Stop. Look. Listen: Finding Calm Waters in the Middle of the Storm

When Life Doesn’t Go According to Plan

Monday was magical, miraculous, and a little bit wild.

After a long road, Jason finally had his hip-hip-hooray day and received his full hip replacement.

The surgery was successful, supported by a skilled surgeon and a caring medical team. Even with complications and unexpected turns, they stayed steady, adapted, and helped bring him safely through recovery and back home.

We were grateful.

Relieved.

Tired.

And already preparing for the next step.

Then Tuesday arrived with a storm.

Rain came down in sheets. The kind of Texas rain that feels like the whole sky has decided to move at once.

We got Mama Roe, Raven, Jason, and me ready for his follow-up appointment.

We packed what we needed.

We prepared for the weather.

We made it out the door.

And before we could even leave the neighborhood, we discovered a flat tire.

Of course.

Because sometimes healing journeys come with discharge papers, medication schedules, follow-up appointments, thunder, flooded roads, and one very inconvenient tire.

Roadside assistance was overwhelmed with calls from others who also needed help during the storm.

So there we were.

Razzled.

Dazzled.

Overwhelmed.

And then I remembered the words my grandmother always gave me when life became too loud:

Stop. Look. Listen.

Stop.

Look at what is actually happening.

Listen for the next right step.

In the middle of the chaos, we knew what to do.

Call a friend.

It was early. The storm was heavy. Our friend Schelle could not get to us herself, so she called her dad.

Larry answered the call.

He came through the rain, helped get Jason safely to his follow-up appointment, and brought him home again.

That is practical support.

Not always polished.

Not always planned.

Sometimes practical support is simply someone answering the phone and saying, “I’m coming.”

Caregiving Needs Care Too

While Jason’s body is healing, I am also learning to care for the caregiver.

There is love in helping someone recover.

There is also stress.

There are schedules, medications, interrupted sleep, appointments, work, the garden, the puppy, meals, worries, and the constant awareness that someone you love needs you.

That is when self-care becomes more than a pleasant idea.

It becomes part of the care plan.

As I shared earlier, my acupuncturist, Allyson, recently traveled to San Jose, California, to deepen her training.

San Jose is my birthplace.

My family has lived there across generations.

So when the opportunity came to book my next treatment, naturally I had to ask for the San Jose Special.

I know the way. 🎶

When I arrived, I was greeted by an image of a girl standing at the shoreline, reaching toward the light.

Another reminder.

Even when life feels chaotic, we can stop.

Look.

Listen.

And find our way back toward the light.

Allyson settled me onto what I lovingly call the magic mat and began a customized acupuncture treatment with neurological support.

Slowly, the waves of stress began to soften.

The noise settled.

Gratitude came ashore.

For a little while, I found the zen zone.

Calm seas.

Surfing the healing table.

Breathing.

Resting.

Receiving.

Returning Home

After treatment, I returned home to care for Jason, tend to work, love on Raven, check the garden, and keep listening to the dreams asking to be born.

Mama Roe had been beside us through every step, offering support, presence, and care.

And then came one more beautiful alignment.

As I sat with my tea and prepared to begin work, postcards arrived from Hawaii.

Sea turtles.

Messages traveling across the water from hearts far away to mine.

If you know me, you know the sea turtle is never just a sea turtle.

It is endurance.

Ancient memory.

Home carried within.

The wisdom to move slowly.

The strength to cross vast distances.

The reminder that every wave begins by releasing the shore.

There they were, arriving on exactly the kind of day when I needed to remember:

We are still moving.

We are still supported.

We are still connected.

Together, Anything Is Possible

We will keep choosing to eat, pray, love, heal, laugh, rest, and begin again—every day, wherever we are.

Together.

Because together, anything is possible.

Thank you to every person helping us navigate this season of embracing change.

Thank you, Schelle, for answering the call.

Thank you for calling your dad when you could not reach us yourself.

And Larry—you are a rock star.

Thank you, Mama Roe, for being present through every twist and turn.

Thank you, Allyson, for helping me return to calm waters so I could come home with more capacity to care.

Thank you to the surgeons, nurses, staff, friends, family, and faraway hearts sending love across the miles.

Healing does not happen alone.

Sometimes it looks like surgery.

Sometimes it looks like acupuncture.

Sometimes it looks like a friend calling her dad.

Sometimes it looks like tea, postcards, sea turtles, and one deep breath after the storm.

Stop.

Look.

Listen.

The next right step may already be finding its way toward you.

Self-care.

Self-love.

Community care.

And rock on. 🤘

“Sometimes practical support is simply someone answering the phone and saying, ‘I’m coming.'”