Carrying My Cross

June 29, 2025

Where do I begin?

Yesterday, we had my mom’s funeral services. In the morning, we will lay my mother to rest. It was a sacred day—full of sorrow and beauty, filled with family and faith. Per our church’s policy, we took the day off, and our family gathered at my big brother Nhia’s house. Fugie and I brought our children to church that morning, and the message we heard was simple yet piercing: “Who will carry their cross?”

That question has not left me since.

After the message, I sat with my dear friend Kelly. I opened up about a deep issue weighing on my heart. As I poured out my hurt, we prayed together, and in that sacred moment, the peace of God filled me. There’s something healing about honesty, something divine in surrendering what we can’t fix or control.

Fugie also received a special blessing—he reunited with his sister-in-law, Crystal. A widow now for four years, she has remained steady and faithful. Her strength gave Fugie joy. It reminded us both that even through devastating loss—her husband, who was Fugie’s big brother, and the man we all called Dad—God has been working quietly and powerfully in their lives.

So many people came to honor our mother. Her life was wide and her love, even wider. She was a mother not only to us, but to many. People had beautiful things to say—memories full of love, laughter, and reverence. I was reminded that my loss is not mine alone. It is ours. And in the sharing of that loss, we find kinship. We remember who we are and where we come from.

But even in the midst of love, I’ve been wrestling with something deeper.

I am struggling to let go of the past—something my mother, in her final years, was so blessed to finally do. I wish I could say I’ve done the same. But if I’m honest, there’s a heaviness in me. Maybe it’s disappointment. Disappointment in short-lived hope that some people could change… but, in truth, likely never will. That hope—once beautiful—is now a quiet ache.

And somewhere along the way, I found myself stooping. I responded from a place of hurt, not healing. And that has been poisoning my soul.

But I know what I must do if I am to carry my cross.

It is a sacrifice I have to make. One that is neither small nor easy. But I know what it is. And I know it’s the right thing. Carrying our cross means choosing obedience over bitterness, surrender over control, grace over pride.

Family is not only about shared blood or names. Family is about love. It’s about truth. It’s about the values we carry and the peace we protect. Just because two people share a womb does not mean there’s unity—but when there is love, when there is Christ, there is family.

So here is my prayer—and if you’re reading this, I ask that you would pray with me:

Father God,

Shield me from the venom that slowly kills.

Cover me from the darts of the enemy.

Press your peace deep into my spirit.

Empower me to forgive.

Strengthen me to show grace—

The same grace You have shown me time and time again.

Help me to love like You, Lord Jesus Christ.

I am weak… but You are strong.

And I choose to carry my cross.

Even when it costs me.

Even when it breaks me.

Because I trust You will heal me.

Amen.