MOM, WOMBIE, LET’S LOVE THE WORLD TOGETHER. 🌎❤️🔥
Beloveds,
We have grieved.
❤️🩹
We have talked about March.
We have given away the flowers.
💐
We have gone home.
🧸
And now—
come outside with me.
🌎
There is still a whole world out here.
People waking up.
People going to sleep.
People laughing.
People grieving.
People praying.
People questioning.
People falling in love.
People falling apart.
People beginning again.
People who look nothing like us.
People who believe differently.
People whose languages we don’t speak.
People whose stories we’ll never know.
People.
And I love them.
🌎❤️
I don’t mean I know eight billion people.
Good grief.
🤣
I don’t.
I couldn’t.
And neither can you.
So when I say:
Let’s love the world together,
I am not assigning you eight billion people.
Nah, fam.
Jesus already has the Savior position covered.
🙏🏿
We get to be human.
And humans can love humans.
One at a time.
🪑🪑
That’s why I keep seeing those two chairs.
One for me.
One for you.
No stage required.
No microphone.
No enormous organization.
Sometimes changing somebody’s world begins with:
Sit with me.
And sometimes I see two fishing poles.
🎣🎣
Not because we’re guaranteed to catch anything.
Sometimes companionship is sitting beside somebody while absolutely nothing spectacular happens.
Waiting.
Talking.
Being quiet.
Laughing.
Watching the water.
Staying.
Maybe that’s love too.
❤️
Mom taught me something about love simply by loving.
Wombie carries her pieces.
I carry mine.
You carry pieces from whoever loved you.
🧩
And love travels.
Someone loves you.
You love somebody.
They love somebody.
That person carries something home.
❤️➡️❤️➡️❤️➡️❤️
Eventually nobody remembers where the first kindness began.
Good.
Love doesn’t always need credit.
It needs somewhere to go.
🌎
That’s why:
Your life matters to me.
It doesn’t mean I can fix your life.
It doesn’t mean I know your story.
It doesn’t mean I’ll always agree with you.
It doesn’t mean boundaries disappear.
It means:
I refuse to begin by deciding you don’t matter.
👀❤️
Black.
White.
Brown.
Woman.
Man.
Gay.
Straight.
Believer.
Agnostic.
Atheist.
Angry.
Quiet.
Loud.
Disabled.
Walking.
Rolling.
Speaking differently.
Speaking with an accent.
Speaking perfectly.
Struggling to speak at all.
Human.
🌎
Come sit down.
🪑🪑
You don’t have to resolve before you belong.
And you don’t have to become me.
Please don’t.
🤣
This world already has a Cassandra.
One is plenty.
🥰
I want you.
Keep on being…YOU!
That’s not decoration at the bottom of my posts.
I mean it.
Bring your voice.
Bring your language.
Bring your history.
Bring your questions.
Bring your joy.
Bring the parts somebody told you were too loud.
Bring the parts somebody couldn’t hear.
Bring yourself.
❤️🔥
Because love that requires somebody to disappear before they can receive it isn’t the kind of love I’m talking about.
See my difference.
But don’t make my difference all you see.
See the person.
👀
That’s the assignment.
Not perfection.
Not saving everybody.
Not solving every problem before bedtime.
Just:
Who is in front of me?
Who needs another chair?
Who needs somebody to listen?
Who needs somebody to believe them?
Who needs somebody to say their name correctly?
Who needs somebody to stay?
Who needs somebody to laugh with them?
Who needs somebody to cry beside them?
Who needs to hear:
Your life matters to me.
❤️🩹
That’s how we love a world too big for any one of us to hold.
We don’t hold the whole thing.
We hold one another.
🫂🌎
One person.
Then another.
One chair.
One conversation.
One kindness.
One flower.
One fishing pole.
One step.
One step.
One step.
👣❤️
And eventually maybe we look around and realize:
The world wasn’t some enormous thing somewhere “out there.”
It was us.
All along.
People.
Mothers.
Wombies.
Daughters.
Friends.
Strangers.
Grievers.
Laughers.
Questioners.
Believers.
People carrying scars.
People carrying flowers.
People carrying names.
People carrying Marches that never came.
People sitting beside empty chairs.
People pulling up new ones.
We ARE the 🌎.
❤️🔥
Mom,
your love reached me.
🧸
I’m going to keep passing it.
Wombie—
come on.
❤️
Beloveds—
y’all coming?
Because Jesus said:
It is finished.
His work is done.
And those of us still here have people to love.
Not someday.
Not when everything is perfect.
Not when we finally understand everybody.
Now.
So grab a chair.
🪑
Grab another.
🪑
Grab those fishing poles.
🎣🎣
Bring your flowers.
💐
Bring your heart.
❤️
And come with me.
We don’t have to save the world.
We can love it.
Together.
One human being at a time.
One step.
One step.
One step.
🌎❤️🔥
Your life matters to me.
You are loved.
You are NOT alone.
Keep on being…YOU!
And while we’re both still here—
LET’S LOVE THE WORLD TOGETHER.
🌎❤️🔥
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Month: September 2026
TUESDAY 🌎
🏆🏆 POTTY WARS: BABY, TAKE TWO TROPHIES! 🧻🤣
Beloveds,
It is NOON.
And apparently today we are going to church, therapy, physical rehabilitation, philosophy class AND the bathroom.
🤣🤣🤣🤣
Pearl clutchers:
Secure the pearls.
Because Cassandra has an announcement.
I WON POTTY WARS.
🏆🏆
Yes.
TWO TROPHIES.
One trophy did not adequately represent the level of foolishness, determination, engineering, cleanup supplies, prayer, improvisation and sheer GET SOME ACT RIGHT required for this particular championship.
🤣🧻🧽🧴🪣🪣🪣
And before somebody says:
But Cassandra, you just went to the bathroom…
👀
YOU TRIED IT.
🤣🤣🤣
There is no “just” in somebody else’s body.
That may be today’s biggest key.
🔑
Before my stroke, there were things my body did without requiring a committee meeting.
Now some ordinary tasks require planning.
Positioning.
Balance.
Equipment.
Patience.
Adaptation.
Concentration.
Energy.
Problem-solving.
And occasionally enough cleaning supplies to make somebody walking past my door wonder whether I have secretly opened a janitorial franchise.
🤣🤣🤣
🧽🧴🪣🧻
But here’s the thing:
I DID IT.
And I’m learning not to make my victories smaller merely because somebody else can accomplish the same thing without thinking about it.
That is a chain.
⛓️
And I am done polishing chains.
⚒️
The chain that says:
If everybody else can do it easily, your accomplishment doesn’t count.
⚒️💥
The chain that says:
Needing equipment diminishes the accomplishment.
⚒️💥
The chain that says:
Accepting help cancels independence.
⚒️💥
The chain that says:
Disability must disappear before somebody gets to call something recovery.
⚒️💥
The chain that says:
Bodies doing bodily things are too embarrassing to talk about.
BABY.
🤣
Hand me the hammer.
⚒️💥⛓️
Because dignity was never hiding inside physical perfection.
My dignity did not leave when my body changed.
My dignity does not disappear when I use my wheelchair.
My dignity does not disappear when I use my quad cane.
My dignity does not disappear when something takes me longer.
My dignity does not disappear when I need help.
My dignity does not disappear when my body makes a mess.
And my dignity certainly does not disappear because toilet paper entered the testimony.
🧻🤣🏆
PERIODT.
There are victories people applaud because everybody recognizes them.
Graduation.
🏆
Promotion.
🏆
Marathon.
🏆
Championship.
🏆
And then there are victories almost nobody sees.
Getting dressed.
🏆
Getting yourself something to eat.
🏆
Making it safely across the room.
🏆
Learning how to do something differently.
🏆
Using the mobility aid instead of exhausting yourself trying to prove you don’t need it.
🏆
Asking for help.
🏆
Cleaning yourself.
🏆
Getting through an exhausting appointment.
🏆
Trying again after yesterday went completely sideways.
🏆
And sometimes—
GOING TO THE BATHROOM.
🏆🏆🏆🏆🏆
🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
Count it.
Because difficulty is experienced from inside the life being lived.
You cannot stand outside another person’s body, history, grief, circumstances, disability, resources or exhaustion and announce what should have been easy.
You don’t know the cost.
🔑
And THAT reaches far beyond disability.
Maybe somebody got out of bed while carrying grief nobody knows about.
🏆
Maybe somebody answered the phone after weeks of anxiety.
🏆
Maybe somebody said no.
🏆
Maybe somebody finally said yes.
🏆
Maybe somebody left.
🏆
Maybe somebody stayed.
🏆
Maybe somebody apologized.
🏆
Maybe somebody forgave themselves.
🏆
Maybe somebody asked for help before everything collapsed.
🏆
Maybe somebody finally stopped.
✋🏿
That last one has my attention today.
Because after all my:
DEEPPPERRRR!
⚒️⚒️⚒️
FIND THE KEYS!
🔑🔑🔑
BREAK THE CHAINS!
⛓️⛓️⛓️
LOVE THE WHOLE WORLD!
🌎🌎🌎
Apparently my body convened an emergency meeting.
The agenda contained exactly one item:
BED.
🛌
🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
And Cassandra?
Apparently I voted unanimously.
😴
No closing remarks.
No benediction.
No final post.
No “one more thing.”
Just:
🛌💤
🤣🤣🤣
And perhaps THAT deserves a trophy too.
🏆
Because I am learning that I cannot celebrate my body’s victories while treating its limits like insubordination.
WHEW.
Read that again.
I cannot celebrate my body’s victories while treating its limits like insubordination.
🔑🔑🔑
Sometimes the key is:
🥾 Go.
Sometimes:
⚒️ Work.
Sometimes:
🚪 Open it.
Sometimes:
🗣️ Speak.
Sometimes:
😭 Cry.
Sometimes:
🤣 Laugh until your stomach hurts.
And sometimes:
✋🏿 Enough.
Then:
🛌 Rest.
The key doesn’t always open a door leading outward.
Sometimes the key locks the door for the night.
🔑🚪
👀
Ohhhhh.
There’s one.
Sometimes agency means opening the door.
And sometimes agency means being the person who decides:
The door is closed. I am resting. Come back tomorrow.
✋🏿🚪🛌
That is still agency.
That is still dignity.
That is still freedom.
And that means today’s Potty Wars trophy isn’t really about a toilet.
The bathroom just happened to be where the lesson showed up wearing combat boots.
🤣🥾🥾🧻
The deeper victory is this:
My changed body and I are learning each other.
Not fighting each other.
Learning.
Listening.
Adapting.
Negotiating.
Laughing.
Resting.
Trying.
Stopping.
Beginning again.
And sometimes standing together afterward looking at the evidence like:
👀
Girl.
🤣🤣🤣
WE DID THAT.
🏆🏆
So today I am taking my trophies.
I am taking my laughter.
I am taking my quad cane.
I am taking my rest.
I am taking my keys.
And yes—
somebody please bring the toilet paper.
🧻
Because apparently around here liberation requires supplies.
🤣🤣🤣🤣
Beloveds, I want you to take your trophy too.
Not tomorrow.
Not when somebody else agrees that your accomplishment was difficult enough.
Not after you explain yourself.
Today.
🏆
Whatever your victory was.
However strange.
However private.
However ordinary.
However messy.
COUNT IT.
And if today’s victory was simply surviving today?
There is a chair here.
🪑
Sit.
If you believe in God as I do, you are welcome to celebrate His faithfulness with me.
WON’T HE DO IT! 🙏🏿💖
And if you don’t believe in God, don’t believe yet, aren’t sure, or never will—
the chair does not disappear.
🪑
Nobody has to believe exactly as I believe before I can love them.
Come laugh.
Come rest.
Come tell your story.
Or say absolutely nothing.
🥂
The celebration still has room for you.
Now I need to know:
What completely ordinary thing have YOU done that deserves an absolutely unreasonable, ridiculously oversized trophy?
🏆🏆🏆🤣
Tell me in the comments.
Let’s celebrate some victories the world forgot to count.
Share this with somebody whose invisible work deserves to be seen. Like it. Follow or subscribe. And come back tomorrow at noon.
We’ll pull out the chair again.
And apparently—
🧻
we’ll keep the supplies nearby.
🤣🤣🤣
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Note: One step. One step. One step. You are loved. You are NOT alone. Keep on being…YOU!
Unapologetically His.
Unapologetically yours.
Help me be loud:
🔑🌎😭💔🤯🥰
🌅🔑🛣️ TUESDAY MORNING
YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE FINISHED TO BE FREE.
Beloveds,
I have spent a lot of my life thinking freedom lived somewhere farther down the road.
After I figured it out.
After I healed.
After I understood.
After I got stronger.
After the problem was solved.
After the prayer was answered.
After the thing that hurt stopped hurting.
After I finally became whatever version of myself I thought I was supposed to become.
Then, maybe, I could exhale.
Then, maybe, I could celebrate.
Then, maybe, I could call myself free.
But what if freedom isn’t waiting at the end of the road?
What if freedom can meet us right here?
At the crossroads.
With questions.
With unfinished business.
With plans that didn’t work.
With bodies that changed.
With relationships that changed.
With dreams that had to change shape.
With things we still don’t understand.
With roads in front of us that don’t have nice little signs explaining exactly where they lead.
🛣️🔑
Maybe one of the cruelest things we can do to ourselves is postpone living until everything is resolved.
Because some things may never resolve neatly.
Some questions may remain questions.
Some losses cannot be reversed.
Some doors really did close.
Some people really did leave.
Some things really were unfair.
Some plans really did fall apart.
And some mornings we may wake up still carrying something we thought we’d have put down by now.
But unfinished does not mean imprisoned.
Read that again.
UNFINISHED DOES NOT MEAN IMPRISONED.
❤️🩹
I can still laugh while I’m healing.
I can still create while I’m learning.
I can still love while I’m grieving.
I can still receive love while I’m figuring myself out.
I can still change my mind.
I can still say no.
I can still say yes.
I can still rest.
I can still begin again.
I can still choose what belongs in my life.
I can still decide what doesn’t.
I can still pull up a chair.
I can still leave a chair open.
I can still look at a road I never intended to travel and say:
All right. I’m here. What can I do with HERE?
🔑
That question matters to me.
Not, How do I pretend this is the road I wanted?
Not, How do I convince myself nothing hurts?
Not, How do I turn every difficult thing into some beautiful lesson before I’m ready?
No.
What can I do with HERE?
Because HERE still contains choices.
HERE still contains people.
HERE still contains laughter.
HERE still contains music.
HERE still contains rest.
HERE still contains curiosity.
HERE still contains love.
HERE still contains another morning.
And as long as there is another choice available to me—even a tiny one—I want to notice it.
One step.
One step.
One step.
Sometimes one step is enormous.
Sometimes one step is getting out of bed.
Sometimes it is asking for help.
Sometimes it is accepting help.
Sometimes it is trying again.
Sometimes it is deciding, Not today.
Sometimes it is changing direction.
Sometimes it is sitting perfectly still at the crossroads until you are ready.
Sitting is a choice too.
Nobody said every crossroads requires an immediate answer.
💯
My faith tells me something else about detours.
I believe God can meet me on roads I never would have chosen.
I believe He can sit beside me before I understand.
I believe He can love me without requiring me to have the map figured out first.
I believe He can work in places that don’t look anything like the destination I imagined.
And I believe sometimes what I call a detour may simply be a road whose meaning I cannot see yet.
But Beloved, you don’t have to believe what I believe to pull up a chair here.
You may believe in God.
You may be angry with God.
You may be searching.
You may doubt.
You may be atheist or agnostic.
You may have stopped asking spiritual questions altogether.
You may never believe.
The chair is still yours.
Because this morning isn’t an entrance exam for faith.
It’s an invitation to life.
🌎❤️
Your life.
The one happening now.
Not the imaginary one where everything finally cooperates.
Not the polished one.
Not the someday one.
This one.
Maybe you don’t know where the road goes.
Neither do I.
Maybe your map has coffee spilled across half of it. 🤣
Maybe somebody apparently printed yours upside down.
Maybe life handed you directions that simply say:
PROCEED SOMEHOW.
😭🤣
Okay then.
We proceed somehow.
Not because we’re pretending the detour is easy.
Because we’re still here to travel it.
So this Wednesday morning, I am giving myself permission to stop demanding that I become finished before I allow myself to be free.
I can be unfinished and joyful.
Unfinished and loved.
Unfinished and useful.
Unfinished and curious.
Unfinished and tired.
Unfinished and hopeful.
Unfinished and uncertain.
Unfinished and becoming.
Unfinished and completely, gloriously alive.
And so can you.
🔑🛣️🌅
Beloveds, if you’re standing at a crossroads today, you don’t have to know the whole route.
Look around.
Find the next thing that belongs to you.
A choice.
A boundary.
A laugh.
A prayer.
A nap.
A phone call.
A song.
A good cry.
A tiny beginning.
A chair.
A road.
A single step.
Take what is yours.
Leave what isn’t.
And remember:
The detour did not revoke your right to live.
You don’t have to be finished to be free.
And you certainly don’t have to be finished to belong here.
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Note: One step. One step. One step. You are loved. You are NOT alone. Keep on being…YOU!
Unapologetically His.
Unapologetically yours. ❤️🌎🔑
If this met you somewhere on your road today, pull up a chair and tell us about it. Comment if you want to. Share it with somebody navigating a detour of their own. Like it, subscribe/follow, and come back—we’re making room for a little encouragement every day.
There is always another chair. 🪑❤️
Help me be loud:
I. AM.STILL.ME!
Beloveds,
This is my voice before my stroke. Will be sharing others. I miss thesound of her….🤯🥺🥹😭😱
sad but grateful still,
Cassandra
Help me be loud:
TUESDAY — THE KEY DOESN’T MAKE THE ROAD EASY 🔑🥾
Beloveds,
I have been thinking about keys.
Not cute little decorative keys. Not the kind we hang on a wall beside a word like faith and call the lesson finished.
I mean the keys that cost something.
Because sometimes you spend years staring at a chain ⛓️ without realizing there is a lock. Sometimes you know there is a lock but cannot find the key. Sometimes somebody else has been holding the key. Sometimes the door has been unlocked all along, but fear, pain, history, prejudice, grief, exhaustion, disability, rejection, or somebody else’s definition of you convinced you that you were not allowed to walk through it.
And sometimes, Beloveds, you find the key—
and discover that freedom still requires work.
🔑
That one has been sitting with me.
I am learning this in my own body.
Some things that once required almost no thought from me now require planning, patience, equipment, adaptation, humor, rest—and occasionally enough cleaning supplies to make it look like I am opening a small janitorial company. 🤣🧻🪣🧽🧴
Yes. I am talking about Potty Wars.
And YES.
I WON. 🏆🏆🤣
Laugh with me, because I certainly am.
But don’t miss the victory because the battlefield happened to be a bathroom.
We celebrate people for running marathons, climbing mountains, earning degrees and crossing finish lines. We should.
But there are victories nobody sees.
Getting dressed.
Taking a shower.
Making it safely across a room.
Getting yourself cleaned up.
Using the bathroom.
Holding a phone.
Trying to make your fingers press the tiny thing on the screen that everybody keeps telling you to “just tap.”
There is no just when your body has changed.
There is effort.
There is adaptation.
There is frustration.
There is learning.
There is grief sometimes.
There is laughter sometimes.
And there can still be victory.
🏆
My quad cane does not cancel the victory.
My wheelchair does not cancel the victory.
Needing rest does not cancel the victory.
Needing help does not cancel the victory.
Doing something differently does not cancel the victory.
And stopping when my body says ✋🏿 does not cancel the victory either.
That may be one of the keys I needed most.
🔑 Rest is not disqualification.
🔑 Assistance is not disqualification.
🔑 Adaptation is not disqualification.
🔑 Difference is not disqualification.
🔑 A messy victory is still a victory.
And here’s another one:
🔑 My body is not my enemy.
I refuse to turn recovery into a war against myself.
There are chains I want broken. ⛓️
There are doors I want opened. 🚪
There are miles I still want to travel. 🥾🥾
There is work I still want to do. ⚒️
There is an entire world I still intend to love. 🌎
But if I have to destroy myself to prove that I am healing, I have misunderstood healing.
So I am learning another rhythm:
⚒️ Work.
🥾 Move.
😭 Grieve.
🤣 Laugh.
🧻 Clean it up.
🏆 Celebrate it.
🛌 Rest.
✋🏿 Stop.
🔑 Begin again when I can.
And perhaps somebody reading this needs permission to redefine victory too.
Your victory does not have to photograph well.
Nobody has to clap.
Nobody has to understand how difficult it was.
And you do not owe anybody a performance of strength.
Maybe you got out of bed.
Maybe you stayed in bed because your body needed it.
Maybe you asked for help.
Maybe you tried again.
Maybe today you finally stopped trying.
Maybe you cried.
Maybe you laughed in the middle of something that once embarrassed you.
Maybe you found one tiny key.
Hold it.
Not because I know which door it opens.
I don’t.
Only you get to discover that.
And if you believe in God as I do, you may believe He knows the door before you ever recognize the key.
If you don’t believe in God, don’t believe yet, or never will, there is still room beside me.
Pull up a chair. 🪑
Nobody has to believe exactly as I believe to be loved here.
Bring your questions.
Bring your laughter.
Bring your mess.
Bring your keys.
Bring nothing at all if that’s what you have today.
The chair stays.
Because maybe freedom isn’t reaching some imaginary place where we never need anybody again.
Maybe freedom is being able to say:
This is the body I have today.
This is the life I have today.
This is what I can do today.
And—
I am still here.
🔑⚫️🏆🥂🥾🌎
Beloveds, what counted as a victory for you today—even if nobody else would understand why it mattered?
Tell me in the comments if you want to. Share this with somebody whose quiet victories deserve celebrating. Like it, follow/subscribe, and come back tomorrow. There will be another chair waiting.
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Note: One step. One step. One step. You are loved. You are NOT alone. Keep on being…YOU!
Unapologetically His.
Unapologetically yours.
