Saltwater & Serenity: Finding Peace in the Storm

  Last Saturday night, my sister asked if I could cut her hair. It was late—we’d been out all day, I was tired, and honestly, all I wanted to do was relax. But I agreed. She came over around 9 p.m. (yes, that late), and we headed inside.  Now, it’s late spring here in the South, and that means nighttime brings out all sorts of creatures. I have some outdoor lighting, but it’s not the brightest. As we were walking up the porch, I went first and walked right past something without noticing. My sister, just a step behind me, suddenly says, “Snake!” Of course, I froze. “Where?” “Right there.” It took me a minute, but sure enough—there it was. A baby copperhead, just inches from where I had walked. I had gone right past it and never even saw it. In that moment, I felt so many things—shock, fear, gratitude. And then I thought: I always remind my daughter to be careful, to pay attention… but I forget to remind myself. Sometimes we get so used to our routines that we stop paying atten...

It’s no secret—life is changing fast for me right now. And not just one thing… everything. The kind of season where “when it rains, it pours” doesn’t feel like a cliché—it feels like reality. Some of these changes have been expected. Some hit me out of nowhere. And if I’m being honest, it feels like I’m walking through it alone at times. But the truth is—I’m not. I have an incredible support system. People who remind me of who I am when I forget. And even more than that, I have faith. Some days, it feels like faith is the only thing holding me together. With so many options in front of me and no clear path, I’ve had to lean into that faith like never before. I come back to the promise in Deuteronomy 31:8: “The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Those words ground me. They remind me that I’m not walking into the unknown—I’m walking into a future He’s already seen. He goes before me. He is ...

Some days, we just don’t want to be seen. We crave quiet. We’d rather blend into the background than interact, speak up, or stand out. Just burrow in the sand. Today feels like one of those days for me—a day when disappearing into the sands sounds more peaceful than pushing past my comfort zone. And honestly? I think I could live like that for a while—hiding in the familiar, avoiding discomfort, staying invisible. But here’s the truth: if we always blend in, we miss out. We miss the moments that stretch us. We miss opportunities for growth, connection, and joy. When we stay hidden with our heads down, we close ourselves off to new experiences, new relationships, and the unexpected paths God may be preparing for us. I’ll admit—stepping out isn’t always easy. There are things I don’t want to do, places I don’t want to go, and people I don’t always feel ready to face. But staying stuck in our comfort zone keeps us small. It keeps us from living the full, bold life we were created for. Sti...

There’s something beautiful about the way geese move whether on the ground or in the sky. They walk in a line, stepping carefully to avoid obstacles and stay together. They fly in a V-formation, not for aesthetics, but for endurance. They take turns leading. When one gets tired, another moves forward.  No ego. No competition. Just trust, rhythm, and shared purpose. What a picture of how we’re called to live in community. Life is full of uneven ground—moments that trip us up, wear us out, slow our stride. We were never meant to navigate it alone. And like the geese, we need people walking ahead of us, beside us, and behind us. People who can step in when we’re tired. People who see obstacles we might miss. People who remind us to keep moving in the right direction. Even more than that—we have a God who does this perfectly. Jesus reminds us in Matthew 6:26: "Look at the birds of the air: they do not sow or reap or gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you n...

I snapped this photo on the side of the interstate in Texas, of all places—stuck in traffic, worried about being late. We weren’t moving, and tension was building. Then I noticed them: these stunning blue-violet wildflowers blooming right in the median. A color I rarely see in flowers, vibrant and alive between the (usually) speeding cars and concrete. They were beautiful even though they didn’t have special care. No perfect soil or curated conditions. Just rain, sun, and a little patch of dirt. And yet—they bloomed. It made me pause. How often have I said, “Once this happens, then I’ll start…” or “When things calm down, I’ll finally make that move…”? I had become comfortable with waiting. Waiting on circumstances. Waiting on someone else. Waiting for everything to feel just right before I acted. But that mindset? It was toxic. It kept me stuck. It would have left me sitting in that same patch of life forever, hoping something would shift on its own. But here's the truth I’ve come ...

Inspired by a photo I took of a quiet lake—and lyrics from a late singer—this reflection has been on my heart. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I was going to share it. “My pain is self-chosen.” Maybe… sometimes that’s true. Some days, it feels easier to just give up—to stop, to sit in the heaviness. The enemy wants us to believe we’re drowning, that we’ve sunk too far beneath the surface to ever rise again. In our darkest moments, we feel pulled under by doubt, fear, and exhaustion. But even when we don’t feel strong, the strength is still within us. Even when we don’t feel Him, God is still there. We have to trust—trust that He will lift us, guide us, and carry us back to the surface. The enemy would have us settle into pain, believing there’s no way out. But that, my friend, is an illusion. And here’s something beautiful I’ve come to know: Still waters mirror the sky. They reflect what’s above—a peaceful image. Sometimes the chaos around us is nothing more than smoke and mirrors, the en...