Endless Adventures

Small Good Things Add Up Too Sometimes the big stuff feels like too much — the to-do lists, the worries, the things we can’t control or even name. On those days, I call my mom. Because sometimes, all we really need is our mom. She’d tell me to stop, get up, and walk around the house touching the things I’m grateful for, one by one. I mostly roll my eyes or feel resistance rise in me, but it helped more than I care to admit. So today, I’m doing just that. I’m pressing pause on the noise and focusing on what’s holding me together — the little joys that matter more than they let on. Because if small bad things can pile up and snowball into a really hard day, then maybe the small good things can too. So this week, I’m holding onto: The sound of my boys laughing — that wild, full-bellied kind of laugh that bounces off the walls and somehow makes the chaos feel like home. Our growing garden! — I just planted pumpkins a few days ago and they’re already sprouting! I have no idea what I’m doi...

What Healing Looks Like This isn’t a picture-perfect story about healing. It’s a real one. One that is still in progress. The kind with messy days, aching bodies, and small wins that feel big. I turned 30 this year. And honestly, I was excited about it. I wasn’t one of those people dreading the number. I had a plan for healing, a new surge of energy, and a roadmap for chasing down my goals and dreams. This was supposed to be the year I focused on my health and finally gave myself permission to move forward with the things that mattered most. I have a beautiful life — a husband I adore, two little boys who keep my days loud and full, and chickens in a backyard coop my husband built just for me. I’m giving my sons a sliver of the farm life I grew up with, and for that, I’m endlessly grateful. But instead of ringing in my 30s with celebration, I spent my birthday at a funeral. A sudden and tragic death in the family, far too familiar and far too soon. It stirred up old wounds from a loss ...

There’s a moment that splits your life into two parts—before and after. For me, that moment was losing my father-in-law, Dwayne. He wasn’t just family by marriage; he felt like a second dad. He made you feel welcome and loved, always ready with a smile or a joke. He was full of joy and laughter, so much like Josh. And now, as time goes on, I see more and more of Dwayne in him. When I met Dwayne, his family had already come close to losing him once. I never knew the version of him before that moment. I only ever knew the man who had been given a second chance and chose not to take it for granted. He understood that God had spared him, and he didn’t waste that gift. He embraced every day with gratitude and lightness. He bought the truck he had always wanted. He spent every spare moment with his family. He laughed loudly, hugged tightly, and lived fully. Looking back, I can say without hesitation that Dwayne lived his best life. But his death still came out of nowhere. He was young. It wa...