The Promise of Right Now

I had several blog posts in mind, some half-written, others just scribbled notes and rough ideas. One of them was supposed to be finished last night, but I fell asleep before completing it. So, I decided to pick it up this morning instead. But life has a funny way of throwing curveballs, doesn’t it? Yesterday evening, as I sat down to work, my attention was drawn away by the news from Oklahoma. The devastation in Moore, OK, and nearby areas has left me shaken. Watching those images, hearing stories of families torn apart—it’s overwhelming. It makes everything else feel so trivial. My heart aches for those parents who lost their children, for the kids who won’t see their parents again. Their pain feels insurmountable. Speaking of insurmountable, let’s talk about yesterday’s chaos here at home. Chris had flown out for a business trip, and after dropping him off at the airport, we were heading home when things went south. Literally. Our three-year-old, fresh out of potty training, suddenly announced he needed to use the bathroom—like, NOW. And we weren’t close to home yet. We made a quick detour to Target, where I ended up spending the next half hour dealing with an unexpected case of diarrhea. Meanwhile, my phone buzzed with texts from Chris letting me know his flight had been rerouted due to severe weather. Little did I know how much worse the storms had gotten. Fast forward to today, and despite everyone being under the weather—coughs, sniffles, and general crankiness—we managed to get through it. I’m grateful for moments like these, even when they’re tough. At least I can take care of my kids, tuck them in bed, and make sure they’re comfortable. It’s a privilege I don’t take lightly. Yesterday, there were families who wished they could do the same, and now they can’t. That thought hits hard. A friend recently shared a saying that stuck with me: “Tomorrow is a gift, not a promise.” With everything going on in the world—and in our own lives—it really resonates. I’m crying tears of both sorrow for those who’ve lost so much and gratitude for what I still have: my family, my health, this moment right now. I’m celebrating the little things today. Every hug, every laugh, even every whine feels precious. As we cleaned and disinfected the house together, I whispered my own thanks for being able to provide comfort, however small. [Image description: A cozy living room filled with sunlight streaming through the windows.] If you’re anything like me, your hands might already be full. But there’s an easy way to help without lifting a finger—just text REDCROSS to 90999 to donate $10 to the Red Cross disaster relief efforts. Or check out Pioneer Woman’s list of other organizations doing incredible work here. Every bit helps. Looking ahead, I’m trying to find beauty in the aftermath. There’s something humbling about seeing people rally together, offering support and kindness when tragedy strikes. Oklahoma, you’re in my thoughts, and I’m praying for your healing. And hey, if you’re still reading this, thank you. Writing it helped me process my feelings, and maybe it’ll help you too. Let’s cherish today, because tomorrow? Who knows? All we truly have is right now. P.S. If you want to read more about how to pitch in during times like these, click here.