When Good Intentions Get Buried
Have you ever climbed into bed full of good intentions?
"Tomorrow will be different."
Tomorrow I'll wake up a little earlier and spend time with God before the day begins.
I'll open my Bible instead of my phone.
I'll check in on that friend who's been sick.
I'll finally clean out that closet and donate clothes to someone who could use them.
I'll be more patient. More generous. More present.
I'll keep snack bags in my car for someone in need.
I'll make time to simply listen when a loved one has had a hard day.
Every night, my heart is full of good intentions.
Maybe yours is, too.
My intentions usually involve giving more, loving more, praying more, and clearing away the unnecessary. They also include taking better care of myself—getting enough sleep, exercising consistently, and eating healthier.
Sound a little like New Year's resolutions?
I have wonderful intentions for those, too!
But today, I'm thinking about something deeper...our holy intentions.
Those quiet nudges God places on our hearts.
The ones that often begin with the best of intentions but somehow get buried beneath the ordinary distractions of life.
I'm not talking about being perfect. None of us are called to be perfect. We're simply called to keep turning our hearts toward God.
And if I'm honest...
Sometimes I drift.
Can you relate?
One quick glance at social media turns into thirty minutes of scrolling through everyone else's lives.
One game of Five Crowns, Word Box, Triple Match, Solitaire, Sudoku, Vita Mahjong...well, you get the picture!
(Side note: They say these games help keep our minds sharp. Please don't ask me who "they" are!)
Then there's that binge-worthy television series that promises, "Just one more episode."
Before I know it,
hours have quietly slipped away.
Here's what I've realized.
It's rarely the big things that pull me away from God.
It's the little distractions.
One notification.
One scroll.
One more game.
One more episode.
One "I'll do it later."
None of those things are bad in themselves. But together, they slowly crowd out the moments I had hoped to spend with Him and for Him, being love in action.
That's why this verse stopped me in my tracks:
But as for you,
be strong and do not slack off,
for there shall be a reward for what you do.
- 2 Chronicles 15:7
The verse isn't meant to heap guilt upon us.
It's an invitation.
An invitation to remain faithful.
To stay strong.
To choose what matters most, one small decision at a time.
If I'm being completely transparent, my phone has become my biggest distraction.
Maybe even my vice.
I reach for it far more often than I should. I'm constantly checking for the latest text, notification, post, email, or headline. Ironically, I don't enjoy the constant noise it creates, yet I also battle that familiar fear of missing out if I don't look.
Can anyone else relate?
The beautiful truth is this...
God isn't standing over us with disappointment every time we get distracted.
He isn't keeping score.
Every morning, His mercies are new.
Every moment is another invitation to turn our attention back toward Him.
We don't have to wait until Monday.
Or next month.
Or January 1st.
We can begin again today!
Before you close this page, I'd like to challenge you to choose just one holy intention.
Not ten.
Just one.
Spend five quiet minutes in prayer.
Read one Psalm.
Send one encouraging text.
Offer one act of kindness.
Put into action ONE of whatever your holy intention looks like.
God doesn't ask us to accomplish everything today.
He simply invites us to take the next faithful step.
A couple of weeks ago, The God Minute shared a beautiful meditation on this very subject. It reminded me that letting go of our distractions isn't about trying harder—it's about surrendering more fully. If you have a few quiet moments, I encourage you to listen. (I'll include the link below.)
I'd like to close with the prayer they pray at the end of each day's meditation. It's a beautiful reminder that our strength doesn't come from our own determination, but from placing ourselves back into God's hands.
Prayer of Letting Go
To you do I belong, O God.
Into your hands I surrender my life.
Pour out Your Spirit upon me
That I may love You perfectly,
And serve You faithfully
Until my soul rests in You.
Amen.
Blessings,
Bonnie
The God Minute Link: No Slacking | Podcasts
✨ Did this post speak to your heart in some way?
I’d love to stay connected with you throughThe 4:13 Journal delivered straight to your inbox. It’s my free gift to you — a simple and meaningful space to reflect, reset, and remember the strength we have in Christ.
Feel free to share this post with a friend, too. 🤍
✨ Subscribe here:
Sticky Notes & Prayers
“Would you keep me in prayer?”
“Please pray for my loved one.”
“I could really use prayers right now.”
Have you ever asked someone to pray for you?
Have you ever asked someone to pray for a loved one?
My mom was the person people asked.
The Gold Velour Chair
When I was little, I could often find my mom sitting in the gold velour chair in our living room…praying.
Sometimes she held a rosary.
Sometimes she held a photo album. (I’ll explain that one in a bit.)
Sometimes she pressed one or both hands against her forehead while she prayed quietly. At the time, I didn’t realize I was witnessing one of the greatest ministries of her life.
Spiritual Companion to Prayer Warrior With a System
When my mom was in her early 70’s, I asked her to serve on a women’s retreat I was directing.
Even though my mom did not have formal training as a Spiritual Director, I knew she would make a wonderful Spiritual Companion with the recommendation, approval, and guidance of our parish priest, Fr. Jack.
Fr. Jack continued to nurture and encourage my mom in this ministry, and she went on to serve on nearly a hundred retreats afterward.
She became known as a Prayer Warrior for not just the retreats, but throughout her communities of church, family, and her grandchildren’s school and sports teams.
No matter where — at a school event, at a doctor’s appointment, a restaurant, or in the church parking lot — people sought my mom out to ask for her prayers.
One day, I had a parishioner tell me how much it meant to her that my mom called her the day of the medical procedure that she had asked my mom to pray about.
“She checked in to see how I was doing, and offered words of encouragement, wisdom, and scripture.”
In awe of my mom’s memory, I finally asked her one day,
“Mom, how do you remember all of this?”
She smiled and said,
“I have a prayer system.”
Then she opened a simple college-ruled spiral notebook.
There were sticky notes and notebook pages filled with names, dates, and prayer requests.
Next to many names were checkmarks and follow-up notes from after she prayed or checked in with the person.
My mom wanted to make sure things were okay, while also learning if she needed to adjust her prayers with any updates.
The notebook wasn’t the only place holding sticky notes of prayer reminders.
When I had to clean out my parents’ home, I not only found her notebooks, but I also found sticky notes throughout with names, dates, and prayer requests.
My mom had strategically placed pads of sticky notes and pens throughout the house so that at any moment’s notice, she could jot down details of her conversations with people and would then transfer that info into her payer notebook.
But she still held on to the sticky note. She would mostly put them on the refrigerator to serve as a reminder to pray.
The refrigerator became command central for prayer requests.
Love Remembers
My mom continued to serve on women’s retreats as a spiritual companion well into her late 80’s.
She also continued to serve as the church coordinator for flowers, candles, weddings, funeral services, and altar cleaning, even doing some phone work from the nursing home in her final years.
When my mom became blind during the final three years of her life and moved into a nursing home, people still called asking for prayer. She even had her own “Talk Show With JoJo” every other week for the nursing home residents where she presented a meditation, and of course, prayer.
She could no longer see her notebooks or sticky notes, but she still prayed faithfully and followed up with them.
Her ministry didn’t end when her strength faded.
Flowers faded.
Candles burned out.
Retreat weekends eventually ended.
But the legacy of her prayers lives on in the people she loved.
Prayer was one of the greatest ministries my mom lived out.
My mom never made it to her 90th birthday party here on earth, missing it by two and a half months.
But after a lifetime spent carrying so many people in prayer, I can only imagine the welcome party she received in heaven.
And now, whenever someone says,
“Would you keep me in prayer?”
I think of her and her prayer system.
I think my mom understood something I’m still learning:
prayer is one of the quietest ways we can love people well.
And sometimes the smallest acts — a notebook, a follow-up phone call, a name written on a sticky note — become sacred acts of care.
Maybe a sticky note on the refrigerator can become holy ground.
Do you have a prayer system?
In honor of my mom’s legacy, I’m sharing a simple sample prayer system inspired by hers in case it helps you love and remember people, too. Use it as inspiration to create your own!
Lastly, I want to also share another little “system” my mom had for her prayer cards.
Today, I’ve seen “Holy Card Prayer Books” sold online, but years ago, when I was a little girl watching my mom pray in that gold velour chair, her prayer book was actually a small photo album. (Once Dollar Tree Stores opened in the neighborhood, she was a regular and these types of photo albums were her constant purchase!)
Instead of photos, though, she filled it with her favorite prayer cards.
She carried an album in her purse and would pull it out while sitting in hospitals or doctor’s offices waiting for a loved one — or even for herself.
To bystanders, it may have looked like she was flipping through family photos, but she was praying.
Another beautiful part of her prayer system.
Friend, thank you for being here today, and thank you for journeying with me remembering my mom’s prayer life! Now, I’d love to know…
Do you have a prayer request that I can pray for you?
Let me get a sticky note & my notebook! (wink!)
Blessings,
Bonnie 🤍
✨ Did this post speak to your heart in some way?
I’d love to stay connected with you throughThe 4:13 Journaldelivered straight to your inbox. It’s my free gift to you — a simple and meaningful space to reflect, reset, and remember the strength we have in Christ.
Feel free to share this post with a friend, too. 🤍
✨ Subscribe here:
The Love Stairway & The Missing Step
What re-reading my own book taught me about love, grief, and waiting.
In 2012, I co-wrote a book called The Love Stairway with a long-distance friend.
At the time, life felt relatively steady for both of us. Peaceful, even.
We wrote about God’s love from a season where “no news is good news” still felt true.
But not long after publishing the book, the waves came.
Death.
Illness.
Estrangement.
Moves.
Counseling.
Divorce.
Caregiving.
Covid.
Loss.
New Beginnings.
One day, when life felt especially heavy, I sat with my priest.
“Have you read your book?” he asked.
“Well, I did write it,” I replied with a slightly sarcastic chuckle.
He didn’t laugh.
Instead, he asked again:
“Have you read it?”
No, I hadn’t.
Have you ever listened to yourself on a recording or seen yourself in a video?
Doing so makes me cringe. I feel awkward and can hardly believe it’s my voice. I also tend to second guess what I share publicly.
“Sheesh! I should have said this or that. I should have done better.”
I’m my own biggest critic.
(Are you yours?)
Thank you, Fr. Jack - now in Heaven - for the homework assignment.
Re-reading The Love Stairway did help.
I had forgotten the subtitle of our book was How to Love Step by Step. We wanted to create an inspirational “how-to” book, and we shared these eight steps to best help to live out love:
Receiving
Forgiving
Accepting
Living Gratitude
Falling in Love with God
Serving
Loving Unconditionally
Forming Habits
Re-reading The Love Stairway also challenged me to dig deeper while continuing to move forward during rough seas.
Loving during peaceful seasons can feel natural. Easy.
But love during exhaustion?
During grief?
During disagreement?
During caregiving?
During uncertainty?
That kind of love costs something.
Australian conservationist and television personality Robert Irwin said in an interview:
“To love is to grieve.”
That statement has stayed with me, because it’s true.
We grieve because we have loved someone or something that is now gone or changed from what we once knew.
Change is hard.
Even good change can feel stressful.
And so I would add this:
To love is to also wait.
To change.
To grow.
And those things rarely happen in our preferred timing.
That’s okay, though.
God’s timing is always best anyway.
In fact, if I could add a ninth step to The Love Stairway, it would be this:
Waiting
Not passive waiting.
Not hopeless waiting.
But faithfully waiting.
Growing waiting.
Trusting waiting.
In today’s world of instant everything, waiting can feel excruciatingly uncomfortable.
People don’t want to wait.
But impatience can cause us to miss opportunities to be changed by love and to grow through love in profound ways.
There is importance in waiting if we allow ourselves to be still, present, and open.
Have you ever sat in a waiting room at a doctor’s office or hospital?
Waiting to be seen.
Waiting to be examined.
Waiting for results.
Waiting.
Everyone in that waiting room carries some form of baggage.
The weight may differ, but it all weighs something.
And in those waiting spaces, we have opportunities to help each other carry those burdens with kindness, grace, and love.
During a scan appointment for my dad, I stood in line to sign him in and collect the clipboard of paperwork to complete while he patiently waited in one of the chairs nearby.
As I waited in line, I noticed a woman in a wheelchair who had just finished her scan struggling with her caregiver to open the handicap doors to leave.
So, I stepped out of line and opened the doors for them.
They looked relieved.
It had clearly been a long day.
When I finally returned to my seat beside my dad, he leaned over and whispered in my ear:
“That was a good thing you just did for those ladies. Thank you for doing that.”
Leaning toward him, I whispered back:
“I was just doing what you would’ve done. I was doing what you taught me. Thank YOU.”
You see, opening the door for someone was one of the ways my dad served our Lord.
It was love in action.
He didn’t care about your age, your gender, or whether you were already holding the door yourself. He would still reach for the handle and let you enter before him.
It was his quiet way of saying:
“I see you.”
That day, my dad was no longer physically able to open the door for those women himself.
But seeing his love continue through someone else brought him joy and gratitude.
Maybe that’s one of the hidden gifts of waiting.
We begin to notice people more.
We begin to notice the needs around us, not just within us.
We begin to love more gently.
We begin to understand that God wants us to see others the way He sees them.
And slowly, we begin to understand that God sees us too.
“I see you.”
Maybe The Love Stairway was never meant to stop at eight steps.
Maybe love keeps stretching us upward through every season we never expected.
ESPECIALLY the unexpected seasons, when love can feel difficult.
So now I’d love to ask you:
What step would you add to The Love Stairway?
When do you find it most difficult to love?
And as you reflect on waiting, the other steps of The Love Stairway, and the challenges of loving through difficult seasons, can I ask you one more question?
If there were to be a sequel someday, what should it be called?
The Love Stairway: The Second Story
or
The Love Stairway: The Second Floor
I can’t wait to hear your thoughts.
Seeing you & joining you in the waiting…
Blessings,
Bonnie 🤍
✨ Did this post speak to your heart in some way?
I’d love to stay connected with you through The 4:13 Journal delivered straight to your inbox. It’s my free gift to you — a simple and meaningful space to reflect, reset, and remember the strength we have in Christ.
Feel free to share this post with a friend, too. 🤍
✨ Subscribe here:
As I reflected on this post and revisited The Love Stairway, I realized I still have a small number of copies remaining. If this message resonated with you and you’d like a copy, I’d be honored to send one your way for the cost of shipping. Just send me a message below:
Somewhere Between Hair Dye and AC/DC
Somewhere between root touch-up time and an AC/DC song on the radio, I found myself unexpectedly emotional over…bagpipes.
Driving to my overdue hair appointment, the radio DJ began sharing details about the bagpipes featured in the AC/DC song “It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock ’n’ Roll).” He explained that despite the song’s popularity, the band no longer performs it live out of respect for Bon Scott, the late band member who played the bagpipes in the recording.
Then the song played.
And the moment the bagpipes began, I started getting a little verklempt.
Who gets emotional during a jamming AC/DC song?
Apparently, I do.
Almost instantly, a flood of memories started rolling through my mind like a highlight reel of moments I hadn’t realized were connected until now.
I continued to reflect on the bagpipes throughout my hair appointment.
But it wasn’t just about the bagpipes. It was about what their sounds carried for me.
Bagpipes played as both of my parents’ funeral services came to a close.
Bagpipes echoed through the crowded college football stadium for 4 years as my son and his teammates charged onto the field while fans cheered with anticipation for each game.
Bagpipes led the graduation procession at my own college commencement as we walked toward the ceremony site where loved ones waited proudly for our arrival.
And for years, every afternoon at exactly 3 PM, the sound of bagpipes drifted through our neighborhood as a gentleman a few houses down practiced faithfully, and beautifully, in his backyard.
Then somehow…on a random self-care hair day…an old AC/DC song unexpectedly connected all the dots.
Funny how that happens sometimes, isn’t it?
A song comes on.
A memory surfaces.
One thought led to another.
And suddenly your heart starts connecting pieces of your story you didn’t even realize were woven together.
It made me stop and wonder:
Why do certain sounds stay with us?
Why do some sounds instantly transport us to another place, another season, another version of ourselves?
We often don’t realize while we’re living it that ordinary sounds are quietly becoming emotional bookmarks.
Music, especially, seems to bypass logic and head straight for the heart.
For me, bagpipes have somehow become tied to both sorrow and celebration.
They remind me of honoring and letting go.
Of courage and anticipation.
Of achievement and community.
Of love, legacy, home, and hope.
Somehow their haunting, beautiful sound became woven into the soundtrack of my life.
And maybe you have sounds like that too.
Maybe it’s:
church bells
cicadas on a summer evening
rain falling on a tin roof
an old hymn
wind chimes on a porch
the crack of a baseball bat
a train whistle in the distance
the melody of an ice cream truck
or a certain song that instantly brings someone you love to mind
Have you ever noticed how certain sounds become tied to the emotional landmarks of our lives?
How they hold:
grief
celebration
transition
nostalgia
longing
comfort
sacred moments
Sometimes a single sound can carry an entire lifetime of memories.
And maybe that’s one of the quiet ways God reaches us too.
Through beauty.
Through memory.
Through emotion.
Through unexpected reminders tucked inside ordinary moments.
A sound can comfort.
A sound can inspire.
A sound can remind us of what matters most.
Sometimes a sound invites us to slow down to better notice the beauty around us…and within us.
So, somewhere between hair dye, classic rock, and unexpected tears over bagpipes, I found myself grateful for the soundtrack of the blessings in my life.
Maybe the sounds we carry through life are reminders that God has been present in every season all along.
And now I’m curious…
What sound tells part of your story?
Blessings…
and Rock On!
Bonnie 🤍
💛 If this post spoke to your heart, I’d love to stay connected with you.
Share your email with me, and I’ll send you The 4:13 Journal straight to your inbox.
Additionally, if you’d like a little encouragement in your daily scroll, come say hello on Instagram too. I’d love to connect with you there as well. Follow here on Instagram!
Lastly, if someone came to mind when reading this post, please share it with them and invite them to join us here in The 4:13 Journal, too!
That’s the kindest compliment you could give me! Thank you! 💛
The Women Who Mother the World
Mother’s Day has a way of stirring up so many emotions.
For some, it’s a day filled with flowers, laughter, and handwritten cards.
For others, it’s quieter… heavier somehow. A mix of love, longing, memory, and maybe even a little ache.
Because the truth is—Mother’s Day isn’t one-size-fits-all.
There are women who have carried children.
Women who have lost children.
Women who have longed to become mothers but never did.
Women who chose a different path.
Women who mother in ways the world doesn’t always recognize.
And maybe that’s why this year, I couldn’t stop thinking about this:
What if being a mother isn’t just something you are… but something you do?
The Many Ways We Nurture
When I really sit with it, I see it everywhere.
I see it in the aunt who shows up again and again, steady and present.
In the friend who listens without rushing, who holds space without needing to fix.
In the woman who pours her heart into a business, a ministry, a creative work—bringing something meaningful into the world that didn’t exist before.
I see it in caregivers.
In mentors.
In women who love fiercely, protect gently, and give of themselves in quiet, unseen ways.
Nurturing isn’t always loud.
It doesn’t always get celebrated.
But it is powerful.
And it is everywhere.
My mom on Mother’s Day 2025.
My Mother, My Story
When I think about nurturing, of course, I think about my mom.
She was wonderful… and she was human.
There were things about her that made me feel deeply loved.
And there were things—especially as I stepped into the role of caregiver—that stretched me, frustrated me, and, if I’m honest, sometimes hurt.
With this upcoming first Mother’s Day without my mom, the thought of this day has given me a space to reflect on all of it—the beauty and the brokenness. The laughter and the tension. The memories I cherish and the ones I’ve had to gently lay down.
And somewhere in that reflection, something has softened in me.
I find myself letting go of the need for her to have been more than she was…
and holding tighter to the ways she loved me the best she knew how.
1975 Road Trip Family Vacation
These beautiful women are my sister, grandmother, and mom…Heaven’s Angels.
What We Carry Forward
Because here’s what I’m realizing:
We don’t just remember the women who came before us…
we carry them.
In the way we show up.
In the way we love.
In the way we pray.
In the way we care for others.
And sometimes, in the quietest moments, I catch glimpses of her in me.
A phrase I say.
A way I comfort someone.
A way I want to make someone’s day lighter.
A softness I didn’t always notice before.
Not everything gets carried forward.
We get to choose what continues.
And maybe that’s one of the most sacred parts of it all.
My grandmother holding my mom.
A Gentle Truth
There’s a verse I’ve come back to time and time again. It’s the theme of this site:
“I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.” — Philippians 4:13
For so long, I thought that meant pushing through, staying strong, holding it all together.
But lately, I’m beginning to see it differently.
Maybe that strength looks like:
choosing grace over resentment
choosing to forgive, little by little
choosing to nurture—even when it’s hard
choosing to love, not perfectly, but faithfully
Because nurturing… real nurturing… requires strength.
The kind that doesn’t always look impressive from the outside,
but is deeply rooted on the inside.
More Than a Mother
So today, whether you are a mother…
miss a mother…
long to be one…
or have never felt called to that role at all—
If you have ever loved someone well…
If you have ever poured into something with care…
If you have ever shown up, stayed, held on, or let go with grace…
You are to be celebrated.
Because the heart of a mother isn’t defined by biology.
It’s revealed in the way we nurture.
And that kind of love?
It leaves a legacy.
Happy Mother’s Day!
Blessings,
Bonnie 🤍
💛 If this post spoke to your heart, I’d love to stay connected with you.
When you subscribe, I’ll send you The 4:13 Journal straight to your inbox—it’s my free gift to you.
It’s a simple, meaningful way to reflect, reset, and remind yourself of the strength you have in Christ.
✨ Subscribe here: Join my newsletter!
And if you’d like a little encouragement in your daily scroll, come say hello on Instagram too. I’d love to connect with you there. Check out my Instagram here!
Finding Traction When Life Feels Stuck
We thought we were just pulling off for a quick stop at the beach.
But within seconds, the tires sank.
Sand everywhere. Wheels spinning. No traction.
My husband tried.
My dad tried.
My mother tried…finding The Turtle Patrol. (My mom and her turtles…that’s another cute story for another time.)
Nothing worked.
It was my turn to give it a go. I was digging sand away from the tires, determined to “fix it.”
Certain that if I just worked a little harder, we’d get unstuck.
It was my turn to give it a go…determined to ‘fix it.’
But the more we tried on our own… the deeper we seemed to sink.
And isn’t that how life feels sometimes?
Spinning your wheels.
Trying harder.
Digging deeper.
And still… stuck.
Sometimes it’s not the situation keeping us stuck…
It’s the “sand” around us.
Comparison that makes us feel behind.
Assumptions that cloud the truth in our thinking.
Old hurts from which we never fully healed or released.
The pressure to keep everyone happy.
Walking on eggshells just to keep the peace.
We keep digging, thinking effort will free us…
But effort alone isn’t always what we need.
Then someone showed up with a simple piece of plywood.
They placed it under the tires…
And suddenly—traction.
Not more digging.
Not more spinning.
Just the right support… at the right time.
That moment happened years ago, but it has stayed with me.
Because maybe getting unstuck in life isn’t about trying harder…
And it’s not about finding ways to avoid the feeling, either.
Maybe it’s about letting God place something solid beneath us.
His truth when our thoughts feel loud.
His peace when our emotions feel overwhelming.
His perspective when we can’t see clearly.
The very things that give us traction when we’ve been spinning in place.
If you’ve been feeling stuck lately…
You’re not alone.
And you’re not without help.
You don’t have to dig your way out by yourself.
Sometimes, the breakthrough comes when you stop striving…
and start receiving the help God is already offering.
What if the thing you need most right now…
isn’t more of the same effort—
but better footing?
Maybe there’s some “sand” in your life right now, too.
The good news?
You don’t have to stay stuck there!
Here’s to a way forward!
Blessings,
Bonnie 🤍
💛If this post spoke to your heart, I’d love to stay connected with you.
When you subscribe, I’ll send you The 4:13 Journal straight to your inbox!
It’s a simple, meaningful way to reflect, reset, and remind yourself of the strength you have in Christ.
✨ Subscribe here:
And if you’d like a little encouragement in your daily scroll, come say hello on Instagram too. I’d love to connect with you there.
I’m Sorry…For Saying I’m Sorry So Much
Learning the Difference Between Humility and Making Myself Small
Have you ever apologized to something…that couldn’t even hear you?
I have.
I’ve said “I’m sorry” after bumping into a wall, asking an employee for a bag at a store, or for winning an award.
For years, “I’m sorry” rolled off my tongue like it was second nature.
I thought I was being polite. I thought it was the right thing to do…the humble thing to do.
But I wasn’t being humble.
I was making myself small.
A Moment I Never Forgot
In high school, I remember being recognized for an award. I was standing alongside three of my friends also up for the award—girls I cared about deeply.
When my name was called, I didn’t celebrate.
I turned to them and quietly said,
“I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t trying to be fake humble.
I genuinely felt bad… like somehow my winning meant their loss more than my blessing.
Later that year, I overheard one of the girls talking to someone else. She said, loud enough for me to hear:
“I really hate it when someone wins something and then turns to the people who didn’t and says they’re sorry.”
My heart sank.
I knew she was talking about me.
I remember feeling misunderstood… but also unsure how to explain myself. I didn’t even fully understand why I had said it to begin with. So, I stayed quiet.
But I never forgot that moment.
What I Learned Without Realizing It
No one ever sat me down and said, “Make yourself small.”
But somewhere along the way… I learned it anyway.
I grew up believing that accepting praise might come across as prideful. That being confident could be mistaken for being conceited. That humility meant deflecting, minimizing, or apologizing.
I carried this quiet belief into adulthood:
It’s better to shrink than to shine.
The Wake-Up Call
Years later, I was at a store with my husband when a cashier asked if I wanted a bag for my items.
My response?
“Yes, I’d like a bag, please. I’m sorry.”
When the employee was out of earshot, my husband looked at me and said,
“Why are you apologizing?”
I told him I didn’t want to inconvenience the clerk.
And he gently said,
“But it’s their job.”
Then he added something that stuck with me:
“I’ve noticed you say, ‘I’m sorry’ a lot… even when nothing is your fault.”
And just like that…I started noticing it, too.
He went on to say, “I bet you even apologize when you play tennis.”
He was right. I apologize a lot while on the tennis court. I feel like I am letting my player down with every misstep I make.
Even when my partner apologizes for her error, I’m quick to respond, “No, I’m the one who’s sorry.”
My thoughts spiral from “I’m the one letting us down” to
“I’m not good enough. I don’t belong.”
Tennis, like any sport, is a game of expected runs, or ups and downs.
Just like life.
But for some reason, I believed it was my responsibility to lift others up by shrinking…by playing small.
A Truth That Changed Me
Apologies are sacred.
They were never meant to be scattered over things God never asked us to carry.
There is a time to say “I’m sorry”—when we’ve hurt someone, when repentance is needed, when we need to take responsibility for something that truly is ours.
But I had been using those words for things that didn’t belong to me:
Taking up space
Having needs
Receiving recognition
Simply existing
That’s not humility.
That’s self-erasure.
And God never asked me to disappear in order to love others well.
He’s not asking you to do so, either.
What God Says About It
For so long, I thought humility meant stepping back, staying quiet, and to avoid appearing confident or prideful…to not show too much enthusiasm for a personal blessing. Don’t jinx it! Be prepared that the blessing may not last. Feel guilty for receiving it when others are without.
But Scripture paints a different picture.
In Matthew 5:16, we’re told to let our light shine before others. Not hide it. Not apologize for it.
And in Psalm 139:14, we’re reminded that we are fearfully and wonderfully made.
Those truths don’t leave room for shrinking.
They call us to live with confidence rooted in Him.
Humility isn’t thinking less of yourself.
It’s thinking of yourself the way God does.
A Small Shift That Changed Everything
Instead of saying “I’m sorry,” I’ve been practicing saying:
“Thank you for your patience”
“Thank you so much”
“I appreciate that”
“That means a lot to me”
It’s a small shift… but it’s changing the way I see myself and the unnecessary guilt I have carried.
If You’ve Been Saying “I’m Sorry” Too Much…
If you’ve been apologizing for things that were never yours to carry…
this is your gentle reminder:
You are allowed to take up space. You belong.
You are allowed to have needs and ask for help.
You are allowed to celebrate and be celebrated.
You are allowed to simply say, “thank you.”
A Quiet Note From My Heart
To a few girls I went to high school with—
You may never read this… but I’ve thought about that moment more times than you probably know.
Not because I was wrong for feeling compassion…
but because I didn’t yet know how to receive a blessing without apologizing for it.
I’m still learning.
Still catching myself mid-sentence sometimes.
But little by little, I’m trading unnecessary apologies for truth.
And maybe that’s where it starts—
not with perfection,
but with awareness…
and the courage to say
“thank you”
instead of an unwarranted
“I’m sorry.”
Blessings,
Bonnie 🤍
✨ If this post spoke to your heart, I’d love to stay connected with you.
When you subscribe, I’ll send you The 4:13 Journal straight to your inbox—it’s my free gift to you.
It’s a simple, meaningful way to reflect, reset, and remind yourself of the strength you have in Christ.
✨ Subscribe here:
And if you’d like a little encouragement in your daily scroll, come say hello on Instagram too. I’d love to connect with you there:
You’re Worth It
There are moments in life that feel like they’re wrapped in both heartbreak and holiness at the same time.
This is one of mine.
In my dad’s final days of battling Pancreatic cancer—a cruel and aggressive illness that reared its ugly head for only a little over a month even though it had to be doing its devious work behind the scenes long before — he was confined to his palliative care bed, his strength fading more with each passing day.
There was a procedure scheduled that we hoped might help manage his pain.
Because of his condition, medical transportation was arranged to take us to the appointment of this procedure. I rode with him, sitting close, holding onto every moment I could.
But when we arrived, everything changed.
The doctor took one look at my dad and gently, but honestly, told me what I wasn’t ready to hear…
My dad wouldn’t survive the procedure. He may not even make it another few days.
Just three weeks earlier when the doctor scheduled the procedure, my dad had been in a different place. But this disease had moved quickly. Too quickly.
And so, instead of moving forward, we turned around.
We were sent back—back to the nursing home, back to wait, back to cherish what little time we had left.
The Ride That Changed Everything
On the drive back, a young EMT sat with us in the back of the vehicle.
She was kind. Gentle. Talkative in the sweetest way.
She shared that we were her last transport—not just of the day, but of her entire time with that company. She had just accepted a new position at an oncologist’s office, and she felt that meeting my dad that day confirmed she was stepping into exactly where she was meant to be.
We talked about life… about her future… and even about the small things.
At one point, I complimented her eyelashes. They were so pretty.
She smiled and told me where she gets them done, along with a few other self-care things she enjoys. Then she added, almost hesitantly, that she saves little bits here and there to afford those things.
“I probably shouldn’t spend money on it, but…” she said, her voice trailing off.
And then… something sacred happened.
Three Words from a Fading Voice
My dad had been lying there quietly, eyes closed. We thought he was unaware of everything around him.
But in that soft, sacred silence…
He lifted his arm.
Pointed toward her.
And with a weak but certain voice, he said:
“You’re worth it.”
Time stood still.
The EMT and I locked eyes, both of us instantly filled with tears.
Because in that moment, we realized—he was aware.
And more than that… he was still giving.
Still encouraging.
Still seeing people.
Still speaking life.
Three simple words… but they carried the weight of heaven.
A Message That Was Never Meant for Just One
I’ve replayed that moment in my heart more times than I can count.
Because the truth is…
those words weren’t just for her.
They’re for all of us.
How often do we question ourselves?
Second-guess what we’re worth?
Talk ourselves out of care, rest, joy, or even calling?
We say things like:
“I shouldn’t…”
“It’s not necessary…”
“I’m not worth that…”
But God…
He speaks something different.
He whispers it in quiet moments.
He shows it through unexpected people.
He writes it across the pages of our lives again and again:
You’re worth it.
You’re worth His love.
You’re worth His sacrifice.
You’re worth His attention, His care, His grace.
Even in your uncertainty.
Even in your brokenness.
Even in your “not enough” moments.
If You Need to Hear This Today…
Maybe you’re walking through something heavy right now.
Maybe you’re questioning your value, your purpose, or your next step.
Let this be your reminder:
You are seen.
You are known.
You are deeply loved.
And yes…
you are worth it.
My dad may have been nearing the end of his earthly journey…
but in that moment, he left behind a message that continues to live on.
And today, I pass it on to YOU.
You’re worth it.
Blessings,
Bonnie 🤍
Thank you so much for reading!
If this post spoke to your heart, I’d love to stay connected with you and send you my free The 4:13 Journal—a little dose of encouragement straight to your inbox.
Grab yours by sharing your email with me in the boxes below!
And come hang out with me on Instagram for more inspiration, stories, and a peek behind the scenes!
4:13
I still remember the day I received it…
A gift from a friend—a paperweight with this verse engraved on it: “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.” I kept it on my desk and looked at it every day.
At the time, I didn’t fully understand its meaning. But in a quiet, steady way, the truth of that verse was beginning to reveal itself to me.
Years later, while working with a direct sales company, I received another gift—this time, a sterling silver bangle bracelet engraved with the same scripture.
I wore that bracelet every day, until I didn’t. I left it in my jewelry box, where it slowly became buried beneath other pieces and forgotten over time.
Then came January 2023.
My father was diagnosed with Stage 4 pancreatic cancer that had spread to his liver. He was given a month and a half to live.
Those days felt heavy and suffocating, especially without any plans in place and facing the reality of losing someone I was so close to.
One day, I opened my jewelry box and found that bracelet again—now tarnished and dim. I polished it until it shined like new, and I placed it back on my wrist.
This bracelet doesn’t just hug my wrist—it hugs my heart.
“It hugs my heart.”
My dad passed away a month and a half after his diagnosis. My mom passed away nine months ago. My sister passed away eleven years ago.
And this Easter Sunday was the first one without all three of them.
The absence felt loud. The silence even louder.
But through it all, I find myself clinging to Philippians 4:13 in a way I never have before. Not just as a verse I’ve known—but as a truth I now depend on.
I’ve come to understand something deeper about these words.
It’s easy to focus on the first part—“I can do all things.” But the true power, the true promise, is found in the second part—“through Christ who gives me strength.”
I can’t do this on my own.
But through Christ, I can.
He provides what I don’t have.
He carries what I can’t hold.
He strengthens me for each step, each day, each moment.
And maybe that’s why this verse has followed me through the years—from a simple paperweight on a desk, to a bracelet rediscovered in a season of grief.
It was never just a verse to remember—it was a promise I would one day need to live.
If you are walking through a season of loss, uncertainty, or quiet heaviness, I want you to know—you are not alone.
Stay a while.
Be refreshed.
And be reminded:
His strength is enough—for you, for today, and for whatever lies ahead.
That’s the place this journal was born from—a desire to hold onto His strength and to share that encouragement with others.
A fun fact: When I began thinking about what to name this space, I found myself sitting in a coffee shop drive-thru, waiting for my order. I happened to glance down at my Philippians 4:13 bracelet—and there it hit me: 4:13.
I started turning the idea over and over in my thoughts, and the more I did, the more excited I became. 4:13 had to be part of the name.
“The 4:13 Journal” came naturally after that. A journal, much like a diary, is a place to gather and reflect—on thoughts, emotions, ideas, dreams, quotes, and the moments that shape us. And that’s exactly what I hope this space will be.
And just when I thought it couldn’t be clearer, I reached for my phone to pay for my coffee—and saw the time displayed across the screen:
4:13.
A quiet confirmation that this was exactly where this blog was meant to begin. So, let’s do just that and begin…
Welcome to The 4:13 Journal! I’m so glad you are here!
If this spoke to you, I’d love for you to stay awhile—because there’s much more to come.
But for today, here’s a gentle reminder, Friend:
You don’t have to carry it all on your own.
You were never meant to.
Instead of trying to hold everything together in your own strength, invite Christ into your ‘things’—and trust His strength for you.
It often shows up in ways we don’t expect…
but it’s always enough.
Blessings,
Bonnie 🤍