I’ve received it and I’ve said it. I’ve received it and put on a straight face or fake smile with empty eyes in an effort to keep the peace. And I‘ve said it; silencing my children’s emotions as if it’s not ok to emote in reaction to less than favorable circumstances.

“Fix your face!” made me believe I always had to be happy.

Always having to be happy turned into toxic positivity. And toxic positivity had me believing I always had to be the chief encourager. Always positive. Always finding the bright side. Always having something encouraging to say. And I’d even slap some scripture on there too!

But sometimes the encourager doesn’t have anything encouraging to say and that’s okay.

Because sometimes, before you can “fix your face,” you need permission to actually feel what made your face look that way in the first place.

Because I’m always the positive, encouraging person, I thought people expected me to always be that person.

Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t. But somewhere along the way, I started forcing myself to show up that way even when I was literally crushed in spirit; hemorrhaging on the inside while presenting as so happy on the outside.

Until one day, it was either me or people pleasing; my very life or performanced based theology.

In my quietness, God helped me realize that being sad isn’t a bad thing. That lamenting isn’t a failure of my faith. I don’t have to perform happiness for people or perform faith for God.

He doesn’t expect us to fake it just to present as good, happy Believers.

That’s why He breathed into books of the Bible like Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, and Job.

Lamenting is worship too. Lamenting is cathartic too.

That’s why we see David saying, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble” in one psalm, and in another asking, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?”

Literally the Same David just in different seasons.

Some seasons are for loud happiness and others are for quiet lament.

And in both seasons, we learn what true joy is. People pleasing dies. The need to perform dies. And God doesn’t think we believe Him any less because sometimes our worship sounds more like weeping than rejoicing.

Pour & Stay Full,

Brittney 💛

I remember a time when I couldn’t wait to get home to journal or read on my bed.

I’d come home.
Make a snack.
Giddily climb the steps.
Place my snack on my nightstand and plop onto my bed on my stomach.
Kick my feet up and dive into one of my many hobbies.

I miss that.

I miss getting lost in a book.
I miss journaling until my mind was clear and the indention in my middle finger, where my gel pen rested, made me proud.

I miss that.

I miss satisfying the burning I get when I have to write a think piece, instead of reducing my thoughts to a character count.

I miss my mind being clear.
I miss being able to articulate my thoughts and sentiments without glitching.

I miss deep eye contact with my husband.
I miss giving my children my undivided attention.
I miss cooking without a camera.

I miss capturing pictures for the sake of memories instead of proof.

I miss studying my Word.
Learning a mystery of God.
Almost being manic in my private pursuit of Him.

I miss walking slow and being aware of my surroundings.
Actually knowing which bird is chirping.
Noticing the leaves rustling.
Instead of nature being background noise.

So I’m pursuing all that I’m missing with great intention.

Without a phone distracting my pursuits.
Little to no social media, except for my Monday Morning Check-Ins.
And I’ll share here on Substack when I get that burning again.

Until then,

Pour & Stay Full,
Brittney

Have you ever felt your heart cycle through faith, hope, anxiety, and grief all in the same month while waiting for God to move?

Yep. Us too 😮‍💨💛

The wait of fertility carries a rhythm that’s hard to explain until you’ve lived it:

faith → faith + works → hope → anxiety → and then a quiet walk through every stage of grief when it doesn’t happen this month: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance until hope rises again and the cycle repeats.

And the heart keeps taking blows. Somewhere in that whirlwind of emotions, we’re have two choices:

1. take our grief to God

2. hold our grief inside and become bitter and familiar with God.

But when we take it to Him, He steadies us.

He CAN actually refine us because He can do wonders with a broken spirit and a contrite heart.

We really wanted to touch on fertility this morning but this isn’t just about fertility. It’s every kind of waiting: test results, spouses, jobs, healing, clarity, promises that feel overdue.

Whatever your “this month” looks like, may you choose to bring your grief to God.

He can soften our hearts and handle all of our feelings, emotions, and truths 💛

https://www.lulu.com/shop/brittney-quiana-callier/god-keeps-his-promises/paperback/product-m2z627w.html

Get Your Copy Here!

As we gathered around our tables yesterday, my heart was actually full of gratitude, for once.

Normally on Thanksgiving, I’m in a tug-of-war between trying to be joyful and present, and quietly grieving that I haven't received my promise yet. But today, I’m grateful and hopeful; not only for what God has done and is doing, but for who He is. He has faithfully been with us in the waiting, even through my moodiness, our anger, disappointment, and standoffishness.

Well, let me speak for myself… haha.

This process has broken me in places I didn’t know needed breaking, but it has also built me in ways I didn’t know I needed. God has been refining me, very intentionally, and I can see fruit of the Spirit growing in me day by day.

 So in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I want to share something near and dear to my heart: an early release of my book, God Keeps His Promises: Prayers for the Waiting Room. 

Whether you’re waiting for direction, healing, conception, provision, restoration, or a promise only you and God know about, I pray this devotional meets you right there, in that sacred in-between.

I’m deeply grateful for this community, and I’m praying that each page strengthens you, refines you, comforts you, and reminds you that God is near in every season.

Happy Thanksgiving, Neighbor.

May your heart stay full, even here in the waiting.

pour & stay full,

Brittney 💛

P.S. Local Neighbors, the Book Release & Dinner Fête will be on January 16th, 2026. Tickets are LIMITED — only 40 seats at the table — and they’ll be available soon. Y’all already know, I’m releasing to The Waiting Room first! If you plan on attending, your ticket includes a signed devotional. So feel free to wait on purchasing for yourself OR grab an extra copy for a friend who’s in the waiting too.

As I was preparing my husband’s greens for Thanksgiving last week, I started reminiscing about how we used to travel to NY or GA for the holiday.

By the time we got there on that Wednesday before Thanksgiving, all the food was done. And until now, I never realized there wasn’t no daggone way my grandmothers prepared all that food on Wednesday and Thanksgiving Day.

How do I know?

1. I’m a caterer — and like I said, ain’t no daggone way with one oven.

2. My momma waits until Wednesday and Thanksgiving Day, and we don’t eat until 8 p.m. Okay, I’ll give her credit because she throws down… maybe 7 p.m.

So that means preparation was our grandmothers’ superpower. They did more with less, and honestly, I’m still trying to remember if I ever saw either of mine finally sit down. All I can see in my mind are flashes of them doing minimal work, laughing, and smiling.

And that had to be because they planned their Thanksgiving menus weeks ahead. My Gran has admitted to baking and freezing her cakes two weeks before, but I never fully believed her because they taste so fresh. But how else was she always just icing them when we came off the road in the wee hours of the morning? Ma had a whole spread already done in her small BedStuy apartment, and all she was doing when we arrived was making her sweet potato turnovers.

Preparation kept them from burning out. Now, if they were burned out, either I didn’t know or I was too wrapped up in being an adolescent to notice. But I’m preparing just like they did because I want to be fully present.

And honestly? It’s giving Mary and Martha.

Martha was busy and stressed with all the preparing, and Mary chose the most important thing; sitting at Jesus’ feet (Luke 10:38-42).

I want that. I want to enjoy the moment, not just work through it. I want to be fully present with my family, not exhausted in the background.

This year, we’re serving the homies, our homeless and disadvantaged neighbors, on Wednesday instead of Thanksgiving Day, which means I get to be present with my mom as she cooks, and fully present with my family on Thanksgiving Day.

⸻

Our Thanksgiving Contributions

• Cajun Turkey Wings & Gravy

• Boi Boi’s Brisket

• Smoked Turkey Collards & Cabbage

• B’s Banana Pudding

• GJ’s Favorite Candied Yams (recipe below)

Read more

When anxiety and hope occupy the same space, you find yourself feeling crazy as h.

I found myself smack dab in the middle of that tension one morning while preparing to wash my behind.

I got in the shower, and before I could place my lathered washcloth on my left arm, I heard Holy Spirit say,

He was referring to the emotional sentiment I always end my crash outs with. Snotty-nosed and puffy-eyed, I belt out, “But I’ll serve You for the rest of my life.”

The drama…

Anxiety and hope wrestle in my gut while I wait for my period to either come or not come every 25–28 days. And when it comes, I try to convince myself I’m okay…but then I emotionally eat. Or I make myself a very stiff drink. Or I sleep and procrastinate tasks. I avoid conversation with God because He didn’t do it this time.

Like, bro… He can do the impossible, and He didn’t do the impossible in us this time. “Not yet” mocks me, and I get pissed. And then I crash out with God.

By the end of the crash out, I’m weeping, sometimes whispering reverently, sometimes sighing in defeat, “But I’ll serve You for the rest of my life.”

Now, you’re either thinking I’m crazy as h, or you know exactly where I’m coming from.

As I began to unpack this revelation, I hurried to rinse off and ran to my phone dripping wet, to get it all out in a note. Here’s what I gathered:

Slaves serve their masters. There are members of the armed forces who serve countries they hate but love the benefits. We can serve a person or a cause for what they give us without ever knowing, and therefore loving or revering them.

It’s not enough to just serve the Lord, because He wants to know us and have relationship with us more than He wants to use us. And He wants us to want the same of Him.

“On judgment day many will say to me, ‘Lord! Lord! We prophesied in your name and cast out demons in your name and performed many miracles in your name.’ But I will reply, ‘I never knew you. Get away from me, you who break God’s laws.’”

— Matthew 7:22–23 NLT

So serving and doing in Jesus’ name is not enough. And how sweet is it that we have a God who just wants to be with us, know us, spend time with us, and be in relationship with us?

He wants more than our service. He wants our worship, because worship requires love and intimacy. It’s a deeper level of knowing — and it softens our hearts when they’re hardened by disappointment and grief.

So I tried something different this time when my period came on: I forced myself to worship.

The Bible shows us that certain prayer requests and promises have principles attached to them. Hannah, a woman whom the Lord kept from having children, who was so depressed and troubled she wouldn’t eat, took her deep anguish and cried bitterly as she prayed to God (1 Samuel 1:1-18 NLT).

Now listen, I identify with this because when I’m really depressed or troubled, I don’t eat either! She shows us that when we’re experiencing depression or deep emotional trouble, we should bring it to God.

So I forced myself to listen to worship music (OG Pages Of Life, Fred Hammond) and read my own dag-on book. It’s perfect because it’s filled with short prayers and scripture and that’s just enough when you’re so full of disappointment that you’re really not trying to hear anything.

I pray you try something different (like worshiping or reading a little scripture) the next time disappointment and grief try to harden your heart.

Book Update

Through this writing and release process, I can’t count the times I’ve wondered if I was actually doing what God wanted me to do.

The book is so simple compared to my first one. I told God, “It’s too simple.” And He replied,

Because when you’re pissed at God and/or your situation, you don’t want or need a whole bunch of words or obligations. You need just enough to resuscitate your faith and soften your heart.

Just enough to make it through the day. A lil daily bread. Not too much as I tell my daughter.

So…the book is done. And it’s ready for release.

I thought we’d have preorders, but we won’t because it’s ready!!!

I have a whole roll out planned and I want to continue following that plan.

As soon as I lock in the date with the venue for our book release (waiting for the venue God told me to use to approve my event — WAITING WAITING WAITING—ughhh), I’ll release the book for sale and the book-release tickets.

Yes, I’m learning patience. Work on your own soul salvation, Neighbor…respectfully lol.

In the meantime, here is a raw reaction to the inside:

And if you’re sick of waiting, welcome to the party! Here’s a Pinterest recipe that made our weekly family meal-prep rotation:

Greek Chicken Meatballs

Ingredients

1 lb ground chicken

A small bunch of mint, finely chopped

A small bunch of curly parsley, finely chopped

1/4 cup red onion, finely chopped

A handful of panko breadcrumbs

1 egg

A splash of milk

Greek seasoning, to taste

Instructions

Combine all ingredients.

Form meatballs with your hands or an ice-cream scooper.

Place on an oiled, parchment-covered sheet pan.

Roast at 375°F for about 20 minutes, or until they reach an internal temperature of 165°F.

pour & stay full,

Brittney

I’m trying to unpack why it was such an honor to serve my father while he was here. He just left, and I have the same feeling I get when I finish a well-written, soul-stirring book; fulfilled and all warm and fuzzy. I’m also feeling super grown because I just hosted my out-of-town parent. That’s a different level of grown. I’m also feeling that relief you get when people finally leave your house…in the best way possible.

My dad and I don’t have the brightest past, and I don’t think we’ve ever had a heart-to-heart where we resolved or even discussed our old issues.

But I felt excitement when he said he was coming. I quieted all thoughts of sabotage and prayed for peace and a pleasant visit instead of bracing for a blow-up between us.

And honestly? I’m amazed at how much I enjoyed serving my dad.

As I reflected, I realized I finally released my father from the expectation of being “my daddy”—the version of a father I dreamed of based on TV and what I saw in my friends’ dads. My husband always asks if I’ve ever allowed myself to see my mother as just a woman and not my mother, but he’s never asked if I’ve allowed myself to see my father as just a man and not my father.

As we talked about family history and his childhood, the memories of pictures I’ve seen of him as a boy and teenager came to life. I saw the handsome young man who looks almost identical to my son, who migrated from Trinidad to New York at 22 after his mother, my Mami, sent for him. When he shared that Mami migrated when he was 8 years old to escape the abuse and alcoholism of his father, light bulbs of generational patterns turned on. All my social worker sirens went off, and all my walls of offense crumbled as I mentally calculated his ACE (adverse childhood experiences) score.

Dad said he got to New York in May of 1980. As soon as he reached 95 S Old Broadway, some young woman on the 1st floor sunk her teeth into him, and he spent the next three weeks having “big fun” (shout out to Claire Huxtable) with her. He tried to late-night sneak into Mami’s 7th-floor apartment one too many times, and by week four Mami had him at the Navy recruiter’s office. By June 1980, he was in Chicago at bootcamp and honestly, big ups to Mami because I wish a hoe would with my son.

Six years later, he met my mom at Krystal’s in Jacksonville. (Krystal’s is better than White Castle, btw.) They stayed together long enough for my mom to make him salmon cakes he’d never forget and to have me. They split when I was one.

I’m trying to unpack why it was such an honor to serve my father while he was here. He even spent his 67th birthday with us. And if you think hospitality is a big deal in Southern culture, it’s paramount in West Indian culture. I had to serve my dad to the point where he’d have bragging rights both while he was here and when he left. And brag he did, honey. He said he came to get a break from Florida and to eat all the good food he sees me post on Instagram.

And as I served him arroz con gandules y pollo with a little cucumber salad…
And as I served him curry lentil stew…
And as I served him lasagna and garlic bread…
And as I served him salmon cakes…

Every single joyous facial expression, each one resembling my Mami, as he reached his worn hands toward the full plates, blotted out past unpleasant memories and healed the inner child who had always craved validation from her father.

And I’ll never forget this visit just like the…

Salmon Cakes He Won’t Forget

Ingredients

• 1 (15 oz) can salmon

• 1 egg

• 1/4 sweet onion, chopped

• 1/4 red bell pepper, chopped
  (my addition—my mom never adds red bell pepper)

• 7 shakes Morton’s Nature’s Seasoning

• 1 cup all-purpose flour

• 2 more shakes Morton’s Nature’s Seasoning

• Vegetable oil, for frying

• Biscuits, molasses, and a little Tabasco for serving
  

Instructions

1. Prep the salmon:
   Drain the salmon, remove the bones, and place it in a bowl.

2. Mix the patties:
   Add the egg, onion, red bell pepper, and 7 shakes of Nature’s Seasoning.
   Combine with your hands until everything is mixed well. Do not add flour inside the mixture. It dries them out.

3. Form the patties:
   Use an ice cream scoop to portion the mixture.
   Form patties about 3/4 inch thick.

4. Season the flour:
   Add 2 shakes of Nature’s Seasoning to the flour and stir.

5. Dredge:
   Lightly coat each patty in the seasoned flour.

6. Fry:
   Heat vegetable oil in a skillet over medium heat.
   Fry patties on both sides until golden brown and crispy.

7. Serve:
   Plate with biscuits, molasses, and a little Tabasco—just like my mom.

I mean, I’m doing everything I’m supposed to do. I’m working out, trying my best to eat well, and my husband and I are over here hunching like rabbits. (Hunching is a country term for sexing, getting it in. SMASHING, if you will.) Lord, I’m even holding my legs up high in the air to help his swimmers swim upstream while saying pregnancy prayers.

What more do you want, Lord?

How long must I suffer the cycle of recovery, inner work, hoping, and disappointment… recovery, inner work, hoping, and disappointment.

In our faith, suffering is inevitable. That part isn’t preached or taught enough. Because maybe if it was, I wouldn’t have been losing my mind these past 6 years.

Then I realized, He wasn’t doing this to me. He was doing this for me.

This wait has SUCKED. But the character being built in me? It’s beautiful.

Beautiful in a more like Jesus kind of way.

That’s what The Waiting Room is all about: learning how to wait and suffer well.

We know God to be good when life is great, but will we still declare Him good when life is life-ing real bad?

We know Jesus in the power of His resurrection, but many of us resist knowing Him in the fellowship of His suffering because the discomfort feels unbearable.

You know what keeps me? The relationship my grandmother, Mami, had with Jesus.

Bedridden, she was still speaking of Him with so much love and awe.

Recovering from a heart attack and in excruciating pain, she was still calling Jesus her boyfriend.

Ruminating decades of trauma in her mind, she STILL witnessed this loving Savior to me.

That kind of faith does something to you.

There have been moments in this wait when the only thing I’ve known for sure is this:

No matter how forgotten I feel, I would serve this Jesus for the rest of my life.

Pissed? I’ll still serve You, Lord.

Hurt? I’ll still serve You, Lord.

Impatient? I’ll still serve You forever, Papa.

Because if Mami could love Him through pain, confusion, and heartbreak…And when I recall all He’s done personally for me, then surely I can love and serve Him through this waiting.

If that’s you right now, I get it. The best thing I’ve learned to do is take my discomfort and suffering to Jesus; no matter how small. I’m learning the facet of Jesus my Mami encountered. I can tell you this:

He doesn’t always take it away, but His presence comforts and corrects. And when I’m open to receive, it feels like the warmest hug.

God Keeps His Promises was written with the suffering soul in mind; the one who’s praying, waiting, crying, and still trying.

It’s filled with short, “lifeline prayers” and “recovery room” scriptures designed to revitalize your faith when you’re hurting, tired of hoping, or stuck somewhere between belief and heartbreak.

Because sometimes you don’t need a whole chapter. You just need one line that breathes for you when you can’t.

“Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”

‭Romans‬ ‭5‬:‭3‬-‭5‬ ‭ESV‬‬ I pray you lean into Him today in whatever discomfort or suffering you’re enduring.

And because comfort sometimes looks like a warm bowl in your hands, here’s the recipe for a Curry Lentil Stew that’ll touch your very soul.

Curry Lentil Stew

Serves 6 • Total Cost: ~$13.25

⸻

🧾 Ingredients:

• 2 tablespoons olive oil

• 3 tablespoons curry powder

• 1/4 cup water

• 2 spoonfuls green seasoning

• 2 tsp ginger (fresh or paste)

• 1 red bell pepper, diced

• 1 sweet onion, diced

• 16 oz dry lentils (any variety)

• 64 oz broth of choice (I use veggie or chicken)

• 1 large sweet potato, peeled & cubed

• 1 packed cup of kale (remove stems)

• 1 can coconut milk

• Nature’s Seasoning (or salt/pepper) to taste

⸻

🥄 Instructions:

1. Wake up the curry.

In your favorite pot (wobbly or not!), heat your olive oil over medium. Add your curry powder and let it get toasty and fragrant. Pour in 1/4 cup of water. Stir it around, let it bloom, and form a paste. IYKYK. We don’t skip this step.

2. Build that flavor base.

Stir in your green seasoning and ginger. Let it come together like a little curry love situation.

3. Add your aromatics.

Throw in your diced red bell pepper and sweet onion. Let them cook down until everything a little softened. Not too much but this is where the house starts smelling real good.

4. Add the lentils + broth.

Pour in your lentils and your broth. Give it a stir and let it start coming together.

5. Sweet potato goes in.

Add your cubed sweet potato, stir again, and bring it all to a soft boil.

6. Let it simmer.

Reduce the heat and let it simmer for 15-20 minutes, or until it thickens up and the lentils are tender.

7. Add the greens + creaminess.

Stir in your packed cup of kale and let it wilt right down. Then pour in your coconut milk and give it a stir for that creamy, rich finish.

8. Taste + season.

Season it up with Nature’s Seasoning (or salt and pepper) to taste. Give it a taste test — does it hug you yet? If yes, you’re done.

9. Serve + stay full.

Serve it up in a bowl, with rice, naan, or straight up. Then gather with the people you love, and pour & stay full, Neighbor. 💛

God Keeps His Promises 💛

Brittney

P.S.

Spend time with Jesus this week. Sometimes that looks like quieting yourself, whispering, “Jesus” to welcome Him in, and laying silently in His presence. Lamenting to God is worship. He will meet you there. You will be comforted.

I woke up needing a warm hug. The weight of the world, and everything going on in it, has been sitting heavy on my shoulders. Add in the wild ride of entrepreneurship, hormones, and infertility, and whew. I’m sure if you’re a woman who keeps up with current events and minds her own business and soul salvation, you feel the same.

My daughter’s quick “before she ran to the bus” hug didn’t do it. My husband’s morning cuddles didn’t suffice. I went to my office/prayer room to pray and complete my to-do list for the day, but the unfinished printouts and notes from my book launch planning just stared back at me. I started to beat myself up about what I haven’t completed, what I haven’t been consistent in, and how I’m off schedule for everything.

Then I heard the most peaceful Voice say,
“I’ve factored in your inconsistencies.”

And that was the warm hug I needed.

I chuckled to myself, slowed down, breathed in for four seconds, exhaled for eight, and decided to finally make my mom’s cream of wheat. It’s on The Home Restaurant menu this week and also on the list of things I hadn’t yet completed. Work out your own soul salvation, sis.

My mom’s cream of wheat is the warmest hug in a bowl. She used to make it on select weekends when I was a kid. A few years ago, my big, grown self asked her to make it for me again. She gave me that boomer Black-mom attitude and said,

“Brittney, you can come over and watch me make it so you can make it for yourself from now on.”

So I went over, grabbed a sticky note and pen from the junk drawer, and wrote this gem of a recipe down. It’s been in our family for generations. I can’t remember if she said her grandmother used to make it or if it was my paternal grandmother but either way, that day was the last day she made it for me and now I’m sharing it with you.

I’m Brittney, a woman learning to pour & stay full in every area of her life. Consider this your virtual hug from my kitchen to yours. Make my mom’s cream of wheat, breathe while it thickens, and let it hold you the way God’s grace does when life feels a little too heavy. I’d love to know who’s keeping me company in the kitchen:

Please drop a comment, introduce yourself, and tell me what your version of a warm hug in a bowl looks like.