From a cherished childhood treat to a symbol of profound personal transformation, peanut butter has always held a special place in my heart. Yet, a recent pivotal experience has deepened this connection, embedding it with layers of meaning far beyond its delicious taste. It’s not merely about a “tiny miracle” that began to mend the fractured pieces within me, but about the profound ways it initiated an unexpected journey of self-discovery and growth. This journey catalyzed a shift in perspective, fundamentally changing who I am and how I interact with the world around me.
Following a moment of clarity, a strong internal nudge affirming my path as a blogger, the “peanut butter story” became one of the very first personal narratives I dared to share publicly, outside the immediate scope of my pregnancy. The act of publishing such an intimate reflection felt utterly terrifying. It was an exposure of my innermost self, a deliberate step into vulnerability that challenged every instinct for self-preservation. Even now, the raw honesty required to lay bare one’s soul online continues to be a daunting endeavor.
To be entirely transparent, that feeling of trepidation persists. Sharing the intricate tapestry of my inner thoughts, raw emotions, exhilarating highs, devastating lows, and deeply personal experiences with a global audience is a colossal undertaking. Each word is a piece of my essence offered up for public consumption and interpretation. So, the question naturally arises: Why? Why embark on such a profoundly vulnerable path?
My sharing isn’t always tethered to culinary delights, though I admit this killer PB BANANA BREAD could certainly be an exception! 🍌 But beyond the delicious recipes, why this radical openness? I am striving with every fiber of my being to fulfill promises I believe were made long before my conscious awareness. We live with the conviction that each of us is endowed with a unique purpose, a divine mission far grander than simply living a “good life” – nice try! 😜 This purpose extends to our own personal evolution and, crucially, to empowering others on their similar paths. It’s about becoming the ‘angel’ for the person silently struggling beside you, the one overlooked by everyone else. How then, am I endeavoring to live this truth?
My commitment to this purpose isn’t confined to the digital realm, though the act of sharing online is undeniably significant. Every single day, I consciously ask for guidance to perceive and acknowledge the guiding hand of the divine in my life. This daily practice is followed by a deliberate effort to articulate these moments, transforming them into sharable insights that might illuminate the path for others during their own periods of darkness. This extends seamlessly into my everyday, tangible life. For instance, every holiday season, my family and I make it a point to cover the grocery bill for the person behind us in line. This tradition blossomed from a simple prayer uttered after the initial “peanut butter story” – a silent vow to ‘pay it forward.’ Initially, it involved leaving a few dollars at the checkout whenever I could. As my blog flourished and reached a wider audience, I felt an even deeper obligation to uphold that promise, to leverage whatever resources came my way for good. This has sometimes meant taking on the entire bill for months at a time. And without fail, each time I perform this act of service, I vividly recall that man’s face – the person for whom this journey of sharing and giving truly began.
I made a conscious decision: I would allow the pain, the trials, and the adversities I faced to forge me into the person I aspired to be, rather than remaining a passive victim of circumstances. The results have been nothing short of amazing. With each act of giving, I silently whisper, “Please, Heavenly Father, I don’t need any blessings in return.” Yet, that ‘stinker’ – yes, He and I have that kind of understanding, and I’m permitted to call Him that 😘😂 – consistently blesses me tenfold, every single time. It’s an overwhelming outpouring that you can never truly repay. The essence of the trial itself, I’ve come to understand, is not about receiving a reward, but about the profound process of becoming. He loves you, He sees you in your struggles and triumphs. So, surrender to His transformative power, and allow Him to shape you into your highest potential.
You know how certain scents – like the peppermint in the movie Anastasia, instantly transporting her back to her grandmother – or the smell of rain conjuring images of home, can stir such potent memories, vividly pulling you back into a specific moment? A particular picture, combined with the echoing sounds it evokes, instantly returns me to that cold, stark doctor’s table. My breathing becomes shallow and heavy, my chest constricts as I type these words. The memories are so sharp, so painfully clear. I remember.
I remember the faint crinkle of the paper beneath me, the soft, even breathing of the nurse beside me, the familiar tightening sensation of the blood pressure cuff (a children’s cuff, routinely used alongside NICU needles and other scaled-down medical equipment because everything else was simply too large for my diminished frame). But above all, I remember the overwhelming, suffocating sound of silence. A silence that spoke volumes, a silence pregnant with unspoken truths and impending news.
In that profound quiet, a shared understanding permeated the room. We all knew. The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air: it was time for another admission. My heart sank, a heavy, leaden weight. I couldn’t bear to return to that place. The thought of being confined there once more, of enduring the familiar routines and the gnawing fear, was unbearable. The stark realization hit me: it would inevitably mean the return of feeding tubes, a life-saving intervention that, in my vulnerable state, felt like a cruel enemy. It was a battle between survival and the crushing weight of my own circumstances.
Then, Dr. Haskett entered the room. His voice was hushed, tender, almost a whisper, as he gently delivered the words, “Carrian, I need to admit you.” In that moment, something inside me irrevocably shattered. The carefully constructed facade of resilience, the fervent declarations of faith – “I have faith! I can overcome! HE can heal me. It won’t be so bad this time because I’ll find the good and hold on” – all of it crumbled into dust. Those affirmations, which had sustained me through so much, were utterly, completely gone for a terrifying moment. There was no fight left, no words, only raw, unrestrained tears. I simply cried.
Through my sobs, I heard him speak to the nurse just outside the room, his voice still gentle but tinged with urgency: “She needs to be admitted right now, she’s having a hard time though, she started crying when I told her.” The weight of my reality pressed in: no stable home, a body wasting away, a precious baby whose ultrasounds revealed concerning heart issues. And now, the hospital. Again. It felt like an inescapable loop of despair. But in the grander tapestry of life, man, that hospital stay was so incredibly worth it for the beautiful, poignant moment Cade captured with our girls on the day I was released. A moment I didn’t truly grasp, whose profound significance didn’t register until years later, when we stood on a stage before thousands of women. Those words, then, were etched permanently into my heart, a testament to enduring love and unforeseen grace.
There we were, bathed in the glow of the stage lights, looking out into the empathetic eyes of a few thousand women. Cade began to recount this story, a narrative that, at first, seemed to wander without a clear destination. Yet, as he spoke, I found myself instinctively swallowing hard, fighting back the rising tide of little sobs threatening to escape on stage. Cade’s words, inspired and brimming with a tender love, resonated with a depth that only a wife could truly witness and comprehend. He painted a picture that forever reframed my perception of my trials, transforming them from meaningless suffering into a profound, purposeful journey.
He continued, explaining that after being discharged from the hospital, we returned home, and I remember starting to cook crepes for our girls. I recall lying on the couch, exhausted, as my husband prepared dinner. Life with young girls, as many parents know, involves A LOT of talking, and that evening was no exception. My daughters, with their innocent yet probing questions, wanted to understand: “Why did Mommy have to be so sick? Why did she have to go to the hospital so much? Why did she have to have tubes in her, and why did they stick her so many times with needles?” ❤️
With a wisdom that pierced through my weariness, Cade tenderly explained to our girls, “Mommy is going through a little bit of a rough time right now. She doesn’t feel very good because of her pregnancy. She’s kind of like crepes.” He paused, letting the analogy sink in. “Right now, when we look at crepe batter, we only see a big bowl of goo, don’t we?” (Thanks a lot, Cade… 😜) “We can’t see its potential. But what happens after Daddy pours this batter into this hot pan?” He gestured to the stove. “It takes a HEATING process, doesn’t it? That heat allows the liquid batter to take shape and form into a delicious, beautiful crepe. Then, and only then, do you get to add Nutella, fresh berries, bananas, and anything else you want to make something truly awesome, something amazing to eat.”
“Mommy is just like this crepe batter,” he continued, his voice filled with unwavering conviction. “Even though she is struggling right now, feeling the heat of her trials, she is really being refined by our Savior. She is going through a process that will make her even better than what she originally started as. She’s not just suffering; she’s BECOMING SOMETHING AMAZING.” Cue all the tears. Was that truly what my husband saw in me? Someone in the midst of becoming something extraordinary? Is that how God and our Savior perceive us in our most vulnerable moments? Do They stand back in awe as we endure our own ‘hot pan’ experiences, cheering us on and witnessing the quiet miracle of transformation, even as all we feel is the intense heat, utterly unaware of the profound change taking place within us?
That moment, oh my gosh, that profound revelation delivered years later on a public stage, those words pierced me to my very soul as undeniable truth. At the time, my multiple hospitalizations seemed to serve no purpose beyond a desperate quest for health. I had pleaded, I had begged to be healed, yet paradoxically, my condition had only worsened. But looking back now, through the lens of Cade’s powerful analogy and the ensuing spiritual insights, I would never, ever change a single part of my story. Every painful moment, every tear shed, was a necessary ingredient in the refining process. And then, abruptly, shattering the reflective silence, the phone rang. It was about the house… a new chapter, another unfolding layer of the intricate, beautiful journey of becoming.