Letting Go

I did not expect the heartache that came when I finally shut Kelly’s phone down. I had kept it active for almost two years after his passing, partly for work and partly for comfort. I thought I was simply keeping a tool running, but the truth is that I was holding on to a small piece of him. His phone felt like a place where he still lived and where his world still felt close to mine.

When the time came to turn it off, I thought I was ready. Most of the people who would have called him now know he is gone. The practical reasons for keeping it had faded. But the thought of the moment the screen goes dark, creates an ache I did not expect. It feels as if another part of him slipped away. 

Letting it go brought back a heartache that never fully leaves. It reminded me that love does not disappear, and neither does the longing to hold on to anything that carries a trace of the person I miss. I hurt because it feel final. I hurt because it feels like another goodbye. And I hurt because I loved him so deeply that even a small object could hold meaning far beyond its purpose.

Kelly is not in the phone. He is not in the number or the messages or the missed calls. He is in the life we built, the goodness he lived, the way he shaped my heart. He is in the memories that rise without warning and in the strength I find when I think I have none left. He is in the love that did not end when his life did.

Sometimes the things we hold on to are not the person we miss, but the symbol of them. When the moment comes to release the symbol, the love remains. Letting go of what we no longer need does not take anything away. It simply teaches us that the people we love stay with us in deeper and more lasting ways than anything we can hold in our hands.

Positive and Negative: How God Helps Me Hold the Charge

There are seasons in life when the weight we carry becomes heavier than we know how to hold. I have been walking through one of those seasons. After Kelly’s passing, the responsibilities of caring for Mom grew heavier, and the demands of my own home and work pressed in from every side. I knew what was happening inside me, yet I often felt paralyzed, unmotivated, and unable to find the energy I needed to move through my days.

I have lived with depression for many years, both chemical and, lately, deeply situational. It is something I usually hide, tucking it away where no one can see it. But I have reached a point where honesty feels like the only way forward. Depression affects the way my “battery” holds a charge. In a real battery, both positive and negative charges are necessary. They work together to create energy and movement. Negative is not “bad” it is simply part of the design. But in my life, the negative charge has been louder than the positive, and when that imbalance grows, it becomes harder for my battery to function the way it was created to. Naming this truth does not diminish my faith. It simply acknowledges the reality of my journey.

One afternoon, while driving, a memory rose up so clearly that it felt placed gently in my mind. I remembered working on cars with my dad, the smells of the garage, the warmth of the light, and the simple rhythm of handing him tools as he explained what he was doing. I remembered him teaching me about a car whose carburetor was failing. The battery kept the car alive for a while, but it was never meant to carry the whole load.

That memory opened something in me. I realized that I am the battery. My life holds both positive and negative charges, as every life does, but lately the negative ones have been overwhelming. And God,  steady, patient, and faithful is like the carburetor in my life. He is the One who gives me strength, breath, and balance. I call upon Him throughout my days, and He meets me with grace. But I also believe He is guiding me toward the things that will help my battery function the way it was designed to. He wants to work with me, not instead of me.

Every day I look for something to jumpstart my battery. Food has become one of those quick sources of energy. Some choices have not been the healthiest, but they have been the easiest ways to feel something when my battery is losing its charge. Family history gives me a spark of purpose, a reminder that I am part of something larger than the moment I am in. But even that spark fades quickly, and I find myself drained again.

I am working with a doctor now, hoping to find a way to help my body function as it was created to. I want my battery to hold steady again, not rely on temporary boosts to get through the day.

Engines are designed with intention. Every part has a purpose, and when something stops working, the whole system feels it. I believe the same is true for the soul. God created each of us with care and balance, with a way to breathe and move and live. When something inside us is not functioning the way it should, it does not mean we are beyond repair. It means we need support, wisdom, and the steady presence of the One who knows how we were made.

God has carried me through moments when I had nothing left. He continues to give me strength, and He will always be with me when I call upon Him. At the same time, I believe He is helping me search for ways to support my own body and spirit so that I can live with more steadiness and less struggle. His strength and my efforts can work together. I trust that He will guide me toward what will restore me, and that in time He will breathe life back into the parts of me that have grown quiet.

We all long for a small lift in our spirit. Even when life feels heavy and the engine inside us sputters, there is always hope. God does not leave us stranded on the side of the road. He walks with us, strengthens us, and helps us find the tools we need to keep going. Hope is never out of reach. It waits for us, steady and patient, ready to rise again.

With God nothing is impossible. He is the One who can bring life back to the places inside us that have grown quiet.

A Simple Change of Clothes

This morning I think I got all my daily steps in just trying to find something to wear to church. I moved from one outfit to another, surprised by how much my mood seemed to influence every choice. I did not feel like I was in any particular mood, yet clothes that usually feel fine suddenly felt wrong. It did not matter whether I liked them or not. Nothing seemed to settle on me in a way that felt peaceful. I finally chose a skirt and top that were simply okay and decided to move on with my morning.

A little later I was sitting at my desk working on my lesson about Rebekah and her kindness in choosing to serve and water the camels. While I was studying, a thought drifted into my mind about another top I had not tried. I paused my work and went to put it on. It felt perfect. That small moment made me wonder if it was just a random thought or if God, who cares about the smallest details of my life, knew I would feel more confident and comfortable with that change.

As I reflected on it, I realized my spirit had been unsettled long before my mind recognized it. My body was speaking in its own quiet way, nudging me toward something that felt more fitting for the day. And the timing of that thought, coming while I was studying Rebekah’s willingness to pause, notice, and respond, felt meaningful. In my own way, I was doing the same thing. I paused, noticed a gentle prompting, and responded to it.

It also became clear that confidence is a kind of preparation. Sometimes God prepares me for the day not only through scripture or prayer, but through small adjustments that help me feel more at ease and ready to be present. Even something as simple as clothing can be part of that preparation. When I feel comfortable in my own skin, my heart opens more freely to serve, teach, or listen.

Whether that thought came from divine intervention or simply from my mind recalling another possibility, it all worked together for my good. It helped me feel more at ease with myself, which allowed me to turn my attention outward and focus on serving others rather than being caught up in how I felt. In the end, the experience became a gentle reminder that God can use anything, even a simple change of clothes, to help me move through the day with a more open and willing heart.

It Wasn't About the Weeds

There are days when the list of things to do feels endless, yet the desire to do any of it is nowhere to be found. This was one of those mornings. I moved slowly through the house, switching laundry, straightening small things, trying to stir up some spark of motivation. As I worked, I prayed, quietly pleading for help to feel something again, to want to do the things that needed doing, to find a little mental and emotional healing in the middle of the heaviness.

It wasn’t dramatic. It was just that quiet ache of wanting to feel like myself again.

At some point, I glanced out the back window and saw the weeds I had worked so hard to clear out last year, standing tall and bold as if they had never been touched. I had sprayed them, tended to them, done everything I could to keep them away. Yet there they were, thriving in the very places I thought I had conquered.

Part of me sighed at the thought of starting over. But something nudged me to step outside anyway, just to see how difficult it would be to pull a few out.

The moment I stepped into the yard, something in me began to shift. I bent down and pulled a few weeds, expecting frustration, but instead I felt a quiet change moving through me. It wasn’t about the weeds at all. It was about being outside.

The sun warmed my shoulders. The grass carried that familiar scent of life. Birds chattered in the trees as if they had been waiting for me to join them. And in that simple, ordinary moment, I felt something loosen inside me.

It was as if the Lord had gently guided me out there, not to tackle a chore, but to breathe again. To feel the world beyond the walls of my house. To remember that healing often begins in the smallest, simplest places.

The weeds brought me outside, but the weeds were never the point. They were just the doorway. What I needed was the sunlight, the air, the grounding of my hands in the earth. I needed the reminder that sometimes the path back to motivation, clarity, or peace doesn’t come through force or willpower. Sometimes it comes through stepping outside, touching the world God made, and letting creation do what it quietly does to soften the heart and learning it wasn’t about the weeds that day!

A morning that began with heaviness and lack of motivation slowly unfolded into a quiet moment of healing. What looked like a chore of pulling weeds that had returned despite last year’s efforts had became a gentle reminder that sometimes God uses the smallest, most ordinary tasks to draw us back into the sunlight, the air, and the places where our souls can breathe again.

I Am a Root

 I love discovering that I AM a ROOT!

Lately I have been revisiting thoughts that help me reflect and understand my value more clearly. I know I am of worth, yet sometimes the heart and the mind do not move in the same rhythm. This happens especially when I notice and then foolishly compare myself to people who seem so gifted, those with higher education, polished confidence, and the ability to teach or lead with such ease. Their talents are visible and celebrated. My gifts have always felt quieter, more ordinary, tucked into the everyday work of caring, supporting, and simply trying to show up.

Many of my gifts grow beneath the surface. Some people bloom in ways the world immediately notices. Their gifts rise above the soil, bright, confident, unmistakable. But others grow in the hidden places, offering strength and nourishment in ways that are no less important. These quiet gifts are often the ones that hold families, homes, and hearts together.

Many of us have gifts that go unseen by the world. There are gifts for reflection, for turning hardship into meaning, for noticing the sacred in the ordinary. There are gifts for tenderness, for language, for showing up when things are hard. There are gifts for resilience, for faith, for caregiving, for creating beauty out of memory and loss. These are not lesser gifts. They are simply quieter. Some people are called to build monuments. Others are called to build people. I hope I have been doing the second. A life offered in love and encouragement is a gift the world may overlook, but God never does.

Before a plant ever shows beauty above the soil, it spends a long-time sending roots downward. That downward growth is not wasted time. It is preparation. It is foundation. It is what allows the plant to bloom without collapsing. I like to think that our experiences are God’s way of strengthening our individual roots.

When we look at a plant, the beauty is above ground, but roots carry out roles that are powerful, humble, and often overlooked.

Roots anchor. They hold the plant steady through storms. Anchoring is not glamorous, but it keeps families from blowing apart in hard seasons. Their strength comes from depth, not display.

Roots nourish. They feed the whole plant quietly and faithfully. When we comfort, encourage, and care for others, we are doing the same.

Roots store strength. They hold reserves that help the plant survive winter. I am still learning to survive the winters of my life with courage, patience, and faith. Winter comes again and again, yet because of God, I remain alive beneath the surface.

Roots create connection. I love the thought of this.  I love connecting to others.  Roots can form networks that support and strengthen others. I hope my life has offered that kind of quiet support.

Roots rejoice with the flower. They do not envy the blossom. They work together. The flower takes in the light and the roots take in the water. Both are needed for the plant to thrive.

Our Savior Jesus Christ is the light and the living water. We need both. We need Him. And we need one another.

People tend to admire what is visible, what appears talented, beautiful, accomplished, or charismatic. But the visible is only possible because of the invisible. The world may forget the roots, but the plant never does. The plant knows it needs the roots to survive, and the roots know they need the plant as well. One does not flourish without the other

Being a root is a gift. Some gifts rarely receive applause because the world cannot see the quiet acts of kindness. The root supports the plant and the plant likely helps the root but not matter what, God see all!

I hope that caring for my mother brings her comfort. I hope my love and steadiness give my children and grandchildren a sense of safety. I hope those I have walked beside have felt cared for, prayed for, and encouraged.

As I think about roots and flowers, I am reminded that God never intended any of us to grow alone. Roots need the plant just as the plant needs the roots. One reaches down for strength and nourishment, and the other reaches up for light and life. Both are part of the same creation. Both are needed. Both are loved.

In the same way, we are meant to strengthen one another. Some of us steady the ground. Some of us lift toward the sun. Some of us bloom. Some of us hold everything together beneath the surface. None of these roles are small. None are forgotten by God.

I am learning that being a root is not about being hidden. It is about being faithful. It is about offering what I can, where I am, with the gifts I have been given. And it is about trusting that God sees every quiet act of love and every unseen moment of endurance.

We grow best when we grow together, with God showing us the way.

Gentle Reminders

 

There are days when my mind feels crowded and it becomes hard to focus. Thoughts stack on top of each other, and I move through the day trying to keep up with everything I am carrying. In the middle of all of that, God has a way of reaching into the ordinary and reminding me that He is near.

Today, while I was driving, my watch gave three soft vibrations to let me know my exit was coming up. It was such a simple moment, yet it caught my attention. This little watch, a gift from my sons, communicates with me in so many ways. It guides me when I am using a map. It reminds me to stand when I have been sitting too long.  It tells me when someone is calling or texting and even checks on me if it thinks I may have fallen and so much more.  All of this made me think about how God watches every step I take with far more care and love.

As I thought about it, I realized how much this tiny device mirrors the way God works in my life through the Spirit. I am learning how to understand its signals, how to respond, and how to trust that it is trying to help me stay aware and safe. And in a much deeper and more tender way, the Holy Ghost does the same.

God is always communicating with us. The Spirit gives gentle nudges that guide us. It alerts us when we are drifting. It reminds us to pause. It whispers encouragement when we feel tired or unsure. It speaks in quiet ways that help us stay on course. Sometimes the message is clear. Sometimes we have to stop and look again. But the Spirit is always there, guiding, prompting, comforting, and helping us navigate the day.

Just like my watch, the Holy Ghost offers reminders. To breathe. To listen. To turn. To trust. To stretch our faith. To remember that God is near and we are never alone.

The Spirit is always speaking. God is always reaching. His guidance never fades and His presence never drifts. If we ever feel far away or unsure, it is not because the Spirit has stepped back. It is usually because life has grown loud or our hearts have grown crowded. The signal is still there, steady and sure. When we make room, when we quiet our thoughts, when we choose the things that invite His presence, we begin to feel those gentle nudges again. God never stops guiding us. We simply open our hearts and let the Spirit in.