Kenrick Vaz

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Our Miracle

Today we complete 7 years since we said “I do” and it’s a little over 7 months since Keanah came into this world. My heart is filled with gratitude for the amazing journey we’ve been on so far. Biblically, the number 7 is often considered a symbol of completeness and perfection. And through the ups and downs, through the days and nights I’ve fought with the Lord, asking Him “Why Lord???”, as I look back today, I can definitely say that so far He has made things beautiful, perfect and complete in HIS time.

I thought today is a perfect opportunity to share our journey with you through 7 major miracles that tested and deepened my faith. Both Ana and myself were drawn to share our journey so that when Keanah grows up we have this to share with her without missing any details as to why we call her our miracle.

Miracle 1: Pain
Our journey starts in June 2020 when we first conceived. We were so so happy, we had been trying for little less than a year. However, our hearts broke when we went for our ultrasound in the 7-8th week and heard no heartbeat. Our gynaec told us that it’s a blighted ovum and there’s nothing to worry. We then conceived again in April 2021. The challenging part this time was that I was down with Covid. Again, no heartbeat in the 7-8th week. We were really upset this time and the worst part is we had to deal with it alone for sometime as I was in isolation. Our gynaec made us do a full set of tests to figure out why the foetus wasn’t growing. We then got to know that Ana has a condition where her immunity is high. It was treating the foetus as a foreign body and hence attacking it. Why do I say this is a miracle? Well if not diagnosed, her high immunity would eventually lead to conditions like autoimmune diseases. It’s good we could deal with this now so that we don’t have to suffer with other catastrophic consequences.

Miracle 2: Conception
In July 2022, we had decided to move to the US for a few years. Everyone kept asking me why aren’t you going there and it seemed like a good time to make the move. God had other plans!

On August 10, Mama’s birthday, Ana woke up feeling very sick. And then got even more cranky as she had planned to do a few things to celebrate her Mama’s birthday and now couldn’t do anything. Towards the afternoon, we did a test and got to know we’re pregnant! Our plan to move went out of the window and our focus now was solely on ensuring things go ahead with all that we learned from our past two experiences.

A few days after we got to know we are pregnant!

Miracle 3: Finding Dr. Payal
Even though we started on all the medication as prescribed by our gynaec, when we went for the ultrasound in the sixth week, we didn’t hear the heartbeat. We visited our gynaec and we weren’t happy when we left her clinic.

Recently a new maternity hospital, Motherhood, had opened just near our place. So we decided to visit them for a second opinion. Since I could go only in the evening (because of work!), we saw Dr. Payal available. I quickly checked online and saw good reviews about her. When we met her, both Ana and I immediately felt she is so much like my sister Melanie. At once we felt at home and comfortable with her.

We spent over 45 minutes explaining to her everything. She patiently and calmly listened to us. And told us to continue the medication and do the ultrasound again on 1 September. When we left her cabin we both knew that this is the doctor who we would love to continue with. She made us feel understood, answered all our questions so well and assured us that we’re in the right hands. I don’t think we’ve ever had such an experience with a doctor. It was different, felt perfect for us and we both trusted her completely. We don’t know what we would have done without her and her ever positive attitude. She played an important part in our journey and words aren’t enough to make anyone understand how much she means to the both of us.

Miracle 4: The Heartbeat
On 1 September we went for the ultrasound. We’ve been for 6 ultrasounds before this one and I knew Ana was nervous, scared and tensed. I was a wreck too but I had to appear strong for her, being positive. Before leaving I had a quick chat with Shweta, my work colleague who has become a very close friend. She told me “I’m praying, I know everything will go well this time and I want a girl!”

Ana went in for the ultrasound at Motherhood and my heart was in my mouth when the nurse came out in a matter of minutes. I then realised she came to call me in as well. This was the first time I’d be in the room for the ultrasound. The previous ones, at other hospitals, didn’t allow me in.

When the Dr started, we heard the heartbeat for the very first time. It was music to my ears, the best thing I had ever heard till date. Tears rolled down my face with joy and I almost jumped off my stool to hug the doctor! We were over the moon!

The tough part was from then till February, Ana had to take injections everyday along with blood thinners to help ensure there’s good blood supply going to the foetus. The daily injections changed to alternate days after November. Giving those injections every time with a brave face is definitely one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do, but Ana had to endure much more, bearing all that pain in addition to all the changes taking place in her body with the baby growing inside her. It’s amazing how situations bring out so much strength that we have within us.

Miracle 5: Special? Of course!
In mid-October our gynaec sent us for our NT scan. It’s a test where the nuchal fluid behind the baby’s neck is measured. A high level indicates that there’s a 80% chance of your baby having genetic defects like Down syndrome. Our hearts broke when we saw our reading. It was 3.92, whereas the normal is not more than 2.5. We were so upset. And when our gynaec said this is the highest she’s ever seen, I was a mess. We cried bitterly when we returned. That period is probably the most I’ve fought with God. Why all this when we do so much for you and the church? Why!?

I wasn’t happy with the test, so Dr. Payal sent us to one of the best fetal specialists in Pune, Dr. Pooja Lodha. Our appointment was at 1pm but we finally went in at around 4pm. The NT this time was 2.6, still high. But again, Dr. Pooja took her time to explain everything to us in great detail. We had two issues, one where the pressure at the artery supplying blood to baby was high. And secondly there were multiple fibroids. She said it’ll be a miracle if we have a normal delivery.

Dr. Pooja is definitely a gem of a person and absolutely fantastic at what she does. Again we were blessed with the best. What we loved the most are the lovely pics she shared of baby at almost every visit of ours.

Since the level was still high Dr. Payal then told us that since this scan is only 80% accurate and could also be a false positive, there are additional tests. The most accurate one is where they extract fluid from the foetus to test. It’s a risky procedure with a chance of miscarriage. I then asked her what is the point of doing all these tests. Anyway it’s a genetic issue and there’s nothing we with can do. So she replied that if we’re sure it’s a genetic issue you have the option to abort. I immediately told her there’s no way we’re aborting this baby. We’ve struggled to get here and we will accept it. It’s a gift from God. And moreover our religion doesn’t allow us to abort. So she still advised us to do the tests as we will have peace of mind if it’s all good, rather than stressing for the remaining 6 months wondering what’s going to happen.

We came home, discussed with each other and with our immediate family. Ana and I then decided that we won’t do the tests. We had already done enough of tests so far and we trusted God completely. The miracle? We did the genetic tests after Keanah was born and the reports came back completely normal! When we shared this with Dr. Payal, she told us the whole team at Motherhood rejoiced when they heard about the report. She then smiled and added “good comes to those who do good”

Miracle 6: Amniotic Cocktail
In February, at 32 weeks, we did our ultrasound with Dr. Pooja followed by our visit to Dr. Payal. We got a little startled when Dr said that Ana needs to get admitted as the amniotic fluid level is very low. It’s 5 whereas it’s supposed to be 15. After Ana got admitted Dr told me that if the levels don’t come up we will have to deliver immediately. However, Ana was on blood thinners and injections till that point. We needed her to be off them for at least 6-7 days before we can operate her. Miraculously the high pressure at the artery connecting the foetus was normal for the first time ever! If that was still high we would have had one more complication to deal with. Ana was given drips to increase her amniotic fluid. The fluid was thick and the drips were very painful.

That evening I came home for a quick bath and to collect a few things. I fell to my knees and begged God to bring up the amniotic levels. That’s the best outcome for us. Thankfully it went up to 10 over the next 3-4 days. We were so relieved. However we had to go back every alternate day to get those extremely painful amniotic cocktails to maintain the fluid levels. I don’t understand how Ana had the strength to put on a brave face through it all.

Miracle 7: 26 March
We visited Dr. Payal at our 36 week mark and she said baby is doing well, why do you want to suffer with those painful drips any longer? Baby is ready, let’s admit Ana on 25th late night and try inducing. By morning if we’re not successful, we will do a c-section. We weren’t expecting it to be so soon. I remember talking to my cousin Neisha about a few things regarding the delivery just before we got to know it’s going to happen in a matter of hours!

Before we left for the hospital, 25 March 2023

At midnight we got admitted to Motherhood. And just as Ana entered the labour room, she went naturally into labour. Dr. Payal who was with Ana said “baby also knew that it’s time to come out!” After around 11 hours, Keanah was born, natural delivery, a miracle in Dr. Pooja’s words! And Shweta’s wish was answered, she got her girl! 😊

Many who were present at Keanah’s baptism heard us singing Michael Buble’s “Forever now”. And both Ana and I were very emotional. I was overwhelmed with emotions as I sang the lines “you’ve got so much strength inside you, a strength we pray you’ll never need”. After all we had gone through, these words just meant a lot, we identified so strongly with them. We wouldn’t want Keanah or anyone to have these experiences. And yet we’re so grateful because this journey has definitely strengthened our relationship with each other and more importantly with God.

Thank you Nihal for capturing this :)

Even though the journey has been something I was never prepared for, He made sure that He sent his angels to take care of us. Our families have been our strongest pillars of strength through it all, they stormed heaven with their prayers and have been with us at every step of the way. Dr. Payal and Dr. Pooja were heaven sent, came in at the right time when we needed them the most and hence we always knew we were in the best of hands always. So many of our family and friends showed up when we needed them the most. The community at Mount Carmel’s and our priests at our parish along with our Sunday school teachers and choir kids prayed fervently for us, we’re eternally grateful to all of them for their prayers. It’s amazing how much love, prayers and support we’ve been showered with on this journey.

The view of Mount Carmels (Ana’s alma mater) from Motherhood

As we hold our precious little Keanah in our arms, we are filled with gratitude for the incredible journey that brought us to where we are today. The challenges and triumphs along the way have made this experience all the more profound and beautiful. Our hearts are full, and we can’t wait to embrace the adventure that lies ahead as a family. This miraculous journey has just begun, and we are eager to see where it takes us.

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How Mature Are You?

Age alone does not an adult make. But what does? What makes you finally, really an adult? Adulthood is a social construct. For that matter, so is childhood. But like all social constructs, they have real consequences. They determine who is legally responsible for their actions and who is not, what roles people are allowed to assume in society, how people view each other, and how they view themselves. But even in the realms where it should be easiest to define the difference—law, physical development—adulthood defies simplicity.

You can’t drink until you are 21, but legal adulthood, along with voting and the ability to join the army, comes at age 18. Or does it? You’re allowed to watch adult movies at 17. In many countries kids can hold a job as young as 14, depending on state restrictions, and are even allowed to deliver newspapers, babysit, or work for their parents even younger than that.

Chronological age is not a particularly good indicator [of maturity], but it’s something we need to do for practical purposes. We all know people who are 21 or 22 years old who are very wise and mature, but we also know people who are very immature and very reckless. We’re not going to start giving people maturity tests to decide whether they can buy alcohol or not.

There is definitely no certain age at which maturity sets in. In my personal experiences, I’ve observed that age has little or nothing to do with it. I have met young people who are mature well beyond their years, and I’ve known older folks who act childish, only thinking about themselves. So the question is: What are the character traits that show maturity? And do “mature” people exhibit them 100% of the time?

Well, I’m not sure that we can be mature in every situation that presents itself to us because we are always growing and learning as human beings, and I’m pretty sure that all of us have been guilty of at least some of these negative behaviors at least once in our lives. That being said, by considering these 25 tell-tale signs, perhaps we can be more aware of the interludes in which our whiny, complaining, adolescent self rears its immature head…

1. Realizing how much you don’t know.

2. Listening more and talking less.

3. Being aware and considerate of others as opposed to being self-absorbed, self-centered, and inconsiderate.

4. Not taking everything personally, getting easily offended, or feeling the need to defend, prove, or make excuses for yourself.

5. Being grateful and gracious, not complaining.

6. Taking responsibility for your own health and happiness, not relying on others to “fix” you or placing blame for your circumstances.

7. Having forgiveness and compassion for yourself and others.

8. Being calm and peaceful, not desperate, frantic, or irrational.

9. Showing flexibility and openness as opposed to resisting, controlling, or being unreasonable.

10. Helping yourself, not just expecting others to do it for you out of a sense of entitlement.

11. Doing good deeds even when there is nothing in it for you other than knowing you helped, being selfless.

12. Respecting another’s point of view, beliefs, and way of life without judgment, not insisting you are right, belittling another, or using profanity or violence to get your point across.

13. Sharing your good fortune with others.

14. Being able to turn the other cheek without wishing harm on another.

15. Thinking before acting and having good manners, not going off half-cocked, lashing out, or being rude.

16. Encouraging and being supportive of others.

17. Finding joy in the success of someone else, not envy or criticism.

18. Knowing there is always room to grow and improve and reaching out for help.

19. Having humility and laughing at yourself.

20. Recognizing that which does not work in your life and making an effort to do something different.

21. Passing up instant gratification in favor of long term benefits.

22. Accepting, liking, and loving yourself, not needing someone else to “complete” you.

23. Standing up for fairness and justice for yourself and others and choosing to do the right thing.

24. Making sacrifices for the good of others without resentment.

25. Not clinging to materialistic items or bragging.

I’m sure there are probably other signs, but this list covers at least the majority of them. I know we can always do a better job displaying our mature sides. I also know that, by doing so, we lift each other up through our example. What’s most important, however, is seeing the negative side of our behavior and knowing we must do something positive to change it…And that, my friends, is WISDOM.

Strong Enough to Bend

A Japanese bamboo craftsman once said, “The bamboo survives the storm because it knows when to bend.”

We often picture strength as standing firm. Hold your ground. Refuse to move. Keep your face calm while the wind gets louder.

That works until the pressure becomes heavier than your body, mind, or heart can carry.

Bamboo handles the storm differently. It moves with the wind. Its narrow stalk may lean so far that it looks ready to touch the ground. Once the storm passes, it rises again.

There is wisdom in that.

Life rarely asks permission before changing our plans. A job disappears. A relationship becomes strained. A medical report arrives. Someone we love moves away. The future we carefully arranged begins to look nothing like the one in front of us.

Our first instinct is often to resist. We tighten our grip on the plan because we spent years building it. We keep following the same routine even when it is draining us. We stay quiet because admitting that something hurts feels too exposed.

Soon, we are spending all our energy trying to keep life exactly as it was.

Bending can look like changing your mind after receiving better information. It can mean asking for help when you have always been the dependable one. Sometimes it is choosing a slower pace because your body has been warning you through headaches, sleepless nights, and a short temper.

It may involve walking away from a goal that once mattered to you. Goals belong to particular seasons. The dream you had at twenty-five does not get permanent control over the person you become at forty.

Changing direction does not erase the effort you invested. That effort taught you what you value, what you can handle, and what kind of life leaves you empty.

Bamboo bends from a place of deep support. Beneath the soil, its roots spread into a connected network. When the wind pushes against one stalk, the surrounding roots help hold it in place.

People need roots too.

Your roots are the people you can call without preparing a polished version of the story. They are the family members who sit beside you when there is nothing useful to say. They include the friend who notices your silence and stays long enough to hear what is underneath it.

Faith can become a root. So can prayer, therapy, sleep, movement, honest conversation, and a meal eaten slowly with someone you love. These ordinary practices keep us grounded when everything above the surface is shaking.

There is also a quiet confidence in knowing when to yield. Every disagreement does not require a victory. Every criticism does not deserve hours of mental replay. Every delay does not mean the whole plan has failed.

Sometimes peace enters when we stop treating every inconvenience like a threat.

Think about how often we force ourselves through a bad day using the same expectations we had on a good one. We demand full productivity after a sleepless night. We expect patience while carrying private grief. We fill the calendar when our mind has been asking for one empty evening.

Then we judge ourselves for struggling.

A bamboo approach would make room for the weather.

On difficult days, perhaps the task becomes smaller. The workout turns into a walk. The perfect family dinner becomes eggs and toast. The long conversation waits until both people have cooled down. The ambitious deadline gets an honest extension.

That is not giving up. It is responding to the conditions in front of you.

Of course, bending has limits. Flexibility should never become permission for someone to mistreat you. Patience does not require you to remain in a place that keeps wounding you. A healthy boundary can bend around circumstances while still protecting what matters.

Bamboo is flexible because its structure allows movement. It remains rooted in what it is.

We can do the same. Our plans may shift while our values remain steady. The route may change while kindness, integrity, faith, and love continue to guide the next step.

The storm might last longer than expected. You may spend weeks leaning into winds that nobody else can see. Let yourself adjust. Rest when you need to. Hold tightly to your roots.

When the air becomes still again, rise at your own pace.

Follow Sasuke on Insta where I stumbled on this illustration

A good life can still have terrible Tuesdays!

You can wake up tired after eight hours of sleep. Spill coffee on your shirt five minutes before leaving home. Get an email that ruins your mood. Argue with someone you love over something stupid. Sit in traffic wondering why everyone suddenly forgot how to drive.

Some days just refuse to cooperate.

We tend to judge our whole life by whatever is happening right now. When things are going well, life feels good. When something falls apart, suddenly we question everything.

Maybe I chose the wrong path.

Maybe things aren’t going the way they should.

Maybe everyone else has figured this out better than I have.

Then tomorrow comes.

The problem that felt enormous gets a little smaller. The conversation gets resolved. You sleep better. Someone makes you laugh. Your kid does something ridiculous at breakfast. A song you love comes on in the car. You step outside and the weather is perfect.

Life changes quickly like that.

A good life was never supposed to mean waking up happy every morning.

Think about some of your favorite years. Chances are they weren’t perfect.

There were probably arguments in them. Stressful weeks. Unexpected bills. Plans that fell apart. People who disappointed you. Moments when you wondered what you were doing with your life.

Yet when you look back, you remember the birthdays. The trips. The dinners that went on too long. The photos that still make you smile. The people who were sitting beside you.

The hard days were there too.

They just weren’t the whole story.

That’s easy to forget while you’re living through one.

A bad day has a strange ability to take over the entire screen. One difficult meeting can make you hate your job for an afternoon. One argument can make a relationship feel shaky. One mistake can have you questioning years of good decisions.

Our minds zoom in.

Life needs a wider lens.

Maybe today was awful. Fine. Let today be awful.

You don’t have to turn it into a lesson before bedtime. You don’t have to force gratitude while you’re still angry. You don’t have to pretend something didn’t hurt because other parts of your life are going well.

Have the bad day.

Order dinner because you don’t feel like cooking. Put your phone away. Take the long shower. Complain to the person who knows how to listen without trying to fix you. Go to bed early.

Tomorrow gets its own chance.

I’ve started to think that one of the quieter signs of a good life is being able to have a bad day without treating it like an emergency.

The people you love can annoy you.

Work can exhaust you.

Travel plans can go wrong.

You can feel lonely in a room full of people.

You can get something you wanted for years and still have mornings when you wonder what comes next.

None of those moments erase the good surrounding them.

Look at any family photo album. The pictures make everything look wonderful. Everyone is smiling. The sunset is perfect. The kids look adorable.

The photo doesn’t show the argument in the car ten minutes earlier.

It doesn’t show someone desperately needing a bathroom.

It doesn’t show the missed exit, the cranky toddler, the headache, the overpriced lunch, or the moment everyone wanted to go back to the hotel.

And somehow, years later, you look at that photo and think, “That was such a good trip.”

It was.

Including the messy parts.

Maybe that’s a better way to think about life too.

Some days will be beautiful enough that you wish you could freeze them.

Others will have you checking the clock at 3 p.m. wondering how it’s possibly still Tuesday.

Both can belong to the same life.

So when a bad day arrives, give it the size it deserves.

Twenty-four hours.

Maybe forty-eight if it was particularly awful.

Just don’t hand it the keys to your whole life.

Love, Out Loud

We’re strangely good at feeling things we never say.

We love people deeply. We’re proud of them. We notice how hard they work, how much they’ve grown, how they show up for us when life gets messy.

Then we keep most of it in our heads.

Maybe we assume they already know.

Your parents know you love them. Your partner knows how much they mean to you. Your friend knows you’re grateful they stayed close through a rough year. Your child knows you’re proud of them.

Do they?

Knowing someone loves you and hearing them say it are two very different experiences.

There’s something about the words themselves.

“I love you.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“I’m glad you’re in my life.”

“You helped me more than you realize.”

“I love the person you’ve become.”

A few seconds to say. Sometimes remembered for decades.

Think about the compliments you still remember.

Maybe a teacher once told you that you were good at something. A parent said they were proud of you. A friend told you that you helped them through a difficult time. Someone you respected said they believed in you.

You probably remember where you were when they said it.

That’s how much words can stay with us.

Yet as adults, we can become stingy with them.

We save beautiful things for birthdays, anniversaries, weddings and farewell speeches. We write long messages when someone moves away. We stand at funerals and hear people describe, with incredible tenderness, everything they loved about the person who died.

I’ve always found something painful about that.

Those are exactly the words people deserve to hear while they’re sitting across the table from us.

Tell your dad about the thing he taught you that you still use.

Tell your mom about the small thing she did when you were a kid that you never forgot.

Tell your spouse what you admire about them beyond the usual “love you” before leaving the house.

Tell your friend why you still value a friendship that has survived jobs, marriages, children, moves and years of being busy.

Tell your children you’re proud of who they are becoming, especially when there’s no report card, trophy or achievement involved.

Specific words hit differently.

“You’re amazing” is nice.

“I noticed how patient you were with her today. I’m proud of you” stays with someone.

“Thanks for everything” works.

“You called me every week when I was struggling, even when I had nothing interesting to say. I’ll never forget that” means something else entirely.

We often wait for the perfect moment because saying these things can feel awkward. Some families barely say “I love you.” Some friendships are built almost entirely on jokes and insults. Some people would rather send ten memes than one sincere sentence.

Send the sincere sentence anyway.

Awkwardness lasts a few seconds.

The words can land on a day when someone desperately needs them.

That part matters because we rarely know what’s happening inside another person’s head.

The friend who seems confident might be wondering if anyone notices how hard they’re trying. Your partner might be carrying something they haven’t found the words to explain. Your parents might quietly wonder whether all those years of sacrifice mattered. Your child might remember one sentence from you long after they’ve forgotten the birthday gifts.

You don’t need a speech.

You don’t need to wait until Christmas.

You don’t need to turn dinner into an emotional ceremony.

Say it in the car.

Text it on a Tuesday afternoon.

Mention it while washing dishes.

Call someone for no other reason.

“I was thinking about you today. I just wanted you to know I’m grateful for you.”

That’s enough.

We spend so much time trying to find the right gifts for people. Sometimes the thing they’ve been waiting years to receive is a sentence.

Tell your people you love them.

Tell them you’re proud of them.

Tell them what they’ve meant to your life.

Give them the chance to hear it in your voice.

Stop Waiting for Someday

There’s a question worth asking yourself once in a while:

How long are you willing to postpone the life you want because the life you have feels comfortable enough?

That question can sting.

Comfort has a way of making time disappear. Nothing feels urgent when the bills are paid, the routine works and tomorrow looks reasonably predictable. You wake up, go through your day, handle what needs handling, watch something at night, scroll for a bit, sleep and repeat.

Months pass quietly.

Then years do the same.

Maybe there’s a job you’ve wanted to leave for a long time. You keep telling yourself you’ll make the move once you have enough savings, once the market improves, once the kids are older, once work settles down.

Maybe you want to start something of your own.

Maybe you want to move to another city or country.

Maybe you want to write that book, get healthier, travel more, spend more time with your parents, learn something completely new or finally take a chance on an idea that has been sitting in your head for years.

You know what you want.

You also know what you have right now.

And what you have right now is familiar.

That matters more than we sometimes admit.

A familiar life comes with fewer surprises. You know the people. You understand the routine. You know roughly what next month will look like. Even the things you complain about have become predictable.

Change asks you to trade some of that certainty for possibility.

That is a difficult trade.

There will always be a convincing reason to wait another six months. You can always find one more thing that needs to happen first. Another promotion. Another amount in the bank. Another birthday. Another school year. Another project completed.

Some reasons are sensible. Responsibilities matter. People depend on us. Money matters. Timing matters.

The danger is turning “not yet” into a permanent answer without realizing it.

I think we sometimes imagine that postponing a decision means keeping all our options open. Time doesn’t work that way.

Waiting costs something too.

Every year spent in a job you’ve mentally left is still a year of your life. Every weekend spent saying “someday” is a weekend you don’t get back. Every dream repeatedly pushed to next year gets a little easier to postpone again.

You can become comfortable with wanting something.

That might be the strangest part.

You talk about it enough that it almost feels like you’re doing it. You research the move. You watch videos about the destination. You make spreadsheets. You calculate costs. You tell friends about the business idea. You buy the running shoes. You save the course.

Preparation starts feeling like progress.

At some point, though, something has to move.

You have to apply.

Book the ticket.

Hand in the resignation.

Wake up and go for the run.

Publish the first terrible version.

Make the phone call.

Start before every question has an answer.

Most big changes look much scarier from the life you already know. Once you’re inside the new one, you start figuring things out the same way you figured out your current life.

One ordinary day at a time.

There’s also something worth remembering about comfort. The life that feels safe today was probably unfamiliar once.

There was a first day at your current job.

A first night in your current home.

A first conversation with someone who later became important to you.

A first time doing something you now do without thinking.

You became comfortable because you stayed long enough for the unfamiliar to become normal.

The next chapter can work the same way.

You don’t need to blow up your life tomorrow morning. Sometimes the first move is much smaller. Save the money. Send the application. Have the conversation. Block two hours on Saturday. Buy the ticket. Set a date.

Give the thing you keep calling “someday” an actual day on the calendar.

Because someday is wonderfully convenient.

It never arrives late.

It never demands courage.

It never asks you to leave anything behind.

And it can keep a dream alive for decades without requiring you to live it.

Maybe the question isn’t whether your current life is comfortable.

Maybe the question is what that comfort is costing you.

Look at the life you keep saying you want.

Then look at the calendar.

How much longer are you willing to wait?

Leave It for Tomorrow

Before you go to bed tonight, think about how much energy you spent today on things that never happened.

The conversation you replayed ten times.

The email you kept checking for.

The decision someone else might make.

The bill due next month.

The awkward thing you said three days ago that everyone else has probably forgotten.

The possibility that something could go wrong tomorrow.

Your body can be lying perfectly still in bed while your mind is running a marathon.

That kind of tired feels different.

You can sleep eight hours and still wake up exhausted because your brain spent half the night trying to solve problems that had no solution at 2:17 in the morning.

We do this because worrying can feel productive. If we think about something long enough, maybe we will find the answer. Maybe we will spot the danger before it arrives. Maybe we can prepare ourselves so well that disappointment will hurt less.

So we keep thinking.

One more scenario.

One more imaginary conversation.

One more version of what could happen.

Eventually you have to ask yourself a simple question.

Can I do anything about this tonight?

Sometimes the answer is yes.

Send the message. Set the alarm. Write down the idea. Make the appointment. Put the document in your bag so you remember it tomorrow.

Do the small thing that is available to you.

Then there are the things that refuse to fit inside your hands.

What someone thinks about you.

Whether somebody replies.

How another person behaves.

What already happened.

A decision that belongs to someone else.

Tomorrow’s traffic, next month’s economy, somebody else’s mood, an outcome you have prepared for as much as you possibly can.

Your mind will still try to grab them.

It loves control, even imaginary control.

That’s why the same thought can return twenty times without bringing you any closer to an answer. You aren’t solving the problem anymore. You’re walking around the same block hoping the street will somehow change.

I’ve caught myself doing this plenty of times.

Something bothers me and I start building an entire future around it. One unanswered question becomes five possible problems. Then I begin preparing emotionally for all five, even though none of them has happened.

That’s a lot of suffering for events that exist only in my head.

There is a difference between thinking about tomorrow and living there before it arrives.

Planning gives you something to do.

Worry keeps asking the same question after you’ve run out of useful answers.

And nighttime makes everything louder.

A concern that felt manageable at 3 PM can feel enormous when the room is dark and everyone else is asleep. There are fewer distractions, so your mind fills the silence.

That’s when I think we need permission to say, “This can wait until morning.”

Write it down if you need to.

Put it in your phone.

Tell yourself exactly when you’ll deal with it tomorrow.

Then let tonight be tonight.

You don’t have to solve your whole life before you fall asleep.

Some answers need another conversation. Some problems need daylight. Some decisions need more information. A few things will sort themselves out without your involvement.

And some things will remain outside your control no matter how many hours you spend thinking about them.

Those deserve the least space in your head.

Before you go to bed tonight, notice what you’re carrying.

Ask yourself what belongs to tomorrow.

Ask what belongs to somebody else.

Ask what has already happened and cannot be edited anymore.

Then deal with the one thing that still belongs to you.

Right now.

Turn off the screen. Put the phone down. Say your prayer. Kiss your family goodnight. Let the unanswered messages stay unanswered for a few more hours.

The world can wait until morning.

Your mind needs a night off.

When Life Tests Your Goodness

I love this perspective:

“I don’t think bad things happen to good people. I think bad things happen to everyone, and the way good people respond is what makes them good.”

We spend a lot of time trying to understand why bad things happen.

Why did this happen to me?

Why did someone I trusted hurt me?

Why did I lose something I worked so hard for?

Why did life become difficult just when everything seemed to be going well?

There is something deeply human about those questions. We grow up with the idea that life should somehow keep score. Be kind and kindness will find you. Work hard and things will work out. Treat people well and they will treat you well.

Then life happens.

A good person gets sick. Someone who has spent years building a career loses a job. A marriage falls apart. A family loses someone far too early. A friend betrays your trust. Someone lies about you. A carefully planned future disappears after one phone call.

None of these moments checks your character before arriving.

Life does not ask whether you have been kind enough before giving you a difficult year.

That changes the question.

Instead of asking why bad things happen to good people, maybe we should pay more attention to what people do after something bad happens.

Because that is where character becomes visible.

Anyone can be generous when life is generous with them. Patience comes easier when the day is going your way. Forgiveness sounds beautiful when there is nothing serious to forgive.

Then somebody hurts you.

Now you have choices.

You can carry that hurt into the next relationship. You can make someone else pay for what another person did. You can become suspicious of everyone because one person betrayed you. You can decide that kindness made you weak and build walls around yourself.

Or you can feel every bit of that pain and still refuse to pass it on.

That takes strength.

Good people get angry. They lose patience. They say things they wish they could take back. They have mornings when they want to shut the world out. Being good does not mean responding perfectly to every difficult moment.

Sometimes goodness looks much smaller.

It is apologizing after you spoke harshly.

It is choosing not to humiliate someone when you have the perfect opportunity.

It is refusing to gossip about the person who hurt you.

It is sitting beside someone else’s hospital bed while your own life feels heavy.

It is giving your child warmth after a brutal day at work.

It is treating the waiter kindly when your order is wrong.

It is remembering that the stranger who irritated you in traffic might be carrying something you cannot see.

Those moments rarely get noticed. There is no applause. Most of them happen quietly, between ordinary people on ordinary days.

Yet that is where goodness lives.

I have also started to think that difficult experiences reveal parts of us that comfortable seasons never have to test.

You discover whether disappointment makes you cruel.

You find out what you do with power when someone weaker than you makes a mistake.

You learn whether your pain becomes an excuse to hurt others.

You see what remains of your kindness when nobody is rewarding you for it.

Sometimes the answer will disappoint you.

That matters too.

Maybe you snapped at someone who did not deserve it. Maybe bitterness stayed longer than you wanted. Maybe you handled something badly because you were exhausted, scared or hurting.

You still get another choice.

You can call the person.

You can apologize.

You can repair what you damaged.

You can behave differently the next time life puts you in the same situation.

That is one of the things I find hopeful about this perspective. Goodness is not some permanent label stamped on certain people. It shows up through decisions, especially the inconvenient ones.

A painful experience can leave scars without becoming permission to create scars in other people.

You can be disappointed and remain generous.

You can be betrayed and remain trustworthy.

You can lose something precious and still celebrate when someone else receives what you wanted.

You can walk through a terrible season and come out softer toward people who are walking through theirs.

Maybe that is why some of the kindest people we meet have lived through things we know very little about.

Their kindness was not protected from hardship.

It survived it.

And sometimes, it was shaped there.

Just Be Good

We spend so much of our lives being told to become something.

Be successful. Be impressive. Build a name. Make more money. Get the promotion. Buy the house. Travel somewhere worth posting about. Do something people will remember.

Ordinary has somehow become an insult.

You can feel it everywhere. Social media gives us a front-row seat to everyone else’s highlights. Someone is launching a business while you are trying to get through a Tuesday. Someone just bought their dream home while you are checking your bank account before ordering dinner. Someone is running a marathon at 5 a.m. while you are negotiating with yourself about getting out of bed.

It can make a perfectly decent life feel strangely inadequate.

Maybe we have made extraordinary far too important.

There is something deeply peaceful about deciding that being a good human is enough.

Someone who calls their parents.

Someone who puts the phone down when their child is telling a story that makes absolutely no sense.

Someone who notices the waiter is having a rough night and chooses patience.

Someone who sends the message they have been meaning to send.

Someone who returns the shopping cart even when nobody is watching.

Someone who says thank you and means it.

None of these things will make a résumé more impressive. You probably will not post most of them online. Nobody hands out trophies for being gentle with a tired spouse or sitting beside a friend who has had a terrible week.

Yet these tiny moments are where much of a life happens.

We remember people this way too.

Think about someone you loved who is gone, or someone you have not seen in years. Chances are, the first thing that comes to mind is rarely their job title.

You remember how they made you feel.

The laugh. The phone calls. The meal they cooked. The way they remembered your birthday. The time they showed up when everyone else had an excuse. The way you could sit beside them without needing to perform.

That is a strange thing about life. We spend years building the parts people may eventually forget while rushing through the parts they are most likely to remember.

Ambition still has its place. Chase the job you want. Build something you are proud of. Take the trip. Learn the skill. Try for the bigger life you have imagined.

Just watch what the chase turns you into.

Success becomes expensive when it costs your kindness. Being right loses its shine when you humiliate someone to prove it. A packed calendar means very little when the people you love have stopped asking whether you are free.

Sometimes the most important thing you can do today is wonderfully unimpressive.

Sit on the floor and play with your child.

Call your mother.

Ask your spouse how their day went, then listen long enough to hear the real answer.

Forgive someone without making them beg for it.

Leave a generous tip.

Tell a friend you are proud of them.

Say sorry without adding an explanation designed to make yourself look better.

There will always be another person doing more. Someone richer, fitter, smarter, younger, more accomplished or more followed. That race has no finish line because the person ahead of you is probably staring at someone ahead of them.

What a tiring way to live.

Maybe peace begins when you stop needing your life to look exceptional from the outside.

You wake up. You do your work well. You love your people. You make mistakes and own them. You help when you can. You laugh loudly at dinner. You make somebody’s difficult day a little easier.

Then you go home.

No applause.

No announcement.

No need for one.

In a world constantly asking what makes you special, there is something beautiful about having a much simpler answer.

I tried to be good to people today.

Meant for More

Maybe you didn’t get what you wanted because you deserved more.

That’s a hard thought to accept when you’re standing in the middle of disappointment.

You wanted that job. You pictured yourself in that relationship. You worked toward that promotion. You prayed for that opportunity. You had already imagined how life would look once everything fell into place.

Then it didn’t.

The email came back with a polite rejection. Someone else got picked. The person you thought would stay walked away. The plan you spent months building collapsed in a week.

At that moment, “maybe something better is coming” can sound like something people say because they have no idea what else to tell you.

Sometimes there is something better coming.

We spend a surprising amount of our lives asking for things based on what we can see from where we are standing. We know what we want today. We know what would make next month easier. We know which door looks attractive from the outside.

We have no idea what is happening behind it.

That job you desperately wanted might have placed you under a manager who made every Monday miserable. The relationship you fought to save might have slowly turned you into someone who was always apologizing for taking up space. The opportunity that disappeared might have kept you so comfortable that you never tried the thing that eventually changed your life.

We rarely get to see the alternate version.

That is what makes disappointment so difficult. We judge the loss using the information available today.

I didn’t get it.

They chose someone else.

It didn’t work.

Those facts hurt because we immediately attach a story to them.

Maybe I wasn’t good enough.

Maybe I should have worked harder.

Maybe everyone else is moving ahead while I’m stuck here.

That story can stay in your head for months if you let it.

Then life moves.

A different job appears. You meet someone you would never have met if the old relationship had continued. A rejection forces you to learn something you had been avoiding. You move cities. You take a chance. You discover that the thing you once begged for would have been far too small for the person you were becoming.

Suddenly, an old disappointment looks different.

I’ve always found that strange about life. Some of our worst days only make sense years later.

There are doors I’m glad never opened. At the time, I probably would have pushed harder if I could. I would have knocked again, called someone, sent another message and tried to convince life to give me exactly what I had decided I needed.

Distance changes the view.

You eventually realize how much energy you spent mourning something that would never have fit the life you have now.

That doesn’t mean every disappointment arrives with a hidden prize. Some things simply hurt. Some losses leave a space that nothing else replaces. You can still allow yourself to be disappointed when something mattered to you.

You wanted it.

Of course it hurts.

Sit with that for a while. Complain to someone you trust. Pray about it. Take the long drive. Eat the ice cream. Give yourself a couple of days where you don’t have to turn the experience into a life lesson.

Then get up and look around.

Your life is still moving.

There are conversations you haven’t had yet. Places you haven’t visited. People whose names you don’t know today who may become important to you. Skills you haven’t learned. Chances that haven’t appeared.

A closed door only tells you that one particular path ended there.

It says very little about the size of the road ahead.

And maybe that is where faith becomes useful.

Faith isn’t knowing exactly what comes next. It is being willing to walk forward when you don’t.

Sometimes the prayer you thought went unanswered was answered in a language you didn’t understand yet.

You asked for the position.

You got the push to build something of your own.

You asked for someone to stay.

You eventually learned how peaceful life could feel without constantly trying to convince someone to choose you.

You asked for the plan to work.

It fell apart and sent you somewhere you never would have chosen for yourself.

Years later, you may find yourself sitting somewhere you once couldn’t have imagined, surrounded by people you wouldn’t have met, living a life that only became possible because something you desperately wanted didn’t happen.

You might think back to that old disappointment.

The rejection email. The goodbye. The opportunity that disappeared.

And quietly realize how close you came to settling for exactly what you asked for.

Some days, the burdens are easy to count.

The bill that showed up at the wrong time. The conversation that keeps replaying in your head. The person you miss. The plan that fell apart. The work problem waiting for you tomorrow morning. The worry you carried to bed and somehow found sitting beside you when you woke up.

We become good at keeping track of these things.

We know exactly what went wrong this week. We remember who disappointed us. We can list the things we still need to fix. Give us five minutes and we could probably produce a detailed inventory of everything currently making life harder.

Mercy rarely gets the same attention.

It tends to arrive quietly.

Someone checked on you without being asked. Your child laughed at something ridiculous and, for a few seconds, you forgot whatever had been consuming your mind. Dinner tasted good. Your car started. Someone held the door. You caught a beautiful sky through the windshield on the way home.

Maybe you slept peacefully for six hours.

Maybe somebody you love is still here.

Maybe there is food in the refrigerator tonight.

Maybe you had enough strength to get through a day you were dreading.

These moments can feel too ordinary to count. That might be why we miss so many of them.

Our minds naturally give problems a lot of airtime. A painful comment can follow us around for hours while ten kind ones disappear before lunch. One thing going wrong can become the story of the entire day.

Gratitude interrupts that habit.

It asks us to look again.

The hard thing remains hard. The disappointment still happened. The money is still tight. The relationship still needs work. The diagnosis still scares you. The grief still catches you at strange moments.

Gratitude simply makes room for the rest of the picture.

I have started to think that peace often grows there.

It begins when we stop measuring life only by what hurts.

There are days when this is easy. You are on vacation, sitting beside the ocean, watching the sun disappear into the water. Gratitude almost announces itself.

Then there are Tuesday mornings.

The alarm goes off too early. Someone is cranky. Traffic is terrible. Your inbox already has problems waiting for you. Coffee spills on the counter while you are trying to leave the house.

Those are the days when noticing what is good becomes a practice.

The coffee exists.

There is someone in the house making noise.

There is somewhere to go.

There is another morning.

None of those things magically turns a difficult day into a beautiful one. They remind us that a difficult day can still contain beautiful things.

That distinction matters.

We sometimes treat gratitude like something we earn after life improves. Once the problem is solved, then I will relax. Once I get the job, then I will appreciate where I am. Once the bank balance looks better, then I will stop worrying. Once this season passes, then I will enjoy life again.

Meanwhile, entire years can disappear into waiting.

There will probably always be something unresolved.

That is adulthood for most of us. One problem gets handled and another takes its place. The kids grow and the worries change. Careers move forward and bring different pressures. People enter our lives. People leave. Bodies age. Plans shift.

If peace requires every loose end to be tied, we may spend a long time looking for it.

There is another way to live.

Pay attention to what stayed.

Notice who showed up.

Remember the prayer that was answered so quietly you almost forgot you once prayed it.

Look at the ordinary things you once desperately wanted.

There may be something in your life today that an earlier version of you would have considered a miracle.

A home.

A family.

A job.

A friendship.

A second chance.

A normal Saturday afternoon with people you love.

We adjust quickly when good things become familiar. Yesterday’s blessing becomes today’s background noise. Soon we are walking past things we once hoped for while staring at whatever we still lack.

That is where gratitude can change the temperature of a life.

Tonight, you do not need to pretend everything is fine.

You can admit that you are tired.

You can be worried about tomorrow.

You can wish something had turned out differently.

Then look around the room.

Notice the person beside you. The message someone sent. The meal you ate. The roof above you. The laughter you heard earlier. The small kindness you nearly forgot.

Count those too.

Somewhere among all the things you are carrying are mercies you almost overlooked.

Keep Recovering Out Loud

Some people are fighting battles nobody can see.

They go to work. They answer messages. They laugh with friends. They take care of their families. From the outside, everything looks normal.

Inside, they might be trying to get through one more day.

That is why talking about recovery matters.

When someone shares that they are struggling, it gives another person permission to stop pretending they are fine. When someone talks about therapy, grief, anxiety, addiction, burnout, loneliness, or the slow process of finding themselves again, someone listening might recognize their own story.

Sometimes that is the first crack in the wall.

We often think recovery is supposed to be private. Fix yourself quietly. Come back when you feel better. Smile when people ask how you are doing.

That can make the hardest part even harder.

Recovery has messy days. There are mornings when getting out of bed feels like an achievement. There are conversations you have to have more than once. There are habits you thought you had left behind that show up again. There are days when progress feels invisible.

Talking about those moments can make them easier to carry.

You do not need to tell the world everything. You can choose what to share and who gets to hear it. A friend. A sibling. A therapist. A colleague you trust. Even a simple sentence like, “I’m having a difficult week” can open a door.

And sometimes, hearing someone else say those words is enough to make you feel less alone.

I think about the person who is suffering in silence and scrolling through their phone at 2 a.m. They might believe everyone else has figured life out. They might think their problems are too complicated to explain. They might be waiting for a sign that things can change.

Let your recovery be part of that sign.

Talk about the appointment you almost cancelled but went to. Talk about the walk that helped clear your head. Talk about asking for help. Talk about starting again after a difficult month. Talk about the small wins that nobody else noticed.

You never know who is reading.

Your story might reach someone who has been hiding their pain for years. It might help them make one phone call. It might convince them to tell someone what they have been carrying. It might remind them that the place they are in today does not have to be where they stay.

There is no shame in being a work in progress.

Keep recovering out loud, at whatever volume feels safe for you.

Someone else may be listening for the sound of an exit door.