The Space Between Then and Now

 

When I wrote my last post in February, I was beginning again. I had written about this blog starting back in 2010, about all the seasons of life that had brought me here, and about wanting this space to become a place for reflection, creativity, encouragement, and hope. I didn't know then just how much life was about to change. The months since February have been some of the most emotional of my life.

 On March 21, we lost Scott, my first husband, my children’s father. There are some losses that don't fit neatly into words. Even when you know that life is fragile, even when you know that everyone eventually faces loss, there is something different about waking up one morning and realizing that someone who has been part of your life story for decades is no longer here.

 Grief has a way of changing the landscape despite how the world keeps moving. There are emails to answer, dishes to wash, plans to make, birthdays to celebrate, and ordinary Sunday afternoons that somehow still arrive. And yet, underneath all of it, something has changed. I've spent a lot of time this year learning what it means to carry grief while continuing to live. Some days there are tears. Some days it has meant memories. Some days it means being grateful for the people around me. And some days it has simply meant getting through the day and recognizing that getting through the day was enough. I think I'm learning that grief isn't something we necessarily finish, we learn how to make room for it.

 Work has changed, too. I've found myself stepping into more responsibility and figuring out what it means to trust my own voice. There have been challenging days and plenty of moments when I've questioned myself, but there have also been moments when I realized that I know more than I sometimes give myself credit for.

 And somewhere in the middle of all of this, I've kept coming back to creativity. Painting. Watercolor. Journaling. Words on a page. The little projects that don't necessarily need to become anything. It has reminded me that creativity doesn't always have to be productive. Sometimes it can simply be a place to breathe.

 I can miss someone and still laugh. I can grieve and still be grateful. I can feel tired and still feel hopeful. I can have days when I don't know what comes next and still believe that there is something good ahead. My faith has become quieter this year, but perhaps deeper too. I'm learning that sometimes faith is simply trusting that I don't have to understand everything to keep walking, So, here I am, a little older, a little softer in some places and stronger in others. Carrying some things I never expected to carry and still learning how to put down the things that no longer belong to me. I don't know exactly what this next season will look like but, I think I'm ready to meet it.

Welcome Again

 I started this blog back in 2010 during some of the hardest seasons of my life. Back then, it was my place to process pain, work through challenges, and reach out to anyone who might feel alone. Over the years, my writing has grown along with me, from surviving life’s storms to noticing the quiet beauty, wisdom, and grace that appear in everyday moments.

Through motherhood, creativity, journaling, poetry, painting, and reflection, I’ve learned to navigate life’s ups and downs with steadier hands and a gentler heart. My relationship with God has deepened, now lived in the ordinary, daily rhythms of life rather than just through church.

This blog is now a space to share reflections, creativity, and encouragement. It’s about growth, resilience, and hope, about seeing life fully, embracing lessons learned, and finding moments of joy and meaning along the way.

Whether you’re here to read, reflect, or simply pause for a moment, I hope my journey offers a sense of connection and quiet encouragement. Life is messy, beautiful, challenging, and full of lessons. I’m here to explore it all with you.

Writing again

 Hello, friends old and new.

It’s been many years since I started this blog back in 2010. Back then, I was navigating some of the hardest seasons of my life, and I wanted a place to process, reflect, and reach out in the hope that someone reading wouldn’t feel alone. Over time, life has changed. I’ve grown, I’ve healed, and I’ve learned more about resilience, grace, and the quiet ways God meets us in everyday moments.

I’m no longer in the same place I was, I don’t attend church like I once did, but my relationship with God remains central to who I am. And through motherhood, creativity, journaling, and reflection, I’ve discovered new ways to meet life’s ups and downs with steadier hands, gentler heart, and more laughter.

This space is opening again, not just as a journal for me, but as a place to share reflections, creativity, and encouragement for living a life of hope, growth, and quiet strength. I hope my journey can inspire others who may be seeking faith, healing, or simply a reminder that we can face life and still find moments of joy along the way.

Thank you for being here. I’m excited to write, create, and reflect again and to share the journey with you.

Soft Colors Felt

 This morning, as music echoed softly from one of those calming YouTube channels and the screen drifted through scenes of nature, I felt myself settle into a quiet, almost surreal moment. The colors of Fall, yellow, gold, orange, rust, seemed to flow together with a brightness and warmth that wrapped around me. Even the shadows of tree branches felt like they were woven into the light, forming a gentle contract that made everything feel dream like. For  a little while, I allowed myself to get lost in the drifting beauty of it all, surrounded by the warmth of the falling colors. And when I finally came back to the present, I felt grounded, refreshed, and ready to begin a new day.

October 6th Reflection

 The Tree of Life Within

Resilience is not about standing untouched; it is about standing rooted, like the Tree of Life. I've learned that strength is not found in avoiding the storm, but in allowing my roots to reach deeper because of it. The unseen places, the pain, the loss, the quiet rebuilding, become the soil that nourishes new growth.

Each scar tells a story of endurance, each branch a reaching toward light after darkness. There is beauty in the bending, grace in the breaking, and wisdom in the waiting between seasons.

When I imagine the tree within me, I see a living prayer, my spirit grounded in truth. My heart open to release what no longer serves me, and my soul ever reaching toward what's next. Resilience is my reminder that even after the fiercest winds, I still can stand, steady, rooted, and alive with possibility. 

October 3, 2025

October has arrived with crisp mornings and golden light, and I find myself pausing in its stillness. My life feels peaceful now, even with the losses and struggles I’ve carried through the years. I’m happy, living the best I can, but this season always seems to bring its own lessons.

Parenting young adults is its own kind of balancing act, being Mom and being a friend, knowing when to step in and when to simply step back. It’s a love that requires trust and space. At the same time, I’m learning how to stand in this new chapter, life without kids at home, and without a partner beside me.

This month also carries milestones. On October 8th, it will be ten years since his passing, a decade gone in what feels like the blink of an eye. I miss him everyday. But this year, I won’t have much time to linger in the sadness and the ache. I’ll drive to Phoenix after work, stay with my daughter, then fly to Colorado the next day to see friends. Maybe that’s as it should be, life nudging me forward.

Still, October makes me restless. I want to be bold and fearless, to step fully into life, even as I notice the ways I hold myself back. The season feels like an invitation, not just in the colors of the trees or the coolness in the air, but in my own spirit.

Maybe this October, I’ll listen to that invitation. Maybe I’ll let the falling leaves remind me how to release, how to turn, how to begin again.

Catching up

It’s hard to believe tomorrow is the 1st day of August. The year has moved like a quiet current sometimes steady, sometimes unpredictable but always nudging me forward.  Forward is all I know to do, always looking for the blessings and joys along the way.

Back in February, I wrote about closing the chapter on 2024 and stepping into 2025 with a heart open to whatever would come next. I didn’t have all the answers (I still don’t), but I had a deep desire to move forward with more intention, more creativity, and more peace. Looking back now, I can say, I've stayed true to that path.

I have been exploring new creative expressions—watercolor, mixed media, art journaling. I’m allowing myself to play, to experiment, to color outside the lines (sometimes literally). If I don’t feel like painting, I color in a book or write a poem. 

Professionally, I’ve settled more deeply into my role as Community Liaison. It’s not always an easy space to hold—balancing people, rules, and expectations—but I’ve found my voice in it. I’ve learned when to speak gently, when to stand firm, and when to simply listen. There’s a strange kind of art in that too.

And then there’s my writing. Quietly, almost behind the scenes, it’s been growing. I’ve been gathering poems, journal reflections, and ideas for a creative workbook, something that weaves together healing, faith, and self-expression. I don’t know exactly what shape it will take yet.

In the stillness,  I’ve learned to let go of how things should look, and to trust how they feel.

And so, here I am—August 2025. Still growing.

There’s still so much of the year left to live. So many stories yet to unfold. I'm looking forward to what's next....