“Patience of Christ”

2 Thessalonians 3:5 “ May the Lord direct your hearts into the love of God and into the steadfastness and patience of Christ.”

*As I finished this post, the photo that I never remember seeing and the video that I had completely forgotten, posted about my maw maw in 2009, popped up.

I try to sleep at night, but instead my mind wanders and refuses to settle. During the day, it feels like I’m a clown desperately trying to juggle 100 balls while simultaneously balancing on top of 100 others. The pressure is immense, and I’m pretty sure my silence and tendency to overthink unintentionally drives everyone close to me a little bit insane.

For the first time in probably a year, Erik and I had the rare opportunity to spend an entire weekend alone together. We ended up spending it at UAB, which wasn’t exactly a traditional getaway, but it was still a nice break from the usual chaos. On Thursday, when we walked into Ricky’s room, it became immediately apparent that the two days when no one was there to be with him hadn’t gone as smoothly as they should have. I’ll save those details for later. This evening, Erik dropped me off at home and headed back to stay with Ricky for a few more days to keep things in line and stable. We’ve survived twelve long, exhausting weeks of this journey. As I reflected on the weeks that have passed, one reminder kept echoing through my whirlwind of thoughts: “Don’t forget where we started and how far we’ve come.”

My cousin has been heavy on my mind lately—perhaps because she played such a significant role in my childhood memories, or maybe because she is the younger sister of someone currently battling addiction. It could also be that God, in His mysterious wisdom, knew I needed her presence in my life right now. We were fortunate enough to attend church together this evening and listen to my uncle preach a powerful message on the theme, “God is faithful.”

I attempted to sleep earlier, hoping to find rest instead of writing this reflection, but sleep eluded me, so here I am, compelled to share.

It’s been 12 weeks—week 12—and Ricky is alive. He’s moving both of his legs, though the right side is a bit slower than the left, but he’s moving them both nonetheless. His arms respond with some motion too. However, during my most recent visit, what struck me the most was his ability to move his head. On Friday, I saw Ricky slump over to the right with his head bowed down. As I was leaving, I moved to his left side and gently said, “Ricky, if you try, you can raise your head up.” And then he showed me. Slowly, deliberately, I watched as Ricky lifted his head, held it steady, and turned it gradually to the left. I couldn’t contain my excitement and began shouting in joy. God IS faithful.

There are moments when I forget Ricky’s original condition—times when he was unconscious, not breathing on his own, completely still, not even looking at us, meeting strangers in the lobby and asking them to pray with us, for us, over us, watching strangers lay hands on my brother and plead for his life. I sometimes forget the day he finally woke up, the moment I looked straight into his eyes and knew my brother was still there. I forget the long nights spent sleeping in the NICU lobby, praying and pleading with God to allow him to live. I promised that if Ricky couldn’t tell his own story, I would be his voice—spreading the love of God to anyone willing to listen. Patience. God has Ricky’s future already planned. God knows what has happened and what will happen next. Through this journey, He is revealing His love, the patience displayed through Christ, and above all, how truly faithful He is.

I was lucky enough to grow up with three sets of grandparents, a blessing that shaped my childhood in unique ways. Growing up, I always felt a little “different” because I had three families instead of just one, which at times felt chaotic and confusing. But as an adult, I have come to realize just how much I needed all three families to help shape who I am today. There’s a deeper reason behind the chaos I lived through, a divine purpose I can now see clearly. I firmly believe that God places people in our lives intentionally, each person playing a meaningful role in our journey.

My biological father didn’t “raise” me in the traditional sense, but his family stepped in and helped to raise me with love and care. This is where my cousin becomes such an important figure in my story. I honestly don’t remember a time when this entire family wasn’t present in my life, offering support and companionship. Christal and I spent thousands of days at maw maw and paw paw’s house, sharing countless moments with our Aunt Kim and Aunt Lisa. We spent days in the garden and the kitchen, and sometimes hid from maw maw while she yodeled “Kimberly” from the far end of the porch. Sundays were filled with playing softball in the field, and after church, we’d go over to Grandma Hastings’ house. Friday nights meant trips to the dairy bar for a parfait treat. Some of the best days of my entire life were spent in Macbroom Holler, surrounded by this large, loving, and close-knit family that still holds a special place in my heart.

These are the people I was with when my brother Jason passed away—the people who truly loved me, including Ricky and DeLisa—while my mom was completely heartbroken and struggling to cope. Around the age of 10, my biological father began dating someone who didn’t want me to be part of the “family” anymore. Eventually, my biological father made the painful decision not to be involved in my life. I was just a kid and didn’t fully understand what was happening, but I held my head high and survived through it all. Though I survived, the anger inside of me only grew stronger over time. When I was 13, I wanted to start dating. My mom made this “deal” with me: I had to bring the boy to our house for dinner and also invite my maw maw. If she liked him, then I could go on a date with him. Over thirty years later, my biological father revealed how he would quietly stay involved in my life through my maw maw, using her as a silent connection. He told me that when maw maw told him I was talking about boys, he had her suggest the idea and it stuck .

At 13, tragedy struck our family in an unexpected way when my maw maw, Christal, and my aunt Betty were involved in a car accident. Christal was the sole survivor. This heartbreaking event made me stop partying for a while, but it did nothing to stop the anger inside me. During that time, my “boyfriend” became involved with drugs. Looking back now, I believe there must have been a reason for everything—perhaps it was to keep me out of harm’s way, to stop me from getting involved in drugs myself. Only God knows the full plan. Through it all, He has remained faithful to me.

As an adult, I made terrible choices that I deeply regret. My 20’s are a blur of confusion and pain, and the only truly good things that came from those years were Taylor and Hunter. There were countless bad decisions, abusive relationships, a desperate suicide attempt, a brother who bravely beat on my door to pull me out of the darkness, and through it all, a faithful and loving God who never abandoned me. It’s because of Him and my brother’s unwavering consistency in keeping dangerous influences—especially anyone associated with meth—away from me that I am not dead, in prison, or living at The Father’s House.

In my 30’s, my mind slowly began to heal and work clearly again. Life started to come together a bit better than it had during the previous 15 or so turbulent years. Without the solid foundation laid for me by God and all three of my families, I truly may have never made it safely out of my 20’s.

When my biological father passed several years ago, the anger re arose. The anger that he chose to waste so may years of my life and of his not being involved or the lives of my children. I knew he regretted it, I knew he was also a victim and couldn’t find a way to remain involved in his son’s (my younger brother) life and mine at the same time. I forgive him for his mistakes and will always know if he could change the decisions he made, the bad decisions, he would. He, just like the rest of us, was a good person, in a bad situation, trying to survive and that’s okay. It made me who I am today.

Over the last 12 weeks, I’ve had time to reflect deeply on myself, often finding moments where I question what God is trying to teach me or reveal to me through all of these experiences. Perhaps it’s simply to show me that He has saved me from sin, addiction, death, and the constant turmoil that once overwhelmed my life. Maybe it’s also to remind me that everyone is placed in our lives according to His perfect timing, arriving at the exact moment He chooses, each for a very specific and divine reason. Or perhaps it’s all intended to show me that He always has the final say, and that His faithfulness never fails, no matter what storms we face along the way. Without the closeness of my biological father’s family, I wouldn’t truly understand that I’m supposed to do the things my little sister and I have done over these past 12 weeks. I wouldn’t even know what family truly is. Because of their love—their remarkable closeness, something most don’t have in a family—I have come to understand how to love unconditionally. They’ve shown me who to call on when I’m tired, hurting, angry, or simply in need of a prayer... or even 100 prayers.

Please continue to pray for Ricky. For Ricky’s story to touch others. For placement into a rehabilitation facility, the perfect rehabilitation facility, where God wants him to be. For our family.