Category: Poetry

Wednesday, October 7, 2026 — 6:00 PM

Wednesday, October 7, 2026 — 6:00 PM

What has “should” locked you out of? 🔐

Beloveds,

I told you yesterday I was coming for one little word.

I’m here.

👀

Should.

Five letters.

Tiny word.

BIG lock.

🔐

I should be further along by now.

I should be over this.

I should have healed by now.

I should have figured this out.

I should be stronger.

I should be happier.

I should have more money saved.

I should have the career I planned.

I should have found somebody by now.

I should still have the life I had before everything changed.

I should be able to do what I used to do.

I should…

I should…

I should…

And before we know it, we’re standing outside our own lives holding a measuring stick somebody handed us years ago.

👀

But here’s what I’ve been wondering:

Whose “should” is it?

Who decided where you were supposed to be by now?

Who decided how long grief gets?

Who decided how quickly a heart should recover?

Who decided when somebody should trust again?

Who decided what healing is supposed to look like?

Who decided there was one acceptable timeline for becoming who you are becoming?

❤️

Sometimes the person who decided was us.

But even then…

which version of us?

The version who made plans before the diagnosis?

Before the loss?

Before the layoff?

Before the divorce?

Before the betrayal?

Before the caregiving?

Before the accident?

Before the financial crisis?

Before the phone call?

Before life took the map we had carefully drawn and said:

We’re not going that way anymore.

🗺️

And then we punish today’s version of ourselves for failing to arrive somewhere yesterday’s version expected us to be.

Whew.

Read that again.

We punish today’s version of ourselves for failing to arrive somewhere yesterday’s version expected us to be.

That’s a heavy sentence.

And an even heavier way to live.

❤️

Maybe you didn’t fail.

Maybe the map changed.

👀

That doesn’t mean everything that happened was good.

It doesn’t mean you wanted the detour.

It doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to grieve where you thought you would be.

It means your life cannot always be fairly measured against plans made before you knew what the road would require.

And maybe that’s where some forgiveness needs to happen.

Not forgiveness because you did something terrible.

Forgiveness because you’ve been angry with yourself for being human inside circumstances you never planned for.

❤️

Maybe:

I forgive myself for being changed by what happened to me.

I forgive myself for needing longer.

I forgive myself for getting tired.

I forgive myself for being scared.

I forgive myself for not knowing what I know now.

I forgive myself for making decisions with the information I had then.

I forgive myself for surviving imperfectly.

I forgive myself for having limits.

I forgive myself for not becoming the person I thought I would be on the schedule I wrote before life changed.

And maybe…

I forgive myself for not being where I thought I should be.

🔐❤️

Because “should” can become a strange kind of shame.

It doesn’t only tell us where we aren’t.

It can convince us that where we are is unacceptable.

And once shame gets involved, correction becomes condemnation.

A mistake becomes:

I am a mistake.

A delay becomes:

I am behind.

A struggle becomes:

I am weak.

A changed life becomes:

I failed.

A different road becomes:

I got lost.

But what if different isn’t automatically lost?

👀🧭

Maybe finding our way home begins when we stop demanding that the road look like the one we originally planned.

❤️

There it is.

Because maybe home isn’t the old life.

Maybe home isn’t who you were before.

Maybe home isn’t reaching some imaginary place where everything finally looks the way it was “supposed” to look.

Maybe home is learning to inhabit this life without constantly prosecuting yourself for living it differently.

That’s not giving up.

That’s not refusing growth.

That’s not pretending there aren’t things we need to change.

Accountability still matters.

Growth still matters.

Choices still matter.

But accountability says:

This needs attention.

Shame says:

You are the problem.

Those are not the same voice.

🔑

Remember what we said yesterday?

Shame is a sneaky locksmith.

And “should” is one of its favorite locks.

It can keep us outside joy because we think we should have more before we’re allowed to enjoy what we have.

Outside rest because we think we should have accomplished more before we’re allowed to stop.

Outside love because we think we should be more healed before anybody gets close.

Outside our own lives because we’re still waiting to become somebody we consider worthy of living them.

Beloveds…

stop moving your own chair.

🪑❤️

You do not have to exile yourself until you’ve improved enough to come home.

For those who share my faith, I don’t believe My Father waits at some imaginary finish line tapping His foot because I didn’t arrive according to my schedule.

I believe He meets me on the road I’m actually walking.

Even when I don’t understand it.

Even when I don’t like it.

Even when I am tired of it.

Even when I thought I would be somewhere else by now.

❤️

So tonight, here’s the Heart Check:

Where has “should” locked you out of your own life?

And maybe:

Whose “should” have you been carrying?

If the map changed, beloveds, you are allowed to acknowledge that.

You are allowed to grieve it.

You are allowed to learn a different road.

You are allowed to become somebody you didn’t know you would need to become.

And you are allowed to stop calling every detour failure.

Because maybe you aren’t behind.

Maybe you aren’t ruined.

Maybe you aren’t lost.

Maybe the map changed.

🗺️❤️

And tomorrow…

we’re going to talk about keys.

Because once we stop standing outside our own door…

we need to have a conversation about who else gets access.

👀🔑

Oh, yes.

Who has a key?

See you tomorrow.

loving me some you
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe

Love stays.

Love stays.

At least mine does.

I choose to love.

No matter what.

Being ghosted hurts.

Every time.

Yet, the love stays.

You all matter to me.

Everybody.

Friend or foe.

Gay or straight.

Rich or poor.

Believer or atheist.

ALL matter to me.

So, I sit.

Arms outstretched.

Never folded.

Shoulder ready.

Hand extended.

Here today.

Here, tomorrow?

God knows but He’s not telling.

loving whosoeverwill,

Cassandra

#YourLifeMattersToMe

Never, I replied.

When will you give up, defeat inquired of me.

Never, I replied.

Whe shall you walk away, fear admonished me?

Never, I replied.

When will you stop believing, naysayers, asked of me.

Never, I replied.

Never, never, never, I replied.

Nuff Said.

Cassandra

Beloveds, life is STILL before us.

In less than ten months, I have lost a twin of 57 years, had a major stroke, lost every dollar, been hospitalized three times in a three months span, had forever friends seeming to have walked away forever, lost another big brother, had my heart wounded by a friend, and a million other things I could  name.

I believe. Still. Call me foolish.

I’ll be His and your fool

apparently being foolish,

Cassandra

#YourLifeMattersToMe

Tuesday, October 6, 2026 — 6:00 PM

Tuesday, October 6, 2026 — 6:00 PM

What have you locked away? 🔐❤️

Beloveds,

Yesterday I left you behind a door.

I told you I was coming back.

I came back.

So…

What have you locked away?

Not what did somebody take from you.

Not what disappeared.

Not even what you lost.

What did you put somewhere safe because life taught you that leaving it out in the open hurt too much?

Your trust?

Your tenderness?

Your joy?

Your ability to believe somebody when they say, “I’m staying”?

Your dream?

Your hope?

Maybe even a piece of yourself?

Sometimes we lock things away because we are trying to survive.

And sometimes that works.

For a while.

A locked door can keep something from getting hurt again.

But, beloveds, a locked door works both ways.

It can keep danger out.

It can also keep you from reaching what you put inside.

👀

That’s the part I’ve been thinking about.

Some of the things we call walls were once protection.

Some of the things we call distance were once survival.

Some of the things we criticize ourselves for today may have been exactly what helped us make it through yesterday.

So I’m not asking you to beat yourself up for locking the door.

I’m asking something different.

Do you still need it locked?

👀🔐

Because something can begin as protection without having to become a life sentence.

Maybe you are not ready to throw the door wide open.

Okay.

Maybe today you only stand in front of it.

Maybe you put your hand on the knob.

Maybe you finally admit what is behind there.

Maybe you find the key.

Maybe you don’t turn it yet.

That still matters.

There is no prize for opening before you are ready.

There is also no rule saying something you locked away during one chapter of your life has to remain there for every chapter that follows.

Your joy may still be in there.

Your softness may still be in there.

Your hope may still be in there.

You may still be in there.

And maybe the question isn’t:

What is wrong with me?

Maybe the question is:

What was I protecting?

And then…

Do I still need to protect it this way?

🔐🗝️

Yesterday we found the door.

Today we looked behind it.

Yeah.

I’m coming for that lock tomorrow.

loving me some you
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe

Negotiating with hard for some PTO 👖☕️😂

Negotiating with hard for some PTO 👖☕️😂

PSA: Just thinking about this had me cracking up. You may get a chuckle at how ridiculous my mind gets. Blame God. He made me this way. For, non-believers, blame hard!😅

Beloveds,

So apparently hard and I needed to have a meeting.

I didn’t particularly want the meeting.

I wasn’t even sure who scheduled the meeting.

But hard has been showing up every day like it has perfect attendance and is trying to win Employee of the Month.

Sir.

Ma’am.

Whatever you are.

Have a seat. 😆☕️

We need to discuss your hours.

Because this working arrangement is no longer acceptable.

You’ve been arriving early.

Staying late.

Working weekends.

Showing up on holidays.

And frankly, hard, your commitment to this position is becoming excessive.

So I slid the paperwork across the table.

PTO REQUEST.

hard looked at me.

I looked at hard.

hard looked back at me.

I took a sip of coffee. ☕️

Don’t play with me.

I would like a Tuesday where putting on my pants does not qualify as an Olympic event. 👖😂

I would like an afternoon where absolutely nothing requires courage.

I would like to sit somewhere with a cup of coffee and have the biggest decision I make be whether I want another cup.

The answer is yes, by the way.

Always yes. ☕️🥰

I would like a little boring.

Some ordinary.

A few hours when nobody needs me to be strong, resilient, inspirational, determined, brave, or any other word people use when life has been lifing all over somebody.

I would like some PTO.

Paid.

Time.

OFF.

hard tried to explain company policy.

I stopped listening.

Because, beloveds, sometimes you have to tell hard:

We can coexist, but you cannot have every room in the house.

You can be here without being everywhere.

You can be real without being all there is.

And while I may not always get to choose when hard clocks in, I can still look for places where I get to clock OUT.

Maybe that’s coffee.

Maybe it’s music turned up louder than necessary. 🎶

Maybe it’s laughing at something ridiculous.

Maybe it’s sitting quietly.

Maybe it’s watching a movie you’ve already seen seventeen times.

Maybe it’s talking to somebody who doesn’t need you to explain why you’re tired.

Maybe it’s putting your pants on correctly the first time.

Listen.

We celebrate victories around here. 👖😂💯

And if you’re reading this while hard has been putting in overtime at your house too, come sit by me.

You are not the only one tired of being strong.

You are not the only one who wants a day when life doesn’t require quite so much from you.

You are not the only one who occasionally wants to hand hard a vacation request and say:

Sign it.

😆

And until we get that PTO approved, we’ll find little pockets of it wherever we can.

A song.

A laugh.

A quiet minute.

A good cup of coffee.

A chair.

A breath.

Something that reminds us hard may be part of life right now, but hard is not entitled to all of it.

So, hard?

Meeting adjourned.

I’m taking my coffee.

I’m taking my joy.

I’m taking my beloveds.

And I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off.

You can email me.

I’ll respond in three to five business days.

Maybe.

😂☕️👖🥰

Be encouraged, beloveds.

You are not doing this life thing by yourself.

And if hard won’t approve the PTO?

Tell hard we’re escalating this to management. 😆💯

loving me some you
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe

Monday, October 5, 2026 — 6:00 PM



Where are you stuck? 🔐

Beloveds,

I’ve been thinking about the places inside us that nobody can see.

The rooms we don’t talk about much.

The doors we closed years ago.

The things we tucked away because life kept moving and we had to keep moving with it.

Except sometimes…

part of us didn’t.

Part of us stayed right there.

At the disappointment.

At the goodbye.

At the diagnosis.

At the betrayal.

At the moment the plan changed.

At the day life divided itself into before and after.

And everybody around us may see that we’re still living.

Working.

Laughing.

Showing up.

Taking care of people.

Posting pictures.

Making plans.

Doing what needs to be done.

But somewhere inside us there may still be a locked door.

🔐

So this week at 6 PM, I want to spend some time there.

Not to kick the doors down.

Not to tell anybody to “move on.”

Not to turn five evenings into a self-improvement project.

I want us to look at the locks.

Where they came from.

What they protected.

What shame has done with them.

What “should” has done with them.

Who we’ve given keys to.

And what love might have to say about all of it.

Because I am beginning to believe something:

We cannot understand why we’re stuck if we refuse to honor why we stopped.

❤️

So that’s where we’re beginning.

Not:

Why haven’t you moved?

But:

What happened there?

Because sometimes we look at somebody who hasn’t moved and assume they won’t.

Sometimes we look at ourselves and do the same thing.

Why am I still here?

Why haven’t I gotten over this?

Why am I still afraid?

Why can’t I trust again?

Why haven’t I started over?

Why am I still thinking about something that happened years ago?

Why can’t I just move?

Maybe because something happened there.

❤️

Maybe somebody broke your trust.

Maybe somebody left.

Maybe somebody died.

Maybe the job disappeared.

Maybe the marriage ended.

Maybe your health changed.

Maybe your body changed.

Maybe the future you had already pictured disappeared so quickly that your heart is still trying to understand where it went.

Maybe you tried again and got hurt again.

Maybe you opened the door once and learned exactly why you wanted it locked.

🔐

We have to be careful about calling every closed door fear.

Some doors closed because something on the other side hurt.

Some walls were built because somebody needed somewhere to breathe.

Some locks were installed because, at the time, they were protection.

And this is something I’ve been sitting with:

Some prisons were originally shelters.

👀

Something can save you in one season and confine you in another.

“I won’t let anybody close” may have helped you survive betrayal.

“I don’t need anybody” may have helped when the people you needed didn’t show up.

“I don’t expect anything anymore” may have softened disappointment.

“I’ll handle it myself” may have been the only option you had.

So I’m not coming for your lock tonight.

I’m coming for you.

❤️

Because maybe before we ask whether a door needs opening, we ought to honor the person who needed to close it.

Maybe instead of:

What’s wrong with me?

we ask:

What happened to me?

And then, gently:

Is what protected me then still protecting me now?

👀

Those are different questions.

One carries shame.

The other carries curiosity.

And love needs curiosity.

Love doesn’t stomp up to somebody’s locked door demanding:

OPEN UP!

Love knocks.

Love listens.

Love can sit outside awhile.

Love doesn’t assume the lock is an insult.

Love understands that sometimes the person behind the door learned that opening one could hurt.

🪑❤️

And maybe you’re the person behind it.

Maybe everybody else thinks you ought to be further along.

Maybe you think you ought to be further along.

We’re going to talk about that little word should this week too.

But not tonight.

Tonight I only want you to notice where you are.

No judgment.

No deadline.

No measuring your healing against somebody else’s.

No pretending the lock isn’t there.

Just:

Here I am.

And maybe:

This is why.

❤️

For those who share my faith, I believe God can meet us there too.

Not only after the door opens.

Not only after we get unstuck.

Not only after we become brave.

Right there.

Behind the lock.

Because I have learned something about God through some very hard places:

He does not need me to find my way out before He can find His way to me.

❤️

So tonight, beloveds, I’m not asking you to move.

I’m asking you to notice.

Where are you stuck?

And instead of condemning yourself for still being there…

maybe sit beside yourself for a minute.

You may discover that the person you’ve been frustrated with isn’t refusing to move.

They may simply need somebody to understand why they stopped.

And maybe that somebody can finally be you.

🔐❤️

We’ll come back tomorrow.

I’m not leaving you behind the door.

loving me some you,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe

KEEP GOING.

KEEP GOING.

Beloveds.

You do not have to have everything figured out before you keep going.

You don’t have to know how the whole story ends.

You don’t have to feel strong every minute of every day.

Sometimes keeping going looks powerful.

Sometimes it looks like getting out of bed.

Sometimes it looks like trying again.

Sometimes it looks like resting because your body said, “That is enough for today.”

And sometimes it looks like admitting:

This is hard.

I have learned something about hard.

Hard can slow me down.

Hard can make me cry.

Hard can make me frustrated.

Hard can make me change the way I do things.

But hard does not get to decide that I am finished.

Neither does fear.

Neither does disappointment.

Neither does yesterday.

Beloveds, wherever you are today, don’t measure your progress against somebody else’s pace.

Look at YOUR road.

Look at what you’ve survived.

Look at what you’ve learned.

Look at how many times you thought you couldn’t—and somehow, you’re still here.

That matters.

So if today all you can do is keep going in whatever way you can—

KEEP GOING.

Rest when you need to.

Ask for help when you need it.

Cry when you need to.

Laugh when you can.

Pray.

Breathe.

Begin again.

But don’t confuse a difficult chapter with the end of your story.

God is still God.

And you are still here.

That sounds like enough reason to keep going to me.

loving me some you,

Cassandra

Unapologetically His.
Unapologetically yours.

#YourLifeMattersToMe

Sunday Morning with My Bestie and me.

Sunday Morning with My Bestie and me

You Don’t Have to Arrive Okay to Take the Chair

Beloveds,

Come on in.

There’s coffee somewhere nearby. ☕

Something soft is playing in the background.

My Bestie and me are already sitting here talking, and there’s a chair pulled out for you. 🪑

Not tucked under the table.

Not waiting to see whether you qualify.

Pulled out.

Because we were expecting you.

And before you start trying to explain why you’re late, why you look tired, why you haven’t been around, why your faith feels shaky, why you’re angry, why you don’t know what you believe anymore, or why you almost didn’t come—

sit down.

You don’t have to arrive okay to take the chair.

That’s what I want to talk about this Sunday morning.

Because somewhere along the way, some of us learned how to dress pain up before we brought it into the room.

We learned how to say, “I’m blessed,” when what we really meant was, “I barely made it through this week.”

We learned how to smile while grieving.

How to praise while confused.

How to show up while exhausted.

And sometimes we learned that if we couldn’t make ourselves look okay, it might be easier not to show up at all.

But what if you didn’t have to do that here?

What if you could come tired?

Come questioning.

Come believing.

Come doubting.

Come angry.

Come hopeful.

Come numb.

Come laughing.

Come crying.

Come not knowing what in the world you are today.

And still—

there’s your chair. 🪑

I believe in God.

I call Him My Father.

I love Jesus.

That is part of who I am, and I’m not hiding it to make this table more comfortable.

But I’m also not asking you to become me before I love you.

You don’t have to believe what I believe to sit beside me.

You don’t have to agree with everything I say.

You don’t owe me your testimony.

You don’t owe me an explanation.

You don’t have to prove that you’re trying hard enough.

You don’t even have to know what you think yet.

There’s your chair.

I think sometimes we confuse belonging with agreement.

They aren’t the same thing.

We can sit at the same table and have different questions.

Different answers.

Different histories.

Different scars.

Different faiths.

Different doubts.

Different ways of seeing this enormous, complicated life.

And still recognize the humanity sitting across from us.

Maybe that’s part of what love looks like.

Not fixing somebody before making room for them.

Not interrogating them at the doorway.

Not deciding whether their pain is acceptable.

Not requiring emotional unison before offering presence.

Just pulling out the chair.

Jesus did a whole lot of sitting with people.

People other folks had opinions about.

People carrying stories.

People carrying mistakes.

People carrying questions.

People who didn’t have everything figured out before they came near Him.

And that matters to me.

Because I certainly don’t have everything figured out.

I have questions for My Father too.

Some of them hurt.

Some don’t have answers.

Some may never have answers on this side of life.

Yet here I am.

Still loving Him.

Still talking to Him.

Still asking.

Still living.

Still making room.

So this Sunday morning, there is no performance required here.

If you had a wonderful week, bring your joy.

If life wore you completely out, bring your tired.

If you are grieving, bring the empty place.

If you’re angry, bring the anger.

If you believe, bring your faith.

If you doubt, bring your questions.

If you don’t know what you believe, bring yourself.

That is enough for the chair.

My Bestie and me will scoot over.

Coffee’s over there. ☕

And, beloveds, if you happen to see somebody standing near the doorway wondering whether there is room for them—

pull out another chair.

Maybe nobody needs our answers this morning.

Maybe somebody simply needs to hear:

There you are.

Your chair is right here. 🪑❤️

loving me some you
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO EARN REST.

Beloveds,

Today, I am not handing you another assignment.

I am not asking you to prove that you are healing, growing, believing, achieving, or holding everybody together.

Sometimes the holy thing is to stop.

Sometimes the human thing is to stop.

And sometimes those are the same thing.

Yesterday, I watched a movie simply because I wanted to enjoy a movie.

I did not demand that every scene become a message.

I did not make recreation audition for the right to exist.

I watched.

I enjoyed.

I noticed what I noticed.

And I rested.

That matters to me because so many of us have learned to turn even rest into work.

We evaluate it.

We justify it.

We ask whether we were productive enough first.

Nah, beloveds.

Pull up a chair.

Bring your questions, your certainty, your uncertainty, your faith, your lack of faith, your laughter, your tiredness, and the version of you that has absolutely nothing impressive to report today.

Jesus said, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28 KJV

That is part of my faith foundation.

If you do not share my faith, you are still welcome here.

I hope you find a place today where your worth is not measured by your output.

This week we are going to talk about beginning again without pretending the old beginning never happened.

We are going to talk about voice, agency, belonging, limits, laughter, and what it means to remain ourselves while life changes around us.

But not today.

Today, rest.

You matter to me.

🔑 Maybe the key today is realizing that rest does not have to be earned.

Come back tomorrow if you want to.

There will be a chair for you.

Asking for A Friend,

Cassandra

#YourLifeMattersToMe

Like, comment, share, subscribe, or follow if something here gives you company — and if you do none of those things, you are still beloved.

Note: I love you, beloveds.  Be encouraged. You are enough. So, am I.

COME AS YOU ARE…

Come As You Are—There Is Room

Beloveds,

Friday finally got here.

And apparently everybody came through the door carrying something different.

One person brought joy.

One brought grief.

Somebody brought hope.

Somebody brought a blanket because this week has asked entirely too much already.

Somebody is laughing.

Somebody does not feel like laughing at all.

Somebody did something this week that may look tiny to everybody else but took everything they had.

And somebody barely made it to Friday.

Come on in.

You do not have to finish this week looking like somebody else’s version of okay.

That may be one of the hardest things we learn about doing life together.

We can share a room without sharing an emotion.

Your joy does not disrespect my grief.

My quiet does not reject your laughter.

Your need for company does not mean somebody else is wrong for needing a little space.

The person celebrating is not necessarily ignoring what hurts.

The person hurting has not necessarily forgotten everything worth celebrating.

We are human.

We arrive differently.

And maybe belonging was never supposed to require us to become emotionally identical before we could sit beside one another.

Some weeks end with answers.

Some end with victories.

Some end with plans.

Some end with us looking at the same unanswered mess that was sitting there Monday morning.

And some Friday nights the only thing we know for certain is:

I am here.

You are here.

And there is room for both of us exactly as we arrived.

No performance.

No emotional dress code.

No requirement that everybody in the room call this week good just because it is finally over.

We made it here differently.

That counts too.

So bring your joy.

Bring your tired.

Bring your quiet.

Bring the thing you are proud of.

Bring the thing you are still trying to understand.

Bring your popcorn if that is what kind of Friday you are having. 🍿

And if Life comes bursting through the door tonight carrying one more problem like it forgot to give us something—

I believe this may be the one thing the entire room can agree on:

Life.

Don’t.

😂

Happy Friday, beloveds.

Come as you are.

There is room.

loving me some you
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe