This is one of those after-hours, sit with your thoughts kind of posts. Feel free to keep scrolling unless you’re up for a long, real, and honestly, an real ugly look at myself.
I’m sharing these two photos because they show how easily moments can be misread. Some will look at the first and see a blessed family with smiles, peace, a child being baptized, and faith on full display. That part is true. But the second photo holds the other truth of this morning. It carries the weight etched across my face, the pain and exhaustion of a mama who has been fighting on every front, hugging her soaked child and clinging to God for the strength to stand.
This morning was hell. And everything in between these two images was a battle—one where Satan tried relentlessly to tear apart what God was doing, to turn joy into chaos, faith into doubt, and blessing into despair. But here’s the truth: both photos are real. The blessing. The pain. The spiritual warfare in between. This is what cancer and a walk with God actually look like.
Today started rough. Not surprising—today was the day a Christian mentor warned me about months ago. They said, “If the devil can’t break your faith through Will’s cancer alone, he’ll start coming at you from every angle.” And that is exactly what has begun. My career. My family. My marriage. It feels like a full-scale attack on every place that matters most. What’s ironic is if you look at the order it which the devil has hit….its completely backwards as to where it should really matter. Coincidence? No. The order of which it’s easier getting to the strongest part of the core, from the outside layers.
I walked into church this morning late and ashamed. Ashamed of the storm and chaos I was carrying inside myself. Ashamed of the hell that had spilled out within the walls of my home just a short time before.
It started with our burglary—something I still can’t shake. I won’t revisit the details that resurfaced just two months ago. I can’t. Being both a victim of a crime and someone who has spent a 25 years in law enforcement has created a level of callousness I never expected. It has quietly killed a passion and drive I once had for a profession I loved, showed up for daily, and was very good at.
I am now preparing for the end of a 25-year career and I never imagined leaving this way. That reality has been incredibly hard. I’ve prayed—deeply and repeatedly—for the drive to return, for something to reignite what once fueled me. But it hasn’t.
Through prayer, reflection, and a lot of uncomfortable honesty, I’ve come to understand it’s time to prepare in stepping away before I become shaped by the very thing that is pushing me out—the acceptance of standards I never believed in.
I trust that God sees what I cannot. I trust that if this door is closing, it’s because He is protecting my heart and preparing me for what comes next.
At the same time, my immediate family took another hit. My dad moving out has been devastating in ways I still struggle to explain. Over the last year and a half, I built a relationship with him I had longed for my entire life. Him living with us was unheard of from the beginning—if you know him, you understand. He never stayed a single night without insisting he paid. He worked constantly—excavation, concrete, pressure washing, accessibility changes for Will—always making sure he contributed. He did pay monthly and more than he should just so he didn’t feel as if he was a burden, something he never was.
We had known for months who broke into our home. We kept that from him. I didn’t want him carrying the guilt of unknowingly bringing someone into our lives whose actions stripped us of every bit of financial security we had.
Then a local individual—someone with no place in the matter—sat down with my dad and told him, “Everyone in the community thinks you stole all of that money from your daughter.” How calloused. I didn’t even know this had happened. If I had we still couldn’t have shared the knowledge obtained due to the active detail that was being conducted by MS law enforcement.
I learned on Christmas Day that he planned to leave at the first of January. Two days later, I received a text asking for someone to be present while his workers retrieved his belongings, followed by another requesting an itemized balance owed—if any—otherwise a written statement to that effect.
In an instant, I became a transaction. Not a daughter walking through the hardest season of her life. Not a mother fighting alongside a child with cancer. Just another business interaction—because of assumptions, silence, and a failure of communication that should never have occurred.
Layer all of that on top of everything else, and you can imagine the strain it placed on my marriage. All while trying to smile. All while reminding ourselves how blessed we are—to have one healthy child and another pain-free, living his best life, right here in my favorite season of the year. Christmas. When Jesus Christ was born.
And then—this morning—Will was getting baptized.
I let the weight of everything else spill into that moment. Exhaustion. Anger. Fear. Frustration. I didn’t handle it well. Words were said that shouldn’t have been. Tension filled the house. I stormed away. I shut down.
And then—without knowing anything—one of Will’s best friends looked at me and said, “Mrs. Brittney, you don’t know how much of an inspiration all of you are to so many people.”
That stopped me cold. Cooper had just witnessed my complete breakdown.
Because if they could see what spilled out within these walls this morning, they’d know inspiration doesn’t come from perfection. It comes from broken people showing up anyway—and trusting God to meet them right where they are.
We walked into church five minutes late. I cried through the entire worship service. I hugged Will and asked him to forgive me, and I asked him to pray for me because I was struggling. He didn’t grip my hand back when I held his, and that made the shame sink even deeper. I could feel how much I had let the weight of everything allow Satan to gain ground from every angle.
I prayed as I listened to the service. And as we moved into the closing, Will turned around, looked at me, and said, “It’s okay, Mama. I love you. Everything is okay.”
In that moment, I was reminded again that God’s love for me and my family is far greater than anything Satan can steal. Far greater. Always will be.
If you’ve spared any time to read this long, lifeline-of-a-novel post, please pray for us—for everything that seems to be under attack right now. It’s all coming to light. I will not let fear kill my walk with God. I was once told that those who wander lost are not a threat to Satan and therefore are not in his sights. It has become painfully clear that the closer you walk with God, the harder the battles become.
But we will keep marching forth. Some days are just so much harder than others and doesn’t seem to let up.
