The thing about losing a client, especially one you’ve seen twice a week for months, is that the rhythm of your week changes. Not just the schedule, but the way the hours feel.
Carlton’s hour used to anchor my Saturday mornings. I’d come in, grab my tea, and know that the first real conversation of the day would be with someone who understood what it’s like to miss the thing you love doing most.
My first appointment is fifteen minutes late, and I hate that I notice the difference.
I pour hot water over the same tea bag twice and it still tastes strong. The clinic is calm at opening—sunlight cutting long rectangles across the lobby floor, the printer whispering to itself, the front door giving that soft hydraulic exhale every time someone comes in. I take a breath like the building’s doing it with me, slow and measured, and remind my body: we’re fine.
I add two lines to a treatment plan for someone else. I erase one and write it back, because indecision looks better typed.
When my client finally arrives, apologies tumble out of her like a dropped bag of marbles—sorry for the traffic, sorry for the no-show last week, sorry for the shoes squeaking on the floor. I steady her, settle her, and in fifteen minutes we’re working, the room doing that thing it does where time narrows to muscles and breath and what’s possible right now. That part always saves me. The work is a rope you can grab when your thoughts want to go wandering.
But the quiet moments in between, cleaning a headrest, switching out a band, the turn of my body toward the door because it used to open, that’s where the echo lives.
Jasmin passes by while I’m wiping down the table. She taps the doorframe. “Your nine became your eleven. You good?”
“Always,” I say. It lands a little too bright.
She lingers, the way people do when they’ve decided to care even if you won’t say you need it. “Carlton’s a machine,” she adds. “He did the tempo work without cheating. You must’ve trained that into him.”
I huff a laugh. “He came wired that way.”
“He asked me to keep the band sequence,” she says. “The wording. Said he likes how you describe it so I wrote it into his chart.”
I pretend to rearrange the towels so I don’t have to manage my face. “Consistency helps the nervous system,” I offer, like we’re at a conference and I’m a bullet point.
“Why’d he switch?”
I shrug. “No idea.” Which is true — and also not true. I don’t have the facts, but my gut says there’s more to it. And that unsettles me more than I want to admit.
Jasmin tilts her head, studying me like she can read the thought I’m trying to bury. “Uh-huh,” she says, eyes kind. “You want my last protein bar? It tastes like a cinnamon candle but in a good way.”
“I’m good.” I’m not hungry. I am… something.
My phone lights up with a message from my sister.
How’s the new city, Coach?
She still calls me that.
I thumb a reply: Learning the plays.
I don’t tell her there’s a hole in my Saturday shaped like a person I only know from a table’s distance.
By closing, the eucalyptus has faded to the smell of clean cotton and the faintest bite of disinfectant. I shut down the treatment notes, wash my hands longer than necessary, and tell the mirror over the sink that we’re fine, which is the first sign that maybe we aren’t.
On my way out, Reese is counting cash for petty expenses, lips pursed like the numbers might run away if he doesn’t pin them down with concentration. He glances up. “Good day?”
“Productive,” I say. It’s safe and true.
He nods. “You settling in?”
“Mostly.” I hesitated, then shrugged. “Still figuring out where everything is. I think I’ve been to three different grocery stores this week trying to find one that doesn’t feel like a maze.”
Reese smirked. “You need to hit GreenWise over on Mattison. Smaller than Publix, better produce. Trust me.”
That earned a small laugh from me. “Noted.”
There’s a space where he could ask the other question—Are you okay about the switch?—and I could say the safe thing. He lets it pass. I’m not sure if I’m grateful or annoyed.
Outside, the evening air shifts the hair at the back of my neck. My car is warm in the sun. I sit for a minute before starting it, hands at ten and two like a stereotype, and I’m surprised to feel a sting behind my eyes. I blink it away. I’m not sad, exactly. I’m… aware.
Pain is the body yelling. Awareness is the body clearing its throat. I’d told him that. Now my chest is a throat I can’t seem to clear.
I drive to the community center and run the indoor track until my legs shake. On the third lap, I catch myself counting the beats between breaths the way I counted the beats between our jokes, and I hate that the math is the same.
When I finally stop, sweat dripping into my eyebrows, I press my palms against the cool painted cinderblock and let the wall take my weight for a minute. Then I straighten, slide my hair tie a little tighter, and go again.
On Mondays, the clinic smells like eucalyptus and warm towels. It’s the kind of clean that feels intentional, like the room is resetting itself for whoever’s brave enough to start over.
Six months ago, I walked in on one of those Mondays, still blinking from a life I’d put on pause for too long. New city, new building with floor-to-ceiling windows, new job I wasn’t sure my heart would cooperate with. My plan was simple: clock in, do excellent work, go home. No detours.
Carlton arrived two days later.
He’s the kind of patient who sits in the lobby like he belongs there — not cocky, just settled. And he’s consistent. Every Wednesday at 4:30, every Saturday at 10. If he’s early, he reads. If he’s on time, he smiles. If he’s late, I’ve never seen it.
“Hey, Michelle,” he says now, voice low enough to make the word feel like it belongs to me.
“Hey, Carlton.” I roll the stool to the table. “How’s the shoulder since Saturday?”
“Better. I actually did the band work you gave me.”
“Look at you following directions,” I tease, and he laughs, real and easy.
There’s a simple joy in people who do what helps them. Somewhere after my last breakup, I forgot what that felt like — being believed, being… tended to. It’s ridiculous that I feel some version of that with a man I only see across a therapy table while cupping his scapula and telling him to breathe. But there it is.
I guide his arm through external rotation, elbow tucked. “Any pain?”
“Not pain. More… awareness.”
I nod. “Awareness is good. Pain is your body yelling. Awareness is your body clearing its throat.”
He grins. “You say things like that and I actually remember to do my homework.”
I shouldn’t notice the way he watches me when I talk. I shouldn’t notice that his laugh lingers in the room after I step out to heat a towel. I shouldn’t notice any of it. But some weeks, the noticing is the only proof that I am not walking through my own life asleep.
We work through soft tissue, scapular stability, the small triumph of a clean abduction arc at ninety degrees. I talk just enough to keep him from bracing. He talks just enough to make the hour feel like it moves on purpose.
“How’s the new schedule treating you?” he asks when I’m flossing the posterior cuff.
“Busy. Reese’s promo brought in a lot of new folks.” Reese Coleman, owner and lead PT, is all brains and big-hearted business. He launched a special rate to help me build a caseload quick. It worked — my calendar looks like a game of Tetris played by someone with excellent reflexes and poor boundaries.
“Good busy?” he prods.
I meet his eyes for a second too long. “It will be.”
He nods like he hears the space I didn’t fill with words.
When the hour’s up, I hand him his updated plan. He lingers by the door, reading it like it’s more than a paper with bullet points.
“Hey,” he says softly, as if trying the word on for a different meaning. “Thank you.”
It’s nothing. And yet, not nothing.
“You’re welcome, Carlton. Same time next week?”
His mouth opens, then closes. “We’ll see.”
The tiniest hitch. The faintest shift. Something in my chest notes it before my brain does. I ignore it. I’m good at that.
I wipe the table, reset the room, and pretend I’m not listening for the echo of his footsteps as he leaves.
Demetrius lowered the phone from his face, her words resonating like a loud echo in his mind. It was enough to paralyze his ability to respond.
Now four weeks into his furlough, their daily conversations had become a lifeline, weaving into the fabric of his routine. Talking with Michelle felt increasingly natural. He reveled in the ease of their exchanges, amused by their mutual love for sports.
Michelle was incredibly competitive. He didn’t mind that fight in her, especially since he discovered their shared values in family, education, and relationships. What he cherished most was the lilt of excitement in her voice whenever she talked passionately about wanting to build a legacy. It was disarming and genuine
Yet now, her words puzzled him. “What do you mean by that?” he managed to say, his voice strained; the words squeezing past the tightness in his throat. It was a sensation that was all too familiar but not welcomed in this moment.
This tightness wasn’t new. He’s felt it first during his third deployment, when he had to fight in the Afghan War, a visceral knot of anxiety. It resurfaced during a police call that escalated into his first shootout—an unexpected burst of adrenaline laced with fear.
But fear now? Over what? A relationship?
“Demetrius…I mean, all of this seems too good to be true,” she paused. “I’ve been through a lot, and I don’t know if I’m ready to try this again.”
“Try what again? This is our first go round,” he laughed, attempting to dispel the heavy air.
“You are a really great guy, but…”
And there it was. The uncertainty he’d dreaded, hovering like a dark cloud threatening rain. This was what he feared—rejection masked behind gently letdowns.
“Michelle, stop,” Demetrius interrupted, his stomach churning as he scrambled for the right words. With his much needed break from work, he’d gained some perspective. Between grinding through his real estate courses and chats with Michelle and Marcel, he realized he was ready for more. He didn’t just want to be a great guy anymore. He wanted to settle down. He wanted her.
Demetrius switched the phone to speaker and set it on the counter, needing distance from the intimacy of her voice in his ear. This reminded him of the moments before entering a hostile situation at work, how he’d pause to pray, never knowing the outcome. This time the stakes were personal. The thought of possibly hurting her already pained him.
“Don’t you pray?” he asked, hearing the edge in his own voice.
He heard Michelle scoff, defensively, “You know I do.”
He sighed deeply, his voice softening. “Michelle, I care about you a lot. I don’t know if I’ve told you that, but I do, and I never want to hurt you on purpose.” He could almost feel the weight of his bulletproof vest, a familiar preparation for battle. This time, however, the battle was for her heart. He knew casualties could happen, but it was a risk he was willing to take. He was going to help her fight herself and fight for what they both wanted.
“You can pretend that God doesn’t answer prayers if you want to, but I know He does. That’s how I met you and I believe that with everything in me. I understand that this feels overwhelming, but you aren’t the only person who prays. If you think you’re not worthy of being the answer to someone else’s prayer, that’s not on God—that’s on you.” Demetrius paused before continuing. “You’re an amazingly strong woman, and I know I’m far from perfect, but I need you to figure out why you don’t think you’re worthy of having the things you truly want.”
Demetrius paused, his words hanging in the air like the aftermath of a gunshot. As much as he wanted to retreat and shield himself from potential fallout, he knew standing his ground was critical. Michelle used to play sports. She knew what it was like to take a hard correction. He knew she could take it.
He hoped she could.
The silence that followed was profound, laden with all that had been said—and all that hadn’t. Demetrius stood there frozen, caught in the echo of his own vulnerability. The space seemed very charged, electric, yet fragile as if it could be shattered by another word spoken.
Michelle cleared her throat. At least she was alive. Demetrius wondered if his boldness had cost him.
“I gotta go, Meech.” Michelle’s voice wavered before she disconnected.
It took every ounce of restraint for Demetrius not to call her back. It felt like he was punishing himself, but deep down he knew it was necessary. He had wrestled with his feelings for Michelle since the beginning and his affection for Marcel only made things worse. This kid was incredible, often bringing a smile to his face even in absent thought.
Sometimes Demetrius resented the emotional stoicism his military training instilled in him, but not this time. Despite the ache of uncertainty, he had to press forward. He was determined to finish what he started.
He buried himself in his course for hours, taking detailed notes and seeing how they fit into his long-term plans. Before he realized, Demetrius had fallen asleep on the couch. He probably would’ve slept all night if his phone didn’t ring, but it did.
It was Michelle.
“Can you meet me at Valade Park, by the fire pit?” Demetrius used the light streaming in from his blinds to check his watch; it was 10:13p. He leaned on his elbow, concerned about why she was out so late. Before he would shake off the sleep and voice his thoughts, she added, “Please?”
Demetrius let out a long exhale, an audible testament of the tension swirling inside him. “Yeah”, he replied, his voice a mix of resignation and hope.
The line went dead, and Michelle’s quick departure left a heavy silence. Sitting up fully, he rubbed the back of his neck, looking through the darkness for his keys. His thoughts were a tangled mess, each one a thread pulled tight by anxiety and anticipation.
The air was crisp, hinting at the newness of Spring after it’s breakup with Winter. Valade Park was quiet, little spot near the river. There is a seating area that gives an amazing view of Windsor, especially at night with all the lights. It was there that Demetrius found Michelle.
He approached quietly, his footsteps soft on the well-tended path, his heart pounding louder with each step. This was the first time he had seen Michelle in person since they had met. Her face was bathed in the gentle glow of the ambient light, making her seem almost ethereal.
“I like to come out here to think sometimes. I haven’t been able to visit lately with everything that’s been going on. But when my parents took Marcel, and after our conversation earlier, I thought I would come here.”
“It’s a great spot,” Demetrius replied, his voice low, his fingers tapping nervously against the denim of his jeans. The pause that followed was filled only by the rustling of leaves as the wind picked up. Michelle pulled her jacket tighter, a shiver passing through her body. Watching her visibly fight the cold, and whatever churning inside her, Demetrius couldn’t hold back any longer. He chose directness, a bold leap into this void. “But it’s cold out. Why’d did you ask me here?”
Michelle inhaled sharply, her breath a ghost in the chilly air, as she turned to face him. Her eyes, wide and glistening with unshed tears, met his. “Because I’m in love with you and I don’t want to be.”
“What?” The word escaped in disbelief.
“Meech, I thought I was good by myself. As much as I wanted a relationship, I didn’t think I would be good at it right now. It’s been so long that I got used to it being just Marcel and me. Then you came.” Her voice broke, a crest of emotions threatening to spill over. Elated, Demetrius reached out to touch her shoulder, only to be met with a gentle but firm refusal. “No. I need to get this out. Then you came and shook up everything! Now I can’t sleep until I pray for you. I have to listen to my son rave about you. This is stupid!”
For a moment she fell quiet. Demetrius closed the distance between them, resting his forehead on her, but she pushed him away again.
“My dad knew before I did. He’s probably already told my mom. I’ve tried to protect myself from getting hurt but that hurts worse.” Her voice was a whisper, heavy with defeat and fear.
Unable to resist, Demetrius cupped her face gently and kissed her again. This time, his determination melted her resistance, and she granted him entry. A silent nod that broke her last barrier. His tongue coaxing her lips apart as he confessed his feelings with every touch. He kissed her deeply, and tenderly. Her response was a flood of tears and relief, and yielding.
Then she pulled away. Both working to catch their breath, Michelle jabbed her finger in his chest
“Meech, if this is going to work, you can NOT do that to me again!” Michelle’s voice trembled with anger and vulnerability that caught Demetrius off guard. Her eyes flashed with softness still. She was cute when she was angry. He couldn’t but laugh, even as she continued, a mix of stern and soft.
“I don’t trust myself, Meech,” she continued, her tone soft. “I made a promise to wait until marriage and…I don’t think I’ll make it if we do that again.”
“Can I at least hug you?” he chuckled, lightening the tension for a moment.
Michelle paused, considering in conflict. A soft laugh escaped before being quickly swallowed by tears. “Yes. But only for like five seconds.”
As Demetrius pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist. He rested his chin gently on her forehead. His heart thundered within him. Not about sex, but about her. About life. The game had changed for him. He thought about his dad and how he wished he was still alive. This is where he would bombard him with questions about this. It was the first time in his life where he felt his dreams were within reach.
After a few steady breaths, he leaned back, cupped her face tenderly and kissed her passionately once more.
“I had to, I’m sorry,” he wiped her face. “But I agree with you. I won’t allow you to break promises. Just know it won’t be long before I get to do that again.”
“Hey! It’s me, Donnie. I have something for you. Can you come over today?”
Ericka looked at her phone, contemplating whether she wanted to make time for this. Donnie had been introduced to her a few weeks ago by a friend. She didn’t think he was her type, but he persisted anyway. It was refreshing, yet a little annoying at times.
How many times can a person hear someone tell them, “I will never leave you”?
It was just something she wasn’t used to.
“I only have about an hour, then I have to go to work,” she texted back.
“That’s plenty of time,” he replied with an eager tone that came through even in text.
Ericka didn’t know why she agreed. When she arrived at Donnie’s house, her eyes nearly fell out of her head! His home was a sprawling mansion hidden behind a nine-foot wrought iron gate adorned with intricate designs of vines and birds.
She pulled up further, her bumper nearly touching the gate. As the gate slowly swung open, her eyes widened to see the massive house up close. Thoughts rushed through her mind as she took in the sights. Donnie didn’t look like he owned a house like this!
The polite voice on the intercom interrupted her internal questions. “Hello, how may I assist you?”
“Uh…” Ericka hesitated, “I was invited over by Donnie?”
“Wonderful! He’s been expecting you,” the voice replied cheerfully.
It felt like Ericka had to drive a mile just to get to the door. When she finally made it, Donnie was standing outside, his face lit up with excitement to see her.
“I hope you didn’t run into any trouble getting here,” Donnie said, helping her out of the car.
Ericka was too focused on the sights before her. There were fountains and hundreds of flowers planted around, bursting with colors so vibrant it was almost like she was seeing them for the first time.
“It was actually pretty easy to find,” she finally replied. “Who owns all of this?”
“I do,” Donnie admitted proudly. “Thank you for accepting the invitation.”
Ericka felt like she hit the jackpot! She didn’t care about how Donnie looked. If this was how he was living, she could learn to deal with him. Still focused on the exterior of the house and the garden area, Ericka didn’t even realize that Donnie was leading her to the front door. They were ten feet tall and elaborately designed. Ericka looked closely, running her fingers across the design.
“Was this handcrafted?” she asked, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings of mythical creatures intertwined with floral motifs.
“Yes, my son made it for me,” Donnie said, a note of pride in his voice.
“A son? Wait a minute. How old are you? You don’t look like you have a son old enough to do this!”
Ericka’s question hung in the air, mingling with a faint breeze that carried the scent of jasmine from the garden. Donnie chuckled, a warm, infectious sound that made Ericka’s initial apprehensions seem like a distant thought.
“I might look younger than I am,” Donnie replied with a wink. “Let’s just say I’ve been blessed.”
They stepped inside, and Ericka was immediately enveloped by the grandeur of the foyer. The ceiling soared high above, adorned with a crystal chandelier that scattered light across the polished marble floors like stars in a clear night sky. Paintings that looked centuries old graced the walls, each frame telling a story of heritage and timelessness.
Donnie noticed Ericka’s awe-struck expression and smiled. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. This place has been in my family for generations. Each piece you see has its own story.”
Ericka felt a mix of admiration and insignificance as she followed Donnie through the sprawling hallway. The air was cool and smelled faintly of old books and lemon polish. She couldn’t help but touch the surfaces as they passed—an ancient oak table here, a velvet-upholstered settee there.
“I must admit, I didn’t expect this,” Ericka confessed, her voice echoing slightly in the vast space.
Donnie paused before a large portrait of a stern-looking man in Victorian attire. “It’s not without its challenges and responsibilities. Everything you see comes with a story of struggle and triumph.”
As they approached a heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor, it creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit room that contrasted sharply with the rest of the house’s opulence. Inside, the atmosphere was solemn, almost sacred, setting the stage for a revelation that Ericka could never have anticipated.
Donnie smiled warmly, shifting the tone to something more personal. “There is so much to tell you, but first I wanted to show you something.” He handed her a big purple box that shimmered in the sunlight, captivating Ericka’s attention. It was unlike anything she had seen before; the hues shifted with the light, mesmerizing and mysterious.
Ericka turned the box over in her hands, absorbed in its unique beauty. She didn’t notice the door opening or the older man who entered, looking like he might have been picked up from the men’s shelter north of Conway. It was only when the door closed behind him, releasing a tantalizing aroma into the air, that she glanced up.
“Oh my goodness! What is that? It smells… that smells fantastic!” Ericka exclaimed, her curiosity piqued not just by the box but now by the scent wafting through the air.
“I had some things whipped up for some guests,” Donnie explained. “We can go in and see what’s there, but I need you to open the box first.”
Ericka looked at Donnie, her expression a mix of confusion and a faint irritation at his insistence. “Wooow,” she said, her voice tinged with forced enthusiasm. “This is… different.”
“I had it made just for you,” Donnie beamed, clearly proud of his mysterious gift.
As they spoke, another person shuffled past—a woman who looked to be struggling with her own demons, her lips blistered, and eyes bloodshot. Ericka’s eyes narrowed slightly as she noticed the woman was wearing the same peculiar fabric that was in the box.
“I thought you said it was made just for me,” Ericka questioned, her tone laced with skepticism.
“It was,” Donnie insisted. “A lot of love, and suffering, went into having that available for you.”
Ericka’s gaze hardened as she scanned the area, noticing more individuals making their way to the door, each adorned in similar attire. “So why do they get one, too?” she asked, her voice carrying a sharp edge of accusation.
Donnie’s expression remained unfazed as he explained, “It’s a robe. You’ll need it to come inside.”
“Why can’t I just wear what I want?” Ericka challenged, her skepticism mounting.
“Well,” Donnie began, pausing to greet another passerby before returning his attention to Ericka. “I invited you here because I know you’re a special woman. I know that you’ve experienced a lot of hardship in your life, and I wanted to offer you a better one. With me.” He gestured broadly at the surroundings. “All that I have here would be yours. You don’t have to do anything; I already have help for that.”
Ericka couldn’t mask her skepticism. “There’s no way you’d be willing to take care of me for nothing. What’s the catch?” she asked, her instincts telling her that there was much more to this than a simple invitation.
“There is none. I just want to spend eternity with you. I love you,” Donnie declared, his eyes sincere.
“That sounds desperate. Besides, if you knew what I’ve done in my life, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near me,” Ericka said, her arms crossed defensively. “I don’t want to wear this ugly robe anyway. Why can’t I just come in like this?”
“Well,” Donnie began, his smile gentle yet unwavering, “I have someone special I would like you to meet. Because he’s clean, I’ve given you something that will make you look like him.”
“It’s going to take a lot more than this robe to cover up what I’ve done,” Ericka grinned, half-mocking the simplicity of his solution.
Donnie smiled at her lovingly. “There is so much for you to learn, my dear.”
“I want to come in, but I’m not putting this on.”
“It’s the only way you’ll be able to come in, though.”
Ericka looked up and saw masses of people, all wearing the same robe, filing into the open door. There were people of all colors and backgrounds. Some skipped in with excitement; others were weeping so hard with joy. Ericka took it all in, her head swirling from all the people, before locking eyes with Donnie.
“Who are you for real?” she chided.
“I’m Donnie,” he laughed.
This time Ericka took a moment to calculate an appropriate question. “Is that short for something?”
“Actually, yes. It’s short for Adonai. I’ve been waiting to see you again and, this time, I want to invite you to live with me forever.”
“This is ridi—” Before Ericka could finish her sentence, she jumped as someone touched her foot. It was a woman, weeping so hard she could barely stand. The tattoo on the back of her neck was all too familiar. “Tiff?” Ericka was just hanging out with Tiffany the night before. She was shocked to see her like this. Tiffany was always scrappy, loved to fight. Ericka had never seen her like this before.
“Tiffany, get up girl! What are you doing?”
“E!” Tiffany greeted her, stumbling to her feet. “E, you have to come meet his son! I met him last night after I left you. I was riding home, and my brakes went out. I couldn’t stop. All I could do was cry, ‘Jesus, if you save me, I promise I’ll follow you.’”
“What?” Ericka held up her friend, “What happened?”
“I met him, E. All I know is two tires went flat and I was able to stop. I jumped out of the car and fell to my knees. Then he showed up. E, he saved my life. I know I’ve been doing wrong and I don’t deserve him, but I felt a love that I’ve never felt. You have to meet him!”
Tiffany pushed away from Ericka and ran the rest of the way until she disappeared behind the doors.
Adonai stood by with a soft smile on his face. “Ericka, I will never force you to come this way. It would have to be your decision.”
Ericka looked at the door, trying to see if she could spot Tiffany, but it was no use. There were too many people flooding in. She took in a deep breath and pushed the box into Adonai’s hands. It seemed like she stared at him for eternity. Clenching her jaw, Ericka took off the top and put on the robe.
Adonai smiled. “So much for you to learn. Good thing we have the time now.”
I was in between passion and providing. Having to provide won over for a bit. Trying to merge passion and income has been tough for me but I’ve finally reached a place where I have nothing left but to try this out. For real this time.
It didn’t dawn on me how much I needed to move. It kept me on track. It kept me optimistic.
The moment I stopped moving, the more the weight of life really started to settle on me.
But thank God I got up and exercised!
I figure I would share four ways that movement saved my life.
It may not sound like much but it’s amazing how your day, week, month, or year can be shaped when you sit down and write out your goals.
The funny thing? I had written out goals. I generally write down my goals for the year, but that was it. I left them collecting dust on my nightstand. I never revisted the goals I had written and therefore lost my focus. It has bee easy for me to do that trying to raise a boy. I thought I was super mom at one point. But I was failing miserably because I had lost sight of my goal!
I was consumed by my current circumstances that I didn’t allow myself to dream again. Have you ever done that?
Things just wasn’t fun anymore. I was losing a grasp on what was important. All because I didn’t have something to look forward to.
When I finally sat down after being unhappy with being 50lbs over weight, I set a goal. I wanted to start by losing 5lbs and see how I felt from there. I lost the 5lbs but I knew I had to go further.
2. Weight Bearing.
I was used to taking the easy way out of things. I was hypersensitive as a child so a bit of that carried over into adulthood. Anytime I felt challenged, I cried. I felt that it was a personal attack. I was a light weight, if you will, on dealing with life and all that came with it.
After having my son, I knew it wasn’t about me. It couldn’t be. Motherhood was heavy! It still is sometimes, but I had to carry the weight of it.
Sometimes carrying our own weight is hard enough. That’s before we even take on anyone else’s. When I learned what I could handle, it helped me master that.
After losing 5lbs, I knew I could do 10. Gradually, I started increasing repetitions or the physical weight that I was lifting.
I had a slip up because I was trying to lift more than I could carry. I was going too soon too fast. But eventually I caught my stride. It brings me to my next point.
3. Progression.
Again, I had to master carrying the weight that was already in front of me. It wasn’t a challenge any more. I had finally reached a point where I knew I could do more.
The same was true for motherhood. That is quite an adjustment for any woman to go through. I don’t know if it was the environment or just me, but I was trying to rush back into the ‘normal’ things. But anything new comes with the need for a new normal.
Lifting 5lbs became easy. Not long after, 10lbs became easy, too. But I gave myself grace and allowed myself to adjust to the changes.
One reason I was feeling stuck is because I was running away from a challenge. A challenge is the stairway to a new level. Often times we think of it as a way to expose a weakness.
It’s not. Take it one step at a time, but keep moving forward.
Ok. Last point.
4. Consistency.
One way to really frustrate yourself is to be inconsistent, but expect the results that only consistency can bring. That was me for a while. If anything, I was consistently inconsistent. Remember, I did admit to writing out goals and not looking at them again! I also admitted to crying at the sight of any thing seemingly challenging.
Choosing to show up once in a while is not going to get you anywhere. Just like this blog, for instance. I enjoy writing, but I wasn’t writing.
This was probably the biggest lesson I learned.
Getting up and moving helped me realize this. With consistency, I lost 50lbs. Even today, I’ve kept it off and I’m blessed to help other women do the same.
There is power in movement. It not just about losing weight but it can help every area of your life. Maybe you need to move on an idea. A t-shirt line. A business venture. Maybe you’re feeling heavy because you’re going in a circle with no goal.
Whatever you’re dealing with, I know that these four things can help you move forward because it helped me. It’s more than just fitness for me.
I have a 21 Day Challenge coming up in October and I’d love to see you in it! More details will come, but I wanted to give you my very first e-book for FREE. I thought it was a flop but a lot of people have found it useful. Click the link to get yours! https://bit.ly/3rbgdFC
There was this game I used to play as a little girl. It was one that caused great belly laughs and some arguments. Mostly among the ‘common’ thinkers.
It was called “Step On A Crack and Break Your Mama’s Back.”
To this day, I take pride in the advantage that having big eyes would give me…and that my dear mother was not victim to the incessant taunts of tiny and teening tyrants!
Now that I’m a parent, I remind my son, who often walks like he has two left feet and wears blinders that are upside down, that as his primary provider and caregiver that he must keep the tradition of expertly avoiding those wretched crevasses! Yet I cringe at every step he takes, knowing that, if this were just decades before, I would be considered the sister of Mr. Glass.
But I digress.
As an adult, I look at those fissures a lot differently.
Now that I think about it, the majority of my life consisted of me focusing too long on what was broken or unavailable. I zeroed in on my missteps, mishaps, and mistakes. Looking at the ‘cracks’ caused so many delays and allowed fear to grow in places there weren’t supposed to.
So I stopped.
I stopped walking with my head down and you wouldn’t believe what I saw!
I saw that steps I did walk. I saw the happenings in my life that were pretty great, even when they were done in apprehension.
I saw the progress I made.
Was I where I wanted to be? Better yet: Am I where I want to be? Not by a long shot. But I’m not where I used to be.
Even sharing my thoughts on this platform, on a consistent basis is sometimes hard because I care…a lot! I know what it costs to lead people. I care about what I say and how it can make people feel. That was me looking at the cracks and that’s not an easy thing to say.
It’s ok to care about people (and I care a great deal!) but I also understand that I will say things some people won’t agree with. I’m good with that now!!
Now I walk with my head up. I understand that I will trip up sometimes, but it shouldn’t stop me. I understand that I will bump into some things, but I’ll have better clarity. I understand that I may step on toes or get things wrong, but it’s all part of the process of progress.
So to you I say this:
Don’t focus on the cracks. A crack may take up only 5% of a sidewalk square, but there’s still 95% that you can focus on. When you focus on your mistakes, all you’ll see is mistakes. Shift your focus. Acknowledge the mistake while looking for opportunities to improve.
It may take five seconds to make a mistake but there are still 86,395 seconds left in the day.
Look at what’s ahead and what’s available to you and make things better.
I can’t tell you the level of conviction I’ve received in my spirit for NOT writing…but let’s digress for a second.
I was sitting on my bed, reading over the draft of an e-book I’d like to put out about…healthy stuff. I released one last year for Cyber Monday and and I wanted to have more information available to people.
So anyway, I was taking a break and began listening to a short video that I’ve actually heard a few times now. I mean, I made time to hear this message. I took detailed notes about what God was trying to say to me at that time.
I paused the video and replayed what was said, then continue on again. The video is only about 15 minutes long, but it took me nearly ninety minutes to get through it; that’s how detailed my notes were.
But as I’m putting my computer down a moment ago, listening to this message AGAIN, I hear something I hadn’t heard the last time I played this message.
I…MISSED SOMETHING??!!
As the waves of a crisis began to swell in my mind, I had to shake the thoughts away or I’d miss the download that was about to occur.
I needed to hear this particular point at the specific time I heard it. Here’s what I heard:
If Jesus said, ‘Peace be still’ then that means peace wasmoving.
Pastor Tony Evans
[Disclaimer: Now I KNOW the Bible scholars will say that Jesus was telling the sea to be at peace but it still fits]
Before I could throw my phone across the room, I had thoughts flooding in from every which way but it was two I settled on.
(Spoiler alert: The second thought cancels out the first}
1. So if peace chucked a deuce, it’s because it wasn’t trying to stay around anxiety and fear.
If you go back a few scriptures, this is the story of a storm tossing the boat Jesus slept on while His disciples panicked.
Jesus is the Prince of Peace, which means He rules over it. If light and dark can’t be in the same space, then neither can peace and fear, or peace and anxiety…or peace and frustration, or peace and jealousy. You get the point. So Jesus dipped.
Buuuuuuut…God said He would never leave us nor forsake us (Hebrews 13:5) and Jesus gave us HIs peace!! (John 14:27). God is not the type to run from a battle anyway and Jesus didn’t physically leave the boat…so I had to throw out that whole thing.
But then came the second and most sobering thought.
2. So if peace was moved, it’s because WE(I) moved it.
I instantly thought of my mom’s cat. My parents have a little light that they shine when they are helping the little feline stay active. They wiggle the light on the floor to get the cat’s attention before jerking the light a few feet to the right. As they move the light, Mora is bouncing around the floor to try to get it.
If our peace is not rested on Christ, we have to put it somewhere, right?
Maybe we put ‘peace’ in certain groups of people, (Black or white. Dems or Reps).
Maybe we put ‘peace’ in more money, a bigger house, a new car, another relationship even when we aren’t over the last. There are so many places we can ‘put peace’ but in the end things don’t really work out or, if they do, there’s always a feeling that something’s missing.
Jesus was very specific in the type of peace He gave. Let’s look at John 14: 29:
Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. (Emphasis added)
So there’s FALSE Peace and REAL Peace.
More money won’t bring you peace. More people won’t bring you peace. Another relationship won’t bring you peace.
True peace is contingent on it’s source. In order for peace to be sustained it must rest on a firm foundation. One that’s been tested under the most extreme circumstances and still maintain it’s integrity. One that can endure to the end, no matter how long it takes.
Christ has proven to be the only foundation suitable enough for peace to rest and that’s the place God wants us to rest in. For those who don’t know, the Bible is a compilation of writings by different authors that point to one person: JESUS! God’s whole mission was to get us back in right standing with Him and the only way to do that was to sacrifice His perfect Son.
We have to remember Christ in all things. When we try to find peace in other things, it brings trouble in all things because it’s not the peace Jesus gave to us.
I pray that you let go of the counterfeit peace, the one that fades, and hold tight to the Prince of Peace, the One who’s everlasting!
As I am getting over a short cold, a thought crossed my mind last night and it followed me into today. I drank my protein shake, drank some water, had some time to reflect and there it was. That thought. It was stalking me. I guess that’s a good indicator to write it out. So here we are.
Welcome!!
The statement that came to mind was this:
“Now is just going to keep coming until you do it.”
Take a moment, like I did, and think about that. For the sake of time, let’s take 10 seconds and see how many times you can snap your fingers.
Every snap represents NOW.
Did you see how many times NOW came and went? It was a lot in just 10 seconds. What happens when we put it off until tomorrow? Momentum is lost.
See, I was never an impulsive person. I like to calculate things out. Measure two or three times before I cut once. Slowly. But some things need to be acted upon immediately. Some things need to be started when you think about it. That first step is important.
Now is a gift that we often overlook when we’re focused on what isn’t or what someone else has. We have to get used to taking immediate action. It could be something really easy, like flushing out the idea in writing or more complex like getting a team together.
When I wrote my first e-book, I had already written out some of the concepts I wanted to share and did nothing with it. It wasn’t until I got pissed off that I actually sat down, wrote it, structured it, designed it, and put it out there. I’m still working out getting used to advertising that it’s available, but it’s done.
Now is just going to keep coming until you do it, so do it now.
How many times have we put things off for later instead of just taking some time and doing it now? If you’re like me, it’s way more often than you’d like. But that can change right now.
Let’s stop accepting failure for ourselves. Let’s stop making excuses. Let’s make the time to finish the project. You never know who it will reach or who’s life will be transformed by it.
The gift you possess is not yours. You just possess it. It’s meant to be shared with others.
The rays of light beamed through the paned window as the Father sat on its sill. He turned His head and smiled, gazing out at all that is. He listened to the laughter that echoed its way into the room. It brought His heart so much joy to hear His children enjoying themselves. He took pride in the work of His hands.
His hands. Smooth like the silk of a rose petal yet strong enough to withstand the weight of the world. His gentle hands ready to give everything He owned to anyone willing to hold them.
“Abba?” a soft voice interrupted His thoughts. “Are you ok?”
He turned with a warm smile and said, “All is well.”
“Well, why do I have to leave You?” they asked, reticence in their tone.
His inhale was long enough to call in the deepest wave and His exhale calm and steady, just like the words that followed.
“Come, My child, I have a gift for you.” The young heart beamed with joy at the show of the Father’s love. “This gift I give to you. It will help you navigate your way until You come back to me.”
“But I don’t want to leave you now.”
“I know, My child. My love for you is so great that I’ll make sure you hear about Me. I’ll be with you always. You’ll see parts of Me, but you won’t see all of Me unless you choose to come back home.”
“Abba, why wouldn’t I choose to come home? You’re a good Father,” they leaped, “Better than any father anywhere!”
He smiled at the innocence in the question. “Come, My child,” He beckoned, inviting the young spirit into His embrace.
“The place I am about to send you is beautiful,” He smiled. “It’s full of hidden treasures and experiences like no other. You’ll even be able to see Me in a different way.”
“Hidden treasures? That sounds fun and all, but why can’t I just stay here with You?”
With an unimaginable gentleness, the Father laid His hand on His little one’s chest.
“I want to bless you to be a blessing to others, to show them just how special they are and how much they mean to Me. Some have lost their way, but I want to use you to help them find it.”
The little one sighed, letting His words penetrate their being before finally asking, “Will there be others like me?”
The Father anointed their head with a kiss, “Absolutely! You’ll know them when you see them.”
They both smiled at one another.
“Ok,” the little one stood, chest forward and legs strong, “I think I’m ready.”
Crystal Writes 