Normally when I dream, I donât remember muchâjust the feelings that linger when I wake. But this morning was different. I had the strangest, most vivid dream, one so real it pulled me out of sleep with a phrase echoing in my mind.
In the dream, I had started working at a maternity clinic as a researcher-in-training. Part of my role was to observe deliveries, study every detail, and even dissect the placenta and blood after birth. On my very first case, tragedy struckâthe mother died, and the baby nearly did. We immediately began examining what had gone wrong. The head doctor, a man, and his female assistant guided me. More than once, I watched them quietly lay their heads down and cry, before softly resuming their work, murmuring their findings as they went.
Eventually, the dissection ended, and it was time to move to another room. I cradled the baby in my arms as we walked together, the atmosphere heavy and solemn. To comfort her, I hummed softly as we went. Once we arrived, I was told to lay her in a man-sized shoebox and gently unwrap her. The female assistant stepped forward, prayed over the child, then turned to me with urgency in her eyes and asked:
âDo you want to turn your memory of a bad day today into a day of rest and relief tomorrow?â
The whole roomâincluding the babyâseemed to hold its breath, waiting for my answer. Tears welled up in my eyes as I whispered, âYes, please.â At that, everyone wept. Even the sleeping baby had tiny tears sliding down her cheeks.
Thatâs when I woke upâthose words repeating in my mind over and over. It was about 5:30 a.m., and though I tried to drift back to sleep, the phrase kept jolting me awake until finally I got up and wrote it down.
Most of the time, my dreams vanish without a trace. Only once beforeâwhen I was 11âdid I have a recurring one vivid enough to stay with me. I donât fully know what God was trying to tell me through this dream, but I do know I want to hold on to that phrase. I choose to believe it. I will trade my hard days and heavy memories for days filled with love, rest, and peace.
Lately, Iâve found myself wandering in what Iâve started calling âmeh-land.â You know that foggy, blah place where nothing quite lights you up the way it used to? Day after day, I see friends out jogging, walking, or proudly showing off the fruits of their canning and freezing projects. And while Iâm happy for them, my heart just sighs⌠meh.
Even the things Iâve loved so deeply in the pastâuplifting women, booking travel, singing, readingâdonât always chase the meh away anymore. Sometimes Iâll try mowing the grass, which is usually a surefire way to clear my head, only to end up with a silly accident and more pain added to the pile. And the meh digs in deeper.
It makes me wonder sometimes, whatâs wrong with me? Why does the meh stretch on and on, day after day?
And then, God gives me a reminder that He hasnât forgotten meâeven in the most unexpected, funny, and slightly terrifying way.
Sean and I were at a shoe store the other day, and I slipped away to use the restroom. As I turned the lock, I remember thinking, Hmmm, I hope this little knob thing doesnât give me any trouble. I should have taken that as foreshadowing.
Because sure enough, when I finished up and went to leave, the lock wouldnât budge. That little thing sat there as stubborn as could be. I twisted, rattled, even jiggled it with a touch of desperation. Nothing. And thatâs when the claustrophobia set in. My heart pounded harder with every second.
I tried again, a little more frantically this timeâstill no dice. And just before I crossed over into full-blown panic, I whispered a prayer: âLord, please help me get out of here.â
Almost instantly, a thought popped into my mind: Push the lock in and turn it. I followed it, and though the lock grated and groaned like it hadnât been moved since the 1980s, it finally clicked open. Sweet, blessed freedom!
I stepped into the hallway and leaned against the wall, whispering, âThank You, God.â Relief washed over me, but so did something else: gratitude. Gratitude that God had heard me in that small, panicked moment. Gratitude that He cares enough to meet me even in a windowless bathroom.
It may not sound like much, but to me, it was huge. A simple, real-life reminder that even when the meh stretches on day after day, God is still near. He still hears. And yesâHe even answers bathroom prayers.
So, I want to ask you: whatâs a prayer God has answered for you lately? Big or small, funny or seriousâIâd love to hear your stories. Because maybe together, we can encourage one another, laugh a little, and slowly climb out of meh-land one answered prayer at a time.
Lately, Iâve been asking myself, How is my faith? Some days, it feels steady and strong. Other days, it seems small and fragile. And there are times when doubts and fears creep in and threaten to overwhelm me.
This morning, we read the familiar verse about faith being like a grain of mustard seed. For as long as I can remember, Iâve understood that to meanâeven if your faith is tiny, that little bit can grow into something much larger. A beautiful reminder in itself.
But today, I heard it explained from a different angle, and it opened my heart in a new way. Mustard seed, you see, was considered a noxious seed in Bible times. Once it took root, it spread everywhere. In fact, they werenât even allowed to plant it in city gardens because it would completely take over. Even more fascinatingâit releases something into the soil that keeps other plants from growing too close.
And I couldnât help but wonder⌠What if thatâs how our faith works, too? What if even the smallest seed of faith spreads out into every corner of our lives, releasing something that makes it hard for doubt and fear to take hold near us?
It was such a fresh picture for meâfaith not just as something that grows bigger, but as something that spreads wider and transforms the very soil around it.
Can you imagine the kind of faith we could live out if we looked at it this way?
Hello friendsâitâs been a little while since Iâve written. My mind hasnât been in a writing mood, and I wasnât sure what to share. Iâve been working on some childrenâs storybook series, but this past week gave me something very real to write about.
Have you ever had one of those moments where your life flashes before your eyes? I had that happen recently while mowing. Now, Iâve always been nervous about mowing ditchesâthey make me feel like the mower is going to roll right over. About three years ago, I finally taught myself to mow our berm without being too afraid, and I was pretty proud of that!
But the other day, while mowing the edge, I must have looked behind me to check for traffic at the wrong moment. Before I knew it, one of the big drive tires dropped over the edge. I tried to steer it back, but the mower had other plansâthe deck lifted, the weight shifted, and for a split second, I thought it was all over.
I donât even know if I prayed, but God must have been guiding my hands. I yanked the left bar back and pushed the right one forward, which spun me straight into the ditch. Down I wentâfast. I may have even screamed like I was on a roller coaster! By the time I hit the bottom, I was facing the opposite direction and thanking God I was still upright.
By the time I made it back to the house, my legs were weak and I was shaking. Sean later told me I did the only thing I could have doneâand if it had rolled, Iâd likely have been badly hurt. My family was pretty concerned (and Sean checked things out right away), but the truth is, Iâm still sore and may need to get checked out.
The moral of this story? đŤ Stay out of the ditchesâliterally and figuratively. Life can throw us off balance in a blink, but sometimes the only thing we can do is steer the best way we know how and trust that Godâs got His hand on the bars too. đ
The kind of early where the sky is still deciding whether it wants to be morning, and the airport coffee machines are gurgling in protest.
Miss Pink stood proudly next to her owner, looking fabulous and just a little flirty, with her satin finish and her signature blush-toned zipper pulls. She sparkled. She glowed. She matched her owner’s nails.
âI was made for this,â she said to herself as the automatic doors whooshed open. âLet the vacation begin!â
Next to her, Mr. Green was a little less… bubbly.
He was sturdy. Vintage. The kind of suitcase whoâs seen things. His olive-colored fabric had earned its scuffs with dignity, and his wheels creaked slightlyâjust enough to announce, âIâve been on five continents and lived to tell about it.â
He adjusted his ID tag with a huff. âI hope we survive this airport. These floors are murder on my wheels.â
They rolled in tandem through the check-in line, snickering about carry-ons who thought they were worldly. But as they reached the counter, a sudden realization hit.
âWait,â Miss Pink whispered, âare we⌠parting ways here?â
Mr. Green looked over, alarmed. âNo⌠surely not! We always fly together!â
But alasâit was true. Miss Pink, being a compact and carry-on compliant queen, was headed for security.
And Mr. Green, bless his overstuffed zippers, was off to checked baggage.
âIâll see you at the other end,â Miss Pink said, trying to stay strong.
âDonât let them manhandle you!â he warned. âTheyâre rough in there!â
With a bittersweet zip, they rolled apart.
Miss Pink and Mr. Green side by side at the airport entrance, looking excited and nervous.
Miss Pink Journey:
Security was, in a word, chaos.
She was lifted, scanned, and thenâgaspâsprayed by a swab-wielding stranger who mumbled something about âexplosive residue.â She almost fainted.
âI am sensitive fabric!â she shrieked silently.
Then came the conveyor belt of doom, where she was ploppedâyes, PLLOPPEDâonto cold rubber rollers and pushed into a dark tunnel.
A large backpack bumped her.
âWatch it, trail mix!â
She barely survived with her dignity intact. One more jolt and she mightâve lost her travel-sized dry shampoo.
Miss Pink was still trying to recover her balanceâboth emotionally and literally. After being sprayed, swabbed, and swirled in a whirlwind of security chaos, she was unceremoniously plopped back down on her wheels. âOh mercy,â she muttered, wobbling like a flamingo in roller skates. âIs this how they treat all designer luggage?â
She didnât even have time to realign her zippers before being shoved forward by a grumpy duffel bag who clearly hadnât had enough coffee. âMove it, cupcake,â he grunted. She glared. âExcuse you, this cupcake has custom embroidery and reinforced seams. Watch it.â
Eventually, she was wheeled toward the gate, only to realize something terribly upsettingâno Mr. Green in sight. Her wheels slowed.
âWhat if weâre not on the same flight?â she panicked. âWhat if heâs sent to… Baggage Claim Siberia?!â
Just then, a tiny carry-on named Lulu zipped up beside her. âYou waiting for someone?â
Miss Pink blinked. âYes… well, maybe. Heâs older. Polite. Forest green. Smells faintly of cedar and regret.â
Lulu nodded. âAw, I think I saw him going down the freight elevator. Donât worryâchecked bags get there in time… most of the time.â
âTSA and Terminal Trauma: Miss Pinkâs First Brush with Authority
Meanwhile Mr. Green…
He was dreading the moment he feared most: the scale.
âOh no. Not again,â he groaned as the agent lifted him by the handle. âNot in front of the carry-ons,â he whispered, shielding his travel tag like it was a set of private medical results.
He felt every ounce of last-minute vacation overpacking as the scale blinked dramatically before reading out the numbers.
âFifty-two pounds,â the attendant announced flatly.
Mr. Green gasped. âI told her not to pack the backup sandals and the beach hat collection!â
Before he could protest, he was tagged and whoosh!âtossed onto the conveyor belt like a sack of potatoes at a greased-slide contest. The world spun by in flashing lights, conveyor belts, and bump after bump.
He ended up in a cold, humming underworld known only to the elite luggage society as The Badge Area.
There, suitcases from all over the world gathered in quiet judgment, waiting to be sorted. A sleek silver hard-shell from Zurich gave Mr. Green a once-over. âFirst time in the basement, huh?â
Mr. Green, winded and slightly unzipped, coughed. âIs it that obvious?â
Back in the badge zone, Mr. Green was loaded onto a metal crate with a dozen others. He sighed deeply. âHang in there, Pink,â he murmured to himself. âWeâll be reunited soon. Hopefully before the humidity gets to my stitching.â
He didn’t know where they were going, what lay ahead, or whether their zippers would ever align again… but one thing was for certain:
This was no ordinary vacation.
âWeighing in on Regrets: Mr. Green Realizes Those Extra Shoes Were a Mistakeâ
And thus began the journeyâtwo suitcases, separated by scanners and weight limits, destined to travel parallel paths in the name of vacation.
They didnât know it yet, but what lay ahead would be their most unforgettable trip ever.
To be continued⌠(Next stop: Part Two: Turbulence, Twists & Tarmac Tales
Some days are just better than others… and this was one of themâmostly! đ
How could anyone feel sad surrounded by all this beauty? Nassau is bursting with vibrant flowers and blooming trees right nowâand donât even get me started on that water. Ooooh la la! That crystal blue is straight out of a dream. I spent a glorious stretch floating in the ocean, totally pain-free (what a gift!)⌠but letâs just say the ache came back with a vengeance. Iâm moving slow now and running on a cocktail of pain meds. Honestly, I wish I could sleep right out there in the wavesâtalk about second heaven!
Hereâs how the day started: Up at 2 AM and out the door by 3. The hotel A/C barely worked, so it was a sweaty, restless night with just a couple hours of sleep. We got to the airport 2.5 hours early, only to find that Delta’s assistance desk didnât open till 3:30 AMâand wheelchair services didnât start till 4. So… we waited.
Then came the olâ airport shuffle. Iâve got TSA PreCheck, but Sean doesnâtâso we braved the regular line together. Boarded the first flight, only to find the A/C wasnât much better there either (seriously, universe?). Arrived in Atlanta early, but with just a 52-minute layover, it was go time. My wheelchair assistantâSean guessed she was about 60âhad no time for bathroom breaks. We jumped on the Plane Train from Terminal A to F (thank goodness it was working; walking it would’ve taken 45 minutes!). We made it to the gate with maybe five minutes to spare.
As soon as I stepped on that 737, I bee-lined it to the bathroomâand wowza, those things are tiny! I was touching both walls while sitting and nearly bumped my head trying to stand up. đ
Arrived in Nassau and had a super sweet wheelchair assistant who told us there are 700 islands in the Bahamasâdid you know that?? Met a pirate (naturally!), grabbed a taxi, and made our way to the Grand Hyatt Baha Mar.
Our room was ready (hallelujah!), and my scooter was waiting. We cranked the A/C down to 67°, flopped down, and just soaked in the peace for a while. Around 4 PM, we met up with our groupâso many hugs and happy reunions! After catching up, I got back in that gorgeous water, then came up to shower, and now? This girl is wiped out and ready for bed.
In a cozy nest of hay and thread, Beneath the barn near the flower bed, A mama mouse gave birth one day To squeaky babies, pink and gray.
Six little fuzzballs, round and smallâ But Mousekin was the boldest of all. With a twitch of his nose and a curious stare, He asked big questions with thoughtful care.
âMama, whatâs that rumble and boom? Why do the shadows race past the room? Why does the wind sometimes whisper ârunâ?â And Mama sighed, âWell, little oneâŚâ
âThereâs much to learn in this wide old place. Thereâs wonders, yesâbut dangerâs face. Giants roam both near and farâ And not all wish to know who you are.â
Daddy Mouse stepped in with pride, His whiskers curled and eyes wide-eyed. âThereâs one great beast, bright, loud, and redâ It growls and chomps and fills us with dread.â
âIt zooms across the fields with mightâ Blades spinning fast, a fearsome sight. We call it the Lawn Roarer, son, And when it comes, you leap and run!â
Mama added, âYou must beware Of traps with treats that lure and snare. Some smell like peanut butter bliss, But one small nibbleâand youâre missed.â
âThereâs sticky boards that never budge, And snap traps sprung by just a nudge. And catsâoh, they are quick and sleek, With padded paws and eyes that peek.â
âThereâs dogs who bark and chase with glee, Not knowing we just want to flee. And high above, the birds patrolâ With wings like sails and eyes like coal.â
âThey dive from clouds, without a peep, With talons strong and dives so steep. You see their shadowâdonât ask why. Just drop and dash, or say goodbye.â
Mousekin shuddered. âIs that the worst?â
Mama smirked, âYou havenât heard the first! Thereâs womenfolk with ears too keen, Who shriek like banshees when weâre seen!â
âThey jump on chairs, they throw their shoes, Like weâre a headline on the news! They flail their arms, they stomp and spinâ As if we brought the plague again!â
Daddy grinned, âAnd men, oh boyâ They treat the chase like some big toy. Theyâll grab a boot and stomp around, Like hunting mice is honor-bound!â
—
But Mama Mouse, with a gentle sigh, Looked down at Mousekin eye to eye. âThe worldâs not just a scary placeâ Thereâs joy and hope in every space.â
âThereâs clover soft and puddles sweet, And sunshine warm on tiny feet. Thereâs porch-crumb feasts and tunnels deep, And dandelions when we canât sleep.â
—
Then came the day, bright as gold, When Mousekin felt the earth unfold. The Roarer growled, its engine loudâ It tore through grass like thundercloud.
A woman rode it, firm and fair, White hair piled high with gentle care. Pink sundress flowing, brace on her back, She mowed with style, strength, and knack.
Mousekin heard the buzzing humâ The ground began to shake and thrum. âNowâs the time,â he told his toes, And off he zipped before it closed.
He darted left, he veered to right, He danced with grass and beams of light. Past bugs and birds and butterfliesâ With dandelions blooming where danger lies.
He didnât stop, not once to peekâ He sprinted fast, he didnât squeak. And when he reached a shady log, He laughed and sighed beside a frog.
—
đź The Moral: The world is loud, the giants stomp, Some shriek and point, some boots will clomp. But even small ones, brave and bright, Can face the day and flee the fright.
So run with heart, and keep your sparkâ You can be bold when life feels dark. Be swift. Be smart. Be soft. Be slyâ And never be too small to try. đđ đź
“Just a gal, her mower, and one very concerned mouse. đźđđ
Today I found myself thinking about the word normal.
Iâve often wished I was normal.
Yesterday I listened to the funeral and shared memories of a very dear, sweet lady. She suffered from many health issuesâmuch like I do. Her husband said that over the last 25 years, she endured horrific pain and ongoing medical challenges, yet he could only recall 3 or 4 times when she ever said, âI wish I could be normal.â And even then, those moments didnât last long.
She lived her life in gratitude.
People sharing their memories said she often thanked God just for waking up each morning.
That stuck with me. It got me thinkingânot sure Iâll be able to put this into words, but Iâll try.
Who gets to decide what normal is?
For me, normal might look like splitting my day between my chair and my bed. For you, it might be buzzing aroundâgardening, running errands, taking care of a busy household.
For me, normal might be a string of doctorâs appointments. For you, it might be never setting foot in a clinic unless itâs for someone else.
For me, it might be longing to have company over and missing the joy of in-person fellowship. For you, it might be having people around so often you dream of just one quiet day.
For me, normal might be missing church services and community events. For you, it might be attending them so routinely that it doesnât even feel like a choice.
For me, normal might mean being overweight and fighting my body. For you, it might be not even understanding that struggle.
For me, it might be aching for a big familyâchildren and grandchildren close by. For you, it might be wondering what in the world you were thinking when you prayed for that big family!
For me, itâs missing my kids and craving more time with them. For you, it might be taking for granted that yours live nearby.
For me, itâs the joy of helping women find the perfect bra. For you, maybe itâs raising little ones full time or running a business.
For me, itâs living with physical pain every single day. For you, it might be never having even a headache.
For me, itâs being adopted and walking the road of healing from trauma and abuse. For you, it might be a childhood full of safety you never had to think twice about.
And on and on the list could go…
So again I ask, who defines normal?
I looked it up, just to be sure. The dictionary says things like:
> âTypical or routine.â âOccurring naturally.â âFree from impairment.â âWithin a safe or healthy range.â
By that definition, Iâll admitâmy ânormalâ isnât all that safe or healthy anymore.
But Iâll also say this: Neither is grief. Neither is trauma. Neither is raising a child with special needs, or caring for an elderly parent, or living with a broken heart. And yet people do it every day. Quietly. Bravely. Beautifully.
Someone once told me that ânormal is just a setting on the dryer.â Iâve held onto that one for a long time.
Because sometimes, just when we get used to our normal, life happens. We fall. We lose someone. We get a diagnosis. We change.
And then, a new normal begins.
So maybe I donât want to be ânormalâ after all.
Maybe I want to be real. Grateful. Present. Joyful when I can be, and gentle when I canât.
Whatever your ânormalâ looks like today, I hope you give yourself grace. Youâre doing the best you can in the body, life, and story youâve been given.
And thatâs more than enough. đ
“Trying to be normal? Honey, that setting’s for laundry, not for life.”
Yesterday was my follow-up appointment for the MRIs I had done recently. Iâll be honestâI was nervous. Iâve been told so many times in the past that âthereâs nothing wrongâ or that the pain is âall in my head.â And every time I hear that, I want to shout, âNo, itâs not in my headâitâs in my spine!â But like a good girl, I bite my tongue.
The doctor walked into the room and said, âMrs. Nightingale! You look good!â (I always wonder what that even meansâŚ) Anyway, we got to talking and started going over the imaging.
First, we discussed my sacroiliac joint fusions from last year. I told him about the pain in my right hipâhow it feels like a rubber band tightening when I walk. Some days I can make it a block without too much pain, and other days I can barely get from my chair to the bathroom without tears. He said that was actually expectedâhe sees this kind of âflip-flopâ pain often, where one side gets overworked as I try to protect the other. That may go on for another 6 months or so.
Then we moved on to the shooting pain and numbness down my left leg. He said it could be related to the SI joint fusion, but thereâs also a bulging disc pressing on my spinal cord. Still, he doesnât want to jump straight to surgery.
Next, he asked about my mid-back. He touched the area where I had a fusion in December 2022. That spot actually doesnât hurtâbut just above it, about two finger widths higher, the pain is awful when I sit in a hard chair, stand too long, or walk. It takes my breath away. He looked at my thoracic MRIs and confirmed there’s a ruptured disc pressing on the cord. Again, he doesnât want to rush into surgery unless absolutely necessary.
Then came the neck. I already have three fusions: C3-4, C4-5, and C6-7. I told him my arms sometimes go numb, even in positions where they shouldnât. Sometimes itâs my left side, sometimes my rightâonce I even had my right arm go completely dead while lying on my left side. He reviewed the imaging and, sure enough, another disc is pressing into the spinal canal.
He asked how many PT sessions Iâd hadâjust four so far. He said thatâs not enough and originally wanted to try a steroid injection, but I donât tolerate those well. So instead, he wants me to increase PT, wear a neck brace for support, and follow up soon.
I also brought up how weak my hands and arms have been feeling. After examining me, he rated my arm strength at a 4 minusâwhich, for those who donât know, means serious weakness, not just a little fatigue. That clearly got his attention. He ordered a CT scan to better look at the bone structure in my neck and spine and moved my follow-up to 1â2 months instead of the usual 4â5.
And at one point, he looked at me with this half-sigh and said, âWell, you just have not been blessed with good cartilage.â Not exactly a blessing Iâd hoped forâbut at least now I understand more of whatâs going on.
But hereâs what stuck with me most. Throughout the appointment, he repeated something that brought tears to my eyes: âYour pain is REAL. You have a structural problem that is causing this pain.â
Do you know how much that meant to hear? After years of being brushed off, that validation was everything.
My husband and wellness coach are helping me focus on healing from the inside outâworking on weight loss, nutrition, and ways to support my body naturally. They’re hopeful we can avoid more surgeries⌠and while Iâd love that too, Iâm not holding my breath just yet.
With my cataracts recently done, Iâve now had something like 30 surgeriesâincluding:
Wisdom teeth (yes, twice!)
Hernia repair
Complete hysterectomy
Gallbladder and appendix removal
8 spine surgeries
3 right shoulder surgeries
2 SI joint fusions
2 cataract surgeries
Tubal ligation
Lysis of adhesions
5 diagnostic laparotomies
A bleeding stomach ulcer repair …and Iâm probably forgetting a few.
My mama always says Iâve had enough surgeries for several lifetimesâand sheâs not wrong.
—
So yes, itâs been a long roadâand itâs not over yet. But for the first time in a long while, I left an appointment feeling heard. Validated. My pain isnât âall in my head.â Itâs real. It has a name, a reason, and most importantlyâitâs being taken seriously.
And that? That gave me peace.
I donât know what the next steps will be. Iâll keep doing the workâphysical therapy, healing from the inside out, bracing when needed, and leaning on the people whoâve been lifting me up when I canât do it alone.
To those of you silently struggling, wondering if your pain is âreal enoughââI see you. Your pain matters. YOU matter.
If nothing else, remember this: You donât need to prove your pain to anyone. You deserve to be heard and helped.
And Iâll keep blooming, one day at a time, like the bluebonnet in the sunshine.
By definition, theyâre not based on logic or reasonâbut that doesnât stop our brains from going full drama queen sometimes!
Me? Iâve got a few: đ I cannot use the toilet without checking the bowl first. What if thereâs a snake?! đŁ I donât like standing too close to the bed before climbing in⌠because, you know, something might grab my feet. đ I always watch my tea or water as I sip itâjust in case thereâs a bug in there doing the backstroke. đ And hereâs a classic from childhood: I could never drink the milk after eating cereal or cookies in it⌠because I was convinced there were monkeys in the milk. Donât ask. đ
Irrational fears and I go way back!
Do I know these things are silly? Sure. Does it change anything? Nope!
So tell meâwhat are your irrational fears? Letâs bond over the weirdness that makes us wonderfully human.
Some people fear heights or spiders⌠me? Iâve got my own list. đ
