Cancer has forced me to pay attention—to my body, my soul, and the places where I've been merely surviving instead of fully living. In the process, I've found myself wrestling with a surprising question: Am I allowed to want?

While lying inside a PET scan machine waiting for answers I couldn't control, I came face-to-face with a fear I didn't realize was still living inside me: the fear of hope.

Not a fear of cancer. Not even a fear of bad news. A fear that if I trusted too much, hoped too boldly, or believed things might actually be okay, I would somehow be setting myself up for disappointment.

In this post, I'm sharing what waiting for scan results revealed about old stories, God's character, and why I think many of us keep hope at arm's length without even realizing it. If you've ever found yourself afraid to hope because you're afraid of getting hurt, this one is for you.

I recently went back and read to an old blog post I wrote about Jonah and the whale (great fish) and found myself in tears. Not because of what I said, but because of what I didn’t know was coming. This is a story about cancer, uncertainty, interrupted plans, and the surprising ways God continues to meet us in seasons we never would have chosen. And his grace in giving us the same invitation again.

After a cancer diagnosis, I find myself desperate to rush healing, force answers, and regain control. But some of the deepest transformations in life cannot be hurried. “Meet Me in the Fire” is a reflection on cancer, faith, surrender, and learning not to rush the work God is doing within me — even when I ache to be on the other side of the fire.

A melanoma diagnosis forced me to confront a painful irony: the sun has always felt deeply tied to God’s presence in my life. I explore faith, fear, healing, and the complicated relationship between sunlight, cancer, and learning not to dim the light God placed within us.

I never thought I would write the word cancer, and I’m not sure I’ve fully let it sink in yet. In the middle of doctor’s appointments and a full house of people we love, I’ve found myself unexpectedly held—by old friends, new friends, and a kind of support that has quietly multiplied. This is what it looks like to walk through something hard without walking through it alone.

Midlife reflection on trusting your gut, overcoming people pleasing, and making a life-changing decision that brought peace, growth, and alignment.

I’ve had to start again more times than I can count — after injuries, moves, and seasons that disrupted the rhythms I was building. This post is a reflection on unfinished things, learning to begin again without shame, and trusting that growth can still come after setbacks.

Quiet used to be optional. Now it feels essential. A reflection on motherhood, overstimulation, and how real rest is often found in ordinary, sacred moments—far from our screens and closer than we think.

Households are shaped slowly, by what is practiced again and again. In this final post of Habits of the Household, I reflect on the quiet habit underneath them all—presence—and how small, faithful choices form a home over time. This is an invitation to return to what holds, not perfectly, but faithfully.

Rest used to feel like something I had to earn—something I could finally reach once the work was finished and everyone else was taken care of. But in a full season of motherhood, that “finish line” rarely comes. In this part of my Habits That Hold Us When Life Feels Full series, I’m learning what it looks like to choose rest that truly restores instead of rest that distracts… and to release the guilt that tries to follow me into every pause.

After our cross-country move, I could feel the months of running on fumes catching up with me—brain fog, puffiness, and a heaviness I couldn’t ignore. In this post, I share the gentle shift that helped me climb out of the spiral: moving from restriction and food rules to nourishment that restores. From morning smoothies and simple protein-based meals to gut-health rhythms like sauerkraut and kimchi, this is an honest reflection on caring for a tired body in a full season—without shame, pressure, or perfection.

Some mornings, the house feels loud before a single word is spoken. This reflective essay from the Habits That Hold Us When Life Is Full series explores the invisible noise of motherhood—the mental load, the constant awareness of being needed—and the quiet that has to be claimed rather than waited for. Through simple early-morning rhythms, this piece invites busy moms to find stillness not through perfection, but through gentle, faithful returning.

In A New Year, the Same Question—And a More Honest Answer, I share how exercise has always been my cornerstone habit—and how it quietly slipped away during a full season of moving, motherhood, and relentless fall months. This post is about returning to movement again, without shame, self-criticism, or all-or-nothing thinking. As part of the Habits That Hold Us When Life Is Full series, it’s a gentle invitation for tired moms to begin again, even if this isn’t the first time they’ve had to.

Habits That Hold Us When Life Is Full is a gentle, faith-rooted series for women living in full seasons of motherhood, responsibility, and quiet exhaustion. This introduction reflects on why consistency often feels impossible when life is layered and demanding, and why the answer isn’t more discipline—but sustainable rhythms of grace. Written for tired, tender, faithful hearts who are still showing up, this series invites you to return to small, life-giving habits that support you right where you are.

As Christmas approaches, I find myself reflecting on the tension between the manger and the marketplace. I’m thinking through how faith, generosity, and parenting shape the way we celebrate—especially in a season that so easily drifts toward excess.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it really means to trust God with big life decisions. Some seasons feel so clearly led by Him, and others leave me wondering if I’m listening or simply doing the best I can. This is the story of how God met us in both.

This morning didn’t go as planned, but it became a lesson in letting go, resting, and trusting that community doesn’t fall apart without me. Here’s what I’m learning.

Ever feel called to something scary? In this story, I share how God used Joshua 4, a jar of stones, and years of small miracles to give us courage during one of the biggest moves of our lives.

Hosting can feel like a lot—especially when your table isn’t even set yet. But lately, I’ve been reminded that what people really want isn’t perfection; it’s connection. My Gran showed me that. Her home was full of warmth, music, and the smell of something delicious, and everyone felt like family. In this post, I’m sharing how I’m learning to open my home with the same kind of love—and how God meets us right there in the messy, beautiful middle. 🍁