Have you ever been scared or nervous to say out loud, “I will bring that to God and ask for His guidance,” or, “I will pray over that. I don't know what He will do, but I know He will answer”?
I would say yes.
My younger self would have been nervous to say either of those things to someone I didn't know well—or even to someone I knew, but wasn't close to.
Fast forward to our current situation. The older version of me, the one who has been through more, doesn't care who I say those words to. There is no shame in proclaiming who I will ask for help. No shame in outwardly saying that He is the greatest Healer of all. He is the One I will call upon to heal my daughter. He is the One I will ask to speak directly to our doctors, our nurses, and medical professionals far and wide. To give them the missing link. To provide a cure that will heal thousands—millions. He is the One I will ask, on repeat.
We had the most wonderful, trying weekend playing softball at State. My older three daughters were playing. My oldest two both pitch—a position that requires grit, heart, determination, and resilience.
One of my daughters started hurting during the third game and started not feeling well. Her sister came in for her and finished strong, helping us earn a trip to the championship game. The moment they embraced each other in tears and thanked one another is one I will carry with me forever.
After the dust settled and we were finally resting, I asked my daughter if she would like her Papa to pray over her. At the ballpark, with people all around us, our family gathered in prayer. I was so grateful that I had grown into a person who didn't care if everyone around us knew we were praying or if they judged us for calling on the Lord for help.
I wasn't always this person.
Being here now in my faith has given me a freedom I didn't know I was missing before.
When that same twin was seven days old, she was on oxygen in the hospital, isolated with RSV. I prayed over her and her sister, who was battling the virus at home with her dad and our family. The hospital didn't want her twin there because of the risk of secondary exposure.
I remember this same Papa praying over this same little girl. In the middle of the prayer, a respiratory therapist came in to give an albuterol treatment and check on her. I stopped him mid-prayer.
I don't think I was embarrassed. But in that moment, the treatment—and not making anyone wait—felt more important.
That is my full-circle moment.
I am so glad I know what I know now.
The older version of me would tell that young mom, "Finish the prayer. It is far more important than anything else going on around you."
God came through again.
My daughter was able to start the championship game, and her sister came in for the final out of the fourth inning. Our team battled a powerhouse. We didn't win the game, but the entire team left it all on the field and made our community proud.
We are taught that winning is everything—that victory is the ultimate goal.
But sometimes the journey, the heartbreak, the comebacks, and even the losses write a more meaningful story than one win ever could.
And sometimes, the greatest victories happen long before the final score is posted.
“Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.”
— Hebrews 4:16