I Am Convinced
Today, I woke up in my mother's bed.
I hadn't slept there, or even laid down on that bed, since my mother was here with us. I hadn't spent much time in her room, either. Not for any considerable length of time.
But that's where I woke up this morning.
Last night, I felt like I needed to be near her. I also needed a softer bed.
I had ordered a memory foam topper that finally arrived, but I hadn't gotten around to putting it on my own bed. It was actually sized for a smaller bed, like my mother's. Rather than rearranging mattresses and going through all that trouble, I decided to sleep in her room.
Something I never thought I could do.
Something I never thought I would do.
But I guess operating from a different frequency puts you in a different place.
I wasn't in a state of grief.
I was in a state of connection.
And that alone was something.
The Night Before
Before I made my way to my mother's room, I was in my father's bedroom.
My father had been helping me with the pain I've been experiencing since the automobile accident three months ago. Massaging my back, trying to help loosen things up, doing whatever he could to make me feel better.
And believe me, we've tried a lot.
Doctors, medications, physical therapy, massage therapy, stretching, exercises, different treatments, different approaches. Some things helped temporarily. Other things didn't seem to help much at all.
But the pain kept returning.
And after everything I've been through, I reached a point where I felt that the only one who could truly heal me was God.
Not another doctor.
Not another medication.
Not another treatment.
God.
I had a small vial of anointing oil that belonged to my mother's best friend, Leilani, who recently passed away. She had left it in the car she gave us.
I handed the vial to my father and told him what I wanted him to do.
I asked him to dab a little oil on his finger and make small crosses on my back, particularly in the areas where he knew I'd been experiencing pain. And while he did that, I wanted him to pray.
I told him I believed he had the gift of healing in his hands.
Someone else close to us had mentioned believing that my father was a healer, too. We are all given different gifts, and something inside me believed this could be one of his.
So I went with it.
I sat on his bed with my shirt off, my back facing him.
He began making the crosses with the oil.
And we began to pray.
I started with the Our Father.
I've always felt that's the best way to begin a prayer. It addresses so much of what needs to be addressed before I begin speaking to God personally.
Then I began my own prayer.
And something about it felt different.
The words were coming out of my mouth, but it almost felt as though they weren't coming from me. I knew what I was saying. They were my thoughts. But hearing those thoughts become words felt surreal.
At one point, I remember thinking, Did I really just say all that?
But I stood firmly behind every word.
When I pray, I don't necessarily approach God with a list of requests or instructions. I talk to Him. I have a conversation with Him, almost as though He's sitting next to me or we're talking on the phone.
That's how I pray.
And that's how I prayed that night.
I believed with everything in me that God was working through my father's hands.
Eventually, the prayer went on long enough that my father started getting tired. I finished speaking with God, and we ended our prayer.
But something had already changed.
Something Shifted
Immediately after the prayer, I noticed something different.
I told my father that I was still a little dizzy, but the pain wasn't there the way it had been.
Something had shifted.
I couldn't explain it.
I still can't fully explain it.
But I knew I was experiencing something different.
Afterward, we tried a back maneuver I had learned from my chiropractor.
I lay on the floor facing upward, with my arms crossed over my chest and my elbows together. My father positioned himself over me and applied pressure.
Three pops.
One after another.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
What made it unusual was that the sounds seemed to come from an area of my spine that hadn't really been addressed before, at least not in that particular way.
I had already noticed a change before we did the maneuver, so I couldn't say exactly what role it played.
All I knew was that something felt different.
And I believed something was working.
I hugged my father goodnight and told him I might do some yoga, stretching, or something else before bed.
Instead, I made my way into my mother's room.
I had been researching manifestation and looking for books on Audible, gathering more information about the mind, consciousness, and the ideas I've been studying lately.
I found some resources that interested me and began listening.
At some point, I ended up lying in a strange position on her bed, almost like an L, with my legs up against the wall and my back on the mattress.
I wasn't even planning to fall asleep.
But I did.
I woke up after what felt like five minutes or less and immediately started checking in with my body again.
How did my neck feel?
My back?
The base of my skull?
My head?
Something still felt different.
Better.
I wasn't entirely sure what was happening, but I was grateful for what I was feeling.
Then I realized I didn't have any blankets in the room.
So I went to my bedroom, grabbed some blankets and a pillow, returned to my mother's bed, and went to sleep.
I'm Healed
This morning, my father poked his head into the room to check on me.
I told him I needed another fifteen minutes.
Around 8:15, I finally got up.
At first, I felt a little disoriented. Naturally, one of the first things I did was check my body.
The pain in my neck.
The base of my skull.
My head.
My back.
All the places that have been troubling me.
And I couldn't really say I was experiencing pain.
Maybe some soreness.
But not the pain I had grown accustomed to.
I sat there on my mother's bed and said something to myself.
I'm healed.
And this time, it felt real.
I was almost nervous to say it.
The last time I thought I was healed, the pain came back, and I found myself right where I had been before.
So part of me was cautious.
But another part of me was convinced.
I got up and walked to the restroom, still thinking about what had happened.
How do I tell my father?
How do I tell other people?
What exactly do I say?
The prayers worked?
God came through?
I didn't know how to explain it.
But I knew how I felt.
And for the first time in what seemed like forever, I wasn't waking up desperate to find some way to make the pain stop.
A Reunion With Grandmaster Choi
I had already been considering acupuncture as another possible treatment, so I headed to Corpus Christi to visit Choi's Acupuncture.
The practitioner there is someone I hadn't seen since my teenage years.
Grandmaster Choi.
Years ago, the same place had been associated with Choi's Taekwondo.
My Taekwondo instructor, Master Lenny Strzelecki, had learned from Grandmaster Choi, making him my grandmaster.
When I called earlier, a woman answered the phone. We started talking about whether acupuncture might help with the problems I'd been experiencing since the accident.
Eventually, the conversation turned to Grandmaster Choi himself.
I asked whether she knew him.
She said she'd known him for quite a while.
Then it clicked.
She was his wife.
We both laughed.
I explained who I was and my connection to Master Lenny.
So there I was, sitting outside the clinic around 9:30 in the morning, about to see someone I hadn't seen in decades.
I walked inside, and there he was.
At first, I wasn't completely sure it was him.
He was looking around, and I finally asked, "Master Choi, is that you?"
He came over and greeted me.
We talked about the accident, the pain, and everything I'd been experiencing over the past three months.
He told me acupuncture could still be beneficial.
And I was open to that.
Even if I wasn't in pain at that moment, I figured it could help me relax and perhaps support my recovery.
But the treatment was $160.
I wasn't financially prepared for that.
So I told him I'd have to come back another time.
We also talked briefly about Taekwondo.
He mentioned that he hadn't seen Master Lenny in a long time.
I told him he should still be teaching me.
There aren't many schools around anymore that teach the traditional style I learned.
He agreed that traditional schools had become difficult to find.
We talked about the old WTF style, the World Taekwondo Federation, and how the name eventually changed.
It's funny how something that once meant one thing can take on an entirely different meaning in modern culture.
Before I left, Grandmaster Choi asked me to help him carry a small side table.
He said it wasn't heavy, but it was inconvenient for him to move by himself.
I wasn't expecting to carry anything.
I was there because of my back.
And here I was, being asked to move furniture.
I almost felt obligated to help. He's an older man, and I didn't want to leave him struggling with it.
But the table wasn't as light as he made it sound.
Maybe it was light to him.
I don't know.
I was concerned about putting strain on my back, but thankfully, I didn't notice any immediate problem afterward.
It was good to see him.
I got to hug him before leaving.
I'm hugging everybody these days.
Left and right.
And I like that.
A Different Kind of Morning
After leaving Choi's Acupuncture, I drove over to La Palmera Mall.
It was around 9:46 in the morning.
I planned to visit the Chinese massage therapist I usually see, perhaps get a short twenty-minute massage, and then grab breakfast.
The mall didn't open until ten, so I had a few minutes to spare.
But something about this morning was different.
Normally, when I'm driving around Corpus Christi looking for treatment, I'm frantic.
I'm in pain.
I'm uncomfortable.
I'm worried.
I'm trying to find someone or something that can help me get through another day.
A chiropractor.
A massage therapist.
A doctor.
Anything.
But today?
I wasn't chasing relief.
I wasn't desperate.
I just wanted to relax my muscles.
I wanted to have breakfast.
I wanted to enjoy my day.
For once, things felt casual.
Calm.
And I was happy about that.
An Earlier Visit With Frank
Something else came to mind while I was thinking about all the people I've been reconnecting with.
This past Monday, I stopped by Frank's shop to pick up some medication he had for me.
It was good to see him.
He looked well, even better than he said he'd been doing before his own accident.
We started talking about what I've been going through.
I told him about the pain, the emotional toll, and how I've been trying to hug my father more often.
I've been making an effort to connect with him throughout the day, reminding us both that we're safe and that we're going to get through this.
And while I was talking, I lost it for a moment.
Another emotional release.
I started crying.
Frank took me into his office in the back, where I also got to see his son.
I opened up about everything.
Then Frank took out his own anointing oil and prayed over me.
That meant a lot.
There's something comforting about connecting with people who share your faith, people who believe in the Almighty and are willing to stand with you in prayer.
I left with the medication he had for me.
But I also left having experienced another moment of human connection.
And lately, those moments have become increasingly important to me.
Breakfast, Exhaustion, and Mexico
I eventually grabbed breakfast and spent some more time in Corpus Christi.
At one point, I sat down somewhere and completely knocked out.
I mean, I fell asleep.
Just like that.
My sleep hasn't been very good lately, so I understand why I've been so exhausted. I can sit somewhere for a few minutes and suddenly find myself asleep.
Fortunately, I woke up in time to gather my thoughts and help pick up some loved ones who needed a ride.
Earlier in the day, my friend Robert had sent me a message.
He wanted to know if I was interested in going to Mexico.
Originally, I had been considering another trip to Nuevo Progreso to have some dental work done.
I still need to address my jaw alignment, and I've already been communicating with an orthodontic clinic there.
I also have cavities that need to be filled.
The problem is money.
Even though dental care in Mexico can cost hundreds or thousands less than comparable treatment in the United States, it's still money I don't have available right now.
So I'm not sure when I'll be able to get those procedures started.
But I thought about accompanying Robert anyway.
He's planning to go to Mexico to pick up medication for his father and other family members.
That's something people around here sometimes do because we live relatively close to the border.
I thought I might go along for the company, perhaps look into medication I may need, and enjoy the trip.
Later, I let him know that tomorrow wouldn't work for me.
Maybe next week.
We'll see.
Hope Scroll
As the day continued, I also prepared dinner.
Teriyaki chicken.
Vegetables.
Rice.
And while all of this was happening, another idea started developing in my mind.
I had come across something about doomscrolling.
You know, that habit of endlessly scrolling through negative content, bad news, arguments, tragedies, and whatever else the internet decides to throw at us.
Someone had apparently created something that used Bible verses as an alternative.
I didn't get too far into the details of what they had made, but the basic idea stayed with me.
And it inspired an idea of my own.
What if we had something called Hope Scroll?
Instead of doomscrolling, you could be hope scrolling.
Doom.
Hope.
For me, those are opposites.
So I got to work.
And I created Hope Scroll, a Bible-centered web app designed to turn the familiar experience of scrolling into an opportunity for spiritual encouragement.
Instead of feeding your mind an endless stream of negativity, you can scroll through Scripture, uplifting messages, and faith-centered content.
I built it with several different modes and options so people could explore the experience in different ways.
It's not a native app listed in the Apple App Store or Google Play Store, at least not right now.
It's a web app.
But on an iPhone, you can open it in your browser, tap the Share button, choose Add to Home Screen, and use it much like an app.
And I finished it.
I actually created the whole thing.
Then I updated my My Daily Bread website to include Hope Scroll so that people visiting the site could discover it.
Maybe someone who comes across it will find encouragement.
Maybe someone having a difficult day will read something they needed to hear.
Maybe someone will spend a few minutes feeding their spirit instead of feeding their fears.
That's the idea.
And I had fun creating it.
You can explore My Daily Bread at:
And visit the My Daily Bread bulletin here:
The bulletin includes Scripture, spiritual reflections, and other resources I've been gathering, including material related to health, exercise, physiotherapy, and personal development.
I enjoy putting these things together.
Especially when I think they might help somebody.
An Unexpected Blessing
Something else was happening throughout the day that I almost forgot to mention.
I had been communicating with a staffing agency about a possible job opportunity.
And the interesting thing is, I wasn't even looking for this particular position.
It just landed in my lap.
Someone else had been offered the opportunity but realized it wasn't the right fit for them. When the staffing agency asked whether they knew someone who might be interested, they recommended me.
The agency reached out, I responded, and we started discussing the possibility of bringing me onboard.
And things started moving pretty quickly.
The assignment is close to home, perhaps nine to fifteen minutes away, which is ideal considering everything I've been going through.
It also involves work I believe I can manage while continuing to recover from my injuries.
After months of struggling with pain, being unable to work consistently, and worrying about finances, having an opportunity like this appear unexpectedly means a lot.
I'm scheduled to begin this Friday, October 9.
It's an immediate assignment because they need someone quickly. Whether it becomes something more permanent remains to be seen.
There aren't any guarantees.
The hours may be limited, and the agency will have to decide whether to keep me on after the initial assignment.
But at least it's an opportunity.
And right now, that's something to be grateful for.
Even a little income would help.
There are bills to pay, responsibilities to handle, and people I want to come through for.
One person in particular.
Benjamin.
When my vehicle was destroyed in the accident, Benjamin stepped up and offered me his vehicle.
The remarkable thing is that he wasn't even actively trying to sell it. He may have considered selling it at some point, but when he learned what had happened to me and realized I needed transportation, he offered what he had.
And he did so knowing he would be without a vehicle himself.
I remember him telling me that he hadn't even thought twice about it.
He said it was a God thing.
And I believe him.
Somehow, God had placed this man in my life at exactly the right time.
Eventually, a friend of Benjamin's from church came through with another vehicle for him. I don't know the exact arrangement, whether he was purchasing it or had simply been allowed to use it, but someone had helped him just as he had helped me.
Then something terrible happened.
Benjamin was involved in an automobile accident himself.
Someone struck him at an intersection, injuring him and destroying the vehicle he'd been using.
And just like that, he found himself dealing with something painfully similar to what I'd been experiencing.
The injuries.
The loss of transportation.
The disruption to everyday life.
I had recently called him because I needed to be upfront about the payments I owed him.
I was behind.
And I don't like being behind.
But after months of being unable to work consistently because of my injuries, I simply hadn't been in a position to keep up with everything.
I told him what was going on and explained that I needed more time.
That's when he shared what had happened to him.
He was now dealing with the aftermath of an accident, too.
And suddenly, there was an understanding between us that neither of us would have wanted to experience.
He knew what I was going through because he was going through something similar.
And knowing that made me want to come through for him even more.
Here was someone who had helped me when I desperately needed help, someone who had offered his own vehicle without hesitation, and now he was facing his own difficulties.
I don't want to leave him waiting any longer than necessary.
I want to fulfill my obligation.
I want to honor the kindness he showed me.
And I want to help him the way he helped me.
That's another reason this unexpected job opportunity means so much.
It isn't just about bringing money into the household or paying a few bills.
It's about being able to do right by someone who did right by me.
I don't know exactly how everything will work out.
I don't know whether this Friday's assignment will turn into steady employment.
But I'm hopeful.
And I see God's hand in the way these connections and opportunities have unfolded.
Benjamin once told me that helping me wasn't something he had to think twice about.
It was a God thing.
And perhaps this opportunity to begin working again is another one of those moments.
God has been working and moving in ways I couldn't have anticipated.
And I am grateful.
Thank you, Benjamin, for pulling through for me. I'm going to do my very best to pull through for you.
It's Where You Return To
Not everything about today was pleasant.
I encountered someone who was being rude, obnoxious, and controlling.
Someone whose behavior carried the kind of negativity I used to allow myself to get pulled into.
And for a moment, I could feel that old reaction wanting to return.
But I made a decision.
I wasn't going to feed it.
I wasn't going to give that behavior my energy.
I've been learning a lot about frequency, emotional regulation, manifestation, and the importance of recognizing the states we allow ourselves to remain in.
And something occurred to me.
It isn't about never having negative thoughts.
It isn't about never getting upset.
It isn't about pretending that difficult people and situations don't exist.
It's about not staying there.
You can encounter something unpleasant.
You can feel frustrated.
You can react emotionally.
But then you have a choice.
Do you remain in that state?
Or do you move through it and return to something better?
That's what matters.
It's not where you go for that moment. It's where you return to.
I think that's one of the most important things I've been learning.
And today, I practiced it.
In fact, I almost forgot to mention the unpleasant encounter altogether.
Maybe that's progress.
Manifestation and the Company We Keep
Later, I spoke with Robert again.
I wanted to update him about Mexico, and the conversation turned toward how I was doing physically.
He asked how I felt.
At first, I almost slipped into my usual uncertainty.
Maybe I'm better.
Maybe I'm healed.
Maybe this is temporary.
Maybe the pain will return.
But I stopped myself.
No.
I wasn't going to speak about my experience that way.
I told him I was healed.
I explained that healing can be a process, and I might still be in the beginning stages of it.
Whether I'm at 80 percent, 90 percent, or somewhere else along the way, I believe I'm on the healing path.
And I have complete faith that God came through for me.
I told Robert about the night before.
About my father.
The anointing oil.
The prayer.
The certainty I felt.
And the change that seemed to begin almost immediately afterward.
Robert started talking about manifestation.
Interestingly enough, he brought it up before I even mentioned that I'd been studying the subject.
He talked about the importance of our thoughts, words, and expectations.
Then he told me about a coworker.
Someone we both know.
He described how she often seems to carry negativity into different situations, including the workplace.
The way he described it, I could almost picture a dark cloud hanging over her desk and spilling into the surrounding area.
He said she might visit a restaurant and have a terrible experience, complain about the people, the service, and everything else.
Then he might visit that same restaurant and have a completely different experience.
Friendly people.
Good service.
A pleasant atmosphere.
He believes that the negativity she expects sometimes influences the way she experiences the world.
And I understood what he meant.
I've been studying manifestation, and part of what interests me is the relationship between our thoughts, expectations, emotions, behavior, and the experiences we create for ourselves.
But I also want to be clear about something.
This woman isn't a bad person.
Not at all.
She's someone I know, and I care about her.
She's interesting, funny, and has lived through so many different experiences that we've even talked about making a documentary series about her life.
I enjoy talking with her.
And perhaps part of the reason I connected with her so strongly at one point was because I was in a darker place myself.
I understood that place.
I lived there.
But I'm trying not to live there anymore.
That doesn't mean I look down on people who are struggling.
Quite the opposite.
I understand them.
I empathize with them.
I wish I could help.
The same goes for the controlling person I encountered earlier.
I can recognize that someone may be unhappy, wounded, or stuck in unhealthy patterns without excusing the way they treat others.
Compassion doesn't require accepting mistreatment.
And one thing I've realized is that you can't change someone who refuses to look inward.
You can't simply declare yourself a good person and assume there's nothing left to examine.
There are layers to all of us.
Patterns.
Habits.
Reactions.
Blind spots.
Things we may not want to acknowledge.
If we never look inward, how can we recognize what needs to change?
I've had to do that work myself.
And I'm still doing it.
Listening to My Body
Throughout the day, I've also been paying attention to my body.
Not just my thoughts.
My actual body.
My neck.
My back.
The base of my skull.
The sensitive areas.
The places that still feel sore or inflamed.
I've been checking in with myself, trying to understand what I'm feeling without immediately becoming frightened by every sensation.
After everything I've experienced since the accident, my nervous system has spent a lot of time on high alert.
Pain can do that.
Fear can do that.
Uncertainty can do that.
And when you've spent months worrying about what might happen next, it can become difficult to relax, even when things begin to improve.
So I'm trying to develop a different relationship with my body.
To observe without panicking.
To recognize sensations without immediately assuming the worst.
To give my nervous system an opportunity to settle.
I've also been creating and listening to my own affirmations, reminding myself of the thoughts and feelings I want to strengthen.
One of those recordings is my video, My Words of Affirmation.
I plan to listen to it again tonight before going to bed, either before or after spending some time with my Audible books.
It's another way I'm trying to be intentional about what I allow into my mind, especially as I prepare to rest.
I've purchased some books about manifestation and the quantum field, and I want to continue exploring those ideas.
I'm interested in understanding consciousness, perception, the mind, and the ways our internal experiences influence how we move through life.
I'm still learning.
And I'm enjoying that process.
I Am Convinced
Something else happened today.
A realization.
Although perhaps realization isn't quite the right word.
Because I've said it before.
I've believed it before.
I've talked about it before.
But today, I felt it differently.
I am a spirit having a human experience.
I've heard that expression many times.
But today, it felt personal.
I've noticed that when my breathing becomes irregular or shallow, especially when I'm anxious or overwhelmed, I can begin to feel disconnected.
Almost as though I'm drifting away from the present moment.
My mind can take me somewhere else entirely.
It's a strange sensation.
Sometimes it almost feels like I'm no longer fully here.
But when I slow down and focus on breathing, something changes.
Box breathing.
Grounding.
Touching the earth.
Touching a tree.
Spending time in nature.
Paying attention to my surroundings.
Those things help bring me back.
Back into my body.
Back into the present.
Back into this experience.
And it got me thinking.
Perhaps there's a balance between our inner world and the physical world we're experiencing.
Between consciousness and the body.
Between the spiritual and the material.
I've been thinking about what happens beyond this life, too.
About energy.
Vibration.
Existence.
The things we can measure and the things we still don't fully understand.
I've heard people attribute certain ideas about vibration and energy to Einstein, although I haven't verified the exact source.
But the larger question interests me.
What are we, really?
What does it mean to be alive?
What continues after this physical experience ends?
My faith gives me a way of understanding those questions.
I believe our existence is more than the physical body.
I believe this life is an opportunity to grow, to learn, to love, and to become better.
A place where we are given time to recognize ourselves and make changes.
And I think we should use that time wisely.
Because none of us knows how much time we have.
Days.
Weeks.
Months.
Years.
Decades.
Whatever remains.
We should make something meaningful of it.
And for me, that begins with God.
I've been reflecting on Romans 8:38–39.
The passage begins with the words:
For I am convinced...
And those words mean something entirely different to me now.
I'm not expressing belief.
I'm expressing certainty.
I don't just believe God is real.
I know He exists.
I know He hears me.
I know He listens.
And I know what I experienced.
The night before, I sat with my father and prayed.
I asked God to help me.
I entrusted myself to Him.
And afterward, I experienced a change in my body that I had been desperately hoping for.
I cannot tell you exactly what happened physically.
But I can tell you what it meant to me.
I experienced it as a miracle.
I experienced it as God answering my prayer.
And I am convinced.
I recently shared a reflection on My Daily Bread titled I Am Convinced, based on Romans 8:38–39.
In that reflection, I wrote about remaining faithful even when suffering becomes difficult to endure.
About rejoicing through trials.
Not because suffering is enjoyable.
Not because pain doesn't hurt.
Not because we should pretend everything is fine.
But because we can continue trusting God in the middle of it.
Even when we're exhausted.
Even when we're frightened.
Even when we're uncertain.
We can hold on to hope.
I wrote something in that reflection that sums up what I experienced:
I know because it happened to me.
He happened to me.
That's how I feel.
And I don't want to dilute those words with hesitation.
I am convinced.
You can read more of my reflections on the My Daily Bread bulletin:
Two Beautiful Experiences
Another realization came to me today.
For a long time, I might have said that the most beautiful experience of my life was having my mother in it.
And I still believe that having her in my life was one of the most beautiful gifts I've ever received.
My mother and I were like two glowing balls of energy.
That's the best way I can describe us.
We enjoyed everything together.
The conversations.
The laughter.
The adventures.
The smallest moments.
The experiences.
The simple joy of being around one another.
That was us.
We had a connection that was uniquely ours.
And when she passed away, I didn't know how I was going to move forward without her.
I didn't think I could.
I didn't think I would.
I didn't even know if it was possible.
But something has been changing.
And part of that change has involved my father.
My father has never been a bad man.
He's never had a bad heart.
We're simply different people.
Our personalities are different.
The way we communicate is different.
The way we approach life is different.
My relationship with him has never been the same as the relationship I had with my mother.
But I've come to realize something important.
Different doesn't mean less beautiful.
I can't say that having my mother in my life was more beautiful than having my father.
And I can't say that having my father in my life is more beautiful than having my mother.
They are two beautiful experiences in different ways.
And I've been given the opportunity to recognize that.
Since my mother's passing, my father and I have had to learn how to live together in a different way.
We've had difficult moments.
We've misunderstood each other.
We've frustrated each other.
We've had to learn patience.
Grace.
Understanding.
Forgiveness.
We've had to recognize things about ourselves that needed attention.
And we're still working on them.
But something beautiful has been happening.
We're getting closer.
In fact, I think our relationship may be stronger now than it has ever been.
I'm getting to know my father on a deeper level.
Not just as my dad.
But as a human being.
A man who has lived his own life.
Who has experienced his own struggles.
Who has his own fears, emotions, habits, and ways of understanding the world.
And I'm learning to give him more grace.
More patience.
More love.
He's working on things, too.
We're both trying.
And I think that's what matters.
We want to have a good relationship while we're still here together.
Especially after losing my mother.
Because losing her changed everything.
And although I still miss her, I don't want to spend the rest of my life trapped in grief.
I don't want sadness to become the only way I remain connected to her.
I want to remember her with love.
With gratitude.
With joy.
I want to remember those two glowing balls of energy enjoying life together.
And something inside me tells me she's okay.
That vibrant ball of light.
I believe she's moved on to where we're all eventually heading.
And perhaps one of the best ways I can honor her is to continue living.
To love my father.
To take care of myself.
To create things.
To laugh.
To connect.
To enjoy the time I've been given.
I didn't think I could move forward.
But I am.
Dinner With Dad
Tonight, my father and I sat down and ate the dinner I'd prepared earlier.
Teriyaki chicken, vegetables, and rice.
Nothing particularly extravagant.
Just a meal.
But we got to talk.
I shared some of the things that happened throughout the day.
The good.
The bad.
The people I'd seen.
The experiences I'd had.
And we connected.
That's becoming increasingly important to me.
Just spending time together.
Talking.
Listening.
Being present.
I gave him a hug.
Told him I loved him.
And then I spent some time with Monkey.
My little Monkey cat.
I heard him meowing at me, and it reminded me how much I've missed simply spending time with him.
I haven't been giving him as much attention lately.
Not intentionally.
I've just been going through so much physically and emotionally that some of the simplest parts of life have fallen into the background.
And Monkey has been one of them.
But I love that little cat.
And I want to be more present for him, too.
I want to enjoy the little things again.
The things that make a life feel like a life.
A meal with my father.
A hug.
A conversation.
A visit with my sweet cat.
A quiet evening.
A comfortable bed.
Peace.
Those things matter.
Maybe more than we realize when we're caught up in the middle of an ordeal.
Back to My Mother's Room
Now I'm getting ready for bed.
I'm heading back into my mother's room again tonight.
Something that once seemed impossible has become something comforting.
I plan to listen to some of the books I purchased, spend some time with my words of affirmation before going to sleep, and possibly do some EMDR therapy.
Whether I listen to my affirmations before or after my Audible books, I definitely want them to be part of my evening.
I'm continuing to explore ways to calm my mind, understand myself, and support my recovery.
And tonight, I'm going to rest.
I don't know exactly what tomorrow will bring.
I don't know how every part of this healing process will unfold.
But I know where I want to return when difficult moments come.
To faith.
To love.
To peace.
To gratitude.
To God.
Because I've spent enough time living in fear.
Enough time anticipating pain.
Enough time wondering what terrible thing might happen next.
I want to live differently.
And today, I got a glimpse of what that might feel like.
I woke up in my mother's bed.
I reconnected with my old grandmaster.
I enjoyed a morning without the pain that had been dominating my days.
I created something new.
An unexpected job opportunity came my way.
I was reminded of the kindness Benjamin showed me and why I want to come through for him.
I talked with friends.
I reflected on my faith.
I recognized how much my relationship with my father has grown.
I shared a meal with him.
I hugged him.
And I spent time with my little Monkey Cat.
After everything I've been through, those are not small things.
Those are beautiful things.
And I want more of them.
More love.
More connection.
More understanding.
More peace.
More life.
I'm not expressing belief.
I'm expressing certainty.
I don't just believe God is real. I know He exists.
And I am convinced.
Good night.
And cue The Beach Boys.
Good vibrations.
A moment of faith. An invitation to know Christ.
Are You Saved? ♥
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