Dear God,
Yesterday was draining—running errands, boarding the flight, ending up in a middle seat instead of the window I booked, and then waiting two hours for Shervy to pick me up.
Still, You were present. You gave me a friend to talk to—a woman with four children who was traveling alone for a four-day cruise. She was warm and open. When I noticed her Whitney Houston shirt and gave her one of my flyers, she became so excited to talk to me. She followed me through the airport, shared her story, and showed me photos of her beautiful children. Thank You for that moment of connection.
You also sat me between two people who oddly matched my energy. On my left, a tall man in the aisle seat who clearly hated the entire flying process. On my right, an elderly woman with the gift of gab. I offered candy to both of them—the man declined, but the woman smiled and said, “I’ll never turn down candy.” That made me laugh.
The flight itself was a mix of emotions. A child kept kicking my seat while the parents said nothing. Another child hit the top of my head. Later, a little girl sitting in front of me rested her arms on the top of her seat and stared me down—we had a full staring contest, and she won. I didn’t mind the children. I think my years working in education have softened me in that way.
When Shervy finally picked me up, there was distance. No hug. No holding hands. Just silence in the car. I shared my thoughts about his new interest in wearing very tight, flared jeans—women’s jeans, really—and gently suggested we go thrift shopping for something that suits him better. He didn’t say much.
When I got home, I realized the baggage handlers had broken my suitcase. The zipper no longer works. God, I need Your help dealing with Spirit Airlines. I truly don’t like them. Please help me receive compensation for my bag, in Jesus’ name.
I was exhausted and fell asleep around 11:30 p.m., but woke up again at 3:30 a.m.—only four hours of sleep. I hope that now that I’ve stopped smoking, my sleep will improve. Still, the craving is strong. I want to smoke. But I know I can’t live the new life You’re calling me into while holding onto that habit.
Working on an aircraft means smoking isn’t an option anyway. I pray that my life becomes fulfilling enough that I no longer feel the need to escape. I don’t even get high—I just like the act of exhaling smoke. I need to stop romanticizing marijuana. Whatever benefits people claim, it darkens my lips, increases my appetite, and sometimes even creates depression.
I can hear Shervy in the bathroom, and it makes me think about him—how thin he is, yet lately he’s developed a small belly. When I arrived, I saw a case of cupcakes and a half-eaten frosted cake. He has such a sweet tooth.
God, I know I’ll never love Shervy the way he wants me to love him. I pray he can accept the love I do give. I wish he could be satisfied being my best friend again. Erica pressured me for more, too, and that friendship ended. The only reason I ever gave Shervy a chance is because he prayed to You for my love. I love him deeply—just not romantically. He is a wonderful man, but I don’t want to be with anyone right now.
It’s almost 8 a.m., and the birds are fully awake, singing loudly. I pray this trip will be successful. I’m filming a vlog, taking headshots—which is another reason I can’t smoke—and recording music.
Most importantly, I need to focus on learning my flight school workbook: 44 pages, front and back, to be learned in just seven days. Not just memorized, but lived out. Only You can help me do this. Please help me overcome addiction, improve my skin, stay hydrated, and honor my fast.
I don’t really feel like eating. Maybe I’ll fast, or at least be mindful of what I put into my body. I trust that everything will work itself out.
Please also watch over my parents. They need You. My mom’s arm is hurting—please heal her today. My dad has a tumor—please dissolve it before his appointment, before there’s even a chance of cancer. God, please help my parents. They are my rock, and I need them both. Dad hasn’t made money in six months—please restore his work, bring him honest clients, and stop the wrong people from wasting his time.
And I still pray for Jay Roewe and Irock. Don’t let them ever make me feel unworthy. There is a reason You placed them in my life. I’m not giving up on hope. Amen.
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