God’s Promises

By Brandy Grillo

The month of August turned out quite differently than I expected. Some plans didn’t go as planned, and as a natural planner, that threw me off. I just got back from my second international trip—another stamp in my passport, this time to Costa Rica. It was an amazing experience, and I was blessed to receive an invite at the end of May. I traveled solo, flying in and out of Orlando airport, and according to that little sticker on my windshield, my car’s oil change was still good to go, with over 700 miles left.

This month has been packed with medical procedures—one for my mom at the beginning of the month and mine coming up at the end. I’ve also started a new medication to help with my chronic urticaria and have a follow-up scheduled to see how my skin is responding. School is back in session for both me and my youngest son. On top of that, we celebrated two important birthdays: my best friend's and my youngest son's, just a week apart.

When things don’t go as expected, it’s easy to feel shaken, but that’s when our faith is tested and strengthened. I’d like to share the storms that have been roaring in my life and how I’ve been holding on to God’s promises through it all.

Storm 1:

The weekend after I returned from my trip, I took my bestie out for a birthday brunch. Then, on Sunday, I was on a mission—headed to Burlington and Marshalls to find some water shorts for my youngest son's 11th birthday celebration at Orlando's Volcano Bay. On my way home, my check engine light decided to flash like it had a flair for the dramatic, and suddenly, my car lost all its "oomph." “What in the world?” If you’re anything like me and have dealt with car problems before, you know that PTSD can start knocking pretty quickly.

I drive a 2018 Kia Sportage—my first faith-based gift from God back in 2020, but that’s definitely a story for another time. I take good care of this car, so why was I staring at a check engine light? All I wanted was to kick back and embrace my Sabbath, but life had other plans. Thankfully, I remembered that Advance Auto Parts does free check engine light diagnostics. So, I carefully drove my car up the block to them.

Four hours later, I discovered that my car had no oil—like, not a drop! And my car was throwing a code that basically screamed, “Be concerned!” The printout they gave me advised that my car might have “excessive engine knocking” and needed to go to the dealership ASAP. There was even a mention of a possible new engine and something about a lifetime warranty if I qualified. Lovely. I needed four quarts of oil just to get back on the road—ended up buying two myself, and the guy helping me was kind enough to buy the other two.

The next day, I had to get my car towed to the dealership. I was in surprisingly good spirits when I found out I could get the tow for free up to the first 15 miles. The dealership was only 12.5 miles away, so yay for small victories! My mom even lent me her car while I waited for mine. It took three days to get any answers, and during that time, all kinds of emotions tried to take control. But I decided not to let them. As someone who used to be led by emotions, I knew where that road led—and I refused to go down it again.

Instead, I leaned into God's promise to supply all my needs. He had given me this car when I first took a step of faith, and I knew He wouldn't bring me this far just to leave me stranded. So, I calmed my soul, choosing to trust the One who knows. By putting action behind my faith and letting go, I experienced a peace that truly surpassed all understanding, including my own. I couldn’t believe how calmly I was handling everything!

On the third day, I got the call—my car was ready. The dealership found nothing wrong with the engine; all tests came back normal, and there were no costs or diagnostic fees. I even got a free car wash out of it. I picked up my car, and she’s been driving great ever since.

Storm 2:

Now, it was my youngest's birthday weekend, and we had plans to celebrate big in Orlando. But one of the guys at the dealership told me I shouldn’t drive my car that far yet—better to keep it local for a week or so. Not exactly the news I wanted, but I thought, “No problem, my oldest son can drive us.” And then, of course, he tested positive for COVID. Just great.

Plan B: I asked my mom if she could come along, but two days before the trip, our dog sitter bailed on us. No car, no sitter—no way to get to my son's birthday. For me, birthdays are everything. I’m that mom, friend, and cousin who goes all out to make sure you feel like a million bucks on your special day. My own birthday? It’s a month-long celebration, with the grand finale the week of!

I’ve never missed one of my son’s birthdays since he was born, and now it looked like this might be the first. The night before we were supposed to leave, I was feeling all kinds of emotions. I had to let him go with his dad, without me there. And let’s be real—his dad hasn’t been around for as many birthdays as I have. Those early years, he was in federal prison, and now he’s always on the road with his trucking company.

If you’re a mom reading this, you know we will move mountains, cross oceans, and pull down the stars for our kids. I was determined to make it work, but deep down, I felt God telling me to let this one go. It wasn’t about me; it was about them building their connection. I was emotional the entire weekend, but I had to lean on God’s promises: He works everything for my good (Romans 8:28), and God gives me strength (Philippians 4:13).

Storm 3:

For years, I’ve been dealing with a noise disturbance that goes beyond the usual sounds of apartment living. My upstairs neighbor has grown her family from one to four kids over the time I’ve lived here. She’s mentioned their medical issues a few times and seemed apologetic, aware that the noise was disruptive. I’ve tried to be patient—years of compassion, empathy, and outright ignoring it. But this year, I reached my limit.

I decided to take action and wrote her a letter, explaining the noise disruptions and asking if we could come to a neighborly agreement—respect each other's peace and privacy. She responded kindly, gave me her number, and said I could text her when things got too noisy. Over the summer, this arrangement seemed to work—until school started.

I had just returned from my international trip, traveling since 5 a.m. and finally crawling into bed around midnight, completely exhausted. My son, who attends private school, wasn’t starting for another week, so we were looking forward to a rare sleep-in. Nope. At 7 a.m., it sounded like bowling balls were being dropped directly above my bedroom. It jolted me right out of my much-needed sleep.

I sent a polite text, explaining that we were still sleeping after my long trip. Her response this time was… different. She mentioned she wasn’t on her mental health medication—something I hadn’t known about until that very moment. The tone of our conversation shifted dramatically, and it became clear that this wasn’t going to be solved with letters and texts anymore.

I reached out to the leasing office, hoping they could help find a solution. They suggested a few steps, one of which was calling the noise disturbance line, where the police would come to the residence. The very next week, it sounded like a WWE tournament was happening upstairs—complete with screaming, yelling, and crying kids—at 6 a.m. I made the call.

The police came, but it didn’t solve the problem. Instead, it sparked a retaliatory campaign against my home. The noise started to disrupt everything—family sleep, my prayer time, my writing, my work, school/study time for me and my son, and even our health. To top it off, she has now accused me of causing a noise disturbance in her home. The leasing office is working to build a case, but they’ve asked me to be patient, document everything, and wait for a resolution.

The storm is raging, and the emotions I’ve kept calm and collected for so long finally erupted one Friday. I sat there, feeling utterly defeated and overwhelmed by it all.

Storm 4:

It feels like I’m in a never-ending battle with my health. I’ve written about this before in another blog post, Finding Faith in the Park, but here I am again, fighting the good fight against a body that seems determined to fight me back. For those who don’t know, I have a condition called chronic urticaria—basically, my immune system is like an overzealous bouncer at a club, kicking out the good and the bad alike, leaving me covered in hives. Lovely, right?

Back in July, I started a new medication, a monthly injection that was supposed to calm things down. But let me tell you, this “calming” is anything but. My skin has been flaring up more than it should, even with the new meds. The doctor’s office is doing its best to adjust the dosage, but my body is having none of it. This means more time, more follow-ups, and more waiting. And honestly? I’m exhausted. I’m over it. I want it gone. I want answers. I want a breakthrough!

And then there’s the ongoing noise war with my upstairs neighbors—oh, joy! Dealing with them on top of everything else feels like pouring salt on an open wound. Yet, here I am, trying to navigate this mess while holding on to the truth of James 1:2-3. I’m supposed to “consider it pure joy” when I face trials because it’s supposed to produce perseverance and deepen my faith.

But man, I sit here and wonder—how did Jesus do it? How did He endure so much more than my little problems and keep His faith, focus, and hope for what was ahead? How did He not throw His hands up and say, “I’m out!”? Here I am, battling hives and headache-inducing neighbors, and I’m ready to wave the white flag some days. But then, I think—if Jesus could do it, maybe, just maybe, I can hang on a little longer too.

Finding Rest in the Storm:

With all the chaos around me—from my skin flaring up like it’s in a battle of its own to feeling like I’m living under a WWE match—I’ve had to remind myself that true rest is not just about quiet spaces; it’s about a quiet soul. Psalm 62:1-2 tells me that my soul finds rest in God alone. He is my rock, my fortress, and no matter how noisy or painful life gets, in Him, I will not be shaken.

God’s promises are the only solid ground I have to stand on right now, and maybe that’s exactly what He wants. In these storms—whether it’s the chaos of my health condition, chronic urticaria, or the relentless noise from my neighbors—I’ve realized there isn’t much I can do to change things on my own. The storms I’ve faced before were shorter, and I came through those with victories. But these drawn-out storms? Jesus, take the wheel! And please, don’t let me snatch it back! I want this to be over. I want to do things my way, to control the situation, to fix it myself—but I know that’s not the answer.

Instead, I must sit in the storm, even when everything in me wants to do otherwise. I have to keep reminding my soul to be still and trust His process. I’ve learned that if God tells you to stay still and you don’t listen, the consequences could be far worse than if you had just waited on Him in the first place. It’s not in my human nature to feel joyful or blessed during trials, and I know I’m not alone in that. But I’m learning that in this walk of faith, we don’t always get explanations. We may not understand the “why” of our struggles, but holding on to His promises is where the truth lies. His promise still stands; my life is still in His hands. Great is His faithfulness, even when the storm is still raging.

If this blog reaches even one mind, one heart, one body, one soul—know that you are not alone in your struggles. We all have storms, but we can also hold on to His promises together. They are what will get us through, one day at a time.