Family

Time

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What’s that saying again? You can buy things, but you can’t buy time.

Well, I’m trying to buy us some time.

Time to be more present.
Time to explore.
Time to still be their favorite person.

So that’s what we’re doing—taking a mini sabbatical to buy some time.
Time with our kids.
Time with each other.
Time with our dreams.
Time with our thoughts.

If you know me—and definitely if you know Justin—you know we can be pretty spontaneous. All our planning and organizing energy gets poured into keeping the wheels turning in our businesses. But personally and in family – we thrive on some last minute planning.

But this time was different.
This time wasn’t spontaneous.
This was a well-thought-out dream, years in the making.

Maybe it started back in the season I last wrote on this very old blog 🙂

Our move to Oklahoma was about “sinking down some roots,” but it was also born out of financial necessity and vocational dreaming. We didn’t want to live buried in debt. We were chasing financial freedom—not wealth, just freedom. The kind that gives you the power to choose your own path—or maybe even build a path that brings life.

Farming came up as an idea. But we learned that path is mostly hard work with very little freedom or income. Still, it brought something beautiful—getting our hands dirty, cultivating from the soil, watching our little corner of the world come to life. For 10 years we’ve been dreaming and building a place we call home. A place we love.

But farming stayed a hobby. Life still needed income. And we found ourselves on two diverging career paths—Justin in oil and gas, me in feeding therapy and speaking. We could feel the pull—two different tracks, tugging at our time, our marriage, and our family.

We had a dream of a present life together.
And in 2016, Justin started making a plan.

A plan for time.
Time with each other.
Time with our parents.
Presence over hustle.

This wasn’t a whim. It was purposeful.
A small dream requiring hard work.
Seasons of preparation.
Long conversations.
Sacrifice.

Patience.

Leading to rest – built with intention.

So here we are. One year.
One year of being as fully present as we can.
One year of high intention.
One year of family.
One year of adventure.
One year of time.

We’ve pulled the kids out of school, packed our bags, and hit the road for 90 days to begin this new season. A season of time and lived vocation together.

We’re 32 days in, and our hearts are full and happy.

I think I’m ready to share more.

I want to document this time—but also keep it sacred. We still have work and business that does require our presence too – so I’m still figuring out what that looks like to share more publically.

But to our dear community who loves us—thank you.
Thank you for holding space for us.
For the grace and encouragement surrounding our decision and this adventure.
For the support—even from those who don’t fully understand our “why.”

For our business partners, family and friends helping us hold down everything during our travel. You are allowing us to do the work that matters in our business and our family.

We want to share—we love our story—but we’re learning how to balance being present with each other while also telling that story along the way.

So dusting off this old way of communicating with the world for a while. This may change – but for now -Word Press will be my documentation 🙂 – and man do we have some good stories to tell already.

From Home to Home

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I left a piece of my heart in the driveway of my two dear friends and their three beautiful children on Sunday night. My physical home for the past 3 weeks but part of my family for the past 9 years.

Our little family was part of a larger one that started when most of us were 20-something and single.  We called ourselves, “the peeps”. We spent our weekends playing Wii, tennis, swimming, and mostly just spending time learning how to be ourselves around each other. And before I even realized it, I was home.

And so it was for the first few years, fun, games, Sunday hikes and time.

And then life was tested. Things rattled us. The church that brought us together felt broken for a bit. Time that was so prevalent became more scarce. New people came and others went away. The single life for most turned to marriage and slowly a group of 20-something’s were in their 30’s and life looked different.

When you consider a group of friends as family, at some point you’re faced with the choice to stick it out or to go. The choice to stay means going past video games and into marriage battles. Going beyond the leisures of swimming and into the feelings of sinking. You go through not only learning to be yourself but into the realization that people, who really know you, love ALL of you. They often know you better than you know yourself. They see you at your worst, they encourage you to be your best and they sometimes just allow you to stay just where you are.

The choice of community is hard. There are no legal requirements or blood ties. Every day you wake up and you make a choice. You pick up the phone, you stop by unannounced, you care for their spouses and children, you give of yourself to others because every day you choose them and they choose you.

And then one day came and I met a man…and before I had time to stop and think, I realized I was home. God spoke to me and said this is who you will choose. He will be stable when you feel rattled, he will float when you feel like sinking, and he will chose you, everyday. And I knew that my marriage would not be something completely new but a fuller realization of something I already had. My community, my “peeps”, my family had already shown me a glimpse of what marriage and commitment would be.  They had prepared me for becoming a Bride.

And then my groom and I were given another choice. One that meant moving closer to more family. The blood kind of family. And so we asked our family here what they thought about our choice. And they all said that the choice is clear, you need to leave us and go to them.

So we listened. We leave one family to live with the other. And even though a huge piece of our heart is left, and our hearts feel a little broken and incomplete, we remember that once you choose family that’s it. They are yours. For better or worse, in sickness and in health, near or far.

So today we choose. We choose to stay even though we go. We still choose you. We will choose to pick up the phone, get on a plane, plan family vacations, and listen when you call. And while our time may be less often and a little less unannounced, we will be stable when you feel shaky. We will float when you start to sink. We choose to let God fill the space between us and reshape our family into something we still call home.