I Love You Enough to Stop Lying to You About Who I Am.

Published On July 19, 2026 By Tamera Mathis

For a long time, I’ve been a professional architect, but I wasn't designing notebooks or planners. I was designing versions of myself.

I’ve lived in a two-way mirror. On one side, my family sees the "loving, sweet, wholesome, God-fearing woman of integrity". And I am her. But on the other side of that mirror, my best friend knows the intense and magnetic Tamera—the one who is nonchalant and doesn’t care about a single opinion or a misguided emotion. For years, I thought keeping those two women in separate rooms was "respectful". I thought the "Proper Tamera" was a gift to my family and the "Raw Tamera" was a secret. But living like that isn't respect; it’s a prison. And I’m officially checking out of my cell.

The Myth of the "Good Girl"

To my family: I love you. I respect the foundation you gave me. But I love you enough to stop lying to you about who I am. Being "God-fearing" doesn’t mean I have to be a cardboard cutout. I am a woman of faith and I am a woman with fire. I can pray in the morning and be completely unbothered by the world’s "proper" rules by noon. My integrity isn't found in how well I can play a character for you; it’s found in the courage to show you the whole package. If you only love the "sweet" version, you aren't loving me—you’re loving a mask I’ve been wearing to keep you comfortable.

The High Cost of the Double Life

My struggle with the "two-way mirror" isn't unique; it is the silent engine running through so many of our lives. When we choose to live in a "proper" prison, we don't just trap ourselves—we build a foundation of dishonesty for everyone we love.

I see it in men who are living double lives, hiding behind a "respectable" image while seeking their real desires in the shadows. They think they are protecting their partners by staying quiet, but they are actually patronizing them. They choose the "side door" because the front door of their relationship is too small for their real selves to fit through.

I see it in women who were born to be free-spirited firecrackers, but have shriveled up into "prim and proper" roles because they think that’s the only way to be "Wife Material". They trade their intensity for a title, only to realize that marriage shouldn't be a funeral for your personality. Whether it is the man seeking an escape or the woman silencing her spirit, the cost is the same: A life that looks perfect but feels empty.

The View from the Other Side

I sat down with a close friend who has been in my corner since the beginning. We realized we share the same relational struggles: we both want a love that is genuine, but we keep hitting the walls of "proper" expectations. I asked him the questions most people are too polite to voice, and his answers were a wake-up call for anyone still trying to play a character.

When I asked him why people in relationships often look elsewhere, he gave me the truth about the search for peace. He talked about how a home can stop feeling like a sanctuary and start feeling like a place of judgment and unfinished chores. He admitted that for some, the "side" connection feels like the only place they can be their unfiltered selves without being asked to change. But he also highlighted a hard truth: those connections often shift once "feelings get involved" and the cycle of expectations begins again.

I asked him to describe his perfect relationship, and it wasn't a white picket fence. He told me:

"Be my peace... show you got my back no matter what. Never switch. Finish how you start and just grow as one."

Finish How You Start

That phrase, "finish how you start," is the ultimate mission statement. "Switching up" is just another mask we wear. We enter relationships in "Sales Mode," presenting a polished, silver-spoon version of ourselves just to win. But when the comfort sets in and the mask slips, the resentment begins.

If you aren't a silver spoon, don't present as one. If you start the race as a "wholesome, quiet" character, you can’t be surprised when your partner is confused by the intense and magnetic woman who finally decides to breathe. Consistency over comfort—that is the new blueprint.

A Message to the "Judgment Police"

We live in a world where everyone is different. We have different desires, different interests, and different ways of existing. Why are we so obsessed with policing each other? Your judgment of my "unfiltered" layers says everything about your limits and nothing about my heart. Pretending secret worlds don't exist doesn’t make you holy; it just makes you a liar. Why can’t we just accept that "different" is the reality and "perfect" is the lie?

The "Proper Prison" is closed. I’m merging the lanes. Moving forward, there is only one Tamera.

I’m a self-taught creative. I didn’t wait for a syllabus to tell me how to design, and I’m done waiting for a permission slip to tell me how to live. I’m going to be bold, I’m going to be indifferent to your labels, and I’m going to be exactly who I was created to be. I am finishing exactly how I started.

Unapologetically Tamera.

The CEO’s Dilemma: Negotiating with the Walls I Built

Published On June 21, 2026 by Tamera Mathis

Have you ever been in a game of tug-of-war between your heart and your mind? Your heart wants to be loved, but your mind has built a wall to protect it—keeping people out so hurt can’t get in.

It’s essentially a high-stakes business meeting between two department heads of the same company who can’t agree on a strategy because their goals are polar opposites.

• The Heart (Director of Growth): Wants to invest in connection and find fulfillment.
• The Mind (Head of Risk Management): Wants to analyze past failures and make logical decisions to prevent another loss.

When these two departments are at a deadlock, the "company" stalls. No growth happens, but the overhead of maintaining those walls is getting expensive. So, what do you do in a situation like that?

I say, we sit down and have a conversation. Let’s look at the meeting minutes:

Department Report: Risk Management (The Mind)

The Mind walks into the room, drops a heavy stack of files on the table, and doesn't bother sitting down. This department doesn’t care about "vibes" or "potential." It only cares about the data—and the data from the last few fiscal years hasn't been great.

The Argument: "CEO, we need to be realistic. My department’s sole KPI is Survival. Every time we’ve lowered the perimeter in the past, we’ve seen a massive dip in emotional assets. I’ve seen this 'new candidate’s' playbook before. He’s saying all the right things, but I’m seeing the same patterns that led to our previous bankruptcy.

My scouts are telling me it’s just a game. He’s looking for a short-term acquisition, not a long-term merger. If we let our guard down now, we’re just inviting a security breach. Why would we risk the entire company on a 'maybe' when the walls are working perfectly? I say we reject the proposal and stay in lockdown. I'm not falling for the bullshit."

The Deadlock: A Boardroom Standoff

The Heart (Director of Connection): "I hear the data, and I’m not disputing the past losses. But we have to look at the current state of our operations. By staying in permanent lockdown, we’ve effectively halted all expansion. You’re so busy looking for a 'security breach' that you’re treating a potential partner like a criminal. Yes, he might be playing a game—but what if he’s not? What if he’s the merger we’ve been waiting for? You’re asking for a 100% guarantee, and in this market, that doesn’t exist."

The Mind: "I’d rather be safe than 'free' and broken again. I’ve spent years building these walls to fix the mess you made the last time we 'followed our heart.' I’m not being a hater; I’m being a realist. We are staying behind the wall until the season is over."

The CEO’s Decision: A New Standard Operating Procedure

As the CEO, I’ve listened to both sides. The truth is, they’re both right. But we can’t run a successful company when the departments are at war. Effective immediately, we are implementing a new SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) for Vulnerability:

1. From Lockdown to Vetting: We aren't tearing down the walls, but we are opening the gates. The Mind is no longer allowed to reject a candidate based on past data alone. Each new proposal gets a fresh evaluation based on current actions.
2. The Probationary Period: The Heart doesn't get to hand over the keys on Day 1. We are moving from "blind trust" to "earned trust." We will watch for consistency. If the Mind sees a game being played, we exit early—but we don't sabotage a good thing just because we’re scared.
3. Active Scouting: Risk Management, your job isn't to say "No." Your job is to stay alert. Watch the film. If he says he’s "the one," check the stats. Does his effort match his talk?

Closing Thoughts

Healing isn’t about firing your Mind or silencing your Heart. It’s about becoming a better leader of yourself. It’s realizing that while the Mind is a great Bodyguard, the Heart is the only one qualified to be the Partner.

We are back in business. And this time, we’re playing to win—not just playing to "not lose." Don't let your history keep you from your future; just make sure you’re checking the ID at the door.

Which department is currently running the show in your head? Is it time to call a board meeting?

He’s Not Deep, He’s Delusional

When a dog meets a Chameleon in a dirty pickup game

Published On May 25, 2026 by Tamera Mathis

The Scouting Report: Instinct vs. Intellect

In a world full of noise, being a straight shooter is a survival skill. Most people out here are moving for themselves, and if you weren't nurtured to protect your own peace, you learned the hard way that being "emotional" is often just an invitation to get played. You don’t have to be "hard," but you do have to be analytical.

There’s a fundamental difference between a dog and a strategist. A dog follows a scent; he has a predictable instinct and a repetitive script. He’s out here playing a game he’s played a thousand times, thinking he’s the lead actor in a movie nobody else has seen. This is the Delusional Man—the player who has actually convinced himself that his poetic words can override his messy reality. He wants to talk about "genuine connections" while standing on a foundation of inconsistency and double lives. When you strip away the fluff, you realize he isn’t being deep; he is simply living in a state of delusion.

But then he meets the Chameleon.

A Chameleon doesn’t just play the game; she masters the environment. She understands that when "grown" becomes "game," the only way to stay protected is to stay objective. She can blend into his "delusional" world, speak his "genuine" language, and let him believe he’s winning—all while her real self remains untouched, unbothered, and completely hidden behind walls tougher than a border.

He thinks he’s looking at a reflection of his own desires, but he’s really just looking at a masterpiece I designed for him. He thinks he’s watching his own highlight reel, but I’m the one sitting in the booth, watching the film and calling every play before it happens.

1. Analyzing the Play

In the design world, we know how to spot a filter. Life requires that same level of executive discernment. When someone isn't ready to walk in truth, they try to "spiritualize" their lack of integrity. They use "deep" words as currency, hoping you'll mistake their confusion for character.

• The "Genuine" Trap: Watch for the man who claims he wants something "real" while he's actively being unfaithful elsewhere.

• The "Friendship" Pivot: This is a safety play. He’ll pivot to "valuing the friendship" to avoid looking like the villain. Real friendship is built on transparency, not on being a secret.

• The "Rare Connection" Narrative: The romantic filter. He wants to believe he’s a philosopher so he doesn't have to face the practical consequences of his choices.

2. The Comfort of a Rigged Game

Sometimes we play a rigged game because we aren’t looking to win. When vulnerability equals exploitation, those Chameleon walls give you the freedom to have fun with life without the bill coming due.

Maybe you’re like me—you’ve mastered the art of playing a delusional game without getting caught up in the trauma that these games cause the "typical" woman. You don’t owe anyone anything. If you want something, you go get it. It is what it is—nothing more, nothing less. In a rigged game, you aren’t a victim; you’re an observer. You’re in control of your own disappointment because you never signed up for the fairy tale in the first place.

3. The Strategy of Emotional Maturity

“Emotional maturity isn't about proving to someone that you don't care; it's about using logic rather than feelings to regulate your emotions.”

Maturity is the ability to acknowledge the attraction but reject the chaos because your logic tells you the cost of the ticket isn't worth the show. You stop reacting to his "deep" words and start responding to his actual stats.

4. The Divine Reality Check

A woman who knows her worth acts as a mirror. When he encounters her, he doesn't find a soft place to hide his lies; he finds a reflection of the truth he’s been trying to outrun. God has a way of using our clarity to interrupt someone else's confusion.

A Note to the Ladies: Protecting the Court

• Watch the Play, Not the Player: Stop spending your emotional energy on people who talk a great game but have zero fruit.

• Discern the Spirit: Real depth requires honesty. If he’s unwilling to be honest in his primary life, he isn’t "deep"—he’s just dangerous to your peace.

• Know When to Walk Off: You are far too valuable to be an "option." Either play the game with your eyes open, or get off the court entirely.

He thought he was playing ball, then he met the Chameleon. I am not his next mistake; I am his divine reality check.

In talking to my transplant psychologist this morning, I disclosed something that had me evaluating how relational trauma has shaped my view of people. I said to my psychologist, “I don’t expect much of others because I don’t want to be disappointed. I’m trying to change that, but it’s hard.”

My psychologist replied by asking, “Is it hard for you to open up to others?”

“Yes. It has been.”

“How do you feel here today talking with us?”

“I’m fine because I know you all have good intentions.”

And at that moment, I realized that I sounded a little traumatized. Blindly trusting people makes me feel like I’m on a roller coaster. You know, you get on a roller coaster blindly trusting this large piece of equipment to securely hold you in place while it takes you through loops and twists at lightning speeds. Once it takes off, you have relinquished any control you may have had. You can’t stop it. You can’t slow it down. You can’t get off.

So, now what? Do I trust this man (the roller coaster) to take me on a ride (the relationship) where I could possibly lose control of my feelings? What if he doesn’t have good intentions (security)? What if I close my eyes—as we often do on roller coasters at the scary parts—just to open them again and find that the scary part isn’t over? Cheating, lies, lack of effort—now it’s worse. My security (the straps or bars holding me in) has faltered, and I’m seconds away from disaster: depression, anxiety, constant arguments, and messy breakups.

My view of people was built on rough terrain. I didn’t grow up with examples of healthy relationships; every married couple I knew divorced. I have been traumatized by the fact that people leave, people lie, and people manipulate. Everyone seems to be a coward in their own way.

I’m afraid to trust people with my heart, so instead of expecting them to keep their word and treat me properly, I expect them to fail in every aspect of being a decent human being. That way, when they show their true colors, my picture of them goes from simply black and white to vivid High Definition clarity.

Some people are so afraid of being completely transparent because they either don’t want to hurt the other person, lose them, or lose the benefit of being attached to them. I understand not wanting to be looked at differently because of your honest thoughts, but a relationship walking on eggshells is PRISON.

I appreciate transparency. I love being able to share my fantasies, my fears, and my intrusive thoughts. In my opinion, transparency turns a relationship into more than just a mundane companionship—it becomes a sure space for love, security, and honesty.

Healing doesn’t mean the fear of the roller coaster goes away; it means I’m finally picky about which rides I’m willing to get on. I’m doing the work to stop expecting failure and start demanding the kind of love that doesn't require me to close my eyes just to get through the scary parts. I am moving forward—intentionally—from black and white to a life lived in full, transparent, High Definition color.

The Scars of Spring: Embracing a Body Reborn

 | Published on: March 24, 2026 by Tamera Mathis

The Mirror and the Memory

I recently sat in the quiet of my own home—a silence so different from the constant hum and clinical "beep" of the hospital corridors I’ve lived in lately. For the first time since my discharge, I really looked at myself. Not just a passing glance in a bathroom mirror, but a deep, lingering look at the woman I’ve become.

I’ll be honest: I didn’t recognize her.

I found myself doing what so many of us do when we feel lost—I started scrolling. I went back to the "before" photos. Before the dialysis, before the transplant, and before the surgical lines mapped out my torso. In those photos, my silhouette was familiar. I knew how to inhabit that body. But looking at myself today, I see a map of a war I’m still processing. It felt like looking at a stranger.

The Temptation of "Fixing" a Miracle

The insecurity hit me like a physical weight. I started looking at my reflection and thinking of ways to "fix" it. I actually found myself researching body contouring and liposuction. I wanted to erase the evidence of the struggle; I wanted to "contour" my way back to the girl in those old photos.

But the Holy Spirit met me right there in my vanity. I had to ask myself a hard question: Am I really willing to put this life—the one God just miraculously preserved—back at risk just to satisfy an image? I’ve been through too much to gamble with this second chance. I realized that my desire for "perfection" was actually a form of grief. I was mourning the old version of me so much that I was failing to honor the miracle of the new version.

A House for a Stranger’s Gift

There is a profound, quiet weight to life after a transplant. It’s the realization that I am no longer just "me." Inside of me, there is a literal piece of another life—a gift from a donor that has become the engine of my survival.

When I felt that urge to hide my scars, I had to stop and realize whose house I was talking about. This body isn't just my own anymore; it is the vessel carrying a miracle. My anatomy has been rearranged. There are new organs where the old ones failed, and new scars where the surgeons made a way.

To feel "insecure" about my transplant body is to look a miracle in the face and ask if it could be a little prettier. I’ve realized my job this month isn’t to get back into "pre-dialysis shape." My job is to be a good steward of this "stranger’s gift."

The Broken Soil of March

It is March, and all around us, the earth is shifting. If you look at a garden right now, the ground is often muddy, turned over, and scarred. To a passerby, it looks ruined. But a gardener knows that the soil must be broken for anything to grow.

My scars are the broken soil of my life. They are the evidence that the cold, frozen winter of sickness is over. I am learning that being Healed on Purpose doesn't mean returning to who I was. It means becoming the "New Creation" that survived the storm.

In the Kingdom of God, scars aren't blemishes; they are credentials. Even Jesus kept His scars after the Resurrection. They didn't make Him less whole; they proved He had overcome.

Watching the New Come to Fruition

My "newness" is still tender. Some days I feel strong, and other days I still feel like that fragile sprout pushing through the dirt. But I am choosing to let the "old" version of me rest in the past. I am trading my "scrolling" for "stewardship."

I am not a project to be corrected. I am a testimony in progress.

Word for Your Heart

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” — 2 Corinthians 5:17

Published on February 21, 2026 by Tamera Mathis

 

Let’s talk about February 14th. Usually, this is the day for grand romantic gestures and the hunt for "the one." But if you’ve been following my journey, you know my relationship status with life has been… intense.

For a long time, my "plus one" wasn't a person—it was a dialysis machine.

Not long ago, my life was a high-stakes juggling act. I was managing heart failure, spending hours on dialysis, and chasing a toddler around the house. Dating during that time was my escape. It was a way to feel like a woman, not just a patient or a mother. It was fun, it was a distraction, and it kept me connected to the "normal" world.

The Shift: No More "Fixer-Uppers"

But surviving a health crisis and a transplant changes how you look at people. In the past, I was a builder. I looked at a man’s potential. I invested my time, my energy, and my resources to put certain people in a better position in life.

Instead of building on the foundation I helped lay, they fumbled. They took the investment and let it crumble.

Going through trauma, both medical and emotional, taught me a vital lesson: I am no longer in the business of developing people. I don’t have the "emotional capital" to wait for someone to grow up or get their act together. I spent too much time fighting for my own life to spend a single second fixing someone else's.

The Now: High Standards in a Busy Life

Fast forward to today. I have a new heart,a new kidney a strict post-transplant medication regimen, and a rising kindergartener who is faster than ever. My life is absolutely full. When I date now, the criteria has changed:

• No "Potential": I’m looking at who you are today, not who you could be if I helped you.

• Investment over Destruction: I have built a beautiful, stable, albeit busy life. I’m only interested in someone who is ready to invest in that life, not someone who is going to destroy the peace I nearly died to find.

• Fun over "Forever": Because my life is so packed with appointments and parenting, I don’t have the time to build a "soulmate" connection right now. I want the joy of a great date without the weight of a project.

This Valentine's Day...

I celebrated the fact that I’m here. I’m celebrating my health, my child, and the fact that I finally know my own worth.

My heart is healthy, my boundaries are firm, and my life is crowded. I’m not looking for a "missing piece" anymore, because I’ve worked too hard to put myself back together on my own. If you aren't coming to the table ready to add value, I’m perfectly happy eating alone.

The Takeaway: There is a huge difference between being "lonely" and being "protective." My life is full—and I’m the only one who gets to decide who is worthy of the space I have left.
____________________________________

Published on January 27, 2026 by Tamera Mathis

The Breeze That Never Came

When I looked toward 2026 from my hospital bed back in October, I had a specific vision in my head. I thought that once the surgery was over and I survived the operating table, the rest would be a breeze. I imagined walking out of Duke University Hospital, breathing in the fresh air, and sliding right back into a "normal," healthy life. I was wrong. The truth is, while the surgery gave me a new heart and kidney, the recovery introduced me to a level of suffering I wasn’t prepared for. I thought I was heading for a finish line, but I actually walked into a full-time job—and the hours are grueling.

The Darkest Week

I haven’t shared this part yet, but my discharge from the hospital was actually delayed by a full two weeks. Not because the organs weren’t working, but because my mind and body were under a relentless attack. I struggled with major anxiety and panic attacks that felt like they were suffocating me. On top of the mental weight, I was hit with a nausea so violent and constant that I couldn't even look at food. I watched the scale drop until I had lost a total of 20 lbs. It got so bad that the doctors began discussing something that I never envisioned: a feeding tube. There were moments when the suffering was so intense that I begged to be put to sleep. I just wanted the world to go dark so I wouldn't have to feel the panic or the sickness anymore. Call me crazy, but I even asked them to take me to the psych ward. I truly felt like I was going crazy. The suffering in my mind was taking such a toll on me that I looked around and all I could see were the walls closing in. I felt like I was losing it all. I couldn't trust anyone to understand the weight that I was carrying. I knew the nurses worked with patients like me all the time, but not once had they ever truly felt what the patients go through—they couldn't even imagine the reality of it. I felt like a prisoner in my own body, trapped between a life-saving miracle and a mind-bending nightmare.

The Bed and the Song

In those moments, I felt completely alone. I felt like no one was listening—not the doctors, not the nurses, and sometimes, in my darkest thoughts, not even God. I remember laying in that hospital bed, too weak to move but too anxious to be still. I would literally rock myself to sleep, a grown woman trying to soothe her own soul. I didn't have headphones; I didn't want to hide the sound. I just let my phone play one song on a relentless loop, filling the sterile silence of that room: "Come Jesus, Come" by CeCe Winans. As the lyrics rang out—"Come Jesus, come / We’ve been waiting so long"—I let her voice cry out for me when I had no words left. I needed the atmosphere to change. I needed Him to come into that room, into that nausea, and into that panic. I had to let that truth play out loud just to keep my mind from shattering. It was a roller coaster that I didn’t buy a ticket for, and there were times I looked at the ceiling and asked: "What in the world have I gotten myself into?"

The "Why" Behind the Weight

I knew this wouldn't be easy, but I didn't expect the toll it would take. I didn't expect that "healing" would feel so much like "hurting." But as I stand here in January, home and finally away from the threat of a feeding tube, I realize that the 20 lbs I lost wasn’t just weight; it was a stripping away of my old self. God allowed me to see the bottom so I would know exactly who was holding me up. If you are entering 2026 and you feel "behind," or if you are rocking yourself to sleep because the anxiety of your situation is too much to bear—I see you. You aren't ungrateful for your miracle; you are just in the middle of the maintenance.

Stewardship is a Full-Time Job

Since coming home, the work hasn't stopped. It’s a constant cycle of endless appointments, unexpected hospitalizations, and medication changes. My calendar is a sea of dates and clinics, and I’ve had to return to the very hospital I fought so hard to leave. Every day brings the constant tweaking of the chemical balance keeping me alive. It is exhausting. But I am learning that the cost of this new life is my total surrender. I am no longer in charge of my schedule; my recovery is. And while I still have days where the "What have I done?" thoughts creep in, I look at my family and I remember that the toll is high, but the prize is priceless.

2026: Walking Out the Process

This year, my resolution isn't to be "perfect." It’s to be present. Even in the nausea, even in the anxiety, and even in the appointments, I am Healed On Purpose—even when the purpose feels heavy. We are taking this year one prayer, one song, and one breath at a time. The miracle is the gift, but the recovery is the sacrifice. Don’t be ashamed of the struggle; it’s just proof that you’re still in the fight.

__________________________

Published on December 21, 2025 by Tamera Mathis

Not Delayed, But Reserved: The Victory Found in God's Calendar

The Weight of Hope

If you read my last blog post, “Delayed, Not Denied,” you know I’ve already faced the ultimate test of resilience: the call that came and then fell through. That night in September—the frantic race to Duke, the highway blockade, the flat tire, the kindness of the police officer—all of it was fueled by the conviction that my miracle had finally arrived. To be told at 1:30 AM that the donor heart was unusable, after overcoming every obstacle to get there, was a profound disappointment.

But the emotional cost wasn't paid in full that night. The real price was exacted in the weeks that followed. The wait for a transplant is already a heavy burden, but after the first false alarm, the waiting game transformed into an emotional gauntlet.

How do you keep your phone on full volume, ready to jump, while simultaneously trying to protect your heart from the same crushing disappointment? I had heard stories of others—I knew someone who endured three false alarms before receiving their heart. That knowledge was both a comfort and a terrifying prospect, reminding me that my journey might just be starting.

Every late-night ring became a jolt of anxiety, not just anticipation. I knew God’s word was true—"For I know the plans I have for you..." (Jeremiah 29:11)—but trusting His timeline felt harder than ever. I was living on a knife’s edge, praying for a sign but terrified to let my guard down and believe in the next call. The first call taught me that even when the path is cleared, the ultimate timing is not up to me.

The Return to Routine

The physical demands only compounded the emotional fatigue. After the long, quiet drive home from Duke, we finally arrived home around 4:00 AM. I was running on pure fumes, but I couldn't crash. I took a small nap, and then, just two hours later, I had to wake up at 6:00 AM to go straight to dialysis.

This was the harsh reality check. After nearly being wheeled into the operating room for a new life, I was back in a chair, tethered to a machine, continuing the old routine. It was a stark, brutal reminder that I was still waiting. Going back to dialysis that morning was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done—a quiet symbol of the promise that was temporarily retracted.

I continued to wake up, continued to pray, and continued to tell myself: I am delayed, but I am not denied.

The Real Call

That conviction was rewarded on October 19, 2025. It was 1:30 PM, a Sunday afternoon. My dad and my daughter, Laiya, had just come inside after blowing bubbles, and I had finished cleaning the kitchen. I was getting ready to walk back to my room when my phone lit up. The caller ID glowed: DUKE UNIVERSITY.

I froze. The memory of the last call—the adrenaline, the flat tire, the eventual heartbreak—flashed through my mind. I quickly answered. The transplant coordinator began speaking, explaining that organs were available. I looked at my dad, hope surging in my eyes, and managed to say, “Yes ma'am, I'm on the way.”

I hung up and, barely containing my excitement, turned to my dad and said, “It’s time!”

He was confused. "What?"

“Duke has a heart for me!” I repeated, already rushing to pack. The race was on again.

The Cautious Journey

This time, my approach was different. We packed up and took off for Durham, NC, but I didn't make a big deal of it. I didn't call everyone I knew. I had been burned before, and I wanted to protect my peace. I needed to see this through quietly, taking it easier this time, just me and my faith.

And, unlike the first chaotic trip, this journey was smooth. No obstacles delayed us. No police intervention was needed. We got to Duke University Hospital, and everything began moving smoothly.

The team immediately began prepping me. The surgeons and the anesthesiologist came in, talking me through the process and getting my consents. My mother arrived and came to the room with me. We prayed, we talked, and we took a sacred “before surgery” selfie—a final snapshot of the life I was leaving behind, ready for the one I was about to claim.

Around 9 PM, the team came in and said it was time. I instantly got jittery with excitement. At about 10 PM on Sunday night, they administered the anesthesia for the dual transplant. I was ready to surrender my body and trust God's plan completely.

Waking Up With Purpose

When I finally woke up on Tuesday morning around 4:30, I was disoriented. I was simply aware it was 4:30, unable to tell if it was AM or PM, and oblivious to the fact that I had missed a whole day of my life. My immediate, silent thought was: "Thank God I’m alive." (My mom would fill me in later on what day and time it actually was.)

I couldn't move much, but I began to take inventory: I can't speak, there’s a tube down my throat. Am I hurting? No, I felt no pain.

Where is everyone? I couldn't turn my head or sit up so I couldn't tell if I was alone or not. I began banging on the bed rail with my left hand, hoping someone would hear. My mom immediately got up and came over, calling the team in. They quickly examined me, removed the tube, and carefully sat me up.

The nurses and doctors were in and out for the next couple of hours, assessing my vitals and progress. At around 6 AM, they were ready for the next step: walking. They brought in a special walker, preparing for the slow, small steps they expected from someone who had just undergone two major surgeries.

But that wasn't what I gave them.

I got up like I felt no pain at all, and I began walking with a force and speed that startled the staff. I walked with PURPOSE. They were amazed. One doctor looked at me and said, “Just a few hours ago you were having heart surgery, now you're running down the hallway.” Another said, “Okay, Ms. Mathis, I’m starting to think you didn’t even have surgery.”

They could see it—the same truth I felt deep in my soul. My quick recovery was beyond clinical expectation. The power of God was showing!

Conclusion: Perfect Timing

The contrast between my first and second transplant calls couldn’t be sharper. The first call was a frenzy—a chaotic race against time, filled with roadblocks, a desperate flat tire change, and ended in heartbreak because the organs were deemed unsuitable. That urgency, that rushing, was met with failure.

The second call, the real call on October 19th, was marked by peace and precision. I took the journey slower, trusting the plan, and we arrived smoothly. The whole experience, from the prep room to the operating table, unfolded seamlessly because the time was finally right, and the gift God had prepared for me was perfect.

I want my readers to know that God’s timing is perfect timing. The false alarm in September wasn't just a tough moment; it was His deliberate intervention. He was protecting me from organs that were "no good" because He had something greater planned. He had a heart and a kidney specifically prepared and meant for me.

Sometimes, we try to rush things, fueled by our own impatience and desires, forgetting that rushing may lead to destruction and failure. The waiting may feel agonizingly hard, as I felt waking up for dialysis just hours after the first heartbreak, but that waiting has a purpose! It builds our resilience, sharpens our focus, and ensures that when the blessing finally arrives, it is flawless and perfectly timed.

My miracle wasn't delayed; it was reserved.

🙏 A Closing Prayer

Lord, thank You for Your perfect timing. Thank You that even in the moments of confusion, disappointment, and exhaustion, You are working Your greater plan. Help us to surrender our watches and clocks to Yours, trusting that what You have reserved for us is worth the wait. Amen.

🤔 Reflection Question

Can you look back at a major delay or disappointment in your life and now see how it protected you or prepared you for the greater blessing that followed?

 

💖 Final Thought

Trust the reservation. God's delays are not denial; they are protection, ensuring the blessing you receive is perfectly timed and exactly right for you.

__________________________

Finally On The List

It’s easy to talk about a life-changing surgery, but before the miracle, there is the wait. And for me, the waiting game to receive a heart and kidney transplant was a marathon with endless hurdles.

The journey to the official transplant list was almost as difficult as the disease itself. I had faced rejection after my first evaluation in April 2024, primarily because I struggled to comply with the strict rules. In fact, I had a stubborn habit of signing out AMA (Against Medical Advice) whenever I felt confined. This was a non-starter for the transplant team. They needed absolute certainty that I understood the seriousness of the commitment.

After over a year of struggle, preparation, and proving I was ready, the impossible happened: on August 27, 2025, I was officially listed for the dual transplant. The relief was overwhelming, but it was immediately replaced by a new kind of anxiety. I was in a state of permanent readiness. Every phone call, every unexpected chime, was a potential life-changer. I wasn't sure if I had the emotional strength to sustain the wait, or even if I truly had it in me to go through with the surgery when the time came.

But I was on the list. I was ready. Or so I thought.

---

 

The Call

The call came just a few weeks after my listing. It was around 11:30 PM on September 12, 2025. I somehow missed the crucial call from the transplant team, which is the exact scenario you spend months preparing to avoid.

Because of this system failure on my part, they immediately initiated the backup plan: they called my mom, who then urgently called my dad, who was staying with me at the time. I heard my dad on the phone, his voice animated and urgent, but honestly, my dad is an animated person anyway, so I paid it no mind.

That is, until he came into my room and shared the news that made my heart stop: "Duke has a heart for you!"

I was thoroughly confused. How did he know? He explained the chain of calls—they called my phone first, then my mom. In an instant, the exhaustion and the wait evaporated. I jumped up, adrenaline surging. The time had finally arrived! I started calling everyone I knew while frantically trying to get ready. I wasn't prepared at all, just throwing things in a bag for my daughter, and then we, along with my dad, jumped on the road for the long drive to Durham, NC.

---

 

The Journey: Detours and Divine Intervention

We were fueled by urgency and hope. As we neared the highway, ready to start the long drive, we noticed a barrage of police cars and flashing lights. The highway was completely blocked off due to a major accident. My heart immediately sank; this was precious time we couldn't afford to lose. I quickly panicked, but then found the resolve to act.

I pulled up to a police officer and, with everything I had, explained my situation: "I was just called for a heart transplant! How do I get on the highway?" He immediately understood the gravity of the moment. He told me to turn around and meet his coworker up the street, who would guide us through a quick diversion to get around the blockage. Okay, fine. I told myself. Quick diversion. It’ll be okay.

We finally got on the highway and were cruising along, making up lost time. I called my transplant team to give them an updated ETA. We were about twenty minutes away from Duke when suddenly, something started furiously flapping on my car. I slowed down, realizing the unbelievable had just happened: I had a flat tire.

OMG! What else can go wrong right now?

I pulled over and got out to assess the damage. This was the moment I thought I would finally break, but I didn't. I stayed calm. I knew that panicking would only slow us down further. Calling AAA would take an hour or more, so I opted to call the police again and explain the situation to them. They were incredible. An officer was sent out right away, and he changed my tire in under ten minutes, getting me, my daughter, and my dad back on the road.

Every delay was met with an intervention. It felt like every obstacle placed in our path was instantly cleared away. We were going to make it.

---

 

The Answer

We finally arrived at Duke University Hospital, exhausted but riding the residual high of adrenaline. The clock read around 12:45 AM, and the team immediately began prepping me for surgery. After the chaotic, obstacle-filled journey, the hospital room felt quiet and certain. This was it.

As I lay there, ready, my phone buzzed with an incoming call—a Duke University number. I answered, and it was my coordinator. I held my breath as she spoke. It was 1:30 AM.

She informed me, gently, that after the surgical team assessed the organ, the donor heart was deemed no good and was unusable for transplant. She apologized profusely.

I can't say that I wasn't deeply disappointed. Every part of that stressful night, every obstacle overcome—the highway block, the flat tire, the kindness of strangers—was driven by the conviction that this was finally my time. But it wasn't.

However, I immediately felt a sense of acceptance. This was always a possibility. Once again, I had to trust that there was a reason, a greater plan for me.

---

 

Conclusion: Trusting the Plan

The long drive back home that morning was quiet, a stark contrast to the frantic rush to get to Durham. The entire night felt like a fever dream—a dizzying journey that ended exactly where it began: still waiting.

The whole experience, with its near misses, police escorts, and roadside tire change, made me realize that even when the path is cleared, the ultimate timing is not up to me. I thought I was ready, but God had different plans. His word gives me strength and perspective in moments like these:

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)

My time wasn't September 12, 2025. This was a challenging test of resilience, of patience, and of faith. I may have been delayed, but I know I am not denied. I must continue to trust those plans and keep looking to God for all my help and strength until the night my real miracle finally arrives.

---

 

🙏 A Closing Prayer

Lord, thank You for Your protection through the chaos. Help me to surrender my timing to Yours. Give me the strength to wait patiently for the promise, knowing that Your plans are always perfect, and that the blessing I seek is already secured in Your love. Amen.

 

🤔 Reflection Question

When has a sudden delay or roadblock in your life actually turned out to be God's protection or better timing?

 

💖 Final Thought

Keep watching for that urgent call—but more importantly, keep listening for that still, small voice of guidance. Your miracle is coming.