Over the past year, I’ve been writing here pretty frequently—sometimes twice a week. Writing has been a way for me to process, to pray, and to connect. But as this next season unfolds, I anticipate posting a little less often as I am in a season of transition. My hope has always been to write about once a week, but I've had a lot to say for the last six months. But I’m giving myself permission to let that rhythm be more flexible right now. Transitions take time and energy, an

Here is your gentle (and hard-earned) reminder that sometimes it is not only okay, but holy, to advocate and ask for what you need. My hair has been growing out for several years now, and lately I’ve been trying to figure out what actually works for me when it’s pulled up and back. I’ve been experimenting with buns and up-dos, learning from YouTube tutorials late at night, trying to strike that elusive balance between what feels comfortable, what looks professional, and what

The new year always arrives with a kind of quiet insistence. It doesn’t knock loudly like a holiday or demand attention the way a birthday does. It simply shows up, standing there in the doorway of our lives, asking us to notice what has been carried forward and what might be ready to be folded differently. For me, this noticing often begins in the most ordinary of places: the laundry room. Laundry has a way of marking time. Loads come and go with the rhythm of weeks and seas

Every so often I hear — explicitly or implicitly — that women are “opting out,” “slowing down,” or somehow losing ambition, especially when it comes to their jobs. As if we all just collectively decided one day that striving was overrated and naps were the new corner office. Across workplaces and ministry contexts, women continue to shoulder disproportionate burdens, contributing extraordinary labor that too often goes unseen and unrewarded. A recent Women in the Workplace re

Every now and then, a metaphor pops into my brain that’s just too good to ignore. I love cooking and baking competitions. Lately I’ve been watching a lot of Chopped and The Great British Bake off. Chopped is a frantic Food Network show where chefs are handed a mystery basket of ingredients. As I was watching Chopped the other day,  I thought: Oh my goodness… this is also pastoring. To be honest, for a fleeting moment, I thought this metaphor applied during COVID pastoring too

It’s officially cookie-baking season—my favorite time of year to fill the house with butter, sugar, chocolate, citrus, and joy. One of my clearest childhood memories is coming home from school after my mom had spent the entire day baking. I’d walk through the door and the whole house smelled like sugar, butter, vanilla, and love. I’d sit at the little family room table—our spot—and tell her about my day. It wasn’t fancy, but it was holy. A small place where I felt known and s

Hi, moms. I see you. You’re trying to get your family out the door on a Sunday morning — socks that mostly match (optional), a snack bag for the toddler, a coloring book for the preschooler, and enough caffeine to survive an hour of “shhhh” whispers and Goldfish crumbs in the pews. You’re juggling spilled milk, missing shoes, and that one kid who suddenly can’t find their other shoe even though they were just wearing it. You’re not just looking for a church to attend — you’re

This picture is one of my absolute favorites of me in the midst of ministry. It pops up on my Facebook memories every year in late...