It began with a three-hour car ride to Selah’s All-State concert—three hours of excitement, pride, and honestly, a little nervousness about how my Achilles would hold up. But some moments are worth the effort, and celebrating her accomplishments was absolutely one of them.
When we finally arrived, the Hilton Coliseum felt ginormous. People everywhere, long hallways, stairs, noise, lights—just a whole world bigger than what I’ve been navigating lately. But with my crutches in hand, we made our way in. I crutched farther that day than I had in a long time… including up a set of bleachers to get to our seats. Once I settled, I knew there was no going back down until the concert was over.
At one point I was so thirsty, and the thought of navigating those steps again felt impossible. My sweet husband went to get me water—five dollars for bottled water (ridiculous!)—but he came back with it anyway. Acts of love don't always look big, but they mean everything in moments like these.
Then the music started.
The orchestra was incredible. The band was powerful. And when the choir began—over 600 voices—somehow I still felt like I could hear my Selah. Maybe it was a mom thing, but her tone seemed to rise right above the crowd, and it filled my heart. Pride, gratitude, and awe all at once.
And sitting there, with my crutches under me and my heart so full, God whispered something simple:
“Even in your limitations, I’m still giving you songs.”
This season has held pain, slowness, inconvenience, and moments where everything takes more effort than I want it to. But then there are days like this, where joy floods in anyway—where God shows me that progress isn’t just measured in steps, but in the goodness He lets me witness along the way.
Scripture says:
“He will give a crown of beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, and a garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.” — Isaiah 61:3
And that’s exactly what the day felt like—praise in the middle of heaviness. Joy rising above the struggle. Beauty showing up in a giant stadium filled with music.
I may have hobbled in. I may have leaned on my crutches. I may have been exhausted by the end. But I also carried home something holy… a reminder that God gives us strength while we’re still healing, and joy even before everything is fixed.
Milestones aren’t just physical—they’re spiritual. And this one felt like both.



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