Phoenix: Live Love Laugh

It’s been cloudy and rainy for what feels like forever—like the sky can’t quite make up its mind. The weather has danced between gloomy and gentle, mirroring the ebb and flow of my own spirit. I haven’t had many chances lately to be still, to breathe deeply, or to be mindful. Still, Spring has always been one of my favorite seasons—alongside Fall—for many reasons. Mainly because it symbolizes renewal: the return of life, blooming flowers, and trees coming back to life. It’s a season of transition when warmer temperatures and longer days gently wake the earth from winter’s deep rest.

Here are just a few things I love about Spring:

• 🌼 Warmer temperatures

• 🌞 Longer days filled with light

• 🌳 Trees blossoming

• 🌱 Fresh growth—both in plants and in me

But more than anything, Spring reminds me of the word transitional.
The dictionary defines transitional as “the process or a period of changing from one state or condition to another.” And that definition—well, it resonates deeply.

A few days ago, I stepped into my backyard for a walk. For the first time, I truly noticed flowers I’d never seen before, trees budding, stretching, and preparing to bear fruit. I stood still, quietly stunned—how had I never noticed the beauty growing in my own backyard?

But then I remembered: there’s a story behind that.

I purchased this house back in the Fall of 2022. It’s an older home—still in need of some love—but it’s mine. My space. My sanctuary in the making. Keep in mind, that everything I write reflects life after a coma, after a stroke, after brain trauma. That changes everything.

After moving in, I focused on survival: doing the bare minimum to get by. I was working a toxic job that drained me—mentally, emotionally, financially. Every day, I woke up, walked out the front door, and poured whatever I had left into merely surviving. Many people live that way. But I was so burnt out that I never had the time or energy to “stop and smell the roses.” (Ironically, I don’t have any roses… but I’ ‘d love to plant some this year.)

Then in 2023, Sickle Cell gave me a message I couldn’t ignore: Pain. The kind of pain that doesn’t just hurt your body—it speaks to your soul. It told me what was coming. And for once, I listened—not to the fear, but to God.

Truth is, He had been trying to get my attention for a long time.

In 2021, I was fired from my first toxic job. Before it happened, God sent many messengers to warn me—to tell me, “I need to go, leave this toxic workplace.” I ignored every one of them. (The Bible has much to say about that kind of disobedience too—Leviticus 26, anyone?)

I still remember the day before I was fired. I walked outside the building and screamed with everything in me:
“GOD, I NEED YOU—I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE!”
Then I wiped my tears, composed myself, and went back inside. My co-workers asked if I was okay. A now-minister took my hand and walked the halls with me, praying for me—even though the manager insisted we join a Zoom staff meeting. (In case you are wondering why I was fired – because HR asked me that question too I didn’t and don’t know or care, sometimes we have to accept it is not us.

That moment stuck with me.

So when the pain hit in 2023, I didn’t hesitate. I knew this time was different. I didn’t know how things would turn out—but I knew I’d be in God’s hands. I was yet again working at another Mentally toxic and exhausting job that I wanted to leave. I loved what I did and enjoyed my clients and they appreciated me but it was time to go. I didn’t say everything would be easy—but I knew I’d be okay. Spiritually. Mentally. Writing my resignation letter and turning it in was the best feeling ever. Not only for my mental health but because I was obedient.

Fast forward to 2024: my final joint replacement—my right hip. (That’s another story for another time.)

But today… this moment… this Spring of 2025? It feels different.
I can walk outside without pain. I can slow down. I can breathe. I can be present and truly see the world around me. All the blooming flowers feel brand new. I feel like I’m seeing my home—and my life—with fresh eyes.

God never promised that every season would be sunny. He didn’t say every day would be easy or every year would be full of joy. But He did promise that if we can endure the storms—if we wait through the rain—there will be flowers.

And maybe that’s where the old saying comes from:
“April showers bring May flowers.” 🌧️🌷

And maybe, just maybe… you’re in your own transition, too.

Hold on, friend. The blooms are coming.

“God never promised every day would be sunny—
but He did promise that if we endure the rain,
we will see the flowers bloom.”
— Andrea Poyotte

🙏 Closing Prayer

Dear God,
Thank You for the promise of new beginnings.
Thank You for the rain that prepares the soil of our lives for growth.
Even when the days feel cloudy, remind us that beauty is still blooming beneath the surface.
Give us courage in our transitions, patience in our pain, and faith to trust the process.
Help us to slow down, be present, and notice the quiet miracles growing all around us.
Let our hearts blossom with hope—just like the flowers in Spring.

Amen.