Author: I Am Renee

“Do you or your family make any special dishes for the holidays?”

Normally, I’d smile and start talking about our sweet potato pies, greens, yams, macaroni, the dressing, and the chaotic joy of all my kids crowding around the kitchen island trying to “taste test” everything before it’s even done.

But this year… my answer is different.

Because this year, before I could even pull out a single holiday recipe, God stepped into my kitchen in a way I will never forget.

Almost an ago, two of my younger daughters daughters got the flu.

Tuesday, just days before Thanksgiving my 2nd oldest had already been getting worse, but I kept praying, watching her, checking her temperature, doing everything a mother does. Then out of nowhere, she said:

“Mama… I can’t see.”

And before I could even process the words, she passed out — right into my arms.

Her whole body went limp.

My other daughters screamed and ran for help.

I was holding her, shaking, crying, calling her name over and over again.

And for a moment… she was gone.

Her breathing stopped.

Her eyes were still.

And my soul broke in a way I can’t explain.

Then suddenly…as I called her name.

Out of know where She gasped.

A deep, loud, desperate breath.

Like life itself rushed back into her body.

And the first thing she said was:

“I heard you crying, so I woke up.”

Right there on my kitchen floor, I felt God’s presence wrap around us.

Not like a big miracle with flashing lights.

but like a quiet, mighty reminder:

“I am here.”

So if you ask me what “special dish” my family is making this holiday season?

We’re serving gratitude.

We’re serving togetherness.

We’re serving second chances.

We’re serving breath, the kind you stop taking for granted when you almost watch it leave someone you love.

Yes, we’ll still cook.

The sweet potato pies will still get made.

The girls will still fuss about who gets to lick the spoon.

The house will smell like vanilla, butter, and cinnamon again.

But this year, the most important thing in my kitchen wasn’t a recipe…

It was God.

He stepped into my home.

He covered my child.

He held me when I thought I was losing her.

And He reminded me that no matter how chaotic life gets…

His protection is the greatest ingredient of all.

Father God,

I thank You for stepping into my home when fear tried to take over.

Thank You for covering my child when her strength slipped away.

Thank You for the breath You restored, the protection You gave,

and the comfort You poured into a moment that could have broken me.

Lord, as we move through this holiday season,

let my home be filled with Your presence,

Your peace,

and Your healing.

Wrap Your arms around every child fighting sickness,

every parent carrying fear,

every heart seeking hope.

Teach us to slow down,

to notice Your glory in the small moments,

and to be grateful for the breath in our bodies

and the loved ones around our table.

God, continue to walk through my home

through my kitchen, through my halls, through every room

and let Your covering stay over my family.

Thank You for second chances.

Thank You for miracles that don’t always look like miracles at first.

And thank You for being a God who hears our cries…

even before we speak them.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

Honestly… I don’t even know how to anymore. Relaxing feels like something I used to know, but now I’m just trying to figure it out again.

For me, it’s the simple things:

🛁 A bubble bath with candles and soft music.

📚 I used to love reading, just getting lost in a book.

🎶 Laying in bed with my headphones in, listening to music until the world faded out.

🚶🏽‍♀️ Taking walks (I know, sounds weird, but it used to clear my mind).

📺 Watching a show I actually like instead of just background noise.

📱 Or let’s be real… sometimes just doom scrolling on social media until my brain shuts off.

✍️ I often find getting lost in writing helps. Journaling my thoughts out loud, even when they come out messy. Most days I pick up my laptop and type away. Thoughts that’ll eventually be lost on screen.

Other times, it’s laughing with my kids, cooking a meal, or just breathing through the pain until I remember I’m still here.

Relaxation isn’t about escaping life. It’s about pausing long enough to remember I’m alive.

But little by little, I’m learning. Relaxation for me doesn’t always look like silence and stillness, sometimes it’s sitting with a hot cup of tea, letting the steam calm me ( if I remember to drink it all ).

I’m learning that relaxing doesn’t have to be fancy, it’s just whatever gives me a break from constantly carrying the weight of life.

💭 What about you? How do you relax when your mind won’t slow down?

If I’m honest, maintaining my health and well-being in this season hasn’t been the easiest. Living with a brain tumor that affects my body, my mind, my memory, my energy, even how I see myself. My daily life ( my new norm I shall say ) has forced me to slow down and truly listen to what I really need.

I will admit I can’t do it all like I used to, so I focus on small, intentional things that keep me grounded.

simple bike ride or long walks in the evening as the sun sets feels like therapy for my soul. Letting go of what I can’t control. This is a daily practice. I remind myself that God is the ultimate Planner, and I don’t have to carry everything on my shoulders. Doing my best to drink my teas, staying mindful of my body. Even when I can’t afford all the treatments I need, I still try to nourish myself in the small ways I can. Creating and writing. My blogs, my journal entries, my podcast they’re my safe space to release what I feel instead of holding it in.

There are days when:

My memory drifts mid-sentence. I’ll start something and forget what I was even doing. It’s frustrating, but I’m learning to give myself grace. The pain is constant. My joints ache, my body trembles, but somehow, I still find the strength to push through especially for my kids. I go to work even when my body is screaming for rest because I want to keep providing. Mom life doesn’t pause just because I’m sick. I still have to cook, clean, show up for my kids emotionally, even when I’m running on empty.

But in the middle of all of that, I’m slowly learning how to care for myself differently:

Moving my body gently. Even light workouts or stretches help strengthen my aching joints, reminding me that I’m not powerless. Pausing to breathe when the brain fog hits. I don’t beat myself up for forgetting. I write things down, I slow down, and I try to stay patient with myself. Leaning into prayer and quiet time. Even if I don’t have the right words, I just talk to God. It’s my safe place when nothing else feels steady. Accepting help even when it feels uncomfortable. I’m learning I can’t do everything alone, and that’s okay. Letting small joys matter. A BBQ with my girls, their laughter in the pool, music playing while I fold laundry, those simple moments heal me more than anything.

I won’t lie. Some days, it feels impossible. The weight of pain, memory loss, anxiety, and responsibility all at once feels like too much. But then I remember:

God hasn’t brought me this far to leave me.

So, I keep pushing. I keep showing up. I keep choosing life, even when it hurts.

Because my kids still need me.

Because my purpose is bigger than this diagnosis.

Because this season doesn’t get the final say—I do.

Maintaining my well-being isn’t about perfection anymore, it’s about choosing to show up for myself in whatever way I can that day.

Some days, I just rest.

Some days, I push a little harder.

But every day, I remind myself:

This season doesn’t define me. I’m still healing, I’m still growing, I’m still becoming.

What about you? How do you protect your peace and nurture your well-being in hard seasons?

— 💛 I Am Re’nee

#ReneeReflections #FaithAndWellness #HealingInRealTime

If I could host a dinner and anyone I invited was sure to come, it wouldn’t be a table filled with celebrities or influencers.

It would be a table for truth-tellers, overcomers, and heart-healers.

But truth is… my circle is small. I’ve walked through fire, and the only ones who stayed were my kids.

So, I’d set the table for us.

The ones who’ve seen my tears, held my hand, and reminded me to keep going.

This dinner is more than a dream—it’s a reminder:

Even when you feel like you have no one, you have purpose, you have power, and you have people who need you.

Would you come to my table?

💭Would you sit with someone who’s rebuilding in real time, faithfully, quietly, boldly?

This blog is my open invitation.

You may not know me yet…

But if you’ve ever felt like you had no one but your kids, this space was made for you.

With love, grace, and power,

I Am Re’nee 💕