Author: Kaleathia Murphy

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.

I’m not the person who knows all the answers. In fact, I’ll be the first to admit it and I’ll say it again and again if I need to. I’m okay with not knowing everything.

I’ve come to learn that sometimes, it’s not about having the perfect words or knowing exactly what to say. Sometimes, it’s about just being there. Sitting on the phone when words fail to come or when words simply aren’t needed. Sometimes, it’s about listening really listening without judgment. Hearing someone’s breath, their sighs, or the passion in their voice as they let their emotions pour out.

In those moments, my presence matters more than my words. Whether it’s quiet support or simply being a space for someone to release what they’re holding inside, I’m learning that this can mean everything.

It doesn’t matter what comes out whether it’s anger, pain, joy, or confusion. What matters is that someone feels heard and understood. And sometimes, the best way to offer that is to just sit there, in silence or in solidarity, letting them know they’re not alone.

I’m realizing that the act of simply being there speaks louder than anything I could ever say. Words can be powerful, but they’re not always necessary. After all, most communication is nonverbal.

Each day, I’m discovering the beauty in this. The beauty in just being.

Our son called today to tell me that his car had been stolen. He explained how he had just purchased it and all the effort he put into saving the money for it. I could hear the frustration and rage in his voice. He said he was walking around aimlessly, questioning why his car was taken when there are better ones in his neighborhood.

All I could do to console him was listen. I knew this wasn’t the time to give advice or say much at all it was simply a time to be present for him. My heart ached hearing the hurt in his voice.

As mothers, this is part of the process of watching our children learn to fly the part we can’t teach them. There are lessons they must figure out on their own. They have to navigate mistakes, endure hurts, and face disappointments. These experiences shape them, making them stronger and more resilient.

But even as they grow into adulthood, my job as a mother isn’t done. I still have a responsibility to feed them not with literal food, but with encouragement, hope, and love. I must continually pour these into them as they navigate this life.

It’s a bittersweet and beautiful experience, watching your children learn how to fly. But as any bird knows, sometimes you have to fall to the ground before you truly soar.