She Was There at the Beginning

Gaby won't physically be here to see everything these visions become. But she was here for part of the beginning. She wasn't just my childhood friend. She believed in the vision, worked alongside me as it began taking shape, and became part of the foundation on which I am continuing to build.

And before I tell you about what Gaby helped build, I want you to understand who she was to me and why her story will always be woven into mine.

Our Friendship, Our Faith and a Shared Vision

Gaby and I were childhood friends. Life took us down different paths, and we had very different experiences along the way, but through different seasons, we supported each other. As we got older, we also discovered that there were things we both cared deeply about. One of those things was women—particularly mothers trying to navigate the real challenges of life while still holding everything together for their children.

We talked about financial struggles, health challenges, difficult relationships, family circumstances and the things women sometimes experience behind closed doors. We even began working on a podcast together.

One of the conversations we wanted to have was about the real-world challenges women particularly mothers face and what we could practically put in place to better support one another through them. We actually recorded the first episode, but we never got to release it or continue the podcast the way we had planned.

Looking back now, that unfinished podcast means something different to me.

Because many of the things we sat down to talk about weren't simply topics for a podcast. They were realities that, in different ways, we would find ourselves living through.

And some of the very questions we were beginning to ask about how women could better support one another would eventually become questions I would have to confront personally as I watched my own friend need the kind of support we had once sat together talking about.

She Was There at the Beginning

Gaby won't physically be here to see everything these visions become. But she was here for part of the beginning. She wasn't just my childhood friend. She believed in the vision, worked alongside me as it began taking shape, and became part of the foundation on which I am continuing to build.

And before I tell you about what Gaby helped build, I want you to understand who she was to me and why her story will always be woven into mine.

Our Friendship, Our Faith and a Shared Vision

Gaby and I were childhood friends. Life took us down different paths, and we had very different experiences along the way, but through different seasons, we supported each other. As we got older, we also discovered that there were things we both cared deeply about. One of those things was women—particularly mothers trying to navigate the real challenges of life while still holding everything together for their children.

We talked about financial struggles, health challenges, difficult relationships, family circumstances and the things women sometimes experience behind closed doors. We even began working on a podcast together.

One of the conversations we wanted to have was about the real-world challenges women particularly mothers face and what we could practically put in place to better support one another through them. We actually recorded the first episode, but we never got to release it or continue the podcast the way we had planned.

Looking back now, that unfinished podcast means something different to me.

Because many of the things we sat down to talk about weren't simply topics for a podcast. They were realities that, in different ways, we would find ourselves living through.

And some of the very questions we were beginning to ask about how women could better support one another would eventually become questions I would have to confront personally as I watched my own friend need the kind of support we had once sat together talking about.

2024 Was Supposed to Be Our Year

There is something about Gaby's journey and mine that I understand very differently now than I did while we were living through it. Gaby spoke in her testimony about entering 2024 believing it was going to be her year. She had plans. She had things she wanted to change, things she wanted to accomplish and a picture in her mind of what that next season of her life could look like.

I entered 2024 with that same kind of expectation. I was coming off a launch in 2023 and preparing for what I believed would be the next stage of my business. I had plans too. Goals. Expectations. A picture of where I thought my life was going. And then, during the first quarter of 2024, both of us experienced a blow to the lives we thought we were about to live. For Gaby, it was her health. For me, it was my business and by extension, the financial stability that was connected to it.

Two very different circumstances.

Two very different kinds of loss.

But both of us found ourselves having to face the fact that the year we had planned was not unfolding the way either of us expected.

At the time, I couldn't see the connection. Hindsight really is 20/20. Because when I look back now, I can see that while our circumstances were completely different, Gaby and I were beginning a very similar spiritual journey. For years, two childhood friends had travelled down separate roads.

Now, in circumstances neither of us would have chosen, our paths were beginning to come together again. And I believe part of what God was doing in both of us was bringing us back to our roots back to Him.

Before rebuilding all the things we wanted for ourselves, we were having to rebuild something deeper: our intimacy and relationship with Him.

Not simply going to church.

Not simply believing in God.

But learning surrender.

Learning to pray differently.

Learning to seek Him daily.

Learning to remain in communion with Him when life wasn't going according to plan.

And learning the difference between asking God to bless the plans we had created for ourselves and being willing to surrender those plans to His will.

Gaby was walking that journey through what was happening with her health. I was walking it through what had happened with my business and everything that unravelled from it.

And somewhere in the middle of those two very different experiences, God brought two childhood friends back together to walk part of that journey side by side.

2024 Was Supposed to Be Our Year

There is something about Gaby's journey and mine that I understand very differently now than I did while we were living through it. Gaby spoke in her testimony about entering 2024 believing it was going to be her year. She had plans. She had things she wanted to change, things she wanted to accomplish and a picture in her mind of what that next season of her life could look like.

I entered 2024 with that same kind of expectation. I was coming off a launch in 2023 and preparing for what I believed would be the next stage of my business. I had plans too. Goals. Expectations. A picture of where I thought my life was going. And then, during the first quarter of 2024, both of us experienced a blow to the lives we thought we were about to live. For Gaby, it was her health. For me, it was my business and by extension, the financial stability that was connected to it.

Two very different circumstances.

Two very different kinds of loss.

But both of us found ourselves having to face the fact that the year we had planned was not unfolding the way either of us expected.

At the time, I couldn't see the connection. Hindsight really is 20/20. Because when I look back now, I can see that while our circumstances were completely different, Gaby and I were beginning a very similar spiritual journey. For years, two childhood friends had travelled down separate roads.

Now, in circumstances neither of us would have chosen, our paths were beginning to come together again. And I believe part of what God was doing in both of us was bringing us back to our roots back to Him.

Before rebuilding all the things we wanted for ourselves, we were having to rebuild something deeper: our intimacy and relationship with Him.

Not simply going to church.

Not simply believing in God.

But learning surrender.

Learning to pray differently.

Learning to seek Him daily.

Learning to remain in communion with Him when life wasn't going according to plan.

And learning the difference between asking God to bless the plans we had created for ourselves and being willing to surrender those plans to His will.

Gaby was walking that journey through what was happening with her health. I was walking it through what had happened with my business and everything that unravelled from it.

And somewhere in the middle of those two very different experiences, God brought two childhood friends back together to walk part of that journey side by side.

Then 2025 Tested What I Was Learning

By the beginning of 2025, Gaby and I were planning again. We sat together and worked through our goals for the year. She knew what I wanted to accomplish. She knew the vision I was carrying, what I believed God had placed on my heart and the people I hoped that work would eventually reach.

Then, during that first part of the year, I took another hit. And this time, I went into an extremely dark place. I was ready to stop. Not slow down. Not take a break. Stop. I didn't care about the plans anymore. I didn't care about building anything.

I was hurting, exhausted and at points no longer interested in continuing. But Gaby understood something that made her response to me different. She knew my pain, but she also knew the vision. And she was already further along in learning some of the very lessons I was struggling to accept.

She had been forced to confront the possibility that her life might not unfold according to her plans. She was learning what it meant to trust God when circumstances did not change simply because you prayed. So when I wanted to walk away from everything, Gaby would not allow me to simply give up.

She kept pushing me back towards God.

Not simply, Go to church.

Not simply, Pray about it and everything will be fine.

She was talking to me about intimacy. Prayer. Fasting. Surrender. Constant communion with God. Learning how to live day by day with Him rather than reaching for Him only when something went wrong.

Gaby would talk to me about Jesus and what He endured.

She talked about Him being beaten and suffering on the way to fulfil what He had been sent to do. Her point wasn't that what we were experiencing could be compared with the suffering of Jesus. Her point was that being in the will of God does not mean we will never suffer. We will have trials.

There will be things we do not understand. There will be moments when the pain makes us want to stop. But the trial cannot become the thing that pulls us away from God.

We have to remain focused on Him and on His will even when the journey becomes difficult. And what made those words so powerful was that Gaby was having to live them herself. She knew what the doctors were saying.

She knew what was happening in her lungs. She understood the seriousness of her condition. Yet, in one of our conversations, her position was essentially: Yes, I understand what is happening.

But I also understand Jesus. She knew that if she died, she would finally be with Him, and if that is His will she was happy with that.

Her faith wasn't pretending that cancer wasn't there.

Her faith was learning to trust God while cancer was there.

And from the middle of that reality, she was turning around and telling me: Marcia, you have to get up. There were moments when I didn't want to continue. I had my children, so I got up and did what needed to be done for them, but internally I was barely holding on. I was surviving. I wasn't living. And somehow, the woman who was fighting for her physical life became one of the people God used to remind me to fight for mine.

I Thought I Was Helping Her

As I began focusing more on being there for Gaby, something started happening that I didn't fully recognise at first. God began healing me too. I thought I was showing up because my friend needed me. But supporting Gaby forced me to begin looking beyond my own pain. It gave me somewhere to direct my energy. It gave me reasons to pray, create and move again.

I still had things I needed to confront and heal from, but I began learning that healing didn't always happen by continually looking inward. God was restoring something in me while I was looking outward and serving someone else. I thought I was helping my friend keep fighting. But my friend was helping me fight too.

What Was Being Born Through Our Brokenness

As I slowly began working through what I was experiencing, I also began writing. That became part of what would grow into the Broken But Becoming book series. The series wasn't created only from my story. My own pain and dark season became part of its foundation, but I was also looking at the different forms of brokenness women experience and the stories of women who were trying to find their way through them.

Gaby was one of those women. We were talking. Sharing our experiences. Telling each other the things we had lived through.

And documenting parts of those stories for the work I was developing.

The Broken But Becoming journal was created as part of that wider series, and Gaby was the first person to go through it with me.

Then came The Identity Exchange, the second book in the series. When I created the ebook for it, Gaby was the first person I shared it with. She read it. She encouraged me.

She was part of the process while I was still writing, processing and becoming myself. And Gaby had a story of her own that she wanted to tell. We talked about her eventually writing her own book and about me helping her to do it. We never got to finish all of that.

But when I look back now, I realise that we weren't simply two friends talking about our problems. We were documenting what it looked like to walk through brokenness while trying to find our way back to God, back to purpose and, in many ways, back to ourselves.

That is part of Gaby's connection to the Faith in Action Movement. Faith in Action wasn't something I created later and then attached her story to. Parts of what it represents were being lived between us. I was learning it with Gaby

Gaby Helped Build

And Gaby wasn't simply encouraging me from the sidelines. She helped build. As Divineonomy, YSB Hub and the Faith in Action Movement began taking shape, Gaby had actual responsibilities within the work.

Within YSB Hub, she supported the people-facing side of what we were building communicating with people, helping with registrations, supporting our course platforms and helping people move through the processes we were creating.

Within Divineonomy, she helped me manage the Divineonomy Events and Rewards Hub, including managing registrations and supporting the work that needed to happen behind the scenes. And through the conversations, stories, writing and experiences we were documenting together, she was also part of the foundation of what was developing through the Faith in Action Movement.

We complemented each other. I was the systems person. Give me the structure, technology and spreadsheets. Gaby was the people person. She loved talking to people, communicating and making that human connection. And even when my spreadsheets and documentation found their way into something she was responsible for which definitely wasn't her favourite part she was willing to learn what she needed to learn and do it. She showed up. Gaby was ambitious. She wanted to learn.

She wanted to grow. She wanted to improve her circumstances and create a better future for herself and her son. Even in sickness, she still wanted to continue. And we had a vision that was connected. We were working together towards something we believed could eventually become much bigger than what existed at the time.

.

She Was There at the Beginning

Gaby won't physically be here to see everything these visions become. But she was here for part of the beginning. She wasn't just my childhood friend. She believed in the vision, worked alongside me as it began taking shape, and became part of the foundation on which I am continuing to build.

And before I tell you about what Gaby helped build, I want you to understand who she was to me and why her story will always be woven into mine.

Our Friendship, Our Faith and a Shared Vision

Gaby and I were childhood friends. Life took us down different paths, and we had very different experiences along the way, but through different seasons, we supported each other. As we got older, we also discovered that there were things we both cared deeply about. One of those things was women—particularly mothers trying to navigate the real challenges of life while still holding everything together for their children.

We talked about financial struggles, health challenges, difficult relationships, family circumstances and the things women sometimes experience behind closed doors. We even began working on a podcast together.

One of the conversations we wanted to have was about the real-world challenges women particularly mothers face and what we could practically put in place to better support one another through them. We actually recorded the first episode, but we never got to release it or continue the podcast the way we had planned.

Looking back now, that unfinished podcast means something different to me.

Because many of the things we sat down to talk about weren't simply topics for a podcast. They were realities that, in different ways, we would find ourselves living through.

And some of the very questions we were beginning to ask about how women could better support one another would eventually become questions I would have to confront personally as I watched my own friend need the kind of support we had once sat together talking about.

2024 Was Supposed to Be Our Year

There is something about Gaby's journey and mine that I understand very differently now than I did while we were living through it. Gaby spoke in her testimony about entering 2024 believing it was going to be her year. She had plans. She had things she wanted to change, things she wanted to accomplish and a picture in her mind of what that next season of her life could look like.

I entered 2024 with that same kind of expectation. I was coming off a launch in 2023 and preparing for what I believed would be the next stage of my business. I had plans too. Goals. Expectations. A picture of where I thought my life was going. And then, during the first quarter of 2024, both of us experienced a blow to the lives we thought we were about to live. For Gaby, it was her health. For me, it was my business and by extension, the financial stability that was connected to it.

Two very different circumstances.

Two very different kinds of loss.

But both of us found ourselves having to face the fact that the year we had planned was not unfolding the way either of us expected.

At the time, I couldn't see the connection. Hindsight really is 20/20. Because when I look back now, I can see that while our circumstances were completely different, Gaby and I were beginning a very similar spiritual journey. For years, two childhood friends had travelled down separate roads.

Now, in circumstances neither of us would have chosen, our paths were beginning to come together again. And I believe part of what God was doing in both of us was bringing us back to our roots back to Him.

Before rebuilding all the things we wanted for ourselves, we were having to rebuild something deeper: our intimacy and relationship with Him.

Not simply going to church.

Not simply believing in God.

But learning surrender.

Learning to pray differently.

Learning to seek Him daily.

Learning to remain in communion with Him when life wasn't going according to plan.

And learning the difference between asking God to bless the plans we had created for ourselves and being willing to surrender those plans to His will.

Gaby was walking that journey through what was happening with her health. I was walking it through what had happened with my business and everything that unravelled from it.

And somewhere in the middle of those two very different experiences, God brought two childhood friends back together to walk part of that journey side by side.

Then 2025 Tested What I Was Learning

By the beginning of 2025, Gaby and I were planning again. We sat together and worked through our goals for the year. She knew what I wanted to accomplish. She knew the vision I was carrying, what I believed God had placed on my heart and the people I hoped that work would eventually reach.

Then, during that first part of the year, I took another hit. And this time, I went into an extremely dark place. I was ready to stop. Not slow down. Not take a break. Stop. I didn't care about the plans anymore. I didn't care about building anything.

I was hurting, exhausted and at points no longer interested in continuing. But Gaby understood something that made her response to me different. She knew my pain, but she also knew the vision. And she was already further along in learning some of the very lessons I was struggling to accept.

She had been forced to confront the possibility that her life might not unfold according to her plans. She was learning what it meant to trust God when circumstances did not change simply because you prayed. So when I wanted to walk away from everything, Gaby would not allow me to simply give up.

She kept pushing me back towards God.

Not simply, Go to church.

Not simply, Pray about it and everything will be fine.

She was talking to me about intimacy. Prayer. Fasting. Surrender. Constant communion with God. Learning how to live day by day with Him rather than reaching for Him only when something went wrong.

Gaby would talk to me about Jesus and what He endured.

She talked about Him being beaten and suffering on the way to fulfil what He had been sent to do. Her point wasn't that what we were experiencing could be compared with the suffering of Jesus. Her point was that being in the will of God does not mean we will never suffer. We will have trials.

There will be things we do not understand. There will be moments when the pain makes us want to stop. But the trial cannot become the thing that pulls us away from God.

We have to remain focused on Him and on His will even when the journey becomes difficult. And what made those words so powerful was that Gaby was having to live them herself. She knew what the doctors were saying.

She knew what was happening in her lungs. She understood the seriousness of her condition. Yet, in one of our conversations, her position was essentially: Yes, I understand what is happening.

But I also understand Jesus. She knew that if she died, she would finally be with Him, and if that is His will she was happy with that.

Her faith wasn't pretending that cancer wasn't there.

Her faith was learning to trust God while cancer was there.

And from the middle of that reality, she was turning around and telling me: Marcia, you have to get up. There were moments when I didn't want to continue. I had my children, so I got up and did what needed to be done for them, but internally I was barely holding on. I was surviving. I wasn't living. And somehow, the woman who was fighting for her physical life became one of the people God used to remind me to fight for mine.

I Thought I Was Helping Her

As I began focusing more on being there for Gaby, something started happening that I didn't fully recognise at first. God began healing me too. I thought I was showing up because my friend needed me. But supporting Gaby forced me to begin looking beyond my own pain. It gave me somewhere to direct my energy. It gave me reasons to pray, create and move again.

I still had things I needed to confront and heal from, but I began learning that healing didn't always happen by continually looking inward. God was restoring something in me while I was looking outward and serving someone else. I thought I was helping my friend keep fighting. But my friend was helping me fight too.

What Was Being Born Through Our Brokenness

As I slowly began working through what I was experiencing, I also began writing. That became part of what would grow into the Broken But Becoming book series. The series wasn't created only from my story. My own pain and dark season became part of its foundation, but I was also looking at the different forms of brokenness women experience and the stories of women who were trying to find their way through them.

Gaby was one of those women. We were talking. Sharing our experiences. Telling each other the things we had lived through.

And documenting parts of those stories for the work I was developing.

The Broken But Becoming journal was created as part of that wider series, and Gaby was the first person to go through it with me.

Then came The Identity Exchange, the second book in the series. When I created the ebook for it, Gaby was the first person I shared it with. She read it. She encouraged me.

She was part of the process while I was still writing, processing and becoming myself. And Gaby had a story of her own that she wanted to tell. We talked about her eventually writing her own book and about me helping her to do it. We never got to finish all of that.

But when I look back now, I realise that we weren't simply two friends talking about our problems. We were documenting what it looked like to walk through brokenness while trying to find our way back to God, back to purpose and, in many ways, back to ourselves.

That is part of Gaby's connection to the Faith in Action Movement. Faith in Action wasn't something I created later and then attached her story to. Parts of what it represents were being lived between us. I was learning it with Gaby

Gaby Helped Build

And Gaby wasn't simply encouraging me from the sidelines. She helped build. As Divineonomy, YSB Hub and the Faith in Action Movement began taking shape, Gaby had actual responsibilities within the work.

Within YSB Hub, she supported the people-facing side of what we were building communicating with people, helping with registrations, supporting our course platforms and helping people move through the processes we were creating.

Within Divineonomy, she helped me manage the Divineonomy Events and Rewards Hub, including managing registrations and supporting the work that needed to happen behind the scenes. And through the conversations, stories, writing and experiences we were documenting together, she was also part of the foundation of what was developing through the Faith in Action Movement.

We complemented each other. I was the systems person. Give me the structure, technology and spreadsheets. Gaby was the people person. She loved talking to people, communicating and making that human connection. And even when my spreadsheets and documentation found their way into something she was responsible for which definitely wasn't her favourite part she was willing to learn what she needed to learn and do it. She showed up. Gaby was ambitious. She wanted to learn.

She wanted to grow. She wanted to improve her circumstances and create a better future for herself and her son. Even in sickness, she still wanted to continue. And we had a vision that was connected. We were working together towards something we believed could eventually become much bigger than what existed at the time.

Then 2025 Tested What I Was Learning

By the beginning of 2025, Gaby and I were planning again. We sat together and worked through our goals for the year. She knew what I wanted to accomplish. She knew the vision I was carrying, what I believed God had placed on my heart and the people I hoped that work would eventually reach.

Then, during that first part of the year, I took another hit. And this time, I went into an extremely dark place. I was ready to stop. Not slow down. Not take a break. Stop. I didn't care about the plans anymore. I didn't care about building anything.

I was hurting, exhausted and at points no longer interested in continuing. But Gaby understood something that made her response to me different. She knew my pain, but she also knew the vision. And she was already further along in learning some of the very lessons I was struggling to accept.

She had been forced to confront the possibility that her life might not unfold according to her plans. She was learning what it meant to trust God when circumstances did not change simply because you prayed. So when I wanted to walk away from everything, Gaby would not allow me to simply give up.

She kept pushing me back towards God.

Not simply, Go to church.

Not simply, Pray about it and everything will be fine.

She was talking to me about intimacy. Prayer. Fasting. Surrender. Constant communion with God. Learning how to live day by day with Him rather than reaching for Him only when something went wrong.

Gaby would talk to me about Jesus and what He endured.

She talked about Him being beaten and suffering on the way to fulfil what He had been sent to do. Her point wasn't that what we were experiencing could be compared with the suffering of Jesus. Her point was that being in the will of God does not mean we will never suffer. We will have trials.

There will be things we do not understand. There will be moments when the pain makes us want to stop. But the trial cannot become the thing that pulls us away from God.

We have to remain focused on Him and on His will even when the journey becomes difficult. And what made those words so powerful was that Gaby was having to live them herself. She knew what the doctors were saying.

She knew what was happening in her lungs. She understood the seriousness of her condition. Yet, in one of our conversations, her position was essentially: Yes, I understand what is happening.

But I also understand Jesus. She knew that if she died, she would finally be with Him, and if that is His will she was happy with that.

Her faith wasn't pretending that cancer wasn't there.

Her faith was learning to trust God while cancer was there.

And from the middle of that reality, she was turning around and telling me: Marcia, you have to get up. There were moments when I didn't want to continue. I had my children, so I got up and did what needed to be done for them, but internally I was barely holding on. I was surviving. I wasn't living. And somehow, the woman who was fighting for her physical life became one of the people God used to remind me to fight for mine.

I Thought I Was Helping Her

As I began focusing more on being there for Gaby, something started happening that I didn't fully recognise at first. God began healing me too. I thought I was showing up because my friend needed me. But supporting Gaby forced me to begin looking beyond my own pain. It gave me somewhere to direct my energy. It gave me reasons to pray, create and move again.

I still had things I needed to confront and heal from, but I began learning that healing didn't always happen by continually looking inward. God was restoring something in me while I was looking outward and serving someone else. I thought I was helping my friend keep fighting. But my friend was helping me fight too.

What Was Being Born Through Our Brokenness

As I slowly began working through what I was experiencing, I also began writing. That became part of what would grow into the Broken But Becoming book series. The series wasn't created only from my story. My own pain and dark season became part of its foundation, but I was also looking at the different forms of brokenness women experience and the stories of women who were trying to find their way through them.

Gaby was one of those women. We were talking. Sharing our experiences. Telling each other the things we had lived through.

And documenting parts of those stories for the work I was developing.

The Broken But Becoming journal was created as part of that wider series, and Gaby was the first person to go through it with me.

Then came The Identity Exchange, the second book in the series. When I created the ebook for it, Gaby was the first person I shared it with. She read it. She encouraged me.

She was part of the process while I was still writing, processing and becoming myself. And Gaby had a story of her own that she wanted to tell. We talked about her eventually writing her own book and about me helping her to do it. We never got to finish all of that.

But when I look back now, I realise that we weren't simply two friends talking about our problems. We were documenting what it looked like to walk through brokenness while trying to find our way back to God, back to purpose and, in many ways, back to ourselves.

That is part of Gaby's connection to the Faith in Action Movement. Faith in Action wasn't something I created later and then attached her story to. Parts of what it represents were being lived between us. I was learning it with Gaby

Gaby Helped Build

And Gaby wasn't simply encouraging me from the sidelines. She helped build. As Divineonomy, YSB Hub and the Faith in Action Movement began taking shape, Gaby had actual responsibilities within the work.

Within YSB Hub, she supported the people-facing side of what we were building communicating with people, helping with registrations, supporting our course platforms and helping people move through the processes we were creating.

Within Divineonomy, she helped me manage the Divineonomy Events and Rewards Hub, including managing registrations and supporting the work that needed to happen behind the scenes. And through the conversations, stories, writing and experiences we were documenting together, she was also part of the foundation of what was developing through the Faith in Action Movement.

We complemented each other. I was the systems person. Give me the structure, technology and spreadsheets. Gaby was the people person. She loved talking to people, communicating and making that human connection. And even when my spreadsheets and documentation found their way into something she was responsible for which definitely wasn't her favourite part she was willing to learn what she needed to learn and do it. She showed up. Gaby was ambitious. She wanted to learn.

She wanted to grow. She wanted to improve her circumstances and create a better future for herself and her son. Even in sickness, she still wanted to continue. And we had a vision that was connected. We were working together towards something we believed could eventually become much bigger than what existed at the time.

We Were Planning in Faith

By December 2025, we were preparing for what we hoped 2026 would become and the larger launch we were working towards for the end of that year. We recorded videos. We created materials. We planned. Some of what we were doing was almost like capturing the before, believing that one day we would be able to look back together at the after and see everything that had been built.

And we weren't making those plans because we didn't understand Gaby's diagnosis. We knew. We knew she had terminal cancer. We knew what the doctors had said, and we knew there was a very real possibility that things might not happen the way we wanted them to. But Gaby had already lived beyond some of what had initially been expected. So we kept planning. We were planning in faith.

When we talked about December 2026, we were choosing to believe she could be there. For me, that was Faith in Action too.

Faith wasn't pretending cancer wasn't there.

Faith was knowing what we were facing and still recording the videos.

Still building. Still talking about the podcast. Still making plans. Still believing there could be an after. We knew what the doctors had said. But we also knew what we were praying for.

When Wanting to Help Wasn't Enough

Then 2026 unfolded, and Gaby's condition became increasingly difficult. On April 29, she sent me a message that I have never forgotten.

She could barely walk to the bathroom by herself, yet she was being told she needed to return to an office and essentially restart a process she had already completed months earlier to receive assistance.

Yes, I could help my friend in the ways that were within my means. I could give something towards an immediate need. I could buy something. I could help here and there.

But the truth was: I could not personally fund the level of support Gaby needed. And that was difficult for me.

Because this wasn't one bill or one grocery purchase. Gaby was unable to work. She was raising a teenage son.

There was food, household expenses and the ongoing practical reality of trying to live while fighting stage 4 cancer.

I could help solve something today. But what about tomorrow? What about next month? And the month after that?

That was when the difference between helping someone in a moment and being able to support someone sustainably became painfully real to me.

If we genuinely wanted to help women through circumstances like these, goodwill alone wasn't enough. We needed resources. We needed structure. We needed systems.

And then, in that same conversation, Gaby said something that took me right back to those conversations we had been having years before.

What happens to her?

What happens to the mother who doesn't have somebody she can call?

What happens when the need is bigger than what one friend or family member can carry?

And this time, we weren't planning a podcast episode about it. I was watching my friend live it. Gaby wasn't the first woman who had crossed my path whom I wanted to help in a more meaningful way. But her situation made the urgency of it personal.

Something that had always been part of the vision could no longer remain a later plan. Because my friend needed it now, and I didn't have the structure in place for her.

So I asked myself what I did have. I knew how to organise. I knew how to build systems and platforms. I knew how to bring people around an idea and create a way for them to participate. I couldn't personally fund everything Gaby needed.

But perhaps I could build something that allowed us to carry the need together. That became part of what pushed me into creating the Heal With Me / Walk for Healing fundraising initiative.

It wasn't the complete solution. But it was a start. It was me taking what was already in my hand and putting it into action.

We Were Planning in Faith

By December 2025, we were preparing for what we hoped 2026 would become and the larger launch we were working towards for the end of that year. We recorded videos. We created materials. We planned. Some of what we were doing was almost like capturing the before, believing that one day we would be able to look back together at the after and see everything that had been built.

And we weren't making those plans because we didn't understand Gaby's diagnosis. We knew. We knew she had terminal cancer. We knew what the doctors had said, and we knew there was a very real possibility that things might not happen the way we wanted them to. But Gaby had already lived beyond some of what had initially been expected. So we kept planning. We were planning in faith.

When we talked about December 2026, we were choosing to believe she could be there. For me, that was Faith in Action too.

Faith wasn't pretending cancer wasn't there.

Faith was knowing what we were facing and still recording the videos.

Still building. Still talking about the podcast. Still making plans. Still believing there could be an after. We knew what the doctors had said. But we also knew what we were praying for.

When Wanting to Help Wasn't Enough

Then 2026 unfolded, and Gaby's condition became increasingly difficult. On April 29, she sent me a message that I have never forgotten.

She could barely walk to the bathroom by herself, yet she was being told she needed to return to an office and essentially restart a process she had already completed months earlier to receive assistance.

Yes, I could help my friend in the ways that were within my means. I could give something towards an immediate need. I could buy something. I could help here and there.

But the truth was: I could not personally fund the level of support Gaby needed. And that was difficult for me.

Because this wasn't one bill or one grocery purchase. Gaby was unable to work. She was raising a teenage son.

There was food, household expenses and the ongoing practical reality of trying to live while fighting stage 4 cancer.

I could help solve something today. But what about tomorrow? What about next month? And the month after that?

That was when the difference between helping someone in a moment and being able to support someone sustainably became painfully real to me.

If we genuinely wanted to help women through circumstances like these, goodwill alone wasn't enough. We needed resources. We needed structure. We needed systems.

And then, in that same conversation, Gaby said something that took me right back to those conversations we had been having years before.

What happens to her?

What happens to the mother who doesn't have somebody she can call?

What happens when the need is bigger than what one friend or family member can carry?

And this time, we weren't planning a podcast episode about it. I was watching my friend live it. Gaby wasn't the first woman who had crossed my path whom I wanted to help in a more meaningful way. But her situation made the urgency of it personal.

Something that had always been part of the vision could no longer remain a later plan. Because my friend needed it now, and I didn't have the structure in place for her.

So I asked myself what I did have. I knew how to organise. I knew how to build systems and platforms. I knew how to bring people around an idea and create a way for them to participate. I couldn't personally fund everything Gaby needed.

But perhaps I could build something that allowed us to carry the need together. That became part of what pushed me into creating the Heal With Me / Walk for Healing fundraising initiative.

It wasn't the complete solution. But it was a start. It was me taking what was already in my hand and putting it into action.

We Were Planning in Faith

By December 2025, we were preparing for what we hoped 2026 would become and the larger launch we were working towards for the end of that year. We recorded videos. We created materials. We planned. Some of what we were doing was almost like capturing the before, believing that one day we would be able to look back together at the after and see everything that had been built.

And we weren't making those plans because we didn't understand Gaby's diagnosis. We knew. We knew she had terminal cancer. We knew what the doctors had said, and we knew there was a very real possibility that things might not happen the way we wanted them to. But Gaby had already lived beyond some of what had initially been expected. So we kept planning. We were planning in faith.

When we talked about December 2026, we were choosing to believe she could be there. For me, that was Faith in Action too.

Faith wasn't pretending cancer wasn't there.

Faith was knowing what we were facing and still recording the videos.

Still building. Still talking about the podcast. Still making plans. Still believing there could be an after. We knew what the doctors had said. But we also knew what we were praying for.

When Wanting to Help Wasn't Enough

Then 2026 unfolded, and Gaby's condition became increasingly difficult. On April 29, she sent me a message that I have never forgotten.

She could barely walk to the bathroom by herself, yet she was being told she needed to return to an office and essentially restart a process she had already completed months earlier to receive assistance.

Yes, I could help my friend in the ways that were within my means. I could give something towards an immediate need. I could buy something. I could help here and there.

But the truth was: I could not personally fund the level of support Gaby needed. And that was difficult for me.

Because this wasn't one bill or one grocery purchase. Gaby was unable to work. She was raising a teenage son.

There was food, household expenses and the ongoing practical reality of trying to live while fighting stage 4 cancer.

I could help solve something today. But what about tomorrow? What about next month? And the month after that?

That was when the difference between helping someone in a moment and being able to support someone sustainably became painfully real to me.

If we genuinely wanted to help women through circumstances like these, goodwill alone wasn't enough. We needed resources. We needed structure. We needed systems.

And then, in that same conversation, Gaby said something that took me right back to those conversations we had been having years before.

What happens to her?

What happens to the mother who doesn't have somebody she can call?

What happens when the need is bigger than what one friend or family member can carry?

And this time, we weren't planning a podcast episode about it. I was watching my friend live it. Gaby wasn't the first woman who had crossed my path whom I wanted to help in a more meaningful way. But her situation made the urgency of it personal.

Something that had always been part of the vision could no longer remain a later plan. Because my friend needed it now, and I didn't have the structure in place for her.

So I asked myself what I did have. I knew how to organise. I knew how to build systems and platforms. I knew how to bring people around an idea and create a way for them to participate. I couldn't personally fund everything Gaby needed.

But perhaps I could build something that allowed us to carry the need together. That became part of what pushed me into creating the Heal With Me / Walk for Healing fundraising initiative.

It wasn't the complete solution. But it was a start. It was me taking what was already in my hand and putting it into action.

When We Were Both Fighting Our Own Battles

There is another part of 2026 that matters to this story because Gaby wasn't the only one dealing with a physical battle. From around mid-April into early June 2026, I was going through a health challenge of my own. I was in excruciating pain.

There were times when I could barely sit up. Walking was difficult. I couldn't drive. And as the weeks went on, what was happening physically began affecting me emotionally and mentally as well. This happened during what would become Gaby's last visit to Trinidad.

Normally, when Gaby was here, I would have been able to take her around and spend that time with her differently. This time, I physically couldn't. And while I was dealing with that, Gaby was receiving more difficult news from her doctors and her own condition was beginning to deteriorate. Yet somehow, she was still concerned about me.

She knew what I was experiencing physically. She knew what it was beginning to do to me mentally and emotionally. And once again, Gaby kept pointing me back towards the same place she had been pointing me all along:

God.

Pray.

Fast.

Strengthen yourself spiritually.

Strengthen your relationship with God.

Don't allow what is happening to pull you away from Him or away from what He has called you to do. It was the same lesson she had been trying to teach me before. We will have trials. Following God does not mean there will be no suffering. Being in His will does not mean everything will suddenly become easy.

But when the trial comes, we have to learn how to remain connected to Him through it. And once again, she wasn't saying that to me from a place of comfort. She was living it herself.

On May 25, 2026, even in the middle of everything both of us were facing, Gaby was still looking towards the future.

That was us too.

Our friendship wasn't only cancer. It wasn't only pain.

It wasn't only prayer and difficult conversations.

We still hoped.

We could be dealing with everything that was happening and still talk about an after.

Still imagine getting away. Still imagine laughing. Still imagine life on the other side of what we were going through.

Then, on June 2, Gaby wasn't even feeling well enough to have a conversation.

She wasn't randomly checking in. She knew I wasn't well. She knew I was struggling physically. She knew what it was doing to me mentally and emotionally.

And while her own body was deteriorating, while she was receiving difficult news of her own, and while she didn't even feel well enough to talk, she still wanted to know if I was okay. That was the friend Gaby was.

By August, her own pain had become tremendous. She needed help with things as basic as getting to the bathroom.

But Gaby didn't understand that she had already shown me what kind of friend she was. She didn't have to be physically able to do everything she once did. She didn't have to have the strength for long conversations.

She didn't have to carry me while she was fighting to carry herself. She was still my friend. Even from inside her own suffering, she kept finding ways to remind me that I mattered to her.

And that same heart extended beyond our friendship. Even when she had needs of her own, she still thought about other people. When she could, she shared what she had and helped provide hampers to families, particularly around Christmas.

Gaby didn't give from her overflow. She gave from her need. She showed me that you don't have to wait until every prayer has been answered before you can become part of the answer to somebody else's. Sometimes your own prayers have not yet been answered, and you can still become part of the answer to somebody else's.

And when I think about that conversation on May 25 now, it hurts differently. Because we still imagined an after. We still talked about what we would do when things were different. And that is part of what I grieve now. I don't only miss my friend. I miss the future we thought we would have together.

Continuing What We Started

There are moments when the human side of me feels very alone continuing this without Gaby. I miss having the person who already understood the vision.

I miss our conversations. I miss being able to call her. I miss the role she played and the person she was. But I don't believe my responsibility now is to find another Gaby. Nobody replaces Gaby. Her place in my life and in this story is her own.

And as difficult as it is to accept that I cannot see the entire picture, God can. What I can do is make sure that what Gaby taught me, what we talked about, what we started and what I experienced while walking beside her are not forgotten.

That includes the lesson I learned when I desperately wanted to do more for my friend and realised I didn't yet have the resources or infrastructure to do it. I don't want to forget that feeling. Because Gaby wasn't the only mother who has ever found herself in that position. And she will not be the last.

When We Were Both Fighting Our Own Battles

There is another part of 2026 that matters to this story because Gaby wasn't the only one dealing with a physical battle. From around mid-April into early June 2026, I was going through a health challenge of my own. I was in excruciating pain.

There were times when I could barely sit up. Walking was difficult. I couldn't drive. And as the weeks went on, what was happening physically began affecting me emotionally and mentally as well. This happened during what would become Gaby's last visit to Trinidad.

Normally, when Gaby was here, I would have been able to take her around and spend that time with her differently. This time, I physically couldn't. And while I was dealing with that, Gaby was receiving more difficult news from her doctors and her own condition was beginning to deteriorate. Yet somehow, she was still concerned about me.

She knew what I was experiencing physically. She knew what it was beginning to do to me mentally and emotionally. And once again, Gaby kept pointing me back towards the same place she had been pointing me all along:

God.

Pray.

Fast.

Strengthen yourself spiritually.

Strengthen your relationship with God.

Don't allow what is happening to pull you away from Him or away from what He has called you to do. It was the same lesson she had been trying to teach me before. We will have trials. Following God does not mean there will be no suffering. Being in His will does not mean everything will suddenly become easy.

But when the trial comes, we have to learn how to remain connected to Him through it. And once again, she wasn't saying that to me from a place of comfort. She was living it herself.

On May 25, 2026, even in the middle of everything both of us were facing, Gaby was still looking towards the future.

That was us too.

Our friendship wasn't only cancer. It wasn't only pain.

It wasn't only prayer and difficult conversations.

We still hoped.

We could be dealing with everything that was happening and still talk about an after.

Still imagine getting away. Still imagine laughing. Still imagine life on the other side of what we were going through.

Then, on June 2, Gaby wasn't even feeling well enough to have a conversation.

She wasn't randomly checking in. She knew I wasn't well. She knew I was struggling physically. She knew what it was doing to me mentally and emotionally.

And while her own body was deteriorating, while she was receiving difficult news of her own, and while she didn't even feel well enough to talk, she still wanted to know if I was okay. That was the friend Gaby was.

By August, her own pain had become tremendous. She needed help with things as basic as getting to the bathroom.

But Gaby didn't understand that she had already shown me what kind of friend she was. She didn't have to be physically able to do everything she once did. She didn't have to have the strength for long conversations.

She didn't have to carry me while she was fighting to carry herself. She was still my friend. Even from inside her own suffering, she kept finding ways to remind me that I mattered to her.

And that same heart extended beyond our friendship. Even when she had needs of her own, she still thought about other people. When she could, she shared what she had and helped provide hampers to families, particularly around Christmas.

Gaby didn't give from her overflow. She gave from her need. She showed me that you don't have to wait until every prayer has been answered before you can become part of the answer to somebody else's. Sometimes your own prayers have not yet been answered, and you can still become part of the answer to somebody else's.

And when I think about that conversation on May 25 now, it hurts differently. Because we still imagined an after. We still talked about what we would do when things were different. And that is part of what I grieve now. I don't only miss my friend. I miss the future we thought we would have together.

Continuing What We Started

There are moments when the human side of me feels very alone continuing this without Gaby. I miss having the person who already understood the vision.

I miss our conversations. I miss being able to call her. I miss the role she played and the person she was. But I don't believe my responsibility now is to find another Gaby. Nobody replaces Gaby. Her place in my life and in this story is her own.

And as difficult as it is to accept that I cannot see the entire picture, God can. What I can do is make sure that what Gaby taught me, what we talked about, what we started and what I experienced while walking beside her are not forgotten.

That includes the lesson I learned when I desperately wanted to do more for my friend and realised I didn't yet have the resources or infrastructure to do it. I don't want to forget that feeling. Because Gaby wasn't the only mother who has ever found herself in that position. And she will not be the last.

When We Were Both Fighting Our Own Battles

There is another part of 2026 that matters to this story because Gaby wasn't the only one dealing with a physical battle. From around mid-April into early June 2026, I was going through a health challenge of my own. I was in excruciating pain.

There were times when I could barely sit up. Walking was difficult. I couldn't drive. And as the weeks went on, what was happening physically began affecting me emotionally and mentally as well. This happened during what would become Gaby's last visit to Trinidad.

Normally, when Gaby was here, I would have been able to take her around and spend that time with her differently. This time, I physically couldn't. And while I was dealing with that, Gaby was receiving more difficult news from her doctors and her own condition was beginning to deteriorate. Yet somehow, she was still concerned about me.

She knew what I was experiencing physically. She knew what it was beginning to do to me mentally and emotionally. And once again, Gaby kept pointing me back towards the same place she had been pointing me all along:

God.

Pray.

Fast.

Strengthen yourself spiritually.

Strengthen your relationship with God.

Don't allow what is happening to pull you away from Him or away from what He has called you to do. It was the same lesson she had been trying to teach me before. We will have trials. Following God does not mean there will be no suffering. Being in His will does not mean everything will suddenly become easy.

But when the trial comes, we have to learn how to remain connected to Him through it. And once again, she wasn't saying that to me from a place of comfort. She was living it herself.

On May 25, 2026, even in the middle of everything both of us were facing, Gaby was still looking towards the future.

That was us too.

Our friendship wasn't only cancer. It wasn't only pain.

It wasn't only prayer and difficult conversations.

We still hoped.

We could be dealing with everything that was happening and still talk about an after.

Still imagine getting away. Still imagine laughing. Still imagine life on the other side of what we were going through.

Then, on June 2, Gaby wasn't even feeling well enough to have a conversation.

She wasn't randomly checking in. She knew I wasn't well. She knew I was struggling physically. She knew what it was doing to me mentally and emotionally.

And while her own body was deteriorating, while she was receiving difficult news of her own, and while she didn't even feel well enough to talk, she still wanted to know if I was okay. That was the friend Gaby was.

By August, her own pain had become tremendous. She needed help with things as basic as getting to the bathroom.

But Gaby didn't understand that she had already shown me what kind of friend she was. She didn't have to be physically able to do everything she once did. She didn't have to have the strength for long conversations.

She didn't have to carry me while she was fighting to carry herself. She was still my friend. Even from inside her own suffering, she kept finding ways to remind me that I mattered to her.

And that same heart extended beyond our friendship. Even when she had needs of her own, she still thought about other people. When she could, she shared what she had and helped provide hampers to families, particularly around Christmas.

Gaby didn't give from her overflow. She gave from her need. She showed me that you don't have to wait until every prayer has been answered before you can become part of the answer to somebody else's. Sometimes your own prayers have not yet been answered, and you can still become part of the answer to somebody else's.

And when I think about that conversation on May 25 now, it hurts differently. Because we still imagined an after. We still talked about what we would do when things were different. And that is part of what I grieve now. I don't only miss my friend. I miss the future we thought we would have together.

Continuing What We Started

There are moments when the human side of me feels very alone continuing this without Gaby. I miss having the person who already understood the vision.

I miss our conversations. I miss being able to call her. I miss the role she played and the person she was. But I don't believe my responsibility now is to find another Gaby. Nobody replaces Gaby. Her place in my life and in this story is her own.

And as difficult as it is to accept that I cannot see the entire picture, God can. What I can do is make sure that what Gaby taught me, what we talked about, what we started and what I experienced while walking beside her are not forgotten.

That includes the lesson I learned when I desperately wanted to do more for my friend and realised I didn't yet have the resources or infrastructure to do it. I don't want to forget that feeling. Because Gaby wasn't the only mother who has ever found herself in that position. And she will not be the last.

The Unfinished Things

There is one conversation with Gaby that I think about differently now.

And I don't want to pretend that I do. There were parts of her story I never got the opportunity to fully hear. There were things we planned that we never got to finish. There were conversations we thought we would have more time to continue. But those words stay with me. Unfinished things.

When I look back now, I see two little girls whose lives eventually went in different directions. Then I see two women entering 2024 with plans for what we thought our lives were about to become—only for both of those plans to be disrupted in completely different ways. And somehow, those disruptions brought our paths back together.

We found ourselves rebuilding our relationship with God. We talked about our children. We talked about women. We talked about books. We planned the podcast. We talked about business. We dreamed about what we could build.

We worked together. We prayed. We struggled. We encouraged each other. And even when Gaby became increasingly sick, we were still planning for an after. We thought there would be more time.

There wasn't. So I cannot say with certainty what Gaby meant when she spoke about us going on a journey to fix unfinished things. But I know what I am willing to take from those words now. I cannot allow losing her to make me abandon what we started.

Her part of this journey did not become less valuable because she wasn't physically here to see everything reach its full potential. She planted. She worked. She shared her story. She helped build. She left something behind.

And now, instead of allowing the loss of my friend to break me to the point that I stop, I have to allow everything this journey taught me to become part of the reason I continue.

Gaby's part has been done. Mine isn't.

Gaby’s Legacy of Love

That is why Gaby’s Legacy of Love is so personal to me. It begins with Xavier. Before Gaby was part of any platform, initiative or vision, she was his mother.

Supporting him as he moves forward, builds his future and begins pursuing his own entrepreneurial endeavours is an important part of honouring her. But the vision goes further. I want what we build to eventually become part of the structure we wished existed when she needed it a way of bringing together financial resources, people, expertise, opportunities and practical support around mothers and their children when life places them in circumstances they cannot navigate alone.

Sometimes somebody needs a hamper. Sometimes a bill needs to be paid. Sometimes the immediate crisis has to be handled first. But if we want to help people move beyond continually surviving one emergency after another, sustainable support requires more.

It requires resources. It requires people. It requires opportunities. It requires structure and systems that can continue working after the immediate crisis has passed.

Gaby and I had already talked about wanting to help women in these situations. What I didn't know then was how personal that mission would eventually become. I couldn't have everything in place in time for Gaby.

But I can continue building it because of Gaby. And as Divineonomy, YSB Hub and the Faith in Action Movement continue to grow, I will never allow her place in that story to disappear simply because she isn't physically here to see what it becomes.

Her fingerprints are on the foundation. Her story will be told. Her testimony will be shared. And through Gaby's Legacy of Love, what began in conversations between two friends can continue reaching other mothers and children who need someone to stand with them.

I thank God for the years He gave me with my friend.

For the conversations. For the prayers. For the laughter. For the plans. For what we built. For the ways I was able to support her. And for the ways she helped carry me when I needed it too.

Gaby did her part. She did it with excellence. Now I trust God with the rest of the journey.

Marcia

The Unfinished Things

There is one conversation with Gaby that I think about differently now.

And I don't want to pretend that I do. There were parts of her story I never got the opportunity to fully hear. There were things we planned that we never got to finish. There were conversations we thought we would have more time to continue. But those words stay with me. Unfinished things.

When I look back now, I see two little girls whose lives eventually went in different directions. Then I see two women entering 2024 with plans for what we thought our lives were about to become—only for both of those plans to be disrupted in completely different ways. And somehow, those disruptions brought our paths back together.

We found ourselves rebuilding our relationship with God. We talked about our children. We talked about women. We talked about books. We planned the podcast. We talked about business. We dreamed about what we could build.

We worked together. We prayed. We struggled. We encouraged each other. And even when Gaby became increasingly sick, we were still planning for an after. We thought there would be more time.

There wasn't. So I cannot say with certainty what Gaby meant when she spoke about us going on a journey to fix unfinished things. But I know what I am willing to take from those words now. I cannot allow losing her to make me abandon what we started.

Her part of this journey did not become less valuable because she wasn't physically here to see everything reach its full potential. She planted. She worked. She shared her story. She helped build. She left something behind.

And now, instead of allowing the loss of my friend to break me to the point that I stop, I have to allow everything this journey taught me to become part of the reason I continue.

Gaby's part has been done. Mine isn't.

Gaby’s Legacy of Love

That is why Gaby’s Legacy of Love is so personal to me. It begins with Xavier. Before Gaby was part of any platform, initiative or vision, she was his mother.

Supporting him as he moves forward, builds his future and begins pursuing his own entrepreneurial endeavours is an important part of honouring her. But the vision goes further. I want what we build to eventually become part of the structure we wished existed when she needed it a way of bringing together financial resources, people, expertise, opportunities and practical support around mothers and their children when life places them in circumstances they cannot navigate alone.

Sometimes somebody needs a hamper. Sometimes a bill needs to be paid. Sometimes the immediate crisis has to be handled first. But if we want to help people move beyond continually surviving one emergency after another, sustainable support requires more.

It requires resources. It requires people. It requires opportunities. It requires structure and systems that can continue working after the immediate crisis has passed.

Gaby and I had already talked about wanting to help women in these situations. What I didn't know then was how personal that mission would eventually become. I couldn't have everything in place in time for Gaby.

But I can continue building it because of Gaby. And as Divineonomy, YSB Hub and the Faith in Action Movement continue to grow, I will never allow her place in that story to disappear simply because she isn't physically here to see what it becomes.

Her fingerprints are on the foundation. Her story will be told. Her testimony will be shared. And through Gaby's Legacy of Love, what began in conversations between two friends can continue reaching other mothers and children who need someone to stand with them.

I thank God for the years He gave me with my friend.

For the conversations. For the prayers. For the laughter. For the plans. For what we built. For the ways I was able to support her. And for the ways she helped carry me when I needed it too.

Gaby did her part. She did it with excellence. Now I trust God with the rest of the journey.

Marcia

The Unfinished Things

There is one conversation with Gaby that I think about differently now.

And I don't want to pretend that I do. There were parts of her story I never got the opportunity to fully hear. There were things we planned that we never got to finish. There were conversations we thought we would have more time to continue. But those words stay with me. Unfinished things.

When I look back now, I see two little girls whose lives eventually went in different directions. Then I see two women entering 2024 with plans for what we thought our lives were about to become—only for both of those plans to be disrupted in completely different ways. And somehow, those disruptions brought our paths back together.

We found ourselves rebuilding our relationship with God. We talked about our children. We talked about women. We talked about books. We planned the podcast. We talked about business. We dreamed about what we could build.

We worked together. We prayed. We struggled. We encouraged each other. And even when Gaby became increasingly sick, we were still planning for an after. We thought there would be more time.

There wasn't. So I cannot say with certainty what Gaby meant when she spoke about us going on a journey to fix unfinished things. But I know what I am willing to take from those words now. I cannot allow losing her to make me abandon what we started.

Her part of this journey did not become less valuable because she wasn't physically here to see everything reach its full potential. She planted. She worked. She shared her story. She helped build. She left something behind.

And now, instead of allowing the loss of my friend to break me to the point that I stop, I have to allow everything this journey taught me to become part of the reason I continue.

Gaby's part has been done. Mine isn't.

Gaby’s Legacy of Love

That is why Gaby’s Legacy of Love is so personal to me. It begins with Xavier. Before Gaby was part of any platform, initiative or vision, she was his mother.

Supporting him as he moves forward, builds his future and begins pursuing his own entrepreneurial endeavours is an important part of honouring her. But the vision goes further. I want what we build to eventually become part of the structure we wished existed when she needed it a way of bringing together financial resources, people, expertise, opportunities and practical support around mothers and their children when life places them in circumstances they cannot navigate alone.

Sometimes somebody needs a hamper. Sometimes a bill needs to be paid. Sometimes the immediate crisis has to be handled first. But if we want to help people move beyond continually surviving one emergency after another, sustainable support requires more.

It requires resources. It requires people. It requires opportunities. It requires structure and systems that can continue working after the immediate crisis has passed.

Gaby and I had already talked about wanting to help women in these situations. What I didn't know then was how personal that mission would eventually become. I couldn't have everything in place in time for Gaby.

But I can continue building it because of Gaby. And as Divineonomy, YSB Hub and the Faith in Action Movement continue to grow, I will never allow her place in that story to disappear simply because she isn't physically here to see what it becomes.

Her fingerprints are on the foundation. Her story will be told. Her testimony will be shared. And through Gaby's Legacy of Love, what began in conversations between two friends can continue reaching other mothers and children who need someone to stand with them.

I thank God for the years He gave me with my friend.

For the conversations. For the prayers. For the laughter. For the plans. For what we built. For the ways I was able to support her. And for the ways she helped carry me when I needed it too.

Gaby did her part. She did it with excellence. Now I trust God with the rest of the journey.

Marcia

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