Still Moments: What I’ve Learned About God, Grief, and Growing Forward

There’s something sacred about stillness.

Not the kind that comes from rest after a long day, but the kind that stops you mid-step, mid-thought, mid-tear — and invites you to listen. Really listen.

That’s where I’ve been lately.

Not physically still (because life doesn’t slow down when you’re grieving), but soul-still. Still enough to sit in reflection. Still enough to feel it all. Still enough to let God speak in a whisper.

Losing the Center

Since my mom transitioned, life has felt… different. Shifted. Like the ground beneath my feet has softened, and I’m learning to walk all over again. She was my compass, my center, my “go-to” for everything — the voice of reason, the spiritual giant, the laugh I didn’t even know I needed.

I’ve always known my mother’s presence was powerful. But in her absence, I’ve come face to face with just how much I leaned on her.

Every joy, every pain, every milestone — I used to call her. Whether I was celebrating something or falling apart, she was my first stop.

It’s only now that I realize how much of my identity, my strength, and even my peace was tied to her.

The Whisper That Changed Me

A dear friend recently dropped a truth bomb that cracked something open in me.

“Your mama, your man, your material possessions… are not your GOD.”

Whew.

That one didn’t just land — it lingered.

I sat with it. Let it move through my spirit. And when the tears came, I didn’t hold them back.

Because as painful as it was to hear, I needed that reminder. I needed to untangle my comfort from my Creator. I needed to remember that my help doesn’t come from my mom, my husband, or the things I’ve built — it comes from God. Period.

And trusting Him fully? That’s not just a spiritual bumper sticker. That’s a daily, sometimes hourly choice — especially in this season.

The Hills and the Valleys

This has been a season of transition. A sacred walk through hills and valleys.

Some days I’m soaring — full of vision, energy, and clarity. Other days I’m quiet, numb, questioning everything. I’ve had to keep going while grieving. Keep building while breaking. Keep smiling while crying behind closed doors.

And still, God meets me right there. In the valley. In the in-between. In the unknown.

There’s something holy about walking with God when you don’t have the answers.

It’s where my faith has grown the most — not in the triumphs, but in the tension. Not in the light, but in the shadows where I’ve had to feel my way forward.

A Photo That Speaks

There’s a photo I keep coming back to.

It’s not flashy or staged. It’s simple. Quiet. Beautiful.

📸: @brainflowerstudios

It was taken during one of those moments — the kind where time slows down just enough for God to get a word in edgewise.

In that frame, I see a woman who’s been tested but not taken out. I see someone who’s carrying a lot but still standing tall. I see a whisper caught on camera — the kind that says, “Keep going, daughter. You were made for this.”

Photos like that are reminders. Evidence. Proof that even in grief, there is grace. Even in loss, there is light.

Becoming My Mother’s Daughter

Grief has a strange way of transforming you.

In losing my mom, I’ve started becoming more like her. I catch myself saying things she used to say. Cooking meals with her rhythm. Loving people with the same kind of deep, intentional warmth she carried.

She taught me so much without always using words — and now, I find myself echoing her in ways I never planned.

But more than that, I’ve realized something sacred: I am not just mourning her loss — I’m honoring her legacy.

Every dish I cook, every person I love, every piece of wisdom I share… it’s her, flowing through me.

She planted seeds. And now, they’re growing.

The Gift of the Tribe

In the midst of everything, one thing has saved me over and over again: my tribe.

The friends who check in when I don’t have words. The sisters who send a prayer when I can’t pray for myself. The people who know how to hold space, not just fill it with noise.

These are the ones who show up without needing to be asked. The ones who know that sometimes presence is more powerful than answers. They’ve cried with me, laughed with me, and sat in silence with me when that’s all I could manage.

I thank God for them daily.

Because in this season, I’ve needed reminding — that I’m not alone, that I’m not too much, and that I’m still becoming.

Relearning Trust

Learning to trust God fully has not been easy.

Especially when your heart feels like it’s been ripped open. When your prayers sound like questions. When the path ahead looks foggy and unfamiliar.

But that’s exactly when trust is built.

Not in the clarity, but in the climb. When you’re walking in the dark with nothing but God’s whisper to guide you.

And I’ve been hearing those whispers more lately.

Not loud. Not booming. But steady.

“Keep going.”

“I’m still here.”

“You’re stronger than you think.”

“This pain has purpose.”

And slowly — slowly — I’m beginning to believe it.

What I Know for Sure

I don’t have all the answers. But here’s what I know for sure:

• My mom was a gift. And I will spend the rest of my life living out the lessons she left behind.

• God is still good. Even when life doesn’t make sense.

• Still moments are sacred. They reset you. Refocus you. Remind you who you are.

• I’m not finished. Not even close.

This season is shaping me in ways I never expected. And while I didn’t choose this kind of growth, I trust that it’s necessary.

To Anyone Else Grieving or Growing…

I see you.

I know what it’s like to smile in public and cry in your car. To want to be strong but feel completely undone. To love God and still ask, “Why now?”

You’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re not failing.

You’re just in a season. And seasons change.

So take the time. Feel your feelings. Cry the ugly cry. Ask the hard questions. But also — look for the still moments. They’re there. And when they come, let them speak to you.

Let them remind you that you are loved. You are held. You are becoming.

Final Thought

I don’t know how long this season will last.

But I know that even in the uncertainty, I’m being led. Loved. Carried.

And I’m choosing, every day, to lean into God — not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary.

So here’s to the whispers.

The stillness.

The grief and the growth.

And the woman I’m becoming on the other side.

Because this?

This is holy ground.

#inthelab #carpscafe #brainchild #griefandgrace #stillmoments