Walking the Line Between Righteous Anger and Divine Peace: A Journey Through Family Conflict and Faith

There are few things more painful than feeling betrayed or abandoned by those we expect to stand by us—especially when those people are family. When the ones who should show compassion instead show cruelty or apathy, the hurt cuts deep. It stirs up a powerful and often confusing sense of anger, and as a person of faith, that anger feels especially complex. In these moments, I find myself wondering: How do I handle this? How do I honor my faith while still standing up for what is right?


The Bible is full of stories of righteous anger, a kind of holy fire that propels people to take action in the face of injustice. I’ve found strength in the story of Joshua, who courageously followed God's commands to take the Promised Land, despite the overwhelming odds and the moral weight of the mission. In my life, my family has been a constant source of tension and frustration as I try to care for my father in his time of need. Watching some of my family members turn their backs on him and treat him poorly feels not only wrong but profoundly unjust.

This isn’t just anger—it's a deep, relentless feeling that cries out for justice. It makes me want to lash out and force them to see the pain they’re causing. And yet, my faith reminds me that there's a line between justice and vengeance, one that is easy to blur when our hearts are hurting.


One of the most challenging aspects of faith is the call to leave ultimate justice to God. It’s hard to feel such strong emotions, knowing that God promises to deal with those who act with cruelty, but also requires us to forgive and find peace. This isn’t a passive peace, nor does it mean we ignore wrongdoing. Instead, it means that while we work toward justice, we release the bitterness and allow God to guide our actions.

In Romans 12:19, we’re told, "Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God's wrath." It’s a call to let go of the need to personally deliver judgment, to trust that God sees and that His justice will prevail. But this doesn’t mean silence; it doesn’t mean ignoring the pain or accepting mistreatment. Instead, it’s an invitation to choose our battles carefully, guided by love and truth.


What I’ve learned in this journey is that faith doesn’t call us to be passive or weak; it calls us to be strong in ways that often seem contradictory to the world. Choosing to trust God’s justice requires us to walk with integrity, to speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, and to defend the dignity of our loved ones. But it also requires humility, the willingness to say, "I’ll do my part, and I’ll let God handle the rest."

This doesn’t mean the anger simply fades away—it may not. Instead, I’m learning to channel that anger into action, to ensure that my father’s needs are met, and to draw boundaries that protect him. Rather than being consumed by bitterness, I’m using my energy to create change, letting God guide me through each step of this challenging path.


Just as Joshua led his people with unwavering courage, I feel called to stand up for what is right. But the weapons of this battle aren’t ones of vengeance or cruelty; they’re ones of prayer, patience, and perseverance. They’re found in creating space for honest conversations and, if necessary, separating myself from those who choose pettiness over love.

This journey isn’t about winning against those who hurt us, but about finding peace within ourselves, knowing that we’ve acted with integrity. Forgiveness, when it comes, will be a gift from God, a reflection of His grace working through me. Until then, I’ll keep praying, keep acting, and keep trusting that God’s justice will prevail.

If you’re going through something similar, know that your anger isn’t wrong. It’s a natural response to injustice and cruelty. But remember, as I’m trying to remind myself, that our faith gives us a choice. We can either let that anger consume us, or we can turn it into a force for good, a force that stands up for what is right without losing sight of God’s love and ultimate justice.

When "Not Enough" Feels Like Too Much: A Reflection on Grace and Growth

Lately, I’ve been caught in a cycle of thinking I’m not doing enough. It’s a recurring thought, a nagging voice that tells me I should be doing more, achieving more, managing better. But every time I sit down and really take stock of my life, I realize something: I am doing enough, more than enough.

I’m working a full-time job while also balancing a part-time one. I have a dog who depends on me for care and love, and tomorrow, I’ll be starting my dual master's program—a journey that will demand even more of my time and energy. On top of all that, I’m helping coordinate my dad’s care, even though he’s all the way in Honduras.

Still, that voice sneaks in, whispering, “It’s not enough.” I’ve come to realize that these lies are seeds planted by the enemy, trying to steal my peace and make me feel inadequate. The truth is, I’ve bought into those lies for too long. But there’s another truth—one that’s stronger, deeper, and more powerful.

Through all of this, Jesus has never left my side. Even when I feel overwhelmed or like I’m falling short, He carries me through. In moments of doubt, He reminds me of His grace. He’s the constant presence lifting me up when I think I can’t keep going.

As I prepare to dive into this next chapter—balancing work, school, family, and personal responsibilities—I’m learning to let go of the need to be perfect. I’m learning to trust that where I am right now is exactly where I need to be. I don’t have to strive endlessly or carry the weight of "never enough."

I am enough. Not because of anything I’ve done, but because of who I am in Him. And for that, I am grateful.

When Love Isn't Enough: My Journey in Caring for My Father from Afar

This past week has been one of the hardest in my life. My father, a man who once had so much potential, is now unable to walk, and I’ve found myself thousands of miles away, trying to care for him from a distance. It’s a heartbreaking reality, one I never imagined I’d be facing. Watching someone you love go through physical and emotional suffering, feeling powerless to change their circumstances—it’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

My father has struggled with his health and his own emotional battles for a long time, but seeing him in this state—lying in his own urine and feces, his family indifferent to his situation—has broken something inside me. The helplessness I feel knowing that I can't be there with him is overwhelming. There's a part of me that wants to drop everything, sell all my belongings, and move to Honduras just to take care of him. But then reality hits: I have my own life here, my dog Akira, my responsibilities. How would I provide for us if I gave everything up?

The guilt is crushing. I feel like I should be doing more, but at the same time, I know I’ve already given so much. I’ve found a male nurse to help care for my father, and his cousin has stepped in where he can. But it’s not the same as me being there, holding his hand and making sure he’s cared for the way I know he deserves.

At times, I’ve felt angry—not just at the situation, but at my dad too. It hurts to see that he couldn’t pull himself out of the depression and unhealthy patterns that led him here. I wish things could have been different, that he could have taken the steps to live a more fulfilling life. But I’m learning that this is his journey, not mine. All I can do is love him, support him, and ask God for mercy as he navigates the path he’s on.

And yet, love alone doesn’t seem like enough sometimes. No matter how much I love him, I can’t change his circumstances, and that’s a tough pill to swallow. I’ve had to accept that I can’t fix everything. There are limits to what I can do, and maybe the hardest part is realizing that those limits are okay. I’m learning to forgive myself for not being able to do it all. I’m learning to find peace in knowing that I’m doing the best I can.

This experience has taught me so much about surrender. I can’t control every aspect of my father’s care, and I can’t carry the burden all on my own. I’m trusting the nurse we’ve hired, trusting that his cousin will continue to help where he can. It’s not easy, but I’m learning to let go, little by little.

If there’s anything I hope to share with anyone reading this, it’s that caregiving from afar is an impossible balancing act. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed, to feel like you can’t do enough, and to acknowledge that you have limits. I’m still learning this myself, but I believe that being honest about these struggles can help lighten the load—even if just a little.

I wish I could take this burden from my father, but this is his journey. All I can do is love him and trust that I’ve done all I can.

Slowing Down to Reconnect: Finding Peace in Uncertainty

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on something weighing on my heart. I dislike being misunderstood, but what bothers me even more is the realization that sometimes my approach contributes to that misunderstanding. In those moments, I felt a frustration that I shouldn’t, have because the very person I believe in—Christ—was misunderstood in the most profound way. He was crucified for preaching a truth that wasn’t fully received or grasped by those around Him.

Yet here I am, feeling above it all, as if I shouldn’t be subjected to the same misunderstandings. I often forget that I am called to become more like Christ, not just in what I say or do, but in how I handle these moments of being misunderstood.

I've also been wrapped up in my own struggles recently—my depression, my shortcomings, and the things I lack. I’ve forgotten, in all of this, where God has already taken me from. But then I pause, and I remember. I remember the days and nights I cried for the very things I now have in my life. I may not be where I want to be, but I’m exactly where I need to be. Life has a funny way of slowing us down, of forcing us to reflect and redirect, just when we’re trying to rush through it.

In these moments of reflection, I’m reminded to stop focusing on what’s missing and instead be grateful for how far I’ve come. The road ahead may be unclear, but pressing on—continuing to walk by faith, not by sight—is the only way forward. And maybe that’s all I need to do right now: keep pressing on, trusting that the path will reveal itself as I move forward.

I don’t have all the answers, and I’m not sure exactly what I need to focus on next. But I do know that I must keep going, trusting that God will continue to pave the way, just as He has always done.

Sometimes, in seasons of uncertainty, it’s not about having a clear focus but about staying grounded in faith, allowing space for gratitude, and trusting in the process. It’s a lesson I’m relearning: that there’s beauty in slowing down, in being present, and in trusting that where I am today is exactly where I’m meant to be.

Running From Fear to Faith

This past week, I found myself paralyzed by fear. I couldn’t go to work, trapped in the overwhelming belief that I was going to be fired. It all started when a former coworker reported me to HR over something I wrote. And just like that, fear set in—heavy, suffocating, and relentless.

What’s funny is how familiar this feeling is. I’ve spent much of my life running—not only emotionally but physically too, from country to country. I run because I feel shame, I run because of fear, and mostly, I run because I’m misunderstood. I know I can be what some call a "sandpaper person"—someone who rubs others the wrong way. I don’t deny that. My intentions are always good, but my delivery and approach could use refining.

I’ve always strived to be authentic and honest. And while that sounds admirable, sometimes it comes out as abrasive bluntness that no one really wants to hear. People think I’m bossy, that I want things done my way. Honestly, when I was younger, maybe that was true. But now? Now I just want my experience and point of view to be respected. I want to be heard, not misunderstood.

But here’s what I’m beginning to realize: God is involved in everything I do, say, or experience. I’ve spent so much time trying to make the world see me for who I am, but perhaps God has been trying to show Himself through me. Maybe the world doesn’t need to see me—they need to see Him.

I’ve been so focused on my shortcomings and the distress I feel that I’ve overlooked the supernatural things God has been doing in my life. I keep getting caught up in how people perceive me, how they misunderstand me, but God’s purpose is bigger than my fears, bigger than my shame, and bigger than the people who wish evil upon me.

Like Joseph in the Bible, what others mean for harm, God turns into something good. Time and time again, I’ve seen this truth play out in my life. Every setback, every moment of pain, God has used for a greater good that I couldn’t see at the time.

So to those who doubt me, to those institutions or people who try to stifle me—you’re messing with the wrong person. I am a child of the King, and my life is guided by His purpose, not by the opinions or actions of others.

It’s time to stop running. Not from fear, but toward the faith that God is working in all things, even in the moments that feel like defeat.

Breaking the Status Quo: A Personal Reflection on Identity, Stereotypes, and the Fight for Change

This past weekend was a busy one. Between donating, celebrating my nephew’s birthday, and making time to hang out with new friends, I barely had a moment to myself. As I moved from one activity to the next, I realized how crucial it is to carve out time for myself. Lately, it seems that my own company has become the most important, perhaps because it’s in those quiet moments that I can truly reflect on my experiences and the world around me.

One of the reflections that hit me hard this weekend is how tired I am of the status quo that surrounds me. Whether it’s in the workplace or in my social circles, I see too many people who are afraid to stand up and speak out for themselves. This observation made me think more deeply about my own journey and the challenges I’ve faced—and continue to face—as a Honduran woman living in the United States.

My journey to becoming a U.S. citizen wasn’t easy. I only received my green card in 2018, and by 2023, I proudly became a U.S. citizen. However, even with this achievement, I can’t escape the stigma that society has created about me. You see, because I come from Honduras, there are certain expectations—or rather, lack of expectations—placed upon me. People often don’t expect me to speak multiple languages or to be educated. These assumptions are frustrating and exhausting to deal with on a daily basis.

It’s particularly disheartening because, in many ways, I don’t fit the stereotypical image that people might have. My skin is white, which leads me to wonder: if I were dark-skinned, would the prejudice I face be even worse? In the U.S., prejudice isn’t a one-way street. It works in multiple directions, with minorities often pitted against whites and, even more tragically, minorities pitted against each other.

What’s even more troubling is how deeply ingrained these stereotypes are. The rhetoric that Americans and Europeans have historically created about developing countries—rhetoric used to justify conquest, colonization, and destruction—still permeates our society today. It’s so deeply embedded that many people don’t even realize when they are acting upon these biases.

But here’s the thing: I refuse to let this status quo continue unchallenged. I refuse to be silent in the face of ignorance and prejudice. I believe it’s time for all of us—regardless of our backgrounds—to stand up, speak out, and challenge the stereotypes that hold us back. We need to create a world where people are seen for who they truly are, not where they come from or what they look like.

This is my commitment: to fight against the stereotypes and biases that still exist in our society, and to help create a world where everyone is valued for their unique contributions. It won’t be easy, but change never is. And as I continue on this journey, I hope to inspire others to do the same.

Finding Grace in the Midst of Life’s Challenges

Some days, life seems to show signs of improvement—moments when the weight lifts just a little, and you can finally catch your breath. But then, without warning, you’re reminded of how fragile life truly is. This week has been one of those times for me, a stark reminder of the difficulties that come with having a sick parent far away, especially when you have no close family nearby to lean on.

The struggle is real, and it cuts deep. My heart aches for the power and resources to bring my dad to the United States, to provide him with the care he needs and deserves. I wish I were in a position to do more for my parents, to offer them the security and comfort they have given me throughout my life. Yet, the reality is that I am not there—at least not yet.

This journey has left me feeling misunderstood. For so long, I’ve tried to explain myself, to make others see my heart and my intentions, but the effort often feels futile. At work, I get reprimanded for being too proactive, while at home, I’m told I’m not prudent enough. It’s a constant struggle to be "good enough," and it’s left me wondering if I ever will be.

The truth is, I may never be good enough for everyone, but I know I am good enough for God. That’s a truth I hold onto when the world feels overwhelming. Yet, there’s a part of me that wishes I could blend in more. All my life, I’ve stood out—sometimes for good reasons, other times for reasons I’d rather forget. Now, I find myself just wanting to be invisible, to move through life unnoticed, free from the constant scrutiny and judgment.

But here’s the thing: blending in isn’t my path. I’m learning that it’s okay to stand out, to be different, even if it feels lonely or exhausting. My hope is that God will work in all our hearts, helping us to recognize the immense grace we’ve been given and to extend that grace to others. We all need it, perhaps more than we realize.

Life’s challenges can make us feel isolated, like we’re carrying burdens that no one else can see or understand. But in those moments, I try to remember that I’m never truly alone. God sees me, knows me, and loves me just as I am. My worth isn’t defined by others’ expectations or judgments, but by the grace and love that God offers so freely.

So, if you’re feeling like I am—tired, misunderstood, and yearning for something more—know that it’s okay. It’s okay to rest, to lean on your faith, and to give yourself permission to be human.

You don’t have to carry everything on your own. You are enough, just as you are, and even in the moments when you feel invisible, you are seen and loved by the One who matters most.