I ’m not going to not be human and pretend like I’m high and mighty. There’s that little temptation that says, just go off into the world. It would be so much less painful. You wouldn’t get attacked as much. I don’t know how true that statement is. Actually, no—those are the lies of the enemy. It’s not true. I would just be lost. I’m sure I wouldn’t be attacked the same way, but there would still be turmoil. He lets you have your little season. He lets it feel easier. But it’s all a facade. It’s not real peace. But I am human, so those thoughts come. Those little seconds show up, and yeah, it gets tempting. But that’s not me. It’s not in my character. It’s not in my personality anymore. It’s like I’ve changed. Not that that was really me before, but I was easily swayed, easily persuaded in different directions. And when you start knowing God—when you start trying to live for Him, serve Him, honor Him—when you hold Him high like you’re supposed to, you ...

  T hey were going to throw them away. Not all of them were bad. Some were, yeah. Moldy, wilted, done. But a lot of them just had a little bit wrong with them. A little browning. A little damage. Nothing major. But to them, it was all the same. Trash. And I couldn’t just let that happen. So I took them home. And it turned into a whole situation. The kitchen, the living room—covered in petals, leaves, stems, clippings. It was everywhere. It took me a while to get everything organized, pulling out the bad ones, cutting, cleaning, trying to save whatever I could. And while I was doing all that, I was talking to the flowers. I was telling them, “I’m gonna save you. You’re gonna get to fulfill your job. You’re gonna make somebody happy.” The ones that didn’t make it, I felt bad about. But the ones that still had something left in them, I told them, “Don’t worry. I’m gonna make you good. I can see there’s still good on you.” Some of them were packed so t...

  Of course I’d end up in a cemetery this morning.  It’s 10 a.m. I’m looking from headstone to headstone. I used to be able to find my brother so quickly. I don’t know how he became lost in this ocean of headstones. An ocean of death. And yes, I broke down. Yes, I realized where I was. And yes, I noticed something else. Every name feels familiar. Every last name, every surname—I keep going to it, thinking maybe it’s someone I knew. Then I move to another. And another. I haven’t found anyone I know. But I recognize the names. And that’s what gets me. All these surnames, entire lines of people—gone. Even the ones I knew with those same names… gone. Death just happens. Why does it have to happen? It doesn’t feel like it should. It doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to. This shouldn’t have happened. And then it hits me—this is where I’ll be one day. Just another name on a headstone. Forgotten. Because a lot of these don’t look like they’ve been visited in a...

I’ve been hurting for days. Not just physically, but internally. My body’s been in pain—back, neck, head. The diabetes situation is still something I’m battling through. My numbers are coming down, my vision is starting to improve. Fatigue is still there. There’s brain fog at times. I’m lightheaded. I’m trying to stabilize. But it’s not just that. There’s something else that’s been sitting on me since a few days ago. A situation with someone I love. Something that’s been happening for a long time. Something I’ve spoken on before that never really got addressed. I’ve been tolerating, pushing through, letting it go. But it didn’t go anywhere. It stayed. And recently, it came out. We were just walking, enjoying the neighborhood, getting some cardio in, and it came up again. This time, I didn’t hold it in. I didn’t yell. But I was direct. Firm. I said what I needed to say. It disrupted a good moment. I know that. And I’ve been sitting with that since. I wok...

  It feels like death has been circling me. Not in one moment. Not in one event. Just… around. — My mother. Gone. — As of late, there have been deaths in my house. I’m sure some were outdoor pets. But they were still lives. They were still present. And now they’re not. They are still missed. The mangy stray cat I was trying to save. Even the stray. Gone. — And then there was me. Three weeks ago, I believe I almost died. I didn’t. But that night didn’t leave me the same. Something opened. I reached into parts of myself I hadn’t gone into before. Not my thoughts. Not just emotion. Something deeper. I faced things I hadn’t confronted. I forgave things I didn’t even realize I was still holding on to. And I accepted something I hadn’t fully accepted before. My own death. Not in theory. Not as an idea. But as something real. Something possible. Something that could happen. And in doing that, I also accepted others. Including my...

L ittle Paw never asked for much. Not a home. Not a name. Not a guarantee. Just a little space in the world to exist… and maybe a moment of peace between storms. He moved quietly through the yard like he understood something the rest of us forget—that survival isn’t loud. It’s patient. It’s alert. It’s instinct sharpened by hunger, by cold, by nights that don’t care whether you make it to morning or not. There was something about him though. Not just another passing presence. He stayed close enough to be seen, but far enough to stay safe. That balance… that distance… that was his language. He was the runt of the litter. The only one that made it from Conina’s first litter. Small. Timid. Careful. But still here. And that alone says something about him. He was a sweet, kind-hearted cat. And despite everything he had to go through, he loved to be loved. He was a little spoiled too… and that was a good thing. I wanted him to be. Not long ago, he had a heal...

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....