I Welcome the Wind

One of my favorite photos of Jack was taken on an ordinary day that somehow became sacred in hindsight.

He’s standing still, facing straight into the wind. His eyes are closed, his soft ears pushed back, his coat rippling like prairie grass in a storm. There’s no tension in him—no resistance. Just presence. Just trust. As if the wind itself were speaking, and he had decided to listen.

 
 

If you’ve ever loved a dog, you’ve seen this before. They don’t fight the wind. They lean into it. They receive it. Jack passed away in 2018, but that image of him—steady, surrendered, unafraid—has never left me.

A few weeks ago, during a quiet morning devotional, I came across a simple phrase: “I welcome the wind.”

It stopped me.

The reflection compared wind to the life of a fire. Add wind to a small candle, and it flickers, struggles… sometimes goes out. But add wind to an open, steady fire, and something entirely different happens—it roars. It grows. It becomes more itself.

The wind doesn’t change its nature. It reveals the strength of the fire it meets. And that’s when it settled into my spirit:

What if the “wind” in my life—the hard things, the uncertain things, the stretching, uncomfortable seasons—aren’t here to extinguish me? What if they’re here to feed the fire?

Lately, life has felt… windy.

Medical concerns. Personal challenges. Work situations that stretch patience and clarity. The kind of season that can leave you feeling like that small candle—flickering, vulnerable, unsure if you’ll hold your flame. But I keep coming back to that phrase— I welcome the wind.

Not because it’s easy. Not because I enjoy the discomfort. But because I’m choosing to believe that my fire is not fragile. That the Spirit within me is not so easily extinguished.

In faith, wind becomes something different. It becomes refinement. It becomes strengthening. It becomes the very thing that burnishes us—polishing, shaping, deepening us into who we’re meant to be.

The wind tests the flame, yes. But it also teaches it how to rise.

And I think about Jack. Standing there, eyes closed, completely at peace in something he could not control. He didn’t brace himself against the wind. He didn’t turn away. He faced it—fully. There’s something deeply spiritual in that kind of posture. A quiet kind of courage.

So here I am, in a season where the winds are real and sometimes strong, choosing a different response. Not resistance. Not fear. But openness. I welcome the wind. Because I am not a candle meant to be hidden from every gust. I am a fire being tended. And maybe you are too.

So I’ll leave you with this question, the one I’ve been asking myself: Do you welcome the wind? Or are you still trying to avoid it?

Maybe today isn’t about having a bigger fire. Maybe it’s about trusting that the wind has something to teach you— something to grow in you something to strengthen in you. And maybe, just maybe… it’s safe to close your eyes, lean in, and listen.

A Simple Kentucky Derby Spread at Home (With Classic Southern Bites)

The 152nd Kentucky Derby has come and gone, and this year’s race gave us exactly what it always promises—history, heart, and just a little bit of magic.

We watched from home—just the three of us, gathered around a simple but thoughtful spread—and somehow it felt just as special as any grand party.

I’ve always loved horse racing—it’s been part of my story for as long as I can remember. When I was a child, my grandfather was a devoted fan, the kind who didn’t just watch races—he felt them. He would sit quietly by his radio, completely tuned in, listening to the race calls from Hipódromo Camarero—the track I still think of by its original name, El Comandante.

Back then, it was the heart of horse racing in Puerto Rico. El Comandante wasn’t just a racetrack—it was a gathering place, a pulse point for the island, where the energy of the crowd carried through the air and into homes like ours through those radio broadcasts.

I can still picture him listening, completely still until the final stretch—then suddenly animated, reacting to every call like he was right there at the rail. I didn’t fully understand the races then, but I understood him—the excitement, the ritual, the way something as simple as a voice on the radio could bring so much life into the room.

And I think that’s where it started for me.

And honestly, it was the kind of Derby you don’t forget. Because this year, the race wasn’t just exciting—it was historic.

Boricua Pride x 200! We are so proud of our boys from Trujillo Alto!

SHE IS THE MOMENT!

  • A 23-1 longshot, Golden Tempo, surged from the very back of the pack in a breathtaking final stretch to win it all, reminiscent of Rich Strike in 2022.

  • Trainer Cherie DeVaux made history as the first woman ever to train a Kentucky Derby winner.

  • Jockey Jose Ortiz— fellow Puerto Rican, riding with precision and patience, completed a victory 12 years in the making—after also winning the Kentucky Oaks the day before.

  • To make it more emotional? His brother, Irad Ortiz, Jr. came in second, riding the horse who was the favorite to win.

It was one of those finishes that reminds you why they call it the most exciting two minutes in sports.

And while all of that unfolded at Churchill Downs, we were right here—plates in hand, mint juleps nearby, cheering like we were part of it.

For our own little Derby Day at home, I kept the menu simple but intentional—just enough to feel special without making it overwhelming. I put together a small spread consisting of:

  • Kentucky Benedictine tea sandwiches

  • A creamy pimento cheese “bar”

  • Beau Monde dip and crudites that quickly became everyone’s favorite.

  • For the teenagers, we added a few sliders

  • A charcuterie board with cheeses and little bites to graze on

  • Of course, mint juleps tied it all together. And for those of us who don’t love mint juleps, we went with a variation—a Georgia peach julep that felt just as festive and a little more our speed.

It wasn’t elaborate, but it had all the elements I love—something fresh, something nostalgic, and plenty to share around the table.

As the day wound down and the last of the dishes were picked over, I found myself thinking about how traditions evolve—how they travel from a racetrack in Puerto Rico, to a quiet living room with my grandfather and a radio, to a small table here in the Midwest.

This year’s Derby reminded me that it’s not about where you watch or how elaborate the spread is—it’s about the memories you carry and the ones you’re still creating. And above all, the incredible stories that happen at this event, and the lives that are changed because of it. And if there’s good food, a meaningful story, and someone to share it with, that’s more than enough reason to celebrate.