Morning moments of clarity

The last ten years have been the best and worst years of my life—and I’ve stopped trying to separate the two.

I used to think life came in chapters: the good ones where everything shines, and the bad ones you just survive. But when I look back now, it’s all tangled together. Triumph and grief. Love and loss. Growth and breaking. It’s less like a timeline and more like a collage—messy, layered, and somehow still beautiful.

A decade ago, I walked across a stage and graduated college with honors. What most people didn’t see was that I did it while fighting a brain infection that should have taken me out. That moment wasn’t just about achievement—it was about defiance. About choosing to keep going when my body was ready to give up.

Around that same time, I met the love of my life. Life moved quickly after that—joyfully, unexpectedly. I became pregnant with my first child just as I lost my father. It was my first real understanding that life doesn’t wait for you to process one moment before handing you another. Grief and new beginnings can exist in the same breath.

I kept building. I launched my dream—my own handbag and accessory line—and saw it grow beyond anything I imagined. International magazines featured my work. I found my voice hosting live radio. On the outside, it looked like everything was coming together.

But life doesn’t follow a straight path.

I became pregnant with my second child and, during that time, lost my best friend to the same disease my daughter was born with—sickle cell. That kind of loss changes you. It reshapes how you see time, love, and fear. It forces you to live with both gratitude and anxiety in ways you never asked for.

Still, I kept going.

I married the man I loved soon after giving birth to our second child. And then, life struck again—I lost my older brother. One loss after another has a way of unraveling you. I lost more than people during that time. I lost my job. I lost trust in others. For a while, I even lost my sense of self—my stability, my clarity… my sanity.

There was a moment when everything felt like it had collapsed. And yet, somehow, I was still standing.

When I was finally ready to rebuild, life shifted again. I made the painful decision to divorce the person I once thought I would spend forever with. It wasn’t the ending I imagined, but it was part of my truth. And even then—I kept going.

That’s been the theme of my life: not perfection, not control, but persistence.

Today, I’m in a new chapter. I’ve found a field that excites me in ways I didn’t expect. I’ve grown into someone stronger, softer, and more honest about what life really is. And in a turn that only life could write, the love I once let go of and I have found our way back to each other. We’re remarrying—not as the same people we were before, but as people who have lived, lost, and learned.

What I understand now is this: life isn’t meant to be perfected.

It’s not stained glass—flawless, polished, and carefully placed to look untouched. It’s a collage. Pieces torn, layered, mismatched, and real. Some parts are dark, some are vibrant, some don’t seem to belong at all. But together, they tell a story that perfection never could.

I don’t want a perfect life anymore.

I want a real one.

And if the last ten years have taught me anything, it’s this: sometimes the best thing you can do is make something beautiful out of what tried to break you.

Pastor Warren Muir, Jr.

“Answering the Call”, Mark 1:16-20 (NKJV), Luke 9:23 (NIV), Ephesians 4:12 (NKJV), Ephesians 2:10 (NKJV), Ephesians 3:20 (NKJV), Hebrews 11:6 (NKJV), 

1. The Call is personal. God has designed and gifted each of us uniquely for a specific purpose.

2. The Call is pricey. 

3. The Call is powerful.