Author: Just Jacquie

The other night I indulged on some Tostitos and nacho cheese from a can. I couldn’t help but reminisce. In junior high and high school, I played basketball and volleyball. On our way home from tournaments or away games, we’d always stop and go to 7-11 for snacks. I usually didn’t have money to buy those coveted snacks. Paper bag lunches or bust for me. Sometimes my teammates would come back with tortilla chips drenched in nacho cheese. You know the kind? The kind where the chips would gets soggy from the warm cheese sauce. I remember getting to sample those deliciously saturated chips and wishing I could have a container to call my own. I eventually did. And they didn’t disappoint.

Well, fast forward 20 years. I took my son to a PJ Masks live performance. We each picked out some things at the concession. The first thing I was drawn to was the tortilla chips with nacho cheese. I was taken back to my sports playing days. To the days of belonging to a team and feeling part of something. Something as simple as nachos and cheese could make me feel so many happy things. I was looking forward to digging in. I was anticipating the juxtaposition of crunchy outer chips to the inner soft, saturated cheesy chips. I had built up my expectations only to be disappointed. The chips were stale. The cheese was cold. (It makes me think of Encino Man’s “the cheese is old and moldy”.) The sauce to chip ratio was super chintzy. In other words, NO SOGGY CHIPS.

Expectations. I’ve struggled with this for most of my life without even recognizing it as such. I have placed expectations on many things, only to be disappointed in some way. I have placed high and unrealistic expectations on myself. I have also put those high expectations onto other people and things/situations.

I have a few more stories to illustrate high and unrealistic expectations I’ve placed on others. Picture this. Keegan and I didn’t have children for the first four and a half years of our marriage. However, each and every Mother’s Day of our childless years, I’d end up so disappointed that Keegan did NOT celebrate me on Mother’s Day. My mom always celebrated me and my sisters on Mother’s Day. I thought this was to be expected that Keegan should too. I felt so ripped off because I WOULD be the mother to his children one day and he obviously SHOULD celebrate for this reason. How insensitive he was.

I have so many more stories like this. I’d end up hurt and disappointed and Keegan would end up frustrated and left feeling undervalued. It wasn’t the best situation. We couldn’t thrive as a couple with the looming cloud of unattainable ideals hanging over our heads. Sure, I have calmed down, matured and grown as a person in general. But I still have had a tendency towards high expectations. I’ve only started to acknowledge my unrealistic expectations within the past few years. This Alcoholics Anonymous quote is pretty hard hitting: “Expectations are premeditated resentments”. I have never considered this before, but it’s absolutely true. Now that I’m becoming more aware, I realize I really don’t like feeling resentment. It’s a poison that spreads to many other areas in my life.

Sometimes, okay, often times, I just expect people to be and think like me. “…but I have a newsflash for you, Walter Cronkite… you aren’t.” We are not all the same. This is a hard thing for me to learn. These expectations can leave me hurt, disappointed and feeling insecure. It leaves me doubting myself big time.

I am going to add one more story to further illustrate my expectations. I grew up with my mom serving people in our community. She’d serve with her time, her skills and her love. It was kind of routine to watch her take dinner to families who needed some extra love. I couldn’t help but continue this service. It was part of me. And it makes me so happy. I know I can’t help in the big ways, but I sure can pray and take food over to someone who needs it. Am I a great cook? I get by. (You’ll notice that this is not a food blog.) Does my family enjoy what I make? Yes. Am I insecure about taking dinner over to others? Absolutely.

Now, that doesn’t sound like having expectations, right? Just keep reading and you’ll see. I’m a thanker. In fact, I’m an over-thanker. (I’m often an over-apologizer, too, and that’s for another day.) Because of this, I have kind of expected others to be that same way. When you do things for others, you shouldn’t have expectations at all. You did what you felt you needed/wanted to do and that should be thanks enough. For me, it wasn’t. If I wasn’t thanked after the meal had been eaten, I was left thinking dinner was disgusting. Or bisgusting, as my three year old used to say. I’ve learned now that l shouldn’t rely on others to make me feel validated. No one can fill that void, except God and myself.

I’m trying harder than ever to be more mindful. To reflect and have more self-awareness. I’m trying to let go of these tendencies and look for the good. Having gratitude changes everything. It’s the antidote for almost anything negative. Oh, and counselling helped, too. I needed a neutral person who would help me see unhealthy patterns. Sometimes it hurt, but I needed that proverbial kick in the pants. I learned that I have been projecting myself and my issues onto others. I would feel like no matter what I’d do, it’d never be good enough. I have unrealistic expectations on myself, so I project that onto other people and situations/things. Perfect segue to expectations I place on myself. I feel like this needs to be another blog post, though. (I’ll link it once it’s written.)

So here’s to mindfulness! Here’s to keeping our expectations in check! Like one of my favourite bloggers out there says, “We are action-taking, problem-solving women!” (Allie Casazza has been instrumental in my journey, in so many ways. Stay tuned for my minimalism post.) We can figure this out and make changes. We can! Here’s to being content and recognizing that we are all enough. Here’s to dealing with our issues! It’s our time to thrive.

One evening, we had people over for dinner. I had set up all the food buffet-style on the island, but we hadn’t yet asked for everyone to gather to say a blessing on the food. No one was sitting down at the table or at the island. We were all visiting on the couches. Yet, one of my kids started going to town and chowing down on the food. I was annoyed and frustrated. I blurted out a little loudly, “Read the room!!!!”

My kids didn’t know what it meant, so I had to explain it. “Read the room means to look all around you. You can figure things out based on that. Are other people sitting down at the table and island? Are other people eating? NOPE!” This is just one example of teaching my kids how to pick up on social cues.

Read the room is now one of my favourite things to say. It’s applicable to many situations. So, I am going to ask you this: do you read the room regularly? Are you self-aware? I’m aware of the need to be self-aware. Haha! I’m trying. I fail sometimes. Recently, during church, I sat near a friend and we visited off and on during sacrament meeting. By visiting, I also mean laughing. My husband kept giving me side-eye, trying to get me to see that a reverent sacrament meeting wasn’t the most appropriate venue for a gab session. I did not read the room. (And I am not good at whispering. My whisper is other people’s inside voice. 🙈) But I do succeed sometimes, like when I can tell I’m talking too much so I stop and give space for the other people to also add to the conversation.

It’s fascinating to watch people at buffets or pot lucks. Some people are not self-aware. They aren’t aware of the many people behind them who haven’t dished up yet, and they go to town, piling their plates up. To that, I want to yell, “READ THE ROOM, BUDDY!”

I remember talking to my therapist about the struggles I had with an individual. He asked me if I knew what a shadow personality was. I didn’t. He went on to explain that often the things that irritate us the most in other people are a reflection of some quality we dislike in ourselves. Boom.

My mom loved people and genuinely loved getting to know them. She also genuinely loved talking. We called my mom a walking encyclopedia because she knew a lot of information. It was a blessing and a curse. She wasn’t always able to read the room. She’d still be talking as people would be side stepping to get to their vehicle, or moving closer to the door to make their escape. My momma loved to talk. (What I wouldn’t give to hear her tell me random information. What I wouldn’t give to hear her go off on long winded tangents about all the celebrity gossip. My mom had a vested interest in certain celebrity relationships. I remember she left my sister a message on the phone, saying how devastating the news was that Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman were breaking up. Man, I miss that mother of mine. It is funny how the quirks that sometimes annoy you are the ones you miss the most.) This tendency of my mom’s would irritate me sometimes. But now, I’m trying to look deeper in my irritation, to be more aware of this shadow personality business. Looking back, maybe I’m irritated by this tendency in ME!

Self-reflection is a good thing, but I do think we can take things too far and question everything. I’m not saying to do that. Moderation in all things!

So friends, I’m writing this all to give me accountability. I’m also wanting to share these epiphanies I had. Maybe it’s something you needed to hear. ❤️ It’s nice to know we are not alone. So to everyone, including myself, I say…RTR. Read the room!

I remember when my kids were 6, 2 and 1. Getting in the van to go anywhere was a struggle and a stressful time. Kids who hate being buckled up is something that will send parents to the brink of insanity. By parents, I mean specifically Jacquie Fleming.

I remember losing it and yelling at my children, while buckling my toddler up with a little more force than necessary. Because of my frustrations with their lack of cooperation, I became a bit of a mom-ster. (Side bar: When I taught kindergarten, we were learning the letter M. The kids needed to draw a picture of something that started with the letter we learned. I saw one picture and asked my student if he drew a monster. He said that he was drawing his mom. Gulp. I learned to ask questions instead of guessing. For the record, she was a bit of a monster to deal with. I came up with the word mom-ster from that encounter. I thought I was so clever. Turns out, other people are just as clever, but I digress.)

All of a sudden it hit me that if my neighbours were outside, they’d be able to see me spazzing on my kids. And they’d judge me or change their opinion of me. I felt so embarrassed. I feared what they might think of me.

After the intensity of that situation passed, I had the realization that some people DID hear me. Heavenly Father and Jesus heard me. My kids heard me. I felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow at that moment. I realized I was more worried about what my neighbours thought about me than what those who matter most to me thought.

I couldn’t help but think of the lyrics to a special primary song, If The Savior Stood Beside Me. Sometimes the simplicity of children’s songs are the most powerful.

1. If the Savior stood beside me,

would I do the things I do?

Would I think of His commandments,

and try harder to be true?

Would I follow His example?

Would I live more righteously

if I could see the Savior standing nigh,

watching over me?

2. If the Savior stood beside me,

would I say the things I say?

Would my words be true and kind

if He was never far away?

Would I try to share the gospel?

Would I speak more rev’rently

if I could see the Savior standing nigh,

watching over me?

3. He is always near me,

though I do not see Him there,

And because He loves me dearly,

I am in His watchful care.

So I’ll be the kind of person

that I know I’d like to be

if I could see the Savior standing nigh,

watching over me.

(Words and music by Sally DeFord)

Well, I was able to quickly answer the questions posed within the song. I wouldn’t dream of speaking and acting in that way if He was standing near me. This experience has taught me so much. I should care way more about what my sweet family thinks and what Heavenly Father and Jesus think over what the “public” thinks. It was a powerful moment for me. It’s the fear of man versus the fear of God conflict. Sometimes it’s so hard to keep my perspective in check.

I’m so grateful that I can recall primary songs to help remind me of sweet and simple truths.
When I sing primary songs with my children, my own testimony is strengthened. These songs also help me learn alongside my kids in a way that is so meaningful. I love music, in general, but there’s something so special about gospel songs written for kids. My kids are so special. I am working hard at remembering that, even in the midst of my frustrations.

I’m trying to consistently take “holy pauses” before I react, and I have to tell you. I’m way less of a spaz. I’m trying to be intentional with what I invite in our home. That includes feelings. When I yell or overreact, I invite less-than-good feelings. I’m working on it. I’m getting better at it. Having this photo in our living room is an amazing reminder.

I’m so grateful for this beautiful lesson taught to me about what matters more.

(Love Is Spoken Here is another primary song that I love. Here’s a link to the full collection of primary songs if you wanted to have a look-see.)

Update: I just recently had another experience that reminded me about what matters more. This was my Instagram post from December 27th:

I took the kids to see Frozen 2 today. What a delightful experience to share with my kids and my niece!

While sitting in the darkened theatre with my popcorn. (With a combo of butter, dill pickle AND white cheddar seasoning. Magical.) I had a “Read the Room” moment.

The second I sat down with my popcorn, I SHOVELLED the popcorn in my mouth. There were no manners. No regard for how I looked or sounded as I repeated to hoover the popcorn. Lachlan was sitting on my lap and I kept dropping popcorn on him. He didn’t care because he was so happy gorging on his popcorn, too. I looked around and this uncivilized way of eating popcorn was everywhere. It wasn’t just me and my family. This was happening all over the theatre. I’d never eat like this with the light on. But in the dark? You betcha. You feel unnoticed. Anonymous almost. Anything goes.

I pondered this phenomenon a bit more. When we don’t think people see us, how do we act? (I saw a guy pick at his butt today, when he thought no one was watching.) How do we speak? (I’ve been swearing under my breath lately at the kids. They don’t hear it.)

This got me thinking on a more spiritual level. Someone always sees us, no matter the lighting. We are not anonymous. We don’t go unnoticed. What we do and say DO matter.

Anyway, just some thoughts from moi. The things that make you go hmmm. 🍿

Now, I’m not talking about the beautiful and tragic story of a boy and his dog. I’m talking about me and my struggle with yelling. Somewhere along my parenthood journey, I became a yeller. Not a screamer, but a voice-raiser that escalates to a yeller. It’s not something I set out to become, but yet, here I am.

I have always considered myself a happy and loving person. I certainly never identified myself as an angry person. When I became a mother for the first time, I felt like a different person. The joy and responsibility that came with motherhood definitely changed me in good ways. My heart was capable of such love. I was a nurturer by nature, and my desire to be a good mom was there. There were moments when I’d look at Evie, our first child, and I’d feel so overwhelmed with love. How did we even live life before the incredible blessing of being her parents? How did we know true happiness and love before then?

Evie was my sidekick and came with me everywhere. Going back to work and leaving her was extremely difficult. When I came home from work, I was still able to give Evie my best. We made our time together count.

When Evie was three and a half, we had our second child, Bennett. It was an adjustment in so many ways, but we were so happy. However, it was after having two kids that I started to yell. Things escalated when I had Lachlan, our third child. Where did all this anger come from? Like for real? Irritation and annoyance? Yes, that was definitely in me. But the anger? I didn’t know I had it in me.

It was hard for my husband to hear me react out of anger. He’s a pretty calm person and rarely has raised his voice at our children. We were talking about my tendency and we came up with me being an Old Yeller. We took things to the next level and came up with new yelling names. We were able to turn a concern into something fun. Just call me Sarah Michelle Yell•er, Boris Yell•tsin, Yell•anie Griffith, Yell•y Clarkson, or Ang•Yell•a Lansbury. (I even made a Facebook post about this and my friends added to the list. I have some funny friends. Please feel free to add to the list! Pure entertainment!)

This has been one of the biggest things I’ve tried to work on. My anger, not my clever yelling name list. I’ve taken parenting classes, talked openly with family and friends, prayed, watched videos, and read articles. I’d do well for a bit and then default to yelling. I was so disappointed in myself. I felt like I could never change. One day, I saw something in my newsfeed about angry parents (Facebook listens to my conversations, I’m convinced. Let me just readjust my tinfoil hat.). I prefer to borrow books from the library now, since my big purge of belongings. So, I was on my library’s app and searched for the author. I didn’t find her, but I randomly found this, and it spoke to me:
Triggers
Exchanging parents’ angry reactions for gentle biblical responses
Written by Amber Lia and Wendy Speake

Read this description and maybe you’ll be touched like I was.
“Do you believe your struggle with anger stems from the wrong behavior you see displayed in your children? The knee-jerk reactions and blow-ups you’re facing are often a result of a bigger set of “triggers.” Some of these are external, like a child’s disobedience, backtalk, or selective hearing, while others are internal, like an overflowing schedule, sleep-deprivation, or perhaps your own painful experiences from childhood.

Triggers: Exchanging Parent’s Angry Reactions for Gentle Biblical Responses examines common parenting issues that cause us to explode inappropriately at our children. Moving beyond simple parenting tips on how to change your child’s behavior, authors Amber Lia and Wendy Speake offer biblical insight and practical tools to equip and encourage you on the journey away from anger-filled reactions toward gentle, biblical responses.”

Guys. This was my answer. Why hadn’t I thought to include God even more in this particular struggle? I know it wasn’t a coincidence that I found this book. I NEEDED it in my life. I borrowed it from the library as an audiobook first. I was so touched by the content that I bought the physical book. I also bought the accompanying study guide. I was able to dig deep and I was able to make changes.

I still sometimes default to anger and yelling, but I now have tools to correct myself. I’m pretty good at apologizing to my kids now. I am able to give myself grace more than ever. And I definitely rely on the Lord more.

I have a lot to say on this blog, but I felt pulled towards writing about this. Maybe because I’ve felt my anger bubbling up recently. I noticed I’ve been defaulting to “loud talking”. Maybe I need this refresher more than any of you do. My husband and I have felt so strongly to have peace and unity in our home. One of our biggest desires is for our home to truly be a haven. This reminder is going to help me be the catalyst in our home towards achieving our goal of peace and unity. As we all know, if momma ain’t happy ain’t nobody happy. As women, we truly have power to set the tone of our home. I’ve been a little off-key lately, but I will work on my pitch.

I’m already crying. What I’m about to say is very near and dear to me, but I feel strongly I need to share.

I had miscarriages for my first and third pregnancies. Nothing could have prepared me for the devastation that would ensue. I felt like I did something wrong. I remember thinking that I shouldn’t have lifted that heavy box or gone to Zumba class. I blamed myself for losing my babies. Feeling that responsibility was crippling. I felt like something was wrong with my body. I felt betrayed. I felt like I let Keegan down. I’ve mourned the loss of my two babies who I never got to meet, hold, smell, or sing lullabies to. I’ve mourned the life we had planned with them in it. I’ve mourned not being able to watch them grow up. There are two ‘future families’ I didn’t get to know and love and be a grandma to. My heart has been shattered with the loss of it all.

Anger also became real to me. I teetered on the edge of bitterness. I was angry at Heavenly Father. I was angry at all the happy families with young kids. I was angry at pregnant women. I was especially angry seeing posts on Facebook with pregnancy or birth announcements. I knew deep down that I shouldn’t be angry at all of these people, but I felt it nonetheless. I remember having a break down after reading someone’s post on Facebook complaining about being pregnant. What I wouldn’t give to have morning sickness, discomfort and lack of sleep all for the purpose of having a baby!!!

Each month after both miscarriages, I’d have such hope to be pregnant again. I remember reliving all the loss, pain and disappointment of my miscarriages when I would have my period. Having children is a righteous desire. Why was it so hard??? And why were there so many unwanted pregnancies and/or sucky parents in this world? Sometimes I’d get swallowed up in emotions and the what if’s. When I finally was pregnant again, I was SO paranoid. Every time I had any kind of dischargey feeling, my heart would drop to my stomach. Was it a sign of miscarriage? I had anxiety every time I went to the bathroom. I was riddled with fear before I’d wipe. I was so afraid of seeing blood.

I remember hearing the phrases, “You’ll have others” or “Something was wrong with the baby, so it’s a blessing it didn’t survive”. People would try to comfort me by telling me 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. Those people were right, but they were also wrong. I just needed hugs, love, empathy and probably food. Food is always a helpful thing. Everyone grieves differently. Some want solitude and some want to be surrounded by people. The universal thing everyone needs/wants is food. (I had so many people bring food after my mom died. It was amazing. Some friends even brought me a basket filled with paper plates, cutlery, fruits and munchies. That was genius.)

I know people often times don’t know what to say when tragedy strikes. I’m sure I’ve said the wrong thing. If you don’t know what to say? Be honest and tell the person that you don’t know what to say. Mourn with them. Listen to them if they are ready to talk. Share your story of loss, if they’re ready to listen.

(After my mom died, I loathed hearing “I’m sorry for your loss” and “She’s in a better place”. One of my friends who suffered a great loss said he hated hearing, “If there’s anything I can do…”. He had the best response. He asked someone if he could have their car because they did said “anything”. I’ve found that if you feel like you should do something, go for it. Just do it. Those in mourning probably won’t ever reach out to ask for help. They’re just trying to survive.)

I also became so sensitive when people would ask when Keegan and I would start a family. Or when we’d have our next baby. (What I really wanted to do was answer with Nunya. Nunya business. I would’ve added a damn in there too.) I know people are well-meaning. I’ve been that person, but I’ve learned now to generally not ask people that extremely personal question. Newsflash: it really isn’t anyone’s business! Miscarriages and infertility and timing affect this. And what if you don’t want to have children of your own? It’s really none of our business, regardless of how much we care about our family and friends. I remember going to church and one of my past school teachers asked me when I was due, because I had some signs showing. What that teacher didn’t know is that I had JUST miscarried. I sobbed while sitting on the pew. Keegan was so sweet and tried to comfort me. I think I eventually had to leave the building. That question was such a trigger.

One thing I failed to realize throughout this all was that my husband was also grieving. I was so caught up in my own grief because it happened to me. But, Keegan suffered a loss. It happened to him too. He lost those babies too. It was different for him than it was for me, but it was so hard on him just the same. It was also hard for him to feel helpless when my body was weak and when my heart was broken. It was especially hard for him when I was transported in an ambulance due to extreme blood loss.

When I opened up to family and friends, that’s when healing happened. And that healing was then accelerated once I worked things out with Heavenly Father. I was amazed at how many people have experienced miscarriage and infertility. I’m so thankful for people sharing their story with me. There’s strength in sharing. Healing takes place with sharing. Let’s be better at sharing our story.

On New Year’s Eve, 2017, I had the thought that 2018 was going to be my year. I even said it out loud to anyone who would listen. That thought was soon obliterated. January 2nd, 2018 goes down as the worst day of my life.

I received news I had never considered I’d hear. My brother-in-law called me to tell me that we lost my mom. It didn’t register with me at all. I actually thought my mom was lost. I even giggled envisioning her walking around town, disoriented and in her muumuu and winter boots. But devastatingly enough, that wasn’t what he meant. It was an out-of-body experience once I absorbed what was said to me. I let out noises I didn’t know I was capable of making. I dropped to my knees and felt absolutely shattered. I felt so blindsided, so betrayed. We did not expect this at all. Yes, her health wasn’t the best it had been, but we thought we had years left with her. My mom would always tell me that she was a tough ol’ broad. That always gave me reassurance she’d be around for a long time. My mom was invincible to me.

My beautiful mother was only 61. I was only 35. My husband and I had a 6, 3 and 1 year old. This wasn’t right. This made no sense. How? Why? WHY? When my kids would cry for me or ask for me, I would cry and say that I understood. I just wanted my mom. Moms make everything better. We will always need our moms. It’s a fact, regardless of how old you are or how dysfunctional your family might be. To say I was absolutely devastated and broken was an understatement. I felt so robbed. I was too young to lose my mom. She was my cheerleader. She was my safe place. She was a source of love, support, strength and laughter. I felt that my children were so robbed. My kids were too young to lose a grandparent. My little one year old, Lachlan, will have no memories of his Grandma Margi. I felt sorrow, regret and guilt for not having more pictures of the kids with their grandma, especially Lachlan. I felt ripped off knowing I only had one video of her. ONE! (Guilt is a real part of grief, by the way.) I just always thought I’d have more time.

It was all just too much. I felt so much. I even felt anger towards my Heavenly Father. I felt abandoned. I felt so very alone. Did I mention I felt anger? (Anger is also SUCH a real part of grief.)

For the first few days after my mom died, I would wake up in the middle of the night. I would wake up and then the realization would hit that my nightmare was actually my reality. I couldn’t fall back asleep. One particular morning, I woke up at 3 and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I looked on my phone, hoping to distract myself from my new reality. A cooking video came on my Facebook newsfeed. As soon as I saw butter melting in a pot, I was committed to view the finished product. It was comfort food in all its glory: chicken pot pie. I thought to myself how amazing it would be to eat some chicken pot pie. I certainly was in no position to make any food for my family other than pouring milk into a bowl full of cereal. Eating chicken pot pie was not in my future, or so I thought.

Within one day of each other, two friends brought me chicken pot pies. Not one, but two! Soup, lasagna, casseroles, pizzas and the like are typically the comfort food people will bring over when there is a celebration or tragedy. Chicken pot pie certainly hasn’t been on the list. This wasn’t a coincidence. It was a divine influence. I broke down and cried. I was incredibly touched. And it reaffirmed to me that God was mindful of me and loved me. It showed me that He cared about me in all ways, even my insignificant desire for chicken pot pie. I needed this reminder so much. I was also reminded that He didn’t withhold love from me because I was angry with Him. I didn’t feel abandoned. I felt completely loved.

I’m forever grateful for those two friends who recognized and followed a prompting to bring me a chicken pot pie. They ministered to me in ways they couldn’t imagine. They helped me feel my Heavenly Father’s unconditional love when I needed to feel it the most. Their actions helped strengthen my own testimony of God’s love.

Remember that song by Alabama called Angels Among Us? That song is so powerful and beautiful. The chorus gets me every time.

“Oh I believe there are, angels among us
Sent down to us, from somewhere up above
They come to you and me, in our darkest hours
To show us how to live, to teach us how to give
To guide us with the light of love.”

I know firsthand that there are angels among us, both heavenly and earthly. This is one example, of many, where I’ve felt Heavenly Father’s love through other people. I’ve been blessed with that healing power of love. Because of this, I am trying harder than ever to pass that love along.

I’m trying to not shrug off those seemingly random thoughts. They are not random. They are promptings from the Holy Ghost. I am trying to recognize and follow through with those promptings. They might be the answer that someone struggling needs. I’m trying to not let my own insecurities or doubt get in the way of ministering. I’m certainly glad my earthly angels followed through.

Whether you have a feeling to take a chicken pot pie over, write a heartfelt card, or go grocery shopping for someone who doesn’t want to leave their house and face the world, PLEASE follow through with that feeling. I’m a recipient of all three, and more. I’m here to tell you that it has made a huge difference in my healing and grieving process. We shouldn’t downplay the difference we can make. We should be more like the Nike slogan and Just Do It.