Author: Kaleathia Murphy

For several weeks, I let my thoughts run wild. They were taking over my mind, leaving me feeling cloudy and overwhelmed. I was reading my Bible and praying, but no relief came. My mind felt like a battlefield, and I couldn’t find peace.

During one of my prayer times, I sensed God prompting me to listen to Battlefield of the Mind by Joyce Meyer on Audible. It’s funny because this book has been a staple in my yearly reading, but somehow, I hadn’t revisited it in a few years.

When I started listening, one chapter hit me hard: Think About What You’re Thinking About. It was a lightbulb moment. I realized my thoughts had been everywhere, and I couldn’t hear God because my mind was so loud. My head was full of lies seeds of doubt, fear, and negativity and I was on the verge of watering them all.

But once I started taking control of my thoughts, everything began to shift. It’s only been a week, and even my nanna noticed a difference. She said, “You sound better.” I told her, “I feel better,” and explained how I had been letting my mind take over.

Now, Philippians 4:8 has become my go-to scripture: “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable if anything is excellent or praiseworthy think about such things.”

This verse reminds me to be intentional about what I allow into my mind. Instead of letting negative or untrue thoughts take root, I choose to focus on what aligns with God’s truth. It’s a daily practice, but it’s a powerful one.

If you’ve been feeling stuck or overwhelmed, I encourage you to pause and think about what you’re thinking about. Your thoughts have power, but with God’s help, you can take control of them and experience peace like never before.

My nanna radiated grace and integrity. I never heard her use profanity or speak ill of others. To me, she embodied the essence of being Christlike. She became my standard of what it meant to live a life that reflected Jesus.

Yet, for much of my life, I measured “good” by the world’s standards. I thought people could be good without a Savior. We rely on our limited understanding to define what’s good, but good in our own eyes is often flawed and skewed. It lacks the depth and purity of God’s goodness.

Now, I find myself at a place in my journey where I long to be a true disciple of Christ. I recognize that people are watching, even when I don’t see them. Because I have been set free from sin, I know I am called to a higher standard a standard that reflects my Savior.

I no longer want to live according to the world’s idea of goodness. Instead, I want to live a life that points others to freedom in Christ. I want to share this freedom because I know what it feels like to be bound, and I want everyone to experience what it means to be truly free.

Being Christlike is not about perfection; it’s about surrender. It’s about reflecting His love, His grace, and His truth in a way that draws others closer to Him. That’s the life I strive for, and that’s the freedom I hope to share with the world.

Sometimes, we need a different kind of vision to truly see. You need four eyes to see not in the literal sense, but in a deeper way. Our hearts act as glasses for our eyes. When the heart is engaged, it allows us to see clearly. But here’s the question: What’s in your heart?

The heart is a reflection of what’s inside of us. It’s the core of who we are, and it influences how we see the world and how we show up in it. What we put out whether kindness, love, or bitterness comes directly from what’s stored in our hearts.

When the heart is healthy, it’s impossible to consistently put out bad or unkind things. A healthy heart produces light, love, and goodness. But when the heart is unhealthy, the darkness within eventually spills over. It clouds our vision and distorts how we see others and ourselves.

So, take a moment to examine your heart. What’s in it? Is it love, forgiveness, and compassion? Or is it bitterness, jealousy, or hurt? The condition of your heart will always determine the clarity of your vision.

You may not need glasses for your eyes, but if your heart isn’t clear, you’ll never see the world as it truly is. A healthy heart brings true vision and that’s the kind of sight we all need.

I recently faced a dilemma that reminded me of the importance of having a ready mindset. Someone I knew was standing in faith for the full recovery of a sick loved one. I joined them in believing for healing, but I added, “Even if the unexpected happens, God is faithful. Whatever His will is, it’s perfect.”

In an instant, the person rebuked me, saying they believed only in a full recovery. I understood their perspective, but I couldn’t help feeling a little saddened. To me, trusting in God’s will whatever it may be doesn’t diminish our faith in His ability to heal. In fact, it strengthens it. It’s about surrendering to His perfect plan, even when it doesn’t match our expectations.

This situation brought me back to my own journey. For 11 years, I searched for answers about why I have a limp and why I can’t stand for long periods of time. Every explanation left me feeling defeated, but through it all, I clung to hope. I would say, “I know the Lord will heal me. I know He’s more than capable.”

But I also added something important: “If I remain this way, I know God is still faithful, and He doesn’t make mistakes.”

This is what I call a ready mindset. It’s the posture of being open to whatever God decides to do, trusting that His plan is perfect and good even if it doesn’t look like what we imagined.

Having a ready mindset doesn’t mean we stop believing for miracles or lose faith in God’s power. It means we embrace His sovereignty, trusting that His ways are higher than ours. Whether He heals us here and now or works in ways we don’t fully understand, He is still good.

So, as I reflect on my journey, I continue to believe in God’s ability to heal, but I also rest in the assurance that His will whatever it may be is perfect. That’s the beauty of faith: trusting the God who never makes mistakes, even when life doesn’t go as planned.

When we moved back to Georgia, I had a plan. I was excited about spending more time with my kids. Now that we’re all adults, I thought it would be an opportunity to truly get to know one another on a deeper level. I envisioned us having adult conversations, sharing adult hugs and kisses, and creating moments that felt priceless. There’s something about a mother’s embrace that brings security, even as adults. At least, that’s what I believe.

But somewhere along the way, things didn’t go as planned. Miscommunication crept in, and confusion took hold of a situation that no one wanted to fix. I tried to mend it, thinking I could, but I had to accept the hard truth: not everyone was ready for resolution. Confusion seemed to thrive in the relationships. Maybe it had always been there, but now I was in a place where I could see it clearly. It hurt to witness, and my heart ached in silence.

Still, I believe there’s good in this pain. I hope for a day when we can all come back together this time, healthy and whole. For now, I’m learning to let things be as they are, trusting that clarity and healing will come in their own time. My heart remains broken, but my hope remains strong.

After Jesus was resurrected, the disciples were overjoyed to see Him. But Thomas wasn’t there. When they told him the good news, he didn’t believe it. He said, “Unless I see the nail marks in His hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe” (John 20:25). How could this be? Thomas was a disciple who had seen Jesus perform countless miracles. He had walked with Him, heard His teachings, and witnessed His power firsthand. Yet, in that moment, Thomas needed physical evidence to believe.

Not long ago, my husband told me I was displaying the faith of Thomas or more accurately, a lack of faith. I got offended. His words stung so deeply that I shut down, refusing to hear anything else he had to say. But recently, that conversation came back to mind, and I had to admit he was right. I apologized to him because I realized how often I’ve acted like Thomas, needing tangible proof of what Jesus is doing in my life.

I began to reflect: how could I, after everything Jesus has done for me, still demand evidence? He’s shown His faithfulness over and over again, yet I’ve doubted Him in moments of uncertainty. It’s humbling to recognize that even as someone who loves and follows Christ, I’ve let fear and doubt cloud my faith. But just as Jesus met Thomas in his unbelief and gave him what he needed to believe, He’s met me too patiently reminding me of His goodness. Now, I’m learning to trust without needing to see, believing in His promises because of who He is, not just what He does.

How about if it all works out? That simple thought shifted me from worry to faith. Instead of focusing on everything that could go wrong, I started thinking about what could go right. It’s a mindset change that feels small but carries so much power. Worrying about the unknown doesn’t change the outcome it only robs you of your peace.

The truth is, we can’t control the unknowns. Life is unpredictable, and trying to manage every possibility is exhausting. But what we can control is our mindset. We get to choose how we think, how we approach challenges, and whether we let fear or faith guide us. Choosing to believe in the best-case scenario doesn’t mean ignoring reality; it means leaning into hope and trusting that even if things don’t go as planned, they’ll still work out in the end. What if that shift in thinking is all you need?

You should be in relationships where you are appreciated, not merely tolerated. Anything less is a disservice to yourself and a relationship built on pretense. For me, being truly connected to someone means having the space to be vulnerable, honest, and fully myself. Surface-level connections don’t fulfill me I long for depth, understanding, and mutual appreciation.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve become more selective about the people I allow into my inner circle. The word “friend” carries weight for me now, and I no longer use it as loosely as I once did. Friendships, like any meaningful relationship, require effort, trust, and genuine care. Life is too short to settle for connections that feel forced or one-sided. Surrounding yourself with people who truly see you, value you, and accept you is a gift worth cherishing.

It’s good for me—this idea of finding comfort in being uncomfortable. It sounds crazy because comfort is what we naturally seek. It makes perfect sense to want to stay in a place that feels safe and familiar. But there are seasons in life where comfort must be set aside. These are the moments that stretch us, creating the vulnerability needed to confront the pride that often leads to a fall.

Discomfort isn’t easy, but it has a purpose. It humbles us, refines us, and strengthens our ability to persevere. If we remain too comfortable, we risk stagnation and miss out on the growth that comes through challenges. Embracing discomfort isn’t about seeking pain but about recognizing the beauty in what it produces—a stronger, wiser, and more grounded version of ourselves.

Why am I doing the things? That question has lingered with me since I remembered a time when I was completely content wearing my old Skechers. They were comfortable, functional, and met my needs—until someone pointed out the holes in them. Embarrassment crept in, and despite having the means to replace them, I hadn’t because I was satisfied. But I let their comments shake me, dictating my spending and, more deeply, how I viewed my worth. I started buying based on what others might think rather than what truly mattered to me.

What I wear doesn’t define the person I am. Judging someone by their appearance misses what’s internal—the qualities and values that make them who they are. Expensive or name-brand items might offer a fleeting sense of pride or garner a few compliments, but those shouldn’t drive our choices. I learned this the hard way when I began seeing my Skechers as “not good enough.” Looking back, they weren’t just shoes; they were a reminder of the peace that comes with contentment—a peace I’m working to reclaim.