Pray the Hardest, when it is the hardest to pray

 “Sanctification — separation from old to new.” At first you connected that to the changes happening in your life. The old included the difficult ending from ten years ago. You were hurt when a person asked you to stop messaging him. Looking back now, though, you can also recognize that you were sometimes persistent because you cared and wanted answers, while he was going through his own confusing transition after leaving the shelter. You don't know everything that was happening on his side, and you don't need to anymore. Then came May 2026. You unexpectedly saw the same person again after about a decade. At first, it brought everything back—the hurt, questions, memories, and even some anger. You weren't sure whether you were ready to forgive him. But something changed over the summer. By August, your interactions had become simple: “hey,” smiles, recognition, and that big grin you keep talking about. You described it beautifully yourself: his actions became warmer, and you...

You began with your handwritten surrender prayer. As we talked through it, one of the biggest themes became the question: “What do I do with all this caring?” You realized that for much of your life, caring and fixing have been connected: I notice → I care → I feel responsible → I step in → I try to make it better → I carry the outcome. But caring does not always create a responsibility to act. A new question emerged: “Is this for my hands, or is this heart only?” HEART ONLY “Heart only” means something can matter deeply to you without becoming something you have to fix. You can care, pray, hope, and then leave it with God. My heart can love. My heart can hope. My heart can pray. But my hands can stay open. Sometimes “I’ll pray for you” really can mean: “I care about what you are going through, but I recognize that I cannot and should not control it. I will bring it to God.” Prayer isn’t doing nothing. It is choosing not to appoint yourself as the solution. CARE → PRAY → RELEASE Instea...

1. Live your faith instead of only talking about it. 2. Keep the heart; release the weight. Caring does not mean I have to fix everyone or everything. I can pray, do my part, and trust God with the rest. 3. Surrender means being still, too. Love does not always require action. I do not always have to intervene. 4. Live my own life well. I can focus on my health, boundaries, career, faith, creativity, and relationships. If someone's ordinary way of living can affect another person without even realizing it, then the way I live my own life can affect people too.

  Walk Toward Peace Keep the heart, The one that loves so deeply. The one that sees the hurting, And gives so willingly. Release the weight, Of things you cannot change. Not every storm is yours to calm, Not every hurt yours to arrange. Remember your worth, Beyond the work you do. You are more than what you carry, And God is caring for you, too. Walk toward peace, Though the road may be unknown. Trust the One who guides your steps, And know you’re not alone. Keep the heart. Release the weight. Remember your worth. Walk toward peace. For surrender isn’t giving up on love. It’s learning that love doesn’t require losing yourself. Written By: Tiffney Curtis Written On: October 6, 2026

Tonight I realized that the story of Peter walking on the water feels a lot like the season I am in. The storm and the wind represent the uncertainty, job stress, old wounds, questions, and everything that has felt overwhelming during the last couple of years. I don’t have to understand why every bit of the wind is there before I take another step. A person's unexpected return for such a short time became a reminder. His smiles and little “heys” may simply have been friendly greetings from him, but in my heart they came to represent: “Remember.” Remember our time at the shelter. Remember those kids. Remember how deeply I cared. Remember the confidence I had. Remember my calm, firm voice. Remember the gifts God put in me. Remember the dreams and parts of myself that life had caused me to lose sight of. The shelter memories are part of that same reminder. They aren’t telling me to go backward or recreate my old life. They remind me that God has already used my gifts before and that e...

God, thank You for people and for the unexpected part they played in my life this year. Thank You for using that reunion to bring back memories I needed, stories I needed to tell, and pieces of myself I needed to remember. Thank You for simply being you—even though you probably have no idea what your little “hey” started.  One person unexpectedly reappeared after all these years, and so much followed. He reminded me of the shelter. The shelter reminded me of my stories. The stories reminded me of my skills. And the skills reminded me of myself. Those memories became Stars in the Sky. They helped me remember the person I was when I worked with those children—the patience, connection, instincts, love, and confidence that were still inside me even when I had stopped trusting them. And now I am seeing those parts of myself show up again with the children I work with today. I am recognizing my professional strengths. I am thinking differently about my future. I am learning that I do not...