I love plants, and because I love them so much, I’ve managed to collect quite a few. I haven’t counted in a while, and I’ve lost a few since the last time I did, but I’d guess I have around forty different varieties scattered throughout the house.

What I don’t love about plants is that they require regular maintenance. They need to be fed, watered, pruned, and occasionally moved from an old pot into a larger one. I’m not always the best at keeping up with all those routine tasks. Most weeks, I feel pretty accomplished if I simply remember to water them.

Since all of my plants live indoors, they’re planted in temporary nursery pots that sit inside decorative ceramic pots or on saucers designed to catch excess water. And because I tend to prioritize watering over maintenance, I don’t always remove the nursery pots and allow them to drain completely afterward. Instead, the extra water slowly accumulates week after week inside the decorative pots.

Today, I noticed one of those pots seemed unusually heavy. When I lifted the plant out and dumped the water, I was met with a moldy, slimy mess that honestly made my stomach turn. The stagnant water had been sitting there far too long, creating something unhealthy beneath a plant that otherwise looked perfectly fine from the outside.

As I stood there cleaning out the pot, I couldn’t help but think about how often we do the same thing in our own lives.

Every day, we take in information, responsibilities, conversations, disappointments, worries, obligations, and emotions. Some of those things nourish us. They strengthen our roots and help us grow. But not everything we absorb is meant to stay.

What happens when we never take the time to drain the excess?

What happens when every hurt, every frustration, every anxious thought, every offense, and every burden simply settles at the bottom of our hearts? What happens when we continue pouring more and more into ourselves without ever releasing what we’ve already collected?

Just like the hidden water at the bottom of the pot, stagnant emotions create conditions where unhealthy things can grow. Bitterness takes root. Anxiety lingers. Resentment spreads. Exhaustion becomes our normal. We may look healthy on the outside, but underneath the surface, something is quietly festering.

The solution isn’t to stop watering the plant. Plants need water to survive. Likewise, life will always bring responsibilities, challenges, and emotions. The answer is learning to let the excess drain away.

God never intended for us to carry every burden indefinitely. Scripture repeatedly invites us to release our cares into His hands. We are told to cast our anxieties on Him because He cares for us (1 Peter 5:7). We are encouraged to bring our worries, fears, and concerns before Him in prayer (Philippians 4:6-7). We are reminded that His yoke is easy and His burden is light (Matthew 11:30).

Yet many of us keep collecting what God has asked us to surrender.

We hold onto old wounds, replay old conversations, carry guilt that has already been forgiven, and worry about outcomes we cannot control. Little by little, the excess accumulates.

Healthy growth requires both watering and draining.

Sometimes draining looks like prayer. Sometimes it looks like honest conversations with trusted friends. Sometimes it means setting boundaries, extending forgiveness, or simply spending quiet time in God’s presence. Whatever form it takes, regularly releasing what was never meant to remain is just as important as taking in what nourishes us.

As I cleaned that moldy pot today, I realized that maintenance matters. Neglecting the hidden areas eventually creates problems, even when everything appears fine on the surface.

Maybe that’s true for our hearts, too.

Perhaps it’s time to ask ourselves what stagnant water we’ve been carrying around. What burdens have we allowed to collect? What emotions, fears, or hurts have been sitting beneath the surface for far too long?

The good news is that God is faithful to help us clean out what has accumulated. We don’t have to carry it forever. We can bring it to Him, allow Him to wash away what is unhealthy, and make room for fresh growth.

After all, healthy roots need water—but they also need room to breathe.

I can’t let May pass by without acknowledging that it is Mental Health Awareness Month. I’ve wrestled a little with what I wanted to say about this topic because there are so many directions I could take it personally. Like many people, I’ve seen the effects of mental health struggles from more than one angle. And if we’re honest, I think every one of us has been touched by mental health issues in some way, whether personally or through someone we love.

I recently asked AI or a definition of mental health, and this was the response:

“Mental health is our emotional, psychological, and social well-being, affecting how we think, feel, and act. It is a complex continuum, not just the absence of illness, but the ability to cope with life’s stresses, build relationships, and function well. Good mental health is essential for overall health, productivity, and personal happiness.”

Overall, I think that’s a concise and helpful definition. For the purpose of this article, I’ll refer to that as positive mental health.

But as I thought more deeply about it, I realized I would probably describe positive mental health with one simple word: peace.

As a Christian, I believe true peace comes from the Father. When our relationship with Him is strained or neglected, confusion, unrest, and instability often follow. Our minds and hearts were created to need Him, whether we acknowledge that need or not.

Many times, the struggle for peace is really the tension between the soul longing for the Creator and the flesh resisting surrender. We crave comfort, control, and fulfillment in our own ways, yet apart from God, those pursuits eventually leave us empty and unsettled.

In that sense, negative mental health could be described as the absence or disruption of emotional, psychological, and social well-being. It affects the way we think, feel, and respond to life. Rather than helping us endure hardship, build healthy relationships, and function well, negative mental health often leaves us overwhelmed, isolated, and weary.

I don’t say this to oversimplify mental health struggles or reduce them to a lack of faith. Mental health is complex, and people carry real, painful burdens that are often deeply rooted. But I do believe that lasting peace is ultimately found in God, our Creator and our Sustainer. He alone is able to steady the mind, heal the wounded heart, and give hope where despair once lived.

There are many physical symptoms that go along with some mental health issues, and I do believe that sometimes medications are required to get symptoms under control. But that doesn’t negate the truth that our God created us and is able to heal us. There are times that medications are required, and times when they are not, and I am not here to shame anyone who needs medication to control the physical symptoms of negative mental health. I have used medication myself in the past.

Mental health struggles are real, and they are often complicated. But no matter where you find yourself today – whether you are fighting quietly, supporting someone you love, seeking help, taking medication, praying for healing, or simply trying to make it through another day – I want you to remember this: there is hope. God sees you, He understands every burden you carry, and He has not abandoned you in the struggle. True peace is not found in pretending we are fine, but in bringing our brokenness honestly before the One who is able to sustain, heal, and restore us.

Everyday suffering – disappointment, exhaustion, hurtful words, loneliness, circumstances that feel unfair – can build up over time. Most of us carry hurts with us that the world never notices. A misunderstanding here. A rejection there. A season where we try our best, yet nothing seems to go the way we hoped.

These ordinary hurts may not be the dramatic tragedies we read about in headlines. But they weigh on our hearts nonetheless.

The quiet struggles of daily life can seem to pile on us to the point of overwhelm.

No one else sees them, but we feel as if we can’t breathe under their weight.

It is easy to ask, Why is this happening? or Why does God allow so much hurt in my life? Sometimes we assume suffering means we have done something wrong or that God has somehow forgotten us.

But what if there is another perspective?

What if, in the middle of everyday suffering, God is gently teaching us something deeper about His own heart?

One of the most remarkable truths of the Christian faith is that God did not remain distant from human pain. Through His Son, Jesus entered fully into the experience of living on earth. He knew what it meant to be misunderstood. He experienced rejection from people He loved. He felt physical exhaustion, grief, betrayal, and deep emotional pain.

Jesus did not walk through life untouched by hardship. He stepped directly into it.

Sometimes I wonder if part of our suffering — especially the ordinary, everyday kind — gives us a small glimpse into what Christ experienced while He lived among us. When we feel overlooked, we remember that Jesus was often ignored by those He came to save. When we feel misunderstood, we remember that even His closest followers sometimes failed to understand Him. When we feel wounded by others, we remember that He was betrayed by a friend and abandoned in His darkest hour.

Our pain does not equal His sacrifice, of course. Nothing compares to what Christ endured on the cross. But perhaps our moments of hurt allow us to better understand His compassion.

When we suffer, we are reminded that Jesus is not distant from our struggles. He knows what it feels like to live in a broken world. He understands disappointment. He understands sorrow. He understands the quiet loneliness that can sometimes settle over our hearts.

And because He understands, He meets us there.

In moments of suffering, our struggles can shift from being meaningless burdens to becoming reminders of how deeply Christ understands us. They can be an invitation for us to draw closer to the One who has been there before us.

So when life feels heavy, and the small hurts of daily living begin to pile up, we can remember this: the Savior we follow understands suffering firsthand.

And because He does, He understands us.

Spiritual warfare is often imagined as dramatic or visible, but in reality the battle frequently begins in a much quieter place—our thoughts. Long before our actions change or our attitudes shift, the enemy often works subtly within the mind. For believers, recognizing this truth is the first step toward living in victory.

The Battle Begins in the Mind

Every day our minds process countless thoughts, emotions, and influences from outside sources. Some of these draw us closer to God, while others slowly pull us away from Him. Doubts, fears, temptations, and distractions can easily creep in, especially during seasons of stress or discouragement.

The enemy understands the power of our thoughts. If he can influence the way we think, he can influence the way we live. I am a living and breathing testimony to the truth that negative thoughts can lead to discouragement. And discouragement can weaken faith. Weakened faith can cause us to lose sight of God’s promises.

This is why guarding the mind is such an important part of the Christian life. What we allow to settle in our thoughts will eventually shape our actions, our decisions, and our spiritual growth.

Recognizing that the mind is a battlefield helps us remain alert. When we understand that spiritual warfare often begins in our thinking, we can be more intentional about protecting what we allow to influence our hearts and minds.

The Enemy Uses Subtle Tactics

The enemy rarely works in obvious ways out in the open. Instead, his tactics are often quiet and deceptive. Rather than openly attacking faith, he may plant seeds of doubt, discouragement, or distraction.

Sometimes the attack looks like fear about the future. Other times it appears as shame from past mistakes or comparison with others. In some seasons, it may simply be a constant stream of distractions that keep our attention focused everywhere except on God.

When our minds become filled with these chaotic or negative thoughts, it becomes easier to drift away from the truth of Scripture. Over time, these patterns of thinking can lead us into attitudes and behaviors that do not reflect the life God calls us to live.

This is why awareness is so important. When we begin to recognize these patterns, we can stop them before they take deeper root. Identifying the enemy’s tactics allows us to confront them with truth instead of unknowingly allowing them to shape our thinking.

Victory Comes by Redirecting Our Thoughts

Although the battle for the mind is real, believers are not powerless. God has provided us with everything we need to stand firm against the enemy’s influence.

One of the most powerful weapons in spiritual warfare is the truth of Scripture. When we intentionally fill our minds with God’s Word, we begin replacing lies with truth. Prayer also plays a vital role in this process, helping us remain connected to God and sensitive to His guidance.

Redirecting our thoughts toward Christ is not always easy. It requires discipline and awareness, especially when negative thinking patterns have become familiar. But over time, this practice strengthens our ability to recognize when our thoughts are drifting away from God.

As we continually return our focus to Him, something remarkable begins to happen. Our perspective changes. Situations that once overwhelmed us become opportunities to trust God more deeply. Instead of feeling controlled by our thoughts, we begin to experience the peace that comes from placing them under Christ’s authority.

The more we fill our minds with God’s truth, the less room there is for the enemy’s deception.

Living in Victory

Spiritual warfare may begin in the mind, but it does not have to end in defeat. God has given believers the ability to recognize harmful thoughts, confront them with truth, and redirect their focus back to Him.

When we stay rooted in Scripture, remain consistent in prayer, and intentionally guard what we allow into our minds, we begin to see the difference. The battlefield may still exist, but we are no longer fighting alone.

With God’s strength and the guidance of His Word, we can learn to take control of our thoughts and walk in the freedom He intends for us to experience.

There are times in life when everything feels scattered—kinda like a box of broken pottery spilled across the floor. Pieces everywhere, some large and some small. Fragments that once fit perfectly into something whole now leave you wondering how they could ever be put back together again.

In those moments of quiet reflection, I’m reminded that the One who created the vessel is the only One who truly knows where every piece belongs. He’s not responsible for the brokenness—I am, others are. He created something beautiful and whole. It was broken because of this fallen world.

But I, like others, often try to force restoration myself. I turn fragments in my hands, trying to remember what the finished shape once looked like. Sometimes those fragments cut me because of the pain they represent. Still, try as I may, I cannot restore my life to wholeness again. But the Creator can. He remembers the framework.

What looks like a pile of broken pieces to us is simply a puzzle already known to Him.

Lately, I’ve realized something else about my journey. Somewhere along the way, in trying to restore my life of broken pieces, I had started spending time in another dwelling place instead of at His feet.

Not intentionally. Not rebelliously. Just quietly drifting into places of distraction, worry, and self-reliance. Places where I tried to reason out the brokenness instead of laying it before the One who restores.

And that quiet drifting can happen so easily.

Some people blaze trails when life happens to them. They push forward loudly, determined to conquer the moment. I admire that kind of strength. But that’s not usually my way.

When life happens to me, I get quiet.

Sometimes that quietness has weighed heavy. There have been seasons where it carried regret—moments where I looked back and wished I had made different choices, spoken different words, taken a different path.

But reflection has a way of revealing how those moments have shaped me.

Every difficult turn, every pause, every quiet moment of wrestling with my own thoughts has strengthened something inside of me. My inner quietness—once something I considered weakness—has become something strong and resilient.

It has become a place where I listen more carefully. A place where I begin to recognize the steady hands of the Creator picking up the pieces.

And maybe that quietness isn’t weakness after all. Maybe it’s simply the still space where restoration begins.

Because when the One who designed the vessel begins putting the fragments back together, He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t force the edges. He knows exactly where each piece fits because He remembers what it was always meant to be.

The cracks may remain visible. But the design becomes stronger.

So if you ever find yourself surrounded by the scattered pieces of your own story, remember this: the restoration was never meant to be yours to figure out alone.

The Creator still holds the framework.

And He has never forgotten how the pieces go together

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When Faith and Mental Health Feel Like Opposite Sides

Many Christian women today quietly feel caught between two worlds.

On one side, modern mental health culture tells us to prioritize self-care, boundaries, therapy, medication, and emotional awareness. These things can be incredibly helpful. Learning to understand our minds, process trauma, and care for our emotional well-being is not weakness—it’s wisdom.

On the other side, many of us grew up hearing messages like “just pray about it,” or “have more faith.” While prayer and faith are deeply powerful, those responses can sometimes make women feel as though struggling with anxiety, depression, or emotional exhaustion means they are somehow failing spiritually.

So we end up standing in the middle, unsure where we belong.

Some women worry that acknowledging mental health struggles means they don’t trust God enough. Others feel uncomfortable in Christian spaces where emotional struggles are sometimes minimized or misunderstood. And in the wider culture, faith itself is often treated as unnecessary or irrelevant to healing.

The truth is, these things were never meant to be enemies.

Caring for our mental health and seeking Christ are not competing paths—they are different pieces of the same healing journey. Professional counseling, medication when needed, and emotional awareness can help stabilize the mind and body. But even when those things help, many women still sense that something deeper in the soul is searching for lasting peace.

Scripture speaks often about the condition of the heart, the mind, and the soul. God never expected us to pretend we were fine when we are not. The Psalms alone are filled with honest cries of exhaustion, fear, grief, and confusion. Faith has always made room for honesty.

What many women are actually longing for is not a rejection of mental health support, but something deeper than coping strategies alone. We want restoration. We want steadiness. We want to know who we are when life feels overwhelming.

Ultimately, healing isn’t about choosing between modern understanding and faith. It’s about allowing both wisdom and truth to guide us toward wholeness.

For the Christian woman who feels exhausted, anxious, or emotionally worn down, this tension doesn’t mean you are doing faith wrong. It may simply mean you are asking deeper questions about what real healing looks like.

And those questions are worth exploring

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I’m in my 50s, which apparently makes me “vintage,” not “experienced.”

While I was trying to keep everyone alive, well-fed, and reasonably well-adjusted, society changed its rules. Not slowly. Not politely. It shifted hard—norms, language, values, communication styles, everything. And I didn’t get a memo. One minute people were having conversations, the next minute they were “sliding into DMs,” and I’m over here still saying things like, “Just call them.” Heck, my kids don’t even know what it’s like to feed quarters to a phone booth.

Sometimes it feels that my kids (who are now adults, by the way) think I’m out of touch with reality. And honestly? From their perspective, I probably am. They grew up inside a culture I had to work through. They lived in it. I survived it. Big difference. They understand a digital world that feels like a foreign country to me, complete with its own language, customs, and invisible rules that everyone 30 and younger seems to know.

Here’s the part that still stings a little: I always wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. I wanted to be present, unhurried, available. I wanted to have slow dinners, long conversations, and emotional space for the big questions. Instead, I worked full-time, came home exhausted, and tried to hold meaningful conversations while running on fumes and caffeine. Love was there. Commitment was there. But energy? Not so much. And that matters.

And tucked away in the background of all of that… I wanted to be a writer.

That dream never fully disappeared, but it did get quieter. Now I sometimes worry my voice has faded. Did it get buried under years of responsibility, survival mode, and sacrifice? Do I even speak a language that today’s generation will want to hear? Or do I sound like a rotary phone in a Bluetooth world?

I’m afraid that my stories, lessons, and experiences might sound like outdated advice from someone who “doesn’t get it.”

And yet… the wisdom is still here. The lived experience. The scars. The lessons. The perspective that only comes from decades of trying, failing, loving, enduring, and getting back up again. I want to pass that on. I want to share what I’ve learned.

My fear isn’t that I have nothing to say.
My fear is that no one will listen.

But maybe the real problem isn’t that I’m out of touch.
Maybe it’s that the world is moving so fast it’s forgotten the value of voices that didn’t grow up online — voices that grew up in reality, responsibility, and resilience.

Maybe there’s still space for stories that aren’t trending.
For wisdom that isn’t viral.
For voices that didn’t come from algorithms — but from life.

And maybe… just maybe… the world doesn’t need me to sound like the younger generations.

Maybe it needs me to sound like me.

Because culture changes.
Platforms change.
Trends change.
But truth, wisdom, love, faith, perseverance, and compassion?

Those are timeless.

And I still have something to say.

; how often do they encounter people who don’t exhibit these qualities?

Kindness costs us very little, yet it can mean everything to someone else. We rarely know the full weight a person is carrying when we pass them on the street or cross paths in a hallway at work. A smile, a nod, a simple “hello” might be the only light they encounter that day.

If I am remembered for nothing more than being kind and gracious, I’m at peace with that. In a world that can be sharp and hurried, being gentle feels like a quiet form of courage. It’s choosing to see people, even briefly, and acknowledging their humanity.

What I struggle to understand is how easy it can be to withhold that kindness. How do we walk past one another without a smile? How do we share space daily and never pause to acknowledge the people around us? We don’t have to know someone’s name, story, or background to treat them with dignity. Kindness doesn’t require familiarity—only intention.

And for those we do know, kindness matters even more. A warm greeting, a moment of eye contact, a reminder that they are seen and valued can strengthen bonds we often take for granted. People want to know they matter. Sometimes, the simplest gestures say that louder than any speech ever could.

In the end, kindness isn’t about being remembered. It’s about choosing, again and again, to make the world a little softer for the people we share it with.

I rarely feel joyful at Christmastime because of the memories tied to this time of year. When I was 14, my parents divorced on December 16 (can you believe I still remember the date?), and they told us on Christmas Day. While my parents had always fought, and initially it was a relief that the fighting might end (it never really did), I’d have to say that this is one of my core memories of Christmas now, and it’s hard to find the joy that I know I should have because of the true meaning of Christmas.

And honestly, the commercialization around this time of year has gotten out of hand, just like it does for the other major holidays. Christmas is about the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ, and the joy that His birth brings to a lost world. Without the birth of Jesus, and the sacrifice that He would later make for us, we would have no reason to hope that anything would ever be better.

Yet because of this, we do have reason to hope. We do have reason to celebrate. We do have reason to have real and lasting JOY in our hearts and minds, not just at this time of year, but at all times throughout the year.

So why do I let this time of year bring me down and cause my heart to cry inside? Perhaps because I have felt the true lostness of this world. I have been trapped in the mindset that there is no hope, and sometimes I still wake up with it.

I have to remind myself that there IS hope.

I have to daily reset my brain to think on good things.

Being a Christian does not mean there is automatic JOY. It still takes work, but it is so worth it to sit and watch the pure white lights on a Christmas tree, remembering that one night long ago, the best present there ever could be was delivered in a barn. JOY was placed in a manger. HOPE was alive.

Had I known what the future actually held, perhaps I would have turned and run, changed my name, changed my circle of friends, changed it all. But then what would have happened? I’m rambling about this, I know, but one thing that I do know is that this girl here in this picture, wearing a friend’s jacket on a cold winter day field trip to the cemetery to get some inspiration for an assignment in Creative Writing class had no clue what was in the future. My expression seems solemn and reflective, which is perhaps poetic, but unquestionably predictive of how I would perceive that future now that it is my past.

This SubStack space is where I plan to unpack it.

I have no idea what this will be. Maybe it will just be a place for me to hone my writing skills? It may be a place for me to journal my thoughts on life, especially since so much has happened to me over the last decade or so.

But for this first post, let me explain why I chose the handle “Life Between the Gardens.”

As a follower of Jesus, I believe that there once was a perfect garden, known as the Garden of Eden. And I believe the scriptures that say that God will one day make another perfect garden in heaven. For now, I am between the two gardens.

The term “life" in this title refers to all the things, all the happenings, all the days and all the nights, between these two gardens, specifically as I encounter them and as they relate to me, since this is my little space on here and I am the one writing.

I have a lot of emotion that seems to just be living inside me, and that I can’t really put words to. The emotions have built up over the years from different struggles and heartaches, and I hope that I can slowly release them as I write about the things that have caused them.

So that’s it. That’s what my handle is all about. And it will be interesting to see where this SubStack journey takes me.