faith

Why God Keeps Asking Us to Remember

anny@familybridgesusa.org — Tue, 25 Aug 2026 19:32:04 +0000

Why God Keeps Asking Us to Remember

anny@familybri… Tue, 08/25/2026 - 14:32 Aug 25, 2026

My mom asked me for two things in her last days. A cup of coffee. And a bowl of farina, that warm oatmeal she used to make when I was a kid.

She had stopped eating and drinking by then. Most days she barely had the strength for a sip of water. But that morning, she lifted that cup of coffee and drank every last drop, slowly, as if it were the best cup she'd ever tasted. Then she ate the farina the same way, slowly savoring every bite, looking up at me with so much gratitude in her eyes. I sat next to her with my own coffee and my own bowl, and we just sat there. Smiling. Laughing softly. Not needing to say much of anything.

Nothing about that moment was big. No dramatic goodbye, no big speech. Just two people, quietly loving each other over coffee and oatmeal, right before she passed away. I will never forget it.

I've been thinking about that morning a lot lately, because the word remember has been sitting on my heart.

Some of you might hear that word and brace yourselves. Remembering can feel dangerous if the only things waiting for you back there are the hard ones. I get that. But lately, remembering has felt more like a gift to me than a burden, because of everything I got to witness in the middle of one of the hardest seasons of my life.

There's a moment in the Bible where God tells Joshua to have the priests go back and gather stones, then stack them up as a memorial. God knew His people would forget. They would forget the miracles, the rescue, the faithfulness they had witnessed. So He told Joshua to build something they couldn't ignore. I think about that a lot. We forget so easily, even the moments that carried real weight, so maybe we need memorials, even small ones, just to remember what we're prone to forget.

Memorials remind us what God has done. But remembering isn't only about looking backward. Sometimes remembering shapes who we become.

I read something that echoed this in my devotional not long ago. It walked through Nehemiah's story, how his heart broke when he heard about the state of Jerusalem, a heartbreak he couldn't just remember his way out of, he had to sit in it. And then, in the middle of that grief, he prayed something so simple. "Remember me, O my God, for good." (Nehemiah 13:14) Not just remember what God had done. Remember him. Let his life count for something good.

Reading that stopped me. So I sat with a few questions, and I want to invite you to sit with them too.

What breaks your heart? What's the situation, in your family, your community, the world, that you can't stop grieving over?
What do you remember? Where has God actually shown up in that exact kind of pain before?
And what do you want to be remembered for?

When I asked myself the first question, I didn't have to think very long. What breaks my heart is people feeling forgotten. Unseen. That's actually the whole reason I wrote Planting in the Dark. I wanted people in dark seasons to feel like someone finally saw them.

When I asked the second, I thought of all the quiet ways God has shown up for me. Small windows. Glimpses I almost missed because I was moving too fast to notice them.

And the third one, the legacy question, that's the one that stayed with me longest. I actually went back to my journal and found a whole list I'd written out over time, but a few of them kept rising to the top. That people felt safe around me, like they could trust me with the real stuff. That I wasn't afraid of the hard seasons, because I knew God was with me in them. And underneath all of it, that I loved deeply. My family, my God, and the people around me, generously and without holding back.

All of this started with a cup of coffee and a bowl of farina.

That's the thing about remembering. It doesn't have to be dark. Sometimes it's the very thing that shows you what's next, but only if you're willing to look back first and notice where God already showed up. Not in the big, obvious moments, but in the ordinary ones. A shared meal. A quiet room. Right in the middle of the mess, He was already there, and He still is.

So if you sat with those same three questions, what breaks your heart, what you remember, and what you want to be remembered for, I don't think you'd end up with just a page full of answers. I think you'd end up with a map. Because the things that break our hearts and the places we've already seen God be faithful are usually pointing toward the same door. Maybe that's why God asks us to remember. The places where He has already been faithful often become the compass for where He's leading us next.

My compass began with a cup of coffee and a bowl of farina. Yours may begin with something just as ordinary. Don't overlook it.

Some of God's greatest invitations arrive disguised as ordinary moments we'll only understand once we choose to remember.

What ordinary moment has become a memorial of God's faithfulness in your life?

by Omaira Gonzalez

faith

spiritual

gratitude

Language English

When You Don't Like Someone

anny@familybridgesusa.org — Tue, 28 Apr 2026 21:21:34 +0000

When You Don't Like Someone

anny@familybri… Tue, 04/28/2026 - 16:21 Apr 28, 2026

Mother's Day can be a tender, complicated time. For those of us who have lost our mothers, or whose relationship with our mother was never what we hoped it would be, the holiday can carry a quiet ache. But I have come to believe that God, in His goodness, does not leave us without love. Sometimes He places that love in the form of a friend. A sister who was never born into your family but came into your life by something far greater than coincidence.

This is a blog about that kind of friendship, and it starts with an unlikely place…judgment.

There is a Bible verse that says "Two are better than one" (Ecclesiastes 4:9), and another that reminds us that "as iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another" (Proverbs 27:17). These verses are clear: we are not meant to do life alone. We need people, and we need the friction and the warmth of real relationships to grow into who God is calling us to be.

But there is also a verse that cautions us not to judge others, and that one? That one is a little harder to sit with.

"Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven." Luke 6:37

If we are honest with ourselves, judging comes naturally. It is almost reflexive. We size people up based on our experiences, our preferences, the way something makes us feel. And most of the time, we do not even realize we are doing it. Judging, at its core, is making a decision about a person or a situation without first taking the time to explore the facts.

Let me give you an example, one of my own.

In my teenage years, I was shy, guarded, and quietly skeptical of the world around me. I watched my surroundings carefully and made quick internal decisions about what, and who I was comfortable with.

I remember watching this young woman across the room. Long curly brown hair. Full of laughter and life. The kind of energy that fills up a whole space. She was everything I was not, and within moments of observing her, I had decided: I don't like her. We had never spoken. I did not know a single thing about her, but she was too loud for my taste, too much, and my mind was made up.

Then life happened, as it always does. My mother had to make an emergency trip to Puerto Rico, and I was left with my father. He would drop me off at church, and I would retreat to my safe corner with my small circle of friends and keep to myself.

One Sunday, she walked over to me and invited me to go out to eat after service.

Everything in me hesitated. I had already rendered my verdict. But something…someone, I believe, nudged me to say yes.

That was 37 years ago, and she has been my sister, my friend, and my constant ever since. We have never been apart.

I think back on that girl I was, arms crossed, mind already closed, and I have to ask myself: Why did I judge her so harshly? More importantly: What would I have lost if she had never asked?

If she had sensed my distance and walked away, I would never have known what I was missing. I would have gone through life without the gift of her friendship, and I would not have even known to grieve it.

So why do we do this? Why do we judge so prematurely?

Is it the residue of past relationships that wounded us? Is it that someone reminds us, even subconsciously, of a person who once hurt us? Is it simply that they are different from us, and difference, when we are afraid, can feel like a threat?

My sister-friend and I could not be more opposite. We see life differently. We have our disagreements and our contrasts. But none of that has ever been enough to create a wedge between us, because I have accepted her as she is. I see her beautiful qualities, and those qualities are far greater than any flaw. Love has a way of doing that when you actually let someone in.

I am not saying we must befriend every person we meet. There is wisdom in discernment. There will be moments when something in your spirit genuinely signals that a relationship is not safe or right for you. In those moments, you protect yourself. You create boundaries, and there is nothing wrong with that.

However, there is a difference between discernment and dismissal. There is a difference between setting a healthy boundary and building a wall around your heart because someone is different, or loud, or unfamiliar, or simply did not check all the boxes on your unspoken list.

Before we write someone off, it is worth pausing to ask: What is really driving this? Have I actually tried to know this person, or have I only evaluated them? Have I given them a fair chance, or have I simply decided from a distance?

Even when a deep connection is not meant to be, we can still extend kindness. We can still be polite, warm, and human. There is no need to rush past someone or make them feel invisible. After all, Jesus Himself was misunderstood and rejected by many, and He was the Son of God. People made up their minds about Him based on their own comfort, their own beliefs, their own preference for the familiar. They missed who He was entirely.

Let us not miss people that way.

If you are navigating this Mother's Day without your mother, or with a complicated grief around what that relationship was or was not, I want you to know that love finds a way. God is creative and relentless in how He brings connection into our lives.

But sometimes, and this is the part we have to be honest about, we are the ones standing in the way. Sometimes we are the ones standing in the way, having already made up our minds before anyone even had a chance.

Women, we do this to each other more than we realize. We judge the way she carries herself. The way she laughs too loud or stays too quiet. The way she is too much or not enough, and in doing so, we miss her…the very person God may have placed in that room specifically for us.

So before you walk past her, before you build the wall, before you let judgment make a decision that your heart may one day regret…pause. Ask yourself: Have I actually given her a chance, or have I only given her a verdict?

Your sister, your friend might be right there. Say yes, and who knows you may look back 37 years from now and be so glad that you did.

by Omaira Gonzalez

friendship

mothers

attitude

character

faith

Language English

The Christmas Story We Live: God’s Gifts Along Our Hardest Journeys

anny@familybridgesusa.org — Wed, 10 Dec 2025 20:58:42 +0000

The Christmas Story We Live: God’s Gifts Along Our Hardest Journeys

anny@familybri… Wed, 12/10/2025 - 14:58 Dec 10, 2025

Ever taken a long road trip that left you completely drained by the time you finally pulled into a hotel or reached your destination? I remember one in particular: three full days on the road while I was eight months pregnant. I had just learned my father only had a few days to live, and since flying was no longer an option, my husband and sister committed to driving with me down to Florida. We stopped every two hours so I could stretch and walk a bit, and even then it was grueling, when you’re that far along, everything feels like a hurdle. Yet each night, I knew I could look forward to a warm bath and a soft bed waiting for me.

It’s almost impossible to fully grasp what Mary must have felt, arriving at the end of that exhausting journey only to be turned away. Imagine those final miles, every step heavier than the last, clinging to the hope that somewhere ahead there would be a room, a bed, a safe place to rest, only to be met with the crushing words: there’s no room for you here.

What a profound gratitude that finally a resting place opened up, albeit a humble stable. And soon after, the shepherds and the Magi arrived, rejoicing and bearing witness to the birth of Jesus.

After all they had endured, I can only imagine how deeply Joseph and Mary must have cherished the arrival of these unexpected, heaven-sent guests rejoicing with them, affirming God’s care and worshiping with them.

Six years ago, our whole family flew to the Dominican Republic to celebrate my grandmother’s 100th birthday. But almost as soon as we arrived, my daughter spiked a fever and she had to stay back at the hotel with my husband. The next day her temperature rose and fell unpredictably, yet we pressed on with our plans, traveling four hours away to a smaller town where we were scheduled to lead several of our programs and trainings. We went with some friends including a physician, which gave us a measure of comfort, believing he would guide us if her condition worsened.

During the long bus ride, her fever refused to break, and when we finally arrived, our local partners were running late. It was just one of several setbacks that slowed our efforts to get her to a hospital. In that swirl of fear and uncertainty, the calm, steady presence of a kind, confident pediatrician, who gently told us it was pneumonia and explained the treatment, became an anchor for us, quieting our fears and steadying our hearts right when we needed it most.

Even after she was admitted, the trials didn’t stop. Hurricane Maria threatened the island, our team was urging us to leave as soon as possible, and we were trying to honor our commitments while our six-year-old lay in a hospital bed. In the middle of it all, during a simple coffee break in the hallway, a nurse coming on shift caught sight of my distress. She paused, checked in, and with just a few compassionate words, ministered to my heart and lifted my weary spirit.

The day before we departed, we managed to facilitate a seminar with couples that had gathered from about ten churches from the surrounding village. It was the first time that the couples came together for such an occasion and they put aside the threat of an impending hurricane to do so. Their engagement and gratitude ministered to us that day.

On the bus ride back, one of the passengers suddenly rose to his feet and, with a voice full of conviction, poured out words from the depths of his heart seeking to calm everyone from the fear and anxiety piercing the air because of the hurricane. And even in the final hours of our journey, sitting in a small airport restaurant, a gentle worker noticed my daughter’s coughing fit, searched for honey and lemon, and lovingly mixed a remedy just for her.

It felt like a sacred relay of kindness, each person taking their turn to carry us when we were too weary to move forward on our own. Every encounter became a living testimony of His favor, a series of providential appointments, handpicked by God, to surround our family with care at every step of the journey.

I hadn’t met a single one of these kind strangers before this trip, just as Mary and Joseph had never met the shepherds or the Magi, yet, like them, each one responded to God’s nudge and stepped into our story at exactly the right moment.

There are seasons when God invites us to open our arms, offering hospitality, extending kindness, and rejoicing with others in the middle of their struggle. And there are seasons when we find ourselves on the other side of that grace, the ones in desperate need of being carried, comforted, and cared for.

Looking back, can you trace God’s hand and purposes through seasons that confounded your understanding?

As we enter this Christmas season, may I invite you to draw close to Jesus and to pay attention to the gentle nudge of the Holy Spirit, to be a shepherd to the weary traveler, and a Magi who freely offers generous gifts. Christmas is, at its heart, a story of lavish generosity and profound redemption—God with us. Because of Him, we can trust that every struggle and every hard road has meaning, and we can rest in the hope we have in Christ.

On life’s journeys, we may lose our luggage, our temper, our self-control, even our sense of direction but because of Christmas, we never lose our hope.

by Alicia La Hoz, Psy.D.

Christmas

Holiday

faith

spiritual

Language English

What We Hide When We Say “I’m Fine”

anny@familybridgesusa.org — Tue, 02 Dec 2025 19:05:35 +0000

What We Hide When We Say “I’m Fine”

anny@familybri… Tue, 12/02/2025 - 13:05 Dec 2, 2025

We all say “I’m fine.” But hidden hurt has a way of leaking into our homes, our marriages, our parenting, and even how we see ourselves.

Years ago, my husband was getting ready to head to the airport. He was joining a few of his teammates on a mission trip and was full of excitement. I was in the kitchen doing the dishes, and as I reached into a glass cup to wash it, it shattered in my hand. The cut was deep, but I didn’t want to interrupt his moment. I quickly said, “Go ahead, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He left. And I stayed. I rinsed the wound, wrapped it in a bandage, and kept moving as if nothing had happened. But that night, the pain wouldn’t let me rest. It throbbed constantly, reminding me something was wrong. Still, I told myself I could handle it. I’d sleep it off.

By the next day, I couldn’t take the pain anymore. I went to the doctor, and sure enough, the glass had touched a nerve. The doctor gently scolded me for not coming in sooner. It took weeks before I felt real relief.

Holding onto emotional pain is a lot like that cut. We tell ourselves, “I’m fine.” We cover it up. We keep moving. We ignore the throbbing. But unhealed wounds don’t disappear, they deepen. And the longer they go untreated, the more damage they do beneath the surface.

Forgiveness, in many ways, is like finally going to the doctor. It isn’t easy. It stings. It means uncovering what we tried to hide. But it’s also the only way to truly heal. Because when we hold onto pain, it doesn’t protect us, it delays our healing and sends ripples into everything we touch. We think holding on keeps us safe, but really, it just keeps us stuck.

The “Bodyguards” We Mistake for Strength

There are emotions we often use as shields; anger, fear, and pride. They aren’t villains. At first, they act like bodyguards.

Anger says, “If I stay mad, I stay safe.” It builds a wall so we don’t have to touch the wound.
Fear whispers, “If I forgive, it will happen again.” It tries to protect us from future harm.
Pride insists, “I’m right to hold this. Letting go means losing power.” It props us up when we feel small.

In my early years, anger became my armor. It helped me survive. But over time, that same anger began to leak into my relationships, my work, and even how I saw myself. Instead of being the one who was wounded, I began wounding others. What once protected me began to imprison me. That’s one of anger’s hidden lessons, it points to the deeper place that needs healing. Often beneath anger is a broken trust, a violated boundary, or a deep grief we didn’t know how to name.

Sometimes we even spiritualize our defenses. I know I did. “God knows my heart. Justice is His.” Those words are true, but I used them to avoid my pain.

As C.S. Lewis once wrote, “Everyone says forgiveness is a lovely idea… until they have something to forgive.”

There is no shame in struggling with these emotions. They’re human. The danger is letting them run the show. “Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger… Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” — Ephesians 4:31–32

What Forgiveness Is, and What It Isn’t

Forgiveness isn’t pretending the wound didn’t happen….It’s telling the truth about the harm, and choosing not to carry it as your identity.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean dropping boundaries.. It means dropping bitterness. You can forgive and still say, “Access to me will look different now.”

Forgiveness is not letting someone off the hook…It’s letting your heart off the leash. It takes the weight of yesterday and turns it into wisdom for today.

Most of all, forgiveness is how we stop protecting the pain and start inviting God to heal it. “Lord, this hurts… but I trust You to touch what I cannot fix.”

God cannot heal what we keep hiding.

A Gentle Way to Begin

If forgiveness feels overwhelming, you don’t have to rush it. You can begin gently:

Name the wound beneath the anger. What was broken, trust, safety, dignity, belonging?
Notice your bodyguards. Which one shows up first, anger, fear, or pride?
Take one release step. Pray honestly. Journal a letter you’ll never send. Tell a safe person the truth.
Set one boundary. Let healing take root without reopening the wound.

You did not deserve what hurt you. But you do deserve to be free.

Prayer to close:
Jesus, I’m tired of saying “I’m fine” when I’m not. Show me what my anger/fear/pride has been protecting. Give me courage to forgive as You forgave me. Heal what I cannot. Amen.

by Omaira Gonzalez

forgiveness

faith

spiritual

relationships

conflict

Language English

When Life Doesn’t Go as Planned

anny@familybridgesusa.org — Mon, 27 Oct 2025 22:18:14 +0000

When Life Doesn’t Go as Planned

anny@familybri… Mon, 10/27/2025 - 17:18 Oct 27, 2025

My granddaughter had been eagerly anticipating Grandparents Day. She had the whole event mapped out in her little mind, coloring sheets, songs, games, and, of course, her big performance.

When we arrived, she was excited, proudly leading us through every activity. But the highlight, she said, would be her moment on stage. She’d been practicing for weeks and couldn’t wait to shine.

When the program ended and her class was never called up, her joy turned into tears. Her teacher gently explained that the songs were actually for November’s program. She had built up an expectation that simply wasn’t meant for today, and disappointment followed.

I know that feeling all too well.

Disappointment has a way of sneaking up on us, doesn’t it? It’s not just about plans falling through or moments not going as expected, it’s about the gap between what we imagined is supposed to happen and what actually happened.

When my father passed unexpectedly, I was blindsided. For years, my mother had been the one battling cancer, and I had quietly prepared myself for her eventual passing. I had built an expectation, not of hope, but of sequence. I thought I knew how this chapter would play out.

But it didn’t. Instead, it was my father who left first. Suddenly, the shared caregiving I had done alongside him became mine alone. I wasn’t just grieving him; I was grieving the certainty I thought I had about what life would look like. The plan was gone. The rhythm was broken. And disappointment came with a new face, anger, confusion, fear, exhaustion.

Disappointment isn’t just sadness, it’s the mind trying to make sense of a new reality. It’s when your heart says, “This isn’t how it was supposed to go.”

We often treat disappointment as something to “get over.” I know I have. But in truth, it’s more like an internal reset. It disrupts and shakes the assumptions we quietly live by. It exposes/confronts what we’ve been depending on in timing, outcomes, or our ability to stay in control.

There are days when I move forward with strength and focus, finding new ways to manage the care my mother needs. And then there are days when the weight feels unbearable. When I ache for what was, the teamwork, the small relief of knowing I wasn’t doing this alone.

And yet, even in those moments, I’ve learned that disappointment can become an invitation, to shift perspective, not erase pain.

Learning to Pivot

Like my granddaughter, we all have moments where our “performance day” doesn’t arrive when we expected. We cry, we question, we recalibrate. And that’s okay.

It’s not easy. Shifting mindset doesn’t mean pretending it doesn’t hurt, it means choosing to see differently within the hurt.

When we face disappointment, we can:

Acknowledge it honestly, name what was lost, what feels unfair, what still aches.
Grieve without guilt, it’s not a weakness to mourn what might have been.
Reflect and reframe, ask, “What might this reveal about where I placed my hope?”
Pivot with purpose, small steps, one decision at a time, trusting that forward motion matters even when clarity hasn’t come.

Disappointment, if you pay attention closely, can also whisper hope. It’s the reminder that even when life doesn’t unfold on our terms, it’s still unfolding. That even when we lose what we expected, there’s something to be gained.

People often ask me, “How are you doing?” or “How do you keep going?” The best way I can explain it is through a story that has carried me through seasons of grief, disappointment, and uncertainty, the story of the Israelites in the desert.

They left Egypt full of hope, expecting freedom to feel like abundance. Instead, they found themselves in a barren place, hungry, afraid, and unsure of what would come next. Yet, in their need, God provided manna each day. Not enough for the week or the month ahead, but just enough for that day.

I’ve learned the same is true for us. Like the Israelites, we can’t store tomorrow’s grace today. We receive it fresh each morning, often only enough for the moment we’re in, but always enough to keep going.

That’s what disappointment has taught me: when expectations collapse, grace still arrives, sometimes quietly, sometimes just enough, but always on time.

So maybe the invitation isn’t to avoid disappointment, but to learn how to live inside it, steadily trusting that what we need will come, one day at a time.

by Omaira Gonzalez

faith

spiritual

Language English

When Doubt Follows Your Decision

anny@familybridgesusa.org — Thu, 09 Oct 2025 20:48:53 +0000

When Doubt Follows Your Decision

anny@familybri… Thu, 10/09/2025 - 15:48 Oct 9, 2025

What has been the hardest decision you’ve had to make recently?

I don’t mean what to wear or what to eat, though even those can trip us up some days. I mean the decisions that feel like they carry the weight of a life in your hands. The kind that, once spoken, you can’t take back. The kind that can change your future, or the future of someone you love.

One night stands out in particular for me. My father had a medical emergency at 2:00 a.m. He was in a critical condition, and as the paramedics prepared to take him, they turned to me with a question: “Do you want us to take him to the nearest hospital or to the hospital you prefer? He needs immediate attention.”

The closest hospital was five minutes away. The one I trusted was twenty. I was half-asleep, adrenaline racing, heart in my throat. In that split second I said, “Take him to the closest.”

A few days later, my father passed away. Even now, I sometimes wonder: would the outcome have been different if I had chosen otherwise?

That night taught me something I’ll never forget: hard decisions rarely come with perfect clarity, and they often leave us questioning ourselves long after the moment has passed. They come fast, in moments of pressure, fear, and urgency. Caregivers know this when you have to decide, Do I push for every possible treatment to extend life, or do I choose hospice to give them peace? Do I quit my job to care for them full-time, or try to balance both and risk burning out? Parents feel it when weighing how much to step in, or step back. Leaders wrestle with it when deciding whether to release a staff member or hold on. Spouses face it in marriages strained to the edge.

Each decision carries weight. Each one is tangled with emotion. Honestly speaking, even not deciding is still a decision. So what do we do with the doubts that haunt us after the choice has been made, or when we’re paralyzed before making it?

For me, I’ve had to cling to three lifelines:

1. Bring it to God

When I felt shaken, uncertain, and afraid of making the wrong choice, I poured it all out before Him, the doubts, the pain, the weight of responsibility. Sometimes that looked like tears in the middle of the night, crying in desperation because the decision felt too heavy. Other times it came out as resentment, frustration that I had to be the one to carry it. The circumstances didn’t always change, but His presence steadied me. And more than that, I felt seen. In the very moments when no one else could understand the weight I was carrying, He did. Psalm 139:23-24 became a prayer on repeat: “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.”

For you, this might look like a few minutes of honest prayer, journaling your raw thoughts to God, or simply whispering His name when words fail. The point isn’t polished words or perfect faith, it’s letting Him meet you right in the mess, allowing His presence to anchor you, and remembering that even in your heaviest decisions, you are fully seen.

2. Search for the root.
The hardest part of decisions hasn’t always been the choice itself, but the thoughts afterward: I should have known better. I chose too quickly. I failed. It’s not only the decision itself that weighs heavy, but the self-doubt that keeps reopening the wound long after the moment has passed. Those words replayed in my head louder than the decision itself. And if I’m honest, they didn’t just come from that one moment, they came from old scars, from painful places in my life where I felt like I had failed before. That’s the thing about decision-making: it rarely stands alone. It brushes up against our history, our insecurities, and the wounds we’d rather not revisit.

Naming those stories was painful because it meant facing the truth of where they were rooted in fear, in self-blame, and in lies I had carried for far too long. But what I learned: healing can’t begin until the truth comes to the surface. For you, it may help to ask: “What story am I telling myself about this decision?” Maybe it’s fear of letting someone down, fear of judgment, or echoes of past wounds you thought you’d buried. Naming it doesn’t erase the pain overnight, and it isn’t easy to see yourself that honestly. But it does loosen the grip those stories have on you. And in that space, grace can finally breathe.

3. Community.
I don’t think I could have made it through some of the toughest, high-stakes decisions without community. Having a few trusted people, friends who offered wisdom and safety without judgment, gave me the strength to keep going. They became a place to process, cry, and wrestle. For you, that might look like a counselor, a pastor, or a close friend. Having someone to walk with you won’t take the weight away, but it will keep you from carrying it alone.

These three practices don’t guarantee an easy path. Sometimes I repeat them again and again as I process, pray, and wrestle toward peace. But one question has stayed with me through it all: Can I trust God no matter the outcome?

And that’s the same question I want to leave with you. Can you trust Him, even here, even now?

God doesn’t call us to perfect decision-making, but He calls us to faithfulness. Our choices, even when flawed, can be redeemed by His grace. The measure of our caregiving, leadership, or parenting isn’t about never failing; it’s about loving deeply, seeking wisdom, and trusting Him with the rest.

Yes, doubts creep back in. They do for me, too. But each time, I return to that question: Can I trust Him despite the outcome? My answer is yes. Because even when my father did not survive, I witnessed God’s love through the people who showed up, His strength carrying me, and His peace covering me.

Peace doesn’t come from always choosing right. Peace comes from knowing God is with us in the uncertainty, redeeming what feels broken, and steadying us when we cannot steady ourselves. Because at the end of the day, decisions can feel like life in your hands, but peace comes when you realize your hands were never the only ones holding it.

Reflection Questions

What is a hard decision you’ve been carrying lately, and what weight does it still hold over you?
What story are you telling yourself about that decision—does it sound like blame, guilt, or fear?
Where can you invite God into that place of doubt, asking Him to search your heart and steady your anxious thoughts?
Can you imagine what it would look like to trust God with the outcome, even if the result isn’t what you hoped for?

by Omaira Gonzalez

leadership

faith

spiritual

emotions

anxiety

Language English

A Mother’s Lesson on Forgiveness

anny@familybridgesusa.org — Thu, 09 Oct 2025 20:21:39 +0000

A Mother’s Lesson on Forgiveness

anny@familybri… Thu, 10/09/2025 - 15:21 Oct 9, 2025

How can you forgive when the worst possible thing has been done to you or someone you love? That was the question I kept wrestling with as I prepared to join a Facebook Live on the topic of forgiveness.

I’m no stranger to forgiveness. I’ve had to extend it and ask for it many times. But this particular conversation stirred something deeper in me. I found myself meditating, reading, and listening to stories, some of people who refused to forgive and others who bravely chose to. Yet the greatest lesson didn’t come from a book or sermon. It came from my mother.

My mother’s story is marked by both resilience and deep suffering. As a child, she knew moments of joy, like splashing in puddles after the rain. But those moments were tangled with verbal and physical abuse, experiences no child should ever carry. What should have been her safest years were scarred instead by fear and harshness.

As a young woman, she longed for love and stability. At first, she thought she had found it. He seemed kind, even charming. But behind closed doors, the truth unfolded. Her marriage became a prison of emotional wounds and physical violence. The greatest wound, however, came when he divorced her and, out of spite rather than justice, took full custody of her two sons. Not because she was unfit as a mother, but because he knew it would pierce her heart in the cruelest way. That act shattered her spirit. The grief of losing her boys, and the hatred for the man who orchestrated her suffering, ran so deep it nearly drowned her.

Years later, she would learn from my brothers about the mistreatment and abuse they endured under his care. The grief became unbearable. Anger, hate, and bitterness took root. She felt helpless and trapped in a season of despair.

But then something shifted. My mother encountered the love of God. Slowly, she began to see that the only way forward was forgiveness. To forgive the man who had scarred her physically, emotionally, and relationally was not easy. It didn’t happen overnight. It took years of wrestling, healing, and prayer. But eventually, she made a choice: to forgive, not because he asked for it, not because he deserved it, but because she refused to remain his prisoner any longer.

Forgiveness freed her. It opened the door to a new chapter, with a loving husband, two more children, and eventually reconciliation with the sons who returned to her.

Hearing my mother’s story, I realized how much courage forgiveness takes. It’s not about excusing someone’s actions or pretending the pain never happened. Forgiveness is about releasing yourself from the chains of anger and bitterness.

Most people who wound us never ask for forgiveness. Many never admit their wrongs. But forgiveness isn’t really about them, it’s about us. It’s about reclaiming peace, joy, and freedom so we can live fully, love deeply, and step into the lives God has called us to live.

One thing I’ve learned is that forgiveness and grief can coexist. We often think one must end before the other begins, but usually they happen together. You can forgive while still grieving what was lost: a relationship, a dream, your sense of safety, even years you cannot get back.

Grief honors the reality of loss. Forgiveness releases the grip of the one who caused the wound. Together, they create space for healing. Forgiveness doesn’t erase grief or shorten it, but it does keep bitterness from taking root, making room for God’s comfort and eventual restoration.

I’ve seen what happens when people cling to unforgiveness: broken homes, broken bodies, broken hearts. I’ve also seen what happens when people choose to forgive: peace, healing, and freedom.

Whoever hurt you should never have that much power over your future. Don’t give them control over what comes next. Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting, and it doesn’t mean you have to trust again right away. It means choosing to release their hold so you can walk forward in freedom.

Scripture reminds us: “Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” — Colossians 3:13

So I leave you with this: Forgiveness is not easy. It is a process. It takes time, prayer, and often starting over again. But it is possible. And it is worth it, not for them, but for you.

Maybe today you need to ask yourself: What am I still carrying that I need to release? What would it look like to let go and trust God with the healing?

Forgiveness is not the end of your story. On the contrary, it is the beginning. It does not strip you of power, it gives you a new kind of strength. The power to take back your life. The freedom to choose joy. The grace to live unburdened by bitterness. And the hope to see your life, and the lives of those you love through a lens of healing and restoration

by Omaira Gonzalez

forgiveness

faith

spiritual

Language English

When Control Is Just a Cover: What’s Beneath Our Reactions

anny@familybridgesusa.org — Tue, 12 Aug 2025 21:02:07 +0000

When Control Is Just a Cover: What’s Beneath Our Reactions

anny@familybri… Tue, 08/12/2025 - 16:02 Aug 12, 2025

Most of the time, people notice the reaction: the outburst, the silence, the tension, the defensiveness. That’s what shows up at meetings, at dinner tables, during stressful conversations. That’s what gets called out. But what’s rarely addressed is the why beneath it all.

We see the response, anger, pride, anxiety, but not the root. And truthfully, many of us don’t understand where our own reactions come from. We were never taught how to trace them back to their origin. But if we don’t, those reactions begin to define us, and often damage the relationships we care about most.

The Reaction Is Just the Surface

We all have default responses. Some of us power up, take control, and act like we don’t need anyone. Others shut down, overthink, or withdraw in fear. Some micromanage because we’re afraid of being blindsided. Others isolate to avoid the shame of “getting it wrong” again.

Sometimes it’s fear. Sometimes it’s pride. Often, it’s both.

Take pride, for example. It’s not always loud. Sometimes pride is quiet self-sufficiency—“I got this.” It's the refusal to ask for help because somewhere along the way, we learned that needing others made us look weak or incompetent. It’s the inner vow: I won’t be a burden. I’ll handle it myself.

Or maybe it’s fear of being seen as inadequate, planted long ago when we were compared to a sibling, told we weren’t enough, or praised only for performance. That’s not just fear; that’s survival. That’s trying to earn belonging by being “better.”

Over time, these roots run deep. And if left unexplored, they show up in our parenting, our marriages, our leadership, even our faith. Panic attacks. Perfectionism. Control. Avoidance. Criticism. We begin to live from reaction instead of reflection.

My Story: When Fear and Pride Collided

Seven years ago, when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I didn’t slow down to process. I went straight into planning. I booked a flight, packed my bags, made a checklist. I researched every detail. I didn’t cry. I didn’t pray. I just did.

From the outside, it looked like strength. But underneath? It was fear, pride, and pressure all tangled together. I was terrified of losing the one person who had always loved me unconditionally. But I was also afraid of looking weak or failing my family. I convinced myself I had to get it right. I couldn’t afford to fall apart. That drive didn’t start with her diagnosis. It had been growing in me for years, shaped by comparisons, by unspoken pressure to be more, to never drop the ball. The need to prove myself was deeply rooted.

But no amount of planning could prepare me for what came next. The medical system felt cold. Mistakes were made. And I was left staring at the grief I had tried so hard to outrun.

One day, in total desperation, I walked to a nearby park, sat on a bench, and cried until I had no tears left. I called out to the Lord, not with polished words, but with broken, desperate honesty. Back at my parents’ house later that night, our pastor came to visit. He prayed. He worshiped. And then he spoke a word, one only the Holy Spirit could’ve given him. Something in me broke. Not in shame, but in surrender. And in that moment, I realized: I should’ve started there.

What I Learned About the Root

My pain cycle had been triggered. Like many of us, I responded with what was familiar, control, defensiveness, perfectionism, withdrawal. But when I let God into that deeper space, I saw the truth: My reactivity was rooted in pride and fear. And both had been masquerading as strength.

I didn’t need to be stronger. I needed to be still. When I finally surrendered, people showed up. A kind, competent doctor entered the picture. Friends gathered around us. I wasn’t carrying it alone anymore. Surrender created space for clarity, peace, and unexpected provision.

One verse carried me: “The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” – Exodus 14:14

That became my anchor. A daily reminder that God doesn’t need my hustle. He asks for my heart. My trust. My surrender.

What About You?

What’s your go-to reaction when life feels out of control? Is it control? Withdrawal? Overcompensation? Criticism? What are you trying to protect? More importantly, what’s at the root?

Maybe you grew up in a home where fear filled the air.
Maybe you were praised only when you performed.
Maybe you still carry the labels others gave you, and wear them like armor.
Maybe pride has protected you from the vulnerability of asking for help.

Whatever it is… God sees it. He doesn’t just call out the reaction. He invites you to bring Him the root. Because it’s there, in the unseen places, where real transformation begins.

One Last Word

If you’re realizing your reactions are tied to deeper wounds, don’t ignore them. You’re not weak for needing help. You’re human. And healing is possible.

I encourage you: talk to someone. A counselor. A mentor. Someone wise, safe, and Spirit-led who can walk with you as you trace the pain back to its root and begin to walk in freedom. And if you don’t know where to start…Start with God.

Release it to Him. You don’t need perfect words. Just your honest heart. Cry out. Journal. Sit in silence. Whisper His name. He’s not intimidated by your fear, pride, or pain. He longs to carry what you’ve been holding far too long.

There is no healing without honesty. And no restoration without surrender. But on the other side of both, there is peace. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

A Prayer for Surrender and Healing

Father God,
You see what no one else sees.You know the roots beneath our reactions, the fears we hide, the pride we carry, the burdens we’ve tried to manage on our own. And still… You meet us with compassion.

Today, we lay it all before You. The urge to control. The fear of not being enough. The weight of proving ourselves. The ache we rarely speak of. Search our hearts, Lord. Reveal what we’ve buried and teach us how to bring it into Your healing light. We don’t want to live from reaction, we want to live from redemption.

Give us the courage to be still. To trust You with the places we’ve protected for far too long. To let go of the need to perform, and simply rest in Your presence. To find strength not in striving, but in surrender. Surround us with Your peace. Place people in our lives who will walk with us wisely. And remind us, again and again, that You are near to the brokenhearted and mighty to save.

We release what we’ve been holding. We receive what only You can give. And we trust that on the other side of surrender… there is healing.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

by Omaira Gonzalez

emotions

faith

spiritual

mental health

Language English

Faith Over Fear: Finding Strength in Setbacks

anny@familybridgesusa.org — Mon, 11 Aug 2025 21:45:15 +0000

Faith Over Fear: Finding Strength in Setbacks

anny@familybri… Mon, 08/11/2025 - 16:45 Aug 11, 2025

Recently, I had the privilege of attending a retreat with 14 remarkable young women and several dedicated coaches. We gathered to pour into their lives, to speak truth, courage, and leadership into their hearts. It was a weekend of legacy, raising up the next generation of women leaders who will shape their homes, communities, and future.

As part of our retreat, we were invited to participate in a high ropes obstacle course. I had never done one before. I’ve faced many challenges in life and stepped into the unknown more times than I can count, but this was new terrain. The kind that doesn’t just test your strength, but your surrender.

We were given three choices: an easy route, a medium one, and the hard course. Most opted for easy. A few chose hard. I landed somewhere in the middle, literally and figuratively, and chose the medium course along with a colleague.

Lesson 1: Faith Over Fear Starts with One Brave Step

The first challenge felt manageable. I was even enjoying myself. But then came the second, third… and by the fourth, everything changed. The height. The sway. The sun blazing down on us. Suddenly the obstacles felt much bigger, and I found myself questioning why I had even said yes.

Fear whispered, “Go back. What were you thinking? You’re too old for this.” But faith nudged me forward. It reminded me that neither age, past experience, nor fear should define my next step.

It made me think of the many moments in life where we are pushed to take a risk, to try something new in our career, start a new ministry, parent a child through a difficult season, or begin again after heartbreak or loss. And it’s in those moments, when everything in us wants to retreat, that faith quietly speaks: keep going.

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. In God, whose word I praise in God I trust and am not afraid.” —Psalm 56:3-4

Can you trust Him when life feels unstable? When the job is uncertain? When you’re overwhelmed at home? When your heart is tired? He’s already provided what you need, you just have to keep walking forward to discover it.

Lesson 2: When You Fall, You’re Not Alone

My colleague was ahead of me and courageously pushed through. But just as she was about to finish that fourth challenge, she slipped. Suspended mid-air by nothing but her harness, she hung there, helpless, vulnerable, exposed. The heat was relentless. She spun in slow circles. Time felt frozen.

But help came. The staff moved swiftly and gently pulled her back into position. She was shaken, but safe. And more importantly, she wasn’t alone.

That image stays with me because I’ve lived it, not on a ropes course, but in life. I’ve been the woman hanging midair, disoriented and stuck in circumstances I didn’t expect. Burned out. Heartbroken. Confused. And yet… I was held. God never let me drop.

He is our harness. Even when we fall, He’s already secured our rescue. Sometimes it comes in the form of a friend who calls at the right moment. A scripture that reminds you you’re seen. A stranger’s kindness. A breakthrough you didn’t see coming.

And if you’re feeling like you’ve slipped lately, remember this: you are not falling apart. You are being held.

Lesson 3: Setbacks Can Lead to New Strength

After my colleague’s fall, I was told to exit the course and head back. Alone now, I retraced my steps, and something remarkable happened. The obstacles that once filled me with fear? They didn’t anymore.

Why? Because I had already faced them. I had walked them before. I knew what to expect. And instead of dread, I moved with clarity. Sometimes going back isn’t failure, it’s training.

There are seasons in life when the doors close, plans shift, or we’re told to pause. We call them “setbacks.” But maybe they’re set-ups for strength. That job you didn’t get, the opportunity that didn’t pan out, the project that stalled, each one is preparing you. Giving you experience. Building your endurance.

Time and again, in my own life and in the lives of so many brave, faith-filled women I’ve walked alongside, what felt like failure was actually preparation. I’ve seen God turn setbacks into divine setups. What might this moment be preparing you for? What might He be revealing to you now?

Lesson 4: Trust the Process—There’s Always Another Path Forward

As I stood on the platform looking ahead, I realized this: life is a lot like that obstacle course. Full of unexpected turns, uncertain footing, and moments where you just want to give up.

Even when our steps falter, His presence never does. We are harnessed by God’s grace. Even in the fall, we are held. We are guided. We are never beyond reach. And when we’re repositioned, whether by choice or force, we’re not being rejected. We’re being rerouted.

Maybe your path forward isn’t what you expected. Maybe you’ve had to double back. Maybe you’re still standing on the platform, afraid to move. Trust the process. You are not behind. You are becoming.

So wherever you are in your journey, facing fear, recovering from a fall, or deciding whether to take that next brave step, know this: God’s not just watching. He’s holding. He’s guiding. And He’s not done writing your story.

by Omaira Gonzalez

faith

anxiety

stress

fear

Language English

Don't Ignore the Stop Signs

anny@familybridgesusa.org — Wed, 09 Jul 2025 19:27:45 +0000

Don't Ignore the Stop Signs

anny@familybri… Wed, 07/09/2025 - 14:27 Jul 9, 2025

As I reflected on the verse, “When troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow…” (James 1:2-3), several words stood out to me:

Trouble
Joy
Opportunity
Tested
Endurance
Grow

I found it striking that these words appear together, suggesting that even in our struggles, there is space for growth, joy, and resilience. Logically, we understand this. But when we face deep loss or pain, especially grief, it doesn’t always feel like joy or growth. It often feels unbearable, as if the weight of our sorrow will never lift. Grief, particularly, can feel like an overwhelming darkness, one that isolates and consumes us. And during those moments, it seems impossible to find joy.

But I can’t shake the call in this verse: “Consider it an opportunity for GREAT joy.” Not just small, passing joy, but GREAT joy. But how do we experience this joy amid such sorrow?

I recently lost my brother after a long battle with cancer. Watching him suffer and feeling helpless at times, I questioned how I could find joy in the midst of such loss. My faith was tested, and my endurance stretched thin. But in those moments, the words of James 1:2-3 began to come alive for me.

In the darkest hours, I found unexpected glimpses of grace. Neighbors knocked on my door. Prayers flooded in. Friends and family, who had also faced loss, walked alongside me, connecting with my pain. They understood. Their own grief had opened their hearts, enabling them to be present with mine.

I began to realize that GREAT joy wasn’t the absence of grief, it was the assurance that God was showing up in the midst of it. He was present in the prayers, in the support, in the small acts of kindness. My grief became a pathway to encounter God’s peace, His love, and His strength. My wounds were still raw, but in them, I found a deeper understanding of who God is. Our scars become part of our story, and God gently guides us forward.

Each time my faith was tested, and my endurance felt exhausted, I only had to reach out, and God had someone there to hold my hand. Through this, I began to understand what it truly means to experience GREAT joy in hardship. We are not exempt from life’s pain, but in those moments, we can still find God with us, walking beside us.

Life is full of stop signs, moments that signal us to slow down, pause, and reflect. They exist to protect us and to help us prepare for what comes next. But too often, we rush through, doing what I call a "rolling stop"-slowing down only slightly, but never fully pausing. We numb the pain, hoping it will fade, but it catches up eventually. The stop signs are there to remind us that it’s okay to mourn, to sit in the grief, and to reflect.

During my own stop signs, I reflected on who I was as a sister and how my role in my family had shifted. I also thought about those who stayed with me, who walked through my grief with me. The people who stayed through it all reminded me that even in the darkest times, we don’t walk alone.

In many ways, life requires us to honor these stop signs, to pause, reflect, and make sure we’re ready to move forward. And in those pauses, even in our deepest sorrow, we begin to see the presence of God, in our family, our community, our friends, and our church. It is in these stop signs that we find GREAT joy. It’s when we slow down that we see how God is showing up, helping us navigate through every trial, every challenge, and every moment of grief.

And that, my friend, is the GREAT joy: knowing that, no matter how overwhelming the pain feels, His presence is unwavering, He remains faithful, guiding us through every stop, every trial, every heartache, every obstacle and every moment of uncertainty…He is there with us every step of the way on our journey toward healing.

by Omaira Gonzalez

tragedy

faith

spiritual

Language English