The Resiliency Plan, TRP

One of the things I’ve been working on lately has been building an operating system for a business.

What surprised me wasn’t the technology.

It was realizing that after more than thirty years in hospitality and operations, I was using many of the same principles I’ve relied on my entire career.

Good organizations don’t depend on one person remembering everything. They build systems that preserve knowledge, support decision-making, and allow people to succeed.

One of the biggest lessons I learned was that architecture matters. Starting with a strong framework saves time, creates consistency, and allows organizations to grow more intentionally.

I think that applies just as much to nonprofits and families as it does to businesses.

At The Resiliency Plan, resilience has never been viewed as simply “pushing through.”

Real resilience is often operational.

It’s communication.
Adaptability.
Leadership.
Structure.
Community.
Healthy systems.
And learning how to continue building during uncertain seasons.

Over the years, TRP has evolved through lived experience across hospitality leadership, nonprofit work, organizational operations, military family life, advocacy, and community-building across multiple environments.

The mission continues to evolve alongside the experiences shaping it.

Because resilience is rarely built in theory alone.
Most often, it’s built in real life.

For a long time, I thought all the interruptions meant The Resiliency Plan had somehow stopped.

But lately I’ve realized something important:

The mission never actually changed.

TRP was never only about workshops, podcasts, books, events, or business plans.

It was always about becoming the kind of person who can continue building plans even when life changes completely.

Over the years, life brought incredible highs, devastating loss, military transitions, advocacy work, major health battles, grief, rebuilding, movement across states, and seasons where survival had to come before visibility.

Some of you have been here since Montana.
Some since Washington.
Some joined us in North Carolina through podcasting, resiliency conversations, workshops, KBR, or community outreach.

And somehow, after everything, I’m finding my way back to the heart of this work again.

Not in the same way as before.
Not pretending nothing happened.
But with a deeper understanding of what resilience actually looks like in real life.

TRP is still here.

And honestly?

So am I.

For a long time, I thought all the interruptions meant The Resiliency Plan had somehow stopped.

But lately I’ve realized something important:

The mission never actually changed.

TRP was never only about workshops, podcasts, books, events, or business plans.

It was always about becoming the kind of person who can continue building plans even when life changes completely.

Over the years, life brought incredible highs, devastating loss, military transitions, advocacy work, major health battles, grief, rebuilding, movement across states, and seasons where survival had to come before visibility.

Some of you have been here since Montana.
Some since Washington.
Some joined us in North Carolina through podcasting, resiliency conversations, workshops, KBR, or community outreach.

And somehow, after everything, I’m finding my way back to the heart of this work again.

Not in the same way as before.
Not pretending nothing happened.
But with a deeper understanding of what resilience actually looks like in real life.

TRP is still here.

And honestly?
So am I.

Morhia Mote

Friends,

It’s easy to scroll past a fundraiser.

We all do it.

But every now and then, it’s worth pausing and asking, What if this were my family?

I didn’t ask that question either.
Not until our youngest son was diagnosed with brain cancer.

And not until two years later, when our daughter joined her brother in heaven.

Both from illness.
Both in their twenties.
Forever 22. Forever 26.

We walked through what many people call “unbelievable.” And sometimes that word fits. There were even people who questioned our losses — asking if it was drugs or something else. It wasn’t. It was illness. Big, devastating illness. The kind no one is prepared for.

Alongside the grief came medical bills.

Time away from work.

Contracts lost because we simply could not function. We turned to churches at both duty stations hoping someone might help fill the gap. That didn’t happen. The weight of it all has been so heavy that Zach hasn’t been able to work consistently since.

We spent fifteen months cheering our son on through cancer. Then our daughter suffered sudden cardiac arrest. We sat beside her for weeks, holding her hand while her body grew tired. There are no words that make that lighter.

And this is why I’m asking you to pause.

Because today it’s Jeremy and his daughters.

It’s Sheetal’s name being spoken in tears.

It’s their holidays that will look different.

Every birthday, every wedding, every grandbaby — all of it will carry her absence. ❤️‍🩹

✋ This isn’t a short season. This is a lifelong loss.

If you’re able, please consider helping with the medical bills and the costs that follow something like this. Financial pressure doesn’t wait for grief to soften.
But support is more than money.

Let them know it’s good to see them.

You don’t have to ask how they’re doing. The truth is, they’re surviving.

Hand them a grocery card.

Buy the family a movie pass six months from now.

Offer a restaurant gift card — even if they use it for takeout at home.

When Keith died, a few dear friends gave me gift certificates — massages, float sessions, small escapes.

What meant the most?

They didn’t ask me to go with them. They understood I needed quiet.

They removed the pressure to show up socially when I barely knew what day it was.

Those cards took away decision fatigue. I could simply look at one and say, “This is what I will do Saturday.”

Because when someone this close dies, you forget when you last ate.

You don’t remember the last shower.

You lose track of time.

Grief is disorienting.
It is loud in the quiet.

A song, a smell, a favorite food in the grocery store can undo you without warning.

Be patient.
Be kind.

Not just for a few months — but always.

Grief does not run on anyone else’s schedule.

Please don’t offer opinions about moving forward. No one truly “moves on.” They learn to carry what cannot be put down.

If you feel led, give what you can.

Every contribution helps ease the weight of bills and buys Jeremy more breathing room to be present with his daughters.

And long after the fundraiser fades from your feed, remember:
They will still be living this.

Psalm 34:18 (ESV)
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”

Psalm 147:3 (ESV)
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

Matthew 5:4 (ESV)
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

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