Some stories don’t feel written as much as remembered. 🤍 💐Today’s Mother’s Day piece is one of the most personal reflections I’ve shared so far — about grief, motherhood, memory, hindsight, and the quiet realization that love leaves traces everywhere. I wrote about: • missing my mom deeply t

There was a time this was just a quiet idea... a few pages a few prayers a few moments I didn't even know would matter. And now here they are— paperback and hardcover... Book One and Book Two... sitting side by side on the very mountain that held so much of the writing. And t

This morning, I sat with a question from my devotional that stayed with me longer than I expected… 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙖 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙡𝙮 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧? It made me think.. not about platforms or positions, but about something much quieter. Something closer to home. And as I reflected, this is what came

It’s here… and I’m holding it. 🤍📖 And I have to tell you… this one feels different. Not just because it’s my second book.But because of everything it took to get here. When I wrote my first book, I truly didn’t know what I was doing. I was self-taught, learning as I went, figuring things o

It’s here. 📬 Sitting in my PO box… waiting. And I have to wait until morning to hold it. Out here, our deck is being expanded. Not built from scratch… but made bigger. And watching it happen has felt oddly familiar. Nothing begins fully formed. First, there’s the idea… then the

There’s a different kind of quiet that comes after something hard is finished. Not empty… but full. Settled. Almost sacred. I’ve been sitting in that kind of quiet. What I didn’t fully understand when I began writing… was that I wasn’t just telling a story— I was walking back throu

It’s strange how it works… You can receive encouragement from so many places— kind words, support, little confirmations that you’re on the right path… and then one voice enters the room. And somehow… that’s the one that echoes. That’s the one that tries to rewrite everything. I had

There’s something about an old song playing on a record… the soft crackle, the slowing down… 🥹It makes you remember. Not just where you’ve been— but who you’ve loved along the way. 🎶 𝒷𝓊𝓉 ℐ 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝒽ℯ𝓁𝓅 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝒾𝓃 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎ℴ𝓊… 🎶 After all these years… I still can’t.

Our first attempt at homemade pasta… and I have a feeling it won’t be our last🍝 Al went all in—homemade ravioli stuffed with ricotta, spinach, spices, and parmesan… homemade meatballs… and of course, a good Sunday sauce simmering on the stove. Well… 𝘩𝘪𝘴 has the sauce 🍝 Mine is drizzled wi

Two years ago, we left everything familiar behind… Not fully knowing what life here would look like—only that something was calling us to it. Now, mornings look like this. Quiet. Slower. Different in all the best ways. I’ve written about this journey before… but somehow, it feels a little

POV: You finally hold your first book in your hands… and the printed pages still have something to teach you 📖✨ Yesterday I sat on my porch and read the opening chapters of my own book out loud. I found a few tiny places where the process left its fingerprints—little human moments from teachi

There’s something about a paperback that feels deeply personal. Maybe it’s the way it bends gently in your hands. The way it softens with use. The way it begins to carry the fingerprints of the people who read it. A hardcover feels like a keepsake. But a paperback feels like something mean

Our plant toddlers are officially buckled in for the hour-long ride home from Capitol Market in Charleston, West Virginia 🌿🚗🌺😂 This is exactly how plant people travel, right? After lunch inside the market and wandering the outdoor rows full of spring beauty, Al and I somehow ended up bringing

𝟙𝟡𝟜𝟘 There I was, wrapped in sepia tones, wartime radio, handwritten letters, and silver-screen glamour… and wouldn’t you know it, I’m still carrying a planner. ✏️ Apparently, I’ve always been the girl with a planner. ➪ A lady with a plan is always in style. The year may change, but

One of the most vulnerable parts of becoming a new author is realizing the words that once lived privately between you and God are now resting in other people’s hands. 💛📖 I shared that feeling in today’s Elk River Reflections post, along with a little surprise near the end ✨ If you love books

What happens when a woman in her 60s sees a video version of herself riding the same kind of black motorcycle she loved in her 20s? A whole story opens. This new Elk River Reflections piece is part memory, part healing, part horizon—and it may be my favorite visual story yet because it begins

Today’s mountain reflection: Look Up ☕📖⛰️ A few days ago it was 83 degrees on the mountain. This morning the wind made 40 feel sharp and cold. That sudden shift became the picture for something deeper: fear. Sometimes the giant is obvious. A diagnosis. A decision. A burden. Sometimes

Spring mornings on our West Virginia mountain feel like paradise. 🌿🐦☕ Nearly twenty birds in just minutes. Coffee on the porch. Blue skies, soft clouds, and the kind of stillness that heals something deep. I turned this morning’s birdsong into my newest article: The Birds Wake Before I Do