Precisely Located: Moments of Purpose

I was on the causeway between Portland and Corpus, heading toward the Harbor Bridge.

A car cut in front of me. I was already at a steady speed on cruise control, and he jumped in front and slowed everything down.

It annoyed me.

I moved over to pass him, just trying to get back to the pace I was already at. As I passed, I looked over and saw him on his phone, talking, completely unaware.

That made it worse.

I got back into my lane, set the cruise control again, and tried to let it go. But then he came up again and tried to pass me—doing the same thing.

That’s when I noticed a police officer nearby.

And for a second, I thought: if he keeps this up, he’s going to get pulled over.

But then something shifted.

That wasn’t for me to worry about.

And more than that… I realized I shouldn’t have been upset in the first place.

There was no reason for it.

I could have just adjusted.

No frustration. No reaction. No words under my breath.

Just adjust and keep moving.

Because something hit me in that moment:

God has me exactly where I’m supposed to be.

So if I’m here… at this speed… in this moment…

why am I getting upset?

“In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.”
— Proverbs 16:9

I’m writing this while I’m still going through it.

My vision isn’t fully back yet—at least not up close. Distance is clear, but anything near is still blurry. I’m not dizzy, though. My kidneys aren’t aching right now, and the pain in my face and the headache have subsided.

I’m on my way to my chiropractor and massage therapist to help with the back pain. I think it’s getting worse from being in bed so much and sleeping wrong.

So physically, some things are improving.

But mentally… I’m not settled.

I’m upset about Little Paw.

He’s been missing for going on three days now.

And that’s not like him.

He’s the only one that stays on the porch. He doesn’t leave. He’s always there—quiet, kind of timid, always seeking attention in his own way.

He never misses a meal.

He already has his routine, his spots, his way of doing things. He knows exactly where he eats, away from the other cats. He has his place where he lays down, his place where he stays.

He’s comfortable here.

So for him to be gone like this… it’s out of character.

It doesn’t make sense.

And that’s what makes it worse.

On top of that, there have been dogs coming into the yard—sometimes in packs—harassing the cats.

And then there’s Timothy.

He’s not tame, but he’s gotten used to us. He’ll sit at a distance, blink at us, stay around… but won’t let us get too close.

A few days ago, I noticed he was limping. His paw looks broken—just hanging, not right—and I can’t catch him to get him help.

And all of this… it adds up.

It makes me worry even more about Little Paw.

This morning, before heading out, I looked for him again.

I checked the backyard. I looked around the house. I even drove around, but I don’t even know where to begin or where he might be.

And I keep thinking about that sound.

The other morning, I heard a loud meow that woke me up. I thought it was either cats fighting or just a dream, so I brushed it off.

But it didn’t sound like that.

It sounded different.

It sounded like a cry for help.

And I didn’t go.

If that was him… I let him down.

And now I’m here, still looking, still hoping.

Praying that he’s okay.

Praying that God brings him back home.

And hoping that nothing has happened to him… or at least nothing too severe.

But even in this… I have to come to terms with something.

Just like that moment on the road—

this isn’t mine to control.

And at the same time, I have to be okay with it.

Not because I don’t care—but because I have to trust God’s will.

I’ll still pray.

I’ll still have hope.

But I’m learning there’s a balance there… and it’s a strange one.

Sometimes it doesn’t feel right.

I just hope Little Paw is okay.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”
— Proverbs 3:5–6

At the same time, I’m dealing with what’s happening in my own body.

And I’ve been learning.

Learning how to take care of myself better.

It’s almost like God is showing me that I need to.

That I’m responsible for this.

So I’ve been taking steps.

Trying to fix what I can.

Reversing insulin resistance.

Researching. Adjusting. Paying attention.

And it all connects back to something simple:

Our bodies matter.

Scripture says the body is a temple.

Not something to neglect. Not something to abuse.

Something to take care of.

Because it’s not really ours.

We’re entrusted with it.

“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit…”
— 1 Corinthians 6:19

Like something we’ve been given to maintain.

You don’t destroy something you’ve been trusted with.

You take care of it.

And maybe that’s part of it.

We’re here, living this life, being shaped through it.

Not just in what we believe—

but in how we take care of what we’ve been given.

Our bodies.

Our choices.

Our actions.

From what I’ve learned, I’m giving myself about a year and a half to two years to fully reverse this.

And even in that, there’s hope.

It could have been worse.

It could have been something irreversible.

But it’s not.

So in a way, this is another chance.

And I’m treating it like that.

I’m not just focusing on what I’m dealing with right now—I’m looking at everything.

The whole body.

Putting safeguards in place.

Not just fixing one issue, but preventing the next.

Paying attention before something else starts.

So no… it’s not “maybe.”

It was a warning.

A heads up.

And I believe He’s guiding me through it.

So I have to trust Him.

Even when it’s uncomfortable.

Even when it’s slow.

There’s a lot being built right now.

Trust.

Patience.

Faith.

And acceptance.

Learning to accept things as they come… while still doing my part.

“His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.”
— Lamentations 3:22–23

And now I’m scheduled to see my case manager to put together a care plan.

After that, I’ll begin seeing a doctor to help with my mental well-being.

That’s part of this too.

Taking care of my mental state.

My psyche.

Not just the physical.

It’s mind, body, and spirit.

And that even brings me back to something I recently created—

Grief First Aid Kit.

It’s now on paperback.

I created it because I saw the need for it.

Grief is something we all go through, and every loss hits differently.

Shock. Guilt. Confusion. Pain.

There are a lot of emotions that come with it.

And while I was going through what I’m still going through, I had something small—a pamphlet—that helped me.

So I wanted to create something more complete.

Something that could help someone through those moments.

But if I’m being honest… I also created it for myself.

So I could have something to carry with me.

Something to lean on.

And now it exists.

Now I can use it.

And now others can too.

It’s there for the mind, the body, and the spirit.

So for as long as I’m here, I’m here for a reason.

And it’s to do His bidding.

To be a hand, an ear, a shoulder—whatever someone might need when it crosses my path.

And that goes for human and animal alike.

And it’s not just me.

It’s all of us.

It’s time to wake up.

To be calm. Kind. Patient.

To give grace.

We’re not here long.

But while we are here, we’re here for each other.

And we’re here for Him.

“Serve one another humbly in love.”
— Galatians 5:13