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Things are getting real—we’re officially under contract on a house. A home we’ve prayed for in every sense: the perfect size, the perfect location, just an eight-minute walk from some of our favorite people in the world. It’s quiet, peaceful, and the mountain views are nothing short of spectacular. Truly, we couldn’t have asked for more.

And yet… it’s a big change.

I joke with my husband all the time that we don’t do things halfway—we tend to make big life changes all at once. And this season is no exception.

In just a few weeks, our second child will graduate from high school. A few months after that, he’ll head off to college. And somewhere in between, we’ll be packing up our lives and moving across the country.

When I think back to the last time we made a move like this nearly eleven years ago, it feels just as big—maybe even bigger. My husband stepped away from a family business he had been part of for over 20 years. We moved across the country with two young children, all while in the middle of an international adoption that would soon grow our family by two more. Looking back, it almost sounds a little crazy.

Maybe it was. Maybe it still is.

But what feels different this time is the calm.

It’s hard to explain, but I feel a deep, steady peace in the middle of all of this. The kind of peace that doesn’t make sense on paper. When I look back over my life, I can see how every season—every challenge, every unknown—has prepared me for moments like this.

The only way I can describe it is this: I know God is with me.

I trust that He will provide, that He will lead us, and that He will walk with us every step of the way. And because of that, I’m not afraid.

In fact, I feel more at peace right now than I have in a long time.

There’s more to this story, and one day I’ll share why this big change is happening. But for now, just know this—there’s more to come.

“It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; He will not leave you or forsake you.”  

—Deuteronomy 31:18

Sitting on the plane, waiting to take off.  

It’s a beautiful, sunny day—blue skies, warmish temperatures. The drive to the airport was stunning, the water so calm and clear.  

And it’s days like this that make me question everything.  

This is honestly the most beautiful place I have ever lived. It was our dream for so many years, and today felt like a reminder of why.  

Even after a brutally cold, long, snowy winter… days like today make you forget the last several months of weather misery. “This is the reason we live here,” is what you’ll hear locals say. We’ve said it too.  

But lately, I’ve had to really pray and sit with a harder question—what actually matters most in life?  

Is it the weather? The lake views? The changing seasons?  

Or is it being surrounded by people who truly love you?  

The ones who encourage you, walk alongside you on your darkest days, and still challenge you—still hold you accountable.  

Do you stay somewhere you feel like an outcast, expected to fit into a perfect mold, just because you love the landscape?  

Or do you leave… and go back to where you’re accepted exactly as you are—where the messiness of life isn’t what defines you, but what connects you?  

I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I—my marriage, my children—we need that kind of support around us.  

Not the surface-level kind that only shows up when life looks “perfect.”  

Not the kind that stays as long as you’re wearing the mask.  

But the kind that stays when everything falls apart.  

The kind that sees you clearly—mask off—and doesn’t leave.  

We all need that.  

A place where we don’t have to pretend to have it all together just to be accepted.  

I’ve felt stagnant, lost, distant, and lonely for too long.  

And I don’t want to just survive anymore.  

It’s time to grow. To heal. To actually live—even if it’s hard.  

So now, the plane is taking off.  

Over two thousand miles away.  

A completely different landscape.  

The next step in this journey…  

the journey back to where we came from.  

A place I never imagined I would return to.  

Right now, my faith is the only thing holding me together.  

The only constant truth in my life.  

I trust You, Lord, with all my heart.  

I’m clinging to You.  

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.”  Proverbs 3:5–6

I walked out of the nail salon and just started crying. Not a dramatic, snot-running cry—just soft, gentle tears spilling over from eyes filled with emotion.

I felt sad thinking about the day we moved to this quaint, small lakeside town, full of dreams of what our life would be. We imagined raising our four children in a quiet place with no fear, no worries—just good old-fashioned Midwestern values. A slower pace of life, less stress, and more time together.

A place where we could put down roots. A place our children would call their “hometown.” A place where we would grow old together, surrounded by a community of friends who shared our values and beliefs.

That dream has been shattered, and this chapter is coming to an end. Even though I know we are making the right decision to leave, it’s still heartbreaking.

Deep in my soul, I believe God has a bigger story for us to tell. Stepping into the unknown again is not what I expected or wanted—but here we are, taking a leap of faith, trusting that the Lord is with us… with me… with our children.

So, with tears in my eyes as this chapter closes, I will trust in Him and hold onto His words:

Isaiah 41:10 — “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you.”

For a long time, I did what most of us do.
I smiled. I said I was fine. I kept things moving.

Attempting to make my life from outside look normal. Maybe even good. But underneath, there was this quiet pressure to keep everything looking okay — even when it wasn’t.

That all fell apart in the Fall of 2023. Not only did the people in my community see that our life was not so “perfect”, but so did the world. People across the globe got a glimpse of the chaotic life we were living. 

But what they saw and heard, was so far from the truth it seemed impossible to turn it around. Yes, my life was not perfect, but being wrongfully conceived in the public eye was maybe the best thing I could have ever experienced. 

As traumatic as it was, not being able to hide, I realized how exhausting the pretending and performing was. The careful editing of what we let the world see.

The truth is, life is beautiful and messy and hard and meaningful all at the same time. And yet so many of us walk around wearing masks, afraid that if we show what’s really going on, it will be too much. Well, it is too much for some people, those are not your people. 

Lately, I’ve been asking myself a simple question:

What would life look like if I stopped pretending?

Not dramatic honesty. Not oversharing everything. My life was wrongfully over shared in the public eye…But a quieter kind of truth — where I admit when things are hard, where I stop performing “fine,” where I let life be what it actually is.

This blog is my small experiment in that.

A place to write about the real parts of life.
The questions. The growth. The struggles. The trauma. The things we carry, that nobody sees.
The moments when we realize we’re not alone after all.

Maybe taking the mask off doesn’t mean having all the answers.

Maybe it just means telling the truth about where we are.