SHOWING UP

Sometimes the most breathtaking act of resistance is simply being there.

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It started to snow, so light and easy it would make one who is not from Idaho wonder what all the fuss about. But Winter holds the Northwest like a jealous lover, possessive and relentless is her grip.

Walking through the flurries I remember as my gaze wanders up that what falls from these Winter skies is more than a little treachery. Best to watch my feet, I remind myself.

This is more a morning to be tucked in bed, not only because the ice is mischief but because I am pulling my 124 pounds like a bag of ten thousand winter socks.

I start my day nearly face-planted on the 11th stair. Weak and defeated. This is as far as my body will carry me. And so I sit there, agreeing in defiance to rest only long enough to steady myself.

Just pulling on my leggings is effort. I count this spectacle of holding on to door and wall as the start of a vigorous workout that will continue when I arrive at the gym.

I am Janene in spirit, but my body is pleading with me to go back to bed. We know which will win.

“Showing up,” I whisper to my trainer, “Might have to be my triumph of the day.”

Forget the squats. The rope pull. The push ups and the weights.
My version of cross fit is giving in to Him.

How many little pieces of who you are, have you given over by giving in?

When I focus on all that I can control there are always so many ways to win.
Tiny victories—
Mascara. Check.
Making my home a Christmas wonderland. Check.
Walking through flurries to test the limits of a body under duress…

Check.

Showing up rarely looks like a grand arrival.
It’s more about taking tiny pieces of territory.

I used to think showing up meant bringing the very best version of myself.
Now I know that “shining” means not hiding — even from the parts of me that disappoint and hurt—
To turn toward my own weariness with kindness instead of contempt.
To listen when my body whispers “enough,” and not call it defeat.
This courage. It isn’t in the doing; it’s in the being there,
mostly when the one you’re showing up for is yourself.

Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is agree to your own limits,
and still call the incremental progress sacred ground.

Maybe it’s time to redefine what showing up is altogether, not simply adapting what you already do or know—
But to anticipate need…and fill it gently,
not doing what feels familiar…but right.

Showing up isn’t performance,
it’s knowing when to lean in further than you’re comfortable with,
It’s the small mercy of staying present in the silence
without needing to fix what isn’t yours to mend.

Showing up
isn’t about sweeping gestures.
It’s the slow, consistent rhythm
of honoring the small things—
when mascara is defiance,
when stepping into the cold is testimony,
when holding eye contact with your own reflection is an act of faith.

You show up because you still believe there’s something worth being awake for and you let that belief do the heavy lifting when your muscles won’t.

Maybe that’s the quiet truth of it:
to show up is to agree with Heaven that you still belong to this day.
That breath still matters.
That small counts.
That being here —yes, even here — is worship.

And maybe that’s the invitation to all of us:
to show up for the day we’ve been given,
not the one we imagined,
and to trust that God still meets us halfway up the stairs.

 NOTES—Prescriptions for Showing Up:
1. Begin small, begin anyway.
Prescription: When the mountain feels impossible, start with the smallest motion toward life.
How: Choose one act that affirms presence — mascara, a prayer, a step toward the light.
Let the act itself become the declaration: I am still here.

2. Let presence count more than performance.
Prescription: Redefine success as participation, not perfection.
How: Ask yourself at day’s end, Did I show up with love?
Let that answer weigh more than the unchecked boxes.

3. Listen to your limits.
Prescription: Honor the moment your body whispers “enough.”
How: Pause before pushing past the holy boundary of being.
Your limits aren’t failures; they’re the language of your aliveness.
To agree with your own “less” is not giving up — it’s agreeing with grace.

4. Practice precision love.
Prescription: Give what heals, not what impresses.
How: Pay attention to what is asked for, not what is assumed.
Remember the flowers she loves. The pause before “I’m fine.”
To meet someone’s need exactly is to love like God — tenderly specific.

5. Speak grace over the undone.
Prescription: Release the tyranny of what remains unfinished.
How: Say aloud, This is enough for today.
The body listens. The spirit exhales.
Completion isn’t the goal — communion is.

6. Rest as reverence.
Prescription: Don’t confuse rest with retreat.
How: Lie down as offering, not escape.
Let stillness become the proof of faith —
the sacred agreement that even in pause, you are still participating in creation.

7. See beauty where effort meets grace.
Prescription: Let wonder be your endurance plan.
How: Notice the small victories — the mascara, the stairs, the breath that stayed steady.
Gratitude transforms exhaustion into worship.

8. Remember: Showing up is never small.
Prescription: Let your presence be your offering.
How: Before your feet touch the floor, whisper, Here I am.
That’s all Heaven ever asked for.

Showing up is not what earns love; it’s what lets you recognize it’s already here—Janene

Image: I missed the shot. Me, jammie-clad and breathless, alone in the house. This outtake from another moment will have to suffice…because it’s not that important and…you get the idea. The point is, me…those stairs…they are the constant reminder that I am not myself. But the only way to the life I love is through. Whatever little thing is holding you back, don’t let it.