Love Finds a Way

Once in a while, life writes a love story not in words, but in waiting.

There was once a volcano who lived alone, not because he chose solitude, but because his heart had yet to be heard. Day after day, he watched love bloom in the world around him — in waves that kissed the shore, in birds that flew as pairs, in the quiet moments when two souls simply were, together. And though he stood tall, strong, and silent, a song echoed inside him — a song not of sorrow, but of hope. A dream.

That someone, somewhere, would see him. Hear him. Know him.

This is the delicate truth of love — it is not always instant, and it does not always arrive when we ask. Sometimes, it grows quietly, unseen. Far below the surface, someone hears your heart before they ever see your face. Their soul rises in tune with your silent song, their love building even as yours fades, tired and wondering if hope is still enough.

But the universe, in its quiet kindness, often waits for the moment we are just about to let go… to surprise us with something beautiful.

Love found them. Not in the beginning, but in the becoming. When both hearts had weathered loneliness, when both had learned the ache of longing, they met — and knew. Not because it was perfect, but because it was real. Because their separate songs, once unheard, became one.

I know this kind of love — because I waited a lifetime to find Tim. I know what it is to long for someone who sees your soul and still stays, someone who walks through the fire with you, even when the flames rise high. Our journey has not been easy. There are struggles — deep ones — that we never expected. But not for one moment has it ever not been worth it. Even in the hardest hours, I would choose this love again and again. Because real love — the kind that listens to your song and sings back — is worth every tear, every trial, every quiet act of holding on.

That’s the mystery of life and love. We can feel like we’re shouting into the wind, like no one will ever echo our dreams. But someone might be listening. Someone who needs your hope as much as you need theirs.

And when at last you find one another, not even oceans can hold back the joy that erupts — not just from finding love, but from having waited for it, from becoming the person who could recognize it.

So, if you are alone now, remember: you are not forgotten. Your song matters. Keep singing, keep hoping — even when the lava cools.

Because somewhere, someone is growing toward you too.

And when you finally meet, you'll see that the wait was never empty — it was preparing you for a forever that sings back.

Held In His Hands

As I stand here, gazing at the vast expanse of life's journey ahead, I can't help but feel a flutter of uncertainty in my heart. There are moments when doubts creep in, whispering that my faith might falter in the face of life's storms. But then, I remember – I am not alone in this journey.

In those times when I fear my faith will fail, I find solace in knowing that Christ will hold me fast. His grip is stronger than my doubts, firmer than my fears. When the tempter's voice grows loud, trying to lure me away from my path, I feel the reassuring presence of my Savior, steadfast and unwavering.

I realize that my own strength is limited. My hands, though willing, are not always able to keep their grip on hope and faith. But through life's winding roads and treacherous paths, I am comforted by the knowledge that I don't have to rely solely on my own abilities. Christ's love for me is so profound, so encompassing, that He promises to hold me close, keeping me safe in His embrace.

This beautiful truth fills me with a sense of peace and joy. No matter what challenges I may face, no matter how dark the night may seem, I am loved beyond measure by the Creator of the universe. This love is my anchor, my refuge, and my strength.

As I continue on this journey of faith, I am filled with gratitude and wonder. The God who set the stars in motion cares deeply for me, promising to never let me go. With this assurance, I can face each day with renewed courage and hope, knowing that I am held securely in the hands of a loving Savior.

No More Jesus At A Distance

Life has a way of unraveling in ways we never expect. Dreams I once held so tightly slip through my fingers like sand, and the treasures I thought would bring security sometimes feel more like weight on my shoulders. There are days when I can barely hold it together, when exhaustion seeps into my bones and I wonder how much more I can carry.

I can’t control where tomorrow is going. I’ve learned that the hard way. Plans crumble, certainty fades, and life throws storms that no amount of preparation could ever withstand. Tim’s battle with PNES, the crushing weight of being both provider and caregiver, the exhaustion of fighting forward every single day—it’s a road that no one could have prepared me for. And just when I think I’ve found my footing, the ghosts of my yesterdays come calling, whispering doubts, fears, and regrets.

Who am I when there’s no one else around? When the sun comes up and the weight of the day settles in, when the sun goes down and I’m left alone with my thoughts—who am I then? Some days, I feel strong. Other days, I am barely standing. But through it all, I know one thing for certain: I don’t want to walk this road at a distance from the One who holds it all.

No more Jesus at a distance. No more pushing Him away when the weight of life feels unbearable. No more trying to do it all on my own, as if my strength alone could ever be enough. I’ve spent too much time trying to hold everything together, when all along, I was never meant to do it alone.

I don’t want to settle for the back. I don’t want to live my faith in the shadows, only reaching for God when I have nothing left. I want Him at the center of it all—through the brokenness, through the struggle, through the exhaustion. I want Him to be the first one I turn to, not the last.

Because when I let Him in—really let Him in—peace finds its way into the storm. Strength rises when I feel weakest. And even when life doesn’t make sense, even when the road ahead is uncertain, I know I am not walking it alone.

So, no more distance. No more hesitation. I am stepping forward in faith, trusting that even when I can’t see what’s ahead, He is already there. Holding me. Guiding me. Carrying me.

And that is enough.

Hand in Hand, Adventure Awaits

We are home from a three-week road trip—three weeks of winding roads, breathtaking landscapes, and moments that will forever be etched in my heart. It wasn’t always easy. There were struggles, moments of uncertainty, and the ever-present challenge of navigating Tim’s PNES while being far from the familiarity of home. But even with the obstacles, I wouldn’t trade this adventure for all the gold in the world.

There’s something about the open road that feels freeing—like, for a little while, the weight of everyday life lifts, and all that matters is the journey ahead. The countryside stretched out before us in ways that felt endless, reminding me that even in the hardest seasons, there is still so much to see, so much to experience. The rolling plains, the towering rock formations, the colors of the desert shifting with the sun—it all felt like a reminder that life is vast, unpredictable, and beautiful, even when it doesn’t go the way we planned.

But more than the places we explored, it was watching Tim that made this trip unforgettable. There was a light in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in so long—pure, unfiltered joy. Despite everything he has been through, despite the challenges and the limitations his condition tries to impose, he was fully present in the moment. There was something almost childlike about the way he soaked it all in, as if he was rediscovering the world with fresh eyes.

One of the most special moments was watching him laugh—really, truly laugh—as we had fun in Roswell, New Mexico, a place he had always wanted to see. It was like, for a little while, the weight of everything faded, and we were just two people having an adventure, marveling at all the quirky alien-themed sights and embracing the lighthearted fun of it all. Seeing him smile so freely, seeing that spark of excitement as he stood in a place he had dreamed of visiting—it was a gift, one that reminded me why we keep pushing forward.

That was the most beautiful part—watching him learn, watching him push through, watching him make our new normal a reality. This condition may have changed our lives, but it has not stolen our ability to live. It has not taken away our spirit, our drive, or our love for adventure. Instead, it has taught us resilience, patience, and a deeper appreciation for the moments we have.

Life doesn’t wait for us to have it all figured out—it moves forward, whether we are ready or not. And so, we learn to move with it. We learn to adapt, to navigate the challenges, to find joy in the midst of uncertainty. We learn that even with the struggles, there is still so much beauty waiting to be discovered.

So, here’s to more adventures—more winding roads, more breathtaking views, more moments that remind us why we keep going. No matter what comes, we will face it together, hand in hand. Because at the end of the day, it’s not about where we go—it’s about who we walk beside. And with Tim by my side, I know that no matter where life takes us, we will always find our way.

Praising Through The Storm

I was sure by now that God would have reached down and wiped our tears away. That He would have stepped in and saved the day, that the weight of this season would have lifted, and we would have found our way back to the life we once knew. But here we are, and it’s still raining.

Tim’s battle with PNES has taken us down a road we never expected to walk. It has tested our strength, our patience, our faith. It has left us exhausted, worn, searching for answers that don’t come easy. Some days, I feel like I’m standing on shifting ground, trying to hold us steady while the world tilts beneath my feet. I’ve prayed—oh, how I’ve prayed. I’ve whispered desperate pleas in the quiet of the night, begging for healing, for relief, for something to make sense again. I’ve cried out to God, asking why, asking when, asking if He even hears me.

And yet, the storm still rages.

There are moments when the weight of it all presses so heavily on my chest that I struggle to breathe. Being the sole provider, the caregiver, the one who has to be strong when I feel anything but—it’s a burden I never imagined carrying. Some days, I want to scream at the sky, demanding an answer, demanding a miracle. Other days, I am simply too tired to ask anymore. It’s in those moments that the silence feels the loudest, when the storm feels unrelenting, when it feels like God is nowhere to be found.

But as the thunder rolls, as the chaos of this journey surrounds us, I listen closely. In the midst of the fear, in the exhaustion, in the heartbreak, I hear a whisper through the rain: “I’m with you.”

And maybe that’s the mercy I’ve been missing. Maybe the miracle isn’t the storm ceasing—it’s the presence of God within it. It’s the strength to stand when I feel like falling, the love that holds us together when everything else feels like it’s breaking apart. It’s the gentle reminders in the smallest of moments—the touch of Tim’s hand, the comfort of his voice, the quiet understanding between us that even in our struggle, we are not alone. It’s in the way we keep pushing forward, even on the hardest days, even when the road is long and uncertain.

I’ve come to realize that faith is not about the absence of storms, but about learning to trust in the midst of them. It’s about raising my hands, even when they feel too heavy. It’s about choosing to believe that God is still good, even when life feels anything but. It’s about understanding that He is not absent just because I can’t always feel Him—He is in the very breath I take, in the moments of peace that somehow find their way into the chaos.

So I lift my hands, not because the storm is over, but because I know He is still God—no matter where I am, no matter how strong the winds may blow. Every tear I’ve cried, He has seen. Every fear I’ve carried, He has held. And though my heart is torn, though this journey feels so much heavier than I ever imagined, I will praise Him in this storm.

Because even in the rain, even in the uncertainty, I know we are not forsaken.

And that is enough to keep going.

The Magic of the Fourth of July

The Fourth of July has always been my favorite holiday. There’s something about it that feels almost magical, something that stirs a sense of joy deep within me. It’s a day that is both vibrant and reflective, a time when the sky explodes in brilliant color, and the air hums with excitement. It is the one day of the year where the world seems to pause—not for stress, not for obligations, but for celebration.

From the moment the sun rises, there is a feeling of anticipation. The smell of barbecues drifts through the air, mixing with the sounds of laughter, music, and the occasional pop of a firecracker in the distance. Families gather, friends reconnect, and strangers stand side by side, all waiting for the same thing—the moment the night sky becomes a masterpiece of light.

I love the sparkle of it all—the way fireworks dance against the darkness, the way sparklers glow in the hands of children, their faces lighting up with pure, unfiltered joy. There’s something innocent about that glow, something nostalgic. It takes me back to childhood, to warm nights spent chasing fireflies and holding onto a sparkler like it was a tiny piece of magic in my hands. The lights, the colors, the way everything shimmers—it’s enchanting.

But beyond the beauty, beyond the celebrations, the Fourth of July holds a deeper meaning. It’s a reminder of the sacrifices made for the freedom we often take for granted. It’s easy to get caught up in the spectacle, but when I hear the national anthem playing in the background or see an old veteran standing tall, hand over heart, I remember what this day truly represents. It is about courage. It is about resilience. It is about the people who fought, and still fight, to keep this country standing.

As night falls and the first firework streaks across the sky, I feel a familiar sense of wonder. The bursts of red, white, and blue fill the air, each explosion echoing something greater than just celebration. It’s pride. It’s remembrance. It’s unity. And for a moment, as the grand finale lights up the world around me, I feel at peace—grateful, inspired, and filled with hope.

No matter how dark the world may seem at times, the Fourth of July reminds me that there is always light. It reminds me that we are free to dream, to hope, and to celebrate. And no matter what, freedom will always shine.

Just Be Held

When I'm on my knees, feeling the weight of the world pressing down upon my shoulders, it's easy to believe that I'm alone in my struggles. The answers I seek seem to dance just beyond my reach, taunting me with their elusiveness. In these moments, when my heart is heavy and my spirit is weary, I often find myself clinging desperately to control—trying to force solutions, to make sense of the chaos that surrounds me.

But in the depths of my despair, a gentle whisper reminds me: "You're not alone." These words resonate in the quiet corners of my soul, offering a lifeline of hope when I feel most adrift. It's a profound truth that I sometimes forget—that even in my darkest hours, I am never truly alone.

The invitation to "stop holding on and just be held" is both terrifying and liberating. It asks me to release my white-knuckled grip on control, to surrender my fears and doubts to something greater than myself. This surrender doesn't come easily; it requires a leap of faith, a willingness to be vulnerable in ways that feel uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

Yet, when I finally allow myself to let go, to sink into the embrace of divine love or the support of those around me, I find a peace that transcends understanding. It's in these moments of surrender that I discover a strength I never knew I possessed—a resilience born not from my own efforts, but from the grace that surrounds me.

To be held is to experience a profound sense of safety and acceptance. It's a reminder that I don't have to face life's challenges alone, that it's okay to lean on others and to accept help when it's offered. In being held, I find the courage to face my fears, knowing that I am supported and loved unconditionally.

This act of surrender, of allowing myself to be held, doesn't mean that my problems magically disappear. The challenges remain, but my perspective shifts. I begin to see that my worth isn't tied to my ability to solve every problem or control every outcome. Instead, I find value in simply being—in existing as I am, imperfections and all.

As I embrace this truth, I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders. The answers I seek may still be distant, but I no longer face the journey alone. I am held in a love that is bigger than my fears, stronger than my doubts, and deeper than my sorrows.

So when I find myself on my knees, overwhelmed by life's complexities, I choose to remember this beautiful truth. I am not alone. And in letting go, in allowing myself to be held, I find the strength to rise again—not because I have all the answers, but because I am loved, supported, and never truly alone.

Lessons from the Eagle: A Call to Rise Again

The eagle has long been a proud and mighty symbol of this country—a representation of freedom, strength, and resilience. It stands as a reminder of what this nation was built on: the idea that all should have the opportunity to rise, to soar, to be protected under the wings of justice and care.

This year, I watched with great anticipation as a pair of eagles nested and raised their young. The live stream captured something truly beautiful—the unwavering devotion of the parents as they built their home, carefully placing each branch, ensuring a safe and stable foundation. I watched as they hunted, as they fed their fragile young, as they shielded them from the elements with outstretched wings. Every movement, every action was filled with purpose, love, and responsibility.

And it made me think—if a creature of instinct can care so deeply, if an eagle understands the importance of protecting and nurturing its own, why have we, as a people, forgotten?

Our elderly, our veterans, the very ones who built, defended, and upheld this nation, are cast aside. Those who should be honored now struggle to afford food, medicine, and the basic dignity of life. We are a nation that once prided itself on lifting others up, and yet we now turn a blind eye to suffering—walking past those in need as if they are invisible.

Worse still, we have become a people where disagreement is met with hostility, where differences are no longer tolerated but punished. We have abandoned the art of discourse, of understanding. Instead, we meet opposition with persecution, and in the worst cases, with violence. This is not the land of the free—this is a land of fear. And it breaks my heart to see how far we have fallen.

Looking beyond the nation, I see the same failures reflected in the workplace. The demeanor of leadership in this country has bled into every level of our lives. Those in power reward the bullies, the ones who manipulate and crush others to climb higher. Hard workers—the ones who give their all, who dedicate themselves to their craft—are exploited until they have nothing left to give. And when they break, when they can no longer keep up with the impossible demands, they are discarded. Lives are forever changed, not by lack of effort, but by a system that values power over people.

But then, I think back to the eagle.

The eagle does not abandon its own. It does not ignore the weak. It nurtures, it protects, it lifts up those who cannot yet stand on their own. And when the time comes, it teaches them to fly.

This is the lesson we must remember. We must reclaim our humanity, our compassion, our strength—not in the form of power or wealth, but in kindness, in care, in standing up for what is right. We must stop allowing cruelty to reign. We must stop rewarding oppression and start lifting up those who have been forgotten.

We were once a people who stood together, who fought for each other, who believed in the value of every life. We can be that people again. We can rise, not as individuals seeking power, but as a nation that nurtures, that protects, that builds a foundation where all can thrive.

Like the eagle, we can soar again. But first, we must remember how to care.

Miles of Us

For a little while, we set aside the burdens that so often shadow our days-his struggles with PNES, the stress that life insists on piling up. Here, on these winding highways and sunlit trails, we find space to breathe, to laugh, to rediscover the simple joy of being together. The world feels softer when it’s just us, the road, and the horizon.

Every new place we wander to becomes a memory stitched into the fabric of our story: mountain vistas bathed in golden light, hidden lakes reflecting the sky, small towns where time seems to slow down. We marvel at the beauty around us, but even more at the beauty between us-the way we hold hands, share quiet glances, and find strength in each other’s company. There’s an intimacy in the shared silences, in the spontaneous laughter that erupts over a wrong turn or a quirky roadside diner.

Sometimes, as we drive beneath a sky streaked with the colors of dusk, I watch him out of the corner of my eye. I see the way the light catches his profile, the way his eyes soften when he looks at me, and I am overwhelmed by the depth of my gratitude. I know the battles he faces, the invisible weight he carries, and yet here, in these moments, I see him at ease. I see him free.

We stop to explore trails that wind through ancient forests, our footsteps muffled by pine needles and the hush of nature. We climb rocky overlooks, breathless from the climb and from the view-vast, wild, and achingly beautiful. We sit side by side, letting the world fall away, letting ourselves just be. Sometimes we talk about everything and nothing; sometimes we simply listen to the wind.

Nights are spent under a patchwork of stars, wrapped in blankets and each other’s arms. We share stories and dreams, hopes for the future, and quiet reassurances that whatever comes, we’ll face it together. The world feels vast, but our little cocoon is safe and warm.

These travels are more than just a getaway; they are a reminder of what matters most. For a few fleeting weeks, we are free-free to explore, to dream, to love without reservation. We are reminded that life is not just about the hardships, but about the moments of joy and wonder we carve out for ourselves. The road may not always be smooth, but together, every mile is worth it.

As the road unfolds before us, I am endlessly grateful for this journey, for him, and for the moments that make all the struggles worthwhile. In the end, it’s not just the places we see, but the love we share along the way that makes the journey unforgettable. And as the miles slip by beneath our wheels, I know that wherever we go, as long as we’re together, I am home.