Now, there are so many aspects of life that we have little power to change, which take up much of our time, money, effort, and emotional space. I am not necessarily talking about a slower, outward life—although I am a firm advocate that our outward world shows clear indicators of what’s going on internally. I invite you, dear reader, and myself, to practice compassion for ourselves that may feel unfamiliar, and to breathe from a place of knowing that could feel uncomfortable.

How do we live from a sense of ease within us while pouring ourselves wholeheartedly into the work of daily life?

Ease within effort—is it even possible?

Take a deep breath. You’re not alone.

I hope you just actually took a breath when you saw this picture.

If you didn’t—do it now.

Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.

Slowly.

Intentionally.

Our nervous systems are often running at such heightened rates that it is vital we continually invite our bodies, souls, and minds to really slow down. Because when we do slow down, when we do quiet our minds and hearts, be it just for a minute, what will we find?

1. We are more than capable

There have been seasons of my life where I went around apologizing for what was not mine to hold—doubting what I had to bring to this world what I wanted, needed, or valued. I’m often surprised by the way Jesus healed those in the Bible; it was often by physical touch and by inviting the person to participate in the healing process—they were often instructed to stretch, go, tell, stand up, and speak.

We are worth it.

What we bring has immense value.

Our voices matter.

Our participation alongside the Trinity in our lives is deeply important.

I don’t ever remember reading where Jesus asked someone to apologize for how they were made, or how they struggled—we don’t need to either.

2. We are right where the Trinity is

Over many years, I heard about “God’s call” and what that looked like in my life. It felt like a mystery that I was supposed to go on a treasure hunt to discover. It felt hidden and unknown.

What’s beautiful about the Trinity is that God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are always hemming us in—behind and before. They are ever-present. They are ever-near. They dwell within us.

Their presence isn’t conditional.

Their presence isn’t a mystery.

Their presence isn’t added to or taken away from.

It just is.

Always has and always will be.

What if we lived with the ease of knowing we’re deeply loved—like a new parent rocking their newborn, slow and present—in a world that values what we can show more than who we are?

This is just the beginning of daily invitations to living a life of ease within the effort.

Of loving ourselves, because we are a beautiful creation.

Living from an internal knowing that, no matter what, we are deeply loved.

Breathing deeply.

Breathing love into ourselves.

Breathing presence into our bodies.

Breathing hope out into the world.

Let’s breathe together today.

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Before heading toward our car, we stopped to walk through the garden next to the home we had been learning about. That’s when we saw her—one of the largest, most beautiful trees I’ve ever seen. She was stunning and held an air about her that was not easy to articulate. We approached her in awe.

My son, who has always lived with a beautiful wonder and sacred reverence for nature, walked up, placed his hand on the tree and whispered,

“Imagine the stories this tree would tell us if it could talk.”

Oh, sweet boy—her stories would be powerful.

For this tree is rooted in a field that bore witness to one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War.

I imagine this tree would tell stories that would fill hundreds of books.

I imagine they would be full of resilience and pain.

I imagine they would hold both bravery and horror.

I imagine they would be filled with death and life.

I imagine they would tell of weary souls seeking shade and playful lunchtime picnics.

I imagine they would speak of wounded soldiers beneath her branches, heaving their last breaths.

I imagine they would remember the enslaved people on the property who carved their dreams of freedom into its bark.

I imagine they would behold everyday life lived in a land that feels drastically different, yet eerily similar, to our own.

Oh, this tree has her stories, and they will forever be heard.

The National Park Service shares these powerful words about the stories trees hold:

Looking at the patterns in a tree core is much like reading a history book about a certain time period. The width, color, and pattern of tree rings can tell us whether the tree was thriving or struggling. An especially wet year might result in broader rings, since the tree is able to grow more than it could have in a drier year. A blackened scar can indicate a wildfire, and other marks could point to an insect infestation. Our memories are stored within our bodies, and in the same vein, the memories of the land are stored within the trees.

I wish I could take a peek inside every tree, especially the one we found that day, and bear witness to the stories it holds. I do believe I’ll look a little closer, though, the next time I see a stump, wondering what life the rings have seen.

Much like the trees around us, our own human bodies hold the stories of the journeys we have taken on this earth. The stories we carry are told mostly without words—in the way our nervous system becomes heightened, in the slump of our shoulders, in the scars from childbirth, in the movement of our eyes, in the feeling we get in the pit of our stomachs. They all point to the road we have traveled—the joys, pains, heartaches, and celebrations.

We are the Imago Dei—made in the image of our creator—every single one of us. Our stories, however pain-filled or joyful they may be, bear witness to the brokenness of our world and point to the hope of Jesus. This Hope doesn’t minimize loss or evil, but reminds us there is a grander story, outside of the rings of our life, that is being woven together in a beautiful forest of stories.

What story are you telling today?

What pain do your eyes hold?

What is the untold feeling beneath that deep sigh?

Where does the laughter point to?

What is your heart drawing you toward?

What are the tears trying to tell you?

May you remember today that the Trinity is closer than you think in the midst of both joy and sorrow.

May you be held in the knowledge that They are holding you in the Light.

May you be invited into a deeper love and reverence for the story within you and within those around you.

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It doesn’t take me writing this for you to know how divided and polarized our world is today. I myself have to guard my heart and mind by how much news I take in, because it all seems too dire and painful.

Lord, have mercy on us all.

I have to remind myself every day—there is still hope.

There is ALWAYS hope.

The hope is not in what services I might be able to provide, or the shoulder I may be for someone to cry on, or the listening ear to hear of the trauma walked through, or the resounding voice to speak up and fight for advocacy.

No, my hope, OUR hope, is always in Jesus.

But wow—what a humbling journey it is that Jesus offers us invitations to be His hands and feet on this earth. Our voices are so important during these trying times to advocate for justice, and I encourage you to discover your own way to seek justice along with the Prince of Peace.

For now, my emails will be a little less frequent. I’m still here and will pop in more sporadically, as I’m also an advocate for holistic minimalism and do my best not to add something to my plate without setting something else aside for a little while.

So today, here’s my invitation for you to reflect on a prayer to Jesus, our Savior, who Himself fled with His family to another country, as so many have.

A Prayer to Our Displaced Savior

Jesus, You were so young when it happened—the dream Your dad had, the angel’s warning, the middle-of-the-night decision to leave, the fleeing.

I wonder what Your little body felt as You were suddenly taken away from all You knew and fled from an angry king to a safer place.

Could You feel the adrenaline of Your parents?

Did Your eyes dilate in fear?

Did You feel the comfort of family?

Did You cry out because You knew things were changing, but couldn’t fully understand?

Oh Jesus, our own world has changed greatly—we all feel displaced in some form or another.

The loneliness is palpable.

The polarized views are hostile.

The anger surging through our veins makes our vile words and actions feel justified,

while all the while we’re just searching for home—
a home found in the wholeness of You.

Jesus, Savior who was displaced, what was it like for You to settle in a new land?

What hardships did Your parents try to shield You from?
Adult conversations held in the whispers of the night.

Where did You find Yourself at home when everything had changed?

Where did Your body calm?

You began your time in this world not from a place of power, but from one of displacement.

Oh God, in the displacement we feel in our own lives and world, invite us into the home of You.

Into the knowing arms of the One who always holds us.

Into the kind gaze of the One who sees us.

Into the soft, strong voice of the One who advocates for us and with us.

God, may we invite those around us to experience home in You, through us.

May we invite others, no matter their opinions, into a listening, kind space.

May we hold others into the Light who don’t feel like they can on their own.

Instead of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing in leading The Welcome Movement, a collective movement where immigrant and refugee communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. Click the logo below if you want to donate/learn more about our ministry. If you prefer to just buy me coffee in support of my writing, you can also do that below!

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For some, this is a slower time.

For others, they are gearing up to go back to work, school, and getting a head start on their New Year’s Resolutions.

For me… there’s preparation and pause.

There’s movement and slowing down.

There’s uncertainty and waiting.

There’s also a lot of sick kids.

Here’s what I wrote last year that resonated with so many of you about lingering in the middle space.

I invite you to pause a little longer today—and notice what God is noticing about you.

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This song holds a lot of nostalgia for me, for many reasons. But this year, I’m hearing the words a little differently, and holding them up to view through a different lens in my life. I want to invite you to do the same.

What song is God inviting you to play for Him, through the music of your life?

Come they told me, pa rum pum pum pum
A newborn King to see, pa rum pum pum pum
Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum
To lay before the King, pa rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum

Our everyday lives are sacredly holy to the Trinity. We sing Their glory as we live, work, and breathe. We inhale with lungs that were sewn together with Love. We were sung over as our bodies were forming in the hiddenness of the womb.

The delight.

The joy.

The peace.

The holy quietness.

The awe.

Little Baby, pa rum pum pum pum
I am a poor boy too, pa rum pum pum pum
I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum
That’s fit to give the King, pa rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum
Shall I play for you, pa rum pum pum pum
On my drum?

Somewhere in life we often lose the holiness of our song—the song that was sung over us, for us, with us, and within us.

We live as if we’re asleep.

We dim the light of us.

We hide our true selves.

We think we have no gifts to bring the world.

And maybe what we do have to offer, doesn’t feel like enough.

What would it feel like to sing again? Or maybe for the first time? What would that bravery invite you into?

Mary nodded, pa rum pum pum pum
The ox and lamb kept time, pa rum pum pum pum
I played my drum for Him, pa rum pum pum pum
I played my best for Him, pa rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum
Then He smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum
Me and my drum

The Trinity is delighting in the beauty we reflect of Them in the world around us. The gift of Light we are to the world, need not be dimmed but shone for all to see.

The light of who we are is radiant to this world.

What would it do for your soul, dear reader, to imagine playing your life as a song to our Savior? What does it feel like knowing that He is smiling upon you playing it?

I imagine the Trinity whispering,

You are stunning.

You are brilliant.

You are treasured.

You are seen.

You are joy.

You are beautiful.

You are worthy.

You are loved.

Play, dear one.

Your drum is enough.

Play loud and proud for all to hear.

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing as we travel the U.S. full-time launching The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where immigrant and refugee communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. Click the logo below if you want to donate/learn more. If you prefer to just buy me coffee in support of my writing you can also do that below!

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We decided on that cold, December, night in true Nashville, TN spirit, to go experience the Christmas lights at the Gaylord Opryland Resort. The lights were spectacular. The kid-friendly events were crazy and fun. The tight feeling I get in my stomach though, while thinking of the memory, says it all. The overstimulating mixture of lights, crowds, sounds, and tired toddlers made the beauty of the Christmas lights we saw and experiences we tried to capture pale in comparison of the exhaustion of trying and leaving disappointed and defeated.

Sometimes, a holiday experience just doesn’t turn out the way we hoped it would.

So, here is a prayer for the one that loves others and desires to invite them into joy-filled experiences that sometimes, don’t unfold the way we hoped.

I see the way you deeply care.

I see the effort you put into planning.

I see the disappointment you are holding.

This is a prayer, dear one, that I’ve written as one that I imagine the Trinity is praying over you.

Take a breath—you are not alone.

A Prayer for the Holiday Outing that was Miserable

Oh my sweet child, I see you sitting there, tears filling your eyes and disappointment spilling out all around you.

You don’t have to hold it together around me.

I know this was a holiday experience that meant so much to you, and you held such a genuine desire to invite others into your joy.

You care deeply, I created that beautiful part of you.

You intentionally planned—the unseen details to the world are not lost to me.

I see the way the experience unfolded and how it looks so very different than what you’d hoped and planned for.

I know you still tried to rally and create an experience to remember.

I see the way it all fell apart.

I see the disappointment you tried to hide.

I see the ache in your heart for what could have been.

Take a breath, my dear child.

Your efforts of trying are held in my knowing, but your body can take the deep exhale it needs.

Your disappointment and defeat is real—I’m holding it tenderly in my hands.

As you’re being gently wrapped in me, amidst your sadness, I invite you to rest in the knowing that my joy is far grander than what a holiday experience provides.

It isn’t always flashy.

It isn’t always picture-worthy.

My joy is complete—it will fill to the brim.

It’s often found in the smallest of ways.

In the sparkle of light that dances in a loved one’s eyes.

In the twirl of your daughter’s dress.

In the smell of freshly bakes cookies.

In the long hug of a friend.

There is joy all around you, dear one.

It may not be the most Instagram-worthy picture—but it is there.

Let’s notice it together.

Let’s invite others to gaze on its beauty.

Let’s together, laugh at the mishaps, cry at the losses, and hold hope for what I’m doing in your life.

You are a precious treasure, of which I’m delighting in this Christmas.

May you remember that I’m always holding you.

May you hold fast to what you know is true about me.

May you kindly remind yourself that I’m never far.

Amen.

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing as we travel the U.S. full-time launching The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where immigrant and refugee communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. Click the logo below if you want to donate/learn more about our ministry. If you prefer to just buy me coffee in support of my writing you can also do that below!

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Just a few short weeks ago I woke up as a tired mom, not ready to start the day. The opportunity I was walking into that day was worth the early morning, as I rubbed tired eyes and donned attire that’s not my daily norm.

“Your voice matters!” I had continually heard from heads of organizations and law makers the previous day.

But does it really? Do our voices actually rally to make change in this world that feels like it has more agendas of hate every time the news is turned on?

I knew the answer—yes.

My voice mattered that day.

My voice matters, today.

Our voice matters always.

I recently listened to a podcast from where she mentions Jonathan Merritt’s reference to a form of hope that really struck me—participatory hope… “which is rooted in the present, sees the broken, and says, ‘Here is where we begin.’”1

How can we begin participating in hope today?

What does that look like for you?

What impact might that be for others?

How can we live in a way that mirrors the love of Christ for those around us?

We do live in a world, especially in the greater Church, that is so scared to talk about what we see in the news. Here are some questions that may have risen in you or someone you know…

What I see in the news is not what I voted for, what do I do?

I didn’t vote for this and I feel so much anger in what I see, how can I hold compassion for myself and others?

How do I ask my questions about immigration where I won’t be shamed?

How do I use my voice to speak up for those that might not be able to?2

We begin with compassion.

We begin we hope.

There is always hope to participate in.

I invite you to consider giving a donation to The Welcome Movement this GivingTuesday.

Our mission is to invite and empower followers of Jesus to love and journey together alongside immigrant and refugee communities through spiritual companionship and tangible expressions of biblical hospitality.

Will you join us?

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I see you wrangling kids that don’t want to keep their clothes looking nice. I know, all you want is one picture.

I see you crying tears in the bathroom.

I see you deeply sighing, ready to begin another day of endless work.

I see you missing family.

I see you ready to use your voice in new ways.

I see you up early preparing a delicious feast.

I see your grief, your bravery, your glimmers of hope.

You are not alone today.

A Prayer for the Empty Chair on Thanksgiving

Oh God, today the world tells me I’m supposed to be grateful.

I am.

I know I am.

But, I am also not.

I look around my table and it is filled with deliciousness and the eyes of people I love.

My table also holds a missing place—

an empty setting,

a cold seat.

This seat, in a perfect world, is supposed to be filled with someone I deeply love—but today it is not.

There is a hole at the table, that reflects the grief in my heart.

God, be near today as laughter may fill my lungs at times, and tears may rise as well.

As I remember with stories,

celebrate with songs,

kiss sticky foreheads,

click on sports,

carve the turkey,

and pass the china—God be near.

Christ be near.

Spirit be near.

I am here, You are here—they are not.

Invite me into more hope today.

Remind me if it doesn’t come, you are kindly holding it for me.

Amen, let it be so today.

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing as we travel the U.S. full-time launching The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where immigrant and refugee communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. Click the logo below if you want to donate/learn more about our ministry. If you prefer to just buy me coffee in support of my writing you can also do that below!

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Public transportation has always been one of my favorite spaces to be with God and others.

For me, there’s something about the rush of the Tube in London as a college student, the rhythmic words that were said when stepping onto the bus as a mom with three boys in Taiwan, the thrill of coming out of the subway station on a family vacation in Times Square, or the slow hum of everyone bouncing and swaying in other metro situations.

My husband and I sat recapping my day recently. I had the opportunity to be a part of a group of women in Washington, D.C. learning together and also using our voices to advocate for our immigrant and refugee friends on Capitol Hill. It was a thrilling couple of days! After the first day, I was sitting in our living space with my husband and recalled one of my favorite parts of the day.

“I was reminded today how much I love riding on public transportation,” I said with a pondering look in my eyes.

He looked at me a little confused, “Why do you say that?” He’s never been one that enjoyed commuting alongside others.

I sighed, “It’s like you get to see everyone in a very human form. They’re not performing at work, they’re not caretaking at home. They’re just there, as themselves, for a moment.”

What a gift it is to see others in our basic, human form. We are all different, yet so much the same.

The men in tailored blue suits that have pensive faces, I’m sure on their way to important meetings.

The hospital worker with a full backpack and a long shift ahead.

The teenagers with headphones on, phones out, and backpacks on.

The lady sitting and crocheting—using the middle space as her craft studio.

The young lady dancing to the rhythm of her music.

The ones dozing after a long night, or in anticipating of a long day ahead.

We are all one.

We are not so very different from each other.

There is a collective hum in our world where we are all in the middle, of what, is different for all. Where we come from each holds its own story—but here, in this time, are all the same.

We wait.

We hope.

We cry.

We long.

We tire.

We rest.

We bravely show up to what is, while holding what is not.

We are here, together, and not so different from each other.

What would it look like to start living in this way?

May we remember today that we are not as different from our neighbor as we might think.

May we hold hope today in the truth that we are never alone, even when being surrounded by others is isolating.

May we, today, look at ourselves and others with a little more compassion.

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing as we travel the U.S. full-time launching The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where diaspora communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. Click the logo below if you want to donate/learn more about our ministry. If you prefer to just buy me coffee in support of my writing you can also do that below!

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What is also fascinating to me is sleep. What happens to our brains when we are in a state of rest is beyond what we can comprehend. Oh, how God is mysterious. The way our brain dreams, learns, rests, grows, retains, heals—so much happens when we are in a state of rest.

God chooses the hiddenness of darkness to work His beautiful art within our brains.

There are may days and seasons of our lives though, where sleep feels evasive. Our brain feels like its in a fog due to the lack of hours we were not able to have. It may be due to a newborn baby, around-the-clock care of a child, your aging parent calling in the middle of the night, insomnia, anxiety, a storm that comes through—you name it, there is so much that can keep us from having deep, restful sleep.

Today, this prayer is for you, dear one. The one that chooses to still show up in a brave way to your everyday life, even when you’re sleep deprived and holding, what feels like, the weight of the world. May you feel help by Hope today—remembering you are not alone.

A Prayer for a Too Early Morning

God, today as my eyes open, the weariness is heavy.

My body feels as though rest will be evasive forever.

I know, You know, the pains of my groaning as I try to rub sleepiness away and begin a day that has bled on from the night.

As I begin a day, in the morning covered by darkness, may my soul experience Your Light amidst my tiredness today.

May Your warmth fill my soul with full breath as I live and breathe and work.

///

Jesus, what was it like for You to experienced tiredness on this earth?

How did You keep yourself awake without the jolt of caffeine?

What did You dream about when Your body finally rested?

Gather me now to You as You also gather with me, on this tired day1.

///

Holy Spirit of my tiredness, as I begin a day that feels as daunting as a mountain range to climb, may I remember I am never alone.

You hike the weary trail of life alongside me.

I am hemmed in by You2.

You are ever with me and will never leave me3.

I ask that you hold my arms up today, as Moses was held on his weary day by friends4.

Hold me now, as I hold those that I love and care for.

Let them experience You through my humanity, today.

Amen

.

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing as we travel the U.S. full-time launching The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where diaspora communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. Click the logo below if you want to donate/learn more about our ministry. If you prefer to just buy me coffee in support of my writing you can also do that below!

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The darkness of morning is my only semblance of outward stillness in this season of life.

I quietly continue to start the pot of coffee, wrap myself up in a sweater and cozy up with a blanket on the couch to begin my early morning routine—prayer, writing, and yoga. I open the computer to begin typing when I hear the all too familiar sound—little feet sliding out of their bed, and then the hard walking of a half-awake little girl coming out into the living room. Her hands are rubbing tired eyes, as she mumbles something incomprehensible. I close the computer and welcome her into my lap and sigh. “For now,” I slowly whisper to myself as I stroke tangled blonde hair and wrap up chilly hands in the blanket that was just mine only a few moments prior.

This is the season where holy interruptions so often enter the quietness of my mornings. Whether it’s an infant teething, or blonde-headed girls that can’t sleep (it used to be wavy-haired boys, and how quickly that changes)—the stillness of my mornings are often not only held alone these day.

For now will only come once. It won’t always stay. It won’t always be like this. But, for now, is the holy ground I get the honor of walking today.

Just like the seasons shifting, leaves turning, coffee flavors changing, clothes thickening, weather cooling—life shifts alongside it in an ebb and flow of humanity. What we navigate in the present, for now, changes within time. Sometimes we see the change and other times we wake up one morning and it takes us by surprise.

For now, is the phrase that I’m holding in this season of life, and I wonder how you, dear reader, might be holding it in your journey too?

We live in a fast, instantaneous world, where it’s so easy to miss what is going on around us in our everyday lives. We live in a way that is always looking for “the next season” or “when the kids are older” or “when I’m done with school” or “when I get the promotion” or when… (you fill in the blank).

For now is a kind phrase I originally borrowed from , reminding us that what is now, will not always be. That is not to say our now can’t be hard, exhausting, sleep-deprived, and full of things we wish it weren’t. A season of life can be full of beauty and joy, but it can also be hard and exhausting. When we hold the posture of, for now, we can gently look around at what our season holds and remember that Presence is always near. We can be reminded that what is now, will not always be, and that is okay.

Where might God be inviting you to notice His love in the holy moments of your season?

For now, prayers are tiny whispers of nearness amidst nap times and schoolwork.

For now, coffee often goes cold and has to be warmed up four different times.

For now, hours driven in the car become holy worship sessions.

For now, phone calls in advocacy seem to barely make a dent in needs.

For now, therapy appointments and soccer practices fill the schedule.

For now, questions drown out the answers.

For now, is a beautiful invitation to experience Jesus.

For now, may also make us want to bang our head against the wall in frustration.

For now, is holy, sacred ground.

Let it be so, today.

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing as we travel the U.S. full-time launching The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where diaspora communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. Click the logo below if you want to donate/learn more about our ministry. If you prefer to just buy me coffee in support of my writing you can also do that below!

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Grief anniversaries can bring a myriad of emotions—the feelings might deeply surprise when they surface, especially if our bodies remember more than our brains can recall.

Grief surprises us when we’re the least ready for it—even on an anniversary of the pain.

This prayer for you today, is not to fix the pain that your heart holds. This prayer is offered as a balm—a soothing recognition that no matter how long it’s been, pain is still pain. You aren’t expected to “be over it” or have “moved on”. You can be right where you are, today.

All is welcome here.

A Prayer for a Grief Anniversary

Oh God, my eyes open today, heavy in remembrance of the pain my heart bears.

The memories flood back in rushing torrents, yet at times, still feel like they are viewed through the lens of fog.

My heart pounds faster as I remember…

the loss,

the horror,

the phone call,

the goodbye,

the screams,

the tears,

the hopelessness,

the numb of living.

///

Oh God, you are deeply acquainted with grief.

You have known it in the innermost marrow of your own body.

Let me feel your nearness, today, as I hold my own pain—not alone, but with You.

I pray that I experience You, today.

Hold me in my tears.

Wrap Your arms around my memories.

Sit with me in silence as I experience this pain that rises every year.

God, as You hold my tears, each and every one—

may I get a glimpse of the tears You are still crying alongside me.

For, our tears are sacred.

///

Today, on this grief anniversary, may I honor what was and what has come to be.

May I honor my pain.

May I honor my loss.

May I honor my hope.

May I honor my joy.

May I honor my goodbyes.

May I honor my bravery.

May I honor how my body feels.

May I honor my living.

///

And as I wake up tomorrow, back to what has become my everyday life—

remind me that I’m held in your long and loving gaze.

So seen.

So loved.

So known.

Always.

Amen.

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing as we travel the U.S. full-time launching The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where diaspora communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. Click the logo below if you want to donate/learn more about our ministry. If you prefer to just buy me coffee in support of my writing you can also do that below!

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I’m currently sitting in the throes of newborn life with multiple other kids—late night feedings, early morning rising, homeschool struggles, dinner to make, a full-time ministry to keep up with, a toddler who throws her food at anyone in close proximity, and not enough coffee to go around. Life is full and often overwhelming in this season. I don’t get as much sleep, time to myself, time to write, or time to be alone with God. Sure, I would love the daily rhythms of what my life held in the past—with candles lit in the early morning as I sat quietly on the couch writing, praying, and enjoying the sunrise coming through my farmhouse windows. I know those days will come again, but for now—that is not my reality.

How do we live a life of prayer when we are pulled by so many other needs?

For most of my life I have always put prayer in a box. My definition of prayer was that there had to be a certain time, way, and words said for me to “feel good enough” about categorizing what I verbalized as a prayer. I often felt that my prayers were lacking in many ways.

My prayers never felt long enough.

I never knew the fancy, theological words to say.

I forgot to pray for certain people.

I’d forget to pray for my own needs, or my own needs dominated what I prayed for.

I felt like I asked for too much, or didn’t ask enough.

I’d felt praying while doing something else was disrespectful.

I thought my prayers had to be productive and efficient.

I often felt like I didn’t say the “right” thing to get God’s attention in order to receive an answer to my prayer.

If I was struggling, I thought my prayers weren’t working.

Does any of this sound familiar? I know I’m not the only one who has ever viewed prayer like this. Also, if you look at my list, you can see who they revolved around—me. We often feel like we are the ones who are responsible for finding the ominous key to unlock a hidden treasure chest of gold when it comes to prayer. If only we knew all along—the treasure chest has always been open and available to us. In his book, Opening to God: Lectio Divina and Life as Prayer, David Benner writes:

If we are honest, most of us have to admit that prayer is often more of an obligation than something arising spontaneously from desire . . . the core of the misunderstanding lies in thinking of prayer as something that we do. Understood more correctly, prayer is what God does in us. Our part has much more to do with consent than initiative.

My prayers were so focused on my own actions, I lost the sacredness of being in the presence of God.

In the past several years, as I continue to learn how to be more like Jesus, I’ve been invited into such a deeper understanding and experience of prayer. A life of prayer is so much bigger and more beautiful than we’ll ever know on this earth, but, in God’s goodness, He invites us to commune with Him in every part of our day. You see, dear reader, prayer is not something to learn and master—it is our life.

Yes, there are many different forms of prayer and deep theological meanings and importances behind them all. However, we so often overcomplicate prayer and put it in a box. Where is God inviting you to step out of the box you’ve placed Him in and experience prayer in a new way today?

If we believe that God is in all, then all of life is an opportunity to be prayer.

In the quiet flickering reminder of His presence in a candle’s flame.

In the worship song you sing through tears while driving to work.

In the silence of a friend’s presence in the midst of grief.

As you gaze in awe at the intricacies of a baby’s face.

As you meditate on scripture and hold it close to your heart throughout the day.

In celebration of a loved one’s birthday.

In a wordless sigh of exhaustion—letting the Spirit intercede for you.¹

As you savor the delicious food of a family dinner.

As you cry out through tears and beg God for provision.

In saying a quick “Thank You” when He surprises you.

In one of my favorite children’s book there’s a line that reads, “That how you live life, will to God, be a prayer”.² We don’t need to complicate living life to God in prayer—we just live. By simply living and breathing, we are praying. We go about our day holding Him close to our hearts, knowing that He is holding us close too. We remember that we are His beloved children, and nothing we do will make Him love us any more or any less.

Just as we live a life of prayer with God, He is also joyfully praying prayers over us.

May we be reminded that living life, is an active prayer.

May we be invited to be surprised by the way we experience and notice God’s presence all around us.

May we be kind to ourselves when our misconceptions cloud the knowing of whose we are.

May we be reminded that prayer is always inviting us, surrounding us, and in us.

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing as we travel the U.S. full-time launching The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where diaspora communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. Click the logo below if you want to donate/learn more about our ministry. If you prefer to just buy me coffee in support of my writing you can also do that below!

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The everyday lives we live are often so complex and deeply layered. We hold painful stories, surreal realities, and future fears that are layered and would never be categorized as simple. Integrating minimalism, simplicity, intentional living (or whatever you want to call it) in your life is not a solution to anything—it is to be an arrow always pointed toward Jesus. We often look around at our lives and think, “Is this all there is? There has to be something more.”

There is more.

There is so much more when less is involved.

Less noise.

Less busyness.

Less talking.

Less stuff.

Less production.

Less hurry.

Let us hold the invitation of less to bring us more of Jesus.

A Prayer as You Begin to Minimize

Oh God of all, we thank you for the goodness that is the world we live and breathe in.

Creation declares your glory on this earth.

The rocks sing to you.

We, your image-bearers, reflect the deep love that your hands intentionally designed.

///

There are times on this earth, where it all feels too much—

the hate that we see being thrown around us,

the busyness that rules our schedules,

the noise that deafens our lives,

the possessions that we look to for comfort,

the hurried pace we are so used to.

///

Oh God of all, our hearts know there is more of you.

There is more of you in the smile from a stranger on a hard day.

More of you in the wet eye lashes of a baby taken from the bath.

More of you in the smell of warm bread fresh out of the oven.

More of you in the coziness of a warm blanket wrapped around us.

More of you in the book that is your Word.

More of you in the tender flicker of a candle’s flame.

More of you in the air we live and breathe.

///

We ask that you slow us down enough to peel back the pieces of our lives and hearts that are not drawing us closer to you.

Invite us more into the slow work of God.

Invite us more into the tenderness of Your love.

Invite us more into the the steadiness of who you are.

///

May we remember that more of You is always enough.

May we hold close that we are always held in Your hands.

May we live in a way that draws us even closer to the depths of Your love.

Amen

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing as we travel the U.S. full-time. We serve in support-based missions work and have just launched an expansion of our ministry-The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where diaspora communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. We have a big goal to raise $75,000 by the end of 2025 to launch this movement and would deeply appreciate any donation to help us reach that goal! Click below to give and it goes directly to our family/ministry.

Support The Welcome Movement

We all talk too much.

Even me, I’m raising my hand over here. I talk way too much. It’s something I’ve been working on for years and still struggle with. Let me clarify one thing right here at the beginning—our words are necessary to this world. Our voices matter so powerfully and the words we choose to speak have a deep impact on those around us.

When you ponder the concept of minimalism, the use of our words rarely comes to mind. You probably think of something like an empty room with white walls (because all minimalists have kids that would NEVER smudge their dirty hands all over the walls), floor to ceiling windows (which my kids would leave their face prints on in seconds), and maybe a chair or an uncomfortable looking couch. Well, at least that was my impression of minimalism for many years. However, there is so much more than living simply with less possessions—there’s an opportunity for us to assess all of our life through the lens of intentionality and holding what truly matters out to Jesus.

The Bible invites us to listen before we speak1, and we so often do the opposite. I’m sure we can all remember experiencing the tension rise in us after there is a moment of silence in a conversation that continues on longer than the original moment. Our internal dialogue starts to go wild.

I need to fill the space so no one feels awkward.

What do I talk about now?

What should I ask that feels appropriate?

What if it’s not taken as appropriate and I offend someone?

On and on we go, filling the space between us and others with so many words. We then leave conversations questioning what we said, regretting all we shared, feeling frustration that we already forgot what the other person said, but also deeply hoping that they saw us in our lonely world. I feel the exhaustion in just writing these words because I lived in that place for so long. So let’s take a moment to sit with some powerful words from Henri Nouwen on speaking and listening:

The words that we say and don’t say truly matter to Jesus.

Henri’s words above, listening is a form of spiritual hospitality, are ringing in my ears as I look around at my life. I would go further to say that I don’t think spiritual hospitality is only an invitation for others—it’s an invitation for ourselves.

When we listen first, we open up the door in our lives to notice more.

When we listen first, our senses have the space to become attuned to the glimpses of Glory that is right before us.

When we listen first, we recognize the weight our words hold as we intentionally speak.

Where is Jesus holding spiritual hospitality for you in the silence?

Let me be the first to tell you, it’s very uncomfortable to not over talk. It’s very hard to practice not always filling our lives with empty words, but allowing invitations of silence and listening to hold space instead. Because when we listen to our hearts, and those arounds us, we are listening to the heart of God. We are holding space for ourselves and others to be known by Him—that is experiencing spiritual hospitality.

Sometimes we over complicate the presence of Jesus. We put pressure on ourselves to curate an experience of the Holy that we want ourselves and others to know, yet we bypass the simplicity of truly listening and holding space in the silence for the Trinity to show up as they choose to. We over talk and over function to try and alleviate discomfort and rarely take time to truly listen.

What are we afraid will surface in the silence?

Why don’t we all ask Jesus that question today. We don’t need to formulate the best questions, know the deepest theology, or have the most serene environment—we can just be in the presence of the Trinity.

We won’t be able to hold a space of silent listening for others if we ourselves are not experiencing the silent, knowing, presence of Jesus.

What does silence look like in your life?

How are you using your words in everyday life?

How do you view the importance of your words?

What areas in life are you being invited to listen more?

What areas of life are you being invited to use your words more?

May we remember that God is holding us in the sacred, holy silence.

May we be invited to hold the weight of our words in a world that is so loud.

May we see the goodness of the Spirit living and working throughout all.

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing as we travel the U.S. full-time. We serve in support-based missions work and have just launched an expansion of our ministry-The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where diaspora communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. We have a big goal to raise $75,000 by the end of 2025 to launch this movement and would deeply appreciate any donation to help us reach that goal! Click below to give and it goes directly to our family/ministry.

Support The Welcome Movement

I’ve actually been VERY excited to send out this link-filled email in October (as is the tradition with any month that holds a 5th Thursday) so you get it a little early! It feels like I’ve been standing on the precipice of fall here in Georgia will my arms wide open saying, “I’m here and welcoming you with love!” Fall weather has been a little elusive around here, but as we begin traveling around in our little (actually huge) RV, I’m looking forward to cooler weather. We are getting to experience Nashville, TN, Washington D.C., and Upstate New York this fall before heading back down to Georgia in December.

Fall, you are welcome here.

Here have been some of my favorite things that I’ve been mostly reading and enjoying over the past several months. As always, there are no affiliate links, these are being shared from my heart to yours.

May you remember how valued you are to this world today.

May you hold kindness for yourself in the story that you hold.

May you know that you are deeply loved by the Trinity.

Favorite Reads:

Since moving into a 5th wheel, minimizing our books was one of the hardest parts of the transition for me. I 100% prefer to hold a book between my fingers. I enjoy feeling the pages, writing in the margins, and experiencing the words of the author in my hands. For this season, I’m reading on a Kindle, which has a very different experience, but one I’m getting used to and can appreciate. Here are some of the recent books I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reading and listening to!

• There’s Treasure Inside - I have to start with this one, because it’s one I’ve been reading with my boys this summer and fall. They’re convinced they’ll find one of the treasures, but for me, I’ve found joy in spending time with them pouring over maps, pondering what we think are clues, and learning the history behind so many unique artifacts.

• Words Like Honey - I JUST finished this book and have already recommended it to many people. This is a gem of a parenting book. It holds a beautiful balance of encouragement and practical guidelines in how impactful our words are to our children. It is one I’ll reference for years to come, I’m sure of it.

• The Opt-Out Family - The tagline for this book says it all and has been such an invitation for me as I mother and love my family, How to Give Your Kids What Technology Can’t. In our day and age, this is a must-read book!

• Slow Productivity - As we expand our ministry in many ways, this book was so helpful for me to read in boundary setting and redefining what my productivity looks like.

• I recently finished listening to Strong like Water and was so grateful for the invitations gave through her words. This book felt like a deep exhale as I continue learning what it looks like to hold more compassion for myself. This book is full of incredible, practical resources as well!

Other Favorites:

• I joined The Yoga Abbey this summer and it was the best decision I could have made. The practices are so life-giving for my body but also my soul as each one is lead in a beautifully, contemplative way. does a phenomenal job in leading and guiding in many of the practices. As I enter a practice, it feels more like entering a space of prayer as opposed to a workout.

• We started doing unit studies through Gather ‘Round Homeschool this school year and have loved it so far! With multiple grade levels, a toddler running around, and baby in tow—these unit studies have been such a benefit to my kids’ learning, and they’re also beautiful to look at!

• We got this fun hummingbird feeder for the back window of our RV and I’m not kidding you, the humming birds will be less than six inches from our faces. It’s so fun!

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing as we travel the U.S. full-time. We serve in support-based missions work and have just launched an expansion of our ministry-The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where diaspora communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. We have a big goal to raise $75,000 by the end of 2025 to launch this movement and would deeply appreciate any donation to help us reach that goal! Click below to give and it goes directly to our family/ministry.

Support The Welcome Movement

I hear the phrase all the time. I used to say it all the time after being asked by a friend or stranger how I was, and sometimes, I still do. I’m sure you also can remember hearing or saying it as well.

“I’m doing well, just busy!”

Sound familiar?

Just writing the phrase, I can feel the tightness in my body and my breath begin the move faster. We live in such a fast-paced, go-getter world where rarely do we think it is acceptable and okay to not say that phrase.

What will we have to show others if we’re not busy?

What will we have to talk about if we’re not busy?

How will we not seem lazy if we’re not busy?

What if there was another way to live? One that didn’t have the undercurrent of anxiety and rush—a way of life that opens space for interruptions, moments of joy, and a deep breath.

Is it even possible in our day and age?

On my minimizing journey, three years ago, I finally ditched my smartphone.

I felt that no matter what parameters, boundaries, or monitoring apps I put on it—I was still giving so much of my precious time away to this device. That has been one of the most life-giving choices I’ve ever made. It has not been convenient in any way, however I’ve stuck to it and have figure out most of the kinks and quirks to accomplish what I’ve needed to over the years. My husband and I have used an old device to take and share pictures with grandparents, but even that is now being replaced with an actual camera. I smiled to myself the other day when I took my kids on a field trip because my daughter was wearing the camera around her neck and learning how to take pictures.

I say all of this not to tell you the only way to slow down your life is to get rid of your smartphone—but to be aware of where you are giving your time. That was the choice I made to take back more of my time, but that might not be what God is inviting you into, and that’s okay.

We only have one precious life to spend our time living.

We are all in different seasons of life—rocking infants at dawn, endless hospital stays with aging parents, adult children that need around-the-clock care, travel sports schedules, and work meetings that run late. There is no formula or how-to guide that will encompass all the details, emotions, and realities that we all live, work, and wake up to the reality of.

However, in our fatigue, we often succumbed as a culture to the norm that busy is just how we are to live. We have to be busy or else we won’t be productive, impactful, or that we’ll feel more seen and important. We believe and feed into the lie that a busy life means our life has more purpose.

We scroll the news for hours, but are left with more fear with the world around us.

We pack our schedules so tightly that any interruption causes anxiety.

We move so fast that we say “hurry up” to just about everyone we encounter.

What I would like to invite you into today is more of an assessment of what is filling your life. This is an invitation to hold kindness for yourself and your season of life, not to induce shame or guilt because your life looks different than you want it to be. I invite you to grab a notebook and jot some thoughts down, or read through these and then hold them all in a prayerful silence—asking Jesus what rises up in yours heart.

As I look at my life, what is filling most of my time?

As I notice my time, what rises in me (i.e. fear, avoidance, joy, peace, sadness)?

Where is my time being given away unknowingly?

Who am I welcoming into the way I spend my time?

Who am I missing as I spend my time?

How is Jesus experiencing me as I live my life?

What draws me closer to God in this season?

How can I add more of that into my schedule?

What part of the way I spend my time might I need to let go of?

How is God inviting me, in my particular season, to notice His love for me?

Where is God inviting me to invite others into His love?

May we remember that the One is always with us and for us.

May we feel enveloped in the promise that we’re never alone.

May we hold kindness for ourselves and the season of life that we are living.

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing as we travel the U.S. full-time. We serve in support-based missions work and are launching an expansion of our ministry-The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where diaspora communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. We have a big goal to raise $75,000 by the end of 2025 to launch this movement and would deeply appreciate any gift to help us reach that goal! Click below to give and join alongside us in what God is doing.

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I remember the day we started minimizing with our kids. We had three boys and a baby girl within our home at the time. We had been back in the States for a little over a year and had accumulated quite a bit of stuff. We all sat cross-legged on a bedroom floor for a few minutes talking about what we were doing as a family, and then we made it fun.

We dumped every single toy, book, stuffed animal, lego creation, collected fossil, random item that they owned onto the floor in their rooms. Every. Single. Thing.

I remember looking at their eyes as they gazed in amazement at all their things in one pile—it was so much.

It was fun at first, to laugh at all these things they owned and to go through them one by one. We pulled out toys they hadn’t played with in years, laughing as we remembered chunky baby fingers flinging it across the room.

Then, two hours later, it wasn’t as fun. It was overwhelming, defeating, and full of decision fatigue for all of us.

“Man, we have so much stuff!" we’d say to each other in amazement and tiredness.

So. Much. Stuff.

We stayed committed though.

Day by day, as we continued to slowly go through toys, clothes, pots and pans, makeup, shoes, and the junk in the garage—our hearts started to feel a little lighter. We were able to breathe a little better and the kids had much more space to run around and wrestle.

The more we got rid of stuff, the more we realized how weighed down we felt by it all.

How much of a hold does the stuff we own have on us?

How in the world do we come to own so many things?

I asked that question as I piled each article of clothing I owned on top of my bed, not realizing how many pieces were shoved into the back crevices of the closet.

I asked that question when I pulled things out of the garage I didn’t even know existed.

I asked that question when I went looked at the decor covering my walls.

I asked that question when I opened the shoe closet and piles of pairs fell out.

There are a LOT of answers to that question and they all will look different for different people. We all come to own stuff through various ways. Most of the time, though, we buy it. We live in a fast-paced, consumer-centric society. We are lured by the latest trend on TikTok, the add on the commercial break, and the recommended item we never knew we needed but when we saw it, we knew we needed it.

When we buy things it makes big industries a lot of money.

In the U.S. alone, retail sales hit $7.26 trillion in 2024.1

Advertising spending is projected to hit (again in the U.S. alone) over $450 billion by the end of 2025.2

Holy cow.

Just let those statistics sink in for a moment, and I’d also encourage you to research your own. We are a consumer-driven society—always needing one more thing to fill our lives with. But alas, there is not enough time or space here to discuss the ways in which we all accrue stuff in our lives.

We tend to hold onto things in our lives because of the memories they’re attached to, or expectations we think others have of us and the way our lives should look.

What would it look like for you, dear reader, to actually begin making space in your life and not just talking about it and saying you don’t have time?

I’m not just talking about a room in your home, but also a room in your heart—the places that feel so cluttered and full, you’ve lost sight of who you truly are. Or have you ever met who that is?

It is possible.

We can begin together.

Right here, today.

Let’s begin.

1. Chose one small space to begin.

We will often get a little too far ahead of ourselves in life with big, grandiose ideas of change—to then fall flat on our faces in defeat. That is why most New Year’s resolutions typically don’t last. After the fanfare, the Instagram post made, the Yoga mat bought, the class signed up for, the book purchased—we actually have to decide if we’re going to show up in our lives, and decide to make a change.

That is a brave choice to make.

It’s an even braver choice to stick to.

For me, it has been a hard tension and intentional practice over the years to start small and to move slowly. Not everything needs to be done today. There are times where a quick decision and action are needed in life—most of the time it’s forced and unnecessary.

So, dear reader, let’s choose one area of your life and home to look at—it may be your closet, under your bathroom sink, your laundry room shelf, your shoe collection, your bad attitude, the anxiety you feel when a word is said, the tightness in your chest at a memory—you get to name where you start and how you begin.

2. Hold each item up to the Light.

Take everything out of this space you have chosen. Bring every single thing out from the darkness of where it’s lived for so long and hold it up to Light.

It will feel very uncomfortable at first.

Don’t let that bowl your aunt gave you thirty years ago get pushed back even more, take everything out of the place you’ve chosen. Lay it all out in front of you and notice it.

If these are household items, make piles that you immediately can do without to donate, a pile to keep, and a pile to go through later. Maybe you put that “later” pile in a box in the garage for a few months. If you need something, take it out. I can almost guarantee you that most of it you won’t need and you can feel the freedom to donate it after a few months.

If this is an internal room of your life that you’re sitting with, kindly make space for what you need to pull out and look at. Let the fears rise. Let the peace wash over you. Let the words that you’re scared to speak come out.

Hold each thing up to Light—for Light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot stop the beams of Light.3 Things that have lived in darkness for so long need time to be bathed in the goodness of Light. Hold kindness as they adjust to being in the Light.

3. An ongoing process.

Practically speaking, for years I’ve had people walk into my home asking how we kept it so clean. I NEVER want to seem like we’re putting on a “squeaky clean” front to anyone that comes over. We just developed a system and rhythm of tidying and have stuck to it. Minimizing your heart and home isn’t just one sweeping action where you can wipe your hands clean of it forever.

It takes great intentionality to notice what needs to continue holding space in our lives, and what we need to welcome in and make room for.

“One in, one out” I would reply. That’s how we keep our clutter at a minimum.

Practically speaking, that was true. As adults and what we practiced with our children as well, we would consider anything we were purchasing and ask ourselves, “Is this item I want to buy worth it to me enough to trade something else out to make space for it?”4 Sometimes it was. Sometimes it wasn’t. But it was the heart behind it of—we don’t just consume, we intentionally use.

So if I buy a shirt, I get rid of a shirt. If my kids buy a toy with their money, they trade a different one they don’t play with out—we let them choose what they trade out. It certainly isn’t always what I would choose to get rid of, but the discipline of considering our purchases is being learned.

Same concept with what we are letting into our hearts. We are in a time in history where we can consume more information that we’ve ever had access to. That is not healthy for our brains much less our hearts.

It’s always a process. It takes intentionality. It takes consistency.

Life is a journey. Let’s be kind to ourselves as we walk the path of life with all that we hold.

May we hold compassion for ourselves as we begin to minimize the spaces of our homes and heart that have felt too full.

May we notice what Light shimmers in our hearts as we vulnerably hold our tender pieces out to Him.

May we remember we are tenderly held close by the Trinity in all we journey.

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing as we travel the U.S. full-time. We serve in support-based missions work and have just launched an expansion of our ministry-The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where diaspora communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. We have a big goal to raise $75,000 by the end of 2025 to launch this movement and would deeply appreciate any donation to help us reach that goal! Click below to give and it goes directly to our family/ministry.

Support The Welcome Movement

I’ve been pretty quiet about our minimalistic lifestyle over the years.

Honestly, I’m a huge fan of the concept of minimalism but not a fan of calling myself a minimalist. I’m not looking for labels. I’m not looking for that “thing” to share my hacks with the world—I’m just looking to live a simple, intentional life with myself, family, and God.

When we were in the throes of grief years ago, we stepped into this lifestyle to simplify our outward life, so we had the margin to gaze at our inward souls in a more intentional way. It’s been such a life-giving space for me and my family, that I’ve held it close to my heart as a precious treasure—a surprising gift that I wasn’t expecting, nor did I think I need.

I’ve been reading a treasure hunting book with my kids this summer1, and my 10-year-old has told me that if he finds the treasure, he will keep some of it and give the rest away. Oh the lessons we’re invited into with our children’s words. So here I am, holding my treasure out to you—offering a piece of what I feel like is worth way more than gold.

We just moved as a family of 7 into a 42 ft long, 400 sq ft RV to travel around the U.S. full-time in.

Yes, it is possible.

Yes, my kids all have beds.

Yes, they all still have lots of toys.

Yes, we all brought books.

Yes, we can all fit around the table and sit on the couch to watch movies.

Yes, I still own sentimental things.

Yes, this was our choice.

When we entered into decluttering in the fall of 2021 (this has always been something we’ve entered into as a family, but today I’m sharing from my perspective) I was sad, exhausted from life, and always overwhelmed. At the time, there were MANY factors at play in various parts of my life that led to these feelings, but as I looked around at my American Dream home, while longing for my home back overseas—I knew there had to be more. Buying a large house, and filling it with stuff couldn’t be the answer. Having a huge yard to have all the yard toys both for kids and adults, couldn’t be all there was to this life. Having full closets and overflowing toy bins couldn’t be the end goal.

I just kept noticing this uneasy feeling that would rise in me as I’d click “Buy Now” and said purchased item would show up at my door within hours. Our fast-moving, always needing more life just wasn’t fulfilling me. My home felt overwhelming as did my inward soul. So that’s when the journey began and it’s only grown (or shrunk) from there.

What began as decluttering of an outward space, turned into years journeying through inward spaces that were too full—there was very little room to breathe, much less make space for silence with God.

So I went through each room, physically and metaphorically.

I assessed what was taking up space in these rooms, both in my home and heart. I held each thing up to the Light, wondering if it was worth holding onto or not—most of the time it wasn’t.

There were things that were hard to get rid of. They had history and held so much weight in my life. The memories it held bore deep into my soul. These things, at first notice, were picked up and then slid back in the cupboard—not ready to be parted with it yet. When I was ready though, I’d bring it back out, holding gratefulness for what it was in my life for when I needed it, but now—it was time to say, “Thank You” and let it go.

There are many definitions of a “minimalist” floating around out there, but one of my favorites is from Joshua Becker. He describes minimalism as, “The intentional promotion of the things we value most by removing anything that distracts us from them”2.

Another great invitation to minimalism that pertains to our souls is from one of my favorite authors, , as she regularly writes about making space for the things that matter in our lives. She writes,

In the same way a minimalist might ask What am I holding on to?, a soul minimalist asks What has a hold on me?

What are we promoting so highly in our lives that its grip is holding us from living the life we desire?

The answer to that question will be different for each of us. That is the beauty of living minimally—it looks differently for every single person. There is no right or wrong answer and no better or worse path to choose. Living minimally will also look different in various seasons of life as as well.

You get to choose what you want to promote in your life, home, and soul. You get to experience God’s smile on you along the way.

So, if you’re interested in beginning the journey—you get to decide when and how you begin.

You can start anywhere.

You can take it slow, or do larger purges.

It’s the work of our hearts that matters at the end of the day—not the number of possessions you own.

Come along with me, this month, and lets journey together—being gentle noticers of our lives, and what we allow to enter our homes and hearts.

We will hold immense kindness for ourselves along the way, knowing that we are all on the same journey of life—but each hold our own unique path.

May we remember that God’s presence is always near and holds more grace that we can imagine.

May we kindly take a deep inhale and exhale as we look around our homes and lives and begin to assess what may no longer belong.

May we invite others along the way with us, as this life was never meant to be journeyed alone.

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We are all living everyday life with God.

The ordinary beams with Holy—that’s what makes our lives extraordinary.

Next week I’m beginning to share more about this new season for my family—stay tuned! For today, here’s a little look back at some of my offerings that I’ve shared for you, dear reader. Maybe you’re just reading them for the first time today, or maybe the Holy Spirit is inviting you to return to something you’ve already read.

May we remember how sacred our journeys are to the Trinity.

May we feel held in our grief, and elated in our joy—knowing both are welcome.

May we hold kindness for ourselves as we journey life one step at a time.

In lieu of offering paid subscriptions, I ask that you consider supporting the work our family is doing. We serve in support-based missions work and have just launched an expansion of our ministry-The Welcome Movement-a collective movement where diaspora communities experience healing, refuge, and belonging. We have a big goal to raise $75,000 by the end of 2025 to launch this movement and would deeply appreciate any donation to help us reach that goal! Click below to give and it goes directly to our family/ministry.

Support The Welcome Movement