Blog — Creative writing

Today, as I built Blue Bee ladders in the woodshop, I couldn't help but think of my Grandpa Addison—covered in sawdust, crafting beauty from scraps. A farmer by day and a woodworker by heart, he was my first example of what it meant to be both a maker and an entrepreneur. Honestly, he was my first customer. With each board I sanded and stained, I felt his legacy guiding my hands. Grandpa, I hope I'm making you proud.

 I love my family. And I love the quiet, creative life I’m building. This isn’t a contradiction—it’s my truth. I’m learning that I can love deeply and still need space. I can show up with heart and still protect my peace. This is my season of holding the AND: honoring both love and limits.

I couldn’t face the paperwork today, so I opened my closet instead. Four donation bags later, I realized I wasn’t just sorting clothes—I was sorting through emotions I didn’t have words for. Healing looks strange sometimes. Today, it wore pajamas.

For years, I wore the invisible uniform of a military spouse—quietly sacrificing my dreams, my needs, and often, my voice. I was taught to support the mission at all costs, even when the cost was me. But what happens when the mission ends… and you’re still disappearing? This post is for every woman who gave everything and is finally ready to reclaim herself

I thought the door was closing. I nearly canceled my barn quilt classes today—disappointed and defeated. But on Resurrection Sunday, the day we remember how hope rises from what seems lost, help arrived in the most unexpected way. Not with wings, but with name tags from Menards and Home Depot.

When I dared to ask for help, strangers became angels. And in that holy moment, I remembered: God often works through the hands of others… if we’re just willing to reach out.