Category: Writing

PROGRESS STILL  COUNTS

PROGRESS STILL COUNTS

COME WITHOUT YOUR RULER.

Beloveds.

Who decided what counts as progress?

Seriously.

Who made the ruler?

Who decided healing has to happen by Tuesday?

Who decided success has to look a certain way?

Who decided faster means better?

Who decided needing help means you aren’t progressing?

Who decided independence is always the highest achievement?

Who decided productivity determines value?

Who decided somebody else’s ten steps somehow cancel out your one?

And perhaps the biggest question:

Why did we believe them?

Come without your ruler today.

Actually…

Bring it.

We might need to see what you’ve been measuring yourself with before we put that thing down.

Maybe yours says:

MORE.

FASTER.

STRONGER.

INDEPENDENT.

PERFECT.

PRODUCTIVE.

Maybe you have spent years holding that ruler against your life.

Against your body.

Against your career.

Against your family.

Against your finances.

Against your faith.

Against your healing.

Against your dreams.

Against your age.

Against somebody else’s life.

And every time you don’t measure up to whatever arbitrary line somebody drew, you tell yourself:

Not enough.

Beloved…

Put.

The.

Ruler.

Down.

💜 DIFFERENT DOES NOT MEAN LESS

This one matters deeply to me.

Sometimes progress looks like running.

Sometimes progress looks like walking.

Sometimes progress looks like rolling.

Sometimes progress looks like crawling.

Sometimes progress looks like standing still long enough to figure out which direction you actually want to go.

And sometimes progress looks like resting because your body, mind, or spirit has told you:

Enough for today.

That counts.

Using accommodations counts.

Asking for help counts.

Changing your mind counts.

Starting again counts.

Resting counts.

Learning counts.

Saying no counts.

Trying differently counts.

Taking longer counts.

Still being here counts.

Different paths. Same purpose. All progress matters.

And I need us to stop treating independence as though it is the only respectable form of human existence.

Every human being depends on somebody.

Period.

We depend on farmers.

Doctors.

Teachers.

Mechanics.

Friends.

Family.

Caregivers.

Strangers.

Communities.

Technology.

People we will never meet.

We have simply decided that certain kinds of dependence look “normal” while other kinds should embarrass people.

No.

Help is not humiliation.

Accommodation is not failure.

Interdependence is human.

🙏🏿 “I CAN DO ALL THINGS…”

Philippians 4:13 says:

“I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” — Philippians 4:13 KJV

I love that Scripture.

But I don’t read it as:

“I can do everything exactly the way everybody else does it.”

I don’t read it as:

“I never need help.”

I don’t read it as:

“If something is difficult, I just need more faith.”

And I certainly don’t read it as:

“God will make me fit somebody else’s ruler.”

Sometimes strength looks like pushing.

Sometimes strength looks like adapting.

Sometimes strength looks like receiving help.

Sometimes strength looks like saying:

This way isn’t working for me. I need another way.

There is more than one way forward.

Whew.

Somebody needed that.

Maybe me.

🥰

💜 HEART CHECK

What ruler have you been carrying?

Be specific.

Is it age?

By this age I should have…

Is it money?

If I were successful, I would have…

Is it marriage?

Everybody else has…

Is it family?

A good mother should…

A good father should…

A good daughter should…

Is it your body?

I used to be able to…

Is it grief?

I should be over this by now…

Is it faith?

If I really trusted God, I wouldn’t feel…

Is it somebody else’s social-media highlight reel?

Look at them.

Now look at me.

STOP.

Their path is theirs.

Yours is yours.

You cannot accurately measure your life with a ruler built for somebody else’s journey.

👑 TINY VICTORY

Today we are going to celebrate something you normally dismiss.

Something small.

Something you almost don’t think deserves mentioning.

Did you make the phone call?

Take the shower?

Drink the water?

Finish one paragraph?

Say the prayer?

Keep the appointment?

Ask the question?

Get out of bed?

Set the boundary?

Say, “I need help”?

Say, “I don’t know”?

Try again?

Rest before your body forced you to?

Laugh in the middle of a difficult day?

Then look at me.

THAT. COUNTS.

We are not waiting for a parade before we acknowledge progress.

Sometimes victory whispers.

Listen for it.

🌎 DAILY LOVE CHALLENGE

Today, stop measuring somebody else’s progress.

Whew again.

Because it is easy to demand freedom from other people’s rulers while carrying one around for everybody else.

“They should be further along.”

“They should know better.”

“They need to get over it.”

“They’re moving too slowly.”

“They should be able to do that themselves.”

Nope.

Put that ruler down too.

Instead, ask:

What does progress look like for YOU?

And then listen to their answer.

Don’t correct it.

Don’t compare it.

Don’t redesign it.

Encourage it.

Maybe somebody around you needs permission to stop performing progress and actually experience it.

Give them room.

🪑 THE CHAIR IS NOT A PRIZE

This may be the most important part today:

The chair is not a prize.

You do not earn belonging by progressing quickly.

You do not earn love by becoming easier to accommodate.

You do not earn dignity by being productive.

You do not earn community by healing on schedule.

You don’t have to show me your report card before you sit down.

There is no progress inspection at the door.

The chair isn’t waiting at the finish line.

The chair is here while you are becoming.

Sit.

🔒🔑 BEFORE YOU GO…

Look at that ruler one more time.

MORE.

Cross it out.

FASTER.

Cross it out.

STRONGER.

Cross it out.

INDEPENDENT.

Cross it out.

PERFECT.

Oh, PLEASE cross that one out.

😂

PRODUCTIVE.

Cross it out.

Now underneath all of it, write:

PUT IT DOWN.

Your progress counts.

Even if it looks different.

Even if it moves slower.

Even if nobody else claps.

Even if yesterday’s accomplishment is today’s struggle.

Even if you need help.

Even if you changed the route.

Even if you stopped to rest.

Even if all you managed today was refusing to quit on yourself.

YOU define what progress looks like in your life.

And Beloved?

Look behind you sometime.

You may discover you’ve traveled farther than that ruler ever allowed you to see.

Come without your ruler.

Come your way.

There’s a chair.

No measurements required.

Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe

🔒🔑 WHOSOEVERWILL.

The chair stays.

Come as you are. All are welcome.

Real talk: Tell “Everything will be alright” to shut up.

Beloveds,

Whew.

Whew!

WHEW!!

Even today had the grace to say “My bad, Cassandra”!

I made a promise to myself, long ago, to encourage someone when I was at my lowest. I figured that somebody HAD to be really  hurting if even MY faith wanted to go on hiatus!

So, here I am,  ready to tell someone to kick rocks…*sigh *

Last night, I dreamed of taking a ride in Cherry 🍒 🚗. I miss her. I miss riding around singing badly.

I’m not sad so much as wanting to say “WTH!”.

I’m NOT okay. How can I be expected to be.

I don’t know HOW to say goodbye to my big brother…shit…😢🥹💔

I just stopped by to encourage someone to remember that it’s okayto NOT be okay, okay.

At least, not today. Check with some of us tomorrow! Think I’ll go watch a movie. Who’s up for one…

asking for many friends,

Cassandra

HEART CHECK TUESDAY: DID ANYBODY CHECK ON YOU TODAY? ❤️

Beloveds.

I have one question tonight.

Did anybody check on YOU today?

Not what you accomplished.

Not whether you got everybody where they needed to go.

Not whether you answered the phone, returned the email, made dinner, went to work, handled the problem, encouraged somebody else, prayed for somebody else, or kept the whole world from falling apart.

You.

How are YOU?

And listen—you don’t have to give me the church answer.

You don’t have to give me the strong answer.

You don’t even have to know the answer.

Maybe you’re fine.

Maybe you’re happy.

Maybe you’re mad.

Maybe you’re tired.

Maybe you’re confused.

Maybe grief and joy somehow pulled up two chairs and are sitting in the same room.

Maybe the only truthful answer you have tonight is:

“I don’t know.”

That gets a chair too.

❤️

Heart checks aren’t about forcing ourselves to feel better.

Sometimes they’re simply about being honest enough to notice what we’re carrying.

Because we can get so busy checking on everybody else that we forget there is a heart beating inside of us that deserves some attention too.

So tonight, I’m checking.

No fixing.

No judging.

No requirement that you make the answer pretty.

And if nobody else asked you today, Cassandra is asking now.

How is your heart, beloved?

I mean it.

I gotchu and I gotcha. 🥜❤️

loving me some you,

Cassandra

Unapologetically His.
Unapologetically yours.

#YourLifeMattersToMe

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 2026

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 2026

HEART CHECK MONDAY: PUT THE DAY DOWN. ❤️

Beloveds.

Come here.

No, seriously.

Put the day down.

You have been carrying it long enough.

Whatever happened between the time your eyes opened this morning and right now at 6 PM has already happened.

The email was sent.

The appointment happened.

The person said what they said.

The thing you meant to finish may still be sitting there unfinished.

Somebody got on your last nerve.

Maybe YOU got on your own last nerve. 👀

It happens.

But before you drag Monday into Monday night, I came to check on you.

How is YOUR heart?

Not your schedule.

Not your productivity.

Not whether everybody else got what they needed from you.

YOU.

How are you?

I used to write these Heart Checks because I wished somebody would check on mine.

That hasn’t changed.

There are people walking around tonight who spent the entire day being useful to everybody.

Useful at work.

Useful at home.

Useful to family.

Useful to friends.

Useful to people who may never think to ask whether the useful person is tired.

So I’m asking.

Are you tired, beloved?

Did something hurt today?

Did something make you smile?

Did you accomplish something nobody else will ever know was hard for you?

Did you hold yourself together until you got somewhere safe enough to fall apart?

Come sit.

🪑

Robie pulled up a chair.

I pulled up mine.

There is room here.

Jesus isn’t standing over you with a clipboard grading Monday.

ABBA isn’t shocked that you’re tired.

The Father knows what this day held before you found words for it.

And The Holy Spirit does not require noise in order to comfort you.

So maybe we don’t need to DO anything with Monday tonight.

Maybe we simply tell the truth about it.

It was good.

It was awful.

It was ordinary.

It was complicated.

It was Monday.

And now it is evening.

Take your shoes off.

Unclench your jaw.

Get something to drink.

Eat something.

Rest your heart.

Tomorrow can wait until tomorrow gets here.

Tonight, I just came back to see about YOU.

Unapologetically His.
Unapologetically yours.

loving me some you,
Cassandra

#YourLifeMattersToMe

🔒 Monday can keep what belongs to Monday.

🔑 You don’t have to carry all of it into tonight.

STORMS DON’T LAST FOREVER…

STORMS DON’T LAST FOREVER

COME WET.

Beloveds.

Come wet.

No, really.

Come. Wet.

You do not have to stand outside trying to dry yourself off before you come through the door.

You do not have to wipe away the evidence that it has been raining in your life.

You do not have to straighten your clothes, fix your face, rehearse a testimony, find the lesson, identify the blessing, or manufacture a smile so everybody else can be comfortable with what you have survived.

Come wet.

Because sometimes encouragement sounds entirely too much like somebody telling us to hurry up and stop hurting.

And that is not what I mean when I tell you:

Storms don’t last forever.

I am not telling you that because I need your storm to end quickly.

I am telling you because I want to sit with you while it is still raining.

There is a difference.

Some storms pass in an afternoon.

Some stay long enough for you to forget what sunshine felt like.

Some storms have names.

Grief.

Loneliness.

Rejection.

Disappointment.

Fear.

Financial trouble.

Family trouble.

The dream that didn’t happen.

The relationship that changed.

The prayer that seems unanswered.

The thing you cannot fix.

The thing you cannot explain.

And sometimes the storm isn’t one enormous thing.

Sometimes it is seventeen little things raining on the same Tuesday.

Whew.

Beloveds, hear me:

Trouble may occupy the room without owning the room.

That distinction matters.

Trouble can be here.

And God can be here.

Grief can be here.

And love can be here.

Fear can be here.

And courage can be here.

Questions can be here.

And faith can be here.

Tears can be here.

And hope can pull up a chair beside them.

We keep acting as though one thing must leave before another thing is allowed through the door.

It doesn’t.

I can hurt and still laugh.

I can grieve and still love.

I can be tired and still believe.

I can be disappointed and still expect God to meet me here.

I can say, “This hurts.”

Period.

No testimony ending required.

That does not mean I have abandoned faith.

Sometimes telling the truth about the rain IS faith.

Because I am trusting God enough to stop pretending in His presence.

Psalm 46:1 says:

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” — Psalm 46:1 KJV

IN trouble.

That gets me.

Not merely after trouble.

Not only once the clouds have separated and the testimony is polished enough for Sunday morning.

IN. TROUBLE.

Very present.

Right here.

Right now.

In the rain.

Maybe refuge does not always mean God immediately stops the storm.

Maybe sometimes refuge means the storm does not get to have all of me.

Maybe refuge is the place where I remember:

I am still here.

I am still loved.

I still belong.

And I do not have to perform strength to deserve shelter.

💜 HEART CHECK

Have you been treating your pain like something you have to clean up before other people are allowed to see it?

Have you been telling yourself:

I should be over this.

I shouldn’t still be sad.

Other people have it worse.

I need to be stronger.

People are tired of hearing about it.

Who handed you that ruler?

And why are they allowed to decide how long rain is permitted to fall in your life?

You are allowed to tell the truth.

👑 TINY VICTORY

Find one piece of evidence that the storm has not taken everything.

Maybe you got out of bed.

Maybe you prayed.

Maybe you ate something.

Maybe you answered one message.

Maybe you laughed for thirty seconds.

Maybe you cried instead of pretending.

Maybe you asked for help.

Maybe you rested.

Maybe all you can say today is:

I am still here.

Beloved, that counts.

Do not insult today’s survival because it does not look like yesterday’s strength.

Progress looks different in the rain.

🌎 DAILY LOVE CHALLENGE

Today, become shelter instead of a weather reporter.

Don’t tell somebody how long their storm should last.

Don’t explain why they should be grateful.

Don’t rush them toward the lesson.

Don’t demand the inspirational ending.

Try this instead:

“You don’t have to clean this up for me. I’m here.”

And mean it.

Maybe love is not always carrying somebody out of the rain.

Sometimes love is pulling another chair underneath the covering and saying:

Sit down. You don’t have to weather this part alone.

🙏🏿 FAITH IN REAL TIME

I believe God is present in the storm.

I also believe we can misunderstand faith when we turn it into pressure to pretend the storm doesn’t hurt.

Jesus never required hurting people to deny that they hurt.

So bring God the unedited version.

The angry version.

The exhausted version.

The confused version.

The “Lord, I don’t understand this” version.

The version with tears running down its face.

The version that doesn’t have a neat ending yet.

God is not frightened by wet clothes.

Come wet.

🔒🔑 BEFORE YOU GO…

If today is sunny for you, leave room for somebody standing in rain.

If today is raining for you, don’t disappear because you think everybody else deserves sunshine.

There is room for both of you here.

Actually…

There is room for all of us.

Christian.

Atheist.

Agnostic.

Certain.

Questioning.

Laughing.

Crying.

Strong today.

Barely holding on today.

Whosoeverwill.

Come.

No cleaned-up pain required.

No testimony ending required.

No admission price.

Just a chair.

And if all you can do today is arrive dripping wet and whisper:

“I’m still here.”

Then sit down, Beloved.

We heard you.

And we are glad you came.

The chair stays.

Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe

🔒🔑 WHOSOEVERWILL.

Come as you are. All are welcome.

Note: We may as well get to dancing in the rain 🌧, beloveds!💃🏿🥰👍🏾

SATURDAY MATINEE 

🍿🎬 SATURDAY MATINEE: SAME KIND OF DIFFERENT AS ME

Beloveds,

Grab the popcorn. 🍿

Pull up a chair.

Saturday Matinee is open. 🎬

🍿 WATCH THE MOVIE:
Same Kind of Different as Me
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r8EE12ergLg

This week we’re watching Same Kind of Different as Me, starring Greg Kinnear, Renée Zellweger, Djimon Hounsou, and Jon Voight.

And whew.

This movie gave me some THANGS to think about. 👀

At first glance, you might think you know this story.

A wealthy white couple begins volunteering at a homeless shelter.

They meet Denver Moore, a Black man carrying anger, pain, distrust, and a lifetime of experiences they do not understand.

And here comes that familiar movie formula:

White people meet struggling Black person.

White people help struggling Black person.

Everybody learns something.

Roll credits.

Except—

hold up.

👀

Keep watching.

Because Denver is not merely somebody standing around waiting for Ron and Debbie Hall to rescue him.

Denver has a story.

Denver has wisdom.

Denver has agency.

Denver has reasons for the walls he built.

And before anybody starts demanding that he tear those walls down, maybe somebody ought to care enough to ask:

What happened behind them?

That question stayed with me.

Because sometimes we meet somebody after the hurt and judge the behavior without knowing the history.

We see anger.

We don’t see what taught somebody that anger might be safer than vulnerability.

We see distrust.

We don’t see all the times trusting somebody cost them something.

We see the wall.

We never ask who kept throwing bricks.

👀

And this movie doesn’t only ask us to look at Denver.

Look at Ron.

Look at Debbie.

Look at marriage.

Privilege.

Homelessness.

Race.

Grief.

Friendship.

Faith.

Forgiveness.

And look closely at what happens when helping somebody stops being a project and becomes a relationship.

That distinction matters to me.

I don’t want to be anybody’s project.

And I don’t want you to be mine.

I want chairs.

🪑🪑

Two people can sit beside one another without either person becoming the superior human being.

One person may have money.

Another may have wisdom.

One may have housing.

Another may understand survival in ways the first person never had to learn.

One may arrive believing they came to give.

Then discover—

they came to receive too.

That’s where this movie gets REALLY interesting to me.

Because real relationship has a funny way of messing up those neat little categories of:

HELPER.

and

HELPED.

Sometimes the person you thought you were rescuing reaches right back and grabs you.

Sometimes the person everybody else walked past sees something the rest of us missed.

And sometimes the question isn’t:

Who saved whom?

Maybe the better question is:

What happened when they finally saw each other?

👀❤️

Now THAT will preach.

But…

🤣🤣🤣

THIS IS SATURDAY MATINEE.

I’m not turning your popcorn into homework.

🍿

Watch the movie.

Meet Denver.

Meet Ron.

Meet Debbie.

Laugh where you laugh.

Get mad where you get mad.

Talk back to the television if necessary.

You know I do. 😂

But while you’re watching, notice something.

Who did you initially think needed saving?

Then keep watching long enough to see whether you still believe that by the end.

Because sometimes we walk into somebody else’s life thinking:

I gotchu.

And somewhere along the way we discover:

Wait a minute.

You got me too.

👀😭❤️

And THAT, Beloveds, is a conversation I know a little something about.

But we’ll leave that right there.

👀

For now—

the lights are going down.

The popcorn is ready.

The movie is cued.

And yes…

I saved you a chair. 🪑

Actually—

I gotchu and I gotcha.

🍿🎬❤️

Unapologetically His and Unapologetically yours,

loving me some you,

Cassandra

#YourLifeMattersToMe
#SaturdayMatinee
#SameKindOfDifferentAsMe
#IGotchuAndIGotcha

I TOLD HARD, “HA!”

I TOLD HARD, “HA!”

Beloveds.

Life came for me.

Hard came for me.

And I told Hard—

“HA!” 😂

Now, before somebody thinks Cassandra has finally lost what little sense she had left, let me explain. 😂

I didn’t tell hard it wasn’t hard.

I told hard it wasn’t God.

Sit with that for a minute.

Because I am not going to lie to you and pretend everything that has happened to me has been easy.

It hasn’t.

I’m not going to tell you I haven’t cried.

I have.

I’m not going to tell you I haven’t gotten tired, frustrated, angry, disappointed, scared, or just plain sick and tired of being sick and tired.

I have.

Hard is HARD.

And sometimes faith doesn’t change that fact.

Sometimes prayer doesn’t immediately change the circumstances.

Sometimes you can believe God with everything in you and still wake up tomorrow facing the same thing you were facing yesterday.

I know something about that.

I am taking care of myself.

I’m listening to my doctors.

I’m preparing to begin outpatient therapy.

And I also understand that I may have to live with some residual symptoms from my stroke unless and until God heals me.

Maybe He will.

I believe He can.

But Beloveds, I also have to tell you something that matters deeply to me:

I may not get the miracle I want.

And God will still be God.

I will still be blessed.

I will still love Him.

I will still trust Him.

And I will not blame God for an outcome I don’t like.

Life came for me.

Hard came for me.

I told hard, “HA!”

Not because hard didn’t hurt.

Not because I won every battle.

Not because everything went back to the way it used to be.

Not because I got everything I prayed for.

HA! is not denial.

HA! is me refusing to give hard a promotion it did not earn.

Hard does not get to become God.

Hard does not get to decide whether I laugh today.

Hard does not get to decide whether I love today.

Hard does not get to decide whether I write today.

Hard does not get to decide whether I dream today.

Hard does not get to decide whether I LIVE today.

And perhaps that is what living your best life really means.

Maybe your best life isn’t the life you would have chosen.

Maybe it isn’t the life you planned.

Maybe living your best life means taking the life you have—

and living the mess out of it anyway.

Laugh while something still hurts.

Call somebody you love.

Watch the movie.

Play the music.

Eat something delicious.

Write the thing.

Go to therapy.

Ask for help.

Take the nap.

Cry when you need to cry.

Start again when you’re able.

Sit still when you’re not.

Find something beautiful in a day that wasn’t particularly beautiful.

And please hear me:

You do not have to defeat hard before you start living again.

🔒🔑

Hard may change the lock.

Hard doesn’t get to hide every key.

Maybe your hard is illness.

Maybe it’s grief.

Maybe somebody broke your heart.

Maybe you’re lonely.

Maybe money is funny and the bills aren’t laughing.

Maybe you’re caring for somebody and you’re exhausted.

Maybe you’re beginning again at 27.

Or 57.

Or 87.

Maybe you’ve been praying about something so long that you don’t even know what else to say.

Maybe today you don’t feel strong.

Then don’t perform strength for me.

Cry.

Rest.

Call somebody.

Get some help.

Do what you need to do to take care of yourself.

And when you’re able—

LIVE.

Because whatever came for you does not automatically get the rest of you.

AND NOW, MY 🥜 EATERS…

😂🥰

Come on in.

Yes, YOU.

Pull up your chair.

You already know I’m not about to sneak an altar call into paragraph six. 😂

You don’t have to believe what I believe for this next part to belong to you.

I believe in God.

I believe Jesus is Lord and Savior.

I believe God can heal me.

That’s Cassandra.

I’m not hiding my faith to make anybody comfortable.

But I’m also not requiring you to borrow my faith before I’ll pull out a chair for you.

So keep your peanuts. 🥜😂

Sit down.

I gotchu and gotcha.

Because whether you believe in God, don’t believe in God, aren’t sure about God, are angry with God, walked away from church a long time ago, or have never walked through the doors—

hard has probably introduced itself to you too.

And here’s what I want you to hear:

Whatever happened to you is something that happened to you.

It does not have to become everything you are.

You don’t have to call that God.

I do.

You don’t have to explain your survival the way I explain mine.

You don’t even have to understand it yet.

But please—

LIVE.

That’s it.

That’s my grand agenda today.

No sorting table.

No religious prerequisite.

No test at the door.

There are chairs.

🪑🪑🪑🪑🪑

Come sit down.

Believers, bring your faith.

🥜 eaters, bring your peanuts.

Those of you somewhere in between, bring your questions.

Everybody bring your keys. 🔑

We’ve got some living to do.

Because sometimes the miracle isn’t that everything changed today.

Sometimes today is simply the day you realized:

I AM STILL HERE.

And being here means there is still something available to me.

Love.

Laughter.

Friendship.

Music.

A conversation.

A sunset.

A ridiculous movie.

A good cry.

Another beginning.

Another chance to say I love you.

Another opportunity to tell somebody else:

I gotchu.

And another day to LIVE.

So Hard…

I see you.

I felt you.

I have the scars to prove you were here.

I’m not pretending you weren’t hard.

But you apparently misunderstood something.

You thought because you changed some things, you got everything.

You thought because life didn’t turn out exactly as I planned, I would stop living it.

You thought because my body changed, Cassandra disappeared.

You thought because I cried, joy packed its bags.

You thought because I hurt, love left.

You thought because I don’t know exactly what tomorrow holds, I couldn’t enjoy TODAY.

Baby…

HA! 😂💃🏿

I’m still here.

Still loving.

Still laughing.

Still believing.

Still writing.

Still dreaming.

Still taking care of myself.

Still finding 🔑s.

Still pulling out chairs.

Still loving me some Beloveds.

And still living.

Life came for me.

Hard came for me.

I TOLD HARD, “HA!”

And whatever came for you, Beloved—

please don’t hand it the rest of your life.

I gotchu and gotcha.

And God has us all. ❤️

Unapologetically His.

Unapologetically yours.

loving me some you,

Cassandra

#YourLifeMattersToMe

Note: Writing ✍️🏿 this actually brought tears to my eyes, beloveds.  I dream of raising both arms in praise. I want to run again. I want to drive 🚗 again.

I want to live on my own. This stroke makes that impossible, for now.

Now, I have to literally plan EVERY step. That gets exhausting. It’s why folks who have had a stroke take many naps. Even my try gets exhausted fast.

Still,  I am grateful for my life. Even on my harshest health days.

This morning, I told lazy to get up. Lazy, laughter, Jesus and I folded my laundry and put it away.

Whew!

I made a promise to myself that I would take no breaks until the last piece was folded and put away.

In total, it has taken almost four hours to complete my routine.

I just stopped by to encourage someone. Starting with me.

Enjoy yourself. Embrace your life. It’s the only one we get.

In case no one has told you today: I love you and so does He. Be patient. Be resourceful. Be resolute.

Be challenged. Be adventurous. Be…

Heckamiah! Be as many things as you want!😎🥰😂👀💃🏿💯

Take care of your heart as it is precious and priceless to ABBA, to me.

Finally, hit me up in the comments. Tryna sound cool 😎. How’d  I do. Asking for A Friend…😂🥰❤️

YOU ARE STILL HERE AND HERE IS A PLACE.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 2026

YOU ARE STILL HERE — AND HERE IS A PLACE

Beloveds.

We made it to Friday.

Not everybody arrived triumphantly.

Somebody crawled.

Somebody coasted.

Somebody changed the plan four times.

Somebody did the bare minimum and had to call that enough.

Somebody surprised themselves.

Somebody is still waiting for the thing they hoped would change this week.

Welcome.

This week we talked about beginning again, voice, agency, and joy.

None of those subjects requires a perfect ending by Friday afternoon.

Life is not a weekly television episode.

Sometimes the victory is not resolution.

Sometimes the victory is presence.

Psalm 118:24 says, “This is the day which the LORD hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.” KJV

For me, that rejoicing does not mean denying what hurts.

It means this day still contains life.

If you do not share my belief, I hope you can still receive this:

Your unfinished life is not an unworthy life.

🔑 You do not have to wait until everything is fixed to belong here.

You matter to me.

Bring the wheelchair.

Bring the cane.

Bring the running shoes.

Bring the grief.

Bring the laughter.

Bring the questions.

Bring the faith.

Bring the doubt.

Bring yourself.

There is a chair.

Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe

STILL.

Beloveds,

I’m STILL me.

This stroke has not taken my joy. Yes, my voice is unrecognizable. That’s okay. I’m doing my best to love somebody with all that is within me.

I made this before my stroke. Hearing the old me is bittersweet. There are days when I miss who l used to be. She is still me.

I just stopped by to encourage someone. Starting with me.

Don’t get on yourself for who you used to be  Embrace ALL of you 

Use the voice you have  Enjoy the life you have. Love the person you are now. Right now

loving me some you,

Cassandra

JOY DOES NOT HAVE TO EXPLAIN ITSELF.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 2026

JOY DOES NOT HAVE TO EXPLAIN ITSELF

Beloveds.

I would like to file a complaint against the idea that everything enjoyable must also be productive.

🤣

Sometimes I want the movie.

Sometimes I want the music.

Sometimes I want the joke that makes absolutely no contribution to civilization.

Sometimes I want to laugh until whatever was heavy five minutes ago has to wait its turn.

Joy is not evidence that pain was exaggerated.

Laughter is not betrayal of grief.

Pleasure is not proof that recovery is finished.

A hard life can contain a ridiculous Tuesday.

A grieving person can laugh.

A disabled person can have fun.

A believer can enjoy something without turning it into a sermon.

Ecclesiastes 3:4 says there is “A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” KJV

I am taking the whole verse.

💃🏿

If you do not share my faith, I still hope you give yourself permission to experience joy without cross-examining it.

🔑 Joy does not always need a reason.

Sometimes the key is simply opening the door when it knocks.

You matter to me.

What made you laugh lately that had absolutely no deeper meaning?

Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe

Note: Today, I gave me permission to rest and do absolutely nothing. I napped. I napped some more. My naps took a nap!🥰💃🏿😆❤️👍🏾💯😘J