A Month of Unmaking

“There are moments that the words don’t reach.
There’s a grace too powerful to name…
Forgiveness. Can you imagine?” -Hamilton, It's Quiet Uptown

One month. Surreal.
“It’s quiet uptown.”
But -maybe- the quiet helps me hear my heart beat gratitude.

I didn’t wake up today thinking about the loss.
The snow stole the show — thick, heavy, unexpected.

Fitting.

Because the whole last month has felt like that:
more than I expected, but grippingly beautiful.

When the thought finally hit — it’s been a month —
I felt surprise. Hmm... a whole month.
So much has happened.
My relationship with God has deepened; He has been fully in this.
That God, He never leaves or forsakes...
and nothingnothing-nonotnothing is too hard for Him.

For me, it's the unhurried time with my people...
The long conversations with my friends,
the laughing, the praying, the listening.
The arms flailing explanations!
The straightup revelation.

And most surprising - our wild business ideas are coming to life.
Arms flailing explanation!

This is living. The living I think I was missing.

Before the loss, I thought I had that good life.
But I often camped out on the surface.
because I was carrying too much, striving too hard,
too exhausted to notice where the life was leaking out.

If I could go back, I’d say:
Slow down.
It will be there tomorrow.
God is your center — the striving does nothing (nonotnothing) for you.

The hardest part hasn’t been losing that dang job.
I watched my friends lose theirs too, and I just don't know where to put that.
Such great people who deserved the sun, moon, and every single star.
The world was not worthy of them. Hebrews 11:38
We believed in the mission and in each other.
We built processes, excellence, and trust.
We had fun, worked hard, and defied the corporate mentality.

But I suppose loss has an unexpected way of clarifying who you really are.

It's too bad they read me wrong, but that doesn’t rewrite who I am.
My work — the real, lived, human work — remains inked in black and white.

And here’s the rock-solid truth that’s risen in the quiet:
I regret nothing.
I loved my people well.
I made room for them to be human —
to laugh, cuss, cry, pray, grow.
I led with heart.
I apologized when others would have doubled down.
Sure, it probably cost me my job, my position,
my vision for what could have been…
yet, it gave me something better:
peace, clarity, and a spark.

This month is closure.
And it’s the beginning of something new.

"See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland." Isaiah 43:19

The quiet isn’t empty.
It’s holy.
It’s widewideopen spacious.
It's free. It's lovely. It's the good.

It’s where my gratitude finally had room to breathe. 🤍