BELOVEDS, YOU CAN HAVE MY FLOWERS. I DON’T NEED THEM ANYMORE.
❣️💟💕💞💓💗💛🧡🖤💙💚🤍🩶🤎💜❤️❤️🩹💖💝💘💘🧩🧸
Beloveds,
You can have MY flowers.
I don’t need them anymore.
🌹🌷🌻
No, really.
Take them.
Take every last one.
Give them to somebody who can smell them.
Give them to somebody who can hold them.
Give them to somebody who needs to know today that somebody thought about them.
Give them to somebody who has been sitting quietly wondering whether anybody sees them.
Give them to somebody who is still here.
❤️
Because I’ve been thinking about flowers.
We give so many of them when somebody dies.
Beautiful arrangements.
Lilies.
Roses.
Cards.
Ribbons.
Rooms filled with color.
People stand beside somebody who can no longer hear them and say some of the most beautiful things they have ever said about that person.
She was wonderful.
He changed my life.
She always made me laugh.
He was there when nobody else was.
I wish I had told her.
I hope he knew.
And Beloveds—
sometimes I want to ask:
Did we tell them while they were here?
👀
Not as condemnation.
Not as guilt.
Because life gets busy.
People get tired.
Relationships get complicated.
Sometimes we assume there will be another opportunity.
Another phone call.
Another Christmas.
Another Tuesday.
Another March.
❤️🩹
I know something about March.
That’s why I’m not interested in shaming anybody for what they didn’t know yesterday.
I’m interested in what we can do today.
And today—
somebody is still here.
🌎
So you can have my flowers.
Give mine away early.
Give them before anybody has to stand at a microphone and explain what somebody meant.
Give them before the obituary.
Before the memorial.
Before everybody suddenly remembers the nicest thing they ever thought about somebody.
If you love somebody—
tell them.
If somebody changed your life—
tell them.
If somebody helped you survive something—
tell them.
If somebody makes this ridiculous world a little easier for you to live in—
tell them.
And don’t only tell the people everybody expects you to tell.
Tell the teacher.
Tell the nurse.
Tell the neighbor.
Tell the friend who answered at 2:00 in the morning.
Tell the person who made you laugh on the day you thought laughter had left you.
Tell the person who quietly made room.
Tell the person who pulled up another chair.
🪑🪑
Tell somebody:
You mattered to me today.
Because flowers don’t have to be flowers.
👀
Maybe somebody’s flowers are:
a phone call.
A sandwich.
A ride.
A handwritten note.
An hour without looking at your phone.
A ridiculous meme.
A prayer.
A meal.
A hug.
An apology.
A boundary respected.
A name remembered.
A seat saved.
A door held open.
A message that simply says:
I thought about you.
💐
Maybe flowers are attention.
Maybe flowers are presence.
Maybe flowers are seeing somebody while they’re still standing in front of you.
And maybe that’s why I don’t need mine anymore.
Because I’ve been getting mine.
❤️
Not necessarily roses.
Not necessarily bouquets.
I’ve received love.
I’ve received kindness.
I’ve received people sitting beside me.
I’ve received laughter.
I’ve received prayers.
I’ve received people who stayed.
I’ve received people who saw me.
I’ve received people who let me be loud.
I’ve received people who let me be quiet.
I’ve received people who loved me when I was strong.
I’ve received people who loved me when strong wasn’t available.
I’ve received flowers that never grew from soil.
💝
And Beloveds—
that’s enough.
So if someday somebody thinks:
I wish I could give Cassandra flowers…
Nah, fam.
Find somebody living.
🌎
Give them mine.
Take that bouquet somewhere else.
Walk into a nursing home.
Visit somebody nobody visits.
Thank somebody who thinks nobody noticed.
Call somebody you’ve been meaning to call.
Tell your sister.
Tell your brother.
Tell your friend.
Tell your Wombie.
Tell somebody who has been carrying everybody else.
Tell somebody whose name rarely gets called unless somebody needs something.
Tell somebody:
I see you.
👀❤️
And don’t wait until they’re extraordinary.
Don’t wait until they accomplish something enormous.
Don’t wait until they survive something terrible.
Don’t wait until the whole world applauds them.
Don’t wait until they’re gone.
Love ordinary people on ordinary Tuesdays.
That’s where life actually happens.
❤️
Maybe we’ve confused flowers with reward.
You don’t have to earn tenderness.
You don’t need a tragedy before somebody checks on you.
You don’t need an accomplishment before somebody celebrates you.
You don’t need to almost disappear before somebody finally notices you’re here.
Beloved—
being here is enough.
😭❤️🩹
That’s one of the things I want us to learn together.
Give people their humanity before their obituary.
Give people their tenderness before their memorial.
Give people their gratitude before their tribute.
Give people their attention before their absence teaches you to pay attention.
And when somebody gives you flowers—
literal or otherwise—
receive them.
Don’t immediately explain why you don’t deserve them.
Don’t swat love away because receiving makes you uncomfortable.
Don’t make somebody argue you into believing you matter.
Sometimes the assignment is not giving.
Sometimes the assignment is:
open your hands.
💐🤲🏿
Receive.
Then when your hands are full—
give some away.
❤️➡️❤️
That’s how love moves.
Not because anybody owes us.
Not because kindness is a transaction.
Not because I loved you, therefore you must love me exactly the way I demand.
No.
Love moves because love has somewhere to go.
We talked about that already.
Love still has somewhere to go.
🌎
And I want mine moving.
Don’t pile it around me someday.
Move it.
Take whatever love you were going to save for later and spend some of it while somebody can still receive it.
Spend it recklessly on kindness.
Spend it wisely on presence.
Spend it courageously on telling the truth.
Spend it gently on somebody grieving.
Spend it quietly on somebody who doesn’t need an audience.
Spend it across lines somebody told you shouldn’t be crossed.
Race.
Country.
Language.
Age.
Ability.
Religion.
No religion.
Whatever.
Human being.
Start there.
❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🖤🤎🤍🩶
And yes, boundaries still matter.
Love does not require returning somewhere unsafe.
Love does not require allowing somebody to harm you.
Love does not mean disappearing yourself.
Sometimes the flower is kindness.
Sometimes the flower is forgiveness.
Sometimes the flower is distance.
Sometimes the flower is:
I love you, and I cannot stay here.
Love doesn’t have to lie in order to call itself love.
❤️🩹
But wherever love can safely go—
send it.
Because there is somebody alive right now who thinks nobody notices.
Somebody who believes they are too much.
Somebody who believes they are not enough.
Somebody sitting alone.
Somebody grieving.
Somebody scared.
Somebody laughing loudly because joy finally came back.
Somebody starting over.
Somebody barely holding on to hope.
Somebody who doesn’t need your solution.
They might just need another human being to say:
Your life matters to me.
💝
That’s the flower.
Not the rose.
Not the ribbon.
Not the arrangement.
The knowing.
Knowing somebody saw you.
Knowing somebody remembered.
Knowing somebody was glad you existed.
Knowing somebody made room.
Knowing somebody didn’t require you to become somebody else before they loved you.
Knowing there was another chair.
🪑🪑
Beloveds,
that’s what I want.
Not more flowers around death.
More flowers around life.
🌻🌎❤️
Flowers at breakfast.
Flowers on random Wednesdays.
Flowers because somebody made it through Tuesday.
Flowers because somebody tried again.
Flowers because somebody finally rested.
Flowers because somebody spoke.
Flowers because somebody survived.
Flowers because somebody laughed.
Flowers because somebody simply woke up this morning and is still here.
No occasion required.
You are the occasion.
👀❤️🔥
And maybe somebody reading this has been waiting for their flowers.
Come here.
🪑
I see you.
I may not know your name.
I may never know your story.
But you’re here.
And for this little moment, we’re sharing the same world.
🌎
So take one of mine.
🌹
Actually—
take the whole bouquet.
💐
I don’t need to hoard love to know I was loved.
I don’t need every flower with my name on it.
I would rather know somebody received one in time.
While they could smell it.
While they could smile.
While they could roll their eyes and say, “What is THIS for?”
While they could put it in some ridiculous vase that doesn’t match anything.
While they could text somebody a picture.
While they could know:
Somebody thought of me today.
🥰
That’s enough for me.
So Beloveds—
you can have MY flowers.
Give them away.
Give them now.
Give them while somebody can receive them.
And when somebody hands you yours—
take them.
💐❤️
We are still here.
Our job is still not done.
Love still has somewhere to go.
So let’s send it.
One person.
One kindness.
One flower.
One step.
One step.
One step.
🌎❤️🔥
You are loved.
You are NOT alone.
Keep on being…YOU!
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Category: Inspiration
Forgive them, Cassandra, God said to me
God: Forgive him.
Me: He said some terribly hurtful words.
God: I know. Do this for me.
Me: He said some blatantly racist things to his supposed friend!!🥾😡
God: I know. Forgive for they know not what they do.
Me: He KNEW. HE CHOSE THOSE AWFUL WORDS!!😠✋️
God: How will he ever learn and grow lest you teach?
Me: I’m tired, God. Tired of having to teach folks how to not treat my black skin as a crime!! Did you know I can’t show anger or any negative emotions with black emojis as they default to the yellow, considered white, color pallet..
I can
💃🏿😠🫵🏾🫴🏿🫶🏿🤲🏿🙆🏿♀️🧏🏿♀️👩🏿🎓👸🏿👩🏿🦼🏃🏿♀️🛀🏿
Yet, I can’t be upset as MY BLACK SELF. I’M NOT ASHAMED TO BE ME. I LOVE ME SOME ME!!
God: I know. Forgiveness is asked by ME. Do I not forgive you?
Me: Wellll …
God: Forgive. My grace IS sufficient for you.
Me:
God: Thank you. Be encouraged.
*sigh*
still hurt,
Cassandra
Help me be loud:
REAL TALK: DESPISE NOT SMALL BEGINNINGS, BELOVEDS.👘🦺🥾👟🥿👞🩴👢🩰👡⛑️🔌🕯️🔎🖌️🖋️📢
REAL TALK: DESPISE NOT SMALL BEGINNINGS, BELOVEDS.
👘🦺🥾👟🥿👞🩴👢🩰👡⛑️🔌🕯️🔎🖌️🖋️📢
Beloveds,
Real talk.
Despise not small beginnings.
“For who hath despised the day of small things?”
— Zechariah 4:10 KJV
I want to talk about your hard.
Not motivational-poster hard.
Not the kind somebody can wrap up in three sentences and put underneath a pretty picture of a sunrise.
I mean HARD hard.
The thing you wish had never happened.
The thing you didn’t choose.
The thing that changed your plans.
Your family.
Your finances.
Your relationships.
Your body.
Your work.
Your home.
Your confidence.
Your expectations.
Maybe your understanding of who you were going to be.
The hard that makes something which used to require almost no thought suddenly require strategy.
🦺
This morning, mine looked like a kimono.
👘
That’s where this started.
Getting dressed.
Something ordinary.
Except ordinary things aren’t always ordinary anymore.
I had to figure it out.
Which hand?
Which direction?
How do I pull this?
What can I brace against?
What happens if I approach it from another angle?
Try.
Adjust.
Try again.
And somewhere in all that work, I realized:
I couldn’t have done this hard right-handed.
Ironically.
🤯
The hand I once depended upon automatically might actually have made what I was doing harder.
Life changed the assignment.
So somewhere along the way, without a ceremony announcing it, I had learned another way.
And I almost missed it.
Because that’s what we do sometimes.
We compare today’s small accomplishment with yesterday’s normal.
And then we say:
“I only…”
👀
I only got dressed.
I only made one phone call.
I only filled out one application.
I only walked that far.
I only cleaned one room.
I only wrote one paragraph.
I only saved a few dollars.
I only made it through today.
I only asked for help.
I only prayed a few words.
I only.
Two tiny words can take something that actually happened and immediately prosecute it for everything that didn’t.
🔎
Maybe “I only” is one of the languages of despising small things.
Because:
“I did this.”
becomes:
“I only did this.”
And suddenly the thing that required something from you doesn’t count because it wasn’t bigger.
Beloveds,
stop cross-examining your progress.
😭
Why did it take so long?
Why couldn’t I do more?
Why can somebody else do this easily?
Why am I still here?
Shouldn’t I be farther by now?
Does this even count?
Yes.
It counts.
Not because we’re going to exaggerate it.
Small is still small.
An inch is not secretly a mile.
But an inch forward isn’t standing still either.
Small describes size.
It does not determine value.
A seed is small.
A key is small.
A stitch is small.
A spark is small.
A signature may be only a few inches of ink.
A whispered “yes” can change a life.
A whispered “no” can save one.
Small has never meant powerless.
🕯️
And small beginnings aren’t always cute.
Sometimes they’re downright offensive when you remember having more.
Starting from zero is one thing.
Beginning again while remembering one hundred is another.
Ten steps can mean something very different when your body remembers running.
One paid bill can feel painfully small when you remember financial security.
One quiet evening alone can hurt when you remember a full house.
One sentence can feel tiny when words once came effortlessly.
Sometimes the small beginning hurts precisely because you remember the building that used to stand there.
🦺
That’s the world of Zechariah.
Rebuilding.
Construction.
Foundations.
Something isn’t finished yet.
And construction sites aren’t particularly inspirational-looking.
🤣
Dust.
Exposed wires.
Tools everywhere.
Things pulled apart.
Things that worked yesterday temporarily don’t work today.
Sometimes the place looks worse because work has begun.
Someone unfamiliar with construction might walk in and say:
“Look at this mess.”
The builder may look at the same room and say:
“Look at what we’re building.”
Both people are looking at the same unfinished place.
🔎
So maybe the question isn’t:
“How do I make my hard look beautiful?”
Maybe it’s:
“Since I am here, what can I build from here?”
😭🦺🥾
Notice what I did NOT say.
I didn’t say the terrible thing had to happen.
I didn’t say everything happens for a reason.
I didn’t say you should be grateful for devastation.
I didn’t say suffering automatically makes people stronger.
Some things hurt.
Some things are unfair.
Some losses remain losses.
Some things happened that should not have happened.
You are allowed to say:
I wish this had never happened.
AND—
Since I am here, what can I build from here?
Those truths don’t have to fight each other.
You can grieve the old building while laying bricks for something new.
🧱😭
Rebuilding does not require disrespecting what was lost.
And faith doesn’t require lying.
Sometimes people tell us to “look on the bright side.”
I want to offer something sturdier:
Look accurately.
🔎
What hurts?
What was lost?
What remains?
What can I change?
What can’t I change today?
What requires action?
What requires patience?
What requires grief?
What requires rest?
What requires another person’s hands?
What requires professional help?
What am I trying to solve today that doesn’t actually belong to today?
And:
What is my next faithful move?
🥾👟🥿👞🩴👢🩰👡
Not everybody’s move looks alike.
We’ve been saying:
One step. One step. One step.
But everybody doesn’t step the same way.
Somebody’s step is walking.
Somebody’s is rolling.
Somebody’s is reaching.
Somebody’s is speaking.
Somebody’s is listening.
Somebody’s is making the appointment.
Somebody’s is keeping the appointment.
Somebody’s is taking the medication.
Somebody’s is setting the boundary.
Somebody’s is leaving.
Somebody’s is staying.
Somebody’s is asking for help.
Somebody’s is finally accepting help.
Somebody’s is opening the curtains.
Somebody’s is turning the phone on.
Somebody else’s is turning the phone OFF.
Somebody’s is trying again.
And somebody’s beginning today may simply be:
surviving long enough to begin later.
😭
Movement is larger than walking.
And everybody’s one step does not wear the same shoe.
🥾👟🥿👞🩴👢🩰👡
Please don’t let somebody who has never worn your shoes convince you that your step doesn’t count.
They don’t know what those shoes weigh.
They don’t know what it took for you to get here.
And if you aren’t standing at all?
They still don’t know what it took for you to get HERE.
🫵🏾
But we need to go deeper than movement.
Because even “take one step” can become cruel if we’re careless.
What about the day you cannot?
What about the setback?
The relapse?
The rejection?
The grief anniversary?
The day you tried and failed?
The day you called and received bad news?
The day you asked for help and nobody came?
The day the candle went out?
🕯️
Does your life still matter then?
YES.
📢
Please hear me.
YOUR LIFE DOES NOT BEGIN MATTERING WHEN YOU BEGIN MOVING.
😭😭😭
Before the comeback.
Before the breakthrough.
Before the progress anybody can measure.
Before you make meaning from what happened.
Before you figure out what comes next.
Before the testimony.
Before you put on the kimono.
👘
Your life matters while the kimono is still lying on the bed and you don’t have enough in you to put it on.
Your value is not compensation for productivity.
You don’t have to earn your humanity by overcoming something.
You don’t owe anybody a heroic story.
You don’t have to turn tragedy into inspiration.
You don’t have to discover the purpose of your pain by Friday.
🤣😭
Sometimes being here is enough for today.
And some hard requires something else entirely:
HELP.
⛑️⛑️⛑️
Some hard isn’t yours to overcome by yourself.
Some hard needs treatment.
Some hard needs to be escaped.
Some hard needs to be reported.
Some hard needs to be grieved.
Some hard needs to be shared.
Some hard needs rest.
Some hard needs expertise.
Some hard needs somebody trained for exactly the place where you find yourself.
A doctor.
A therapist.
A social worker.
An attorney.
A financial counselor.
A teacher.
A pastor.
A support group.
A friend.
A neighbor.
A whole team.
⛑️
Sometimes the next step when you’re drowning isn’t:
“Swim harder.”
Sometimes it is:
CALL SOMEBODY WITH A ROPE.
📢
Small beginnings do not mean small help.
You may take one tiny step while receiving enormous support.
There is no shame in that equation.
Human beings were never meant to do every hard thing alone.
Sometimes somebody else holds the flashlight while you work.
🕯️
Somebody carries the toolbox.
🦺
Somebody knows the terrain.
🥾
Somebody calls for help.
⛑️
Somebody makes the first mark.
🖋️
Tomorrow the roles may reverse.
That’s not failure.
That’s community.
🌎
And sometimes you don’t have enough light to see what happens next.
🔌
The power is out.
You wanted daylight.
You wanted answers.
You wanted the whole plan.
You wanted to know how this ends.
Instead, you have this little flicker.
🕯️
Beloveds:
A candle is not a failed sun.
😭
Stop requiring one tiny candle to illuminate your entire future.
Bring it close.
What can you see from here?
Maybe enough for one decision.
One conversation.
One boundary.
One meal.
One application.
One appointment.
One prayer.
One hour.
One breath.
One step.
Use the light you have without lying about the darkness.
🕯️
Faith is not denial.
Hope is not dishonesty.
Gratitude is not amnesia.
Acceptance is not approval.
Rest is not quitting.
Help is not weakness.
And a setback does not necessarily erase everything that came before it.
Maybe you don’t have electricity today.
🔌
Okay.
Find the candle.
🕯️
Can’t see the whole room?
Don’t pretend you can.
See enough for here.
🔎
And don’t despise the flicker because you asked God for the sun.
😭☀️
Then maybe tomorrow there is another little bit of light.
Another step.
Another brick.
Another mark.
🖋️
And that brings me to beginnings themselves.
We say “starting over” as though everything before this moment vanished.
But beginning again does not mean your first beginning meant nothing.
You aren’t necessarily standing here empty-handed.
You may carry knowledge.
Experience.
Memory.
Discernment.
Skills.
Scars.
Boundaries.
Love.
Questions.
Faith.
Fear.
Maybe wisdom you wish had cost less.
😭
A new beginning does not require you to erase the old story.
The old pages remain.
You cannot crawl backward into yesterday and change the ink that’s already dry.
But there may still be blank space.
🖋️
Not an entirely blank life.
Just some space.
One line.
One choice.
One response.
One morning.
One breath.
Maybe a small beginning is simply:
the first mark you are able to make in a space life left blank.
🖋️
And sometimes life isn’t even that linear.
That’s where the paintbrush comes in.
🖌️
Healing isn’t arithmetic.
Pain + effort + faith does not always equal the neat outcome we expected.
Sometimes healing looks more like art.
You paint.
You stop.
You scrape something away.
You discover a color doesn’t work.
You make a mark you didn’t intend.
You step away because you’re too close to see what you’re making.
You come back.
You leave one corner unfinished.
You discover that something you thought was ruined belongs in the picture after all.
🖌️
You can be creating while grieving.
Building while resting.
Believing while questioning.
Laughing while hurting.
Grateful and angry.
Hopeful and tired.
Human beings can hold more than one truth at once.
And maybe maturity isn’t forcing one truth to murder the other.
👀
Maybe today I am struggling.
AND
I am still here.
Maybe I miss what was.
AND
I am learning what is.
Maybe this is unfair.
AND
I still have choices within it.
Maybe I need help.
AND
receiving help doesn’t make me less.
Maybe I’m not where I want to be.
AND
I don’t have to despise where I am.
😭
Which brings us back to that dangerous little word:
only.
Maybe today you only—
No.
Scratch that.
🖋️
Maybe today you did.
Period.
You got dressed.
You called.
You rested.
You cried.
You prayed.
You tried.
You stopped.
You asked.
You received.
You survived.
You began.
Or maybe you didn’t begin today at all.
And your life still matters.
📢❤️🔥
Because a beginning doesn’t create your worth.
Your worth is what makes the beginning worth protecting.
😭😭😭
So what is the opposite of despising a small beginning?
It isn’t necessarily throwing it a party.
Sometimes you won’t feel like celebrating.
Sometimes the beginning hurts too much for that.
Sometimes you simply:
honor it enough to continue.
🧱
You don’t have to throw the brick a parade.
Lay the next brick when you can.
And when you can’t?
Rest beside the wall.
Receive help.
Let somebody hold the light.
⛑️🕯️
The unfinished building does not get to vote on whether the builder has value.
And neither does your unfinished life.
😭
So yes.
This morning mine happened to begin with a kimono.
👘
Something small.
Something ordinary.
Something nobody passing by would have known required work.
They would have seen clothes.
I knew the work.
🦺
And that’s why I am telling you:
Stop requiring other people to understand how hard your small thing was before you allow yourself to honor it.
They weren’t there.
You were.
God was.
🙏🏿
Small does not mean meaningless.
A candle is not a failed sun.
Use the light you have without lying about the darkness.
Movement is larger than walking.
Everybody’s one step does not wear the same shoe.
Small beginnings do not mean small help.
Your life does not begin mattering when you begin moving.
And Beloveds—
don’t despise your beginning because it doesn’t look impressive enough to somebody standing outside your hard.
🔎🕯️
Look accurately.
Ask for help when you need it.
⛑️
Pick up the tool you can hold.
🦺
Wear whatever shoe fits your journey.
🥾👟🥿👞🩴👢🩰👡
Make the mark you can make.
🖋️
Paint what you can paint.
🖌️
Use the light you have.
🕯️
And if all you can do today is remain here until another beginning becomes possible—
Beloved, remain.
❤️🔥
Your beginning does not have to impress us.
Your hard does not have to become inspirational for us.
And your life does not have to become easier before it becomes precious.
📢
DESPISE NOT SMALL BEGINNINGS, BELOVEDS.
👘🦺🥾🕯️⛑️🖋️
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
One step. One step. One step.
And remember:
Sometimes the step is resting long enough to take another.
You are loved.
You are NOT alone.
Keep on being…YOU!
Help me be loud:
IT ME!
Beloveds,
Before there was a blog, there was me.
I need to start there. Because if I’m going to introduce myself—really introduce myself—I don’t want to begin with a website.
I don’t want to begin with something that happened to me. I don’t want to begin with a list of things I have survived, things I have accomplished, or things somebody else might use to explain who I am.
I was me looooooong before I was a blog.
I was a little girl who loved words. I remember sitting in doctors’ offices reading Reader’s Digest. And no, I wasn’t just some bored little kid grabbing whatever happened to be sitting on the table. I was drawn to it.
I loved the motivational things. The encouraging things. The words that could make somebody think differently, laugh unexpectedly, or feel a little better than they did before they read them.
I loved Quotable Quotes. I loved Life in These United States. I loved Laughter, the Best Medicine.
Long before I had a blog, I was collecting words. Long before I had readers, I was reading.
Long before I knew exactly what I would do with my voice, I was listening for voices that made life a little lighter, a little wiser, a little more hopeful.
And somewhere along the way, I started writing too. I’ve written all my life.
Writing wasn’t invented for me by a website. It wasn’t something I suddenly discovered because life became difficult and I needed somewhere to put my thoughts.
Words were already mine. Encouragement was already mine.
For a long time, I have tried to READ something, WRITE something, and LISTEN to something positive every day.
Feed your mind something worth carrying. Put something worthwhile back into the world. Listen for something that reminds you there is still goodness here.
That rhythm did not suddenly become meaningful because my circumstances changed.
It was already mine.
And then there was another dream.
I wanted to be a motivational speaker.
There was just one teeny-tiny problem: I was terrified of public speaking. 🤣 Apparently my heart had ambitions my nerves had not approved.
But I wanted the microphone anyway. 🎤
I wanted words to do out loud what I already knew they could do on a page. I wanted to encourage people. I wanted to speak into somebody’s life and leave something there that might help them keep going.
Eventually, I did speak. I had to give a speech to graduate. A teacher helped teach me about the written word and the spoken word. Later, I joined a speaking group. I volunteered helping abused children. I gave presentations.
I was scared.
And I enjoyed it anyway.
Somewhere in all those years—the reading, the writing, the listening, the speaking, the serving—there was one ridiculously simple thing underneath everything.
I wanted to love the world. 🌎
That’s it.
I wanted somebody who felt alone to feel less alone. I wanted somebody who was ready to stop to take one more step. I wanted somebody who had forgotten their worth to encounter a few words that might remind them:
Your life matters.
Eventually, there was a blog.
Why Can’t I Be Loud?!
But please understand the order.
The blog didn’t make the woman.
The woman made the blog.
The blog simply gave something that was already living inside me another place to go. Another microphone. Another page. Another doorway. Another way to reach toward somebody I may never meet and say:
Come here. Sit with me awhile.
And if I’m really introducing myself, I can’t skip one particular word.
Ugly.
There. I said it.
I was called ugly.
I’m not going to pretty that part up now. Words matter, especially when they find you young. Ugly informed my world. It affected beauty. Belonging. Being seen. Being wanted. Being included. Being looked at—and being looked past.
But there is something I refuse to give that word:
My love.
Ugly informed my world.
Ugly did NOT inform my love.
Cruelty does not get to come back years later and collect credit for the woman I became. I will not hand it that trophy.
I did not learn to love the world because somebody taught me what cruelty felt like. The people who hurt me do not get authorship credit for my heart.
That heart was mine.
And God loved me as I was. Not some someday version of me. Not the version somebody else might find prettier, quieter, easier, more acceptable, or more convenient.
Me.
And somewhere along this life, I learned something else too:
I love me.
This face is mine. This laughter is mine. This faith is mine. These questions are mine. These words are mine. This heart is mine.
This voice is mine.
And then—the stroke came.
I will not introduce the woman I am today and pretend it didn’t happen.
But listen carefully:
My story does not begin with my stroke.
The stroke did not give me my purpose. It did not make me a writer. It did not teach me to love words. It did not put encouragement in my heart. It did not give me my desire to speak. It did not create my love for the world.
I brought all of that INTO the stroke.
And that distinction matters.
Because the stroke came for some of the very things I had spent my life using:
My voice.
My words.
My hands.
The little girl who loved words grew into a woman who wrote them—and now sometimes I have to fight just to get those words where I want them to go. The woman who dreamed about microphones grew into a woman who found her voice—and now sometimes I have to fight for that voice.
The writer has words inside her—and sometimes her own hands fight her over putting them onto the page.
There is something almost unspeakably cruel about that.
But I am speaking it anyway. 🎤
Because I’m still here.
And maybe Why Can’t I Be Loud?! means something even deeper to me now. I asked a question about voice.
Then life came for my literal voice.
And I am still answering.
I. AM. HERE.
My voice may be different. It is still mine. My words may take longer to reach you. They are still mine. My hands may fight me while I try to put those words into the world.
They are still mine.
And I am still writing. Still speaking. Still laughing. Still questioning. Still believing. Still learning. Still loving.
Still I rise.
Not because suffering made me extraordinary. Not because every painful thing needs a pretty lesson attached to it. Not because I am interested in performing strength for anybody.
I rise because I am still here.
And Beloveds, here is the part I desperately want you to understand:
I am fighting for these words because I still want to give them to you.
For you, Beloveds.
That little girl picked up words because something in them called to her. This grown woman keeps fighting to put words into the world because somewhere out there is another human being who may need one.
Maybe you need to hear that your life is not finished. Maybe you need somebody to sit beside you without demanding that you clean yourself up first. Maybe you need permission to laugh while you’re hurting. Maybe you need to be angry. Maybe you need to grieve. Maybe you need to begin again.
Maybe you just need somebody somewhere on this great big planet to say:
I see you.
You matter to me.
You are not alone.
Then come sit with me.
Bring yourself. Bring the beautiful and the ugly. Bring the questions and the mess. Bring the faith and the doubt. Bring the laughter that shows up at absolutely inappropriate times. 🤣 Bring whatever voice you have today.
You don’t have to sound like me. You don’t have to believe everything I believe. You don’t have to live where I live, look like I look, love like I love, speak like I speak, move like I move, or understand the world exactly the way I do.
There is still a chair here for you.
Because this was never about making the whole world Cassandra. Good grief. One is plenty. 🤣
This is about loving the whole world while letting people remain themselves.
So let me introduce myself.
I am Cassandra.
I am the little girl who loved words. I am the woman who kept writing them. I am the scared woman who wanted the microphone anyway. I am the woman who was called ugly and refused to surrender her love.
I am the woman God loved then and loves now. I am the woman who learned to love herself. I am the woman whose body now sometimes fights her for her voice, her words, and her hands.
And I am the woman who keeps reaching for the microphone anyway. 🎤
Same heart. Same mission. Different settings.
ALL OF ME.
I am still writing.
I am not done.
And neither are you.
So take the step. Then take another one. And another. 🥾
One step. One step. One step.
However long I have a voice, I intend to use it. However long I have words, I intend to give them. However I have to get those words from my heart into this world, I intend to try.
Still I rise.
For you, Beloveds.
For love.
For this great big messy, hurting, beautiful world. 🌎
And because after all this, somebody is inevitably still going to ask:
Why can’t I be loud?!
Well…
Who said I can’t? 🎤
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Note: One step. One step. One step. You are loved. You are NOT alone. Keep on being…YOU!
Help me be loud:
IT IS FINISHED. BUT BELOVEDS, WE ARE NOT. ❤️🩹🌎
IT IS FINISHED. BUT BELOVEDS, WE ARE NOT. ❤️🩹🌎
For Mom.
For Wombie.
For every person in this world carrying the name of somebody they love who is no longer here.
Beloveds,
Before I say anything else, I need to say two names that don’t belong to a sermon.
Mom.
Wombie.
Before there was Why Can’t I Be Loud?!
Before there were Beloveds.
Before #YourLifeMattersToMe.
Before the chairs. 🪑🪑
Before the fishing poles. 🎣🎣
Before I started asking you to come love this whole great big world with me—
there was family.
There was Mom.
There were her daughters.
There was ordinary life.
And then there was grief.
❤️🩹
My mother died on Christmas morning 2016.
We had plans.
We were supposed to take a vacation in March.
She was supposed to see my new car.
I thought we had time.
I was so sure we had time.
But March never came for us.
And I have learned something about grief:
Sometimes we don’t only lose a person.
We lose future tense.
“We’re going to…”
“Next time…”
“When you come over…”
“Wait until you see…”
“Next Christmas…”
“March.”
Then one day, without our permission, we will becomes we were going to.
😭❤️🩹
Maybe you have a March too.
Maybe yours wasn’t a vacation.
Maybe it was a phone call you thought you still had time to make.
A conversation.
A birthday.
A wedding.
An apology.
A meal.
A trip.
An ordinary Tuesday.
Maybe there was something you were absolutely certain the two of you would still get to do.
And then later didn’t come.
I won’t tell you what that loss is supposed to mean.
I won’t tell you everything happens for a reason.
I won’t tell you not to cry.
I won’t tell you that you should be “over it” by now.
I won’t tell you that because you believe God, grief shouldn’t hurt.
Nah, fam.
Sometimes faith cries.
Sometimes faith has questions.
Sometimes faith worships with tears running down its face.
Sometimes faith simply says:
God, I still miss them.
🙏🏿❤️🩹
Jesus wept.
Knowing what He knew, Jesus still wept.
So I will never ask you to anesthetize your grief to prove your faith.
Faith does not require anesthesia.
You can trust God and miss somebody terribly.
You can praise and ache.
You can laugh at a memory and cry thirty seconds later.
You can have a wonderful day without betraying the person who died.
You can keep living without leaving them behind.
Healing is not erasure.
❤️🩹
And Beloved, sometimes grief is complicated.
Maybe the person you lost loved you beautifully.
Maybe they didn’t.
Maybe you loved each other and hurt each other.
Maybe there were things left unresolved.
Maybe you’re grieving with gratitude.
Maybe you’re grieving with anger.
Maybe grief came mixed with relief, guilt, confusion, tenderness or questions you still cannot answer.
There is a chair for you too.
🪑
I am not going to rank anybody’s grief.
I am not going to tell you how yours is supposed to look.
I will simply sit beside you.
Because sometimes love doesn’t need an explanation.
Sometimes love says:
Tell me about them.
Sometimes love says:
Say their name.
Sometimes love doesn’t say anything at all.
Sometimes love just stays.
🪑❤️🩹🪑
And that brings me back to Mom.
My mother was more than the day she died.
She was more than Christmas morning.
More than my grief.
More than my memories.
More than what I learned after losing her.
Before she was Mom, she was a whole human being.
She had a life.
A personality.
Dreams.
Preferences.
Stories.
Joy.
Disappointments.
Things I knew.
Things I probably never knew.
She belonged to herself before she belonged to anybody else.
But Wombie and I still get to call her:
Mom.
🧸❤️
And I don’t want death to become louder than her life.
Because death does something strange when we remember people.
One date can become so enormous that it begins swallowing everything that came before it.
The hospital gets louder than the kitchen.
The funeral gets louder than the laughter.
The final breath gets louder than every breath before it.
Nah, fam.
DEATH GETS ONE DATE.
LOVE GETS THE WHOLE LIFE.
❤️🔥
Look at a headstone sometime.
Two dates.
A little dash between them.
That tiny dash can hold an entire world.
Birthdays.
Breakfasts.
Arguments.
Songs.
Inside jokes.
Work.
Children.
Bad decisions.
Second chances.
Car rides.
Christmases.
Recipes.
Mistakes.
Apologies.
Laughter.
Ordinary Tuesdays.
Love.
A whole human life compressed into one tiny line.
The world may see a dash.
The people who loved them know that dash was a world.
🌎❤️🩹
That’s why losing one person can feel like losing an entire world.
And somewhere tonight, somebody understands exactly what I mean.
Somebody just got the call.
Somebody is planning a funeral.
Somebody is cleaning out a closet.
Somebody cannot bring themselves to clean out the closet.
Somebody reached for the phone before remembering.
Somebody heard their song.
Somebody cooked their recipe.
Somebody smelled a familiar perfume.
Somebody dreamed about them and woke up happy for three beautiful seconds before remembering.
Somebody lost their person yesterday.
Somebody lost theirs fifty years ago.
And suddenly today—
it hurts again.
Beloved,
bring their name.
🌎❤️🩹
You don’t have to leave them outside to sit with us.
Bring Mom.
Bring Daddy.
Bring your sister.
Bring your brother.
Bring your child.
Bring your spouse.
Bring your friend.
Bring the person whose relationship to you doesn’t fit neatly into a box.
Bring the person whose name still catches somewhere between your heart and your throat.
There is room.
🪑🪑
And while we’re sitting here, I need to say something to Wombie too.
We lost the same mother.
But that doesn’t mean we have the same grief.
Same Mom.
Different daughters.
Different memories.
Different relationships.
Different places where her absence lives.
Neither grief has to compete with the other.
There is room for both.
❤️🩹❤️🩹
Maybe that’s something all of us can remember.
Two people can stand at the same funeral and go home carrying entirely different losses.
Love doesn’t require us to compare them.
Love makes room.
And memory makes room too.
One person remembers something another forgot.
Somebody remembers the laugh.
Somebody remembers the recipe.
Somebody remembers the phrase they always used.
Somebody remembers a story differently.
Piece by piece, we remind one another:
They were here.
🧩
Not:
Their death was here.
THEY were here.
That distinction matters to me.
Because my mother’s death is part of her story.
It is not her whole story.
And my grief is part of mine.
It is not my whole story either.
I am still here.
Wombie is still here.
You are still here.
🌎
And that brings me to Jesus.
There are three words Christians know well:
IT IS FINISHED.
Jesus said them.
Not me.
Not you.
Jesus.
And I need to be careful here because I don’t want to borrow His sentence for something He never assigned to it.
Jesus’ job is done.
Our job is not done.
That does NOT mean Jesus completed part of salvation and left the rest for us.
Nah, fam.
We are not finishing Calvary.
We are not completing Christ.
We are not anybody’s Messiah.
What belonged to Jesus to finish, Jesus finished.
🙏🏿❤️🔥
His work is completion.
Our work is response.
We don’t love the world to finish what Jesus couldn’t.
We love because we have been loved.
We don’t have to become saviors.
We can become neighbors.
And neighbors can do ordinary things.
Call.
Listen.
Visit.
Feed somebody.
Remember.
Protect.
Apologize.
Forgive where forgiveness is possible and healthy.
Hold a hand.
Say a name.
Pull up another chair.
Stay.
Love.
❤️
That’s our work.
And Beloveds—
there are still people here.
That’s why I’m not finished.
That’s why you’re not finished.
That’s why we aren’t finished.
Not because death is stalking us and we should live terrified of every goodbye.
No.
I don’t want fear to teach us how to love.
Life is happening now.
That’s enough reason.
The last ordinary day usually looks ordinary while we’re living it.
Nobody announces:
This is the last phone call.
This is the last Christmas.
This is the last ridiculous joke.
This is the last hug.
So don’t spend your life terrified that everything might be the last thing.
Instead:
Let ordinary love count while it is still ordinary.
❤️🔥
Tell people they matter while they can hear you.
Sit with them.
Laugh with them.
Listen.
Be present.
Don’t wait for a funeral to discover somebody was precious.
Don’t wait for March.
And if your March has already disappeared—
come sit with me.
I know something about missing a March.
❤️🩹🪑
Mom’s love did not make her immortal.
But her death did not make her love meaningless.
Some of what she gave reached her daughters.
And love moves.
Person to person.
Life to life.
❤️➡️❤️➡️❤️➡️❤️➡️🌎
Somebody may receive kindness tomorrow that began partly with a person whose name they will never know.
That’s an extraordinary kind of legacy.
Love that no longer needs your name attached to it.
But let me be clear:
Legacy is not reimbursement for loss.
Nothing beautiful that comes afterward makes losing somebody “worth it.”
Nothing replaces Mom.
Nothing gives us March.
Nothing balances some cosmic ledger and makes everything even.
I can be grateful for what love produced and still say:
I miss my mother.
Both are true.
❤️🩹
And maybe that’s why I keep coming back to the whole world.
🌎
Every stranger you pass contains a history you cannot see.
Somebody is carrying an empty chair.
Somebody is carrying a name.
Somebody is carrying a March.
Somebody is carrying joy and grief in the same body.
We don’t know everybody’s story.
Maybe we don’t need to.
Maybe we can begin somewhere simpler:
Beloved.
Before I know your race.
Beloved.
Before I know your country.
Beloved.
Before I know your politics.
Beloved.
Before I know whether you worship like me—or worship at all.
Beloved.
Before I know your story.
You are a human being standing here with me in this world.
And your life matters.
🌎❤️
I cannot love eight billion people individually.
Neither can you.
That’s why I don’t ask you to save the world.
I ask something human-sized.
One step.
Love somebody within your reach.
Then another person does the same.
Then another.
Then another.
One chair.
One phone call.
One meal.
One name remembered.
One person seen.
One act of love.
One step. One step. One step.
That’s how a human-sized heart approaches a world-sized command.
❤️➡️🌎
Mom,
I wish we had gotten March.
I wish you had seen what I wanted you to see.
I wish there had been more ordinary days.
But there weren’t.
So I will not pretend I understand everything.
I will not pretend missing you doesn’t hurt.
And I will not allow the day you died to become bigger than all the days you lived.
You were here.
You loved.
You mattered.
You still matter to your daughters.
🧸❤️🩹
Wombie,
there is room for your grief too.
Always.
❤️🩹
And Beloveds—
there is room for yours.
Bring the names.
Bring the memories.
Bring the questions.
Bring the laughter.
Bring the tears.
Bring the complicated parts.
Bring the whole messy human thing.
🪑🪑🌎
We don’t have to resolve before we belong.
And when we’re ready, we’ll stand—or sit, or roll—from that table and turn again toward the living.
Because there are still people here.
There is still kindness to give.
There is still loneliness to interrupt.
There is still injustice to confront.
There are still hands to hold.
There are still voices to hear.
There are still people who need another chair.
There is still a whole world full of human beings who need love.
So yes:
JESUS’ JOB IS DONE.
OUR JOB IS NOT DONE.
His:
IT IS FINISHED.
Ours:
KEEP LOVING.
Again tomorrow.
And the day after that.
For however many tomorrows we are given.
Mom was here.
Your person was here.
You are here.
And while we’re both still here—
LET’S LOVE THE WORLD TOGETHER.
🌎❤️🩹❤️🔥
Your life matters to me.
One step.
One step.
One step.
You are loved.
You are NOT alone.
Keep on being…YOU!
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Help me be loud:
LAST ONE. FRFR!
💙📫 ONE LAST POSTCARD — LOVE SOMEBODY NOW
Beloveds,
My mother died on Christmas morning in 2016.
Before she died, we had plans. We were supposed to take a vacation together in March. I was going to show her my new car.
I was so sure we had time.
We never got that chance.
We gave away her favorite bears at her funeral. Mom left giving love. I love in her stead..
That’s something life has taught me in a way I wish I had never needed to learn: we can be so sure about later.
Later I’ll call.
Later I’ll visit.
Later I’ll say I’m sorry.
Later I’ll tell them I love them.
Later we’ll take that trip.
Later we’ll sit together.
Later.
And sometimes, later doesn’t come.
Right now, I’m living with uncertainty of my own. I don’t know how much time I have.
But here’s the other truth:
Neither do you.
None of us does.
So please don’t spend all of today waiting for some imaginary perfect tomorrow before you love somebody.
Love somebody now.
Call them.
Reach out.
Sit beside them.
Forgive where you can.
Say the words while somebody is still here to hear them.
And if life has knocked you down, keep going. If you’re tired, keep going. If you’re hurting, keep going.
Don’t give up on yourself.
And don’t stop loving one another.
Jesus said that people would know His disciples by their love.
And one of the first Scriptures so many of us learned says:
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son…” — John 3:16, KJV
God so loved the world.
🌎❤️
There’s the Word.
There’s the assignment.
Love one another.
Love the people God has put in front of you while you have the opportunity to do it.
Don’t wait for March.
Don’t wait for the vacation.
Don’t wait for the perfect day.
Don’t wait until you wish you had said something you can no longer say.
Love somebody now.
And while we’re both still here—
let’s love this world together.
Take care, Beloveds.
I love you.
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
One step. One step. One step. You are loved. You are NOT alone. Keep on being…YOU!
Help me be loud:
DON’T GIVE UP YET!
💙📫 A POSTCARD FOR YOU: DON’T GIVE UP YET
Beloveds,
DON’T GIVE UP YET!
I don’t know who needs this little postcard today, but I’m sending it anyway.
Don’t give up yet.
Not because I can promise you everything is about to become easy. I can’t.
Not because I know exactly what you’re carrying. I don’t.
But because sometimes we make permanent decisions while standing inside temporary pain. Sometimes exhaustion starts talking like it knows the future.
It doesn’t.
So before you decide there is nothing left ahead of you, give tomorrow a chance to introduce itself.
Rest if you need to.
Cry if you need to.
Be quiet if you need to.
Ask somebody to sit beside you if you need to.
Take one tiny step if that’s all you’ve got.
But please—
Don’t give up yet.
There are people you haven’t met yet.
There is laughter you haven’t laughed yet.
There are mornings you haven’t seen yet.
There are songs you haven’t danced badly to yet. 💃🏿😂
There is love you haven’t received yet—and love only you can give.
You do not have to figure out the rest of your life today.
Just stay for this step.
Then the next one.
One step. One step. One step.
I’m rooting for you from my little corner of this great big world.
🌎💙
Your life matters to me.
You are loved.
You are NOT alone.
Please don’t give up yet.
Keep on being…YOU! ❤️🔥
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Help me be loud:
AFTER MIDNIGHT — WHAT ALL OF THIS WAS ABOUT 🌎❤️🔥
AFTER MIDNIGHT — WHAT ALL OF THIS WAS ABOUT 🌎❤️🔥
Beloveds,
Tonight we went a long way around to arrive at something that has actually been here all along.
Why Can’t I Be Loud? was never simply about being loud. It was about having a voice.
It was about refusing to let this world decide whose voice deserves room, whose story deserves to be heard, whose difference makes them inconvenient, or whose pain should be made quiet so everybody else can remain comfortable.
And somewhere in all of tonight’s music, memories, laughter, hurt, photographs, fishing poles, empty chairs, chains and rebirth, the message became clearer.
I see you.
Not the version of you somebody else decided you ought to become. Not only the polished you. Not only the healed you. Not only the easy-to-love you.
You.
I know something about what it feels like to believe you are the one nobody will choose. I know what it means to carry words spoken over you long after the people who said them have gone home. I know what being called ugly can do to a heart.
But I also know this:
God loved me then.
God loves me now.
And I learned to love me, too.
So when I tell you that your life matters to me, those are not decorative words at the bottom of a post. That is the work. That is the reason I keep opening the door. That is why there are two chairs instead of one and two fishing poles waiting beside them.
🎣🪑 🪑🎣
Come sit with me.
Bring your story.
Bring your laughter. Bring your questions. Bring your faith or your uncertainty. Bring your scars, your accent, your anger, your joy, your difference, your whole complicated self.
You do not have to become somebody else before there is a chair for you.
Maybe that is what all these playlists and stories and conversations have been doing. They have been fishing for something bigger than any one song, movie, photograph, country, race, body, language or life.
Fishing for love.
Fishing for one another.
Fishing for a world where seeing somebody different does not make us retreat, but makes us curious enough to pull up another chair.
Because I don’t want to love only the people who look like me.
I want us to love the whole world together.
🌎
That is why I keep saying:
One step. One step. One step.
Because changing the world sounds impossible.
Loving the human being sitting in the other chair does not.
And maybe enough of those little acts of love eventually become something enormous.
A chain transformed.
A life reborn.
A voice recovered.
A lonely table with another chair pulled up beside it.
A world remembering that we belong to one another.
So after everything tonight, I think the summary may actually be very simple:
You matter to me.
I see you.
You are loved.
You are not alone.
And whatever tried to convince you that you had to disappear in order to belong—
Nah, fam.
There is room here for your voice.
Keep on being…YOU!
🌎❤️🔥🪑🪑🎣🎣
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Note: One step. One step. One step. You are loved. You are NOT alone. Keep on being…YOU!
Help me be loud:
👘 I COULDN’T HAVE DONE THIS HARD RIGHT-HANDED
👘 I COULDN’T HAVE DONE THIS HARD RIGHT-HANDED
Beloveds,
It started with a kimono.
👘
Yep.
A kimono.
Because apparently God will use whatever is lying around when He wants me to notice something. 🤣
I was getting dressed, working with this body of mine, doing what has become normal:
figuring it out.
Not necessarily doing something the way I used to do it.
Not necessarily doing it the way somebody else would.
Just figuring out how this body can get it done.
👘
And somewhere in all that maneuvering, adjusting, pulling, reaching, twisting, and making the clothes cooperate, a thought hit me:
I couldn’t have done this hard right-handed.
Ironically.
🤯🤯🤯
Because my dominant hand used to be the hand I depended on.
The hand that knew what to do without being told.
The hand I probably barely thought about.
Then life changed.
My body changed.
And suddenly the side that wasn’t supposed to be the star had to learn some lines.
👀
And apparently she has been studying.
🤣
Because there I was—
getting myself together,
putting on my clothes,
working out this kimono,
and realizing that some of the things I have learned to do now might actually be harder if I tried to do them the old way.
WHEW.
👘🤯
Then came the headset.
🎧
Y’all.
I realized I had been putting my headset on backwards.
🤣🤣🤣
So what was supposed to be coming through one side was coming through the other.
I had been listening to the world backward.
And somehow…
I WAS STILL LISTENING.
👀
Now hold on.
Because THAT got me.
My headset was backwards.
My sound was coming to me differently.
And I suddenly thought about this body that sometimes does the opposite of what I expect it to do.
The signals don’t always travel the way they once did.
The side I once depended on isn’t necessarily the side doing the work now.
Sometimes I have to approach something backward.
Sideways.
Opposite.
With the other hand.
From another angle.
With another method.
And yet—
I am still here doing it.
😭❤️🔥
Maybe different isn’t always less.
Maybe sometimes different is simply:
the way through.
Maybe I have spent so much time noticing what my body cannot do the old way that I almost missed what it has quietly been learning to do another way.
👘🎧🧠❤️🔥
That kimono wasn’t just clothing this morning.
That backwards headset wasn’t just a funny mistake.
They made me notice something.
I have been adapting.
Learning.
Problem-solving.
Listening.
Living.
And sometimes doing things in ways I never would have discovered if life hadn’t forced me to learn another side of myself.
😭
I couldn’t have done this hard right-handed.
Read that again.
The hand I once would’ve automatically chosen might actually have made today’s task harder.
The hand I didn’t choose had something to teach me.
🤯
And maybe that’s bigger than hands.
Sometimes the route we would have chosen isn’t the route that teaches us what we’re capable of.
Sometimes what feels backward is still moving us forward.
Sometimes the other side has been learning while we were grieving the side we lost.
And sometimes you look down at yourself wearing your kimono, realize your headset has been backwards, think about the absolute ridiculousness and wonder of this whole journey and have only one thing left to say:
WON’T HE DO IT!!
🙌🏿🙌🏿🙌🏿😭❤️🔥
Beloveds,
however you have to get there today—
left-handed,
right-handed,
backward,
sideways,
slowly,
awkwardly,
with three attempts and a prayer—
GET THERE YOUR WAY.
Different does not automatically mean deficient.
Sometimes different is evidence that you are still learning how to live.
And there is life in that.
🌎❤️🔥
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
One step. One step. One step.
You are loved.
You are NOT alone.
Keep on being…YOU!
Help me be loud:
WHAT IF I BECOME TOO EXPENSIVE TO LOVE? 😭💔❤️🔥
AUGUST 28, 2026
WHAT IF I BECOME TOO EXPENSIVE TO LOVE? 😭💔❤️🔥
Beloveds,
This one hurts.
Because Jesus/The Father have been walking us underneath guilt.
Underneath independence.
Underneath our desperate need to be useful.
And maybe underneath all of that is a fear some of us have never said aloud:
“What if loving me eventually costs too much?”
😭💔
Not money.
Heart.
Time.
Energy.
Patience.
Plans.
Convenience.
Sleep.
Attention.
What if I need too much?
What if my healing takes too long?
What if my grief keeps showing up?
What if I can’t bounce back according to everybody else’s preferred schedule?
What if I need somebody again tomorrow?
And next week?
And after everybody has finished saying, “I’m here if you need me,” what happens when I actually need them?
😭❤️🔥
Maybe that’s why some of us apologize constantly.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry you had to come.
I’m sorry this took so long.
I’m sorry I needed you.
I’m sorry you had to change your plans.
I’m sorry I’m crying again.
I’m sorry I’m not myself.
I’m sorry I’m still struggling.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for being expensive to love.
💔
And perhaps Jesus/The Father interrupt:
“Beloved, who taught you that love keeps an invoice?”
😭😭😭❤️🔥
Because maybe somewhere along the way, doing felt safer than needing.
If I do everything myself, nobody gets tired because of me.
If I don’t ask, nobody can resent the request.
If I don’t need, nobody gets the opportunity to decide that my needs are too much.
If I keep giving, perhaps nobody will notice how desperately I need to receive.
And if I make myself useful enough—
maybe nobody will regret keeping me around.
WHEW.
😭💔❤️🔥
Beloveds, that isn’t just independence.
Sometimes that’s fear wearing work clothes.
Fear can look remarkably responsible.
Fear gets things DONE.
Fear says:
“Don’t ask anybody. Handle it.”
Fear says:
“Don’t let them see how bad it really is.”
Fear says:
“Hurry up and get better before everybody gets tired.”
Fear says:
“Make yourself useful.”
Fear says:
“Give something back QUICKLY.”
Because fear believes:
If I receive more than I give for too long, somebody may decide I’m no longer worth the cost.
😭
But Jesus/The Father are challenging that accounting system.
Not by telling us relationships don’t require reciprocity.
They do.
Healthy love needs respect.
Gratitude.
Communication.
Boundaries.
Care in both directions.
But love is not always perfectly balanced in every season.
Sometimes you carry me.
Sometimes I carry you.
Sometimes we walk beside each other.
And sometimes, Beloved—
I simply cannot carry my end today.
💔❤️🔥
That doesn’t automatically make me a burden.
It makes me human.
And perhaps the hardest thing for some of us to learn is this:
Being carried does not mean you have become the weight.
😭😭😭
Read THAT again.
You can require assistance without becoming an inconvenience.
You can require patience without becoming a problem.
You can require tenderness without becoming weak.
You can receive more during one season without becoming less valuable.
And somebody can become tired while helping you without their tiredness meaning:
“I wish you didn’t exist.”
❤️🔥
WHEW.
Some of us needed that sentence.
Because we watch everybody’s faces.
Don’t we?
👀
Was that sigh because of me?
Are they tired of me?
Did I ask too much?
Did their voice sound different?
Should I stop asking?
Should I figure this out myself?
Maybe I shouldn’t have called.
Maybe—
Beloved.
Come back.
😭❤️🔥
Jesus/The Father aren’t asking us to ignore people’s boundaries.
They’re teaching us not to turn every human limitation into a verdict on our worth.
Someone can love you and be tired.
Someone can love you and need rest.
Someone can love you and occasionally say no.
Someone can love you and have needs of their own.
Their boundary does not automatically mean:
“You became too much.”
And your need does not automatically mean:
“You failed.”
🙏❤️🔥
But there is something even deeper here.
Maybe we’re more comfortable being needed than being wanted.
Because being needed gives us something to do.
Fix something.
Carry something.
Encourage somebody.
Make somebody laugh.
Solve the problem.
Pray.
Work.
Serve.
Give.
We know exactly what to do with:
“I need you.”
But what happens when somebody says:
“I just want you here.”
😭
No assignment.
No performance.
No problem to solve.
No payment required.
Just—
you.
And suddenly we don’t know where to put our hands.
😗❤️🔥
Because if there’s nothing to do, nothing to earn and nothing to prove, we’re left standing in front of the question:
“Is who I am enough reason for somebody to stay?”
💔
And perhaps Jesus/The Father whisper:
“Yes.”
Before you helped anybody.
Yes.
Before you became strong.
Yes.
Before you learned how to make everybody laugh.
Yes.
Before you accomplished anything.
Yes.
Before you got yourself together.
Yes.
When you are giving.
Yes.
When you are receiving.
Yes.
When you are standing.
Yes.
When you have to be carried.
Yes.
😭🙏❤️🔥
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son…”
— John 3:16 KJV
Notice the order.
He loved.
Then He gave.
Love wasn’t waiting at the finish line after we became impressive enough.
Love moved first.
😭❤️🔥
Maybe that’s what Jesus/The Father are teaching us.
“Beloved, you keep trying to give Us reasons to love you.
Our love was here before your reasons.”
WHEW.
So maybe the question today isn’t:
“What can I do so people will keep loving me?”
Maybe it’s:
“Can I believe I’m worth loving when I have nothing to offer today except myself?”
😭💔❤️🔥
CASSANDRA CHALLENGE ❤️🔥
Catch yourself trying to pay emotional rent today.
When you feel yourself scrambling to prove that you’re worth the trouble—
stop.
Don’t immediately perform.
Don’t immediately promise repayment.
Don’t immediately apologize for needing.
Try:
“Thank you for being here.”
Then allow the moment to remain unfinished.
No transaction.
No invoice.
Just love received.
And tonight, perhaps sit with Jesus/The Father and ask:
“Why am I more comfortable being needed than simply being wanted?”
😭🙏
Then listen.
Because perhaps Jesus/The Father have something extraordinarily tender to say:
“Beloved, We did not come because you were useful to Us.
We came because We love you.
You don’t have to work while you’re being held.”
😭😭😭❤️🔥
Maybe you’ve spent years asking:
“What can I do for love?”
And now Jesus/The Father are asking:
“Will you finally let love do something for you?”
😭🙏💔❤️🔥
Unapologetically His.
Unapologetically yours.
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Note: One step. One step. One step. You are loved. You are NOT alone. Keep on being…YOU! ❤️🔥
Why Can't I Be Loud?! 