Author: Kaleathia Murphy

The least I could do is share the love of Christ. Because I am loved by Him, I can reflect His love. I’m still in awe that Jesus, sinless and perfect, took on all my sins past, present, and future and paid for them in full. That’s love beyond comprehension. The very least I can do is live as someone who’s debt-free, telling anyone who will listen and living like a person set free.

This hope I carry drives me to manifest His love through my words and actions. His love is alive, overflowing with grace and hope for everyone who encounters it. I’m still head over heels for Him, marveling that He saved me without me having to earn it. He loved me before I even knew Him, and His love remains constant. Nothing can separate me from it. So when I give away my time, resources, or anything else, it’s truly the least I can do. For all He’s done, everything I do for the gospel of Jesus is small in comparison but it’s my joy to give.

I’m not afraid to be in a holding place, taking my time instead of rushing to move into the next season. Right now, I’m learning to embrace the moment I’m in, appreciating the lessons and growth this season brings. You can discover so much when you’re not in a hurry. It’s important not to compare yourself to others your journey is yours alone. Contentment in the here and now is key, especially when you remember this is only temporary.

Don’t let your present circumstances define your future. The middle is where you can build trust in yourself and your instincts. Even in a holding place, you’re still moving forward in ways you may not see yet. Take the time to appreciate where you are, knowing that every season has a purpose.

Failure can be a guide if you let it. Yet, no one talks much about the other side of failure the side where it turns out to be a blessing. If you focus solely on the failure, you might miss the lessons and redirection it offers.

Failure can lead you to unimaginable levels of self-discovery and growth. Once the sting of disappointment fades, you begin to see how it nudges you toward where you’re truly meant to be.

I remember a time when I had to take a crucial test three times and failed each attempt. It was a requirement for my chosen program in college, and I was told that if I failed it one more time, I would have to sit out of school for a year.

I studied relentlessly, used additional resources, and sought help to prepare for the test. Despite doing all I could, the results kept falling short of what I needed. Each time I retook the exam, I maintained a positive attitude and added something extra to my study efforts.

When I shared my story with others, they were shocked that I didn’t just give up after multiple failures. But giving up wasn’t an option for me I knew I was going to succeed.

And then it happened. On my third attempt, I passed the test by just one point. I was ecstatic, but a few weeks later, I received a letter stating there had been an error: I had actually passed the test on my first attempt.

To me, it didn’t matter when the victory came. What mattered was that I believed I would succeed, and that belief carried me through.

This experience taught me a valuable lesson: It doesn’t matter what things look like right now. What matters is what you choose to believe. I chose to believe that victory was on the horizon and it was.

Failure isn’t the end; it’s the beginning of a new direction. Let it guide you to where you’re meant to be.

Life has a funny way of humbling us, doesn’t it? Some of my most embarrassing moments have turned into the biggest laughs—and honestly, some of my favorite stories to tell.

One moment in particular stands out: the Depends saga. Yes, adult diapers. Let me set the stage. I started out crying a lot because I needed to wear them. At home, my husband had to remind me endlessly to pull down my gown or dress because, apparently, my Depends kept peeking out. I was mortified. I ugly cried about it more days than I’d like to admit.

I mean, picture this: me, tucking everything into those diapers, rolling around with my walker, trying to keep some shred of dignity. It felt like the height of humiliation. But who knew that embarrassment would follow me right out the door?

One day, after a doctor’s appointment, I was walking outside, feeling pretty good. People were honking their horns and staring, and for a brief moment, I thought, Wow, a girl with a walker is turning heads! What a confidence booster!

But that confidence didn’t last long. A kind woman walked up to me and said, “Honey, you need to pull your dress down.”

That’s right my entire dress was tucked into the back of my Depends. I was mortified. I quickly yanked it out and wanted to disappear. But then, something surprising happened. I laughed. Not just a chuckle I laughed out loud, and it filled me with joy.

What started as a deeply embarrassing moment became a highlight reel in my life. I share it with others now because it’s a reminder not to take myself too seriously. Laughing at yourself is freeing. It helps you see yourself as you truly are human, flawed, and wonderfully imperfect. It’s not about being better than anyone; it’s about leveling the playing field and finding joy in the messiest moments.

Now, I embrace those moments of humor, even in difficult times. Laughing at life makes me enjoy the moment I’m in, no matter how awkward or challenging it might be. Because, let’s face it life is just better when you can laugh at yourself.

Do you remember that scene in The Incredibles where the little boy on the tricycle is just sitting there, waiting? He’s hoping for something amazing to happen. That moment has always stuck with me because, in a way, I feel the same. My life is full of amazing stories some from incredible experiences, others from my own missteps.

We all have a story to tell. One of mine begins with the fact that I was born needing not one but two hips. I had a condition called hip dysplasia, which means my hips didn’t form correctly at birth. To put it simply, hip dysplasia happens when the hip joint doesn’t fit together the way it’s supposed to. It’s not something that can be prevented, but it can often be treated successfully if caught early. The odds? About 1 in 1,000 babies are born with it.

For me, healing wasn’t immediate. I believed I’d be healed, but I didn’t know it would take ten years. A whole decade of waiting, wondering, and enduring. But through it all, I trusted that my life was writing itself into an amazing story. This adversity wasn’t just a challenge it was a chapter.

Now, as I reflect on it, I’m so thankful I can tell such a beautiful story. It’s a testimony of resilience, faith, and the unexpected ways life unfolds. And the truth is, I’m still waiting on more “something amazing” moments to share whether they’re good or not-so-good.

Because the beauty of life is that every twist, every turn, and even every stumble has the potential to become something amazing. I’m here for it all.

Right now, we’re living with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law. They’re newlyweds, with a baby on the way, and they graciously offered us a place to stay. Their home is brand new, beautifully furnished, and filled with love. Each day I wake up, I’m thankful that they said yes to such a big ask.

I know it’s not the easiest situation. Hosting family especially in a new marriage can be challenging, but they’ve gone out of their way to make us feel comfortable. They communicate with us openly, and that means so much because I know this is the kind of situation where relationships can be tested.

That’s why I pray for all four of us. I pray for grace, understanding, and unity. I’ve always wanted to grow closer to them, and I truly believe this is the perfect opportunity to do so. I’m excited to see what the future holds for our relationship.

Moving back to Georgia was a big transition, but being welcomed into their home made it so much smoother. They didn’t have to open their doors to us, but they did, with love and care. I’ll never forget their kindness or how they stepped up in such a meaningful way.

This was a big ask, and they answered it with an even bigger heart.

Lately, I’ve been wrestling with the idea of finding a job outside the house. I even tried Uber, but it just wasn’t the right fit. The stress of it all became too much, so I finally broke down and surrendered the situation to the Lord.

The response I received was immediate and clear. It was also consistent with what I had been hearing all along: No.

At first, this didn’t make any sense to me. We need income. Our business is still in its rebranding and rebuilding phase, which takes time. Meanwhile, we’re living with someone else, and we have just over a month to either find a place or figure out alternative living arrangements. To say things don’t look good right now would be an understatement.

Yet here I am, being told to trust Him.

As crazy as it sounds, I’ve decided to believe God. I’m choosing to trust Him, no matter how dire the situation looks. I know that His plans are always better than mine, even when I can’t see the path ahead.

The outcome may be uncertain, but one thing is sure: God knows what’s best. And I’m learning to rest in that truth.

Dear Doubt and Unbelief,

I am writing to let you know that you no longer have a place in my mind. For far too long, I’ve allowed you to occupy valuable space. The space that  I desperately need for truth, faith, and hope. You’ve been running the show for way too long, but that ends now.

You see, I’ve come to understand something powerful: my mind is a battlefield. And on this battlefield, I am not defenseless. I have access to weapons of mass destruction spiritual weapons that can tear down every stronghold you’ve tried to build. Armed with this knowledge, I declare that you are defeated.

That doesn’t mean I’m naive. I know you’ll attempt to invade again, probably daily. But here’s the thing: I’m ready for you now. I’ll stand firm, wielding the Sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God (Ephesians 6:10-17). Every time you try to creep back in, I’ll fight you with truth.

Let’s be clear about a couple of things:

• Doubt is a choice. And my answer to you is, No, thank you, mister. I choose to keep believing.

• Unbelief leads to disobedience. And disobedience isn’t an option for me anymore.

So, Doubt and Unbelief, consider this your eviction notice. You’ve overstayed your welcome, and I’m reclaiming the space you’ve occupied. My mind is being renewed, and my heart is full of faith.

Goodbye for good,

Shay

For the past two years, I’ve been wearing braids, doing them myself because going to a salon just isn’t in the budget right now. I’m grateful for the skills to style my own hair, but recently, my hair and my life have started changing in ways I didn’t expect.

I’m perimenopausal. One of the many symptoms is hair loss. Today, I experienced it in a way that left me shaken. As I was washing my hair, clumps of it started falling out. At first, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was afraid to even see how much hair I had left.

I tried to comfort myself, telling myself, It’s just hair. It’ll grow back. But the reality of my limited finances hit me hard. I felt sad and unsure of what to do. I thought to myself, I’m not weak. I can get through this. Women deal with this all the time, right?

Still, I felt numb uncertain about what comes next.

I finally told my husband what had happened, and in that moment, I broke. I wept in his arms, loudly and without holding back. It was one of the most comforting feelings I’ve ever known, to just be there in his embrace, letting all my fear and sadness pour out.

I didn’t have answers. All I could do was stay in the moment the moment of a woman who is growing older, facing the challenges that come with it.

This isn’t easy. But I know I’m not alone, and maybe, just maybe, there’s something beautiful in learning to embrace the changes life brings.

Over time, I’ve learned a powerful truth: people have the right to be exactly who they are. They have the right to stay the same, to choose not to change, and even the right not to choose you. It’s a hard truth, but it’s freeing when you accept it.

When it comes to relationships, we face a choice: we can decide to accept people fully as they are flaws, quirks, and all or we can choose to step away from what doesn’t bring us peace. Both options require courage, and neither is easy.

For me, the work began within. Over the years, I’ve had to stop pointing fingers and take a hard look at myself. It wasn’t “them.” It was me. I couldn’t continue viewing myself as a victim. Yes, I’ve been hurt, but those hurts were long ago.

At one point, I thought time would heal old wounds. I believed that with enough patience, broken relationships could be mended. So, I went back, trying to fix what was shattered. But to my disappointment, some brokenness simply can’t be repaired.

That realization wasn’t easy to accept. Even now, I find myself standing at a distance, still hoping and praying for change. But here’s what I know: when you’ve done the work to become healthy, it’s not wise to risk making yourself unwell again by stepping into toxic situations.

Some people are who they are and they have every right to be. But your presence in their lives isn’t always necessary.

Letting go doesn’t mean giving up on hope. It means preserving your peace. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do for yourself and for others is to step back and let them be.