When the phone rang last night, I looked over and saw it was my mom. She never calls at night unless something has happened. My heart dropped, and I immediately thought about my dad. Is he missing? Hurt? Did something happen to him? My dad loves to go out on walkabouts in the Moab desert for hours, sometimes even 12 hours, without taking anything—no water, no cell phone. It has brought us all much worry. Was he out there again? My stomach tightened as I picked up. I instantly knew something was wrong. This is one of my superpowers: I can read people very well.

“Well, your dad’s not doing well,” my mom said. I braced myself. “He’s been having stomach pains and went to urgent care. They sent him to the ER in Moab, and he is now being transferred by ambulance to Salt Lake.” We don’t know much this morning. He is waiting to speak to the surgeon. This is the truth; this is what is going on for me. My thoughts are constantly with my dad, and I’m worried about him. And I feel like I am breaking some kind of rule by sharing this. We’ve always had a keep-it-close-to-the-chest kind of thing in our family. We don’t share much. No pictures of my dad are allowed on social media; he doesn’t like his picture taken at all. So, I feel like I’m breaking some kind of unwritten rule by sharing this now.

I share it because it is a rule that I’ve lived by most of my life that no longer serves me. I’m terrible at keeping secrets. I don’t want any secrets in my life. I’m done with that. Confidentiality, yes. I’m a firm believer in only sharing your own story. I share my truth, my story, as it relates to me. I won’t share someone else’s story. I no longer want to keep these things secret for several reasons. One, things fester in the dark. In my experience, this is when we start to go down the rabbit hole of fear—when we don’t know. Shame needs two things to survive: judgment and silence. No more shame, no more silence from me.

The second part is about the light. We are all connected by something greater than ourselves, and anything is possible when we put it in the light. I believe in the power of prayer, of sending love and light. I know it makes a difference. I want to share this morning so we can all send my dad love, light, and healing. He may choose to keep his story to himself, but my dad is sick, and it’s my choice to put him in the light. I love my dad, and I want him to heal, to be healthy, in peace, and feel the power of light.

I’ve honored my dad’s way of not sharing, of keeping things private. But I also get to have my own experience of my dad. I get to share how I relate to him and how this relationship impacts me. It doesn’t work for me to be stoic, to suck it up, to keep things private. That is not where healing and upliftment happen. I know my life is for learning, growth, and upliftment. So, what am I learning from my dad’s recent hospital trip? I’m learning to honor what works for me. I’m learning to speak my truth, to ask for help, and to voice what I need. I’m learning to bring light to anything that has a hold or darkness on me.

What keeps you from doing what your heart calls you to do? What old rules are you still following that no longer serve you? It’s time to break free from them.

We need to stop hiding, stop playing small, and stop being afraid. Instead, let us honor our truths and face the fears that keep us bound. By doing so, we not only heal ourselves but also bring more light into the world. This is not just about my dad or me—it’s about all of us. It’s about acknowledging that our experiences, our pain, and our stories matter.

Let us light a candle, say a prayer, and offer gratitude—not just for those we’ve loved and lost, but for the strength and courage within ourselves. By embracing our truth and speaking out, we can transform fear into love, darkness into light, and smallness into greatness. Let us open the door to our hearts and let our love shine through.

All my love, Molly