I think the creative floodgates have swung wide open.
New blogs.
New lyrics.
New hooks.
My brain has been firing on all cylinders.
It’s how I process what I can’t control.
There’s something about writing—about translating what’s internal into something tangible—that’s been deeply cathartic. My day-to-day work is cerebral… translational, integrative, mentally load-bearing. Constantly thinking, solving, carrying.
But creativity?
It lets me off-load.
It gives me somewhere to put what I’ve been holding.
That’s why I take long drives too.
No noise. No expectations. Just space to process whatever I’m carrying in that moment.
This might sound like I don’t know how to lay my burdens at Jesus’ feet.
That’s not the issue.
It’s not the laying down.
It’s the leaving them there.
Control has always been my default.
My crisis mode.
I’m the eldest—just like my dad. We’re wired the same. We coordinate chaos. We assess, organize, move pieces, and get people where they need to be.
When things fall apart—we step in and steady the room.
It’s what we do.
But this last year…
I’ve stepped back from that role.
I’ve given myself permission to move beyond “holding it all together” and instead… actually feel it. To process. To give voice to what’s happening inside of me instead of immediately managing what’s happening around me.
This year has been about pivoting.
And that pivot brought something I didn’t expect:
Clarity.
Courage.
And a willingness to leap—without trying to control the landing.
Fast forward to yesterday…
Life handed us a brick.
I shouldn’t be surprised. We’ve been here before. I know what this is. I’ve seen God carry us through worse.
And still…
This morning, I felt it creeping back in.
Crisis mode.
Managing. Planning. Moving.
Until I stopped.
I sat on the couch… and pressed pause.
I put on something I created the night before—Hands Open.
And for the first time in a long time…
I didn’t try to fix anything.
I just sat there.
Fully aware of my own limits.
Fully aware of my own human frailty.
There is so much to be grateful for.
I think some of this is the result of prayers I’ve been sowing for months.
So I can’t be upset when God starts moving—
even when it doesn’t look like I expected.
A few days ago, I said I felt a shift coming.
That’s always been true for me…
a quiet knowing before I can explain it.
And here’s what I know with certainty:
God has provided for us—again and again.
He has made a way where there wasn’t one.
He has ordered our steps, opened doors, and aligned conversations in ways that are too intentional to call coincidence.
When I look back over the last few months—
the timing, the people, the alignment…
It’s undeniable.
That’s God.
You might notice I reference my husband, but I don’t speak for him.
That’s intentional.
Not every story is mine to tell.
Ricardo has his own voice—and I leave space for him to use it how and when he chooses.
So we won’t share everything.
Right now, we’re focused on walking this out… and keeping those closest to us informed.
What I can say is this:
Our day shifted in an instant.
From mountaintop… to valley.
And I sense there may be more moments like that ahead.
Big ones. The kind that rearrange everything.
When the news hit, we did what we always do:
We moved.
We built a plan.
Divided and conquered.
Started gathering what we needed to make decisions.
But the truth is…
We don’t fully know what’s coming.
And somehow… that uncertainty doesn’t just bring fear.
It brings something else.
It reminds me of my early twenties.
When we didn’t have it all figured out…
but we got on the road anyway.
Trusting we’d end up where we were meant to be.
This feels like that again.
Only now it’s different.
Now it’s layered with experience.
With perspective.
With a deeper assurance that we are not walking this alone.
Being pushed into new territory is uncomfortable.
It stretches you.
But I’ve learned this:
Uncertainty has a way of reigniting curiosity.
And somewhere along the way…
I had lost that.
But I feel it coming back.
Slowly… I’m being washed in a peace that truly passes understanding.
That doesn’t mean there won’t be moments where it feels heavy—
where I can’t quite hold it together.
But those moments are temporary
I just have to keep going.
One step at a time.
Keep moving.
Keep running my race.
Hands open.
~ Louda
My favorite lines:
There’s a quiet in surrender That I didn’t recognize Not defeat, not giving up Just releasing what’s not mine And it feels unfamiliar Like I’m walking without sight But I’ve never been abandoned So I know I’ll be alrigh I don’t need to force the path I don’t need to see the end If You’re already in it I can walk it as it i
[Intro]
I tried to hold it together… Like I always do [Verse 1] I was gripping tight Like if I held it, it wouldn’t change Like I could keep the outcome If I just stayed the same But life don’t wait for readiness It don’t ask what you need And the tighter that I held it The more it slipped from me [Pre-Chorus] I felt it in the letting go Before I understood it There’s a different kind of strength In not trying to push it [Chorus] So I’m standing here With my hands open Not holding on But not broken I don’t have control But I’m still chosen Learning how to trust With my hands open [Verse 2]
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