It may be too late to say this, but Happy New Year!
I can’t believe I haven’t written a blog since my birthday in December. I started quite a few blogs, but I never finished them. I think each month after January went from eventful, to devastating, and eventually landed in unexpected losses in more than one way. My New Year’s blog was entitled Lace Up Your Boots, and honestly, I ended up applying my own advice because the first half of 2026 has given me battle fatigue. On New Year’s Eve, I met my makeup artist, dressed cute, and grabbed coffee to make sure I didn’t fall asleep. I was determined to make it downtown to see the fireworks—and I did. I typically bring in the New Year at church, but this year I brought it in with God downtown. I found a great spot, climbed on top of my car for the view, and it was just God and me, bringing the New Year in together.
I took in every moment. I felt like a little girl again, except my Uncle Henry and Uncle Keith weren’t there to light the fireworks. As I sat patiently waiting for the countdown, I began to reflect on 2025—the lessons, the blessings, the disappointments, the trials, the gains, the expectations and all the goals I’d met for the year. Of course, I cried, allowing my body to do what God created it to do: release. The truth is, I’m the sensitive sister/ friend who operates in the light God made me in. I let my tear ducts do what God created them to do when I feel. I cried because this was another year that we’d miss celebrating my moms birthday on January 2nd. Another year without the God-fearing spouse and family I’ve been praying for since childhood. Another year of wildfires I’d survived. I overcame and I made it look easy. God protected me and covered me the entire year. On New Year’s Day, I woke up late to a phone call that one of my friends had gone into cardiac arrest. She had been battling breast cancer for over a year. We attended JSU together but never crossed paths until her sister and I connected years later. Over time, we became close. I immediately got up, pulled myself together, and ran to the hospital.
We gathered around her lifeless body and prayed. I asked God to keep her and give her more time. He did. She lived an another month and passed away in February while I was away in Mississippi visiting my aunt on her death bed. She passed in March. Both moments dug a hole in my chest. I witnessed God raise my friend up, and then just like that, she was gone at only thirty-eight years old. I was startled by the reality of her passing. What about the plans she made? What about the desires she had? I wondered.
How could this be happening? We prayed. We fasted. We believed for her healing. At that moment, I was reminded of my mother. When I was angry with God and I felt like he didn’t keep his word. He did. He healed my mother. Just not the way I thought. Her healing didn’t happen in this world—it happened in heaven. Losing my mother made me value time even more than I already did, but it also pushed me into a season of depression surrounding her death and several unmet expectations. And let me tell you, I had a buffet of unmet expectations. One by one, I took the time to process and digest each one. There was no need to cram it all down and choke.
As I worked through those emotions, I stopped working on the book. I found myself glued indoors even more than usual, trying to allow my mind and body to rest away from other people and their spirits. My highly sensitive brain couldn’t carry the weight of anyone else’s baggage. So I sat still and drew even closer to God. As I was still processing the loss of my friend, another unexpected loss followed.
One of my longtime friends, I met in middle school at a rivalry game. We go way back to middle school, college and then reconnected in 2023. We had a boatload of good times over those few years as time permitted. We hadn’t talked in several months when we had dinner in February, but our friendship was always the kind that could pick up where it left off. No matter how much time passed, we’d eventually find our way back to a conversation or meeting up to eat. This time was different. We had a heart-to-heart conversation about life, faith, forgiveness, and some of the things we had been carrying. Looking back, I didn’t know it would be one of our last conversations or hugs. I would have held on longer if I’d known that was it.
A month later, he was gone unexpectedly at the age of thirty-nine. I sat with the news in heart ache, disbelief, devastation, and confusion. There was something unsettling about realizing a conversation has become a memory. So much became frozen into time at that moment. It reminded me once again that time is one of the most valuable gifts God gives us, yet it’s often the one we gamble with the most. We gamble with the phone call we’ll make tomorrow and the apology we’ll give next week. We gamble with the prayer we’ll pray when things calm down. We gamble with the visit we’ll schedule when we’re less busy. We gamble with saying, “I love you,” because we assume there will be another opportunity.
The truth is, tomorrow has never belonged to us.
These losses have taught me the importance of prayer and the value of being present. Prayer is not just something we do in emergencies; it’s one of the greatest ways we steward the people God places in our lives. We may not always be able to change an outcome, but we can cover people in prayer while we have the opportunity. More than ever, I have learned to pray while people are here, love while people are here, forgive while people are here, and appreciate people while they are here.
Because time is a gift.
Today marks six years since my mother transitioned to heaven. Some days it feels like a lifetime ago, and other days it feels like I could still pick up the phone and hear her voice. What I miss most isn’t just her presence—it’s the consistency of her love, her prayers, her wisdom, and the way she showed up for people. My mother understood something that many people learn the hard way: people are a gift, and time with them is never guaranteed. She didn’t wait for the perfect moment to encourage someone. She didn’t withhold love until it was convenient. She prayed, she served, she gave, and she loved while she had the opportunity. As I reflect on her life, along with the lives of friends I’ve lost this year, I’m reminded that tomorrow is not promised. We often gamble with time as if we have an unlimited supply of it, but we don’t.
So call the person. Send the text. Pray the prayer. Have the conversation. Say “I love you.” Forgive. Show up. Because one day, all we will have are the memories of how we spent the time we were given. And if my mother’s life taught me anything, it’s that a life poured out in love, faith, and service never truly leaves—it continues to live on in the people it touched. Six years later, I still miss her. Six years later, I still hear her lessons. Six years later, I am still growing from the seeds she planted.
With Love,
Patrice Thomas 💜🌱