Category: God

ITS NEVER TIME TO QUIT.

🔑 IT’S NEVER TIME TO QUIT — PIECE ONE

SOMETIMES THE WAY YOU REFUSE TO QUIT IS BY REFUSING TO KEEP GOING THE SAME WAY.

Beloveds,

I want to start this new series by clearing something up.

When I say, “It’s never time to quit,” I do NOT mean you should keep pushing yourself until there is nothing left of you.

I do not mean you cannot stop.

I do not mean you cannot rest.

I do not mean you cannot change your mind.

I do not mean you cannot ask for help.

I do not mean you have to keep using a method that is hurting you just because it used to work.

And I definitely do not mean that exhaustion is evidence that you simply need to try harder.

👀

Nah, fam.

Sometimes you need to sit down.

🪑

Sometimes you need to sleep.

Sometimes you need to cry.

Sometimes you need to laugh.

Sometimes you need to admit, “This is not working.”

Sometimes you need somebody else.

Sometimes you need a completely different plan.

Sometimes you need to leave something alone for the rest of the day and come back tomorrow.

And sometimes the strongest declaration of “I am not quitting” sounds like:

“I cannot keep doing it THIS way.”

🔑

That distinction matters to me.

Because there have been times in my life when continuing did not look particularly impressive.

There was no inspirational soundtrack.

Nobody was standing nearby applauding.

There was no dramatic finish line waiting for me.

There was just another thing that needed to be figured out.

Another adjustment.

Another frustration.

Another moment when what used to be simple was not simple anymore.

Another moment when I had to decide whether changing the way I did something meant I had failed.

I am learning that it does not.

I can change the method without abandoning the mission.

I can change the pace without abandoning the journey.

I can accept help without surrendering my agency.

I can rest without surrendering my purpose.

I can have a difficult day without declaring that I have a difficult life.

I can say, “Enough for today,” without saying, “I am finished forever.”

Those are not the same sentences.

❤️‍🩹

Maybe you need to hear that too.

Maybe you have been calling yourself a quitter because you had to stop.

Maybe your body made you stop.

Maybe your finances made you reconsider the plan.

Maybe somebody disappointed you.

Maybe something you thought would work did not.

Maybe you tried again and it STILL did not work.

Maybe you are tired of beginning again.

Maybe you are embarrassed that you need help with something you once handled easily.

Maybe everybody around you seems to be moving while you feel stuck in the same place.

Maybe you are looking at somebody else’s progress and using it as evidence against your own.

Please put down that measuring stick.

🔑

You are allowed to continue differently.

You are allowed to move slowly.

You are allowed to crawl through one season and dance through another.

You are allowed to change directions.

You are allowed to learn.

You are allowed to adapt.

You are allowed to discover that the thing you thought was the destination was only one possible route.

And yes, beloved, you are allowed to REST.

Rest is not quitting.

Changing your strategy is not quitting.

Asking for help is not quitting.

Using a different tool is not quitting.

Taking longer than you expected is not quitting.

Starting again is not quitting.

Beginning from somewhere you never expected to be is not quitting.

Sometimes those things are exactly what continuing looks like.

👩🏿‍🦼

I know something now that I did not understand in quite the same way before my life changed.

“One step” does not always mean putting one foot in front of another.

Sometimes a step is a decision.

Sometimes a step is asking.

Sometimes a step is accepting.

Sometimes a step is trying something differently.

Sometimes a step is admitting that you are tired.

Sometimes a step is stopping long enough to recover enough strength for the next one.

And sometimes your step will not look like anybody else’s.

It still counts.

One step.

One step.

One step.

🔑

I also want to say something to the people who are exhausted by motivational language.

You know the kind.

KEEP GOING!

PUSH HARDER!

NO EXCUSES!

NEVER STOP!

👀

Listen.

Sometimes you absolutely need to stop.

Human beings are not machines.

And even machines overheat.

🤣

So this series is not going to be about pretending you are limitless.

You have limits.

So do I.

Some limits can change.

Some can be stretched.

Some need to be respected.

Some require accommodations.

Some require another person to come alongside us.

Some require us to grieve what we cannot do the way we once did it.

And none of that makes our lives less valuable.

None of that removes our purpose.

None of that means the story is over.

🔑

There is another sentence I want us to carry through this series:

The hard thing does not get to write the final sentence.

It may write a sentence.

It may write a paragraph.

It may even write an entire chapter you never wanted.

But it does not automatically get the ending.

You are still here.

And while you are here, there are still choices available to you.

There may be fewer choices than you wish you had.

They may not be the choices you expected.

But somewhere in what remains, there may still be a 🔑.

Maybe the key is help.

Maybe the key is rest.

Maybe the key is forgiveness.

Maybe the key is trying again.

Maybe the key is stopping something that is destroying you.

Maybe the key is beginning something you are terrified to begin.

Maybe the key is admitting that the old way is gone.

Maybe the key is discovering another way.

That is what I want us to explore together.

Not some shiny version of perseverance where everybody triumphs before the commercial break.

Real perseverance.

Messy perseverance.

Tired perseverance.

Wheelchair perseverance.

Starting-over perseverance.

“I have absolutely no idea what I am doing but apparently we are doing it anyway” perseverance.

🤣

That kind.

Because I know something about that kind.

And I suspect some of you do too.

So pull up your chair.

🪑

There is room here for the person who is certain.

There is room for the person who is questioning.

There is room for the person who believes as I do.

There is room for the person who does not.

There is room for the person who is hopeful.

There is room for the person who cannot find hope today.

You do not have to resolve everything before you belong here.

You do not have to agree with me before I care about you.

You do not have to become somebody else before your life matters to me.

You matter to me.

🔑

And Cassandra is going to keep saying that.

Because somebody needs to hear it until they can believe it for themselves.

This week we are going to talk about what refusing to quit can actually look like when you are tired.

When you are afraid.

When you are angry.

When you are disappointed.

When you need help.

When the original plan is gone.

When you have to begin again.

And when continuing looks nothing like you imagined it would.

We are not going to pretend any of it is easy.

We are going to look for the 🔑 anyway.

Because sometimes the way you refuse to quit is by refusing to keep going the same way.

And sometimes the bravest thing you can say is:

“This way isn’t working.”

Followed by:

“So let’s find another one.”

🔑

We fight on.

Not recklessly.

Not endlessly.

Not without rest.

Not alone.

But we fight on.

One step.

One step.

One step.

You are loved.

You are NOT alone.

Keep on being…YOU!

Asking for A Friend,

Cassandra

#YourLifeMattersToMe

Unapologetically His.

🔑

SUNDAY WITH CASSANDRA. IT ME!

SUNDAY WITH CASSANDRA.  IT ME!

📖 SUNDAY GRATITUDE JOURNAL WITH CASSANDRA 🪑🔑


Beloveds,


Come sit with me.
Yesterday, I invited you to the movies.


Today, I’m inviting you somewhere quieter.


Pull up your chair. 🪑
Bring your coffee.
Bring your tea.
Bring your questions.
Bring your faith.
Bring your doubts.
Bring your laughter.
Bring your grief.
Bring the parts of this week that made sense.


And bring the parts that absolutely did not.


You don’t have to clean yourself up before you sit down.
You don’t have to manufacture a testimony.
You don’t have to convince yourself that everything is wonderful.

And you certainly don’t have to pretend.


This is Sunday Gratitude Journal with Cassandra.
And I want us to begin with something important:


Gratitude is not pretending everything is good.
🔑


Sometimes gratitude is easy.
A beautiful morning.
A good meal.
A phone call.
A friend who checked on you.
A song that found you at exactly the right moment.
A movie that made you laugh.
A cup of coffee that deserved its own standing ovation. 👀🤣☕
Sometimes gratitude comes running toward us.


And sometimes?
Beloveds, we have to sit awhile before we can find it.
Sometimes we are grateful and grieving.
Grateful and disappointed.
Grateful and angry.
Grateful and exhausted.
Grateful and confused.
Grateful and still waiting for an answer.
Those things can exist in the same person.


At the same time.
That doesn’t make our gratitude fake.
It makes us human.
❤️‍🩹


And sometimes the truth is even simpler:
“I don’t know what I’m grateful for today.”
You can say that here too.


Pull up a chair.
🪑


I don’t want this journal to become another assignment you can fail.
I don’t want us performing positivity for one another.
I don’t want somebody reading this during one of the hardest weeks of their life and thinking everybody else found the secret to gratitude except them.


No.
Sometimes the journal begins with:


This week hurt.
This week disappointed me.
This week confused me.
This week exhausted me.
I wish some of what happened had never happened.
And I am still here.
Ma

ybe that’s where we begin.
🔑
I also want to make something very clear.
We do not have to be grateful FOR everything that happens to us in order to find something to be grateful for IN the life we are living.


There are things that happen in this world that I will never call good.
Cruelty is not good because somebody survived it.
Injustice is not good because somebody learned from it.


Loss does not become wonderful because eventually somebody found meaning.
Pain does not need a pretty bow around it.
Sometimes something was simply painful.
Sometimes something was simply wrong.


And gratitude does not require us to lie about that.
Maybe the gratitude is:
It hurt me.
I wish it had never happened.
And I am grateful it did not get the final word.


👀🔑
Now, you know Cassandra.
My faith is part of me.
I am going to talk about God.
I am going to pray.
I am going to tell you when I believe I saw God’s hand in something.


I am going to tell you when scripture carried me.
I am going to tell you when I prayed and believed God answered.
And I may also tell you about the times when I prayed and still had questions.


That is my chair.
But your chair is here too.
🪑🪑


You may believe exactly what I believe.
You may believe something different.
You may be questioning.
You may be uncertain.
You may not believe in God at all.
You do not have to borrow my beliefs to belong beside me.


If I say:
“This week, I saw God here…”
Maybe you say:
“This week, I saw kindness here.”
Maybe you call it humanity.
Community.
Love.
Resilience.
Goodness.
Chance.
Hope.


Maybe you don’t have a name for it yet.
We can tell the truth about what we believe without demanding that everybody sitting b

eside us use the same language.
🌎
That matters to me.
Because I don’t want a bigger table where everybody has to become Cassandra before they’re allowed to sit down.
🤣👀
Lord, one Cassandra is PLENTY.
🤣🤣🤣
I want a bigger table because the world is already full of different people.
Different stories.
Different beliefs.
Different questions.
Different histories.
Different wounds.
Different joys.
Different ways of understanding this strange, beautiful, difficult life.
And maybe we can learn something by sitting together.
🪑🌎🔑


So every Sunday, we’re going to open this journal.
Not because Cassandra has all the answers.
Please.
🤣


We’re opening it because reflection matters.
Sometimes life moves so quickly that we survive one thing and immediately start fighting the next.


We never stop long enough to ask:
What happened to me?
What helped me?
Who showed up?
What did I learn?
What surprised me?
What am I carrying that I don’t need anymore?
What deserves to come with me?
Where did I notice God?
Where did I notice goodness?
Where did I notice love?
Where did I notice myself becoming?
👀


Those are different questions.
And we don’t have to answer all of them.
This is not homework.
Pick a door.
🔑


Maybe today your journal says:
I am grateful for someone.
Maybe:
I am grateful for something small that brought me joy.
Maybe:
I am grateful I finally said no.
Maybe:
I am grateful I finally said yes.
Maybe:
I am grateful I changed my mind.
Maybe:
I am grateful somebody changed theirs.


Maybe:
I am grateful something ended.
Maybe:
I am grateful something began.
Maybe:
I am grateful I asked for help.
Maybe:
I am grateful somebody offered help before I had to ask.
Maybe:
I am grateful I laughed.
Maybe:
I am grateful I cried.
Maybe:
I am grateful I rested.


Maybe:
I am grateful I tried again.
Maybe:
I am grateful I stopped trying to force something that needed to be released.
Maybe:
I am grateful I discovered that a closed door wasn’t the end of the hallway.


🔑
And sometimes gratitude will surprise us.
We may discover we’re grateful for something we didn’t appreciate while it was happening.
A conversation.
A correction.
A delay.
A change of plans.
A stranger’s kindness.
Somebody saying:
“Come on.”
“Try again.”
“I believe you.”
“I’m still here.”
“Keep being weird.”


🤣🥰
Words can become keys.
People can become reminders that doors still exist.
And sometimes the person who handed us a key has absolutely no idea they did it.


That makes me wonder how many keys we’ve handed other people without knowing it.
👀🔑
Maybe somebody still remembers something kind you said ten years ago.
Maybe somebody kept going because you called.
Maybe somebody felt less alone because you sat beside them.
Maybe somebody believed they mattered because, for five minutes, you treated them like they did.


Maybe you forgot the entire conversation.
They didn’t.
That’s worth thinking about.
🌎


And gratitude isn’t a debt.
I need that written somewhere in this journal.
BIG.
🤣


You don’t owe happiness because somebody else has suffered more.
You don’t owe inspiration because people expect you to be strong.
You don’t owe anybody a cheerful version of your pain.


And you don’t owe Cassandra a beautiful answer in the comments.
If all you’ve got today is:
“I made it.”
Beloved, write that down.


If all you’ve got is:
“I rested.”
Write that down.
If all you’ve got is:
“I didn’t quit.”
Write that down.
If all you’ve got is:
“I don’t know yet.”
Leave some room on the page.


Maybe the answer hasn’t arrived.
📖
Sunday can hold an unfinished sentence.
So can you.
❤️‍🩹


For me, Sunday is also a chance to look toward God.
Not because every question has been answered.
Not because every difficulty disappeared.
Not because faith means I never struggle.


But because when I look back over my own life, I can identify places where I believe God was present even when I couldn’t understand what He was doing.


So part of my journal will sometimes simply say:
Thank You, God.
I don’t understand everything.
I don’t like everything.
I wouldn’t have chosen everything.
I still have questions.
But I can identify evidence that You were here.
🙏🏿


And if that isn’t your belief?
Your chair doesn’t disappear.
Tell me where YOU found goodness.
Tell me who showed up.
Tell me what helped.
Tell me what you learned.
Tell me what made you laugh.
Tell me what you’re carrying forward.


We don’t need identical answers to care about one another’s answers.
That’s part of the world I want us to practice building here.
🌎🪑


Saturday gives us something to experience together.
Sunday gives us room to reflect.
And Monday?
Monday we’ll get up—or roll up. 👩🏿‍🦼👀🤣


And we’ll keep moving.
Experience.
Reflection.
Movement.
🎬 → 📖 → 🔑


Maybe that’s part of our rhythm now.
We don’t rush from one thing to another without noticing what happened to us along the way.
We stop.
We look.
We learn.
We release what needs releasing.
We carry what deserves carrying.
And then we continue.
Not perfectly.
Not identically.
Together.
🌎


Before we close our first Sunday Gratitude Journal, I don’t want to give you twenty questions.
Just one.
Take it with you.
Sit with it.
Answer it publicly if you want.
Answer it privately if you don’t.
Write it somewhere.
Think about it.
Pray about it.
Laugh about it if your answer turns out to be something ridiculous. 🤣
Here it is:


🔑
WHAT IS ONE THING YOU’RE GRATEFUL MADE IT THROUGH THIS WEEK WITH YOU?
Maybe it’s your faith.
Maybe it’s your family.
Maybe it’s a friendship.
Maybe it’s your sense of humor.
Maybe it’s hope.
Maybe it’s your favorite coffee mug. ☕🤣


Maybe it’s a dream you thought you had lost.
Maybe it’s one tiny bit of courage.
Maybe it’s a question you’re finally willing to ask.
Maybe it’s your voice.
Maybe it’s you.


👀
Yeah.
You.
Maybe the thing that made it through this week with you…
was YOU.
And perhaps we don’t acknowledge that often enough.
You carried yourself through days nobody else completely saw.
You made decisions.
You changed decisions.
You endured disappointments.
You experienced little joys.
You got some things right.
You got some things spectacularly wrong.

🤣
You learned.
You rested.
You kept becoming.
And here you are.
Not finished.
Not required to be.
Still here.


🪑🔑
So come sit with me on Sundays.
Bring your gratitude when you have it.
Bring your questions when you don’t.
Bring your faith.
Bring your doubt.
Bring your laughter.
Bring your tears.
Bring the story exactly where it is.


There is room.
Believer.
Nonbeliever.
Certain.
Uncertain.
Whosoeverwill.
Come.
🪑🌎


I will tell you what I believe.
You can tell me what you believe.
We can listen.
We can learn.
We can disagree.
We can laugh.
We can be quiet.
And perhaps, somewhere in all of that, we’ll notice a few more reasons to be grateful that we’re sharing this complicated world with one another.
Different stories.
Same table.
ALL are keepers.


🔑🌎🪑
Welcome to Sunday Gratitude Journal with Cassandra.
The journal is open.
The chair is waiting.
And there is room on the page for you.


Cassandra
🔑 You matter to me.

MOVIE SATURDAY WITH CASSANDRA🌎🎬👩🏿‍🦼🍿🌎

MOVIE SATURDAY WITH CASSANDRA


Beloveds,


Pull up a chair.
I have something new for us.


Every Saturday, we’re going to the movies together.


Well…


Sort of.
You don’t have to buy a ticket.
You don’t have to get dressed.
You don’t have to leave your house.


And you certainly don’t have to pay movie-theater prices for popcorn.


Every Saturday at NOON, I’m opening the doors to our little Movie Saturday with Cassandra matinee.


I’ll bring a movie.
You bring you.
That’s it.


Some weeks we’ll laugh.
Some weeks we’ll cry.
Some weeks we’ll probably holler at the screen because somebody in the movie has apparently misplaced ALL their good sense.


Some movies may make us think about family, friendship, race, love, grief, faith, disability, second chances, forgiveness, education, aging, belonging, or what it means to become somebody we didn’t expect to become.


And some weeks?
Beloveds, we may just watch a good movie.


PERIODT.


Everything does not have to become homework.
Sometimes joy gets to simply be joy.

For our very first Movie Saturday, I had two movies in mind.
And My Bestie had opinions.
I had opinions.
There may have been a tiny disagreement.


Okay.


Maybe not tiny.


But after careful consideration, extensive deliberation, and the completely scientific process known as Cassandra picked the one she wanted to watch, we have a winner.



THIS WEEK’S MOVIE:


BACK TO SCHOOL MOM
Starring Kimberly Elise and Loretta Devine.


This one gives us plenty to work with:


Education.
Motherhood.
Second chances.
Unfinished business.
Dreams that didn’t disappear simply because life happened.
And becoming.



I already suspect we’re going to have some THOUGHTS.
But here’s something important about Movie Saturday:


You don’t have to see what I see.
You don’t have to like the character I like.
You might understand somebody I absolutely wanted to fuss at.


You might notice something I completely missed.
You might love the movie.
You might hate it.
You might change your mind halfway through.


So might I.
That’s part of the fun.
Different people can sit on the same couch, watch the same story, and walk away carrying completely different things.


That doesn’t have to separate us.
Sometimes it can help us understand one another better.


And everybody gets a chair here.
Believer.
Nonbeliever.
Questioning.
Certain.
Uncertain.
Movie lover.
Person who hasn’t watched a movie in six months.
Person who comes exclusively for the popcorn.
Whosoeverwill.
Come.


You don’t have to believe what I believe to belong with me.
You don’t have to agree with Cassandra to sit beside Cassandra.
That’s not what the chair is for.


The chair says:
Come as you are.
Watch when you can.
Laugh when something is funny.
Cry if something gets you.
Think if something makes you think.
Disagree when you disagree.
Change your mind if you change your mind.


And if all you get from today’s movie is two hours when life wasn’t asking something from you?
Beloved, that counts too.
❤️‍


Because maybe movies can do something else for us.
Maybe stories let us borrow somebody else’s eyes for a little while.
Maybe they help us recognize people we’ve misunderstood.
Maybe they remind us of somebody we love.


Maybe they show us something uncomfortable about ourselves.
Maybe they give us language for something we’ve felt but couldn’t quite name.
Maybe they make us laugh until our stomach hurts.


And maybe every once in a while, somewhere in somebody else’s story, we find a little  for our own.
That’s worth pulling up a chair for.


So grab your popcorn.
Grab your snacks.
Grab your blanket.
Grab the good chair before somebody else gets it. 藍
And come watch with me.
 SATURDAY MATINEE
12:00 PM

BACK TO SCHOOL MOM
https://youtu.be/XdhcIGUOpZk⁠


You don’t have to start precisely at noon.
Noon is just when Cassandra opens the theater doors.


Come when you can.
And after we’ve watched?
Ohhhh, Beloveds.
WE’RE GONNA TALK.

What did you notice?
Who did you understand?
Who got on your LAST nerve?
Did anybody surprise you?
Did anything make you reconsider something you thought you already knew?
Did you laugh?
Did you cry?
Did you yell at your television?


And perhaps most importantly:
Did you enjoy yourself?
Because we’re building something here that has room for serious conversations AND popcorn.
Faith AND questions.


Learning AND laughter.
Different stories.
Different perspectives.
Different people.
Same couch.
One amazing community.

Welcome to Movie Saturday with Cassandra.
The theater is open.
The popcorn is ready.
And there’s a chair here with your name on it.
Come watch a movie with me.

Cassandra
You matter to me.

Today…

It’s been a day. Be encouraged .

Cassandra

Today was…

*sigh*

Whew!!

It’s not the 2nd but still…

THE CHAIR.

PRE-NOTE: I have been really sick but fighting to get this to you unscathed. Pain and 🤒 won’t let go

Still, I fight on.  Hours late, but here. Will have to come back to add photos. Here goes nuttin…


📫 THE CHAIR STAYS. 🪑💜
Beloveds,

I need to tell you something about the chair.
Not a chair.


The chair.


The one sitting beside me.
The one I keep putting into these pictures.
The one that might look empty if you do not know what you are looking at.
It is not empty.
It has never been empty.

That chair is there on purpose.
When I first started imagining this little world we have been building together, I kept seeing a chair beside me.



Sometimes we are fishing.
Sometimes we are sitting near the water.
Sometimes we are traveling.
Sometimes we are laughing.
Sometimes I am tired.
Sometimes I am thinking.
Sometimes I am simply looking out at this beautiful, complicated 🌎 and wondering what God is teaching me next.

But there is a chair.


🪑
And the chair stays.
Because somewhere along the way, I realized what it meant.

The chair is an invitation.



It says:
Come sit with me.
You do not have to believe everything I believe.
You do not have to look like me.
You do not have to sound like me.
You do not have to vote like me.
You do not have to worship like me—or worship at all.



You do not have to understand everything about my life.
And I do not have to understand everything about yours.
You can still sit down.
💜
That matters to me.
Because too many people have spent their lives wondering whether there is a chair for them.
Some of us learned very early what it feels like to walk into a room and wonder:



Where am I supposed to sit?
Some know what it feels like to be left out.
Some know what it feels like to be misunderstood.
Some know what it feels like to be tolerated instead of welcomed.
Some know what it feels like to have people decide who you are before you ever get the opportunity to introduce yourself.



Some have been told directly that the table was not built for them.
And some were technically allowed at the table but were made to feel every single minute that somebody wished they were not there.
I know something about wanting to belong.
And maybe that is one reason this chair matters so much to me.
I cannot fix every table.
I cannot make every room welcoming.
I cannot force anybody to see another human being with compassion.



But I can decide what happens beside me.
And beside me?
There is a chair.

🪑
For the person who believes.
For the person who doubts.
For the person who has questions.
For the person who is angry.
For the person who is grieving.
For the person who has made a mess.
For the person rebuilding after the mess.


For the person who feels strong today.
For the person barely hanging on.
For the person everybody notices.

And especially for the person who has gotten used to being overlooked.
Sit down.

You do not have to perform first.
You do not have to explain yourself into worthiness.
You do not have to make yourself smaller so I can feel bigger.
And I do not have to disappear so you can belong either.
There is room for both of us.



That may be one of the most important things I am learning.
Making room for you does not require erasing me.
And being fully me does not require pushing you out of the chair.
We can be different.
We can disagree.
We can ask hard questions.
We can correct one another.
We can learn.
We can laugh.



We can occasionally get on one another’s nerves. 🤣
We can even have to repair something we broke between us.
And still—the chair stays.

🪑💜
Because belonging cannot mean, “You may stay as long as you never disappoint me.”


That is not belonging.
That is probation.
Love has to be sturdier than that.
Grace has to be bigger than that.
Community has to be brave enough for that.
And Lord knows, I am still learning how to do it.


I am learning that loving people does not mean pretending harm did not happen.
I am learning that forgiveness does not mean abandoning boundaries.
I am learning that listening does not require surrendering my own voice.
I am learning that disagreement does not automatically make somebody my enemy.



And I am learning that sometimes the bravest thing we can do after something has gone wrong is look at the chair and say:

No.
Leave it there.
We are going to try again.
💜


That is the world I want my love to keep showing.

Not a perfect world.
Not a world where everybody suddenly agrees.
Not a world where difference disappears.
I do not want that world.
I want this one.



A world full of colors.
Cultures.
Accents.
Bodies.
Abilities.
Stories.
Questions.
Faith.
Doubt.
Music.
Laughter.
Tears.


People still becoming.
People still learning.
People still getting some act right. 🤣
People still discovering that somebody else’s humanity does not threaten their own.


And wherever I am in that world—
Paris.
Chicago.
At the ocean.
At the Grand Canyon.
In a library.
On a sidewalk.
Fishing somewhere with absolutely no idea whether I am doing it correctly. 🎣🤣
There will be another chair.

🪑


Maybe sometimes somebody will be sitting in it.
Maybe sometimes it will appear empty.
But now you know.
It isn’t empty.
It is holding space.
For conversation.
For possibility.
For reconciliation.
For curiosity.
For friendship.
For somebody I have not met yet.


Maybe even for you.
So when you see that chair  show itself from now on, do not ask:
Who forgot to sit there?
Remember what it means.


It means:
YOU ARE WELCOME HERE.
Pull up a seat.
Bring your story.
Bring your questions.
Bring your whole complicated self.
I will bring mine too.

We do not have to become the same person to sit beside one another.
We just have to remember that the person in the other chair is a human being whose life matters.


And Beloveds—your life matters to me.
So wherever this journey takes us next, I already know one thing.
The scenery will change.
I will change.
You will change.
We will learn things.
We will unlearn things.
We will laugh.
We may cry.


We might even have to move the furniture around sometimes. 🤣

But that chair?
THE CHAIR STAYS.
🪑💜
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra

I have tried since after midnight to have this scheduled for 6:30.  God and life had other plans. Be encouraged… RISE

#YourLifeMattersToMe
Note: One step. One step. One step. You are loved. You are ¹ alone. Keep on being…YOU!
Unapologetically His. ❤️

THE

WEDNESDAY 🌎

🤣🗺️🛣️🔑 WEDNESDAY NOON

APPARENTLY, THIS IS THE PLAN. 🤣

Beloveds,

I have reviewed the itinerary.

I have examined the map.

I have consulted the available evidence.

And I have one question:

WHO PLANNED THIS?!

😭🤣

Because I KNOW this cannot possibly be the route I selected.

I distinctly remember requesting something smooth.

Maybe a little sunshine.

A reasonable incline.

Snacks.

Adequate bathroom facilities.

And preferably NO surprise character development before lunch.

Yet here we are.

🗺️

PLAN A ➡️ CLOSED.

PLAN B ⬅️ UNDER CONSTRUCTION.

PLAN C ⤴️ APPARENTLY REQUIRES EQUIPMENT.

PLAN D ⤵️ Why are we even going down there?!

And then there’s one handwritten sign leaning sideways beside the road:

PROCEED SOMEHOW.

Sir.

Ma’am.

Beloved.

That is not a direction.

🤣🤣🤣

Life has an absolutely fascinating habit of changing the itinerary without consulting the traveler.

You packed for one destination and somehow ended up somewhere requiring an entirely different wardrobe.

You practiced the speech and nobody asked the question.

You prepared the answer and life changed the test.

You organized Monday beautifully and Tuesday arrived carrying a folding chair, three unidentified problems and absolutely no paperwork.

😭

And sometimes all you can do is stand there looking at the situation like:

You tried it.

Because I might be on the detour—

but I still have some agency around here.

🔑

I can stop.

I can rest.

I can ask questions.

I can ask for help.

I can refuse foolishness.

I can change direction.

I can laugh.

I can cry.

I can sit down.

I can get back up.

I can reconsider.

I can say, Nah, fam.

I can take two seats if necessary.

I can take THREE if somebody brings snacks.

🤣

And perhaps most importantly:

I do not have to insult myself because the road got difficult.

The map can be ridiculous without ME being ridiculous.

The situation can be frustrating without ME being a failure.

The plan can fall apart without ME falling apart with it.

And even when I do fall apart a little?

Okay.

Apparently that was on today’s itinerary too.

❤️

We’ll gather the pieces.

We’ll pull up a chair.

We’ll get some water.

We’ll find somebody trustworthy.

We’ll breathe.

We’ll laugh when we’re ready.

And then we’ll decide what belongs to us next.

Because yesterday’s plan does not own today’s person.

🔑🔑🔑

Now, my faith tells me God can work with a detour.

Actually, if I read my Bible correctly, He has quite a history of meeting people in places that were definitely NOT on their original itinerary.

Wilderness.

Boats.

Prisons.

Roads.

Storms.

Gardens.

Mountains.

Dinner tables.

And more than a few situations where somebody probably wanted to ask:

Lord…THIS is the plan?

👀🤣🙏🏿

I don’t always understand Him.

I don’t pretend to.

But I trust Him enough to keep walking when I can, sitting when I need to, and listening along the way.

And if faith isn’t part of your map?

Come sit down anyway.

Atheist.

Agnostic.

Questioning.

Believing.

Not believing.

Still deciding.

Never planning to decide.

You do not need my theology to understand a detour.

Life has handed every kind of human being at least one map that made absolutely NO sense.

🌎❤️

So maybe we can meet each other there.

Not pretending our roads are identical.

Not demanding everybody travel the way we travel.

Just saying:

Ohhhh. Your map got weird too?

🤣

Pull up a chair.

Now listen, Beloveds.

If you are standing somewhere today thinking,

This was absolutely NOT the plan…

Welcome.

Apparently, we have a club.

There are no dues.

The dress code is whatever you managed to put on.

Attendance is optional.

Snacks are strongly encouraged.

And our official transportation policy is:

Whatever gets you there.

Feet.

Wheels.

Cane.

Walker.

Crutches.

Somebody’s arm.

A chair.

A pause.

A crawl.

A prayer.

A good friend.

One stubborn little step.

However you move through this world—

your movement belongs to you.

💯🔑

And if somebody comes along pointing at your detour and explaining how THEY would have traveled it?

Wonderful.

Hand them the map.

🤣🤣🤣

Go ahead.

Since you know everything.

You drive.

I’ll be over here with my snacks.

😭🤣

Beloveds, sometimes encouragement sounds profound.

Sometimes it sounds like scripture.

Sometimes it sounds like somebody whispering, Keep going.

And sometimes encouragement is simply looking at the absolute foolishness happening around you and deciding:

This situation will NOT steal every laugh I have left.

That laugh belongs to me.

That joy belongs to me.

That choice belongs to me.

🔑

So no, this may not have been Plan A.

Frankly, I’m beginning to suspect Plan A left the group chat several exits ago.

🤣

But I’m still here.

You’re still here.

There is still road ahead.

And apparently—

THIS IS THE PLAN.

Or at least this is where we are.

And HERE?

We can work with 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 your life has ever looked at your carefully prepared plans and said, “That’s cute” 🤣, come tell us about your detour. Comment, share this with somebody whose map has gotten weird, like it, subscribe/follow, and come back for some daily encouragement.

And somebody PLEASE bring snacks.

Apparently we’re taking the scenic route. 😭🤣🗺️🛣️

MOM, WOMBIE, LET’S LOVE THE WORLD TOGETHER. 🌎❤️‍🔥

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

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.

🔑🌎😭💔🤯🥰

🌅🔑🛣️ 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. 🪑❤️

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.