When the Thought “You Don’t Belong” Creeps In

  Remembering What’s True When Doubt Speaks Quietly

A few weeks ago, I was out to dinner with my son and his family. It was one of those perfect evenings, good conversation, laughter, and kindness from the people working there. Nothing unusual. Nothing negative. Just a pleasant night together.

Then suddenly, my three-year-old granddaughter looked around and announced loudly,

“We don’t belong here. We need to leave.”

Everyone at the table paused.

We asked her why she felt that way. Without hesitation, she said very confidently,

“They don’t like us.”

What struck me was that there was absolutely no evidence of that. No unkind words. No looks. Nothing had happened that would make anyone feel unwelcome. But once that thought entered her mind, it felt completely true to her, and it changed how she felt about being there.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment, because I realized how familiar that experience can be.

 

Satan works the same way with us.

 

He doesn’t usually show up loudly or dramatically. Instead, he plants quiet thoughts that sound believable:

·         You don’t really belong here.

·         You’re not good enough to be here.

·         Everyone else has it together, but you don’t.

 

Once we believe those thoughts, they can affect how we show up, how confident we feel, how willing we are to participate, and how connected we feel to each other and to the Spirit.

One of his most effective tactics is convincing us that we are somehow on the outside looking in.

 

The gospel teaches something very different.

The Lord reminds us in Doctrine & Covenants 18:10 that “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” Not the worth of perfect souls. Not the worth of people who never struggle or doubt.

 Just souls.

 

That includes each one of us.

 

I think sometimes we forget that the Savior’s invitation has always been “Come unto me.”
Not come when you feel like you belong.
Not come when you finally feel worthy.
Just come.

 

When feelings of self‑doubt or not belonging creep in, it can help to pause and ask:

·         Is this thought bringing me closer to Christ or pulling me away?

·         Is this coming from truth or from discouragement?

 

If it’s distancing us from confidence, connection, or the Spirit, then it’s not coming from God.

 

That evening, we reminded my granddaughter that she did belong there that she was safe, wanted, and loved and once she heard that reassurance, she was just fine. Nothing about the restaurant changed, but everything changed once the truth was spoken.

 

I think the same is true for us. When those quiet thoughts tell us we don’t belong, nothing around us may actually need to change. Sometimes we simply need to remember what’s already true.

 

We are children of God.
Our worth is great in His sight.

And no matter what Satan whispers, we belong.

The Savior has been trying to tell us that all along.

XOXO

Tiffanee

Pool Noodles Don’t Prepare You for Life’s Waves

Life’s waves don’t wait for you to be ready and pool noodles don't prepare you for those waves.

One of my favorite things to do in Hawaii is wave jumping. There’s something exhilarating that comes from spotting the perfect wave, timing the jump, and feeling the water lift you like you’re part of the ocean for just a second.

One afternoon, while I was lounging on the beach soaking up the sun, my sister convinced me to join her in the water. She swore the waves were perfect and assured that I wouldn’t lose my favorite sunglasses. I should have known better, considering the ocean had already claimed a few pairs.

Feeling confident, I waded in. Both boogie boards were already taken, so I improvised. I slipped a pool noodle around my waist (my version of “preparation”) and headed straight in the ocean. I spotted what seemed like a manageable wave forming. I braced myself and jumped....

Big mistake.

The wave hit with full force. It knocked me off my feet, spun me around a few times and left me clawing my way back to the surface as my brother later described me a “human sandcastle.” My sunglasses were gone, my hands were scraped, and I spent the next several days getting sand out of places sand should never be.

My nieces and nephew later told us that watching Aunt Tiff get taken out by a wave was the highlight of the day.

As I sat there afterward, dripping, sandy, and slightly bruised, I had a moment of clarity: "that did not go the way I planned". I walked into the ocean totally convinced I was ready for whatever came my way. Clearly, I had misjudged both the wave and my definition of preparation.

The more I thought about it, the more it stuck with me. How often do we step into challenges believing our small, makeshift version of preparation will be enough? Sometimes our “preparation” looks an awful lot like that pool noodle: helpful to a point, but nowhere near what’s needed for the wave that’s coming.

Life has a pretty impressive way of sending waves in our direction, sudden changes, unexpected responsibilities, hard seasons. They don’t show up politely or schedule themselves into our calendars. They just appear.

The question isn’t if the waves will come.

They will.

The real question is whether we’ve built the kind of preparation that actually holds when the water gets rough.

True preparation; emotional, spiritual, practical isn’t loud or dramatic. It grows quietly through the small things: nurturing faith, strengthening relationships, learning and stretching ourselves, taking care of our minds and bodies, building routines that keep us steady when life is anything but predictable.

None of those things stop the waves from coming. Hawaii made sure I understood that.

But preparation changes how hard the wave hits and how quickly we recover afterward. Looking back, the problem that day wasn’t the wave. Waves are just part of the ocean. The problem was thinking my neon pool noodle counted as real preparation.

Life is the same way. Challenges and responsibilities will show up whether we’re ready or not. Real preparation isn’t something you grab last minute. It’s something you build long before you need it.

And when the wave finally comes, you might still get knocked around. You might still get tossed and come up with seaweed in your hair. But with real preparation beneath you, you’ll find your footing faster and you’ll walk away with more clarity than chaos and a lot less sand in your ears (and everywhere else).

Real preparation isn’t a pool noodle you grab at the last minute. It’s the steady foundation you build long before life’s waves arrive.

XOXO

Tiffanee

Walk with Me

   

A few times each year, a friend and I sign up for local races. We always laugh because we “race together”… just not at the same speed. I run, she walks. I usually finish long before she does, and instead of waiting at the finish line, I turn around, jog back along the course and find her. Then we walk the last stretch together.

Over the years, those shared miles have become my favorite part of every race.

When I’m running, I’m focused on the finish line, on pace, time, and momentum. But when I slow down to walk with her, a different world opens up. I start noticing things I completely missed while running: wildflowers pushing up through the cracks in the road, little artistic murals on old buildings, small details that would have blurred by at a faster pace. We talk. We laugh. We process life and mile by mile, our friendship has deepened not in the running, but in the walking.

There’s something sacred about slowing down enough to see what’s been there all along.

It reminds me of a quiet but powerful moment in the book of Moses, when the Lord speaks to Enoch. Enoch feels painfully inadequate; too young, too shy, too weak, too overlooked. He describes himself as “slow of speech” and someone others don’t take seriously. In today’s language, he might have said, “Why me? I’m not qualified.”

But the Lord doesn’t give Enoch a pep talk or a list of reasons he’s secretly amazing.

He simply extends an invitation:

“Walk with me.”

Those three simple words change everything. 

The Lord doesn’t say, “Go do this alone,” “Be perfect first,” or “Figure it all out before you start.” He invites Enoch into companionship, into movement, into a journey taken together, step by step. 

As Enoch accepts that invitation, something transformative happens. His capacity expands. His confidence strengthens. His spiritual eyesight sharpens until he sees things “not visible to the natural eye.” But all of that begins not with running, not with sprinting, but with walking. 

It begins with a walk.

Walking is relational.
Walking requires presence.
Walking makes space for noticing, listening, and connecting.

It’s the same lesson I learn every time I circle back to walk with my friend: the most meaningful moments often unfold at a slower pace.

Scripture often highlights big miracles and dramatic moments, but so much of discipleship happens in the quiet, steady rhythm of daily living. Walking with God doesn’t require perfect performance or flawless faith.

It looks like:

• slowing down enough to feel a nudge of the Spirit,
• noticing beauty you might have overlooked,
• choosing kindness when you’re tempted to rush past someone,
• letting God into your thoughts, your conversations, your small decisions.

Walking with God means letting Him set the pace one that allows for peace, connection, and growth.

Enoch’s story and even my small race experience reminds us that God doesn’t need flawless people. He needs willing people. People who will keep moving forward with Him even when they feel overwhelmed, too slow, or not enough. 

People who trust that if they take a step, 
He will magnify the path beneath their feet. 

What Does “Walk With Me” Look Like for You?

Maybe walking with God today means slowing your own pace just a little.
Maybe it means noticing something beautiful you’ve been rushing past.
Maybe it’s being present with someone who needs companionship.

Maybe it’s trusting that your imperfect efforts are enough.

However it looks for you, the invitation is the same as it was for Enoch:

“Walk with me.”

Just like my race experience, when we turn around, slow our pace and walk with Him, he will show us things we never would have seen on our own.  He will deepen our connection to Him.  He will make more out of our steps, small as they may seem and know you got this because he's got you 

                    

xoxo

Tiffanee

When Change Feels Like a Setback: Finding Strength in Life's Unexpected Detours

 

When I finalized my divorce, the agreement allowed me to remain in the home we had shared until my youngest daughter turned 18. After that, I was required to sell the house, split the proceeds, and find a new place to live.

At first, the idea of moving brought a surprising feeling: excitement. For the first time in years, I could go anywhere. Start fresh. Begin a new chapter. I was hopeful that this would be a good change.

But when the time came, the excitement quickly turned to fear. I still had two kids at home. I couldn’t just move anywhere. I had to stay in the area for their schools and stability. And I couldn’t make any decisions until the house sold, which took a couple of months. Once it did, I had just three weeks to find something.

We searched for houses, condos, townhomes anything within my budget, but nothing seemed to work. As the days passed, panic crept in. We had nowhere to go, no family nearby to stay with, and no backup plan.

Eventually, we found a condo that checked the boxes. I prayed about it, and after a few days, I felt peace. My lender worked quickly, and my realtor convinced the owners to let us move in a few days early while we waited to close. I remember getting the keys, standing alone in that condo, and crying. It wasn’t where I hoped to be. but it was a start. I could do this.

But the closing day came and went. Then I got the call: the lender discovered some concerning issues with the condo, and the loan wouldn’t go through.

At the time, I felt crushed. I thought we were going to be homeless. Looking back now, I can see that was a blessing in disguise. but in the moment, I was terrified. Thankfully, we were allowed to stay in the condo a little longer, though we had to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

We kept searching, praying, hoping. Every time I asked, I felt the same answer: “Keep trying. You are not alone.” So I did.

We tried to rent an apartment. I didn’t make enough to qualify. Even when a manager found a potential workaround, we were ultimately denied due to income limits. Again, we were left with no options.

Then my realtor found a homeowner who was renovating a property and allowed us to live there temporarily. We moved in with only the essentials, unsure how long she would let us stay.

This change I had once been excited about now felt like a never-ending trial. Every plan fell through. But I clung to the faith that God was with me.

Four months later, after countless setbacks, we pulled into the driveway of a small house. I looked around and asked my realtor, “Where even are we?” But the moment I stepped inside, I knew: This was it.

Everything fell into place quickly. We had a home. We weren’t homeless anymore.

That time in my life was one of the most stressful and faith-testing seasons I’ve ever experienced. But now, I can see how every step served a purpose. My work commute shrank from 1-2 hours to just 10 minutes. My kids were closer to school and college. We landed in a safe, quiet neighborhood. Blessings I never could have planned on my own.

Looking back, I realize that what felt like detours was actually the path. Each closed door, each sudden shift, was part of a bigger transformation not just in my living situation, but in me. Change, I’ve learned, doesn’t always arrive with clarity or comfort. Sometimes it comes through uncertainty, disappointment, and being stretched in ways you never asked for.

But change also brings growth. It taught me resilience, deepened my faith, and reminded me that even when nothing feels secure, I can still move forward. I wouldn’t have chosen the struggle, but I wouldn’t trade the strength it gave me.

Sometimes, starting over doesn’t look like a fresh slate. Sometimes, it looks like standing in a home you never imagined, in a life you never planned, and realizing: this change, hard as it was brought you exactly where you needed to be and perhaps the most incredible part is that you’re no longer the person who began the journey.

xoxo

Tiffanee

Finding Beauty in the Pieces

 A few days ago, I had one of those days the kind that leaves you drained, defeated, and questioning everything. I came home feeling like a mess of shattered pieces, like something inside me had cracked wide open.

In an attempt to quiet my mind, I pulled out a couple of Lego boxes and spilled the contents onto the table. Pieces scattered everywhere; disjointed, confusing, chaotic. And for a moment, I just sat there, staring at them, seeing myself in the mess.

But then I started building. Slowly. Step by step. Piece by piece. And with each snap of a brick, something began to form something with shape, with purpose, with beauty. When I was finished, I looked at the bouquet of Lego flowers I had built, now sitting gracefully on my table.

And I smiled. Because what once looked like a pile of nothing had turned into something beautiful.  

I have left this bouquet of flowers on my table to remind me that sometimes life can feel overwhelming like a jumble of broken pieces, but what we don’t realize is that each fragment is shaping something more beautiful than we ever imagined.     

XOXO

Tiffanee

Spread Sunshine Wherever You Go

Picture yourself lounging on your favorite beach, basking in the warmth of the sun as it kisses your face. You can’t help but feel that warmth seep into your body and soul, filling you with peace and joy.

That’s what my dad was like. He had an extraordinary way of entering a room and instantly shifting the energy, lifting the mood in the most beautiful way. He brought light wherever he went, filling every space with laughter, smiles, and happiness. It was almost like watching magic in action.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on what made him this way. Sure, he had a remarkable personality, but there was something more.

1. He saw the best in everyone, always recognizing the good and the potential in people.

2. Not only did he see that potential, but he truly believed in you. His belief was so powerful, it made you believe in yourself, too. He was not just a great coach but your biggest cheerleader, always celebrating your progress.

3. He had a rare talent for offering tough feedback or guidance while still leaving you feeling confident, never even realizing that you’d just been corrected.

4. No matter the situation, he could find humor, and his laugh was so contagious, it filled everyone around him with joy.

5. He was always looking for ways to serve others, quietly stepping in to meet a need without expecting anything in return.

These are just a few of the qualities that made him so special, but the heart of it all was his deep love for others. You could feel it every time he entered a room his genuine care and affection for people.

Having experienced that warmth so many times, I want to live up to his example. I want to spread that sunshine wherever I go, so others can feel the same warmth and love.

Though not a day goes by that I don’t miss his sunshine, I’m forever grateful for the priceless memories that bring that warmth back in an instant. I’m thankful for my mom, my siblings, my children, and grandchildren who carry on his legacy and continue to spread that light. Most of all, I’m thankful for the life he lived and the example he set, showing how to bring sunshine into the world every single day.

This picture was taken after my daughter ran in the State Cross Country Championship race. It was a cold day and yet in our minds we remember the sunshine that was present cheering her on. 

It is a great time to follow my dad's lead and spread sunshine where ever you go!

XOXO

Tiffanee

Unexpected Healing at 30,000 Feet

Monday morning, I boarded a flight for a big work training. The past couple of weeks had been rough, and I was mentally and emotionally drained. All I wanted was to put on my headphones, zone out, and maybe sleep the whole way there.

There was a man seated on the aisle and I had the window seat. As they announced the cabin doors were closing, I felt a small wave of relief no one was in the middle seat. I’d have space, quiet, and no interruptions. I got my headphones out and started to settle in when, suddenly, a woman came rushing down the aisle and slid into the seat beside me.

Just then, the pilot came on the intercom. He shared that he was a seasoned pilot and knew someone near the back of the plane was afraid of flying. He reassured everyone that he would get us safely to our destination.

I turned to the woman next to me and said, “Wow, that was pretty cool.” That simple comment sparked a three-hour conversation that would leave a lasting impact on me. We laughed, we cried. She was a Lebanese woman, and though we came from very different worlds, we discovered so much in common even down to our age.

As the plane began to descend, I gently squeezed her arm and told her she was an answer to my prayers.

She held my arm, lifted the cross necklace she wore to her lips, and softly said, “You were an answer to mine.”

In that sacred moment, the Spirit whispered to my heart, “I know this isn’t what you wanted, but it was exactly what you needed.”

That conversation filled my soul in a way I hadn’t even realized I was craving. It restored a piece of hope I thought I’d lost. As I stepped off that plane, I carried more than just my luggage I carried a renewed sense of peace, connection, and perspective. That unexpected seatmate, that sacred moment, reminded me that sometimes the most meaningful answers come when we let go of our plans and trust the journey. I’m deeply grateful for a Heavenly Father who knows me personally and gives me not just what I ask for, but what I truly need.

xoxo

Tiffanee