The Pantry, the Promise, and Easter Coming

A Note from PJ

This week, I’m sharing a story that still sits deep in me.

As Easter approaches, I’ve been thinking about what it really means to be made new… not in a perfect, polished way, but in the middle of real life.

The kind of moments that don’t feel like beginnings…but end up changing everything.

Today’s story is one of those moments for me.

I opened the pantry and just stood there.

One box of macaroni and cheese. An expired can of pumpkin pie filling my mom had given me… I don’t know, maybe a year ago. And that was it.

I remember gripping the edge of the shelf, staring at it like something else might appear if I just waited long enough.

It didn’t.

I had ten dollars left. That was after rent… after bills… after doing everything I thought I was supposed to do to make life feel… stable.

Ten dollars.

I remember thinking, How does this even happen? How am I right back here?

And then the thought came, uninvited… This must have been what Momma felt like.

But just as quickly, Did she?

Because she was gone a lot. And no matter what her reasons were… all I remember is feeling alone.

Hungry, yes. But more than that?

Alone. Scared. Waiting.

Waiting for someone to show up. Waiting for something to change.

And standing there in that moment, I felt it again. Not just the emptiness of the pantry… but the echo of that little girl inside me who knew this feeling far too well.

And I hated it.

I looked over at Kyle. Sweet boy didn’t have a clue yet… but I did.

And something inside me tightened. Because I knew exactly where this could go if I let it.

And that’s when the questions started flooding in… Why?

Why would his father leave us like this? Fine… he doesn’t want us. But how do you just walk away and not even help? How do you not think about your child standing in a moment like this?

I could feel it rising; the anger, the unfairness, the weight of doing this alone.

And for a second… I wanted to sit down right there on the kitchen floor and just feel sorry for myself.

Because honestly?

It would’ve been easier.

But then something else surfaced.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just steady.

Because of the way you grew up… you know how to do this.

And I paused.

Because that was true.

As much as I hated it… as much as I wished things had been different… the way I grew up had done something in me.

It made me resilient. It made me resourceful. It made me capable of thinking outside the box when there was no box left.

And then the thought came, What would I tell Kyle… if he were in this situation?

I didn’t even hesitate.

“Quit feeling sorry for yourself… and do something about it.”

And that hit me.

Because I could hear it so clearly… and I knew I had a choice.

Stay stuck in the feeling… or move.

So I moved.

I went to Kyle’s aunt—she was a realtor, had rental properties. I asked if I could help clean homes after move-outs.

She said yes.

And the best part?

I could take Kyle with me.

He got to “help.” And if you’ve ever seen a little boy “help,” you know… it’s more heart than skill. But he was with me. Not alone. Not scared. With me.

I cleaned. I painted walls. I did whatever needed to be done.

Cash in my pocket. Food in the house.

And somehow… peace in my chest.

And somewhere in all of that… something else was happening.

Kyle was learning. Not from what I said… but from what he saw.

That when life gets hard, you don’t quit. You don’t stay in the story of “why me.” You find a way.

I didn’t realize it then…

But that moment in front of that empty pantry wasn’t the end of something.

It was the beginning.

Because something shifted in me that day.

Not my circumstances… not right away.

But my willingness to move even when I didn’t feel ready.

And that’s when I started to see it…

Motivation doesn’t come first.

👉 Action does.

I didn’t wait to feel confident. I didn’t wait to feel secure.

I just kept going.

One house. One wall. One job at a time.

And something unexpected happened.

The more I moved, the more capable I felt. The more capable I felt, the more I wanted to learn.

So when I didn’t know something, I stayed curious.

I researched. I studied. I figured it out.

Not because I had to… but because I started to believe I could.

And that didn’t just change how I worked.

It changed how I lived.

Instead of staying stuck in anger, trying to understand why my family had hurt me the way they did…

I got curious there too.

Because anger?

It’s just hurt that hasn’t been understood yet.

So I started doing the work.

I saw a psychiatrist. I read every self-help book I could get my hands on. I started looking at patterns instead of just reacting to them.

And through all of it… there was one thing I kept coming back to.

Kyle.

I didn’t just want to get by.

I didn’t just want to survive.

👉 I wanted to break something.

The cycles. The patterns. The pain that had been passed down from one generation to the next.

I didn’t have all the answers.

I didn’t have a perfect plan.

But I had something stronger than that.

I had a decision.

And maybe that’s what being made new really looks like.

Not everything changing overnight.

But you…

choosing to change what happens next.

One decision.
One action.
One step at a time…
into who you’re becoming.