Every year around Memorial Weekend feels different for my family. It is not a normal BBQ for us. I’m not thinking about having a drink and a hot dog. My mind is always somewhere else. Each year during this long weekend, I post a small tribute to share my love and keep the memory alive of one of the most special people I have ever known, my cousin Kristi Dawn. I wanted to share something this year too, but this year was harder than the years before because my gift for writing is still being refined as I have hit a wall.

I think Jesus is shaking me out of the habit of believing things have to be done one certain way in order to honor Him. I deal with what I would call religious OCD, and sometimes I get so caught up in trying to be in His presence that I accidentally miss Him all together and it affect how I write and use my gift. I imagine God gently saying, “Excuse Me, My grace is right here…where are you going?” In trying so hard to reach Him, I sometimes lose my way. But through this transition I have been going through over the last 35 days without social media, and now after another seizure, I am learning that doing things differently can be a blessing.
A doozy of a blessing! This is not an easy ride at all, but with every layer that is uncovered, I lean in more and more and find peace in the storm. I know He has His hands full with me!

So, I think this is a good thing, but it is still hard to move differently. Stepping out of my comfort zone is scary, but reminding myself that I am stepping out in faith helps ease my fear. I know I need to trust that I can do this. Like anything under pressure and going through change, the fire can hurt, and because of that, my words have been harder to find lately. But when they do come, they come with more purpose than before, and for that I am grateful. 💕

A lack of words is not the issue for me. I still have plenty of thoughts rolling around in my head, but with new medications, I have been moving a little slower. I truly believe this is all part of the process. We cannot skip the hard parts, and even though process is not always easy, I know it is necesary. As frustrating as it may be for me, and probably for everyone I live with, I trust that I need to walk through it with patience and faith.

The Process

Living with seizures hasn’t been easy, especially after my last major episode, which left a deeper mark than I expected. Since then, I’ve moved through a quiet haze, words just out of reach, energy slipping through my hands, my mind feeling a step behind. My neurologist has adjusted my medications, and while the side effects aren’t easy, I’m learning to find a steady rhythm within it all. Jesus always finds a way.

This season has slowed me down in ways I did not choose, but perhaps needed. It is teaching me a softer way to live, one that leans into patience, grace, and small mercies. Even here in the fog, I hold onto hope, trusting that light still finds its way through. It has been deeply emotional to feel so helpless, yet it has also drawn me closer to Jesus and His grace than ever before. There is something beautiful about learning what quiet looks like.

I feel it all deeply now … the emotion, the worship, the way the music moves through me like prayer. Every word I read in the Bible feels like a heartbeat in my chest, so powerful it brings me to tears. There is sorrow in it, yes, but also gratitude, and awe at the overwhelming love of Jesus. I feel it in my soul.

All these things have caused me to look more closely at my own attitude and my compassion for others. You never know what someone else is carrying, and what looks easy from the outside may be very hard on the inside. We were never meant to compare our journey to anyone else’s, because comparison steals our joy and distracts us from the grace already given to us.

The Reason

Now let me turn this back to Kristi, because this post is meant to remember her. To this day, I have still not met anyone like her. It was not just her bright blue eyes and golden curls that made her easy to spot in a crowd, or even her laugh, which was so infectious. If I had to compare her to someone, I would say my daughter G comes close, but I have never known another woman who understood the meaning of life so deeply at such a young age. She had a beautiful soul, a stunning presence, and a mind filled with wisdom, heart, and pure joy, all in one remarkable little package.

She passed away before she ever really got to step into her twenties. She would have been a tornado, but in the best way: bold, unstoppable, and full of life. She was smart, funny, and had a sharp tongue; she never had a problem putting a grown man in his place. But beneath that fire was a heart of gold. She was respectful, full of love and compassion, gentle with both children and animals, and deeply kind at her core.

She dreamed of being married one day, raising a family, and having children of her own. She already understood the value and uniqueness of women in a way most girls don’t grasp until their forties, after years of pain and mistakes. She was wise beyond her years, knowing early on what she wanted and going after it with determination. She was ready to take a slice of what the world had to offer and make the most of it, while still holding close the truth that her heart’s deepest calling was to build a home and raise a family, and that somewhere in there, she would also make space for herself. She was already working on it.

A day after her funeral, a letter arrived at my aunt’s house addressed to her: she had made the Dean’s List, the top of her class. The pride and the heartbreak collided in that moment. I can hardly imagine it, being so proud of her, yet so utterly devastated by her loss.

I have no doubt whatsoever that if she were here today, she would be running her own business with her husband and raising three or four beautiful children, most likely well into their adult years by now. They might already be off to college, and maybe even starting families of their own, though I can’t be sure. But I do know this: she would be joyful, successful, and deeply in love. I am certain of that.

I also know, with the same kind of certainty, that she is happy and full of joy right now. She is in heaven, and there is no better place for her to be. Safe from the pain earth offers, though I miss her.

I miss her every day. I often find myself imagining what life would be like now if she were still here… what our children would be doing together, what stories we would share, and how we would laugh, or maybe not laugh 🙄🫣, through all the family drama. I know she wouldn’t be surprised by any of it, but it would make her sad. Still, in my mind, I can picture her smile, her eyes, and the way she made everything feel a little brighter.

In the meantime, I’ll leave this here in memory of you… until we meet again around a bonfire under the country stars for a good laugh, my sister. 💕

Sk

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