Author: KikiFikar

“Comfort or The Cross? When Following Christ Costs Everything…”

There are certain books that arrive at exactly the right moment. Not because we planned it that way, but because somehow the message finds us when we need it most. That was this book for me.

My friend — and truly our friend — Willie Torres Jr. has just released his new book, and I couldn’t be happier for him. Please visit him and see what I mean @willie13torr

My copy arrived today and I made the mistake — or perhaps the very best decision — of opening Chapter One before heading to the gym. Suddenly my workout schedule was hanging by a thread because I was immediately pulled into Willie’s words and the honesty behind them. Needless to say, cardio almost lost that battle.

As someone who still holds tightly to her faith while struggling with the idea of returning to church, this book hit me in a very personal way. Willie writes with a style that feels less like preaching and more like sitting across from a trusted friend having a heartfelt conversation over coffee. There’s no judgment. No pressure. Just a gentle reminder that we are loved, seen, and never abandoned — even during the messiest seasons of life.

One passage especially stayed with me as I drove to the gym:

“It is easy to declare faith when life is comfortable. It is easy to follow Christ when pain is distant, needs are met, and the world feels predictable. But life is rarely so simple. What happens when comfort is stripped away? When ease, security, or relief is offered at the cost of your faith, your convictions, or your soul?”

Through his writing and the messages he shares in his series, Willie has slowly been reminding me that faith is not reserved for people who have everything figured out. It exists for those of us carrying questions, disappointments, fears, and everyday struggles too. Somewhere along the line, I convinced myself that part of my life had closed off for good. Yet here I am again…thinking about faith, reflecting on it, and maybe even opening the door to it a little wider than before.

And that is the beauty of Willie’s work. He shares difficult truths in such a loving, simple, and deeply conversational way that you don’t feel overwhelmed by the message — you feel invited into it.

I’m incredibly proud to call Willie a friend and fellow writer. More importantly, I truly believe this book is going to reach people who need hope, reassurance, and healing right now. Sometimes the right words don’t just inspire us. Sometimes they quietly begin putting pieces of us back together again.

My family is somewhat small and scattered all over the East Coast, stretching from Maine down to Florida. Despite the miles between us, I’ve always been lucky enough to call my aunts and uncles not just family, but true friends. Most of our cousins were born within five years of one another, which means every gathering somehow feels less like generations colliding and more like an ongoing dinner party that simply pauses between visits.

This weekend, my aunt and uncle traveled down from Maine to spend time with my mom. My uncle is my mother’s brother, and with our Norwegian roots and my Swedish aunt folded into the mix, there’s always been a distinctly Scandinavian flavor to our family traditions. Cozy. Warm. Quietly sentimental. Also heavily dependent on carbs and coffee or tea.

I could share everyone’s names, but honestly there won’t be a quiz at the end, so let’s keep moving.

What I will share is that this side of the family gave me my lifelong love of soft-boiled eggs and toast. Not just the breakfast itself, but the ceremony of it all. In our family, a soft-boiled egg was never tossed onto a plate like some common scrambled peasant. It was presented properly in a beautifully crafted ceramic egg cup. Many came straight from Sweden or Norway, tiny little treasures wrapped in tissue paper and handed over like heirlooms. Somehow those egg cups made breakfast feel elegant, even if you were eating in pajamas with bedhead and one sock on.

There’s also an art to the perfect soft-boiled egg. Timing is everything. Too little and you’re drinking breakfast. Too much and you’ve ruined the whole point. But when it’s right? Pure comfort.

This visit came together somewhat last minute, so we quickly pulled together a casual dinner at my mom’s house with my sister and brother-in-law. Somewhere in the middle of setting the table and refilling iced tea glasses, I started feeling sentimental. Really sentimental. The kind that sneaks up on you as you watch everyone talking and laughing in the kitchen while your brain quietly whispers, these moments won’t happen forever.

I hope that’s not true anytime soon, but lately those thoughts have started creeping in more often.

Naturally, my mind wandered to the egg cups.

Yesterday, since I had the day off, I made it my mission to find some. I mapped out a few antique shops in the next town over and headed out like a woman on a highly specific Scandinavian breakfast-related treasure hunt.

The first antique shop had a young girl at the counter who seemed so thrilled to finally have a customer that I’m not entirely sure she heard a single word I said. I asked if they carried egg cups and she immediately replied, “No, but would you be interested in a crystal decanter that just came in?”

No thank you, ma’am. I’m here on egg business.

Second shop? I’m fairly certain the girl working there couldn’t have spelled the word egg if I spotted her the “E.”

Alrighty then.

Next stop: HomeGoods. Surely among the seventeen thousand decorative pillows and seasonal hand towels, I could locate one tiny egg cup.

I marched in with purpose. As I cruised down an aisle, I spotted an employee stocking shelves. Perfect. I asked, “Do you happen to know if you carry egg cups?”

She smiled politely, turned around, and picked up a tiny bowl about the size of something you’d use to serve pistachios at a cocktail party. As the word no floated toward my lips, my peripheral vision kicked in. Shark eye activated.

There they were.

Two actual egg cups. Sitting quietly on the shelf waiting for me like they knew I was coming.

I practically shouted, “Look at this! Egg cups!”

The employee rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh man, I thought those were shot cups.”

And immediately all I could think of was the line from Ferris Bueller, “I weep for the future.”

Tonight my aunt opened her gift. I added little plates for toast, a glass-blown mug, and tea to complete the breakfast experience. As she read the card, I told her that every single time I make soft-boiled eggs, I think of her. I think of our family. I think of childhood kitchens and laughter and those simple mornings that somehow became lifelong memories without any of us realizing it at the time.

We may not see each other often, but I never forget how I feel when I’m around her. Safe. Happy. Content.

Funny how something as small as an egg cup can hold an entire lifetime inside it.

I used to sing those lyrics every day after school and every weekend for years. They came from the smash hit Who’s Loving You? by the Jackson 5, featured on their first album. I received that record for my fifth birthday, about a year after the Jackson 5 burst onto the scene and into all of our lives.

That group had everything I loved as a child—a sound unlike anything else, infectious energy, and dance moves I studied and tried my best to copy. My love affair with choreography started early, and if you’ve read some of my other Kiki creations, you already know that.

Today at 2:45, Jules and I settled into Row J, Seats 16 and 17, to watch Michael—the new film centered on the early chapters of Michael Jackson’s life and career. I’ll watch a movie anywhere, but put me in a real theater—with surround sound, popcorn, and a large Diet Coke—and I’m instantly transported into the screen for a bird’s-eye view of the story.

Michael was portrayed by his nephew, Jafar Jackson (Jermaine’s son, for those who may need a refresher on the famous family tree). You can Google…go ahead. I’ll wait.

The movie offered an intimate glimpse into what many of us had heard whispered through the years and sometimes confirmed by Michael himself: he was treated terribly by his father. The abuse was heartbreaking. The film showed how Michael escaped those realities by immersing himself in old comedy films, cartoons, and fantasy. His love of Peter Pan and the inspiration behind Neverland were woven into that narrative.

And before anyone wonders—if you’re looking for commentary on the more controversial chapters of his life, you won’t find it here. There’s no room for speculation in these lines. What I am here to say is simple: I remain in awe of Michael’s talent, and he was undeniably an icon of my generation.

The movie was bold, emotional, and brilliantly done. Jules mentioned that many legal matters were never fully resolved, which meant several important figures in Michael’s life were left out entirely. Names like Diana Ross and his sister Janet were among those absent from the storyline.

As the movie moved forward, I found myself vividly remembering what it was like to watch Michael rise—not just as a star, but as an artist who became larger than life.

His music is stitched into the fabric of my memories.

His early solo songs played while I roller-skated each week. Later, hits like Bad and P.Y.T. filled bars and clubs during and after my college years. In August of 1984, I sat in the nosebleed seats at Madison Square Garden for the Victory Tour. Michael—and his brothers—were electric. I can still feel the pulse of that crowd, my seat vibrating, and the floor shaking as people danced in the aisles.

Near the end of the film, I glanced to my right and saw Jules beaming.

She grew up on Michael Jackson because of me.

One of the funniest stories from Chez Fikar goes back to the days of the Wii. There was a game called The Michael Jackson Experience, built entirely around recreating Michael’s choreography. You danced with the remote, and the game scored you based on how accurate your moves were.

My daughter, being the fiercely competitive child she was then (and, I maintain, still is), was endlessly frustrated because she could never beat my score.

One day I finally told her:

“Face it. This is my music, and I lived it years before you came along!”

So now, watching Jules bop along to those same songs as an adult is more gratifying than I can put into words.

There will be no spoilers here.

There is talk of another film covering the later chapters of Michael’s life being released next year. I’m not sure I’d want to see that one.

That would mean revisiting the day the world learned of Michael’s passing—June 25, 2009.

I can’t.

Honestly… I never can say goodbye to Michael.

Work vacations can be spent traveling, caretaking, organizing, or shopping. Today, however, a new contender entered the chat—space research. Not casually dabbling, mind you. Full-on, coffee-fueled, note-taking, multi-screen, “Houston, I have questions” level research.

I’ve always been fascinated by NASA and our journeys beyond what we can see from the driveway. Anne and John fed that curiosity early with trips to the Kennedy Space Center in Florida, where I probably read every placard twice and asked at least one question too many. Back in the pre-Google era, I relied on my trusty Encyclopedia Britannica and whatever library book I could get my hands on. If it had planets in it, I was all in. I was scared to fly there but it just always drew me in.

Fast forward to this morning. Post-gym, coffee in hand, to-do list pretending to matter—I stumbled across the news that Netflix would be streaming live coverage of Artemis mission as it looped around the far side of the moon. A casual 1 PM commitment, I thought. I’d watch a little, learn a little, and move on with my productive day.

Cue the laugh track.

I squeezed in errands, got the Jeep washed (because priorities), and made it home just in time for what quickly became “Kiki’s Space Watch 2026.” At first, I folded laundry while half-paying attention. Thirty minutes later, the laundry was folded—but so was I—completely wrapped up in orbit patterns, mission timelines, and commentary from Houston. Not one screen, not two, but multiple tablets going at once like I was preparing for a final exam I never signed up for.

Three hours later—imagine the SpongeBob narrator voice here—I was still locked in. I went down the rabbit hole of lunar orbit, Earth’s orbit, tidal lock, and the misunderstood “dark side” of the moon (which, spoiler alert, isn’t actually dark—just fashionably late to the sunlight party). Every answer led to five more questions, and I happily chased every single one.

My brain absorbed more information today than it has in weeks—which is saying something considering its current “please hold” status lately. But there was something about this…something bigger than checking boxes on a to-do list. The universe has a way of humbling you while simultaneously lighting a fire in your curiosity.

Somewhere between folding towels and falling headfirst into lunar science, I was reminded of something simple but powerful—wonder is always available to us. It doesn’t require a plane ticket or a perfect plan. Sometimes it just takes pressing “play,” asking one question, and letting yourself be pulled into something bigger than your day. And if a random Monday can turn into a deep dive around the far side of the moon, then maybe—just maybe—we’re never really stuck…we’re just one curiosity away from liftoff. 🚀

There are moments in life where you stop and think, well… this is new.

Creating an AI-generated photo of myself with Kenny Chesney firmly lands in that category. This past week I’ve chatted with many of you via prompts about AI and how it is changing the fabric of our society. We are almost forced to use AI for work (my position calls for monthly enrollment projections so I must partake in this type of practice). However, I am against using this personally. We get into vigorous debates about this in my homestead. When discussing Summer plans and my need to see Kenny Chesney at The Sphere in Vegas – I said listen I just have to get a picture with Kenny. We all fell down laughing. I mean really Kiki. My daughter then says – why wait? Let’s get that picture before June.

Now, let’s be clear. I have not met Kenny. There was no backstage pass, no VIP wristband, no spontaneous duet under a Caribbean sunset. I did win tickets to see him in 2009 from Sirius XM. He did point to me in our up close and personal seats but that was the extent of my brush with greatness. What there was, however, was me, my phone, and a curiosity that got the better of me.

And just like that—click, type, generate—I was suddenly standing next to Kenny on a beach that looked like it belonged on one of his album covers. The lighting? Perfect. The vibe? Effortless. The reality? Questionable.

But here’s the thing…

For a split second, it didn’t matter.

Because the photo didn’t feel like a fake. It felt like a possibility. Like one of those “what if” moments we don’t always say out loud but quietly carry around anyway. AI just happened to bring mine to life—with better hair and a more cooperative ocean breeze than I usually get.

It also made me laugh. Out loud. The kind of laugh that says, I cannot believe this is a thing now.

We’ve officially entered an era where your camera roll can hold memories you never actually lived—and somehow, they still feel like yours. That’s equal parts amazing and mildly terrifying, depending on how much coffee you’ve had.

Will I be framing this photo? Absolutely not.

Will I show it to people like it’s a completely normal thing to have? Also yes. My daughter wants me to use this as my new Facebook profile picture and see who notices.

Because if nothing else, it’s a reminder that life is allowed to be a little ridiculous, a little unexpected… and occasionally enhanced by a well-timed prompt.

And honestly, if I’m going to dip my toe into the future, I’m glad Kenny Chesney was there waiting on the other side.

First things first—gratitude where it’s due.

A heartfelt thank you to BeingKevin – An American Living the Brazilian Way for the nomination. Kevin’s writing is thoughtful, layered, and quietly powerful—the kind of blog you start reading “for a minute” and suddenly you’re three posts deep, nodding along like you’ve known him for years. Do yourself a favor and spend some time there:

👉 https://beingkevin.com (go ahead… I’ll wait)

☀️ The Guidelines (because we follow directions… mostly)

Display the award’s official logo somewhere on your blog Thank the person who nominated you ✔️ Provide a link to your nominator’s blog ✔️ Answer your nominator’s questions ✔️ Nominate up to eleven bloggers Ask your nominees eleven questions Notify your nominees by commenting on their blogs

☀️ Questions & My Answers (the real stuff)

1. What is your favorite food?

A very rare cheeseburger, blue cheese crumbles, steak sauce, all sitting proudly on a freshly baked Kaiser roll. No substitutions. No apologies.

2. Favorite place to visit?

Bar Harbor, Maine. Not even close. It’s like stepping into a postcard—classic Americana meets “why don’t I live here yet?”

3. How old were you when you moved out?

Technically 18 for college. Officially 23 when I got married and the training wheels came off.

4. High school mascot?

The Golden Eagle. Strong. Majestic. Slightly aggressive.

5. Did you ever play organized sports?

I ran Track (shoutout to my New York State Games Racewalking era… yes, really) and competition Kickline. Balance and grit—my personality in a nutshell.

6. What are you afraid of?

Losing my kids before I check out.

Also: flipping a Jeep, bugs, and the possibility that this blog never makes it to TV.

7. Favorite TV shows?

This is where I lose control a bit:

Ted Lasso, vintage Saturday Night Live, Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, Seinfeld, Mad Men, The Sopranos, Entourage, and The Morning Show.

Movies? That’s a whole separate post—and you know I’ll write it.

8. What are you most proud of?

My kids. Ten and twelve years to bring them into this world, and they are—without exaggeration—marvelous humans.

9. Why do you blog?

To document real life as it happens. No fiction. No filters. Just the everyday moments that somehow become everything.

10. Thoughts on AI?

Let’s just say… I see its purpose. But I’m also side-eyeing it like it just sat in my seat.

11. Has social media helped or hindered society?

Hindered. Too much pressure. Too much comparison. Too much “what is even real anymore?” I’m grateful I grew up before it took over everything.

☀️ My Questions to You

1.What is your favorite hobby?

2.What was your favorite year of your life—and why?

3.Who was your first boyfriend or girlfriend? 4. Do you have a bucket list? What’s on it?

5. Did you play a sport growing up?

6. What are you afraid of?

7. What was your first concert?

8. If you could have one last conversation with someone you’ve lost, who would it be—and what would you say?

9. Why do you blog?

10. Who is your favorite musical artist or group?

11. Social media: help or hinder?

☀️ My Nominations (no pressure, just love)

JustCallMeSharon | A Delicate Balance of Highly Organized Within My Creative Disarray

Where It All Began 6 – Charlierobinsonbooks

Heart of Loia

My Little Corner of the World

Squiggle Line Cafe

The Happy Traveler

(And if you’re reading this and feeling a nudge… consider yourself unofficially nominated. Yes, I make my own rules. Michael, Brian, Willie, and Edward I am having trouble with the links despite Kevin trying to help this blonde gal.)

There’s something quietly powerful about being asked questions that make you pause, reflect, and answer honestly. So Kevin—thank you for the nudge into the sunshine.