Tag Archives: life

Ranch Wife Musings | What’s in Your Cup?

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Originally printed in the Custer County Chronicle on 1-1-2026

As you sit and enjoy a hot cup of coffee on this first day of 2026, poring over the contents of this wonderful, small-town paper, your dog, whom you generally love, comes up next to you and sticks her nose under your elbow in a friendly bid for affection. Up goes her nose, up goes your elbow, and everywhere goes the scalding hot coffee. 

Why?

Our first instinct, of course, is to blame the jostle (or whoever or whatever caused it) for the coffee excitement. But the fundamental reason coffee came out of the cup is because coffee is what was in the cup. If you had been sticking to your New Year’s resolutions and drinking water first thing in the morning, water would have spilled out. Tea, and tea would have spilled out. Less coffee, and maybe nothing would have spilled or only a few drops.

The problem really isn’t the jostle. The problem is the contents of the cup.

Every time an old year fades away in the rearview and a New Year approaches, unfolding before us with all of its newness and freshness, life begs to be assessed, and although some scoff at New Year’s resolutions, I think we miss a wonderful opportunity for change if we fail to at least do some self-reflection, taking stock of the old year and making some goals for the new one.

We’re pretty good at a cursory, surface-level assessment, tending to zero in on things like a number on the scale or a dollar amount in a savings account, things that are pretty non-threatening, not overly challenging, and not overly crushing if we fail. We tend to focus on things that inflate our own egos, reinforce our sense of self-importance, and have no real lasting benefit for anyone.

So I’m going to assist us in this meaningful self-reflection by posing a question: What is in your cup? When you get jostled, what comes out?

Because the jostling doesn’t lie. Whether the jostle is someone who cuts you off in traffic, or hitting every red light on the way to church, getting stuck in the longest checkout line at the store, or clumsily dropping something and making a mess.

Oh, you don’t relate to any of those? How about your crying baby at midnight after three hours of walking the floor, or the spouse who fails to respond to you in just the right way, or the cow that cuts back and jumps over a fence and spoils the gather?

Still nothing? Okay, the boss that patronized you in front of your coworkers, the morning alarm that had the audacity to go off, the wrong man in political office, the toothpaste you got on your shirt as you’re running late to an appointment, the chair that stubbed your toe, or the dog that got into the garbage.

If somehow none of these ring a bell, I promise you’re not exempt. Use a little creativity and come up with a few jostles just for you.

We call those jostles, those circumstances that provoke a response, “stressors.” Annoyances. Provocations. Some of them wouldn’t annoy everyone. Some are just sort of innately annoying or inconvenient. But it is the response that is key, not the stressor. If a stressor is applied and something ugly spills out, the issue isn’t the stressor. The issue is that something ugly was in there to be spilled out in the first place. All of us have those stressors, because ultimately all of us have ugliness in us that, given the right provocation, will spill out.

So I ask again, what is in your cup? When you get jostled, what comes out of you? Is it ugliness and spite? Or is it goodness and graciousness? Is it profanity and vulgarity? Or is it tempered words? Is it anger or gentleness? Is it bitterness or forgiveness? Is it hate or love? Is it stinginess or generosity?

In Paul’s letter to the Galatians, he gives them this list that he calls the Fruit of the Spirit: Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Self-control rounds out the list of virtues, reminding me that with all the virtues the precede it, there are still parts of us requiring restraint. There is still something there needing to be controlled. There is an ugliness needing to be rooted out.

So, when you get jostled, what comes out? When you get cut off in traffic, does your heartrate spike and you see a little red, and do you yell into your windshield? When a cow acts like a cow when you’re working cows, do you respond with anger and vulgarity, maybe even taking it out on those around you? When your spouse fails to respond just so, do you respond with bitterness and resentment? When you stub your toe, do you spew profanity? When your alarm goes off and you weren’t ready for the day, do you grumble and grouse as you leave the house? What comes out? If it came out, it is fundamentally because it was in there, not because you got jostled.

What would it look like if we all examined the contents of our cups, and then did something about those contents? The contents of our cups are often a direct reflection of what we are actively (or passively, without thinking) pouring into them, in the form of social media, entertainment, and the company we keep, for instance. Sometimes the contents reflect not so much what we’ve poured in, but what we’ve failed to root out.

What if we determined to change what we poured in? What if we poured in so much goodness that there wasn’t room for anything else? What if we were so bathed in the goodness of God and His Word, what if we were so filled with the Fruit of the Spirit, what if we so filled our minds and hearts with good words, kind words, true words, loving words, that when jostled that is what came out?

Would the end of 2026 look any different than the end of 2025 if you were to fill your cup differently? How would it change your relationships? The peace in your home? The dynamic in your family? The strength of your marriage? Your performance at work?

What’s in your cup?

Ranch Wife Musings | Welcome to the World

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Originally printed in the Custer County Chronicle on Nov. 5, 2025

When I struggled into my once-baggy sweatpants on Wednesday last week, the only thing left that was comfortable at 9 months pregnant and warm enough for working cows on a cold morning, I heard a seam pop and may have almost cried. Baby wasn’t due for another week and a half, and I knew that could mean three or three and a half weeks, and frankly I was just over it. Everything hurt, nothing fit, and I couldn’t reach down to tie my shoes. Heck, I couldn’t even see my toes if I looked down.

“Do you think you’ll make your due date?” Brad would ask occasionally over the last few weeks.

“Absolutely,” I’d reply with just maybe an edge of frustration, or disgruntled resignation. “One hundred percent, yes.” The last month of pregnancy really is as long as the first eight, with the shortness of breath and fatigue and back pain and everything else that is just a part of the miracle of knitting together a life, a little tiny human. I’d think about another four or three weeks and balk. But then I’d feel the kicks and the jabs and the rolls, all the sweet little movements that help bond a mama with her unborn baby long before they get to meet face-to-face. What sweetness. What a special time.

Part of me really wasn’t ready for that to be over. However, it isn’t like I had a choice, one way or the other.

Well, not even 72 hours after the sweatpants incident, in the peace and comfort of our home, I was handed a slippery, sleepy little baby with a head full of blond hair, the same baby that had been kicking and jabbing and sitting on my bladder for the last number of months, the same baby that had left me with sore ribs and a body image crisis, and I fell in love. Felicity Mae arrived a week early, and has stolen our hearts.

Those first few days are funny, and confusing. The sleepy, slippery baby that you’re supposed to just know how to care for transforms into a sneezing, pooping, crying, hiccupping, burping little package, and just when you think you’re at your wits’ end, you fall even deeper in love. And somehow there is God-given instinct that rises up and you do, you really do, know what to do.

We’ve been sold a bill of goods, women have. And men, too, honestly. We’ve been told that an unborn baby isn’t a baby, for starters, or at least isn’t human, and that their humanhood depends upon the desires of his or her parents. We’ve been told that children are an inconvenience worth sacrificing on the altar of self. We’ve been told to intentionally postpone children until the important, fun stuff has been accomplished, like that random dream vacation to Antarctica. We’ve been told that choosing to have children will destroy your life, or everything that makes your life worth living, like your career and your body and hot dates and good sex and your own personality, and social media is rife with influencers trying to convince others that self-centered loneliness is superior to self-sacrificial love, and that getting to have brunch with your friends and pamper your pet or your houseplant will bring more happiness than seeing the purest form of trust reflected in the eyes of a 48-hour-old infant, who is half you and half your faithful spouse and wholly a unique person created by their loving Heavenly Father. Mind blowing.

I can’t tell you how many times I have counted her tiny fingers and toes and gazed at her little blossom of a mouth, and then looked up at Brad and said wonderingly, “She’s mine…This is MY baby!” Honestly, I’ve never really cared about babies. Just being brutally honest. I could be excited about them in a very general way, and very happy for the very happy parents, but I never felt inclined to hold all the babies or found myself pining for baby snuggles. Older children, I could enjoy, but someone else’s crying, pooping, angry baby that I had no idea how to soothe because it wasn’t mine? No, thank you, you can keep it, it’s yours.

But this is like absolutely nothing I’ve ever experienced, and nothing could have prepared me for the sweetness and the wonder.

Oh, I know all the negative “yeah, but’s”, insinuated in the wealth of comments told to expectant parents beginning with the words “just wait until.” I know the tendency to focus on the frustrations and the challenges and the outright pain and discomfort of children and family and life in general. Is there some truth there? Of course there is.

But I wouldn’t trade this for the world. Any of it. Not the popping seams or the back pain or hobbling around in a postpartum daze wondering if I remembered to eat, or deciding whether I have the energy to walk from one end of the house to the other. I wouldn’t trade any of it.

Welcome to our family, baby girl.

Ranch Wife Musings | Tangled Lives

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Originally printed in the Custer County Chronicle on October 8, 2025

Recently I had the blessed opportunity to revel in the company of some two dozen other women, fellowshipping together in a sweet time of encouragement and camaraderie. As I looked around the room at all of their faces, old and young, all walks of life, I reflected on how we had met. How long ago. Our shared histories. How our lives had intertwined over the years. How God weaves individuals together into an amazing tapestry called community.

Community. History. Belonging. Friendship. Isolation. Loneliness. As seemingly connected as we have become as a society, with easy access to hundreds or thousands of acquaintances through a handheld device, with the ability to communicate instantly and share bits and pieces of our lives with the world, you’d think that loneliness would be a thing of the past. The past – you know, back when communication was slow and travel was slower. Yet today we are more disconnected than ever. At no other time in history have we been able to converse with people across the globe with the mere tapping of our fingers on a keyboard, and yet the cultural sense of a local community is anemic at best. Phrases like “epidemic of loneliness” are tossed around almost with nonchalance, and who is in the least surprised by high percentages of people, young and old, experiencing the pain of loneliness?

But how did we get here? And what are we doing now to perpetuate it?

We can look back 200 years and see the slow degradation of the family unit, in the name of efficiency and modernism and industrialism, that removed families from their farms, fathers from their homes, and children from the care and instruction of their parents.

We can’t change what happened 200 years ago or 50 years ago, but we can recognize unhealthy patterns that are being perpetuated through choices made today.

Choices such as relegating to second or tenth place the things that used to give life meaning, like faith and family and marriage and civic responsibility, in favor of financial stability and a coveted career. Those second or tenth place things are seen now as the icing on the cake, nice but wholly optional. Professional development takes precedence over personal relationships any day of the week.

Choices such as separating life from work. We no longer live where we work or work where we live, to give a nod to author Wendell Berry. We have separated work and life, and give most of our best energy to our work, leaving little for life, and wonder why our relationships struggle. Few people live in one place long term, let alone for life, oftentimes choosing career paths that move them hundreds or thousands of miles, then struggling to engage and put down roots.

We have chosen for church to only inconvenience us on Sunday mornings, if that, preferably demanding no more than 45-60 minutes of our time, and we’ve slowly chiseled away at the many ways that church life and daily life would intersect and interact, allowing recreation, sports, and misapplied “rest” to rise in importance and priority.

Granted, there are nuances to this broad topic that simply couldn’t be fully explored in a book, let alone in a newspaper column, but I see patterns of choices that our society encourages people to make, and the breakdown of community ceases to be a mystery. It is a series of little choices that led to and perpetuates the breakdown, and I honestly believe that a series of little choices could help us to reclaim much of what has been lost.

Choices, like intentionally instilling in our children the importance of marriage and family. Instilling in them and cultivating in ourselves the importance of faith and civic responsibility. Committing ourselves to our local churches, more than just on Sunday mornings. Choosing to be a neighbor to our neighbors. Choosing to sacrifice financially for the sake of relationships and long-term effects on family and community. Choosing a simpler life. A less lavish life. A life that allows for greater flexibility and time outside the office.

I have experienced loneliness over the years. Deep loneliness, feelings of isolation and depression. And I can look back and see how my choices were perpetuating those things, how my career and life choices were hindering, not helping, my ability to form meaningful relationships and connections. And then I look at where God has brought me, at where I am now.

As I looked around the room at all of those dear ladies’ faces, representing several different occupations and vocations of wildly different sorts, two different church congregations, and other delightful chance encounters over the last 10 years, I was blown away. Blown away at how God brings people together, allowing them to bless one another, allowing relationships to form and strengthen. Blown away at the happenstance crossings of paths that have led to years-long friendships, the role models of childhood who have become dear friends in adulthood, women who cared about me and took me under their motherly wings.

And it made me so very thankful for the tangling of lives that creates a strong and vibrant community.

Ranch Wife Musings | No Place Like Home

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Originally printed in the Custer County Chronicle on July 16, 2025

In college, I fancied myself a traveler. I have since realized I am much too much of a homebody for that, and conveniently I married a man who “never left the farm,” as they say.

But I was much younger then, and I fantasized about being a world explorer. I had a penchant for foreign languages, and spent 6 weeks in France the summer before my junior studying French at a university in Dijon, gaining confidence in conversational French, and exploring southern France, soaking up all the Mediterranean sun and eating all the fresh (and wonderfully cheap and delicious) produce that could be found at the open-air markets throughout France. It really was a wonderful experience.

I’ve spent extended time with family in Alaska on a number of occasions, spent several days in Whitehorse, Canada, working on a project (another story for another time), and made a southwest road trip a few years back primarily to do a one-day Rim-to-Rim hike at the Grand Canyon. I’ve certainly not not travelled.

Brad and I do enjoy the chance to take our camper out once or twice in a summer, see some new scenery (or old scenery with new eyes), hike, and unplug, stepping away for a short time to be rejuvenated, coming back home refreshed and ready to get back to it with energy and vigor.

If one has the inclination and the financial and lifestyle flexibility to be able to travel, go for it. But I most certainly do not think travel is inherently beneficial. A lot of traveling is extremely consumeristic, shaped around lack of activity, too much food, and copious quantities of alcohol, all of which are objectively not great for you or your bank account. Done the wrong way, travel is a form of escapism, and can become the means by which the daily grind is reinforced as something to need a vacation from (as opposed to recognizing a need to occasionally recharge and seeing a vacation as the means to that end). The mentality around “vacationing” can promote discontent and dissatisfaction with reality. Social media doesn’t help, as people splash their luxury-appearing vacations all over Facebook and Instagram, making expensive getaways appear as if they are and should be the norm. If that’s how you’re going to travel, I’d probably suggest staying home. It might be temporarily enjoyable, but it won’t make your life – your real life – better in the long run.

But that isn’t the only option. The other option requires discipline in the daily mundane, determining to be content and thankful with the real life you are living.

Because traveling in order to see another culture, international or regional, with your own eyes? Absolutely that can be a great thing! Traveling in order to get glimpses of the beauty of God’s creation in another area of the country or the world? Absolutely. Traveling so that your eyes are drawn in wonder around a landscape or a cityscape that boggles the mind and makes you praise God for His creativity or the creativity with which He has blessed the human race? Yes!

And then, maybe most importantly, traveling so that your heart strings are tugged back to the beauty of the life God has given you? Yes. A thousand times, yes.

Don’t use travel as an escape, a drug to cope with “real life.”

Travel so that your life, in all of its normalness and mundanity, comes into focus in the best of ways. Travel so that your heart longs for home. Travel so that you are forced to remember the little things you take for granted. Travel so that you have no other option but gratitude.

And that takes work, truly. It takes work every day to cultivate a grateful heart, and eyes that see the beauty in the things that you have become accustomed to. It takes work some days to say with genuineness, “Thank you, God”, in a culture that preaches a gospel of restless discontent. If life is hard, whether related to work or family or marriage or something else altogether, we can be tempted to see escape as the best solution. 

But where you are, right now? You’re there for a reason.

While I was out of town last week, I couldn’t stop remembering home, and all those little things I take for granted every day. Our freezing-cold well water. The way the sunrise looks in summer. The chaos of my garden. The refreshment of an early morning walk. The musical creak of a gate. Posey and her calves sneaking in to water. My husband’s lanky form swinging down to the barn, and his “Boys! Boys!” to call the horses in for breakfast. The puppies terrorizing the barn cats.

The day I got back, I sat down by my chicken coop and just watched and listened. The quiet was like music. It wasn’t silence. It was much, much better. It was all the sounds that make up this life I live. The chickens scratching, or clucking to themselves while dust bathing. A couple hens squabbling when a mother hen felt it necessary to defend her half-grown chick. The cats trilling contentedly. A horse stomping in the corral. The breeze stirring the limbs of the pines.

I was home.

And there is no place like it.  

Home

Posted on by under country life, Writing

Even after a few short days, a homebody is already pining for home. It has been delightful to settle back in after a rather quick six-day trip to Illinois, realizing just how much I had to miss in the short time I was gone. So many relatively unnoticed things become vitally beautiful and important when they are suddenly absent.

Like waking up next to my best friend. Like the daily morning rhythm of coffee, breakfast, and chores. Like reading my Bible in my chair by the window. Like trudging down to the barn to release the chaos of the puppies, and trudging down again at night to put them to bed.

I missed the wonderful pandemonium of pups yipping and cats purring and chickens squawking and horses nickering. I missed the sight of the pups clamoring around Brad’s legs as he walked to the barn, or wading through them myself on my way to the chicken coop, or up to the house, or anywhere the puppies happened to be. I missed my chores throughout the day, the various times of checking in with my critters. Coffee with the in-laws after a quick hour or morning of working cows. Our walks in the evening. Cooking supper in my own home.

I missed the mud and the smell of horses, the spicy breath of the puppies, the sharp little teeth and dark, sparkling eyes. Polly on my shoulder and Betsy on my head. Gathering eggs and doing nightly chicken chores. I missed feeding my sourdough starter. Isn’t that silly? And sweeping my kitchen. Doing our dishes and hanging our laundry up to dry. Homemade bread and jam, and homegrown beef. My wonderful family.

Evening cuddles on the couch watching a movie and devouring a bowl of popcorn. Having my pillows stolen and the endless teasing.

Home is a place of belonging. Of safety. Of shelter and protection. Of growth and growing, of work and working. Of life and love and laughter, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold.

Home. What a wonderful place to be.

In Hindsight | 2018

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Usually I publish my “In Hindsight” series right after the first of the year, as a sort of New Year’s post, a look back over the last year and a cherishing of the memories that were created. For one reason and another, I am just now getting around to finishing this article, but I wanted to publish it in spite of how late it is. It is a time to remind myself of the ways God has been faithful to me, the ways He has blessed me and humbled me and grown me, and a way to share the joy of the last year with people who may be interested or encouraged.

Looking back over 2018 confirms in my mind that it was indeed one of the strangest and most exciting years of my entire life. It was a full year, in the best of ways. Strange twists and turns of life, opportunities that God provided which I never would have seen coming, wonderful and frequent hiking excursions and a summer spent almost entirely outdoors, an opportunity to travel to Illinois to see my sister, Jess, new and old friendships blossoming with the freer schedule I had…It was a blessedly full year.

I’m in no ways living the life I dreamed of as a girl or even as a college student. I’m sure I’m a puzzle or even a disappointment to professors who may have envisioned (reasonably so) my career continuing where I left off with my education. Occasionally I refer to my “dream come true” life, and I just want to clarify that this life was nowhere on my radar even 5 years ago. But I’m seeing how God knows my deepest desires, even the desires I don’t fully understand, and how God has given them purposely and is intentionally satisfying them OR completely and radically changing them. Yes, God can do that. He is sovereign and can change our desires to bring about His will for our lives.

As a  younger individual, I idolized so many things. Success, marriage, recognition, a career in acting or music, a book published by age 25…God hasn’t given me any the success I dreamed of, the young marriage or the husband I’ve prayed for, the musical roles I craved. He hasn’t made me a published author or a celebrated actress or a fabulous singer or any of those things that my girlish heart idolized in highschool and college and which I pursued tirelessly. All of the things I imagined myself doing as a teen and a young twenty-something have not happened. Literally, none of those dreams have come true. And some of the things I swore I’d never do I am doing. I am NOT living the dream life I concocted for myself as a teenager or college student.

And that is all by God’s grace, to humble me, to bring me joy, to make me more like Christ. It is God’s grace to me that He didn’t give me worldly success, and didn’t satisfy my desire to have a book published by the age of 25, or to be competitive in the music industry. What grace. When I think of where I am now and how those dreams I had would never have allowed my life now to be possible, I’m in awe of God’s sovereignty. I could have chosen to stay in Illinois after graduating to pursue my music career. I could have chosen to pour all my effort into finishing a book and finding a publisher. I could have pursued marriage out of desperation and loneliness, and sacrificed the joy that Jesus has given me in my singleness. I could have sough high-pay employment with benefits and vacation time and status, enjoying the kinds of success I see from highschool or college classmates and family members who are working in prestigious jobs doing things for which they will probably one day be well known, maybe even famous, taking vacations and pursuing hobbies I couldn’t afford. I could have. I could be. But I know deep in my heart that I would have become entangled in a fast-paced lifestyle and in desires that wouldn’t have given the joy and contentment that my simple existence gives me now.

I’m not living my dream life. Truth be told, most of my highschool dreams have faded away, which is a bitter-sweet realization. And yet this life is more beautiful than I could ever have imagined, and it is a dream come true. In the place of the thirst for success and recognition I used to have, God has grown my heart in the desire to truly live, to feel real feelings, to be useful, to sweat, to weep, to laugh, to be sore and dead tired, to have a strong community and strong Christian relationships, to feel a deep joy that comes only from Christ.

God’s sense of humor…Once upon a time, I swore I’d never be a music teacher. In all reality, being a music teacher isn’t what I feel a strong desire to do. But I trust in God’s providence and this is what He has provided for the time being. But He also provided an opportunity (and the courage) to join our local fire department last year, a change I am endlessly thankful for, and God also provided a job at a local greenhouse and nursery this past summer, which was exceptionally refreshing after years of college and then working in an office (which also came to a close in April of last year). It clarified in my mind things I value about work – physical activity, physical challenge, fresh air, teamwork, community. And the schedule I had this summer allowed me to hike…and hike…and hike, discovering more how big my love for the outdoors actually is. And there is something blessedly and ridiculously comical as I think about having given a senior voice recital right before we moved to the Black Hills, and now I’m working for the local fire department as a stipend paid firefighter.

As wonderful as this last year was, it was definitely not without its struggles, and I absolutely do not want to fall into the social media trap of portraying myself as having the “perfect life.” Watching your grandmother die is a very sad thing. Loneliness is a very real feeling. Questions about the future lurk in the corners of my thoughts like little ugly goblins, as I begin playing the comparison game, seeing everything I don’t have and failing to see what I do have. And my struggles with depression returned pretty sharply and darkly at the end of the summer. I won’t dwell on any of these things, but those would be the prominent trials of this last year, for which God in His grace gives strength and endurance and healing and wholeness.  And pain is part of the story, which God uses in amazing ways to shape us. I look back on where I was at the end of 2017, or two years ago, or four years ago as I was finishing college, or longer, before college, and I just have to chuckle. God has a sense of humor. Where I am today makes absolutely no sense. And yet I know and feel that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, and somehow where I am does make perfect sense to me. I never would have pictured myself where I am now. And yet now that I’m here, I can’t picture myself anywhere else.

2018 was a great year. And I’m excited to see what the rest of 2019 has to hold.