You Can Do Hard Things (Even When You’re Cry-Laughing Through Them)

We must have looked like the Beverly Hillbillies on the move—only, instead of heading to California with a rocking chair tied to the roof, we were inching our way from Arkansas to Northern Virginia. My oldest daughter and my ex–son-in-law drove all the way from Virginia to help us pack up. Bless them, because when they walked in and saw the mountain of things we thought would fit into their vehicle, they just blinked real slow — you know the blink people do when they’re trying not to say, “Lord have mercy.”

Taking what we could and stuffing the rest into a storage unit, we grabbed “Cookie” our dog, who sat on our laps like she had a first-class ticket. It was equal parts hilarious and heartbreaking.

I remember looking out the back window as the familiar roads slipped away, whispering goodbye to the life we had known. The words of a sermon we’d heard not long before echoed in our hearts: “God keeps His covenant. God keeps His promises.” We held onto that like a lifeline.

A few months later, my middle daughter and I flew back to Arkansas to empty that storage unit. We rented a U-Haul and drove 15 hours back to Virginia. Just imagine me — a woman who spent most of her life on calm little two-lane roads — now gripping a steering wheel the size of a hula hoop while semis blew past us like we were standing still.

Roundabouts?
Interstates?
Three-lane merges?

Listen. I deserved a medal simply for surviving the on-ramp.

But there I was, gripping that steering wheel like it was going to jump out of my hands, and my daughter pretending she wasn’t terrified… but I knew she was secretly praying under her breath.

We had no radio. No playlist. No distraction.
Just miles of road and miles of emotions.

So we talked.
We dreamed.
We cried without meaning to.
We laughed harder than we expected.
We encouraged each other like two women on the edge of something new — nervous, hopeful, and hungry for a fresh start.

And somewhere between Arkansas and the Virginia suburbs, in that big, rumbling U-Haul, we forged a bond I can’t even fully describe.
A bond made of courage, tears, laughter, and the kind of conversations you only have when life strips everything else away.

That trip became a quiet anthem in my soul: We really can do hard things.
Even the messy things.
Even the scary things.
Even the things that look like a sitcom episode nobody asked for.

Hard things don’t come to break us.
They come to reveal us.
They come to stretch us.
They come to remind us that God already went ahead of us — and He packed light because He knew we’d be carrying enough.

Mama Wisdom Moment ✨

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it rides in the front seat of a U-Haul, gripping the wheel, whispering, ‘Lord, help,’ while still putting one mile in front of the other. And every mile you travel — literally and spiritually — becomes proof that you can do hard things.”