Sunday, 11 May 2025

What Is Your 90-Day Fiancé?

  

What Is Your 90-Day Fiancé?

Have you ever sat down on a quiet evening, perhaps with a warm drink in hand, the chaos of the day behind you, and clicked “play” on a show like 90 Day Fiancé? I have. More times than I can count, actually. And let me tell you, I don’t just watch that show—I observe it. I watch with my heart, my mind, my experience, and yes, sometimes a twinge of sadness too.

90 Day Fiancé is more than entertainment to me. It’s a mirror. A fast-paced, edited-down glimpse into something much bigger: our deep human desire to be chosen, to be loved, to be safe. We all want to be the exception to the rule. We want to believe that someone will fly across the world for us, risk their whole life just to start a new chapter with us. That kind of love feels thrilling, almost holy. But then... why doesn’t it last?

It’s not just the time limit. It’s not just the visa. And it’s not just the cultural gaps or language barriers or meddling in-laws. No, I believe it’s because the foundation was never properly built in the first place.


Love on a Timer

The idea of falling in love in 90 days is romantic, right? A whirlwind journey of connection, risk, and commitment. And for some, that story ends in a lifetime of happiness. But for many—too many—it ends with heartbreak, arguments, legal complications, and wounds that sometimes don’t heal for years.

So what is the real issue?

Let me offer you this: it’s not about the 90 days. It’s about what those 90 days represent. A countdown. A pressure cooker. A timeline too short to build something that was always meant to take longer. The best relationships aren’t microwaved. They’re slow cooked. They’re rooted in patience, humility, trust, and faith—not in deadlines.


The Hope We All Carry

I get it. I do. I’ve hoped like that too. Hoped that the next person would be the person. Hoped that this time, things would be different. That someone would finally see me for who I am and love me through it. That the loneliness would melt away the moment their plane landed. That finally, my life would feel full.

But sometimes, the person who walks off that plane isn’t sent by God. Sometimes, they’re just someone passing through your story—and it hurts deeply when we realize that.

The hard truth is, many of these couples on the show fall in love with the idea of love more than they fall in love with the person in front of them. And when reality sets in—when money runs low, when the language barriers become arguments, when families clash or dreams don’t match—they fall apart. Because the fantasy couldn’t hold up under the weight of real life.


Love Without Foundation Crumbles

This isn’t just a TV show observation. This is a life principle. Without a foundation, anything can look good for a season, but it won’t stand the test of time.

Think about what Jesus taught in Matthew 7:24-27. He talked about the wise man who built his house on the rock. The rains came, the winds blew, but that house stood firm. Why? Because of the foundation. But the foolish man built his house on sand. And when the storm came, that house fell with a great crash.

I see a lot of relationships—on TV, in my life, in my community—that are built on sand. On chemistry. On loneliness. On attraction. On convenience. And when the storms of life come—and they will come—that relationship crashes down.

What if instead of rushing to find “the one,” we took the time to build our own foundation first?


The Pain That Follows

What’s worse than being alone? Being worse off than when you were alone.

When these relationships end, there’s emotional pain—yes. But also legal stress, financial loss, betrayal, and shame. You risked it all for love, and it didn’t pan out. And now you feel like a fool. But let me stop you right there: you’re not a fool.

You’re just human. A human with a heart that longs for connection. A human that wanted to be loved.

Don’t let one broken relationship—or even ten—harden your heart to the possibility that God has someone beautiful prepared for you. Just make sure you’re building your heart’s house on the rock this time. Not on fantasy. Not on lust. Not on desperation. On the rock.


So What Do We Do Now?

We do the work that nobody sees.

We heal.

We pray.

We build a life so full and grounded in God that anyone who comes in is simply joining what is already good.

And when you’re strong in your faith, rooted in your purpose, and sure of who you are in Christ—you won’t be looking for someone to complete you. You’ll be looking for someone to partner with you. Someone to build with. Someone who doesn’t just spark your heart—but strengthens your spirit.

 

The Person God Wrote for You

Let me ask you a question I’ve had to ask myself lately—do you believe God has already written someone into your story?

Now, I know that can stir up all kinds of feelings. If you're single, it might feel like hope. If you're divorced, maybe it feels like regret. And if you're in a relationship that’s testing your limits, maybe it feels like confusion. But the deeper truth here is this: God does write people into our story. He’s the Author of life, after all. But we still have to turn the pages with discernment, with patience, and with faith.

I don’t think we “miss” the person God has for us by accident. I believe we miss them when we ignore His voice. When we try to speed up the timeline. When we choose someone based on feelings instead of foundations. When we lean on emotion instead of wisdom. That’s when we start handing out permanent places in our hearts to people who were only meant to be in a single chapter.

And friend, it’s not that God is punishing us—it’s that He wants us to stop settling for less than His best.


The Pressure to Succeed

Now back to the 90-day thing for a moment. Can you imagine the pressure of trying to prove your entire worth, value, compatibility, and future potential—all in three months?

Think about it: these couples are under the spotlight. Some of them are leaving everything behind: their family, their culture, their jobs, their language, and sometimes even their dignity. And for what? For a relationship that they hope is real. For a dream that maybe love can finally conquer all. But pressure like that crushes people. It doesn’t build them up. And when you add social media to the mix? Forget it.

Suddenly, the relationship isn’t even about the two people anymore. It’s about likes, opinions, comments, and brand deals. It’s about followers who pick sides when things get rough. It's not two hearts becoming one—it’s two hearts performing on a stage.

That’s not marriage. That’s performance art. And that kind of love doesn’t last.


Let’s Talk About Social Media

Social media is one of the biggest culprits here. It convinces us that love should look perfect, glossy, and presentable. We scroll and see proposals in Paris, wedding videos edited like movie trailers, and couples laughing over lattes on cobblestone streets. What we don’t see is the disagreement that happened before the camera turned on. Or the financial stress. Or the long talks that didn’t end in understanding. Or the tears shed in private while the world still “likes” your last post.

We start to believe that if our love doesn’t look like that, it must be wrong.

But real love? It’s not always Instagrammable. Sometimes, it looks like someone folding your laundry. Sometimes it’s a quiet prayer when you’re sick. Sometimes it’s forgiving each other after a hard conversation. And yes, sometimes it's sitting side by side in silence, both choosing not to walk away.

You won’t find that kind of love trending. But you will find it in people who’ve chosen to build their lives on something deeper than validation from strangers.


Let’s Go Deeper: Emotional Roots

Another thing I see in these failed 90-day relationships—and maybe in some of our own—is that the emotional roots don’t go deep enough.

It’s easy to fall in love with someone’s accent, their laugh, their sense of adventure. But what happens when the real stuff hits? When someone loses their job. When your savings dry up. When one person wants kids and the other doesn’t. When religion, family, and lifestyle differences become loud?

Without deep emotional roots—mutual respect, aligned values, shared vision, and a strong spiritual center—those relationships get pulled up like weeds in a windstorm. It doesn’t matter how pretty the flower looks if it’s never been rooted in good soil.

Love has to be planted deep. It has to be watered with time, truth, transparency, and trust. If it isn’t—no matter how beautiful it starts—it won’t survive.


God’s Version of Love

Let’s come back to the foundation.

If we want to build a love that lasts, we have to go back to the source of love itself. God. Not culture. Not movies. Not our own desires.

In 1 Corinthians 13, we’re reminded what real love is: patient, kind, not self-seeking, not easily angered, keeps no record of wrongs. Love that rejoices with the truth. Love that protects, trusts, hopes, and perseveres.

Do you know what that kind of love requires?

Work. Grace. Forgiveness. Humility. Surrender.

And yes, it requires faith. Not just in the other person—but in God.

That’s why I say: don’t just look for chemistry. Look for someone you can go to war with—in prayer, in hardship, in ministry, in family. Look for someone who’s willing to do the foundation work with you.


If You're Still Waiting…

If you’re reading this and you’re still single—can I just say something that might be hard to hear but is full of truth?

You are not behind. You are not broken. And you are not forgotten.

Don’t believe the lie that says your singleness is a sign of failure or punishment. Sometimes it’s a sign of protection. Sometimes it’s preparation. Sometimes, it’s so God can grow you into the person your future spouse needs. Not just the person they want.

While you wait, build your foundation. Heal from past relationships. Learn your worth in Christ. Learn how to communicate. Learn how to listen. Learn how to serve. Learn how to love without losing yourself.

Because when God writes someone into your story, you’ll want to be ready—not desperate.


And If You’re Already Married…

If you’re married and reading this thinking, “We didn’t build a strong foundation,” let me encourage you. It’s not too late. God is a master builder—even in homes with cracks.

Start where you are. Pray together. Have the hard conversations. Set new boundaries. Go to counseling. Relearn each other. Say “I’m sorry.” Say “I forgive you.” Say “I still choose you.”

And most importantly—invite God into your marriage. Not just for the Sunday mornings, but for the Tuesday night arguments. For the budget meetings. For the bedtime prayers. For the parenting decisions. For the seasons where love feels more like work than romance.

With Him, nothing is impossible.


Closing the Chapter—But Not the Book

So here’s what I leave you with:

What is your 90-day fiancé?

Is it a rushed relationship? A job you jumped into too fast? A decision made out of pressure instead of prayer?

We all have a “90-day” story—something we wanted so badly that we skipped the slow build and jumped into. And maybe it worked. But maybe it left you more broken than before.

But that doesn’t mean you’re finished. It means you’re being formed. And there’s grace for that.

There’s a better story being written. And it’s not a reality show. It’s reality—when you give the pen back to God.

Keep the faith. Stay rooted. Build well. Because when the right one comes—and I believe they will—you won’t need 90 days. You’ll just need trust, time, and a solid foundation.

And that, my friend, will stand the test of time.

When You’re Tired but Still Trying: A Crossroads with God

When You’re Tired but Still Trying: A Crossroads with God

Have you ever followed God so faithfully that you’d swear you were walking exactly in His will… only to look around one day and realize you’re standing in the rubble of something you thought He built with you?

That’s where I’m at right now. And to be honest, I don’t even want to dress it up with spiritual language today. I just want to be real. Not perform. Not posture. Just share.

Because maybe someone else reading this feels the same way.


The Blessing I Carried

For the past few years, I’ve been carrying a blessing. A growing business. And not just growing for the sake of success, but one that truly let me care for others. I’ve been able to support my aging parents, provide for myself with dignity, and give to others when needs have come up. That alone is a huge gift—one I never take lightly.

I genuinely thought I was honouring God through it. Every decision I made, every client I served, every seed I planted—it all felt like it was in line with what God wanted me to do. I wasn’t trying to build a kingdom of my own. I was trying to build something for His. That’s what I told myself. That’s what I believed.

So when the time came to grow—to bring others into this mission, to expand the reach, to create a team that could carry this mantle further—I stepped forward boldly. Confidently. Prayerfully.

And then it crumbled. Twice.


Two Tries, Two Failures

You don’t need all the details. But I brought people in who I thought were the right fit. People who, at least for a moment, felt aligned with the bigger picture of what I thought God wanted to do through this business.

But both times, it didn’t last.

It’s not even about blame. It’s not about who was right or wrong. All I know is that what I tried to build with them fell apart. Fast. What I hoped would be a ministry disguised as a marketplace felt more like a lesson in heartache. And now I sit here, wondering if maybe I got the whole thing wrong.

What if I’m not supposed to do this?

What if this business, which once felt like a calling, has become something I’ve just been trying to keep alive out of pride?

What if this is God’s way of saying, “You’ve gone far enough. This is the end of this road.”


I’m So Tired

I don’t say this lightly: I’m tired.

Not physically—I mean spiritually. Emotionally. Soul-level tired. You know the kind. The kind where even prayer feels like a struggle. Where reading the Word doesn’t light you up the way it used to. Where you second-guess everything you’ve ever thought you heard from God, because the fruit you’re seeing doesn’t look anything like the promise you believed.

This isn’t just disappointment—it’s disorientation.

I used to be so sure. I used to wake up with vision. With direction. With a clear sense of what needed to be done and why. But now? Now I’m unsure of everything except that I’m unsure.

And it hurts.


Have You Ever Been Here?

So I’m asking you now, reader. Yes, you. Have you ever been here?

Have you ever taken a step you felt God asked you to take, only to have it backfire completely?

Have you ever walked away from a stable path to follow a whisper, only to have that whisper lead you straight into a storm?

If so, then you know this ache. This shaking of the foundations. This desperate desire to rewind the clock and somehow do it differently. But also, underneath all that… the quiet hope that maybe—just maybe—this isn’t the end. That maybe God’s still here, even in the failure.


Where Is God in the Failure?

That’s the real question, isn’t it?

Not, “Why did this fail?” but “Where is God in this failure?”

It’s easy to believe He’s with us when things are growing, when team members thrive, when expansion feels inevitable. But when things fall apart? When the people you trusted disappoint you? When your own leadership comes into question? That’s when faith gets real.

And honestly… this is where I’m struggling.

Because I’ve always believed that God doesn’t waste pain. That even the messiest chapters can be redeemed. But in the thick of it, it’s hard to see that. Right now, I’m not seeing beauty from ashes. I’m just seeing ashes.


What Do I Do Now?

That’s my question. My prayer. My journal entry. My cry in the dark.

What do I do now?

Do I rebuild?

Do I pivot?

Do I quit?

Do I shrink things back down and just hold on tight to what’s left?

Or do I take the biggest leap of all—another step into the unknown, trusting that somehow, even though I feel like I’m failing, God is still writing something with my life?

I don’t have the answer.

But maybe the Holy Spirit does.


This Is Me, Asking

You know how usually when you’re stuck, someone recommends a book? Or a podcast? Or a retreat?

But not today.

Today, I’m not the one writing the answers. I’m asking you.

What has the Holy Spirit whispered to you as you read these words?

I don’t mean what would you say to me if we were sitting across the table. I mean deep down—has anything stirred? Has anything risen up inside of you as you walked through this valley with me?

Because maybe, just maybe, the answer I need isn’t in a book I haven’t read yet… maybe it’s in your story. In your pain. In your redemption. In your God.


A Time to Rebuild or a Time to Rest?

There’s a verse in Ecclesiastes that’s echoing in my mind: “There is a time to build and a time to tear down.”

That’s what I’m wrestling with.

Was the tearing down that happened this year part of God’s plan? Or was it a result of my own missteps?

Is now a time to rebuild—with new wisdom, new boundaries, and new discernment?

Or is now a time to rest—to pull back, to let the soil heal before planting again?

I don’t know.

I really don’t.

But I trust that God does.

And I’m asking Him to speak.


I Still Believe… Even If

Even in the doubt, I still believe.

Even in the silence, I still seek.

Even in the confusion, I still worship.

Why? Because at the end of the day, I’m not in this business for a paycheck or for praise—I’m in this because I wanted to serve. To provide. To glorify God through my work. And while I may have fumbled the details, I know my heart started out right.

Maybe yours did too.

And maybe, like me, you’re wondering what to do when your best effort wasn’t enough.


Maybe the Answer Isn’t Doing

Maybe the answer right now isn’t doing anything.

Maybe the answer is just sitting in God’s presence and letting Him speak.

Letting Him remind you that your worth doesn’t come from the team you manage or the profit you earn. That you are still His. Still chosen. Still called.

And maybe what He wants most right now isn’t a plan—but surrender.


To the One Who Feels Beat Up

If you feel like you’ve failed, like you’re at the end of yourself, I want to say this to you:

You are not alone.

I’m with you.

God is with you.

And even when it feels like everything is falling apart, something holy is happening. You may not see it yet. You may not feel it. But faith isn’t about feelings. It’s about holding on.

So hold on.

Even if your grip is weak. Even if all you can do is whisper, “Jesus, help.”

That’s enough.

He’s enough.


A Final Prayer

God, I don’t know what comes next.

I don’t know why this hurts so much.

But I trust You still.

I trust that You’re not done with me.

I trust that even in failure, there’s purpose.

I ask for wisdom. For healing. For courage.

Show me what to do, Lord.

And if doing isn’t the point—if just being with You is what You want—then help me rest in that.

Help me believe again.

Help me begin again.

Amen.

The Ice Cream Cone That Taught Me How to Write

  

The Ice Cream Cone That Taught Me How to Write

Have you ever had someone believe in you before you even knew who you were?

Usually, when I write, I come from a place of skepticism—call it observation, call it realism, maybe even self-preservation. But not today. Today is my Sabbath. And I say that with the deepest respect to all believers, not as some badge or checklist but as a breath—a pause in the chaos. A chance to just be.

There’s something sacred about letting the world go quiet for a moment, isn’t there? No deadlines. No pressure to impress. No need to make a point or sound wise. Just rest. And if you're like me, rest doesn’t come easy. My brain’s usually running a marathon while my body’s just trying to walk the dog. But here I am, doing my best to stop and breathe—and maybe, while I do that, invite you into a story. A story that changed my life.

Because sometimes, it’s okay not to have a conclusion. Sometimes it’s okay just to remember and to share. So, if you’ll allow me, I want to go back—to a time before I had any idea who I was or what I was capable of. Back to grade school. Back to a small classroom with dusty chalkboards and a woman who believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself.


A Boy Who Couldn't See

Let me set the stage: I didn’t like school.

I mean, I wasn’t bad at being a kid—I just didn’t get excited about books or writing or anything that involved sitting still. There was one major reason for that: I couldn’t see. Literally. I didn’t know it then, and apparently neither did my parents—not because they didn’t care, but maybe they were just busy or didn’t want to admit it. Glasses weren’t exactly cool, especially not back then. Glasses meant something was wrong. And in a world where kids can be ruthless, being “different” wasn’t something any of us wanted.

So, there I was—squinting at the chalkboard, falling behind, and feeling like maybe school just wasn’t for me. The truth was, I had already given up before I even knew what giving up meant. I didn’t think I was smart. I didn’t think I had anything to offer. And then came Mrs. Dorland.

Now, if you’ve followed any of my writing before, you’ve probably heard me talk about people who don’t see their own gift. People walking around with treasure buried so deep inside them they mistake it for emptiness. I’ve written about that because I’ve lived that. And I almost stayed that way… until Mrs. Dorland changed everything.


The Ice Cream Club

Here’s how it started.

Mrs. Dorland noticed I didn’t like to read or write. She probably noticed a lot of things—that I couldn’t see the board, that I rarely raised my hand, that I wasn’t all that excited about school. But she didn’t come at me with lectures or punishments or warnings about my future. No. She came at me with… ice cream.

She started a reading program—The Book Club, she called it. The deal was simple: read ten books, write a short report on each one, and you’d earn an ice cream cone of your choice. I know this might sound silly to some, but to a kid like me, that was a golden ticket. Food was a language I understood. Bribery? Maybe. But it worked. And I dove in.

I read books I never would have touched before. I wrote pages about what I learned. And let me tell you—those ice cream cones? They tasted better than anything I’d ever earned. Each one wasn’t just a reward. It was a sign that I could do something. A sign that I wasn’t dumb or lazy or behind. I just needed someone to believe in me.

And here’s the thing—at the time, I thought I was working for ice cream. But now, looking back, I realize I was discovering a gift. One page at a time, I was learning how to tell a story. And not just any story—my story.


The Gift That Was Always There

You know what’s funny? Mrs. Dorland never told me I was a good writer. Not directly. She didn’t shower me with praise or hand out gold stars. She just kept handing me the next book, encouraging me to finish the next report. She was steady. Quiet. Consistent. And somehow, in her quiet way, she was planting something in me that would grow for decades to come.

She didn’t try to change me—she simply gave me space to become who I already was.

I think about that a lot now. How many people walk through life waiting for someone to call out the gift that’s been hiding in them all along? How many people need a “Mrs. Dorland” to look at them and say, “I see something in you—even if you don’t see it yet.”

That’s what she did for me.

And I wonder, if you’re reading this, who did that for you?


Do You Remember?

Was there someone in your life who gave you the courage to try?

A coach? A friend? A grandparent? A boss? Maybe someone who said, “You’ve got something,” when the rest of the world was too busy criticizing or ignoring you?

If there was, pause for a second and thank God for them. Because it only takes one person to change the entire course of your life.

And if there wasn’t—if no one ever did that for you—I’m sorry. I truly am. But maybe, just maybe, you’re reading these words for a reason. Maybe this is your moment. Maybe I’m your “Mrs. Dorland” today. Not because I’m anything special—but because you are.

Because what if all that pain and all that wondering and all those years you felt overlooked… what if all of that was leading up to now? To this moment. Where you finally start to believe that you do, in fact, carry a gift?


Resting in the Gift

It’s okay to rest, by the way.

I don’t mean spiritually checking out or quitting on your calling—I mean actually pausing to breathe and be grateful for how far you’ve come. You’re still here. You’re still growing. You’re still becoming. And some days, that’s enough.

Especially on the Sabbath.

There’s something powerful about taking a day not to strive, but to remember. Not to fix, but to reflect. And for me, as I write this, that reflection leads me right back to that small classroom and that small boy who didn’t know who he was. Who thought he was dumb. Who couldn’t see the board. But who slowly started to see… himself.

Because someone else saw him first.


Tears and Truth

You want the truth? I’m crying as I write this. Not out of sadness—out of gratitude.

Because I almost missed it. I almost let the enemy convince me that I had nothing to offer. I almost believed that my story didn’t matter. That my words were just noise. But now I know—they were never mine to begin with. They were a gift. And like all true gifts, they were meant to be given away.

So here I am—giving them to you.

Tears still fresh on my cheeks. Words still trembling from the weight of memory. But also… hope. Because maybe someone reading this will realize that the smallest act of kindness—the “ice cream cone moments”—can change a life.

Isn’t that just like Jesus?


Like Jesus Did

Jesus saw people. I mean really saw them.

The outcast. The poor. The overlooked. He didn’t need them to prove anything. He didn’t wait for them to earn his approval. He just loved them. He just called them. He just reminded them who they really were.

He said, “Come.” And they did.

Maybe that’s what this writing is. A simple call. Come be reminded. Come remember. Come believe again.

Because even if you don’t see it yet, even if you feel like a failure or a fraud or just too tired to try anymore—there’s a gift in you. I know it. And more importantly, God knows it. He put it there.


Thank You, Mrs. Dorland

I don’t know where you are now, Mrs. Dorland.

Maybe you’re long retired, sipping tea somewhere, watching the world pass by through a window you’ve earned. Or maybe you’re gone. I don’t know. But if somehow these words find their way to you, or to someone who knows you, I want you to know this:

Because of your book club—and yes, because of your ice cream cones—I’m now on my sixth book.

Because you believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself, I’ve spent a lifetime trying to do the same for others.

Because you handed me a book when I couldn’t even see straight, I’ve been trying to help others see ever since.

Thank you.


To the Reader

And to you—yes, you, reading this right now—thank you too.

Maybe this wasn’t what you expected to read today. Maybe you were looking for answers or strategy or something a little more polished. But I hope, in some small way, this reminded you that life isn’t always about polished plans. Sometimes it’s just about showing up. Doing your best. Believing in someone else. Or letting someone believe in you.

So today, take a breath. Rest in grace. Remember who you are—and whose you are.

And if you feel that nudge, that gentle stirring, maybe it’s time you picked up a pen. Or called someone who needs encouragement. Or started that thing you’ve been putting off.

You never know. Your ice cream cone moment might be waiting.

And if no one’s told you lately: I believe in you. I really do.