So many tears. I never knew a person could cry as long or as often as I did in those first weeks after discovering my husband’s secret struggle with porn. The tears showed up without warning—in the shower, in the car, in the dark hours of the night when sleep wouldn’t come. I was sure the pain would stop once he fixed himself. After all, it was his fault we were in this mess. I told myself my healing would come when he finally got his act together.

I never imagined this path would lead me to selling my art. I never imagined strangers would want to hang my work in their homes. Today, I create one-of-a-kind pieces, each infused with emotion, faith, and inspiration from the natural world. Every painting tells a story. No two are the same, because every piece is a reflection of a moment — just like that quiet morning under the bay leaf tree.

You’re working. You’re obedient. You’ve said yes to the call of God on your life. You’ve launched the thing. You’ve poured out your heart. You’ve stewarded what He gave you with excellence… and yet? The invitations aren’t coming. The stages aren’t opening. It feels like everyone else is being noticed—but not you. I know that season. I lived that season.

The practice of abiding may take time, but it is so worth it! It can transform your life.  Are you ready to accept the invitation?

As we approach the second half of the year, let us reflect on Ephesians 3:14-20. I pray we remain rooted in love—for ourselves and for others—standing firm in faith, led by God’s Spirit, and energized by His power as we bring Him glory through our words and actions. No matter the challenge, crisis, or storm, each day—as Christ followers—in every human interaction, we have the opportunity to be a light in the darkness.

As the leaves turn golden and the air begins to chill, there’s nothing more comforting than wrapping your hands around a warm bowl of creamy soup. Fall is the season of slowing down, gathering in, and savoring the simple joys—and that starts in the kitchen.”

There was a time in my life when I truly believed I had to do it all—and do it well—to be considered a “good” wife, mother, homemaker, and woman of God. Maybe it’s a firstborn thing, or maybe it’s just the weight of trying to live up to expectations I thought were mine to carry. But from an early age, I developed a pattern of pushing through, taking pride in my independence, and refusing to ask for help until I absolutely had to. And when I became a wife and then a mom—especi

“Just rest in the Lord,” my best friend mumbled into her coffee cup as she scooted out of her chair to leave the cafe. I had just confided in her about a situation at work that was worrying me. It felt good to vent to a trusted friend, and as I gathered my belongings to follow her out, I felt better cathartically, superficially, but did I really feel better?

The slow cadence of small, white-capped waves slides against the sand, rolls over beach wood, and washed-up stones. Between horizon and water, there isn’t much difference between the blues. Wisps of clouds hang in the azure sky, mirroring the sparkle of the lake with a shimmer of its own. My legs stretch, weight shifting on a driftwood log lodged with sand as I take my time exhaling a long-kept breath

Many of us even heard those pointed words growing up: “Shame on you,” accompanied by a wagging finger. Raised to be a good, obedient, nice girl, you re-double your efforts, especially with God, to silence the shame.

For so many years, I tried to manage a life of constant busyness. My pace was rush, rush, rush — day in and day out. It felt like all I did was shuffle my kids around, toting them to-and-from private school, a 25-minute commute each way. For several years, when they were on different schedules, I drove this path back-and-forth several times a day. Five years of this wore me down.

I still remember the moment I had to face that question myself. It was my 43rd birthday, and I was in so much pain—physically, emotionally, spiritually. I had been struggling with chronic autoimmune diseases for over a decade, visiting specialist after specialist, while slowly watching my health, my relationships, and my joy fall apart. I was overweight, in constant pain, emotionally unstable, and spiritually weary. I had withdrawn from friendships. My marriage was strained.

Sisters, abiding is not passive. It is a powerful posture of trust. It’s a lifestyle of staying near, being nourished by God, and allowing His life to flow through ours. 

When you find your strength in God and seek Him each moment of every day, you will find that sense of balance. You may tip to the side, but nothing will prevail against you. The world may rage around you, but you will stand solid because your trust is in God. He is faithful, He is consistent.  He will keep you standing.

Seeking the peace of Jesus amidst the storms of life is no easy task. Being intentional is key—but how can we focus on intentionally seeking His peace when we feel overwhelmed by everything life throws our way?

In the messy parts of caregiving, there are calls for opening up to a new way of caring. Compassion became my lifeline, and it can become yours, too.

Abiding in the True Vine was my lifeline, and disconnection meant a slow death.  As years went on, my circumstances shifted. Sometimes they were better, other times they were worse, but time with Him was non-negotiable. I have learned and am continuing to learn that abiding in Him has different iterations. 

After spending 30 years in the classroom and raising two children of my own, I've seen firsthand how phones can either help or harm a child's development. As an experienced educator with over 67,000 hours working with kids, I've learned something crucial: the "right age" for a phone isn't about age at all – it's about readiness. My mission is to help parents raise kids who are smarter than their smartphones.

It’s easy to fly into ‘invisible’ webs if we’re not “sober and alert”. “Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour” (1 Peter 5:8,NKJV)). As numerous voices vie for our attention, we must question everything and everyone who says anything … no matter what or who it is, or what platform or pulpit they speak from … and then bring the issue to the only One who knows the truth.

These in-between seasons can be difficult—the ones that fall between hope and heartbreak, between praying and receiving, between holding on and letting go. You’re no longer where you were, but not yet where you hoped to be. And your heart feels caught somewhere between striving and surrender. This is where I’ve been lately. Maybe you can relate.