one day at a time

This isn’t the story you wanted; not this path, not this pain, not this pit stop. 

You didn’t ask for this, and patience feels like a slow strangling. 

You wanted the answers already. Me too. We wanted explanations and step-by-step guides for staging look-at-me-now comebacks, and we wanted resolution and new chapters and clean slates. But what if the one-day-at-a-time journey is better? 

What if trudging through the dark pit is better than getting plucked out of it? 

What if the process of putting one mud-stained foot in front of the other is the messy pathway to the wild goodness of healing? 

What if depending on today’s promised grace teaches us a profound and beautiful human dependence on the Jesus who rescues and sustains and walks into the deep with us? 

What if it’s okay to ignore the rush for a while? That pressure to prove and push your way into perfection? Release the tension. Rest in the kindness of progress. 

Progress breathes with a quiet, still-showing-up strength that celebrates every step, every courageous move toward hope and wholeness. 

Breathe. It really is going to be okay. 

Because your Creator has this relentless-but-gentle kind of love that meets you wherever you are, no matter your brand of mess, whatever your breed of brokenness. He has compassionate eyes. He invites you to do this healing thing, where you soak up the goodness He has for you today—not tomorrow, because it’s not here yet. 

Breathe. Tomorrow isn’t your battle to fight today. 

Take one step. Then, when you’re ready, take the next. Keep stepping, slow and steady, with the wild confidence that taking your time is an act of brave resilience. 

You don’t have it all figured out. And you won’t. But there you are, showing up. There you are, doing the next thing. There you are, hanging onto today’s grace. It’s not everything. But it’s enough. 

Do what your hanging-onto-hope heart can do today, then close your eyes and sleep. Sleep knowing that tomorrow, bright-orange new-morning mercies will paint the eastern sky with fresh rays of hope. 

One day, you’ll look back, and you’ll see you aren’t where you used to be. You aren’t who you used to be. 

Breathe. Take your time. It’s going to be okay.