Looking Through It, Not Just At It

Some days I wake up and I already feel surrounded. Not by people, exactly, but by everything else—thoughts, pressure, expectations, things I haven’t said, messages I haven’t answered, stuff I haven’t finished. And it doesn’t take long before I start going, “I can’t do this.” Not always out loud, but it runs on a loop in my head. I know how to keep it together on the outside, but inside, I’m panicking. I’m bracing. I’m trying to figure out how to escape what’s coming, even if it’s just an overwhelming Wednesday.

That’s the thing...Life doesn’t have to be in full-blown crisis mode for us to feel threatened. Sometimes it’s enough to just feel misunderstood. Or unappreciated. Or stuck. Or stretched too thin. It doesn’t have to be dramatic to feel heavy. And when it does, I don’t always know what to do. Sometimes I go into “fix it” mode. Other times, I shut down. I overthink, I isolate, or I quietly hope no one notices how not-okay I feel.

But the other day, this random story came back to me. Not the whole thing, just this image of someone waking up to find themselves completely surrounded. It’s from 2 Kings 6 about Elisha and his servant. His servant wakes up, sees an army outside, and freaks out. Totally fair, right? Because how do you stay calm when the thing you were afraid would happen is actually happening? But Elisha doesn’t panic. He says, “Don’t be afraid. There are more with us than with them.” And then he prays, “Lord, open his eyes.”

That part gets me every time. He didn’t say, “Lord, send help.” He didn’t say, “Strike the enemy.” He said, “Open his eyes.”

That’s when the servant suddenly sees what was always there...hills full of horses and chariots of fire. Not human ones. Heavenly ones. It didn’t remove the threat. It didn’t magically make life easy. But it changed what he could see. And that changes everything.

 

I think about how many times I’ve spiraled because I forgot that maybe I’m not seeing the whole picture. That maybe there’s help I don’t even know about. That maybe I’m not as alone as I feel. That maybe God’s already moved, and I just need the eyes to recognize it.

It’s easy to say, “Walk by faith, not by sight” when life’s going okay. But when tasks are accumulating, or someone disappoints you, or you feel rejected, or the future’s just blurry...sight feels like all you’ve got. And it’s not always kind.

But the story didn’t stop there. Elisha ends up leading the enemy army who came to capture him, by the way—right into Israel’s city. The king sees them and basically goes, “Can I kill them?” And Elisha goes, “What? No. Feed them. Give them something to drink. Then send them home.”

That part hit me hard. Because when I feel surrounded, I want to fight. I want to defend myself, prove my point, or disappear altogether. But Elisha? He leads with mercy. He could’ve finished them, but instead, he fed them.

Like Whoa! That’s restraint! That’s clarity. That’s strength that doesn’t have to scream. And the Bible says after that, the enemy stopped raiding. It was mercy—not revenge—that ended the conflict.

I think we forget that part. We think people need to be “taught a lesson.” But sometimes, what shuts things down is just... not reacting the way the world expects. Not matching energy. Not needing to be right or sharp or intimidating. Just letting mercy speak louder than fear or pride.

I don’t always get that right. Most days, I want to snap or shut down. But every time I remember this story, I’m reminded that maybe what I need isn’t escape, but perspective. Maybe the prayer isn’t “make it stop,” but “help me see.” And when I do see differently, I move differently too. Less panic. Less pride. More peace. More mercy. Not because I’ve figured it all out, but because I know I’m not the one holding everything together. And that, right there, changes everything.

 

 

How the Need to Finish Everything Is Finishing Me

I didn’t realize I was doing it again. That thing where I treat life like a string of urgent tasks—one after another, no pause in between. Where everything feels like it needs to be done now. Not later. Not when I’m ready. Now.

Sometimes, even when there’s no real deadline, something in me still speeds up. Still wants to check it off, clear it out, get ahead. Because if I don’t stay ahead, I feel like I’m already behind.

And sure, from the outside it might look like I’m just being productive. Responsible. But it’s more than that. It’s this constant undercurrent of “don’t stop.” Because if I stop, I’ll fall behind. And if I fall behind, I’ll never catch up. And if I never catch up, what was the point of trying in the first place?

It sounds dramatic when I say it out loud, but this has been the rhythm of my days lately. Work has slowly taken over everything. I eat while working. I think about work while doing other things. I try to rest but end up remembering something I forgot to do.

I started feeling like I was only “okay” if things were finished. Like the only way I could breathe was after the list was clear. Except the list never clears. It just reloads.

 

That’s when I knew something was off. This isn’t just about time management or responsibility. It’s about control. The kind of control that makes you believe you have to keep things moving at all times. That you can’t afford to slow down. That rest is for people who’ve finished everything—and you never really do.

But here’s what I’m finally facing... I’ve been living like everything depends on me. And it doesn’t.

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

— Psalm 46:10

That verse always seems to show up when I least want to hear it. Be still? In this chaos? With all the pending things? Be still, when I’m trying to keep everything from falling through the cracks?

Yes. Be still. Not because everything is done. But because everything doesn’t have to be.

God is still God, even when I haven’t crossed everything off. God is still working, even when I step away.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”

— Proverbs 3:5

That “lean not” part has been pressing on me. Because my understanding tells me: hurry. Finish it all. Don’t leave loose ends. But that’s not trust. That’s fear disguised as urgency. And honestly? The more I give in to it, the more anxious I feel. Because no matter how fast I go, peace never comes at the end of the task list.

So now I’m teaching myself to pause. Not because it’s convenient. Not because I want to.
But because I have to. For my soul. For my sanity. For my actual life that’s slowly getting swallowed by “just one more thing.”

Letting go of control doesn’t mean I stop caring. It means I start trusting. That God sees what I can’t finish. That He fills in the parts I can’t hold up. That He’s not measuring me by my pace—but by my willingness to rest in Him.

And maybe that’s what today is asking of you too.

Held by the Same Grace

Sometimes, the hardest thing to accept is that God also loves the person who hurt you.

Not because they were right. Not because what they did didn’t matter. But because God doesn't stop loving people just because they failed someone else.

And let’s be honest—that’s not the comfort we’re usually looking for when we’re the one left hurting.

It’s hard when you’re the one who got shut out, misjudged, betrayed, dismissed, or simply forgotten. Maybe they said something that cut too deep. Maybe they walked away without explaining. Maybe they made you feel like you didn’t matter, and now you’re left replaying the moment trying to figure out what you could’ve done differently.

And in those moments, it’s easy to assume God is standing closer to you than to them. Because you’re the one left bleeding. You’re the one trying to make sense of the silence, the distance, the shift in the relationship. You’re the one who stayed kind. The one who didn’t fight back. The one who tried to understand.

So naturally, you want God to step in and defend you. To show them what they did. To somehow make it fair again.

But God doesn’t always respond by showing you justice in the way you picture it. He doesn’t rush to pick a side like we do. He doesn’t pour out His love only on the person who got hurt. He pours it out on both.

He responds with mercy. Not just for you. But for them too.

And that’s uncomfortable—because it feels like grace is being extended to someone who doesn’t seem to deserve it. But that’s exactly how grace works.

It’s not because God is ignoring your pain. It’s not because what happened wasn’t a big deal. It’s because He sees something much bigger than the moment that broke you.

“The Lord sees not as man sees.
Man looks at the outward appearance,
but the Lord looks at the heart.”
(1 Samuel 16:7)

God sees the parts you’ve never spoken about—the ache, the restraint, the emotional weight you carried alone. And He also sees the parts of the other person’s life that aren’t obvious to you. Their fears. Their dysfunction. Their defensiveness. Their own wounds that haven’t healed right.

Most of the time, people don’t really set out to hurt others. But we all carry stuff. And when we don’t deal with it, we end up bleeding on people who didn’t cut us.

That doesn’t mean they get a free pass. It doesn’t mean you should ignore how it affected you. It just means that before you lock them into the role of "villain," it helps to remember that people who hurt others are often hurting too—just in different ways.

Sometimes they don’t know better. Sometimes they do, but they’re stuck in their own immaturity or pride. Sometimes they think they’re protecting themselves. Sometimes they just can’t face truth yet. We don’t always know. But God does.

And He is not turning a blind eye. He’s just working differently. Patiently. Quietly.

“He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.”
(2 Peter 3:9)

You’re not being asked to just let it slide. And you're not being told to just accept bad behavior. You're simply being invited to stop carrying the weight of it as if healing hinges on them making it right.

Because what actually frees you is not seeing them change—it’s knowing God is still just, still good, and still paying attention, even when it doesn’t look like it.

Letting go doesn’t mean you’ve given up on justice. It means you trust that God’s version of justice is better. More complete. More redemptive.

“Do not repay anyone evil for evil…
If it is possible, as far as it depends on you,
live at peace with everyone.”
(Romans 12:17–18)

That kind of peace isn’t easy. It’s not passive either. It’s active surrender. Choosing to let God deal with the things you were never meant to fix. It’s not about excusing what they did. It’s about freeing yourself from being stuck in it.

You’re allowed to move forward, even if they never acknowledge what happened.
You’re allowed to heal without waiting for closure.
You’re allowed to stop wondering whether they understood your heart. God did.

And in time, maybe you’ll see that this isn’t about them getting off the hook. It’s about trusting that we’re all being dealt with—just in different ways. And in different stages.

That’s the kind of trust that sets you free.

Revisiting My Green Room: Returning After a 3-Year Hiatus

I've chosen to resume blogging after a three-year sabbatical. It's been a long time since I've written a post, and I'll confess that I was a little hesitant to get back into it. After much thought, I concluded that I missed the creative outlet that blogging gave, and I wanted to share my experiences with you all once more.

I began writing as a way to express myself. After that... I somehow intended it to be a platform for me to express my thoughts, ideas, and faith with a bigger audience. To be honest, I wasn't expecting to gain a massive following. I am terrified of being opposed to and judged. It's well recognized that when you make your life narrative public, you essentially give others permission to criticize your every move and I don't like to give people that free pass. Who does, right? But, I suppose, it's one of the simplest forms of self-expression—Introverts' Way. So... 

However, life intervened and I found myself putting my blog on the back burner. I hadn't realized how much I had missed it until recently. Yet, something tells me that it's a dead platform. So, I've been thinking about starting a vlog for years. In fact, I didn't actually think vlogging would catch on, though I was told it would. Someone suggested that I start one in 2014. Maybe it's simply not my personality so I gave a nod. I mean, I'd done TV shows, hosting, modeling, and others. Vlogging, on the other hand, makes me feel egotistical as I stare and chat to the camera by myself. To me it feels awkward.

It's already 2023... Looking back, I should have begun monetizing my social media platforms through vlogging sooner. 💭

Returning to blogging after such a lengthy gap was difficult, but I believe it was well worth the effort. I'm not sure how difficult it is to produce vlogs. I believe blogging is easier for me because I don't have to struggle when I'm introvert-ing. Even in that state, I can write. While it would need far more from me than I am capable of giving if I forced myself to vlog. I could give up on it shortly! While having a blog is like having a public journal where erasures are ok. Of course, this is my preference so maybe I am speaking with bias.

I like the idea of learning more about myself and my thoughts by writing. There were even occasions when I appeared to be arguing with myself. You know that moment when you realize you said something not so brilliant, but you only realize it after you have completed a few paragraphs? So, with a better idea, you kind of want to retract what you just said without having to delete the previous one in long paragraphs because you think you wrote it well?! 😂 I mean it helps me to evaluate what I believe in. Helps me grow as a person.

All of us desire to occasionally share our experiences with others. We find means to share our feelings about significant life events, our opinions on hot-button topics, or even merely to share our experiences as we try out new activities. For a variety of reasons, we wish to share life with others. It seems to be an inherent aspect of our relational nature as humans. So, I also have it.

While returning to blogging after such a long break was a bit daunting, it was definitely the right decision for me. I'm excited to see where this journey takes me and look forward to connecting with others along the way. AND, I hope not to take another long break again! 😂

Another Year of Gratitude: A Birthday Reflection

As my birthday on April 20 drew near, I couldn't help but reflect on the years that had passed and all the people who had supported me through the highs and lows. I am deeply grateful for all the blessings that have come my way, and by "blessings" I mean the individuals that God has placed in my life.

Although not all of my experiences over the past several years have been pleasant, I am thankful for the lessons I have learnt from the difficulties and setbacks. And even from my own imprudence and recklessness. I've learned to view unpleasant situations as worthwhile lessons and to rely on my support system through trying times, which is primarily God and the people He sent in each circumstance I've encountered. I am appreciative of everyone He utilized to amplify all else He has already given me. This enabled me to appreciate the rewards and beauty of relationship.

I am incredibly appreciative of all the individuals and events that have aided my development as an individual as I reflect on the previous years. I am grateful for every blessing in my life, from the open doors and windows that have come my way to the network of support that I have. I will carry this thankfulness with me as I go onward and work to pay it forward by offering a positive impact and influence on others.

God's gracious hand is upon me, indeed! And may His hand continue to remain on me, to guide me in all my ways.