ç'est la vie RN

Tag: christianity

  • Just Gimme the Goal!

    Just Gimme the Goal!

    We’re settling into the fourth quarter of the year, and if you’re anything like me, this is the time to start taking inventory. What did I accomplish? What goals are still within reach? What unexpected opportunities or challenges showed up along the way?

    As I revisited my goals for 2026, one in particular stood out: publish my DNP project in a peer-reviewed nursing journal.

    I completed my DNP last December and submitted my manuscript for publication during the first quarter of this year. In April, I received tentative acceptance, with instructions that additional information would follow as the publication date approached.

    Well, that information arrived about a month ago. The final edits are due October 26th, with the manuscript being scheduled for the January 2027 issue.

    And what did I do?

    Yes, I waited until last week to really dig into those edits. Now, before anybody judges me, trust me, I’ve already had a conversation with myself about the procrastination. We’re good. But here’s where things got interesting…

    As I worked through the requested revisions, I discovered that two graphics I wanted to include required copyright permissions. Permissions I hadn’t obtained.

    And the irony? I just published a book a couple of months ago. I KNOW how this works! But somehow, the distinction between using materials for an academic project and republishing them in a professional journal hadn’t fully registered.

    Suddenly, something I was excited about became something I was thoroughly irritated with. And for a brief moment, I thought…You know what? I don’t even want to do this anymore.

    When Desire Meets Dread

    During my quiet time this morning, I found myself reflecting on how often we pursue things—or even pray for things—without fully understanding what they’ll require of us.

    We want the promotion, but haven’t considered the additional responsibility.

    We want the business, but underestimate the constant sacrifices.

    We want the degree, the opportunity, the platform, or the achievement, but don’t always account for the process that accompanies it.

    In Luke 14:28 (NASB), Jesus uses the illustration of someone planning to build a tower, emphasizing the importance of first calculating the cost. Although He was teaching about the cost of discipleship, the principle of considering what we’re committing to is worth reflecting on.

    Sometimes we count the reward before we’ve counted the cost. And when that cost becomes apparent, our enthusiasm starts negotiating with our commitment.

    Is It Hard, or Do I Just Not Want to Do It?

    Here’s what I had to admit to myself: these manuscript revisions are not beyond my ability. They’re tedious. They’re time-consuming. They require research, attention to detail, and learning a process I’m not yet familiar with. And frankly, I just don’t feel like doing all that!

    But discomfort and difficulty aren’t always the same thing. James 1:4 (NIV) reminds us to let perseverance complete its work so that we may become mature and complete. That verse challenged me to consider something: What if the process isn’t just preparing the accomplishment, but also preparing me?

    Once I navigate this publication process, I’ll have knowledge and experience that I can apply to future manuscripts. I’ll never gain that experience if I quit simply because the process is inconvenient.

    Don’t Forsake What You Asked For

    Galatians 6:9 (NIV) encourages us not to grow weary in doing good, reminding us that a harvest comes in due time if we don’t give up. Now, that doesn’t mean every goal we set is something God has ordained, or that every pursuit must be carried through at all costs. But it does mean we should examine our reasons for wanting to quit.

    Is God redirecting us? Have our priorities genuinely changed? Or are we simply frustrated because the journey requires more than we anticipated?

    As for me, I have some edits to finish. Not because I’m suddenly excited about copyright permissions and manuscript revisions, but because I still believe this goal is worth pursuing.

    And perhaps that’s part of maturity: learning that commitment doesn’t always come with enthusiasm. Sometimes you just have to do the work.

    Before You Abandon Ship…

    If there’s something you’ve been working toward that’s beginning to feel more like a burden than a blessing, I want to encourage you to do three things:

    Revisit your why.

    Reassess your commitment.

    Identify your next step.

    Not every goal is meant to be pursued. Sometimes circumstances change, priorities shift, and God redirects our paths. Don’t mistake frustration for redirection or inconvenience for a closed door.

    If the goal still matters, give yourself permission to acknowledge the frustration without allowing it to make the decision for you. Then take one intentional step forward. It doesn’t have to be a giant leap. It may simply be a prayer for clarity or obedience.

    And remember, you don’t have to enjoy every part of the process to appreciate what it’s producing in you. Sometimes growth looks a whole lot like doing the thing you don’t feel like doing.

    That’s life right now…

  • Blocking Your Own Belonging

    Blocking Your Own Belonging

    I see some version of the same conversation online all the time (specifically about Dallas, TX):

    It’s hard to make friends here.

    I can’t find community.

    I only want to go to certain types of events.

    I need a smaller church because you can’t really build relationships at a big one.

    And listen, I understand the desire underneath all of that. People want connection. But I’m beginning to wonder…is community actually the thing most people are searching for? I think they’re looking for belonging. There is a difference.

    You can have a community at work. A church community. A neighborhood community. A group you brunch with, serve with, worship with, work out with, or see every Thursday night.

    Belonging is different.

    Belonging says, “These are my people.”

    These are the people who know more than the polished version of me. The people who can celebrate me without competing with me, correct me without condemning me, pray for me when I don’t have the words, and tell me the truth when everybody else is nodding along.

    While Jesus certainly modeled community, He also modeled levels of relationship. Jesus had crowds. He had disciples. He chose the Twelve. Mark 3:14 tells us He appointed them “that they might be with him.” But even within the Twelve, there were three (Peter, James, and John) who were invited into moments the others were not.

    They were with Him at the Transfiguration (Matthew 17:1).

    They went farther with Him into Gethsemane (Matthew 26:37).

    They were brought into intimate moments of ministry and vulnerability. Jesus loved many people. He served many people. Jesus was also accessible to many people. But all those people did not occupy the same relational space…neither should they.

    Know What You Truly Need

    This is where I think people sometimes get community wrong. They keep waiting to fall into the perfect friend group. They want to walk into the right church, attend the right event, join the right organization, or move into the right neighborhood and somehow immediately meet the three or four people who understand them perfectly, share their values, know when they’re joking, remember their coffee order, pray like heaven is listening, and are available for emergency FaceTimes.

    Listen y’all…that is a lot of expectation to put on minimal moments.

    Deep relationships generally aren’t discovered fully formed. They are built. Building them requires your participation. If you have already decided:

     I don’t go to those events.

    I don’t attend churches like that.

    Those aren’t my type of people.

    I wouldn’t fit in there.

    Then you may be asking God for connection while simultaneously eliminating places where connection could happen. And that doesn’t mean every room is your room. Discernment matters. However, there is a difference between discernment and preference.

    Sometimes you have already designed the package your blessing has to arrive in, and then wonder why you haven’t received it.

    Ask God Where and Who

    Relationships this important probably shouldn’t be built haphazardly. Jesus Himself was intentional about whom He called close. Luke tells us that before Jesus selected the Twelve, He spent the night praying to God (Luke 6:12-13).

    Don’t miss that!

    Before selection came prayer. So perhaps one of the best prayers for someone longing for deeper community isn’t simply:

    God, send me some friends.

    Maybe it is:

    God, show me where I need to be. Show me who I need to notice. Give me discernment about who should come closer, and wisdom about who should remain in another circle.

    We can probably agree that everybody you meet doesn’t have to become your best friend. But you also don’t want to overlook someone simply because they arrived somewhere you didn’t expect to find them.

    You Have to Open the Door Too

    There is another part of building your tribe that we don’t talk about enough; you have to let people know you. Real belonging requires some degree of vulnerability. Look at Simon (Peter).

    In Luke 5, Jesus didn’t simply walk up and ask that Simon rearrange his entire life around someone he didn’t know. There was an interaction. Jesus stepped into Simon’s boat. He taught. He told Simon where to let down his nets. Simon had already been fishing all night and caught nothing, but he trusted Jesus enough to try again. Then the nets filled.

    And after that encounter Jesus told him, “from now on you will fish for people” (Luke 5:10).

    There was invitation, experience, trust, and then deeper relationship.

    We sometimes want people to trust us deeply while revealing very little of ourselves. Is it reasonable to expect loyalty without vulnerability? Understanding without communication? Support without allowing anyone to see where we actually need support?

    Relationships deepen when somebody has the courage to go first. Not irresponsibly or without boundaries, but honestly. Eventually somebody has to say, “Hey, I’m struggling with this.”

    Somebody has to send the first text.

    Somebody has to extend the invitation.

    Somebody has to say, You crossed my mind today, so I prayed for you.

    Somebody has to risk hearing, No, I can’t make it.

    And then, invite again another time.

    Be mindful though, not every invitation will not be accepted, and every connection will not become your connection. Please don’t make every closed door mean something is wrong with you. Sometimes people are busy. Sometimes the chemistry simply isn’t there. Sometimes the relationship you hoped would deepen was only meant to be seasonal or remain on the outer edge of your circle.

    Many times, what feels like rejection may actually be God’s protection or redirection. You may not know what He knows about that person, that group, or that environment. So don’t take every “no,” unanswered text, awkward interaction, or failed attempt as a cue to retreat from people altogether. Pray about it. Learn what you need to learn. And keep putting yourself out there.

    Prayerfully.

    Because one closed door does not mean you stop knocking on doors altogether.

    Real Tribe Talk

    And while we’re building our proverbial three, let’s clear up something else; your tribe is not your personal fan club. Proverbs 27:17 says, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.”

    Sharpening involves friction.

    Your people should love you enough to tell you when you’re wrong. They should be able to ask, Have you prayed about that? They should notice when you’re shrinking, spiraling, isolating, overcommitting, settling, or moving outside of what you said God called you to do. And you should be able to do the same for them. Your tribe walks beside you, but they don’t blindly follow you. They help you become who God is calling you to be.

    Go Find Your Tribe

    Maybe you’re in a season where you already have a strong tribe.

    Cherish them.

    Pray for them.

    Show up for them.

    Don’t become so accustomed to good relationships that you forget how valuable they are! If you’re currently praying for deeper friendships, don’t just wait for people to arrive. Ask God where He wants you. Go somewhere new when He nudges you.

    Stay open.

    Start conversations.

    Serve.

    Accept an invitation you would normally decline.

    Extend one yourself.

    And if one attempt doesn’t work out, resist the urge to make it mean you should stop trying. Let God close the doors that need closing without allowing those doors to close you. Then keep moving. When someone seems worth knowing more deeply, give the relationship enough time and honesty to grow.

    Ecclesiastes reminds us, “Two are better than one” because they can help one another when one falls (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10).

    We were never designed to do all of life alone.

    So, perhaps the prayer isn’t simply for more community. Perhaps it’s for the wisdom to recognize your people, the courage to let them know you, and the commitment to keep showing up long enough for community to become belonging.

    You don’t need everybody…But everybody needs somebody.

    What barrier have you created—fear, preference, past rejection, comfort, or assumptions about where “your people” should be—and what is one prayerful step you can take this week to move beyond it?

    Pray.

    Pay attention.

    Be open.

    That’s life right now…

  • The Lions Don’t Get the Last Word

    The Lions Don’t Get the Last Word

    Yesterday, I attended the NTONL Fall Forum, surrounded by nursing leaders I respect; some of whom I have the privilege of serving alongside on the board.

    One thing stood out to me: excellence.

    Not perfection. Not titles. Not polished résumés. Excellence.

    There is something refreshing about being in a room with people who care deeply about doing the work well. People who understand that leadership carries responsibility. People who still believe quality matters, integrity matters, and how we show up matters.

    But if I’m being truthful, practicing with excellence can sometimes feel almost asinine. Especially when you look around and see chaos being normalized, mediocrity being tolerated, and shortcuts becoming standard operating procedure. And nursing certainly doesn’t have a monopoly on this.

    I’ve had similar conversations with my siblings who work in completely different industries. Eventually, some version of the same question surfaces:

    Should I just digress to what everybody else is doing?

    If nobody else seems bothered, why should I be? If doing the bare minimum is acceptable, why am I stressing myself trying to do more? If people are cutting corners and still getting promoted, recognized, paid, and praised, what exactly is the benefit of maintaining a higher standard?

    Then, Saturday morning, my Bible-in-a-Year reading started in Daniel 6.

    And there was my answer…

    Daniel Was Different

    Daniel had been appointed as one of three administrators overseeing the kingdom. But Scripture tells us something interesting about him:

    Daniel 6:3 NIV — Daniel “distinguished himself … by his exceptional qualities.”

    His excellence became visible. King Darius noticed it and planned to place Daniel over the entire kingdom. That’s the part of excellence we like.

    Recognition.

    Opportunity.

    Influence.

    Promotion.

    The moment when somebody finally sees the consistency, discipline, wisdom, and effort you’ve been putting in when nobody appeared to be paying attention.

    But Daniel’s excellence attracted something else too…

    Opposition.

    The other leaders began looking for a reason to bring charges against him. They examined his work, his leadership, and his conduct. They couldn’t find corruption or negligence. Think about that. Daniel was so consistent that his enemies had to attack his faith because they couldn’t find anything wrong with his work.

    Sometimes excellence gets you promoted.

    Sometimes excellence gets you plotted against.

    And sometimes it does both at the same time.

    Excellence Can Make People Uncomfortable

    That realization matters because we sometimes interpret resistance as evidence that we’re doing something wrong. Not necessarily.

    Your consistency can expose somebody else’s inconsistency without you saying a word.

    Your integrity may make shortcuts more obvious.

    Your preparation can highlight someone else’s lack of preparation.

    Your refusal to participate in dysfunction can disrupt environments that have grown comfortable with dysfunction. That doesn’t mean we become arrogant. Excellence without humility quickly becomes self-righteousness. But humility doesn’t require us to lower the standard either. There is a difference between believing you are better than people and deciding you will consistently give your best. Scripture gives us a simple reason for doing so:

    Colossians 3:23 NIV — “work at it with all your heart.”

    Our standard cannot constantly fluctuate according to whoever happens to be standing beside us. Because ultimately, we aren’t working simply to outperform other people. We are stewarding what God entrusted to us.

    So, Should You Digress?

    No.

    Not because excellence guarantees a promotion. Daniel proves it doesn’t guarantee popularity either. And certainly not because excellence means everything will always work in your favor. Keep your standard because who and whose you are, matters.

    Keep studying.

    Keep preparing.

    Keep treating people well.

    Keep following through.

    Keep telling the truth.

    Keep doing what you said you would do.

    Keep practicing your craft.

    Keep living with integrity.

    Even when mediocrity would be easier because somewhere along the way, excellence becomes reputation. Reputation becomes trust. Trust creates opportunities you may never have been able to manufacture for yourself.

    And When Excellence Attracts Opposition…

    Remember how Daniel 6 ends…

    The people who schemed against Daniel succeeded in getting him into the lions’ den, but they could not determine the outcome once he got there.

    God did. (Insert audible praise!!!)

    Daniel told the king that God sent an angel to shut the lions’ mouths. That may be my favorite reminder from this entire story. People may have influence over the circumstances, but God still has authority over the outcome!

    So when doing things the right way feels lonely, unnecessary, or even costly, remember who stands with you:

    Psalm 46:7 NIV — “The LORD Almighty is with us.”

    Or, as I was reminded this morning:

    The God of heaven’s armies is on our side.

    So no, I don’t think we digress.

    We keep showing up.

    We keep growing.

    We keep serving.

    We keep moving in excellence.

    Not because everyone around us will appreciate it. And trust me, excellence will not necessarily always make life easier. But when God has entrusted you with an assignment, lowering your standard simply because mediocrity has become common is far too expensive a price to pay.

    Let them notice.

    Let them applaud.

    Let them misunderstand.

    And yes…if necessary, let them hate. Just don’t let them change who God has called you to be.

    That’s life right now…

  • When Life Feels Like a Texas Summer

    When Life Feels Like a Texas Summer

    If you live in Texas, you already know…

    Summer does not politely make its entrance. It kicks the door open, turns the thermostat up, and then seemingly forgets to leave. This past month we had a stretch of days when the temperature climbed to around 109 degrees. Not that high as of recent, yet still brutally hot.

    And listen, I don’t care how long you’ve lived here, 109 is just plain disrespectful. You walk outside and immediately regret it. The steering wheel is hot. The seat is hot. The air is hot. Even the breeze feels like somebody opened an oven door. And when you look at the forecast, there doesn’t appear to be much relief coming. More sunshine. More triple digits. More of the same.

    But here’s the funny thing…

    I have absolutely no concern that it will still be 109 degrees in December. None. I don’t need to see a cold front on today’s forecast to know that eventually this heat will break. Why? Because I know what season I’m in. And I know seasons change.

    Maybe somebody needs this reminder today.

    Because when life gets hard, we sometimes forget that the same thing is true.

    When the Forecast Says More of the Same

    There are seasons of life that feel like they have lasted entirely too long.

    You’ve prayed.

    You’ve waited.

    You’ve adjusted.

    You’ve tried to be faithful.

    You’ve told yourself, God is working.

    And yet, when you look around, everything seems to say:

    More waiting.

    More stretching.

    More uncertainty.

    More pruning.

    More becoming.

    And after a while, even growth can hurt. Jesus tells us in John 15 that God prunes branches that are already producing fruit so they can become even more fruitful.

    “He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.”
    John 15:2, NIV

    Did you catch that? Pruning isn’t always evidence that something is wrong. Sometimes you are being cut because something is right. God may be removing what cannot go where He is taking you. Sometimes He is reducing your dependence on things that once made you comfortable. He is exposing places in you that need healing, strengthening, surrendering, or simply growing up.

    And none of that feels particularly wonderful while it is happening.

    But This Is Only a Season

    Ecclesiastes 3:1 says:

    “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.”
    Ecclesiastes 3:1, NIV

    A season.

    Not a permanent address.

    That distinction matters.

    Because when something has been difficult for a long time, we can begin to believe that this is how life is going to be. We start building permanent conclusions around temporary circumstances. We play the maybe game in our head:

    Maybe it will always be this hard.

    Maybe this door will never open.

    Maybe I’ll always feel this unsettled.

    Maybe I’m never going to understand why God allowed this.

    But you don’t know that. You are looking at today’s forecast and trying to predict December. And God has already seen your entire lifetime. There is an end to this season. That doesn’t mean everything will end exactly the way you want it to. Sometimes the change comes because God changes the circumstance. Other times, the circumstance remains for a while and God changes us so deeply that we no longer enter it as the person we were before.

    Either way, seasons do what seasons do. They transition.

    Don’t Waste the Heat

    This is probably the hard part. If we’re going to be here for a minute, we might as well ask God what He intends to produce here.

    Not just:

    God, when are You getting me out?

    But also:

    God, what are You trying to get into me before I leave?

    Wisdom? Patience? Discernment? Courage? Better boundaries? A deeper prayer life? Freedom from needing everybody’s approval? Enough confidence in Him that you no longer panic every time the forecast doesn’t look favorable?

    Because there are some things that can only be developed in the heat. And Scripture gives us this promise:

    “In his kindness God called you to share in his eternal glory by means of Christ Jesus. So after you have suffered a little while, he will restore, support, and strengthen you, and he will place you on a firm foundation.”
    1 Peter 5:10, NLT

    After a little while… I know. Some of our (I am right there with you) “little whiles” have felt mighty long. His promise still stands. So, if you’re walking through a season right now that feels like Texas in the summertime—hot, relentless, uncomfortable, and showing absolutely no signs of letting up—don’t let today’s forecast convince you that today’s conditions are permanent.

    You may not see the relief yet…That does not mean relief isn’t coming.

    You may not understand the pruning yet; that does not mean God isn’t producing something through it. You may not recognize yourself in this season…Maybe that’s because you’re not supposed to leave it as the same person who entered it.

    Keep going.

    Stay close to the LORD.

    Let Him do the work.

    And remember…

    It won’t always be 109 degrees.

    And it won’t always feel like this either.

    That’s life right now…

    #CestLaVieRN #Encouragements #Season #Growth #Jesus #God #Christianity #FaithJourney

  • Not in These Pajamas…

    Not in These Pajamas…

    I had the most random thought this week.

    I was transferring sermon notes from my phone into my journal, completing the devotional questions from Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship’s What We Believe series. The lesson I was reviewing focused on the rapture and the return of Christ. One of the passages came from 1 Thessalonians:

    “The dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air.”

    1 Thessalonians 4:16–17 ESV

    Somewhere between reading the passage and thinking about the fact that Christ’s return could happen without warning, my mind went somewhere Scripture probably did not intend.

    What if Jesus came right now?

    Because, baby…My hair was not combed. I was sitting around the house in pajamas. And suddenly I had this mental picture of myself being caught up to meet Jesus looking like I had absolutely no plans to leave the house that day. Then my imagination really got going.

    What if somebody is in the shower?

    What if somebody is asleep?

    What if a married couple is in the middle of enjoying the blessings of holy matrimony?

    Jesus said we would not know when He was coming. No one knows the day or the hour (Matthew 24:36). Apparently, my brain decided we needed to discuss the logistical implications of that. But after my deep belly laugh resolved, the thought stayed with me. I don’t believe Jesus is concerned about whether my wig is straight with properly melted lace when He returns. Thankfully, Scripture makes it abundantly clear that God looks much deeper than our outward appearance.

    “People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
    1 Samuel 16:7 NIV

    So no, this is not a theological argument for wearing makeup around the house. I will still likely be barefaced. However, it did make me think about…

    Intentional Living

    I have always understood there are women who seem to get up and prepare themselves for the day whether they are leaving the house or not. Hair done. Cute lounge clothes. A little fragrance. House reasonably together. I have historically thought to myself, Ma’am, nobody is coming over here.

    If I don’t have somewhere to go, I can become very comfortable with doing the absolute minimum. But maybe being prepared does not always have to mean preparing for someone else. Maybe there is something to be said for how we show up for ourselves.

    There is a difference between being comfortable and becoming careless.

    And I don’t mean just physically.

    What does my home look like when no one is coming over? (Confession, it’s a hot mess right now. The Sister Circle’s Declutter Challenge is right on time!)

    How do I use my time when no deadline is pressing?

    How do I care for my body when there is no event on the calendar?

    What thoughts am I entertaining when no one can hear them?

    How am I treating people when there is nothing to gain from being kind?

    What am I postponing because I assume there will always be another day?

    That is where my silly little pajama thought became much more serious.

    Jesus repeatedly told His followers to be ready.

    “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come.”
    Matthew 24:42 NIV

    I don’t think readiness means living anxiously, constantly wondering whether today is the day. To me, it means living in such a way that we don’t need an announcement to become the person we already know we should be. Paul wrote:

    “Whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus.”
    Colossians 3:17 NIV

    Whatever you do

    Not just what people see.

    Not just church.

    Not just work.

    Not just the moments when we are dressed, prepared, polished, and publicly representing ourselves. Even the ordinary Tuesday-at-home version of us matters. Maybe intentional living looks like making the bed even though nobody is coming over. Maybe it means putting on the cute matching lounge set instead of the T-shirt that should have been retired during the Obama administration. Maybe it means finally handling the thing we keep saying we’ll get to later.

    Maybe it means calling somebody.

    Forgiving somebody.

    Praying more.

    Resting without guilt.

    Taking better care of what God has entrusted to us.

    Or simply asking ourselves:

    If there were no warning that this ordinary moment was about to become extraordinary, would I be comfortable with how I was living it?

    I still don’t plan to wake up every morning dressed like I have somewhere important to be. That would be disingenuous. But this week’s reminder was simple: There is something beautiful about being ready.

    Not perfect. Not performed. Not polished for an audience. Just present.

    Intentional.

    Stewarding the life God has given me instead of waiting for a special occasion to treat it like something valuable. And yes, I may start moisturizing my natural coils a little earlier in the day and more regularly. Because if that trumpet sounds, I would at least like to meet the saints looking somewhat respectable.

    I’m just saying.

    What would “being ready” look like in the way you are living your ordinary life today?

    That’s life right now…

  • But God, I Really Don’t Wanna…

    But God, I Really Don’t Wanna…

    I am sitting in the library right now (Saturday, August 8, 2026, 12:28pm) doing something I really do not want to do. And when I say I do not want to do it, I mean there is a full-blown toddler living inside of me with her arms crossed, bottom lip poked out, quietly preparing to throw herself on the floor.

    But God, I really don’t wanna...

    That is about as sophisticated as my prayer has been lately. Here is the context…

    I recently entered the world of academia, and if I am being completely truthful, academia was always part of my nursing plan. Just not this current plan. In my mind, I would settle into the executive leadership phase of my career first. I would spend more years refining my ability to lead teams, build programs, influence systems, and do the work I have spent so much of my career preparing to do. Then, somewhere later down the road, I would ease into academia. You know, cruise a little…

    Teach.

    Pour into the next generation.

    Maybe wear a cute cardigan and carry an unnecessarily large coffee mug while telling nursing students stories about “back when I was at the bedside.”

    That was the plan.

    The problem is that August marks one year since I have held a full-time nursing leadership position. An entire year (deep sigh). There have been conversations. Interviews. Possibilities. Opportunities that seemed promising. Doors I thought might open.

    And yet, here I am.

    I am incredibly grateful for the faculty role God provided. It came at a time when I needed it, and there is no question that teaching has awakened something in my soul. I love watching students make connections. I love helping them move from memorizing information to actually thinking like nurses. It’s humbling; having the privilege to shape nurses before the habits of the profession fully settle in.

    It is meaningful work.

    However, I was not prepared for academia to potentially become my main work right now.

    Back in April, someone in one of my church classes encouraged me to write down my plan and submit it to God. So I did. I wrote down what I wanted, what I believed the next season should look like, where I hoped my career was headed, and how was going to actively participate in the process.

    Then I waited.

    And waited.

    And, if I’m being 100% transparent with you, I became increasingly irritated with the waiting. (Need to work on that long-suffering fruit). Nothing seemed to move. Eventually, I decided maybe I needed to call an audible on my plan. About a month ago, I made a new commitment: If nothing transpired in leadership by the end of July, I would begin applying for full-time academic positions.

    Well…July has come and gone.

    Which explains why I am sitting in this library…Looking at faculty positions. Moving in a direction while everything inside of me is screaming…Noooooooo!!!!!

    Because somewhere in my mind, accepting a full-time academic position feels like closing the door on leadership. And that hurts. I have worked hard for that dream.

    Degrees.

    Certifications.

    Long days.

    Late nights.

    Difficult personalities.

    Professional development.

    Sacrifices unseen.

    I did not accidentally wander toward executive nursing leadership. I made a choice and have intentionally built toward it for years. So, this does not feel like simply applying for another job.

    It feels like surrendering something. And maybe that is exactly why this is so uncomfortable.

    Proverbs 16:9 (NIV) says, “In their hearts humans plan their course, but the LORD establishes their steps”.

    Sadly, I like that verse much better when His steps look like my plan.

    Surrender sounds beautiful until God starts touching the things you were certain He gave you permission to desire. We talk often about trusting God with our future, but sometimes trust looks less like peaceful worship music playing in the background and more like clicking “submit application” while muttering, “Lord…I am doing this because I said I would.”

    There is something ridiculously childlike about it. And maybe there should be…

    Because He is my Father.

    A loving Father does not always allow His children to choose the route simply because it is the route they prefer. Sometimes He redirects. Sometimes He delays. Sometimes He allows us to walk into seasons we would never have selected because He can see what we cannot.

    Romans 8:28 reminds us that God works all things together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.

    All things.

    Apparently, that includes career detours…

    Unanswered prayers…

    Unexpected classrooms…

    And plans that make us pout. ☹

    I’m thinking about Abraham, who was told to leave what was familiar without being given every detail about where he was going.

    Hebrews 11:8 (NIV) says of Abraham, “when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going”.

    I would personally prefer a map.

    Actually, as a first daughter and eldest of seven, I would prefer a map, estimated arrival time, salary range, organizational chart, and written confirmation that executive leadership is still somewhere on the itinerary.

    God has provided none of those.

    But He has given me enough light for the next step. And right now, the next step appears to be obedience.

    Not certainty.

    Not excitement.

    Not even agreement.

    Obedience.

    Ooooh wee…I can hear Priscilla Shirer in my head right now, “Lord, show me the next twenty years! And He’s like, if I can get you to be obedient for the next twenty minutes, you’ll be exactly where you need to be.”

    Perhaps I am looking at this season incorrectly. I am treating academia like a door that, once entered, locks behind me. But what if it is a hallway? What if the leadership I have been asking God for does not disappear here, but develops differently here? What if the classroom is not the end of my leadership journey, but part of its formation?

    I do not know.

    And I am not going to tie this post up with a pretty little bow and tell you I suddenly feel wonderful about it. I don’t.

    There is still a part of me sitting here saying, “God…I really don’t wanna…”

    And perhaps the prayer does not have to become more polished than that. And underneath the whining is something deeper:

    But I trust You.

    I trust that You know what You are doing.

    I trust that the years I have spent preparing were not wasted.

    I trust that no position, title, delay, or detour can cancel what You have purposed for my life.

    And I trust that if You are redirecting me, You are not abandoning me.

    So today, I am going to do the thing I said I would do.

    Reluctantly.

    Prayerfully.

    Probably with a little attitude.

    But obediently.

    Because sometimes faith is not walking confidently toward the thing you have always wanted.

    Sometimes faith is walking toward the thing you never planned for, holding your Father’s hand and saying,

    “Fine. I trust You. We’ll do this Your way. Let’s geaux.”

  • What If Jesus Went No Contact?

    What If Jesus Went No Contact?

    The other day, I came across a post on Threads from someone facing a difficult decision. They described a painful and complicated relationship with their mother—years of hurt, separation, disappointment, and attempts to navigate what appeared to be a deeply fractured bond. At some point, the person had decided that having no contact with their mother was the healthiest choice.

    Then the call came…

    A physician explained that their mother was nearing the end of her life. If they wanted an opportunity to see her, they needed to come now. As you can probably imagine, the comments were divided. Some people encouraged the person to go, even if only to say goodbye. Others insisted that a dying parent was not automatically entitled to access simply because time was running out. People shared stories of abuse, reconciliation, regret, boundaries, guilt, self-preservation, and wounds that had never fully healed.

    There were strong opinions on both sides. As I read through the discussion, the Holy Spirit placed a sobering picture in my mind:

    Imagine lying in a hospital bed, knowing your life is ending. You call out to Jesus, asking Him to forgive you…He responds with silence.

    No answer.

    No grace.

    No contact.

    The thought nearly took my breath away.

    The beautiful truth of the gospel is that those who belong to Christ never have to fear that response. We do not have to wonder whether we have finally exhausted His mercy. We do not have to question whether He has blocked us, turned away from us, or decided that our failures have become too inconvenient to forgive.

    “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”
    1 John 1:9, NIV

    Jesus does not forgive us because we deserve it. He forgives because mercy is part of who He is. We come to Him guilty, imperfect, and often carrying the consequences of choices He warned us not to make. Yet when repentance is genuine, He does not meet us with cruelty. He meets us with grace. And then He asks us to extend that grace to others.

    “Forgive as the Lord forgave you.”
    Colossians 3:13, NIV

    That is where forgiveness becomes difficult.

    It is easy to celebrate the forgiveness we receive from God. It is much harder to offer forgiveness to someone whose actions have left real wounds behind. Forgiveness does not mean pretending the pain never happened. There is no need to rewrite history or act as though the relationship has always been healthy. Forgiveness does not automatically restore trust, and it does not require someone to remain in an unsafe or destructive situation.

    Many people confuse forgiveness by equating it to relational access. God gives us 100% forgiveness (1 John 1:9) and 100% access (Hebrews 4:16). We are commanded to forgive; it is a one-person act. Boundaries (not walls) may still be necessary. Reconciliation, however, takes two. We get to decide how much access someone has to us. Distance may still be wise. Consequences may still remain. Reconciliation requires repentance, change, and honesty. Forgiveness is often the work God begins within our own hearts. It is the decision to release our right to be consumed by the offense.

    My own relationship with my father has not always been what I would have hoped. We are not completely estranged, but there have been wounds, disappointments, and distance. There are things I have had to process and grieve over the years. I have to accept that the relationship may never be what I once imagined it would be. Still, I cannot imagine knowingly allowing the end of his life to pass without being present in some way.

    Not because everything has been repaired or because the past suddenly would not matter. I would want to be present because I do not want unresolved pain to make that decision for me.

    I do not want hurt to have the final word. I want grace to have the final word. I understand everyone’s decision will look exactly like mine. Some situations are deeply complex; none of us can fully understand the weight another person carries from a brief post on social media.

    But I do believe we should be careful whenever pain begins speaking in absolutes.

    I will never forgive.

    I will never answer.

    I will never go.

    They will never receive anything from me again.

    Sometimes those statements sound like strength when they are actually evidence that the wound is still controlling us. We often think withholding forgiveness gives us power. In reality, unforgiveness can keep us emotionally tied to the very person or experience from which we are trying to become free. The relationship may have ended, but the offense continues to occupy space in our thoughts, shape our reactions, and influence our choices.

    Forgiveness does not say, what you did was acceptable. It says, what you did will not rule me forever.

    “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.”
    Ephesians 4:32, NIV

    Forgiveness may happen in a moment, but healing often unfolds over time. Sometimes we have to surrender the same hurt to God more than once. Sometimes forgiveness begins as an act of obedience long before our emotions catch up with the decision. We may have to pray, Lord, I want to be willing to forgive. Even when that feels impossible, we may have to pray, Lord, help me want to be willing.

    God can work with honesty. We have received mercy we could never earn, grace we could never repay, and forgiveness that does not abandon us at the moment we need it most.

    Jesus does not send a repentant heart to voicemail.

    He does not greet our confession with cold silence.

    He does not tell us that He has gone no contact.

    May we ask God to show us where pain has hardened us, where unforgiveness has quietly taken root, and where He may be inviting us to choose freedom. Not necessarily renewed access.

    Not the removal of every boundary. But freedom.

    Freedom from bitterness.

    Freedom from carrying the offense.

    Freedom to let grace have the final word.

  • The Biggest Betrayal

    The Biggest Betrayal

    This past Tuesday, I attended an intimate networking event for healthcare executives. It was the kind of gathering where people could speak openly, wrestle with complex ideas, and share lessons they had learned through leadership and life. Every space is not a safe space, so I appreciated the privacy of the conversation. As I reflected on the evening, one comment continued to linger with me. An executive shared that when he is considering a decision, he asks himself a question:

    “Would doing this be a betrayal of myself?”

    Whew.

    That was deep.

    It made me think about the decisions we make when no one else is watching. The opportunities we accept. The conversations we entertain. The boundaries we ignore. The convictions we silence. The ways we sometimes shrink, perform, compromise, or settle because doing so feels easier in the moment.

    But as believers, the question goes even deeper. We do not belong only to ourselves. Our identity is rooted in Christ. So perhaps the question is not simply, would this decision betray me? We must also ask:

    “Would this decision betray who I am in Christ?”

    When Our Desires Become Disconnected

    Sometimes we approach decisions as though our desires and God’s desires exist in two separate spaces.

    I want what I want.

    God wants what He wants.

    And somehow, we convince ourselves that the two do not have to meet. We may pray for God’s direction while secretly hoping He will approve the direction we have already chosen. We may ask for wisdom while leaning heavily on our own understanding. We may know what aligns with our values, yet make the opposite choice because it promises comfort, recognition, companionship, advancement, or immediate relief. Proverbs 3:5–6 reminds us:

    “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.” — Proverbs 3:5–6, NIV

    Notice the phrase “in all your ways.”

    Not only in church.

    Not only when the decision feels spiritual.

    Not only when the consequences are obvious.

    Our faith is not an accessory that we put on when it complements our plans. Our identity in Christ is meant to influence how we lead, work, speak, love, respond, and choose.

    Paul writes, “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:20, NIV).

    That does not mean we lose our personalities, ambitions, dreams, or individuality. It means those things are surrendered to something greater. Our lives are no longer guided solely by what feels good, looks successful, or satisfies us temporarily. Our decisions should increasingly reflect the character of the One who lives within us.

    Peter Knew What Betrayal Felt Like

    Remember when Peter boldly declared that he would never abandon Jesus. Yet when pressure came, he denied even knowing Him—not once, but three times. Peter’s words in that courtyard contradicted everything he had previously professed. Fear caused him to behave in a way that betrayed both his relationship with Jesus and the person he believed himself to be.

    Then the rooster crowed.

    That sound forced Peter to confront the distance between his confession and his conduct. Luke tells us that Peter went outside and wept bitterly (Luke 22:54–62). Many of us have experienced our own rooster-crowing moments; the conversation ends, the relationship falls apart, the opportunity passes, or the emotional fog lifts. Suddenly, we recognize that the choice we made did not reflect our values, our calling, or our identity in Christ.

    We wonder…How did I get here? Why did I agree to that? Why did I ignore what I knew? Why did I allow fear, pride, loneliness, anger, or ambition make the decision for me?

    Praise the Lord for His faithfulness, because Peter’s story did not end with his betrayal.

    Jesus restored him.

    In John 21, Jesus met Peter again—not to humiliate him, but to recommission him. Peter’s failure was real, but it was not final. Jesus allowed him to acknowledge his love, reclaim his purpose, and move forward with greater humility. That is good news for us too!

    Pause Before You Proceed

    Living in alignment with Christ requires good intentions and awareness. Romans 12:2 instructs us not to conform to the patterns of this world, but to be transformed by the renewing of our minds. That transformation affects how we evaluate our choices. It teaches us to pause before responding, agreeing, pursuing, or walking away.

    Before making a decision, we can ask:

    Does this choice reflect the character of Christ?

    Am I acting from faith or from fear?

    Will this require me to silence a conviction, compromise a value, or become someone I do not recognize?

    Am I seeking God’s direction, or merely asking Him to bless my preference?

    Not every difficult decision is wrong, and not every uncomfortable path is a betrayal of ourselves. Sometimes obedience requires us to leave what is familiar, disappoint others, establish boundaries, or surrender something we genuinely wanted.

    The goal is not to protect every personal desire.

    The goal is alignment.

    When our identity is anchored in Christ, betraying who we are in Him becomes the biggest betrayal of all. Yet even when we fall short, grace invites us to recognize it, repent, receive restoration, and choose differently the next time.

    Reflect…

    When was the last time I made a decision that betrayed who I am in Christ?

    What influenced that decision—fear, pride, pressure, loneliness, anger, ambition, or something else? Should a similar situation arise again, what would you do differently to ensure your choice reflects both your convictions and your identity in Christ?

    Before your next yes, ask whether it requires you to betray your truest identity.

  • Disruptions Are Not Definitions

    Disruptions Are Not Definitions

    God’s Grace Is Greater Than Your History

    My sister and I have a habit of wandering into deep conversations. We’ll start talking about something completely unrelated and somehow end up discussing the deep complexities of life. A simple question turns into an hour of unpacking experiences, perspectives, and the lessons God has been teaching us.

    Recently, we found ourselves talking about the difference between responsibility and accountability. The discussion initially centered around individuals who hold on to the past and use it as a reason for why their life is in its current state. It’s always the parent who made them pursue a career I did not desire, or the ex who tore them to shreds before leaving the relationship. Some people will even accuse God of abandoning them in their greatest time of need as a valid reason for distrust.

    To some, responsibility and accountability sound like same thing. We discussed what that looks like. If someone (regardless of intention) hands you a backpack full of bricks, you aren’t responsible for how heavy it is or who put them there. But once the backpack is on your shoulders, you become accountable for what you do next. You can continue carrying it everywhere, set it down, ask for help, or begin removing one brick at a time. The weight may not have been your fault, but your response becomes your responsibility, and the accountability of that response lies with you. In the same way, our past may explain what we’re carrying, but through Christ, we are accountable for how we choose to move forward.

    Life happens to all of us. Some people grow up in loving homes where they are encouraged, protected, and affirmed. Others grow up learning to survive. Some experienced rejection before they ever experienced acceptance. Some learned to carry responsibilities that belonged to adults long before they were old enough to understand them. Others still carry the weight of abuse, abandonment, addiction, betrayal, or words that have shaped the way they see themselves for years.

    Those experiences matter.

    They leave fingerprints on our hearts. God is not asking us to pretend they never happened.

    But there comes a point where responsibility changes hands. We may not be responsible for what happened yesterday. We are accountable for what we choose to do today. That’s a difficult truth because it removes one of the easiest places to hide. It’s far easier to point backward than it is to look inward. If we’re honest, many of us have done it…

    “I eat this way because that’s how I was raised.”

    “I struggle to trust because everyone I’ve loved has disappointed me.”

    “I don’t pursue my relationship with Jesus because I’ve never felt worthy.”

    “I can’t forgive because they never apologized.”

    While those statements may explain our reality, they don’t have to determine our future. Somewhere along the way, our explanation quietly becomes our excuse. And when that happens, we stop living as though redemption is possible.

    I love that Scripture never asks us to deny our pain.

    David didn’t. Read the Psalms and you’ll find a man who cried, questioned, grieved, feared, and wrestled with God. He didn’t hide his emotions behind polished prayers. He poured out his heart. Yet David almost always ended in the same place…He remembered who God is.

    “Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise Him…” (Psalm 42:11, NIV)

    His circumstances didn’t always change immediately.

    His perspective did.

    Joseph is another great example.

    Can you imagine the temptation to spend the rest of your life blaming your brothers? They betrayed him. They stripped him of his identity. They sold him into slavery and left him for dead in every way that mattered. Joseph could have spent years saying, “This is why my life turned out the way it did.”

    Instead, after years of hardship, prison, and waiting, he looked at the very people who wounded him and said,

    “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done…” (Genesis 50:20, NIV)

    Joseph didn’t rewrite history. He reinterpreted it through the faithfulness of God. His past explained him. It never excused him from becoming the man God had called him to be.

    How about the woman at the well? By every human standard, she carried enough shame to keep her hidden forever. She had a complicated past and a reputation everyone knew. Yet Jesus never defined her by the chapters everyone else had already read. Instead, He invited her into a new story. One conversation with Jesus transformed her from someone hiding at a well into someone boldly telling an entire town about the Messiah (John 4).

    That’s what grace does.

    It doesn’t erase yesterday.

    It redeems it.

    How many of us are waiting for someone else to make things right before we’re willing to move forward?

    We’re waiting on an apology.

    Waiting for closure.

    Waiting for someone to admit they were wrong.

    Waiting for circumstances to change before we decide to change.

    Healing rarely begins when someone else changes. Healing begins when we surrender our right to let yesterday dictate today. Paul reminds us,

    “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” (2 Corinthians 5:17, NIV)

    Notice he doesn’t say the memories disappear. He says our identity changes. That’s the difference. My past is part of my story. It is not my identity.

    Every morning, God offers us something remarkable!

    Not a do-over.

    Not amnesia.

    Mercy!

    “The LORD’S acts of mercy indeed do not end, For His compassions do not fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22-23)

  • Powered, Not Perfect

    Powered, Not Perfect

    North Texas has been unapologetically hot lately (and yes, I know we’re still pre-heating).

    Not just hot, humid…which I should be used to being I’m a Southeastern Louisiana transplant. It’s the kind of humid that hangs in the air like a heavy blanket before the sun has even fully introduced itself. The air is thick and musty, as if you have to push your way through it just to breathe. It’s the kind of weather that makes you question every life decision that brought you outside.

    A few weeks ago, I made a commitment to myself to spend more time moving outdoors. Nothing extravagant, just intentional time walking each morning before the day begins.

    So there I was.

    6:30 in the morning.

    I figured I was beating the heat.

    I was wrong.

    Fifteen minutes into my walk, my shirt was soaked through. Sweat rolled down my face and arms as though I’d been exercising for hours instead of minutes. By the time I finished my first mile, every excuse I could think of sounded completely reasonable.

    You’ve already walked a mile. That’s enough for today. Go home.

    I was fully prepared to turn around. Before I did, a thought crossed my mind that stopped me in my tracks.

    What if we served a God who gave up every time He got tired?

    What if He stopped pursuing us every time we inconvenienced Him?

    What if He withdrew His grace every time we chose disobedience?

    What if His faithfulness depended on our consistency?

    The answer is both obvious and sobering. We wouldn’t stand a chance! The reality is that we are infinitely farther from God’s standard than I was from finishing my walk. His holiness is absolute. His righteousness is perfect. Left to ourselves, we could never bridge that gap.

    That is precisely why Christ came.

    “But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8, NIV

    Jesus didn’t wait until we became stronger, more disciplined, or more obedient. He met us in our weakness. As I continued walking, another realization settled into my heart. Sometimes I spend so much energy trying to become the kind of Christian God desires that I subtly begin believing it’s my responsibility to manufacture that transformation.

    I try harder.

    Pray longer.

    Read more.

    Convince myself I’m doing better.

    While those disciplines matter, they were never meant to be the source of my strength. The Christian life isn’t sustained by determination. It’s sustained by dependence. The standard God calls us to isn’t something we can achieve through grit or self-discipline. If that were possible, the cross would have been unnecessary. Instead, God calls us to surrender—to allow His Spirit to accomplish in us what we could never accomplish on our own.

    “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in Me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.” John 15:5, NIV

    Nothing.

    Not “less.”

    Not “a little.”

    Nothing!

    That word has a way of humbling every ambitious heart. The more I lean into my walk with Christ, the more I realize that spiritual maturity isn’t becoming increasingly independent. It’s becoming increasingly aware of just how much I need Him.

    For every act of obedience…

    For every ounce of patience…

    For every difficult conversation…

    For every temptation resisted…

    For every opportunity to love someone who isn’t easy to love…

    None of it is accomplished by my own strength. It is His power working through surrendered people. Ironically, I finished my walk that morning. Not because the weather suddenly changed. Not because I became stronger, but because I simply kept taking the next step. Maybe that’s what God is inviting us to do today.

    Not to prove ourselves.

    Not to perform.

    Not to convince Him we’re worthy.

    Just to stay connected to the One whose power never runs dry.

    Because when our strength runs out, His never does.