There’s a Christmas cactus on my windowsill that has been with me for about ten years now. It didn’t start with me—it started with my children’s great grandpa. What I have is a small rooting from his original plant, handed down quietly one Christmas. It was planted in a little tea cup with some soil in it. I don’t think anyone knew then how much that little piece of green would come to mean. I have loved this plant fiercely. It has weathered storms and broken pots. It has sur

People are people. Services are services. Resources are resources. Behind every service, every resource, every role we interact with—there is a human being . A human who lives and loves, Who carries loss and hope, Who hurts, cries, bleeds, and still shows up. Just because our paths cross while someone is working, serving, helping, or ministering does not mean they stop being human in that moment. The server. The barista. The delivery driver. The first responder. The medical p

There was a season of my life when caregiving shaped nearly every decision I made. I was a caregiver then, living inside a rhythm of vigilance, exhaustion, and quiet resilience. That season taught me many things—but one lesson has followed me into every chapter since: Healing doesn’t happen in isolation. Neither does growth. Back then, I learned the value of building a village —people who didn’t need explanations, who understood the weight of responsibility and the constant m

Gentle note: This post includes personal reflections on domestic violence, childhood sexual abuse, and trauma recovery. Please read at your own pace and take care of your heart as you do. This morning, I woke up rested. That sentence might sound ordinary to someone else. To me, it feels nothing short of miraculous. I slept more than seven hours straight without waking in fear. No jolting awake. No hypervigilance. No bracing my body for impact. For years, sleep was not rest. I

For most of my life, endings felt like tiny heartbreaks. I dreaded the end of a friend’s visit, the last morning of vacation, the final bite of a meal someone made with love, or the closing session of a conference that filled me up in ways I did not expect. Even the final chapter of a book I adored or the last episode of a series that made me feel seen could stir that familiar ache. I often felt the grief of the ending long before it actually arrived. I would begin counting d

Less Hustle, More Holy Every year, the holiday season arrives with bright lights, long to-do lists, and the quiet pressure to make everything feel “magical.” Somewhere between the shopping carts and the glitter, many of us lose sight of the simple beauty we were meant to hold close. If the holidays feel heavy for you, you’re not failing the season—you’re responding honestly to the life you’ve lived, to the grief, the survival, the moments, and the memories your body remembers

What Happens When We Shrink Our Own Desires (and How Healing Restores Them) Lately, I’ve been sitting with a question that surprised me with how much it stirred inside: “When did I start telling myself I don’t like doing things?” Not because I truly didn’t enjoy them… but because someone else didn’t want to do them with me. For years, that became a quiet defense mechanism. If I was left out, turned down, or brushed aside, I’d say: “It’s fine. I didn’t want that anyway.” It fe

Relearning How to Slow Down, Settle In, and Let Yourself Enjoy Life As a little girl, my siblings and I had a dollhouse. I still remember the way it pulled me in — not just as a toy, but as a tiny world of possibility. I’d carefully arrange every room: the miniature beds placed just right, the dining room table set out, the tiny chairs angled as if a family had just pulled them closer for conversation. Setting it up was my ritual. My quiet joy. It was the space where my imagi