Some seasons of life teach you how to speak up and fight. Other seasons teach you how to be quiet and wait. I am learning that both require courage, but the second lesson is often the harder one. There is something deeply humbling about being in a moment you cannot control, watching circumstances unfold that you know are unfair, and realizing that your only real option is to stand still and hold your peace.

As a mother, few things are more painful than watching someone you love experience harsh treatment they did not deserve. It is one thing to see your child struggle because of a poor decision or a careless mistake. It is another thing entirely to see them doing everything right and still be overlooked or pushed aside without explanation. Those are the moments that test not only their character, but yours as well. You want to fix it. You want to demand answers. You want to make it right. But sometimes all you can do is watch and pray.

In moments like these, I find myself thinking about my own mother. So much of what I wrote in How I Got Over comes from watching her navigate difficult seasons with grace. There were specific times in her career—especially when transition was happening and systems were shifting—when she experienced being overlooked or set aside in ways she never expected. It was not often, but when it did happen, it was painful because she had worked faithfully and prepared diligently. I watched her give her very best, only to see plans change and opportunities disappear. Yet even then, she made a deliberate choice to trust God to fight her battles.

The Scripture she lived by was simple and steady:
“Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay,’ says the Lord.” – Romans 12:19

She believed that verse with her whole heart. She did not argue publicly or try to tear down those who mistreated her. Instead, she prayed, she trusted, and she kept walking in integrity. Now, because she was human, carrying disappointment quietly sometimes took a toll on her health. But when it came to responding to injustice, she chose patience over retaliation and faith over bitterness.

As her daughter—her blooming-Lillie—I learned those lessons up close. When I was the one hurting, she became my refuge. She had a gentle way of tending to my spirit before she ever addressed the problem. She would begin every conversation with the same question: “How is your soul?” She would let me cry, let me talk, let me empty my heart, and she never rushed me.

Then she would feed me in the way only she knew how. A book would arrive in the mail to strengthen my thinking. A note would come with words to steady my spirit. She would suggest a women’s conference or a retreat so I could be restored. When action was truly needed, she moved with wisdom and grace. That was when her quiet “letter-writing campaigns” would begin—measured, respectful, and effective. She didn’t create chaos; she created change.

What I loved most was that she didn’t just do this for me. She did it for anyone who came to her in need. She believed in feeding minds, nurturing spirits, and helping people find their way forward. As her child, though, I was blessed to experience that love in the most personal way.

I have had my own seasons of being misunderstood and mistreated, so I know what it feels like to want someone to stand up and make things right. But I am discovering that it is one thing to endure injustice for yourself and another thing entirely to watch your child endure it.

That pain sits differently in a mother’s heart.

Still, I hear my mother’s voice reminding me that not every battle is meant to be fought out loud.
“Better a patient person than a warrior, one with self-control than one who takes a city.” – Proverbs 16:32

True character is not built when life is fair. It is built when life is not. Watching a young person remain steady and respectful in the face of disappointment has reminded me that strength does not always look like fighting back. Sometimes it looks like endurance.

And so I hold tightly to this promise:
“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” – Exodus 14:14

Being still does not mean agreeing with what is happening: it means trusting that God sees what we cannot fix. It means choosing peace over pressure, faith over frustration, and integrity over anger.

I don’t have perfect answers for unfair situations, but I know what my mother taught me by the way she lived. She taught me that grace is not weakness, that silence can be powerful, and that God has a way of correcting wrongs in His own time.

So today I am choosing to follow her example. I am choosing to stand firm without becoming hard. I am choosing to trust God to fight the battles I cannot. And I am choosing to remember that while seasons change, character endures.

Like my mother before me, I am learning—again and again—to let God be God.

In love and charity,

Giselle (aka) Blooming-Lillie