In Gratitude

Thank You, Tuffy!

Tuffy, my golden lab, my companion for nine years, taught me something I’m still learning – how to live in the moment, how to love without conditions, how to be childlike without being self-conscious. His recent passing still feels like disbelief. It still feels like he’s gone to daycare while we’re on vacation.

This is what life is teaching us, I feel – to live like dogs do. Fully present, fully joyful, fully here.

With humans, I can’t be that way. I hold back. I perform. I worry about how I’m perceived. But with Tuffy? I could be silly. I could talk in that voice I use only for dogs, sing songs that made no sense, play games that were just ours. I could sit on the floor with him and forget about everything else.

He brought out the childlike part of me I thought I’d lost.

Tuffy didn’t need me the way I needed him. He was content. Emotionally mature. He trusted me. He didn’t need constant affection or reassurance – he just wanted to be near. I was more of a “Velcro” human to him. I’d put his bed wherever I was working, wherever I was doing things. He slept on his bed. I would just feel happy looking at him and calling out to him every now and then. In response, Tuffy would open his eyes or wag his tail, as if to say he loved me too.

And somehow, that was everything for me.

I remember how excited he’d get when I’d take him for walks, how happy he would be to welcome me every time I opened the front door and walked in. He loved bringing his toys to me and to play with him.

And I remember the last time.

Even when he was in pain – on what would be his last visit to the ER, though we didn’t know it then – he waited for me in the garage. My husband was walking with him toward the car, and I had to go back to get something. Tuffy stopped and turned to look at me. He wouldn’t budge. He turned back, waiting for me, looking out for me despite being in pain. I find that so emotional – his love for me, even in that moment. It was a habit he had. He wanted all family members to walk together with him. Not one ahead, not one behind. He found such joy in that togetherness.

What Tuffy taught me goes beyond the grief. He showed me what it means to live in presence – to find joy in simple things, to simply love, to trust without needing proof, to be fully here in each moment.

That’s the lesson. That’s what I carry forward.

Thank you, Tuffy, for teaching me how to live. For showing me what unconditional love looks like. For bringing out the best, most childlike, most joyful parts of me.

You can never be replaced. You will never be replaced.

I’ll honor you through the choices I make from what you’ve taught me. Somehow every time I think of you, I don’t end up feeling sad – rather a smile, a happiness in how you lived, what you taught us, our beautiful times together.

Thank you, Tuffy, for everything. I love you.

Week 2 Reflections: The Real Talk About Diet Setbacks

A Note About This Delayed Post

I know it’s been weeks since my last update, and I’ve been putting off writing this reflection. Honestly? I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to share this story. I needed time to process what happened and gain some perspective before I could write about it authentically.

I needed the space between my experience and the sharing.

When Life Happens to Your Perfect Plan

It’s Friday, 5:30 PM, and I’m staring at my meal prep containers that have been sitting untouched for two days. The week that started with such good intentions has completely derailed. Sound familiar?

I had it all planned out. Seven days of perfectly portioned meals, every calorie counted, every gram of protein calculated. But then life happened. Family commitments, unexpected plans and suddenly my beautiful meal prep felt more like a burden than a blessing.

The Slippery Slope

For two whole days, I didn’t touch my planned meals. I told myself it was fine – I’d just eat within my calorie goals and focus on protein. How hard could it be?

Day one went okay. I managed to stay somewhat on track, making decent choices even without my prep.

But day two? That’s when things got interesting. I spent time with family, and we went out for a nice meal. I ate what I wanted and finished with a nice ice-cream. It felt good in the moment – freeing, even.

The Harsh Reality Check

By day three, the scale delivered its verdict: up 3 pounds. Three. Entire. Pounds.

All that progress from the previous weeks? Gone. Just like that.

I won’t lie – I was furious. Frustrated doesn’t even begin to cover it. There was this overwhelming sense of failure, like I had let myself down in the worst possible way.

And then came the most dangerous feeling of all: rebellion. I felt angry at my diet plan. Like it was the enemy. Part of me wanted to challenge it by eating even more, just to prove some ridiculous point. Thankfully, I didn’t act on that impulse, but the feeling was real and intense.

The Heart-to-Heart That Changed Everything

It was during a conversation with my coach that everything clicked into place. I was ready to give up, convinced I was a failure at this whole thing.

But my coach helped me see the bigger picture. He reminded me that this journey – especially the calorie deficit phase – requires commitment and discipline. Not perfection, but consistency.

“Think of it this way,” he said. “Right now, you’re changing your body composition through exercise and nutrition. This phase requires focus because you’re literally rewiring your habits and changing your metabolism. Once you reach your goal and these habits become second nature, you’ll have the freedom to be more flexible.”

The Real Learning

This setback taught me something valuable: the goal isn’t to never have off days. The goal is to not let off days become off weeks or off months.

Those 3 pounds? Mostly water weight from restaurant food and higher sodium. Not the end of the world.

The anger and frustration? Normal responses to feeling like I’d lost control.

The desire to rebel against my own goals? A sign that maybe I needed to build in more flexibility from the start.

Moving Forward

I’m choosing to see this as a learning experience, not a failure. Here’s what I’m taking away:

What I learned:
– Meal prep is helpful, but I need backup plans for busy weeks
– Family time and food enjoyment matter too – I need to plan for them
– My emotions around food are still something I’m working on
– Small setbacks don’t erase previous progress

What I’m changing:
– Building in one flexible meal per week
– Having simple backup options for crazy days
– Focusing on getting back on track quickly rather than being perfect
– Remembering that this is a journey, not a sprint

The Reality Check

Even though I’ve gotten back on track these past few days, I’ll be honest – the weight is coming off more slowly than I’d like. Maybe it’s my age, maybe it’s how my body responds, maybe it’s a hundred other factors I can’t control.

But here’s what I’ve decided: I’m going to focus on what I can control. How I fuel my body. How my body feels. Staying consistent with my exercise, whatever I can manage that day.

The scale will do what it does. My job is to show up consistently for myself, trust the process, and celebrate the wins that aren’t measured in pounds – like having more energy, sleeping better, and feeling stronger.

The Miracle of the Heart’s Calling: A True Story of Divine Love

For over a year, I had been feeling this desire to feed the birds. Living in a condo without the possibility of having a bird feeder on my balcony, I felt to go to PetSmart and buy bird food and feed birds outdoors. But I didn’t act upon it – my procrastination got in the way.

Finally, last week, I felt at least this year I should do it and act upon it. And I did it. The idea came to me: why not go to the trees in front of our home, to the little park area where there are trees? Why not feed them there?

I bought a bag of bird food – dried corn, seeds, and peanuts – and began my morning routine of feeding the birds under the trees in the park area in front of our home during my walk with my dog, Tuffy. Watching them come and eat filled me with such joy.

God’s Provision for His Little Ones

This morning, I woke up a bit late and made my way to the trees around 10 AM with my bag of bird food. As I was scattering the seeds on the ground, I noticed a lady walking toward the same tree. We smiled at each other, and she asked, “Do you feed the birds?”

“Yes,” I replied, “I just started doing this recently.”

What she told me next revealed the beautiful miracle unfolding. She had been feeding these same birds for the past year. Right there, in the very tree where I had been placing food on the ground, she had three bird feeders hanging – feeders I had somehow never noticed.

With tears in her eyes, she shared that she was moving away at the end of this month. She was heartbroken thinking about the birds who had come to depend on their daily feeding. Who would take care of them? She couldn’t bear the thought of these little creatures going hungry.

And there I was – having just begun this same calling on the exact same tree, just one week ago.

“Don’t worry,” I told her, “This is taken care of. I will continue feeding them.”

In that moment, I saw so clearly how God orchestrates His care for even the smallest of His creatures. The birds would not go unfed. One instrument was preparing to leave, and another had already been called into place. The same work of love, continuing seamlessly through different hands.

As we talked more, Marianna (she graciously allowed me to share her name and our story) showed me how to properly use the bird feeders. We discovered we had so much in common – both of us believers in listening to God through our hearts, both drawn to the same spiritual language.

I shared with her how there was a time when I felt deeply connected to the trees, when I would hug one particular tree daily, asking it to be my friend and give me strength – to help me become solid and humble like the tree itself, unassuming and non-presumptuous.

She smiled and said “I have a tree I hug every day too.”

How can such connections be mere coincidence?

Reflections on Divine Orchestration

This whole experience revealed such a beautiful truth to me. It’s not about me or Marianna at all – it’s about God’s tender care for these little birds. They needed to be fed, and He made sure they would be.

One instrument was preparing to leave, and another had already been prepared and placed. The same work of love continuing through different hands. How perfectly He orchestrates!

This experience reinforced what I believe: that God takes care of everything. When we stay in the moment and listen to what our heart is telling us – we become part of His plan. This is what matters most to me: trusting that God handles everything, that He knows everything, and that He is as close as we can imagine, even beyond that.

It’s important to remember and remind ourselves that this is not something we are doing – or to feel great about it. It’s humbling to realize and feel that we are just instruments in God’s hands, just as Marianna was His instrument for the past year. The birds’ needs never go unmet because God sees them, cares for them, and provides for them through willing hearts.

This is the miracle: not the human connection, but the divine provision. God’s seamless care for His creatures, ensuring that the food these birds depend on continues to come, day after day, through whoever He calls to serve. And in this calling, we discover the most intimate relationship of all – with the One who knows everything, who orchestrates everything, who is closer than close.

Thank You, God

Thank you, Marianna, for listening to your Heart and feeding these birds so lovingly, and for helping me see how beautifully God provides for His creation.

And thank you, God, for using us both in Your perfect plan to care for these little ones. Thank you for showing me that even the birds are not forgotten, and that You make sure they are fed through willing hearts.

The miracle isn’t in human connections – it’s in Your seamless, tender care for every living creature. How amazing that You would call me to continue this sweet work of feeding Your birds.

But it’s not just the birds who are taken care of. God’s love is so complete that everyone is taken care of. Marianna and I are both filled with joy, gratitude and trust in You.

Every time we hear God’s voice in our heart and act upon it, we are transformed. When we become His instruments and don’t claim responsibility for ourselves, we are changed in the humblest way. God’s love transforms everyone who is touched by it – it transforms everything connected to it.

Sometimes the most profound truths are revealed in the simplest acts: that God sees, God cares, and God provides – even for the smallest sparrow.

Grateful for Amma’s Visit

These past few months with Amma have been precious. Living far from India for 25 years, each visit feels like a cherished chapter in our story.

Amma has taught me some of life’s most valuable lessons. During my college years, when I was particularly affected by others’ opinions, her wisdom shaped who I became. She taught me to stay rooted in my convictions and not let others’ comments shake my belief in myself. Her quiet strength and unwavering trust in me became my foundation, making it easy to share everything with her during that time.

What has always amazed me is her capacity to forgive and understand. In my younger years, I watched in awe at how she could forgive so easily and deeply empathize with others. I often wondered, “How could I ever be like her?” Now, to my surprise, I find myself naturally embracing these same qualities. Her way of leading by example has shaped me in ways I’m only now beginning to recognize.

I feel deeply blessed when I think about how she has been there for every important moment in my life—traveling to stay with me during both my pregnancies, helping us when the children were toddlers, and now, despite her own challenges, making the long journey to be with us again. Her love shines through in the simplest of ways: the healthy meals she lovingly prepares, her quiet support, and her calm, reassuring presence.

This visit has been particularly special. Watching her bond with my children grow deeper has been a joy. Their faces light up in her presence as they laugh at her playful commentary during our evening TV shows. I loved seeing her smile, hearing her soft teasing, and even her strong opinions on the little things—it’s all so endearing and uniquely Amma. Working from home allowed us to spend more time together—simple, everyday moments that have become cherished memories. Whether we were laughing over my teasing, sharing meals she made with love, or talking about everything and nothing, these are the moments I’ll treasure forever.

Since my father’s passing, we have each navigated our own grief, but our love for one another has been a constant source of strength. Now, seeing her happiness, hearing her laughter, and watching her shower her grandchildren with the same unconditional love she gave me fills my heart with gratitude.

Living far from home makes these moments even more meaningful. Amma left for India today, and as the house feels quieter, I’m reminded of how precious our time together truly is. Living away has taught me to appreciate my loved ones even more, especially as we grow older and gain perspective. I feel truly blessed for her visit, for her love, and for the time we shared. These moments, though fleeting, leave a lasting warmth in my heart and remind me of what matters most.

Our Faithful Van – A Story of Gratitude

Some relationships in life come unexpectedly—like the one with our Toyota Sienna van, which joined our family just a month after our son was born in 2006. For eighteen years, it has been more than just a vehicle; it has been a silent witness to our family’s journey.

Today, as we prepare to say goodbye to our faithful van, memories flood back: the first ride home with our newborn, countless family trips, school runs, and daily adventures. It carried our whole family, our visiting parents, our dog, creating memories across generations. While cleaning it for its final journey to the dealership, we stumbled upon hidden treasures: our children’s old artwork, tucked away in unexpected corners. These small finds spoke volumes, each reflecting our family’s shared moments over the years.

Through accidents, dents, and scratches, the van kept going, serving us tirelessly without complaint. Now, the service technician has told us it’s time to let it go; it can no longer be serviced due to its age. Hearing this made us reflect on how much the van had quietly given to our family over the years.

What touches me most is how every member of our family shares this sentiment of thankfulness. Our children, too, felt emotional about saying goodbye to the van – a constant presence in their lives. It’s a poignant reminder that true value isn’t found in the newest or most luxurious possessions, but in the faithful companions that journey with us through the years.

I am profoundly grateful to our Creator for teaching us contentment, to appreciate what serves us well without constantly yearning for something better or more extravagant. This sense of joy and gratitude is a gift that our entire family naturally embraces, and it fills me with peace.

This experience has taught me to cherish not just the people in our lives, but also the things that faithfully serve us. Anything that serves us and brings us happiness, no matter how simple or unassuming, is a blessing. Just as we value relationships with people, there is beauty in honoring the objects that quietly support us day after day, becoming part of our life’s story.

My Friend Who Taught Me to Choose Joy

I met Shobana in seventh grade, and something about her drew me instantly. Despite life’s challenges, she had this remarkable way of making everyone around her smile. Her energy was infectious – she could light up any room she entered.

She has this incredible gift for humor – it’s not just what she says, but how she says it. Her perfect timing, those deliberate pauses, the way she uses her expressions and gestures – she can make anyone burst into laughter. Even the simplest story becomes hilarious when she tells it.

She created her own style, wearing her father’s loose shirts with confidence, starting trends instead of following them. She was always surrounded by friends, both boys and girls, drawn to her natural warmth and authenticity.

Back then, my world felt heavy. Growing up in a home where anxiety and stress seemed to linger in the air, I struggled with low confidence and craved love and attention. While I found it hard to make friends, with Shobana, friendship came easily. We spent hours in mindless chatter and laughter. Those were simpler times – I would just hop on my bicycle and ride to her apartment whenever I wanted to see her.

Being an only child, she turned her whole apartment complex into a family. She had this gift of making instant connections with strangers, calling them brother or sister, making them feel like family or old friends. People who had never met her before would find themselves comfortable in her presence within minutes.

I admired everything about her. Sometimes I felt silently possessive of our friendship, but I never showed it – perhaps because I understood that trying to contain her joy would only diminish it. Looking back, that might have been my first lesson in unconditional love.

We remain best friends to this day, and I still feel the same wonder and gratitude about our friendship. Through her, I learned some of life’s most valuable lessons – how to keep things light, how to greet strangers with warmth, and most importantly, how to choose happiness despite life’s challenges. She was a blessing in my young life, and continues to be one, silently guiding me toward joy just by being who she is.

Our friendship taught me that true beauty lies in how we make others feel, and what a blessing it is to have someone in your life who can still make you laugh like you’re in seventh grade.

Simply by being herself, she showed me something precious – that keeping things light and finding reasons to laugh felt so much better than carrying the weight of worry and sadness. She taught me that having a sense of humor isn’t just about making jokes – it’s a way of moving through life, of finding lightness in ordinary moments, of transforming everyday situations into occasions for joy. This gift of seeing life through a lens of humor continues to remind me that there’s always room for laughter, always a way to lighten the heart, always a moment worth celebrating with a smile.

The Yoga Mat

This happened years ago during a difficult time in my life. That morning, work situations and family tensions had left me feeling particularly low. When I walked into the yoga studio, my mind was clouded with doubt about many things, even wondering if there was any point in trying to be good anymore.

I settled into my usual spot, trying to quiet my troubled thoughts. That’s when something unexpected happened.

The studio owner came over holding a yoga mat – the same one I had looked at the week before but hadn’t bought, knowing it was more than I could spend. She simply handed it to me with a smile, saying she wanted me to have it.

I stood there, surprised by her gesture. There was no special occasion, no reason for her to do this. She had simply noticed something that would make me happy and decided to give it.

Something shifted in that moment. Her simple kindness reminded me of the good that quietly exists in everyday life. It wasn’t dramatic or showy – just one person choosing to be kind because they could.

I walked home that day feeling different. The same problems were still there, but they felt lighter somehow. That small gift had helped me remember that even in difficult times, unexpected kindness can appear, helping us find our way forward again.