There are seasons in life where everything seems to arrive at once.

Grief.

Joy.

Change.

Anticipation.

Fear.

Hope.

And somehow, all of it asks to be held at the very same time.

That’s the season I find myself in right now.

On the heels of saying goodbye to our 16-year-old family cat… and then losing my beloved Xandy just days later… I’m also preparing to run the Historic Marine Corps Half Marathon this weekend—a race I’ve been training for over the last several months.

And before three weeks ago, I would have confidently told you:

“I’m ready.”

I was on track.

I was hitting my runs.

I was building momentum.

But then life shifted.

Grief entered the room.

And these last three weeks have looked very different than I expected them to.

I’ve missed runs.

I’ve walked more than I’ve run.

And honestly… I think it was my soul that needed the slower pace.

There’s a kind of exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix. A kind of heaviness that doesn’t need to be pushed through, but gently carried.

So instead of forcing myself to perform at the level I originally hoped for, I found myself slowing down. Walking. Processing. Breathing. Letting grief and gratitude exist together.

And now, standing on the edge of race week, I find myself in a very unfamiliar place:

I don’t know exactly how this race is going to go.

Part of me wonders if I’m fully prepared anymore.

Part of me wonders if I’ll even make it there at all because at any moment now, my fifth grandbaby—a little girl—could decide it’s time to enter the world. And if that call comes, I already know exactly where I want to be.

And strangely enough… I’m okay not knowing.

Because this week is teaching me something much deeper than performance.

It’s teaching me trust.

As I stood outside this morning at the beginning of my day, feeling the weight and beauty of all these moments, I caught myself thinking:

I wonder what this week is going to hold.

Not from a place of fear.

Not even anxiety.

Just awareness.

Awareness that life is moving.

Changing.

Stretching me.

And for the first time in a long time, instead of trying to mentally control every possible outcome, I found myself surrendering to it.

Not giving up.

Surrendering.

There’s a difference.

I’m learning that surrender isn’t weakness. It’s trust.

Trusting that I will know who I need to be when the moment arrives.

Trusting that I’ll know what to do.

Trusting that I don’t need every answer ahead of time to move forward.

I’m trusting that God will meet me in this week.

That the people who love me will support me.

And maybe most importantly… that I will allow myself to receive that support instead of trying to carry everything alone.

Because if I’m honest, that’s been one of my greatest tendencies:

To overprepare.

To overthink.

To try to manage outcomes before they happen.

But what if life was never asking me to control it?

What if it was simply asking me to be present within it?

As I stood there this morning, I realized something else too:

I don’t want to just survive this week.

I don’t want to grit my teeth and “get through it.”

I want to live it.

I want to notice it.

The emotions.

The uncertainty.

The anticipation.

The people.

The conversations.

The beauty hidden inside ordinary moments.

I want to be present enough to actually experience my life while it’s happening.

Because uncertainty has a way of making us mentally race ahead. We try to predict what’s next, prepare for every possibility, brace ourselves before anything has even happened.

But in doing that, we often miss the only thing we truly have:

This moment.

This breath.

This morning.

This person in front of us.

And maybe peace isn’t found in certainty.

Maybe peace is found in presence.

In trusting ourselves enough to meet whatever comes.

There’s freedom in admitting:

I don’t know exactly what this week will hold.

Maybe I’ll run the half marathon exactly as planned.

Maybe I’ll run it slower than expected.

Maybe I won’t run it at all because a baby girl decides it’s time to arrive.

And honestly? Every one of those outcomes holds something beautiful.

Because life isn’t only found in perfectly executed plans.

Sometimes it’s found in the unexpected pivots.

The slower pace.

The surrendered moments.

The willingness to stay open when things don’t unfold exactly as we imagined.

So maybe you’re in a season like that too.

Maybe life feels uncertain right now.

Maybe you’re carrying grief, transition, hope, or questions you can’t quite answer yet.

If so, I just want to remind you:

You do not have to have the full roadmap to move forward.

You do not have to know exactly how everything will unfold to allow yourself joy.

And you do not need to spend your whole life bracing for outcomes instead of fully living the moments in front of you.

Pause.

Take a breath.

Look around at your actual life.

There is still beauty here.

Still gratitude here.

Still growth here.

Even in the unknown.

Especially in the unknown.

So this week, that’s what I’m choosing.

Not just to survive it.

But to trust it.

To live it.

To thrive within it.

One moment at a time.

Ready. Set. Grow. 🌿