A Place at the Table
“I don’t know if I’m ready to say Healing Over Hustling is going strong—but it ain’t growing weak.”
It is 12:48 a.m. on September 7, 2026, and I have had more than 24 hours to sit in what I experienced on Saturday, September 5. Truthfully, I am still unpacking everything.
One thing I have grown fond of—even though it may also be one of the hardest things—is embracing how I have learned to sit in my truth and operate in the way God is pushing me and pruning me. To fully understand both the wait, W-A-I-T, and the weight, W-E-I-G-H-T, of Saturday, I have to go back a couple of weeks.
The Weight I Carried Into Saturday
I did not arrive at Saturday carrying beverages and merchandise alone. I arrived carrying the weight of several weeks and, truthfully, so much of this year.
I had been working long days and weekends, preparing products, moving between responsibilities, and trying to make enough money before the next deadline arrived.
Sometimes so much happens in my life, so quickly and so profoundly, that it is hard to keep the shoestrings of my memories laced up. Days run together because each one holds so much.
By the time the Festival arrived, it was not simply another vending opportunity in my mind. I needed it to be a springboard. I had worked and prepared as if the outcome of that one day might help me catch up and finally breathe.
The Morning Win
Saturday morning, I was proud of myself. By 7:30am, I was set up and ready to sell. I had already decided that, no matter what, I needed to leave at 10:00am so I could prepare for the Festival.
At 10:00am, I still had about ten products left, and I was willing to pack them up and go. But as I started packing, more people came. By 10:30am, I had sold out.
I made it home, unpacked, and kept moving. For once, I did not feel as though I was waiting until the very last minute. I felt momentum. I thought, Yes, I did it.
The Disruption
Then plans changed. A last-minute shift delayed my departure and left me hurt, overwhelmed, and now late. After an honest conversation, my brother and I headed to the festival together, but by the time I arrived, I was already emotionally discombobulated.
The organizers were doing what organizers do—trying to keep everything moving—but I was late, overwhelmed, and convinced I was not in a good placement to sell my beverages. In my mind, being late was about to cost me the win, W-I-N, that I needed. I was ready to pack it all up and go home. My brother told me, ‘Nah, sis. We can do this.’
This Is the Wrong Spot
I thought I would be near the food vendors because that is what I am known for: them good beverages. Instead, I was placed among the other vendors. My banner was not ready because the store had run out of the material needed to print it. My table did not look the way I had imagined it. In my mind, people passing by might think somebody was selling merchandise and just happened to have a few “drinks” because it was hot outside.
People came and bought beverages, but they were not moving the way they had moved at the market that morning. I had worked so hard and attached so much need to this event. I kept thinking I needed to be where the food was so I could sell out.
But unbeknownst to me, the space that seemed like whichever table was left was really the space God needed me to be.
What Was Already Waiting There
One tent over was my bonus daughter, in her own element as a vendor. Between us was a family selling beautiful plant-based food and gemstones, and one of them was also performing at the festival. On the other side of me was a woman selling handmade jewelry.
As evening came, the vendors around me had lights. Then the park lights came on, and I realized we were directly underneath one. The place I had judged as wrong kept providing what I needed.
I even considered going home to retrieve my night-market setup, but I decided not to spend the time, energy, and risk driving back and forth so late. I stayed where I had been placed.
The Woman Who Came Back
Earlier in the event, a friend bought a pouch of Caribbean Crush™. I also shared Healing Over Hustling™ with her and told her about the commemorative piece I had created. She said she would return.
Hours later, she came back. She told me she was glad I was still there. Then she started talking about the beverage—how amazing and hydrating it was. She told me a man had almost drunk her pouch, and she had stopped him. She said, ‘They may have on the same dress, but the ingredients underneath that dress are different.’ Then she read my ingredients to him.
I began to cry—boohoo cry—because while I was standing there doubting myself, she was speaking life into what I had created. She saw the care inside that pouch. She recognized that what may look similar from the outside is not necessarily made from the same ingredients.
Then she began speaking life into me. She reminded me of the people I have helped and told me not to turn my back on what God called me to do. Her words reached places in me that had grown tired and doubtful. Her words gave me life. She watered places in my soul that had become dehydrated.
What Actually Sold
No, I did not sell out at the Festival. I am still sitting with how I feel about that. I will not manufacture a false victory and pretend the financial need disappeared simply because something spiritually meaningful happened. Both truths deserve a place at the table.
But every person who intentionally chose one of the Healing Over Hustling™ commemorative pieces said something. They showed me that what I had created held value and meaning beyond a transaction. Nine months after this movement began, people were not merely purchasing merchandise. They were responding to the testimony inside it.
I arrived believing I needed to sell enough products to replenish my finances. Instead, in the very place I believed was wrong, God sent someone to replenish my spirit.
A Place at the Table
Several stories were sitting at Saturday’s table. There was the wonderful organizing family, who gave the city a good show and made sure the vendors were taken care of. There was the joy of seeing my bonus daughter in her element. There were the families and creators placed around me. There were the people who intentionally supported Healing Over Hustling™. And there was a friend whose words continued to fuel me long after the festival ended.
I thought I needed a different table—or at least a different place at the table. I thought the right placement would be the one most likely to help me sell out. But I was exactly where I needed to be to receive what God knew I needed.
Healing does not require me to deny that I still needed a different financial outcome. It does not require me to pretend that the delays, disappointment, exhaustion, and uncertainty did not hurt. Gratitude and disappointment can sit at the same table. Financial need and spiritual affirmation can sit at the same table. Preparation and disruption can sit at the same table. A morning sellout and an evening slowdown can sit at the same table.
Each truth needs its own placemat so that none of them has to overshadow the others.
Healing Over Hustling™ is nine months old. I do not know if I am ready to say it is going strong—but it ain’t growing weak.
Saturday reminded me that every place at the table will not look like the place I imagined. Sometimes the table is not where I sell out. Sometimes it is where God sits me down long enough for somebody to pour back into me.
