Why People with ADHD Can Clean the Whole House But Not the Garage

 When I was asked, in another writing class, to "write anything that's on your mind for three minutes... starting now," all the highly caffeinated gerbils in my brain slammed on the brakes.

People often think that when someone with ADHD sits down to write and nothing comes out, it's because they have nothing to say. Nothing could be farther from the truth. My brain doesn't go empty. It becomes a traffic jam.

Give me a prompt like, "Write whatever's on your mind," and my mind suddenly goes blank. Or ten ideas arrive at once, all demanding my attention. I can't decide which one to chase. If there isn't enough structure, I freeze. I worry about whether I'm doing it the "right" way. I can spend the first minute trying to decide what to write instead of writing anything at all. ADHD makes it hard to get started, pull information forward on demand, and shift attention from one thing to another. It's like opening a closet crammed with hundreds of boxes. I know what I'm looking for is in there somewhere, but finding the right box at the right moment can feel impossible.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, I picked up my pen and wrote about the one thing I was hyperfocused on.

My garage is trashed.

That is what I wrote about.

During my last camping trip, I pulled all of my camping gear out of its neatly labeled bins. Then, like a crazed toddler high on Skittles, I dumped everything onto the garage floor. Once I'd loaded what I needed into the back of my car, I turned around and found absolute destruction. Chaos. Mayhem. Camping gear stretched from one end of the garage to the other.

The real question wasn't why the garage was a disaster.

The question was why I put the empty bins back on the shelves instead of putting the camping gear back into them first.

Maybe because I decided the whole storage system needed to be reorganized.

But before I could reorganize it, I needed the tire gauge from the tool chest.

Simple enough.

Except when I opened the tool chest, I noticed it could use a little tidying. Forty-five minutes later, I'd completely reorganized the drawers, found the tire gauge, and even discovered the pliers I'd misplaced the week before.

With tire gauge in hand, I checked all four tires.

On my way back to put it away, I suddenly couldn't stand the way my shirt felt. It was touching my skin in all the wrong places and felt too tight.

So I actually put the tire gauge back where it belonged, walked inside the house to change my shirt, and immediately noticed the overflowing basket of dirty laundry.

One load later, I remembered I was supposed to be cleaning up the camping gear.

I walked into the garage, looked at the mountain of clutter on the floor, felt completely overwhelmed, and decided I'd lie down on the couch for just a minute.

Somehow that led to unloading the dishwasher.

Ironically, the laundry got washed, dried, folded, hung up, and put away because I was avoiding the garage.

Now it's several days later.

The laundry is done.

The kitchen is spotless.

The floors are swept and mopped.

Everything has been dusted.

The tool chest is beautifully organized.

My tires have the proper air pressure.

And my garage still looks like a camping supply store exploded.

The garage is officially off-limits to visitors.

When will I finally put the camping gear away?

Probably when I need to avoid something else.

The funny thing is, I am getting better. Lists have helped me finish more things than I used to. They don't fix my ADHD, but they do give all those caffeinated gerbils a little bit of direction.

But that's another story.

Globe Cemetery: A Walk Through Arizona's Past

On the last leg of my trip to Pinetop-Show Low last Friday, I decided to make a stop in Globe. I'd been wanting to visit Globe Cemetery, and since I was passing through town, it seemed like the perfect opportunity.

The cemetery sits on a hillside just north of Globe's historic downtown. As soon as I pulled in, the first thing I noticed wasn't the headstones. It was the row of tall Italian cypress trees lining the entrance. They seemed to stand watch over the cemetery, welcoming visitors into a place that's been part of Globe's story for nearly 150 years.

Established in 1876, the same year Globe was founded, the cemetery covers about 32 acres. Some of the headstones are worn smooth by years of Arizona sun, wind, and rain. Others lean a little or have cracked with age. It didn't make the cemetery feel forgotten. If anything, it made it feel honest. Every stone marks a life, a family, a story.

As I wandered through the grounds, I noticed how the cemetery is divided into different sections. There are areas for fraternal organizations like the Elks and the Knights of Pythias, along with sections for the Chinese, Italian, and Slavic families who helped build Globe during its mining days. Seeing those sections together was a quiet reminder that people from many different backgrounds came here looking for the same thing: a chance to build a life.

More than 7,400 people are believed to be buried here. A few are well known, like scout Al Sieber and Sheriff John Henry Thompson, better known as "Rimrock Henry." But I found myself thinking more about the people whose names aren't found in history books. The miners, merchants, mothers, children, and laborers. They're the ones who turned a rough mining camp into a town.

The first person buried here was Thomas B. Hammond, a prospector who was killed in 1876 while out exploring near Pinto Creek. His grave became the beginning of Globe Cemetery's long history, one that continues today as families still use plots that were claimed generations ago.

I always leave old cemeteries feeling like I've learned something, even when no one has spoken a word. They're more than places of loss. They're places of memory. If we're willing to slow down and pay attention, they have a way of reminding us that every life mattered, whether history remembered the name or not.

Coming Home From Pinetop

 Heading home from Pinetop I stopped and looked at three campgrounds that have future possibilities and took a lot of photos.

Every Day Life

I came home after spending an early afternoon with friends. In a couple of weeks, I'll be the plant keeper for a lovely woman and her husband of fifty years.

Their home was beautiful, but most of its beauty resided in the love they shared. Being recently single made the afternoon especially poignant.

They gave me a tour of their home, and with each room another chapter of their history unfolded. I listened as they shared the stories behind the walls, the furniture, the keepsakes, and the memories. I walked away feeling grateful that they were comfortable enough to invite me into their lives in such a personal way.

It also left me a little blue.

When I came home, my little house felt unusually quiet. Just a few hours earlier I had been surrounded by a couple whose love had been woven into every room. Their stories lingered with me long after I left.

I found myself grateful for the afternoon we shared, yet aware of the silence waiting for me at home. Joy for them and a touch of grief for myself somehow occupied the same space.

Perhaps that is part of healing. Learning that a heart can celebrate another person's happiness while still acknowledging its own loss. One does not diminish the other. Both can be held with grace.

It's Gonna Be A Good Day

How do you know it’s going to be a good day?

I believe God sends us little signs. This morning, He sent me three.

But before I tell you about those, let me start at the beginning.

Yesterday was one of those days that fills your heart without making much of a fuss about it. I finally found a coffee shop with internet that actually worked. I spent part of my morning tinkering with my blog and, by noon, finally settled into my morning ritual. At one o’clock, I met up with a dear friend I hadn’t seen in a while.

We spent the afternoon doing two of my favorite things, wandering through thrift stores and laughing.

Then we went back to her house, shared a cocktail, told  her husband about our wonderful afternoon. Then she served the kind of homemade chicken soup that reminds you somebody loves you. The kind Mama would have made. I didn’t just eat it. I fell into it.

By the time I headed back to camp, my heart was full.

That’s about the time things looked like they were fixing to go south.

The campground was empty except for one enormous family. And wouldn’t you know it, they settled into the campsite right next to mine. I looked over at what seemed like sixteen kids, crying babies, coolers, toys, chairs, and enough camping gear to start their own zip code. I figured there went my peaceful evening.

I’d been looking forward to sitting at my little picnic table with a cold beer, watching the day fade into evening.

Instead, I climbed into my car, hung up my curtains so nobody could peek in, and laughed to myself because those folks had spread out so far I could’ve handed somebody a diet Pepsi through my window.

So there was no beer on the picnic table. Just me, curled up in the car with a good book I found earlier at a thrift store.

And here’s the funny part.

There wasn’t chaos.

There wasn’t shouting.

There wasn’t blaring music.

There was gentle laughter. Kids playing. The occasional squeal of excitement. Parents talking in low murmurs while they grilled dinner. They were respectful, and I tried to be respectful of them, too.

Funny how quickly we can write a story in our heads before we’ve even read the first chapter.

Maybe it was the laughter. Maybe it was seeing an old friend. Maybe it was that bowl of chicken soup. Whatever it was, I slept so soundly Satan himself couldn’t have woken me up.

I woke up a couple of hours ago wondering if I should stay another day, endure another round of afternoon rain, or just head home.

I crawled from the back of the car into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine, and made a beeline for Starbucks.

I ordered my coffee and sat down to wait.

They called my name.

I picked up my coffee, found a seat, and had barely taken a sip when I heard my name again.

I walked back to the counter.

“Here’s your coffee, ma’am.”

“Oh no,” I said. “I already got mine.”

She smiled and said, “It’s our mistake. Keep it.”

Well… thank you very much.

So now I’m sitting there with two cups of coffee.

A few minutes later…

They called my name again.

You can’t make this stuff up.

I walked back to the counter, and there sat a third cup of coffee with my name on it.

Three cups of coffee.

I only paid for one.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I figure that’s about as close to a heavenly sign as this coffee-tea loving woman is likely to get.

So I made up my mind.

Instead of spending another rainy afternoon sitting in my car without internet, I pointed the RAV4 toward home.

Adventure doesn’t always mean staying where you planned.

Sometimes it means recognizing when God hands you three cups of coffee and says, “Honey, it’s time to hit the road.”

Off to find adventure!

White Mountains

I am camping in the White Mountains at a small campground, nestled beneath towering ponderosa pines on the Colorado Plateau at an elevation of 6,343 feet. And for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe.

This has been a difficult month, and I needed to step away for a few days to begin the healing process. There has always been something about being outdoors that restores me in a way nothing else can.

I traded my little camper van for an itty-bitty SUV. Some people call it compact. I call it freedom.

It gives me far more flexibility than the van ever did, although it comes with its own challenges. At 67, you might think I’d be looking for comfort. Instead, I seem to enjoy the challenge.

After I arrived, and between thunderstorms, I spread a plastic bag across a picnic table, sat quietly, and spent time in meditation and prayer.

Later, I enjoyed a simple supper of salad topped with baked chicken before wandering down to the lake. I sat quietly, admiring the fading light as the geese skimmed low across the water on their evening flight.

With a full belly and a quieted mind, I stretched out for a little nap.

There’s something magical about lying on an air mattress in the back of an SUV, surrounded by complete darkness, watching lightning dance across a black sky. Then drifting off to sleep as rain taps gently across the roof. The only interruption came from three mosquitoes that apparently believed they had reserved a campsite with me. I assured them, with great mercy and very little ceremony, that they had not.

I can feel the healing beginning.

It feels like releasing what no longer belongs to me and making room for what does. Slowly shedding the person I was becoming under the weight of repeated harsh words and criticism. Healing doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time. Thankfully, time is exactly what I have.

I am deeply grateful for the circle of friends who simply accept me for who I am. There is a quiet kind of grace in being loved without having to earn it.

Tomorrow’s plans include a little retail therapy, and if the rain gives me a break, my last day will be spent with my camera in hand.

 

The First Morning After You Leave

Healing after an unhealthy relationship, rebuilding your confidence, and learning to trust yourself again.

Letter to Myself

First of all, step away from all of the commotion.

Get in your car and find a place of solitude. Find your water. A river. A lake.

When you arrive, step outside and take a deep breath. Even though there are a hundred things demanding your attention, none of them is more important than this first moment. Breathe.

Spread your blanket on the earth. Place your meditation cushion beside you.  Sit in silence. Breathe. Pray. Then breathe again.

Second, take your time.

When morning comes, get out of bed slowly. Make your bed mindfully. Then stand in front of the bathroom mirror and really look at the woman staring back at you. She doesn’t have an entire world to rebuild. She only has herself.

Look into her eyes and say:

You are resilient.
You are courageous.
You are enough.
You are unstoppable.

Hearing your own voice speak those words each day is how you begin rewriting the story you've believed for far too many years.

Create your favorite blend of tea, take it outside, sit on the patio and watch the hummingbirds at the feeder. Lift your eyes to the mountains. Breathe in the Sonoran Desert air and let yourself simply be where your feet are. Let the saguaros remind you that strength doesn't always look gentle.

Healing takes time. Some days will feel impossibly slow, and other days you'll think you've made no progress at all.

That's okay.

That's the nature of healing.

Third, and you may not be ready to believe this yet, but we need to break the silence.

The way you were treated was never your fault.

You believed that if you loved him enough, stayed long enough, sacrificed enough, he would finally learn how to love you in return. You offered him every square inch of warmth your heart possessed.

The fact that it didn’t heal him says nothing about any lack within you.

Your mistakes never justified the way you were treated.

Your life expands after he’s gone.

Not because he left, but because you were always meant to grow. His absence didn’t create your worth. It stopped drowning out your own voice.

Beneath all the noise, you’ve always known who you are, what you deserve, and the purpose that has always been yours.

Those truths never depended on whether he stayed or walked away. They’re simply easier to hear now that his voice is no longer whispering that you were too much, never enough, or that you could never live up to his expectations.

To fat, not smart enough, not pretty enough...

Those words have a way of settling deep inside a person's heart.

So you made yourself smaller.

The script rarely changed:

“I didn’t say that.

It wasn’t that bad.

It’s not a big deal.

It wasn’t my fault.

I didn’t mean it.

I say those things because you made me.”

That voice is gone now.

I know you don’t quite know what to do without it.

But hear this.

Kinder voices are coming.

Truer voices are coming.

Most importantly, your own voice is coming back.

You never have to listen to the wrong one again.

I’m sorry you ever believed you had to.

Walking away was one of the hardest things you’ve ever done, even if people think it should have been easy. They mean well. But only a few people understand the grip those words can have on a person’s soul. Even fewer know the whole story.

How he slowly stripped away your identity while convincing you he was helping you.

How he made you believe you had to stay.

How he taught you to carry the worst parts of your life in silence.

How fear kept you frozen long after your heart already knew the truth.

But one day, courage became stronger than fear.

You chose to leave instead of settling for a life where you were merely tolerated.

You were never meant to be merely tolerated.

You are worthy.
You are loved.
You are strong.
You are free.

You only had to stand before a mirror and finally see the woman who had been there all along.

But now it’s your first morning.

The first morning of a new chapter.

And yes, it’s scary.

The woman looking back at you in the mirror is terrified.

Let her be.

If she’s angry, let her be angry.

If she’s grieving, let her grieve.

If she’s afraid, stay with her.

Every emotion has something to teach you.

It will be tempting to call him. To let him back in, hoping that this time he will finally say the words you’ve longed to hear:
“I’m sorry.”
“I was wrong.”
“I take responsibility for my actions.”
But he won’t.
Instead, he may ask you to apologize. He may tell you it was your fault.

Real love still exists.

For now, let that love begin with you.

Nurture your own heart.

Protect your own peace.

Breathe.

Take your time.

Never confuse someone else's choices with your worth.

But you will grow because of it.

One day, the woman in the mirror will smile again.

She’ll laugh.

She’ll sing in the car.

She’ll find her way home, in every sense of the word.

One day you’ll sit beneath a mesquite tree with a warm cup of tea in your hands. The hummingbirds will still argue over the feeder. The saguaros will still be standing. The mountains will still greet the morning sun. You’ll smile because, somewhere along the way, you stopped surviving and quietly began living again.

The fear, the anger, and the confusion may still visit from time to time.

But one day they'll become background noise beneath a life filled with joy.

Life will be abundant again.

Write, "Life will be abundant again," on your mirror if you have to.

Just in case you forget.

Love is coming.

But before anyone else offers it to you,
remember that it has already begun.

With you.

So breathe.

Take your time.

You're already on your way home.

Always.

Love,

Yourself 

***A Final Thought

If there's one lesson this journey has taught me, it's this. I’ve come to believe that inner strength isn’t about becoming harder. It’s about recognizing your worth, protecting your peace, and setting boundaries that honor God and respect yourself. Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is quietly stand in your truth, trusting that integrity will always matter more than approval.

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” - Proverbs 4:23

 

Service Announcement

 Service Announcement

I went to my second favorite shop to purchase smoke alarms for my home.  One of them had died and so I decided to replace them all. While I was standing in the smoke alarm department an employee asked me if I found everything I need. After I replied yes, I got a plethora of questions. Do you live alone? Are you installing these yourself? Do you have a handy man? Children? 

I stopped answering and just stood there while he pushed me for answers. 

I asked him “do you want to come over and install them for me?”

I thanked him for his time and went off looking for batteries.

This time another employee, a woman  about my age, approached me and asked “are you installing these yourself?”

When she heard my answer she proceeded to tell me about all her friends that fell off ladders.  She is a sweetheart but considering all of her friends have fallen off of ladders… I don’t think I will be having coffee with her. She, along with a couple of my friends, insist I call the fire department.

I relented and called the fire department at 8:00 a.m. while I was wearing a robe, no dentures, and was suffering from crazy hair…. they showed up at 8:05. So be fully dressed and ready for the day then call the fire department. 

This is a service announcement, if you are old and need your smoke alarms installed - call the fire department. Be fully dressed…

Verse Map Proverbs 4:23

Verse: Proverbs 4:23 NABRE

“With all vigilance guard your heart, for in it are the sources of life.”

Translations

Across these translations, Proverbs 4:23 consistently emphasizes that the heart is the center of a person’s life. The NIV and CSB stress its priority by saying, “Above all else,” while the ESV’s phrase “the springs of life” portrays the heart as the source from which life flows. The NLT highlights that the condition of the heart determines the direction of one’s life, and the NKJV reminds us that our thoughts, words, decisions, and actions all originate there. Together, these translations reveal that guarding the heart means carefully protecting the inner person because everything we become begins within.

Context

Author: Traditionally attributed to Solomon, Israel’s king, renowned for the wisdom God gave him (1 Kings 4:29-34). Some portions of Proverbs also preserve sayings from other wise men, but chapters 1-9 are presented as Solomon’s instruction.

Time Frame: Around 970-930 BC during Solomon’s reign.

Audience: Primarily young people learning wisdom, especially a son receiving instruction from a loving father. The principles extend to all who desire to live wisely before God.

Purpose: Proverbs teaches that true wisdom begins with reverence for the Lord and provides practical instruction for living a godly, discerning, and righteous life. Proverbs 4 emphasizes choosing the path of wisdom and carefully guarding one’s inner life.

Keywords

Guard  means to watch over, preserve, protect, or keep carefully. It conveys the picture of a watchman protecting something precious from danger.

Heart refers not merely to emotions but to the center of one’s being, including the mind, will, thoughts, conscience, desires, and spiritual life. In Hebrew thought, the heart is where decisions are made.

Vigilance (literally means “more than every guard” or “with all guarding.” It expresses the highest level of careful watchfulness.

Sources or Springs means outflows, origins, boundaries, or sources. It describes the place from which life proceeds.

Life refers to life in its fullest sense, including physical life, spiritual vitality, moral character, and well-being.

Cross References

Deuteronomy 6:5 reminds us to love the Lord with all our heart, soul, and strength.

Jeremiah 17:9-10 teaches that the heart can be deceptive, yet God searches and knows it completely.

Matthew 15:18-19 explains that words and sinful actions come from the heart.

Luke 6:45 says that what fills the heart eventually comes out through our words.

View of God

God is the wise Father who lovingly warns His children to protect what is most valuable. He sees beyond outward behavior into the condition of the heart because He knows that lasting transformation begins within. He desires to shape the heart rather than simply regulate outward actions, and He faithfully provides the wisdom and grace needed to guard it.

View of Man/Self

My heart is the wellspring from which my thoughts, attitudes, words, and choices flow. If I neglect it, unhealthy desires and fears can quietly shape my life. But when I fill my heart with God’s truth, I become better equipped to respond with wisdom, compassion, and integrity.

Reflection and Application

Every day, voices compete for my attention. News headlines, social media, conversations, disappointments, fears, and old wounds all seek a place in my heart. I cannot keep every influence from reaching me, but I can choose what I allow to take root.

Guarding my heart is not building walls that keep people out. It is tending the garden of my soul with intention. It means measuring my thoughts against God’s truth, refusing to let bitterness become permanent, and choosing forgiveness before resentment hardens. As I spend time in Scripture, prayer, and quiet reflection, God gently reshapes what grows within me. Over time, my words become kinder, my decisions wiser, and my life begins to reflect the One I follow.

Prayer

Father, thank You for reminding me that my heart is worth protecting because it shapes every part of my life. Help me recognize the thoughts, attitudes, and influences that draw me away from You. Fill my heart with Your wisdom, Your peace, and Your truth. Teach me to release bitterness, welcome correction, and choose what brings life. May my words, my choices, and my relationships reflect a heart that is being transformed by Your love. Amen.

Observations

The command to “guard” is central and carries a sense of continual vigilance rather than a one-time action. The heart is presented as the source from which all of life flows, showing that inward character shapes outward behavior. The verse emphasizes priority by calling for greater watchfulness over the heart than over anything else. Wisdom begins with paying attention to the unseen inner life before addressing external actions.

Commentary/Study Notes

The heart in Hebrew thought encompasses the intellect, will, emotions, conscience, and moral center of a person. This proverb teaches that wisdom is cultivated internally before it is expressed externally. Ancient Israel understood a spring as the source that supplied an entire community with water. Solomon uses this image to show that every aspect of life flows from the condition of one’s heart. Biblical scholars note that the surrounding verses (Proverbs 4:20-27) form a series of instructions involving the heart, mouth, eyes, and feet, illustrating that a guarded heart leads to disciplined speech, focused vision, and righteous conduct. The New Testament echoes this truth by teaching that words and actions reveal what already fills the heart (Matthew 12:34-35; Luke 6:45).

Takeaway

The heart is the quiet place where every future choice begins.

Long before words are spoken,
long before footsteps are taken,
something has already taken root within me.

Today I will tend the garden of my heart with care, trusting that what grows there will someday be seen in the life I live.

Finding Sanctuary in a Cup of Tea

 How a simple herbal tea ritual became part of my healing journey.

Sanctuary

A couple years ago, I started a little home apothecary devoted entirely to tea. Back then it wasn't much. Just a few jars. They held the herbs and teas that became the foundation of my learning: chamomile, rose petals, hibiscus, and rooibos. Each one taught me something before I understood what I was really building.

I learned from books and YouTube videos, then from my own mistakes. Some pots of tea tasted like soap. Others felt like one of Mama's hugs. Slowly, I learned the language of herbs and teas. I discovered what each one offered, how they played together, and when to reach for them. Some eased my migraines or settled my stomach. Some simply gave my hands something warm to hold when life felt too heavy.

My tea blends taught me that healing rarely arrives with fanfare. Most times it slips in quietly, hidden inside the simple ritual of boiling water, measuring leaves and petals, and wrapping your hands around a warm cup.

Before long, tea had found its place alongside my morning prayers and meditation, becoming another kind of liturgy.

While my shelves slowly filled with herbs, my life was quietly shrinking.

I found myself at the end of a five-year relationship with someone I still cared deeply for. Over time, controlling words and dismissive remarks slowly chipped away at my excitement for seeing him. Therapy helped me recognize patterns I hadn't seen before, but my growth wasn't welcomed. Somewhere in those years, I realized I'd stopped speaking my mind. I just needed him to see me. By stepping away, I slowly began finding myself again.

 I do miss the man I thought he was.

Grief has a sneaky way of finding us. It doesn't always arrive when a relationship ends or at a graveside. Sometimes it catches you standing in your kitchen before sunrise, waiting for a kettle to boil.

That's where it found me.

I was standing in my little kitchen, making my morning cup of tea, when I wondered if I could create a blend for the grief I was carrying.

So, I opened the pantry.

I started pulling out jars, one after another. The little apothecary that had once fit on a single shelf had grown far beyond its beginnings.

Turns out I wasn't just gathering ingredients. I was laying up comfort and care the way someone lays up jam, for seasons I didn't even know were coming.

I reached first for the lemon balm, knowing its gentle gift for calming frayed nerves. Chamomile followed, bringing rest. Oat straw offered nourishment and resilience, while a handful of rose petals reminded me to have compassion for myself. I added lavender to quiet my anxious, over-alert mind and finished with a spoonful of dried orange peel, a small act of faith that light still exists, even on the darkest mornings. When I was done, I spooned the blend into a mason jar and wrote one word on the label: Sanctuary.

I measured a tablespoon into a teapot and poured hot water over the blend. While the tea steeped, I prepared my meditation altar.

I lit a red candle for strength and placed a piece of obsidian beside it. Black as midnight, obsidian is said to be a stone of protection and truth. Maybe that's why I reached for it that morning. I needed both. I needed protection from my own doubts and the truth of what my heart already knew.

Fresh flowers and prayer beads rested on the altar as well.

I sat down on my meditation pillow and watched the candle flame flicker.

When the tea was ready, I poured it into my favorite red polka dot teacup. I wrapped my hands around it and took three slow breaths. I felt my chest rise. When the breath reached its end, I let it go slowly, feeling the warmth of the exhale against my lips.

Then I whispered:

I believe what I have experienced.

            I do not have to shrink to keep the peace.

            My voice matters.

            I choose kindness toward myself.

            I am capable of having a beautiful life.

The tea did not mend my broken heart.

It did not tell me what the future would hold or whether this relationship would survive.

But sitting there with my hands wrapped around that red polka dot cup, I realized something my little apothecary had been teaching me all along.

Healing is not linear and that’s okay.

Sometimes sanctuary isn't a place we find.

Sometimes it's a cup of tea we make with our own hands.

Psalm 141: 3 Verse Mapping

 Psalm 141:3 (NABRE)

“Set a guard, LORD, over my mouth; keep watch over the door of my lips.”

Who Wrote It?

Author: Traditionally attributed to King David.

When Was It Written?

Approximately 1000 BC, during David’s reign. The exact occasion is unknown, but the psalm reflects a time of danger and temptation.

To Whom Was It Written?

Originally sung and prayed by the people of Israel during worship. Today, it is prayed by the whole Church and is also part of the Liturgy of the Hours, especially in Evening Prayer.

Purpose

David asks God for protection from two dangers:

• The evil around him.
• The evil that could come from within his own heart, especially through careless speech.

The psalm teaches that holiness begins with an obedient heart and disciplined words.

Context

Psalm 141 is a prayer for protection. David asks that his prayer rise like incense before God (v. 2), then immediately asks God to guard his speech (v. 3). Before praying for deliverance from enemies, he first asks for deliverance from his own sinful tendencies.

Key Words

Set a guard

• An image of a soldier stationed at the entrance of a city gate.
• David asks God to actively protect what comes out of his mouth.

Keep watch

• To observe continually and remain alert.
• God is invited to be an ever-watchful guardian over David’s speech.

Door of my lips

• A metaphor suggesting that words should pass through a “gate” before they are spoken.
• Not every thought deserves to become speech.

Cross References

Proverbs 13:3

“Those who guard their mouths preserve their lives; those who open wide their lips bring ruin.”

Sirach 28:13

“Curse gossips and the double-tongued, for they destroy the peace of many.”

James 3:5-10

“…The tongue has great power to bless or to harm.”

What Does This Teach About God?

• God cares about every word we speak.
• God is willing to help us master what we cannot master alone.
• God desires speech that brings peace, truth, and healing.
• God welcomes honest prayers for help in everyday struggles.

What Does This Teach About Me?

• My words reveal the condition of my heart.
• Self-control is part of spiritual maturity.
• I need God’s grace before I speak, not only after I regret what I’ve said.
• Silence can be an act of wisdom.

Personal Application

Before I ask God to change my circumstances, I should first ask Him to change me. A guarded mouth begins with a guarded heart. Each conversation is an opportunity to reflect Christ by speaking with truth, charity, and restraint.

Prayer

Lord, set a guard over my mouth and keep watch over my lips. I submit myself to You and resist the enemy. Clothe me with Your armor so I may stand in truth, righteousness, faith, and peace. Let Your Word guide my speech, and may every word I speak honor You and encourage others. In Jesus’ name, Amen.