Today wasn’t about bleachers and pretty pictures.

It was work.

We set up equipment, hauled props, and ran when things broke. Between prelims and finals, we patched up bruised girls, handed out water, and watched over overheated kids. There were no stands to sit in, no chance to just be a spectator ,only to stay busy, keep moving, and keep everyone safe and ready.

Then, in the middle of it all, my phone buzzed with bad news: my dad had a stroke. My nanny isn’t doing well. Life didn’t pause its punches while the drums kept pounding and the kids kept marching.

I felt suspended between two worlds…the noise of the field and the silence of my own worry.

But here’s the strange, beautiful thing, while I waited for updates and carried the quiet ache of uncertainty, I was suddenly overwhelmed by joy. In front of me were teenagers laughing, helping each other, working hard, finding magic in a long competition day. They were counting on me for what they needed (tape, ice, answers) and somehow, their smiles became the answer I didn’t realize I was searching for.

When I first arrived, the guard kids immediately covered me in glitter. It was  sweet…exactly what I didn’t know I needed. All that was missing was a pack of Twizzlers to survive the chaos.

Who knew that joining the color guard mom cult would mean expanding my family? These kids have no idea how heavy today was for me. They just showed up with laughter and grit, and without even trying, they made the weight a little lighter.

Grace showed up today wearing band T-shirts and glitter, handing me joy when I didn’t even know I’d lost it.

And maybe that’s what grace really is…joy that finds you in the middle of the mess.