends, their children, and their elderly parents… it gives me energy. I look forward to helping the elderly get in and out of their vehicles, serving coffee, and telling the same silly joke to Amanda and Jeremy Cascio’s daughter every week. It all gives me joy.” 

When I think about what church should look like, I can’t help but think of it as this portrait of love, encouragement, and emotional support from a tightly-wound community.

A different kind of healing.

While Sid’s church community provided help and support for the family after the wreck, it wasn’t long before he began seeking out an additional community to help him on another journey.

“Thanks to the Army, I’ve always been able to stay in shape. But after the wreck, I had to start over,” he said. “I was stoically rehabbing in my own way and there was a lot of pressure for me to pass the semi-annual Army Physical Fitness Test (APFT) for the National Guard.” 

Sid attributes a lot of encouragement and success for passing the APFT to his colleagues and peers at Camp Shelby, but knew he needed more. At the same time, Julie felt the same. In 2015, they both joined Versus.

“We had several friends at church who were members and we could see it worked,” he said. “Years of law enforcement and military experience enables me to detect fraud in human interactions at about a mile away. But at Versus, they are genuine. The added bonus with our outdoor group is that I also got a new set of friends.” 

Shortly after joining, Julie experienced a life-threatening illness that required two emergency surgeries. After battling back and months of healing, she was cleared to get back to it – but it required a very selective approach by the coaches. “They never missed a step in helping craft a program that worked for her,” he said. 

“God’s timing and all that, but Versus came along at the right moment. We had something we could do together and more than that, it was tailored to our own physical rehab needs.”

A stable foundation.

When Sid left for Kosovo, Julie began working out with our group downtown in the morning, three days a week. 

With that, our crew has gotten to know this woman who has the most comforting smile and who willingly celebrates with you when you need it. An encouraging smile really does go a long way, especially at 6 a.m.

Through getting to know Julie, we’ve also been able to see a different side of Sid. A side that is a little mushy, for lack of a better word. Though more than 5,500 miles separate them right now, his admiration for his wife is evident through his words.

“Free unsolicited advice warning, Sam – if you can live without someone in your life, then don’t marry them. I cannot live without Julie in my life.”  [I’ll wait for you to grab a tissue, now]

I asked him to expand on that a little more, and he had this to say: 

“Twenty years ago, we were much different people. But we’ve grown together and now, we are less drastic characters who compliment each other. Julie has empathy and compassion. I have reservation and suspicion. I see details. She sees the message. She sings classical music at the civic opera level. I sing with the radio alone in my truck.” 

While Sid’s world is full of community, it’s clear that his relationship with Julie is the anchor. 

The truth is… real life isn’t always pretty. But the people who join us during the toughest of moments and biggest of celebrations give us strength in ways we could never imagine. 

Simply – we all need those people we can hold onto when the proverbial of life hits the fan; and in Sid’s world, he has plenty to choose from.

I’m a part of the Compete Every Day morning text message program, which means Jake Thompson is frequently saying things I need to hear at exactly the moments I need them.

“You don’t need a new year or a new month to start in order to build a new you. You can start today with your next choice.” 

I wasn’t necessarily vying for a “new me” when I walked out of the gym on October 25, but there were some major areas of my life I felt like I needed to dial into and find more focus for.

I was kicking around the idea of tackling 75 Hard – something I’ve thought about on and off for a little more than a year. I knew my “why” needed to be strong in order to do it and I was staring down the calendar of all the things – including the holiday season. 

It seemed like a crapshoot to start something in the midst of all the things, and the challenge for me at the time was to figure out when I could best make the program work without it being a hardship on my personal life (yeah, I heard it too – keep reading). 

If you’re not familiar with the program by Andy Frisella, it’s a mindset program created to strengthen habits and disciplines. The program involves 75 straight days of making deliberate choices to do the following:

• Two 45-minute workouts a day (one has to be outside in the elements)
• Take a photo.
• Read 10 pages of a nonfiction book.
• Drink a gallon of water.
• Follow a diet.
• No alcohol.
• No cheat foods (processed, sweets, pizza, burgers, etc.) 

The kicker: There isn’t an “Oops, I forgot a task.” If you don’t complete every task each day, you start back over at Day 1. 

Y’aaaaaall. Doesn’t that sound like a New Year thing? 

I imagine you’re nodding your head with me. BECAUSE OF COURSE IT IS. 

A January 1 start made the most sense in setting myself up for success… until I read that all-too timely message from Jake. Immediately after reading it, I asked myself two important questions: 

• Why did I really want to push the start to January?
• Was I choosing to do something hard when it might categorically be easier? 

Those answers led me to:

• Why would I spend the effort and time to do something hard, just to do it when it would be easier? 
• Would I benefit more if I chose to do it when it was going to be harder? 

The internal dialogue was real. 

So, I did what any person who just had her butt kicked by a text message would do. I checked my gut, had some key conversations with Nick (more on this later) and then changed my start date to November 8. 

And, for the following 75 days – I worked every day to check boxes that have ultimately enhanced my world for the better. 

Because of how trendy this program has become over the last year – I don’t want to mislead anyone. You won’t find me making egregious claims that the program emphatically changed my life. 

I didn’t walk out of it with a six pack (because it’s not a fitness program) and I’m not on my way to being a millionaire (because it’s not a financial program). However, it did improve several key areas of my life that I really needed a better focus for – physically, mentally and spiritually. 

Setting Up for Success

I’ll be very truthful with you. I’ve focused on clean eating and workouts for an elongated period of time before; but, I’ve never gone that long without alcohol and I never imagined I’d survive the holidays without feasting on some of my favorite foods. Still, I did it… and if you’re trying to decide if you can do it, too… you can. 

And if you’re willing to put in the work, have the willpower and are ready to make a commitment to yourself – I encourage you to keep reading. 

I pulled a lot of key lessons from doing this program. Some are knock-you-down-good, some are a little heavy (even for me) and some have dots that are still being connected. I’m trying to put them in an adequate sequence that pulls together the full story so that I can share that with you.

However – in the meantime – there are three key foundational components that I couldn’t have done the program without:

1. Knowing my why.
2. Having a solid support system.
3. Having a plan. 

Much like building a house – the storms I knew that would occasionally blow my way would have every opportunity to tear down my progress or push me to failure without a firm foundation.

Sounds simple, but it’s the necessary first step. 

If you’re in this similar space of wanting to tackle the program, I hope they’ll provide you with a place to start.

Why? But, why? Okay, but why? 

My work life is far from simple, and often, my time is not my own. During some weeks, I come home without many more words to say and a strong need to crawl in my bed at 7 p.m. 

It’s something I’ve come to fully understand about myself, and I knew that committing to 75 days of completing seven additional tasks would include days when I didn’t feel like giving much more. 

Without a strong understanding of my “why” – especially on those days – I knew I would fail.

When I went through Clean Kitchen in 2016, we spent the first week unpacking our “why.” It’s a simple activity of continuing to ask “but, why?” until you get to the bottom of your desire for whatever is in front of you. 

I do this activity every single time I sit down to achieve something. It takes a goal from being words on paper to having purpose, and that means the world when you’re trying to do something hard. 

If you rolled out of the bed this morning and said “I’m going to start 75 Hard tomorrow” without exploring your why – you will have a hard time completing the program. 

If you’ve never unpacked a why – this is a quick example for what I mean:

I want to lose weight.

Why?

I want to lose weight because I want to feel better.

Why?

I want to lose weight because I want to feel better when my family wants to do outdoorsy/recreational things.

Why?

Because when I’m able to do outdoorsy/recreational things with my family, we’re building better habits as a family that will contribute to our overall health and wellness. 

Why?

Because the health and wellness of my family is important to me, just as much as my own. 

Very quickly – this activity allows you to put roots to your why. And, when it is cold and rainy on day 42 and you have to find some way to move for 45-minutes in the elements – you have a deeper reason to do it. 

Surface goals won’t cut it here. You won’t compromise your access to basic luxuries like sleep or a night out with friends just to lose weight, but you will when you attach the action to benefiting the overall health and wellness of your family. 

Two are better than one. 

I knew I had a strong why, but I didn’t truly recognize the strength of having a support system in place until about four weeks in. Having someone to lean on from the beginning was worth its weight in gold, but its purpose really showed up (and out) when I found myself in the lull of days 25 through 40. 

If you’re endeavoring to do this, I hope you have a Nick in your life. He will tell you I could do it regardless if he was around, but I’ll tell you that’s a big fat lie. 

Yes, I “could” do it. But, I wouldn’t have wanted to and I wouldn’t have pushed myself as firmly as he did when I needed it most. 

That lull I am talking about were days I found to be the most mentally taxing and draining.

I did not want to drink one more ounce of water. 

I did not want to get up and walk in the frigid temperatures, and I really, really, REALLY wanted to eat pizza or a cookie – or both. 

I often said – audibly – “Why am I even doing this? This is dumb.” 

Before I could even get the words out of my mouth, he would remind me of my reasons, fill up my water glass or ask me if I had my clothes laid out for the morning. 

Having a strong why is without a doubt the most important foundational piece, but accountability and support is right there with it. 

I dare to also say that accountability and others knowing you’re doing the program are two different things. I have found that most people either want to tell the world they are doing 75 Hard for accountability or they tell no one. For me – I told very few… mostly just my family and Nick. 

I’m pretty open on social media and with most people about stuff like this, but there was something special about keeping this thing as my thing until I was ready to share it with others – like now. 

Regardless of who you tell or how you plan to engage accountability throughout the program, having at least one person who knows and who can speak to your truth when you don’t feel like you can is a game changer. 

Make a plan, or plan to fail. 

I had a strong why and an accountability system ready to deploy, but I will be the first person to tell you that I didn’t have a very specific plan for how I would tackle my two workouts until almost two weeks into the program.

I STRUGGLED.

I already wake up kind of early to go to the gym and I knew that my second workout would be a 45-minute walk, but I had not planned when that would happen. 

In my head, I felt like it was just 45-minutes… and I could do that anytime. Because I didn’t assign it a time, I flailed around trying to make everything work. 

One night in the midst of that initial few weeks, I ended up not getting home from work until almost 8:30 p.m. I still had to eat dinner, walk, read 10 pages and get in all the water I had failed to take in earlier in the day. It made me so anxious and I questioned whether the entire thing was worth it.

I ended up knocking on Midnight’s door before I finally settled into bed. I woke up the next morning pretty miserable and frustrated. I needed to pivot, quickly.  

Nick was confident in sharing that he felt like I would feel better about the day and the tasks if I woke up an hour and a half earlier to walk and read. I rolled my eyes at him (it’s okay, he’s used to it), but promised to try it. 

It only took one time to realize that his suggestion would be how I found success. The byproduct is that it inevitably gave me the time I craved the most for a slow wake-up, time for my devotion and a cup of coffee before I got to the gym. It also helped give me a reason to be in bed earlier, which is something I desperately needed.

For the most part, I had three and sometimes four of my tasks marked off before I even walked through the door at work. That made paying attention to the foods I ate and getting in my water even less daunting. 

The 4 a.m. strategy worked for me, but that’s not what I want you to take from this. 

The key for making 75 Hard Work for you is finding a plan that makes the most sense for your life. It’s not going to be easy (there is nothing easy about waking up at 4 a.m.), but it will set you up in a way that allows the core of the program to really work its magic. Whether it’s the workouts, food, getting in water or reading – it wholeheartedly requires a plan. 

Where to from here?

Since we’re on the honesty train, I’ll tell you that this weekend has been a little difficult for me. Friday was Day 75, and I woke up on Saturday morning with a need/want to go to the gym and begin my routines. I read my book and I ate a good breakfast filled with protein and plants.

Then when it came time to decide if I was going to the gym, a small voice whispered, “You’re done, you know. You don’t have to do those things anymore.”

But, I wanted to. So, I went to the gym anyway. And for the most part – I continued throughout the day with the same habits I’ve had for the last several months. 

I did have a drink and celebratory pizza (and chicken tenders – go big or go home?), but I woke up this morning thirsty for water, craving the plants and proteins I’ve been eating for almost three months and a desire to sit and read in the quiet before church. 

Why? Because, that’s what happens when you spend almost 3 months building a routine full of what are now habits.

Overall, the program was worth it to me and I checked boxes for every part of my “why.”

Physically, I saw a lot of great benefits.

Mentally, I found clarity for a lot of questions I’ve been asking myself about the future and what I want the last half of my 30s to look like.

Spiritually, I met God in the early hours of the day… and man, I can’t wait to share what that has done for my life. 

But, for today – I’m wrapping up this specific chapter on 75 Hard and I look forward to turning several of those lessons that came from the program into tangible, touchable things. 

If you are interested in the program and have questions, please reach out! I’m happy to share additional insight or more about how I made it work. Find me here in the comments below or on instagram, at @samemac.

Recently, I finished “Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World” by Joanna Weaver. It brought me face to face – again – with words about rest, stillness and quiet. 

This has been a consistent theme in the books I’ve read this year regarding spiritual growth and faith – most of which have been unintentional but 100% necessary. 

There’s a lot to unpack for what that has meant to me over the last year, but it’s not something I really want to share. While my heart is bandaged up pretty well these days, there is a lot of vulnerability that comes with how raw and real that journey has been.

I’ve been sitting on some form of these words for the last several months. I’ve tried to push them all back down, because I’m really not convinced anyone needs to hear my story (or cares, for that matter). But each time I do, I feel nudged back to this space… this blinking cursor. 

So, here I am, opening the door to a personal story about all the mad feelings, self soothing with the wrong things, relinquishing control, understanding grace and experiencing redemption in a way I never imagined I could.

It’s not easy to admit that the path I’ve taken has been the hardest one – especially when it didn’t have to be… especially when there were lifeboat moments all throughout it. Sinking ships are a journey in themselves, but it doesn’t negate the fact that the boat is indeed going down. 

It is in that journey of plummeting to the bottom, however, where God stripped me of everything I thought I needed/wanted and made me very, very still. 

This story has a lot of side stories, but you likely have better things to do than read that novel (and to be fair, this is long enough).

The Cliffs Notes version reads very simply: The 2020 version of me came with more bumps and bruises than I care to admit. 

In addition to being mentally exhausted from the general chaos that came with a pandemic and serving in an essential capacity, I was emotionally depleted by the same level of chaos in my personal life.

Betrayal, hurt feelings, trying to tape pieces back together that just didn’t fit, denial, and a train of brokenness… You name it, I experienced it. It was muddled and it was messy.

I don’t know about you – but I was barely equipped to handle a public health crisis. Handling an emotional one at the same time wasn’t exactly the headlining act I wanted to sit front row for. 

Everyone navigated last year’s storm in different boats, and I often felt like mine resembled a rowboat with one paddle. Daily, I felt like I was bracing myself for the impact of each new storm, hoping that my boat didn’t capsize and that my one paddle would be enough.

If it had just been the pandemic with work, I could have retreated to my house each day and possibly processed everything (really, not really – because WHAT A YEAR). But, retreating home wasn’t a positive thing. When I was at home, I was completely alone and it was a bleak reminder of all that I had given and poured myself into… and how much it had unraveled. 

All of it was deeply emotional, and I didn’t have the appropriate armor to deal with it. 

Handling emotions has never been my strong suit. What is a strength (eh, arguably a weakness), however, is my intrinsic ability to avoid all emotions by nose diving into work. 

So, when the turmoil really hit its peak, I did what I know how to do best… I tackled work and working out as if both were my sole mission in life.

In my infinite amount of wisdom, I decided to match the emotional/mental output of every thing going on at work with the physical equivalent. If I wore myself out completely, I wouldn’t have to acknowledge that my heart was broken or the litany of trust issues that sat at the head of my heart’s table. 

Because, clearly that made sense. 

While communicating messaging for a public health crisis came with its own challenges and it remains to be the hardest thing I’ve ever been a part of, the work didn’t fail me. I knew what was expected of me and I knew how to do the job (most days).

I ran to work each day and stayed as late as I needed to, just to not have to think about everything else. Because of the chaotic state of the world, it was easy to hide what was going on.

And in the moments I wasn’t at work – I made my body busy. 

I worked out in the empty hours of the morning.
I climbed stairs in the afternoon.
I took Milo on long walks throughout the neighborhood, often in a weighted vest, at night.

The only hours that weren’t filled were the ones I slept, and I did that as much as I could – getting in 9-10-sometimes 11 hours, consistently. 

And, when that didn’t fix anything I needed it to fix – I created a deficit in my diet.

When someone is not dealing with an emotional crisis at home or a public health crisis at work, this is an ideal way to tackle a physical goal. But, I wasn’t running toward a goal.

I was running as far away as I could get from everything I had lost or was in the process of losing. 

It did have some perks.

The trade off for all of the physical outputs was being the leanest I’ve ever been. And, then there were the dopamine hits from random compliments I had never received before. 

Those things felt good, but that feeling was always fleeting.

The reality of overworking my brain and my body came with several consequences. One was that I fell into the trap of being numb to everything. Whether I understood what I was doing or not, I successfully pushed my body to such strenuous lengths that it was just as tired as my heart. 

I was broken. And, I was angry at God because of all of it. 

Anger, denial, grief and redemption.

Before this point, I had never been truly angry at God.

Initially, I prayed all the prayers I was taught to pray as a child. I prayed exactly for what I wanted, because that’s what I was always told I should do. None of them were answered. Not a single one.

I remember feeling defeated and that “ask and you shall receive” was garbage. If there was a riff in my relationship with God before (and there was), it just got wider.

It caught me off guard because that isn’t how I was raised, and I felt immense guilt over it.

So, if I wasn’t already stuffing enough emotions to begin with, I added guilt to the pile, too. 

It also didn’t help that I constantly diminished the importance of my feelings due to what others were experiencing at the hands of the pandemic.

I’ve been through tough situations before.
I’ve been hurt before.
But, nothing felt like this specific level of brokenness… and, it led to a part of me believing that I was in such a tangled heart space that I couldn’t be fixed.

Maybe I had pushed against God’s calling on my life for too long, too many times?
Maybe He didn’t think I was worth the effort anymore?
Maybe I had forged my path that was so far from what He wanted, that I had used my allocation of “rescues.”

But to be completely honest, I’m not sure I really trusted He could fix what was broken. 

I realize how cliche this all sounds. “She was broken and she asked God to fix her.” But, really… it’s more than that. 

Over time – eight months to be exact – God tried to meet me exactly where I was to rescue me from my rowboat. He showed up daily, with a lifeboat in hand.

And for six-ish maybe seven of those months… I kept sending it away.

It wasn’t the lifeboat I *thought* I wanted. 

Don’t worry God, it’s okay. If you’ll just send another one…I’ll get on that one, if I feel like it’s the right one.

The problem was, my “right one” and God’s “right for me” were two different things. 

Each time something glaringly obvious came along, I pushed it away – closed my eyes really tight and prayed for what I wanted.

I’m embarrassed to share how much I negotiated with God during this phase. I thought… Maybe if I do this right now… He’ll give me what I really want.

I recently read “We’re All Freaking Out (and why we don’t have to)” by David Marvin and he had this to say about passages in the Bible that address “ask and you shall receive.”

“What Jesus is really telling us is to place God’s will, God’s agenda, and God’s desires as the first priority for our lives and that if we do, we will begin to experience peace…”

He goes on to add, “… at the core of almost all of our anxiety is a fear of things not going the way we want. When I worry, it’s almost always about [my] kingdom, my agenda, my desires.”

Yeah, yeah… I heard it, too. 

From text message conversations I over analyzed to the wisest of words from friends over coffee or happy hour, there were both the quietest and the most blatant nudges wishing I would just take the dang boat.

It’s easy for me to blame my stubbornness as the root of my apprehension and need to desperately forge my own path. I wish that was it.

The reality is that I knew, deep down, everything I wanted wasn’t right.

We are taught at a young age that our gut intuition is a guiding force for the direction we need to go. But, I all but pretended mine didn’t even exist. 

I was convinced my way was the right way. I was convinced God was going to create a much different ending to this season of my life. And, everything I wanted was full of my desires for my life and the future I imagined I would have. 

But none of that matters when it isn’t right.
And, it wasn’t right. 

It wasn’t right for me.
It wasn’t right for the situation.
It wasn’t right according to the life God had ready for me to experience.

That’s a hard pill to swallow. 

Accepting it meant I had to accept starting over.
Accepting it meant I had ignored all that I knew to be true for too long, and I had nothing to show for it but the brokenness I was feeling.
Accepting it meant I had to reconcile the time I had invested, and possibly forgive where the hurt was stemming from. 

I didn’t know if I had it in me to start over again, and I really just didn’t want to face any of the above.

All of it scared me.

I would say hindsight is 2020, but I’m not sure that saying will ever have the same meaning again. Now, however, it’s clear to see my missteps, sidesteps and blatant ignorance for what God wanted in my life.

Mostly, God wanted me to get on his lifeboat so I could rest, be still and listen.
He wanted me to trust that His plan was better. 
He wanted me to lay it all down. 
More importantly, He wanted me to faithfully pour into our relationship the way I had done with so many other people and things in my life.
He wanted to transform my desires into the ones He had ready for me.

I wish I could say that when I began to take stock of those very real feelings that everything began to change. But, this is me you’re walking this journey with… and, well… keep reading.

Focus is good; but, only when it’s on the right thing.

Even though I was letting go of what wasn’t right and working toward building a better relationship with God, I was still holding on tightly to the one thing I had used as a source of soothing – prioritizing how much I worked out and what I ate around everything.

EVEN THOUGH God was teaching me little by little about what He had laid out for me, this other part of my life I put on a pedestal was still in hyper-drive. 

It was borderline obsessive-compulsive, mostly because it was the very last thing I felt I had control over. 

In addition to the daily work, I was spending 3 hours on Saturdays doing the worst grunt work – carrying heavy things, running interval sprints… just to chase the high that came from it. 

I easily replaced one part of my life with another… and why?

Because feeling strong felt good.
Taking compliments for how hard I was working was just as awkward as only I could make it, but it felt good. 

In the midst of trying to let go and bandage my heart, I was simultaneously worshiping my relationship with the gym and working out.

Okay God, you can have this part of my life — but this other part is going SO well for me. I’ll keep it and keep doing what I know works.

It wasn’t long after this part in the journey when I dislocated my shoulder – which required surgery. It also required three months of rehabilitation if I ever wanted to return to a normal quality of life (like reaching for a glass on the top shelf without it slipping out and causing a Lethal Weapon situation). 

For all the go-go-go and diverting I had done over that year, all of a sudden I had to physically be still.

Shoulder surgery is finicky. It requires all of the stillness initially for healing, then slow movement so it doesn’t freeze. Because of that, and because I didn’t want to lose any time or any momentum, I blindly planned to be back in the gym within a week.

On that scheduled day, I tested positive for COVID. 

All of the things I was running toward so that I could run away from everything else ceased to exist for almost an entire month.

I had no choice but to let go of all the perceived control I was desperately trying to keep on my life, what I thought my future should look like and how to maintain what level of comfort I had grown accustomed to.

Tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor and I will provide you with exhibits A through Z of my life. 

There’s a quote by Oswald Chambers – 

“When God gets us alone through suffering, heartbreak, temptation, disappointment, sickness, or by thwarted desires, a broken friendship, or a new friendship— when He gets us absolutely alone, and we are totally speechless, unable to ask even one question, then He begins to teach us.”

I’ve had this quote in my Bible since I was in college, but I didn’t feel its magnitude until I experienced what felt like every line of the passage.

• Heartbreak – check.
• Temptation – check.
• Disappointment – check.
• Sickness – check.
• Thwarted desires – check.
• Alone – check.
• Totally speechless – check, check and check. 

I don’t believe that God decided to dislocate my shoulder or gave me COVID. But, I do believe he used both to make me still, totally speechless without the ability to ask even a single question. 

In the stillness and quiet, I learned grace (for myself and others) and joy were an output of a process that came from spending more time with Him. 

Slowly, verse by verse… prayer by prayer… the real healing began, along with understanding what He freely wanted to give me. Peace.

Inside the lifeboat.

The lifeboat was right on time every single day, but getting in required giving up what I thought I knew and the expectations I had of others.

It required less time trying to forge a path that wasn’t mine to forge.

My personality doesn’t always leave room for lessons to be learned quickly (obviously by the length of this post). It took eight months of anger, grief, exhaustion, a dislocated shoulder, surgery and COVID to make me look up and realize that the soft nudges from Him over the course of several years went wildly unnoticed or dismissed. 

But when I finally got in the proverbial boat, even halfway, He began to reveal a journey that included what I was meant for.

It wasn’t immediate.

On most days, I’m still here trying to discern my way through grace, joy and ultimately – forgiveness… for myself and others. 

It’s not easy, and it’s still messy. But, right in the midst of all of it is a sense of peace that only comes from buckets (and buckets) of His grace.

To see God clearly and lean into His desires for my life, I’ve had to accept a slower pace than the physical outputs I required of myself last year – the ones I became so reliant on. Aaaaaand, it might be the hardest part of this journey.  

I enjoy the full-throttle approach. Leaving everything on the gym floor is how I decompress – it’s why it even became my go-to in the first place. But, right now there’s more to the journey than sweating it all out on the floor.

A few months ago, that realization hit me square in the nose. In total frustration – I audibly said in the car on the way home, “Okay, we’ve healed the emotional stuff and the physical stuff. I feel better. I promise. Let’s crank up the intensity and consistency. Let’s go.”

I’m pretty sure I give God heartburn.

He quietly responded that there’s still more to this journey of stillness, with more to learn. 

And instead of missing the moment, I said “Okay.” 
It might have taken me entirely too long to learn the lesson, but I did learn it.

This is still new territory and it’s uncomfortable. Comparison is the thief of joy, and sometimes it still catches me in my feelings. But I know that this slower, more deliberate pace is what God is asking of me.

The lesson we’re in right now is that “training” my heart for spiritual growth is more important than training my body. I can still do both and He wants me to do both… but, the value of my worth and desires has to be in the right place for the other to truly work to my benefit – and not serve as an escape. 

Trusting the process.

On the last pages of “Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World,” the author talks about how we often want the product without the process. 

“Perseverance isn’t a lot of fun. Yet it is perseverance that allows God to make our muddled messes and turn them into miracles. He delights in transforming the black-carbon pressure of our life into diamonds of radiant beauty. But doing all that requires a process. A process that takes time. A process that is sometimes painful.”

No one, not even God promised that a life of discernment and faithfully following would be easy – but He did provide that it would be worth it.

I will never claim to know the answers or that I have it figured out. My journey is wayward. I reach for my phone more than my Bible on most days. But, what I do know is that broken people can be made whole.

“And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.” – 1 Peter 5:10

For so long, I was delighting in my own desires, thoughts, needs and wants. And it wasn’t until I fully embraced the quiet moments with God that I was able to develop a relationship beyond what I imagined was possible – that I really began to understand. And, those plans that were never my own? They are now what I want the most of.

“Delight yourself also in the LORD, And He shall give you the desires of your heart.” – Psalms 37:4

Even in the midst of brokenness, tangled heart spaces and misdirected worship, God can make it right. Whatever season you’re in right now, I hope that of all the things in this all too wordy blog post – you take that one home.

This post first appeared on an older blog in September 2015 and was republished by a local paper when I began writing a re-occurring column. It was a catalyst for a lot of writing that followed and I wanted it to permanently live here.

I live in Mississippi, I am 28 and I am not married. I can easily jump into a ditty about Southern expectations, but I’d rather tell you a quick story.

Last year, I joined a Bunco group. For those not familiar: this game involves high-octave shrieking when one wins a round, cackling conversation, drinks and food. Our group is hilariously fun to be around, and I enjoy playing for the company and conversation. Maybe not so much the squealing that comes with a perfect roll of the die, but I digress!

We’ve been together for a little over a year, but sticking with it was a rocky start for me. During my first encounter, I was placed at a table full of people I didn’t know. My introverted anxieties would normally be paramount in this situation, but they were quieted with a glass of wine (clearly, I’m easy to please). I can enjoy a good social hour just like the next person, but I have a hard time with small talk. I don’t hate it, but I usually have to get myself to a place where I can feel comfortable with it. Alas, there was no time and the niceties began before I could do such a thing. The girl to my right began asking questions.

What’s your name? Oh good. Easy. I can handle that.

So are you married? What? Wait. Why is that a question? I shook my head. I saw her eyes dart down at my empty ring finger, and then she rallied for a third question.

Oh, so what’s your boyfriend do? Why are any of these questions appropriate? We aren’t friends. I don’t even remember what she said her name was. I quickly muttered, “I’m not in a relationship,” and kicked back the rest of that glass.

The first three questions weren’t enough, she pressed on: Oh really? Why not? Someone… please rescue me. Would everyone think I’m a lush if I went for a second glass? It’s only been five minutes. 

My resting face is somewhere on a scale of sadness/uninterested and “WTH?” I can only imagine what nonverbal I was sending her, but I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant. Thankfully the game began shortly after the final question was asked.

Our group laughs about this story now, and no one can recall who sat at my table that night (we’ve had several drop off since those initial months). She is a mystery, but her questions – those! Those will live on forever.

While maybe the perception, marriage by 23 and children by 25 isn’t the norm for everyone. Those things aren’t bad if that’s the route you choose (and many of my dearest friends have), but it doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me.

After my current relationship began, I had a conversation with a friend. He said, “I’m kinda surprised. I didn’t think you dated.”

Wait. What?

He also received a blank stare, but I like him so I let him explain.”You don’t seem like one of those girls who ‘needs’ to be with a guy.” He continued to explain that he thought I was more focused on my career and that my priorities were different.

Oh.

Without a doubt, I have been very career-focused. I was ready for college in the 9th grade, and I was ready to hit the real world shortly after. I don’t fold clothes very well and vacuuming puzzles the hell out of me, but my career? That’s always been the non-negotiable. Those goals have been the driving force between point A and B. Because of them, I’ve achieved a lot in a short period of time and I’ve been able to travel a lot.

With the “I am an independent woman, hear me roar” talk out of the way, let’s be real. Being career-oriented doesn’t mean I don’t want to settle down and be married.

Hasty generalization or not, I think everyone wants to feel wanted and to be in a relationship where they share their life with someone else. It’s human nature, but I don’t think it’s something to rush (not that all do).

When I was 25, I didn’t think two seconds about not buying a house because I wasn’t married. I learned way more than I imagined through that process. And one day, I’ll be able to use that experience when I sit next to the poor guy who feels like putting up with me for the rest of our lives – as we sign papers on a new home, together.

I’ve always leaned heavily on the fact that everything happens for a reason and in its own time. One day, that time will be my time. But until then? I am pretty happy with living a very full life, and checking off boxes on my ever-long bucket list (like Ireland again in 2016). I enjoy life with people I love and I laugh A LOT. Relationships are great, but they don’t run on a timeline.

Who knows? Maybe things will change when I figure out how to wrangle the vacuum cleaner or actually fold clothes instead of letting them hang out in the dryer for eternity!