Written for anyone in a season of waiting (with a special nod to those who feel their situation is impossible)— this quick read offers a lesson in hope from the unlikeliest things.

I love my small house. It might be odd to say in the age of influencers and Pinterest, but I do— I love my small house. Because despite the occasional frustrations, there’s big magic to be found in small houses.

This summer, an unexpected event quickly spiraled into a painfully anxious season— a knee-deep valley I wasn’t prepared to wade through. As I fought to find my bearings, I stepped back into the quiet. But as the days gave way to weeks and weeks gave way to months, darkness set in.

It took several years before it became glaringly obvious that my perfectionism had never been something to be admired. I was now acutely aware of just how much it had warped my vision over the last two decades. Something needed to change— and fast.

She started crying in her high chair. It doesn't sound out of the ordinary for a two-year-old, but in hindsight, it was odd. What happened next is something I will never, ever forget…