Kerry Goode

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THANKFUL FOR ALS… WAIT, WHAT?! Now hold on just a minute… come in close. I know some of y’all think I have officially lost my forever‑loving mind. You’re probably whispering, “Bless his heart… ALS done tilted his brain to the left.” But let me tell you something wild, something only God could pull off: I am thankful for ALS. Yep. I said it. Go ahead and clutch your pearls. See, ALS has done things in my family that I couldn’t have accomplished with a megaphone, a group text, and a plate of Tanja’s best cooking. ALS has everybody reading my messages like they’re breaking news. Stuff y’all would’ve scrolled past faster than a spam call? Now you’re reading every word like it’s the Book of Revelation. And the family closeness? Whew. ALS brought my whole crew together tighter than church folks around a casserole dish. Folks who used to text “I’ll call you later” are now calling me like I’m the Pope. Cousins I ain’t seen since the Clinton administration are suddenly showing up like, “Hey cuz, just checking on you.” ALS turned my family reunion into a daily event. But here’s the part that gets me: ALS handed out invitations to follow Christ like it was hosting a revival. People who used to treat Jesus like a distant cousin now talk about Him like He’s their next‑door neighbor. And I know good and well I didn’t do that. I can’t even scratch my nose without assistance — you think I could’ve orchestrated a family‑wide spiritual awakening? Please. Then I heard Corrie ten Boom’s story about thanking God for fleas. FLEAS. Not blessings. Not breakthroughs. FLEAS. The kind that jump, bite, and ruin your whole attitude. And yet those fleas protected their Bible study because the guards refused to go in. And I said, “Lord… if Corrie can thank You for fleas, I guess I can thank You for ALS.” Because ALS — this inconvenient, disrespectful, boundary‑ignoring disease — has somehow become my version of fleas. It keeps the wrong things out and lets the right things in. It pushed my family closer. It opened hearts. It made people listen. It made people love. It made people pray. It made people pay attention to what actually matters. ALS didn’t make me grateful for suffering. It made me grateful for what God can do with suffering. So yes — I’m thankful for ALS. Not because it’s fun. Not because it’s easy. But because God took something devastating and turned it into a family reunion, a ministry, a testimony, and a front‑row seat to His goodness. If God can use fleas… He can use ALS. And apparently, He can use me too.

THANKFUL FOR WHAT MAKES NO SENSE By Kerry Goode Before you read another word, let me warn you: what I’m about to say may have you looking at me like I’ve officially lost my forever‑loving mind. But here it goes anyway — I am thankful for ALS. Yes. Thankful. For that. I know, I know. It sounds like I’ve been out in the sun too long. But let me tell you what God has been doing behind the scenes, because this story isn’t about disease — it’s about divine disruption. ALS has done something in my family that I couldn’t have accomplished with a microphone, a bullhorn, and a PowerPoint presentation. It pulled my entire crew together tighter than a church hug from somebody who doesn’t know their own strength. Folks who used to text “I’ll call you later” are now calling me like I’m running a prayer hotline. People who would’ve scrolled past my posts faster than a pop‑up ad are now reading every word like it’s a love letter from Jesus Himself. And the wildest part? ALS handed out invitations to follow Christ like it was hosting a revival. Hearts softened. Eyes opened. Conversations shifted. My family didn’t just get closer to me — they got closer to Him. And I know good and well I didn’t orchestrate that. I can’t even scratch my own nose without help. But God? He can use anything. Even this. That’s when Corrie ten Boom’s story hit me like a holy 2x4. She and her sister Betsie were stuck in a flea‑infested barracks in Ravensbrück. Fleas everywhere — in their hair, on their clothes, probably doing the Electric Slide across their pillows. And Betsie said, “We need to thank God for the fleas.” Corrie said what all of us would’ve said: “Girl, absolutely not.” But those fleas — those annoying, biting, sanity‑testing fleas — kept the guards out. And because the guards stayed out, the women inside were free to study the Bible, pray, and hear the gospel. God used fleas to protect a ministry. If God can use fleas… He can use ALS. Not because it’s pleasant. Not because it’s painless. But because He wastes nothing. ALS has become my version of fleas — the thing I never wanted, never asked for, and would return for a full refund if possible… yet God is using it to open doors, soften hearts, and shine light in places that were once dark. “Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.” — 1 Thessalonians 5:18 (NLT) It doesn’t say be thankful for all circumstances. It says be thankful in them. Because God is working even when life looks broken. REFLECTION What situation in your life — even the painful, confusing, or downright unfair one — has God used to bring unexpected good? You might just discover your own “fleas.”

Alright now… If you brew it, I’m spillin’ the tea … because what I’m about to tell you is part testimony, part comedy special… and part “please don’t let Kerry put this in the book.” Somewhere along this ALS journey, I went from former Alabama running back… to Brother Kerrydown, Lord of the Living Room, Distributor of Tea, and Chief Executive Officer of Everybody’s Business. See, folks started comparing me to Lady Whistledown from Bridgerton. And I said, “Oh no baby… she whispers. I BROADCAST.” Lady Whistledown writes about high society scandals. Me? I’m reporting live from the ALS Royal Palace of Pain, Lotion, and Bad Decisions. And let me make something real clear… Everybody in my life is one bad moment away from becoming Chapter 7. Tanja? Oh she knows. Eddie? He already done signed a silent agreement with Jesus. Because I don’t just tell the good… I tell the GOOD, the BAD, and the ‘Lord please don’t let nobody read this out loud at church’ moments. You ever been minding your business… and suddenly realize you’ve been promoted to “main character in Kerry’s next story”? That’s fear. That’s real fear. See, people think helping me with ALS is just caregiving. No no no… it’s also auditioning. Every day is a performance review. You lotion me wrong? Chapter title: “The Slippery Betrayal.” You leave me sitting too long in the shower chair? Congratulations, you just booked a lead role in “Return to Home Base: A Tragedy.” You try to fix something and make it worse? Oh you getting a whole trilogy. And don’t let it be embarrassing… Because I WILL describe it with such detail, people gonna feel like they was there holding the towel. I am exposing EVERYTHING. This ain’t just a journey… This is a docu-series with no editing and no mercy. And the crazy part is… people keep showing up like, “Kerry, I got you.” I be looking at them like… “You sure? Because what you really got… is a possible supporting role in foolishness.” Now don’t get me wrong… There’s love in every line I write. Because behind all the laughter… Behind every moment I put somebody on blast… Is the truth that this journey—this hard, unpredictable, humbling ALS ride— Has shown me the beauty of people showing up anyway. Even when they know… At any moment… They might end up in Chapter 12: “What Were They Thinking?” So yeah… Lady Whistledown got her little newsletter… But Brother Kerrydown? I got a whole book coming. A microphone. A memory that don’t miss NOTHING. And a mission… To make sure that if we going through something hard… We might as well laugh loud enough to confuse the devil… And love hard enough to tell the whole story. So if you in my life right now… Stay ready. Stay sharp. And for the love of everything holy… DO. NOT. MESS. UP. Because I will absolutely… spill. the. tea. ☕

The Tea That Transforms Lemme tell y’all somethin’ real quick—life has a way of brewing up a pot of circumstances you didn’t order. Some days it’s sweet, some days it’s bitter, and some days it’s just plain messy. But here’s the thing: when you’ve been handed a diagnosis, a detour, or a downright disaster, you’ve also been handed a platform. I didn’t ask for ALS, but I got it. And instead of letting it silence me, I let it sharpen my pen. I started writing not just to cope, but to connect. To tell the truth. To spill the tea—not the gossip kind, but the grace kind. The kind that says, “Here’s what I’m going through, and here’s how God is still showing up.” See, when you share your story, you give others permission to breathe. To laugh. To cry. To feel seen. And when you do it with humor and honesty, you turn pain into purpose. You turn struggle into strength. You turn your life into a testimony that can’t be ignored. So if you’re walking through something hard today, don’t hide it. Don’t sugarcoat it. Brew it. Stir it. Serve it with truth and love. Because somebody out there needs your story to remind them they’re not alone. And if you’re worried about being too real, too raw, too much—remember this: Jesus didn’t come for the polished. He came for the poured out. And baby, when you pour out your heart, He fills it back up with something stronger than fear: faith. So yes, I’m spilling the tea. And I pray you do too. “Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story…” — Psalm 107:2 (NIV) Now go on and write your chapter. Gooderton’s waiting.

“The Tracheostomy Decision” So there I was, sitting in my power chair, gasping like a fish in a desert, trying to decide whether to get a tracheostomy or just ride this ALS rollercoaster straight into the sunset. My oxygen level had dipped to 25%. That’s not “low.” That’s “you’re about to meet Jesus at the vending machine.” Now, most folks make medical decisions with charts, doctors, and prayer. Me? I had all that — plus a stubborn streak, a feeding tube, and a deep desire not to look like I quit in front of my kids. I kept asking myself: “Am I giving up… or choosing peace?” “Is this fear… or faith?” “Is this comfort… or cowardice?” And then I realized: It’s survival. With style. I didn’t want my kids thinking I tapped out early. I wanted them to see me fight — even if that meant breathing through a hole in my neck like a sci‑fi character with a Bluetooth lung. So I got the trach. And let me tell you — it wasn’t glamorous. There were tubes, machines, alarms, and more beeping than a microwave convention. But I was still here. Still cracking jokes. Still showing up. Still making people laugh when they wanted to cry. A decade later, I’m still here. Still breathing. Still teaching folks that choosing life — even the hard version — is never quitting. Because sometimes the bravest thing you can do is say: “I’m not done yet.” So if you’re facing a decision that feels like a surrender, ask yourself: Is it giving up… or giving God room to work? Is it weakness… or wisdom? And if you choose the path that keeps you here longer — even if it’s messy, noisy, and full of tubes — just know: You’re not quitting. You’re just rewriting the rules. And baby, I’m living proof that the punchline is worth it.

One More Breath… One More Chance Let me tell y’all something that don’t get talked about enough… Some of the hardest decisions you’ll ever make in life don’t come with a right or wrong answer—they come with weight. The kind of weight that sits on your chest. The kind that keeps you up at night. The kind that makes you ask questions like, “Am I holding on… or am I trusting God enough to let go?” And in those moments, it’s easy to think the decision is about strength. But it’s not. It’s about alignment. Alignment with your purpose. Alignment with your peace. Alignment with what God is still doing in your life. See, we think faith always looks like pushing harder, fighting longer, doing more. But sometimes faith looks like clarity. Sometimes it looks like choosing what gives life—not just to your body, but to your spirit, your family, and your assignment. The Bible reminds us in Deuteronomy 30:19, “I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life.” That doesn’t always mean choosing the hardest road. It means choosing the road that still has purpose on it. There will be moments when you feel torn between fear and faith. Fear will rush you. Faith will steady you. Fear will say, “What if this is the end?” Faith will whisper, “What if there’s still more?” And that’s where peace shows up—not loud, not dramatic—but clear. God is not the author of confusion. So when clarity comes, trust it. Whatever decision you’re facing—don’t make it from panic. Don’t make it from pressure. Don’t make it trying to please people who aren’t carrying your burden. Make it from a place of purpose. Because when your decision is rooted in faith… Even if the road is hard… You’ll have peace walking it. And sometimes… One decision… One moment of clarity… One act of faith… Turns into more life than you ever imagined. So today, if you’re standing at a crossroads— Choose life. Choose purpose. Choose peace. And trust God with the rest.

Still Fed at the Table “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.” - Psalm 23:5 There are moments in life when everything around you says, “You’re missing out.” You’re present… but you can’t participate the way you used to. You’re there… but you feel out of reach. I’ve learned something in those moments. Just because you can’t take part the way others do… doesn’t mean you’re not still being filled. See, we often think being fed only looks one way. We think it’s the obvious blessing. The thing we can touch, taste, control, and enjoy on command. But God doesn’t only feed us physically. Sometimes He feeds you with: Presence People Perspective Peace Sometimes He lets you sit in a place where you can’t rely on what used to sustain you… so you can discover what truly does. I’ve had moments where everything around me looked full… and I felt empty. But in that same space, God reminded me: “You’re not empty… you’re just being filled differently.” When you can’t reach what you used to… When life puts limits on what you can do… When you feel like you’re watching instead of living… That’s not rejection. That’s redirection. Because there is a kind of strength you only gain when you don’t get what you want… but still choose gratitude. There is a kind of joy that shows up when you realize: “I may not have this… but look at what I do have.” You’re still here. You’re still surrounded by love. You’re still part of the moment. And that means God is still working. So don’t measure your life by what you can’t do anymore. Measure it by what still remains. Because sometimes… the greatest blessing isn’t in what you get to experience… It’s in the fact that you’re still invited to the table. Closing Line: Even when life changes how you’re fed… God never stops feeding you.

What I’m about to tell you is a true story… and also a violation of basic human decency. Most people only need one night to suffer. Me? I got a double‑feature. Night One: Randall’s one‑year kidney transplant anniversary dinner. Night Two: Charity Fundraiser with Coach Nick Saban. Same hunger. Same torture. Same round table I still couldn’t get close to. The only thing that changed was the address. Night one, I rolled into that restaurant already starving. I hadn’t had anything in my tube since 9 a.m. because if I get fed before a car ride, I’ll be reenacting The Exorcist all over the dashboard. And Atlanta drivers? (Wink Wink My Drivers!) They drive like they’re trying to shake the angels off your shoulders. So there I am, parked at the round table like the world’s most handsome centerpiece. Everybody else is eating like they’re filming a commercial for “Food You’ll Never Taste Again.” Tanja, Stella, Randall, Mama Katz, Gina, Sabrina — all of them chewing, sipping, laughing, living their best dining life. Folks leaning forward like it’s the 4th quarter and they down by 6. Meanwhile, there’s me… in the power chair… parked so far from the table I might as well be in another ZIP code. But I’m inhaling the air hoping it tastes like chicken. Then the banquet server walks up — sweet lady, bless her heart — and tries to put a full plate of food right in front of me. A plate so beautiful it could’ve been on the cover of Southern Living. And before I could even blink, Tanja hits her with the line that kills me every time: “No, he doesn’t eat.” I felt my soul leave my body, walk across the ballroom, and lay down in the corner like, “Lord… why?” But that was just Night One. Because the very next evening — like the universe said, “Run it back!” — I found myself at another event. Same hunger. Same empty stomach. Same round table I couldn’t reach. Same people leaving half their food untouched like they were too good for mashed potatoes. And then… the keynote speaker himself… Coach. Nick. Saban. The man walks over, shakes my hand, and says hello like I’m the VIP of the Hunger Games. And I’m thinking… “Coach… I love you… but unless you got a feeding tube in that playbook, I need you to call an audible.” Everybody else got dinner. I got Saban. Honestly? I’ll take it. But let’s be clear: Two nights. Two dining experiences. Zero bites. One feeding tube running on fumes. And me, sitting there like the star of a sitcom called “Kerry Goes Out to Dinner and Still Doesn’t Eat.” At this point, I’m convinced the round table is my enemy. It’s personal. That table has seen me hungry twice in 48 hours and didn’t move an inch to help. But hey — Randall’s kidney is thriving. Coach Saban said hello. And I survived the Two‑Night No‑Eat‑For-Kerry Tour without flipping a table. That’s victory enough. Because sometimes… you don’t get to taste the moment… But you still get to be at the table. And if that ain’t a reason to smile… I don’t know what is. But next time… somebody better slide me a to‑go bag for my feeding tube.

What I’m about to tell you is a public service announcement disguised as a tragedy… wrapped in a comedy… sponsored by “Secure The Package Ministries.” This morning’s episode of “The Adventures of Dressing a Grown Man” deserves its own theme song, a warning label, and maybe even a halftime show. Every day starts the same way: you’re fresh out the shower, smelling like victory, and Tanja and Eddie step up like they’re about to perform synchronized swimming… except on dry land… with a human… who can’t yell “STOP THAT!” anymore. Upper body? Easy. Smooth. Professional. Shirt on, arms through, they’re out here sliding shirts on you like you’re a mannequin at Macy’s. Got me looking like I got somewhere important to be. But then comes The Main Event. Putting. On. The. Pants. Don’t forget “The Underwear” the star of the show and the Daily Battle of Fabric vs. Physics. Since leaning you side-to-side is like trying to tilt a refrigerator with feelings, the strategy becomes: roll me up to the bed, lean me forward, and let me rest like a folded lawn chair. My shin hits that bed rail — I’m not lined up right, Lord have mercy, it feels like someone hit me in the shin with a hammer. Now you’re bent forward, praying, meditating, bargaining with the Lord, while Tanja takes the left flank and Eddie takes the right. They start off strong, like two seasoned professionals who’ve watched at least three YouTube tutorials. Underwear coming up… pants coming up… But then — EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. — they forget one crucial detail. See, there is a very important piece of equipment that women don’t have to think about… but men do. You guess it, the package... The carry-on bag must be stowed securely before takeoff. But do they remember that? No. No they do not. Instead, they start yanking those pants like they’re trying to start a stubborn lawnmower. And I’m stuck there, bent over the bed, silently screaming in a pitch only dogs and angels can hear. My soul left my body, went down the hallway, grabbed a folding chair, sat down, and said, “I’ll come back when they figure this out.” Meanwhile, Tanja and Eddie are just working… focused… committed… completely unaware that they just turned me into a human soprano note that nobody can hear. By the time they finally get your pants up, you’re sweating, exhausted, spiritually drained, and emotionally bruised. I done fought for my life… lost my dignity… found Jesus again… and came back. And what do I get? Two proud caregivers standing there like, “Look at us… another successful dressing!” SUCCESSFUL?! Ma’am… Sir… We need to debrief. This — THIS RIGHT HERE — is the part of ALS that truly chaps your hide. Not the weakness. Not the stiffness. Not the exhaustion. No. It’s the daily risk of involuntary falsetto. So let this be a PSA to caregivers everywhere: Secure. The. Package. Before you pull the pants up. Otherwise the man in the chair will be singing high notes he didn’t audition for. And he can’t even yell about it. But he CAN write about it… and he WILL.

“Handled With Care” By Kerry Goode Life has a way of putting you in positions where you are completely out of control. Situations where you can’t move, can’t fix it, can’t even explain what you’re feeling the way you want to. You’re there… aware… enduring… hoping somebody understands what you can’t express. And that’s where faith steps in. Because even when people don’t always handle you perfectly… God does. See, people can mean well and still miss it. They can love you deeply and still not fully understand your pain. They can be trying to help and still get it wrong. That’s not always a lack of love—it’s a lack of awareness. But God? God never mishandles you. The Bible says in Psalm 18:35, “Your gentleness has made me great.” Think about that. Not just His power… not just His strength… but His gentleness. When life feels rough… God is careful with you. When the pressure is on… God is precise with you. When you feel overlooked… God is fully aware of every detail. Even the parts of you that nobody else sees. So instead of getting stuck in frustration over how people handle you, shift your focus to how God is holding you. Because while others are learning… God is already perfect. While others are adjusting… God is already attentive. And while others may miss what hurts… God knows exactly where to place His hand. You are not forgotten. You are not mishandled. You are not overlooked. You are being held—carefully, intentionally, and with love that never slips. When life feels rough in human hands… remember—you are always safe in God’s.

Let me tell y’all something that’ll bless you and make you nervous at the same time… According to the statistics—70% of people gonna need care. 25% gonna become caregivers. And only 22% of them actually trained. Which means… God looked down from heaven and said, “Perfect… I’m about to assign you some help that has NO IDEA what they doing.” See, when I first realized I needed full-time care, I thought God was gonna send me a team. You know… Matching scrubs. Medical degrees. Walkie-talkies. Somebody yelling, “CLEAR!” just for dramatic effect. Instead… God sent me family. Unpaid. Untrained. Overconfident. Now don’t get me wrong—I love my people. But loving somebody and trusting their skill set are two DIFFERENT conversations. Because when you part of that 78% “learning on the job” crew… everything becomes an experiment. First day in the shower… I’m sitting there like a king on his throne, prepared for a gentle, spa-like experience. Tanja turns that water on… BOOM. I’m instantly baptized, saved, and almost sent to heaven all at the same time. I said, “Baby… what temperature is this??” She said, “It felt fine to me.” OF COURSE IT DID. You got circulation and options. I’m over here cooking like a Thanksgiving turkey. Then Eddie come in—confident. Too confident. That’s always a red flag. He say, “I got it.” Anytime somebody say “I got it” with no training… you better start praying. Next thing I know, they trying to reposition me. But instead of smooth… professional… calculated movement… They hit me with what I call: The Hulk Relocation Method. Lift. Step. DROP. BOOM. I said, “Sir… I am not a sofa.” Then came the medical portion. Now mind you… only 22% trained. So the rest of them Googling my survival in real time. “Hey Siri… is he supposed to be making that noise?” I’m sitting there like, “Don’t ask Siri—ASK ME. I’M THE NOISE.” But here’s what I learned… God doesn’t send perfect caregivers. He sends perfect-for-you caregivers. People who: Might not know the technique Might mess up the temperature Might drop you one good time (Lord have mercy) …but they show up. Every day. With love. With patience. With a willingness to learn. Because the truth is… Anybody can take care of you when it’s easy. But it takes somebody special to say, “I don’t know what I’m doing… but I ain’t going nowhere.” So yeah… According to the stats, most caregivers are: Unpaid. Untrained. Learning on the fly. But mine? They heaven-sent. A little reckless… A little loud… A little dangerous… …but sent by God. And honestly… I wouldn’t trade them for a fully trained medical team in matching scrubs. (…now would I let them PRACTICE on me without supervision? That’s a different story.)

God Knew Who You Needed Lemme tell you something that took me a minute to understand… God doesn’t always send the qualified. He sends the called. See, when life shifts and you find yourself needing help—real help—you naturally think it’s supposed to come packaged a certain way. Skilled. Polished. Professional. Predictable. But God has a different system. He sends people who love you… even if they don’t fully know how to help you yet. And that can be frustrating. Because you’re dealing with real needs, real pain, real challenges—and the people around you are learning in real time. They may not always get it right. They may stumble. They may have moments where you wonder, “Lord… are you sure about this one?” But here’s what I’ve learned: Love will learn what skill hasn’t mastered yet. The people God assigns to your life aren’t there because they’re perfect—they’re there because they’re present. And sometimes, presence is more powerful than perfection. Anybody can show up when they’re trained. But it takes heart to show up when you’re unsure. That’s where grace comes in. Not just grace for yourself—but grace for the people trying to stand with you. Because while you’re adjusting to your new reality… they are too. And somewhere in that space—between their willingness and your patience—God is doing something deeper than just meeting needs. He’s building bonds. He’s strengthening love. He’s teaching all of you how to depend on Him. Scripture reminds us in 2 Corinthians 12:9, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” That doesn’t just apply to you. It applies to everyone connected to your journey. So instead of focusing on what they lack… thank God for who He sent. Because the truth is— If they’re still there… Still trying… Still showing up… They’re not a mistake. They’re an assignment. And God doesn’t make those lightly.

Let me tell y’all about the most dangerous parking job in America… Every morning, without fail, I get chauffeured into my designated shower-chair parking spot like I’m pulling into a tight space at Walmart on Black Friday. Except instead of easing forward, straightening up, and gliding in smooth… my pit crew stops halfway, throws the car in park. Now I’m sitting there like a Honda Civic that gave up mid-commitment. Front half in… back half still out in traffic… spiritually confused. And I’m thinking, “Oh… we doing this again today.” Then it’s decided, “You know what? Let’s just pick the whole vehicle up and move it manually.” Now imagine sitting in your car, minding your business, and suddenly the Incredible Hulk grabs the rear bumper, lifts the whole thing off the ground, takes a giant step to the right, and drops it like a sack of potatoes. That’s me. That’s my life. That’s my morning routine. Lift. Step. Drop. BOOM. Lift. Step. Drop. BOOM. The Incredible Hulk Parking Method. Each time they drop me, a shockwave shoots up my spine like somebody just rang the Liberty Bell inside my vertebrae. I’m talking about a full-body notification: 📢 “Attention: You have made a terrible decision.” Before I can even recover— “Alright… one more time.” ONE MORE TIME?! So, I’m thinking, “If y’all would just pull forward two inches and make a hard left, we could avoid this whole WWE tag-team maneuver.” But no. Why take the easy route when you can reenact a strongman competition at 7 a.m.? Now I’m sitting there like, “Lord… if this is how I go out… please tell people I fought hard.” Meanwhile, my lovely wife — God bless her optimism — tells me, “Stop coaching everybody.” Ma’am. Please. I am a coach. I have coached in my sleep. I have coached in the grocery store. I have coached the GPS. I have coached the microwave. Coaching is not what I do — it is who I am. Because I’m looking at this whole situation like game film. This ain’t random. This is poor execution. This is bad footwork. This is a lack of commitment to the angle! And I’m trying to help! I’m trying to protect backs, spines, and future generations! And excellence? Excellence is the mission. Excellence is the brand. Excellence is the lifestyle. Even in the shower chair. But apparently, excellence is also optional before breakfast. And the best part? Every morning they act surprised. “Oh wow, it’s crooked again.” “Oh wow, he’s leaning.” “Oh wow, the chair isn’t lined up.” YES. BECAUSE YOU PARKED ME LIKE A 16-YEAR-OLD TAKING THEIR FIRST DRIVER’S TEST. And as the water starts running, I whisper to myself: “Once a coach, always a coach. You don’t just turn that off. I see inefficiency, I correct it. I see danger, I adjust it. I see a bad parking job… I draw up a whole play. Because at the end of the day, we not just trying to get clean… We chasing excellence. Now will they listen? Absolutely not. Because one day… ONE DAY… They gon’ hit that perfect pull-in, smooth turn, no lift, no drop… And I’m gon’ sit there… clean, comfortable, and proud… And whisper to myself, “Now THAT… is how you park.”

“God Doesn’t Leave You Halfway” There are moments in life when it feels like you’ve been pushed forward… but not positioned properly. You made progress, but something still feels off. You’re halfway in—trying to function, trying to smile—but deep down you know… this ain’t it. And if we’re honest, that’s frustrating. Because we want smooth. We want complete. We want everything to line up the first time. But life doesn’t always park clean. Sometimes it feels like you’re being adjusted, shifted, stretched in ways you didn’t ask for. Moments that shake you. Situations that hit your spirit like a ripple running through your whole body. And you sit there wondering, “God… why didn’t You just do it the easy way?” But here’s what I’ve learned… God is not careless with your positioning. Even when it feels uncomfortable… even when it feels inefficient… even when it feels like too much… He is still working with purpose. See, we think we’re just trying to get through something. God knows He’s trying to align something. Because alignment matters more than arrival. You can get somewhere fast and still be out of position. You can move forward and still not be ready. So God, in His wisdom, will allow adjustments—not to harm you, but to prepare you. Not to break you, but to strengthen you. And here’s the part we don’t always like… Sometimes the process doesn’t look graceful. It may feel awkward. It may feel repetitive. It may even feel like, “Lord… we doing this again?” But every adjustment is intentional. Because God doesn’t leave His people halfway. Philippians 1:6 reminds us that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion. That means if it’s not finished, He’s not done. So instead of focusing on how uncomfortable it feels… shift your focus to who is in control. Trust His hands. Trust His timing. Trust His process. Because one day… Everything will line up. Everything will make sense. Everything will be exactly where it needs to be. And when that moment comes, you won’t just feel relief… You’ll feel peace. Because you’ll realize… God didn’t just move you forward— He positioned you perfectly.

“Welcome to Goode’s Hot Nuts & BBQ.” Let me tell y’all something real quick: I have officially graduated to the Woman’s Shower Temperature. That’s right — the same temperature that makes grown men rethink their whole relationship. You tried to sneak into the shower with your woman thinking it’s about to be a love scene… and the SECOND that water hit your chest, your whole spirit clocked out, and immediately yell, “THE DEVIL IS A LIE!” The kind of hot where you don’t even say goodbye—you just exit the shower like you forgot something in the car. The one that feels like somebody threw hot grits on your back and then lit a match under your molasses. That temperature. Well thanks to ALS lowering my body temp, that same lava‑level shower now feels like a gentle Caribbean breeze. Too bad that didn’t happen back when I was ready, willing, and able. Timing ain’t never been my friend. So here I am, sitting in my shower chair like a king on his throne, while my glam crew — Tanja and Eddie — prepare to “beautify” me. The water is raining down on my head like a baptism from heaven. It’s rolling down my shoulders, my chest, my arms… everything except my legs, which apparently live in a different climate zone. My shower head has two modes: Gentle Rainfall NASA Rocket Booster Guess which one they love. Every time they switch to wand mode, it feels like they’re trying to pressure‑wash the driveway. Now I’ve told them MANY times: “Ain’t no need to spray my upper body—I’ve been marinating under this shower the whole time.” Just hit: – armpits – legs – and mind your business That’s it. That’s the whole assignment. But NOOOO… They out here giving me the deluxe car wash package. Full body rinse… Wax… And spiritual cleansing. They switch to the wand. And that’s when it turns into a hostage situation. Because WHY… WHY does the temperature go up 50 degrees when that wand come off the hook?! It’s like the shower head got saved and sanctified… …but the wand got a demon in it. Then came the moment. On this particular day, Tanja decided my tallywhacker needed… EXTRA attention where NO man wants “extra attention” from boiling water. I said, “Lord… this ain’t romance…” This is a cookout. I don’t know if she thought she was roasting a hot dog at a church picnic or checking the internal temperature on a Thanksgiving turkey, but she went after me like she had a mission. And I’m sitting there trying to communicate… But y’all know I’m on silent mode. I’m blinking in Morse code like, “SOS — SAVE OUR SAUSAGE.” The water hit me so hot I swear I heard my marshmallows crackle. This was “Roasted Nuts by the Fireplace: A Holiday Special.” Meanwhile Tanja’s holding the pressure washer like she’s operating heavy machinery, nodding like, “Yep, that oughta do it.” Somewhere between a marshmallow… …and a life lesson. And the craziest part? Back in the day… THIS is exactly the shower I was trying to get into. And now that I’m finally comfortable in it… …I got an audience and a flame thrower. Boy I tell you… ALS might’ve slowed me down… …but it done upgraded my heat tolerance. Too bad it came AFTER I needed it. Moral of the story: Be careful what you wish for… Because one day… You might finally get in her shower… …and realize… You ain’t the man no more. You the meal.

“When It Feels Too Much… God Is Still In Control” Life has a way of turning the heat up when you least expect it. There are moments when everything around you feels overwhelming—when situations get uncomfortable, intense, and completely out of your control. You didn’t ask for it. You didn’t plan for it. And if you’re honest… it’s not what you wanted. But here’s what I’ve learned… Just because it feels like too much doesn’t mean God has lost control. Sometimes, what feels like pressure is actually preparation. Sometimes, what feels like discomfort is actually development. And sometimes, what feels like chaos… is God still working with precision. See, we love the gentle moments—the easy seasons where everything flows. But growth doesn’t always happen in comfort. Strength isn’t built when everything is just right. Faith isn’t stretched when life stays predictable. It’s in those heated, uncomfortable, “Lord what is this?!” moments… …that we discover what’s really inside us. And more importantly… …we discover Who is really with us. Because God doesn’t step away when things get intense. He steps in. Psalm 66:10 says, “For you, God, tested us; you refined us like silver.” Refining requires heat. But the purpose isn’t to destroy you… It’s to strengthen you. So when life feels overwhelming… don’t panic. When things don’t go how you imagined… don’t lose heart. When you feel stretched beyond your comfort… don’t give up. God knows exactly how much you can handle—even when you think you can’t handle any more. And here’s the good news… You’re not in it alone. He sees you. He’s with you. And He’s using even this… for your good. So instead of asking, “Why is this happening to me?” Start declaring, “God, what are You growing in me?” Because on the other side of the pressure… …is a stronger, wiser, more faithful version of you. And that version? That’s who God has been building all along.

This one right here gonna test your ability to keep a straight face… Because what I’m about to tell you is the kind of story that makes a grown man rethink his whole theology, his masculinity, and his relationship with indoor plumbing. Picture this: I’m in the shower chair, sitting like a dignified Southern gentleman who just happens to be naked, paralyzed, and supervised by two people who have zero respect for personal space. Water running, steam rising, Tanja on one side, Eddie on the other, both of them tag‑teaming me like they’re detailing a Cadillac. And then this happened... Out of the mist… Through the steam… Like a horror movie villain… EDDIE’S BARE FOOT SLID ACROSS MY BARE FOOT. Sir. My body stayed still, but my SOUL? My soul jumped up, grabbed a Bible, and tried to rebuke him. When your foot touches your wife’s foot, that’s romance. But there’s a man law written somewhere in the Dead Sea Scrolls that says: “Thou shalt not play footsie with another grown man in a shower unless one of you is drowning.” And yet… here we were. Two grown men. Ten toes touching. In a shower. I felt my soul leave my body, look down at the scene, and say, “Nope. I’ll wait in the car.” It took me straight back to childhood—me and my brother sharing a bed. His foot touched mine ONE TIME and the fight was on. Pillows flying, blankets everywhere, two boys rolling like WWE wrestlers. And that was FAMILY. Blood relatives. Approved feet. But Eddie? And here’s the crazy part… I try to mentally move my foot… …like somehow my thoughts gonna send a signal down there like, “Alright foot… slide left… slide left…” My foot said, “We don’t receive messages no more.” Now I KNOW Eddie didn’t mean nothing by it. He just repositioning, doing his job. But in my mind? We was two seconds away from a full-blown footsie tournament. So now here I am, decades later, paralyzed, mute, and reliving childhood trauma… except this time I can’t swing on nobody. And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, Tanja—God bless her—accidentally put my paralyzed hand on Eddie’s chest. A MAN BOOB. Let me tell you something: A paralyzed man will MOVE when that happens. The spirit of a paralytic man will rise up like Lazarus and say, “Nope. Not today. I’m out.” I almost levitated out that chair. By the time they finished, I was clean, shaken, and emotionally damaged. But one thing was clear: Being paralyzed has taught me many things… But the biggest lesson is this: I REALLY, REALLY LOVE WOMEN. And I REALLY don’t ever want to play footsie with Eddie again. Hey, my feet may be stuck… but my preferences are still fully operational. 🤣

Devotional When You Can’t Move, But God Still Speaks There are moments in life when your body won’t cooperate, your voice won’t come out, and your dignity feels like it’s hanging by a thread. You’re stuck—physically, emotionally, spiritually—and yet somehow, God still finds a way to speak. I’ve learned that paralysis doesn’t silence your spirit. It amplifies it. When you can’t move, you start noticing the things that truly matter: The kindness of hands that serve you The humor that keeps you sane The boundaries that remind you you’re still a man And the deep, unshakable truth that you were made with purpose Even in the most awkward, uncomfortable, toe-touching, soap-splattered moments… God is present. He’s not waiting for you to be strong. He’s not expecting you to be eloquent. He’s just asking you to be aware. Aware that He’s still working. Aware that your spirit still has power. Aware that your preferences, your personality, your sense of humor—they’re still intact. Romans 8:26 says, “The Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us…” That means even when you can’t speak, God hears you. Even when you can’t move, God defends you. Even when you’re stuck in a moment that feels ridiculous, God can turn it into revelation. So today, if you’re feeling helpless, humiliated, or just plain stuck—remember this: Your body may be limited. Your voice may be quiet. But your spirit is still loud. And your God is still listening. Let Him turn your discomfort into dignity. Let Him turn your silence into strength. And let Him remind you—through every awkward moment—that you are still fully, wonderfully, and purposefully alive.

“When the Battle Tries to Break the Bond” There are some battles in life that don’t just hit the body — they hit the house. They don’t just test your strength — they test your vows. And when you’re living with something heavy, something daily, something that doesn’t clock out… you learn real quick that marriage isn’t just romance. It’s resilience. From my point of view, ALS didn’t just challenge my muscles — it challenged our marriage. It tried to slip into the spaces between us. It tried to twist our communication, drain our patience, and convince us we were standing on opposite sides of the street. And some days, it felt like we were. But here’s what God keeps teaching me: The enemy doesn’t need to destroy the body if he can divide the bond. Because a divided house loses strength. A divided marriage loses focus. A divided team loses the fight. But the Word says, “A cord of three strands is not easily broken.” And that third strand — the One holding us when we can’t hold each other — is the reason we’re still standing. Some days love looks like laughter. Some days love looks like patience. Some days love looks like starting over… again. And some days love looks like remembering, “We are not fighting each other. We are fighting for each other.” If you’re walking through a hard season — illness, caregiving, exhaustion, fear — hear me clearly: You are not alone. Your spouse is not your enemy. Your emotions are not a failure. Your struggle is not a sign to quit. It’s a sign to link arms tighter. Walk back toward each other. Meet in the middle. Let grace speak louder than frustration. Let love stand taller than fear. Let God strengthen what life is trying to weaken. And when the battle shows up at your door, bold and uninvited, let your house declare: “You can shake us, but you will not break us. We fight together.” Amen.

Tanja vs Kerry not ALS PART 1 Tanja and I used to be the couple folks pointed at and said, “That right there is Black Love, Southern Edition.” We didn’t argue. We didn’t fuss. We didn’t even disagree on what to eat — she’d cook it, and I’d eat it. Harmony. Peace. A marriage so smooth it could’ve been sold as a lotion. Then ALS pulled up like an uninvited cousin with a suitcase, a bad attitude, and no plans to leave. Suddenly, we were arguing about EVERYTHING. She’d say, “Kerry, tilt your head.” I’d tilt it. She’d say, “Not like THAT.” And I’d think, “Lord, I ain’t even got control of the tilt no more.” ALS drove a wedge straight down Main Street, and we ended up on opposite sidewalks waving at each other like tourists. I know three couples — THREE — who didn’t make it through their ALS battles. And I get it. ALS doesn’t just attack the body. It attacks the schedule, the finances, the patience, the sleep, the nerves, the last nerve, and the nerve behind the last nerve. It turns every simple task into a team project with no instructions and missing parts. You lose privacy. You lose independence. You lose the ability to pretend you didn’t hear something. And the caregiver? Whew. They lose the ability to clock out. ALS divides marriages because: It changes roles overnight. One day you’re partners, the next day one of you is the CEO of Keeping You Alive, Inc. It steals time and energy. You can’t pour into each other when you’re both running on fumes and prayer. It exposes every crack. Every unresolved issue, every unspoken frustration, every “I’ll deal with it later” — ALS drags it all into the living room. It forces hard conversations. About death, money, care, boundaries, fears, and the stuff nobody wants to say out loud. And families? Don’t get me started. Some show up. Some disappear. Some offer help that ain’t helpful. Some offer opinions that weren’t requested by anybody with a pulse. But here’s the part ALS didn’t expect: Tanja and I may argue now, but we argue together. We may stand on opposite sides of the street sometimes, but we’re still on the same road. ALS may have tried to divide us, but it accidentally strengthened the glue. Because when you fight something this big, you learn real quick: It’s not me vs. her. It’s us vs. the disease. And we’re scrappy. We’re stubborn. We’re seasoned. We’re prayed up. And we’re still laughing — even when the laugh comes with a tear. THE MESSAGE ALS is a destroyer, but it doesn’t get the final say. Love is louder. Commitment is stronger. And a united front — even a tired, frustrated, imperfect one — is unbeatable. You fight through it by remembering the truth: The disease is the enemy. Not each other.