Christ - My Journey - How Full Is Your Spirit?

Tourettes, Tics, and Tenderness

Have you ever met someone so deeply marked by the fingerprints of God that you feel like you're in the presence of something holy, even if they don’t see it themselves? I’m not talking about perfection, not even close. I’m talking about someone who carries so much light that it makes you blink—but they themselves see shadows when they look in the mirror. Someone whose beauty and spirit are radiant to the outside world, but inside, they wrestle with lies whispered by the enemy, lies that say, “You’re not enough,” or worse, “You are the opposite of love.”

Recently, I had the honour of sitting down with Regan. And I’d like to tell you a bit about her—what I’ve come to see, and what I believe God sees too.

A Modern-Day Barbie with a Soul That Sparkles

Outwardly, Regan looks like she walked out of a dream. Long blonde hair, eyes that shift from green to yellow like they can’t quite decide what part of the sky they want to hold, and a smile that—no exaggeration—could light up a small town. If she walked into a room, heads would turn, and that’s before she’s even said a word. She’s like a modern-day Barbie, and yes, all the pink things too: sparkles, gloss, soft fabrics, and an air that she was made for love.

But what makes her incredible isn’t what’s visible. It’s her heart—one carved by the Creator with a gentleness that this world doesn't quite know what to do with. Regan shared a story with me, one that made us both laugh, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. She told me, with a blush of embarrassment, that she believed in Santa Claus until the age of thirteen. Thirteen. You might hear that and chuckle—and we did—but I think there’s something deeper there.

What kind of heart still sees magic at thirteen? What kind of spirit still believes in wonder when most of us are already hardened by the edge of life? That’s not naivety. That’s sacred innocence. That’s faith.

That’s also a flashing target to the enemy.

The Battle for the Tenderhearted

You see, when someone carries that kind of tenderness, the world doesn’t always respond in kind. In fact, those people often become punching bags for the pain of others. The enemy can’t stand it when someone reflects God too clearly. So what does he do? He sends a storm.

Regan’s been through more storms than some would see in ten lifetimes. She’s tasted cruelty in the mouths of people who should have loved her, been mocked for her joy, wounded for her trust. And then, as if that weren’t enough, life threw something at her that most would never recover from—a brutal vehicle crash. Not just a fender bender. I’m talking about a real-life human bowling ball moment—hit by one vehicle only to be slammed again by another. The kind of scene you only expect to see in action movies.

That crash didn’t just rattle her bones. It shattered them. Over nine surgeries followed. Nine. That’s a number I can’t even comprehend when I think about it in terms of pain and recovery. She had to relearn to walk. And just when she found her footing again—both literally and metaphorically—she was diagnosed with a rare disease. The kind you can’t pronounce without Googling it. The kind that sits heavy in your medical file and heavier still on your spirit.

But here’s the plot twist the enemy didn’t plan for.

She didn’t quit.

Strength that Surprises

When I met Regan—on the other side of all this—I expected to find someone brittle. Fragile. Scarred in spirit. And to be honest, parts of her do carry scars. But what surprised me wasn’t her damage. It was her resilience. She radiates hope. She laughs. She teases. She hugs with the force of someone who still believes that love is worth giving away, even when it costs.

And that’s where the title of this piece begins to make sense. Tourettes. Tics. Tenderness.

No, Regan doesn’t have Tourettes in the clinical sense, but life has given her involuntary twitches—interruptions of what should have been smooth. A tic of pain here. A twitch of trauma there. Interruptions that show up uninvited. But those involuntary tics have produced something holy: tenderness.

She still believes in good. She still tries. And she still gives people the benefit of the doubt, even when the world gives her every reason not to.

Biblical Reflections of the Broken and Brave

The Bible is filled with people like Regan. People who were crushed but not destroyed. People who bore the image of God so deeply that their scars became symbols of redemption.

Take Job, for instance. Everything taken. Body broken. Friends accusing. And yet, Job said, “Though He slay me, yet will I hope in Him” (Job 13:15). That’s not weak faith. That’s faith forged in fire.

Or Joseph—sold by his brothers, falsely accused, imprisoned. And yet, Joseph says, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good” (Genesis 50:20). Sound familiar?

Let’s not forget Paul. A man who carried the gospel on broken feet and bloodied skin, writing from prison: “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed... struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9). That’s Regan. That’s the tender warrior spirit.

And then, of course, there’s Jesus Himself. Wounded. Rejected. Betrayed. And still, He chose love. Still, He chose the cross.

Three Ways to Let God Shine When the Enemy Attacks

So what can we learn from this? How do we, like Regan, keep the light burning when the winds of hell blow through our lives?

1. Protect Your Innocence Like It’s Gold

Because it is. The enemy wants to steal your wonder. If he can make you bitter, he wins. But the childlike heart is where faith lives. Jesus said, “Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). Don’t grow up in the ways that matter most. Keep believing in the magic. Keep your softness, even if it costs.

2. Speak Truth Louder Than the Lies

The devil is a liar. That’s not a metaphor—it’s a fact. John 8:44 calls him “the father of lies.” So when he whispers, “You’re broken,” you shout back, “I’m chosen.” When he says, “You’re too weak,” you declare, “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13). Write it on your mirror. Tattoo it on your soul.

3. Surround Yourself With Saints, Not Snakes

Life’s hard enough without trying to heal in a pit of vipers. Choose people who water your soul. People who see your heart. People who reflect God back to you when you forget what you look like in His eyes. The early church wasn’t just about worship—it was about fellowship. You need that. We all do.

God Still Needs You. And Regan.

Here’s the beautiful and terrifying truth: God has given us free will. We get to choose our next steps. And while none of us knows exactly where Regan will go from here, what I do know—what I believe to the core of my bones—is that God isn’t done with her.

God needs her.

God needs you.

He needs your light, your scars, your story. Not the cleaned-up version, but the real one. The one with tics and stutters and stumbles. Because that’s where the power is. That’s where tenderness becomes a testimony.

This world doesn’t need more perfection. It needs more light.

And that light?

It starts in hearts like Regan’s.

The Enemy Doesn’t Play Fair—But God Doesn’t Play to Lose

When you see someone like Regan, and you learn her story, it’s tempting to ask, “Why?” Why does someone with so much kindness written into their DNA get so much thrown at them? Why does the enemy come so hard for the tender ones?

Because he knows.

He knows something most of us are too distracted to see: the ones who carry the most light are the biggest threats to darkness.

You don’t throw rocks at an empty tree—you throw them where the fruit hangs low and ripe. And Regan, in all her gentle beauty, carries a fruitfulness that could feed the hungry hearts of everyone around her. She’s a light bearer, even when she doesn’t feel like one.

And that makes her dangerous to the enemy.

But here’s the part the enemy always forgets: God fights dirty too—but in the holiest of ways.

He fights through whispers of truth in the night when your tears won’t stop falling. He fights through unlikely friends showing up with meals, or laughter, or just sitting on the couch when the weight of life makes it hard to breathe. He fights through memories that won’t fade, songs that play at the perfect time, and moments of grace that defy logic.

God fights for the Regans of the world.

And He never, ever loses.

The Ministry of the Wounded

Have you ever noticed that in the Bible, God seems to prefer the broken over the perfect?

Moses had a stutter. David had an affair. Rahab was a prostitute. Elijah battled depression. Peter denied Jesus three times. Paul used to kill Christians for sport. And Jesus—our perfect Saviour—was wounded to the point of death, so we wouldn’t have to carry our wounds alone.

There’s a reason Scripture says, “By His wounds, we are healed.” (Isaiah 53:5)

God doesn’t sideline the injured. He uses them.

In fact, He often gives the greatest assignments to the ones who’ve been through the most. Why? Because they know what grace tastes like. They know how to weep with those who weep. And they’re not playing church—they’re living faith in the middle of the fire.

That’s Regan.

She’s not just a survivor. She’s a soldier. One who didn’t sign up for battle but fights anyway. Not with swords or shields—but with a smile. A story. A refusal to give up. And that kind of faith? That’s revival in motion.

When the Church Gets It Wrong

I’ve sat in pews long enough to know that sometimes, the place that should offer healing is the one that pours salt in the wound.

The church doesn’t always know what to do with people like Regan. People who don’t fit the mold. People with stories that don’t wrap up neatly. We like testimonies that come with bows on top. But real stories? They’re messy. They’re unfinished. And that makes people uncomfortable.

But Jesus wasn’t uncomfortable around the messy.

He touched the leper. He dined with the tax collector. He defended the woman caught in adultery. He let the sinful woman wash His feet with her tears. He didn’t flinch when others turned away. He saw past the dirt to the destiny.

So why don’t we?

If Regan walked into your church on a Sunday morning—blonde hair flowing, eyes lit with unseen pain, scars hidden under stylish sleeves—would she be embraced? Or politely avoided?

Would she be discipled? Or dismissed?

We must do better. Because people like Regan—people who carry battle scars and holy tenderness—are not distractions from the gospel. They are the gospel in human form.

From Barbie to Warrior

Let me go back for a second to that first impression: the walking Barbie. It's a label some may use with sarcasm, misunderstanding, or even jealousy. But let me reframe it for you.

She is a Barbie—but not the kind you played with as a kid. She’s the kind forged in fire. She’s the kind that’s been reassembled after being shattered. She’s the kind that still chooses pink in a world that feels gray. She’s not plastic. She’s porcelain that’s been glued together with the gold of grace.

There’s a Japanese art called kintsugi—the practice of repairing broken pottery with gold. The idea is that the object is more beautiful for having been broken.

That’s Regan.

She is the living kintsugi of God’s kingdom. A walking testimony. A breathing, blinking, mascara-wearing reminder that beauty isn’t about being untouched. It’s about being held by God through the breaking.

The Tenderness That Changes Lives

What struck me most about Regan wasn’t just her strength. It was her tenderness in the face of everything. She still looks at the world like it might just surprise her. She still loves. She still forgives. And she still believes in people—even when they don’t deserve it.

That tenderness? That’s her superpower.

It’s the thing the enemy has tried to take, over and over. Through people who failed her. Through pain that stayed too long. Through diagnoses that robbed her sleep. Through loneliness and disappointment and betrayal.

But it’s still there. Untouched. Holy. Shining.

And it makes me wonder… how many of us have let go of our own tenderness in exchange for survival?

How many of us have grown hard when we were called to be soft?

How many of us have mistaken walls for wisdom and guardedness for strength?

Maybe what the world needs most isn’t more tough people—but more tender ones. People like Regan. People like Jesus.

Three Final Ways to Be the Light (Even When It Hurts)

Let’s wrap this up with three more things you and I can do to push back against the enemy and let God’s light shine:

1. Turn Pain into Purpose

Your scars aren’t meant to be hidden. They’re meant to guide others through their own darkness. Romans 8:28 says, “God works all things together for the good of those who love Him.” That includes your pain. Use it. Don’t waste it. Let it become someone else’s survival guide.

2. Stay Childlike, Not Childish

There’s a difference. Childishness throws tantrums and demands attention. But childlikeness? That’s about wonder. Joy. Unfiltered trust in a God who never fails. The world is growing more cynical by the day. Be the one who still believes. Be the one who still dreams.

3. Be the Safe Place You Always Needed

Everyone’s looking for somewhere they can exhale. Be that place. Offer that hug. Send that text. Ask that question. “How are you really?” The more we reflect God’s love to each other, the less room the enemy has to lie.

The Final Word: God’s Not Done Yet

I don’t know what tomorrow holds for Regan. I don’t know how her health will unfold or what new chapters are ahead. But I do know this:

God is not done.

He’s still writing her story. And if she keeps walking in His light—tics, trauma, tenderness and all—she’s going to shake kingdoms.

Not because she’s loud. But because she’s real.

Not because she’s perfect. But because she’s His.

And the same goes for you.

The world doesn’t need more noise. It needs more light. Quiet, consistent, Spirit-filled light that shows up when it’s least expected.

So shine. Even if your hands tremble. Even if your heart breaks. Even if the words don’t come easy.

Shine like Regan.

Shine like Jesus.

Because that light? That’s the only thing that wins in the end.

And the world—this aching, angry, anxious world—needs it more than ever.