In the Quiet of the In-Between

Life lately has felt full in a way that I’m deeply grateful for.

Not just busy, not just productive—but full of growth, stretching, healing, and a quiet kind of becoming that I don’t want to overlook.

These past few months have held a lot of movement for us. We’ve been stepping more into side projects and passions that continue to grow, working on our current home to prepare it to go on the market, and slowly preparing for what we hope will be a move later this year. There’s excitement in it, but also a lot of unknown. A lot of in-between. A lot of slower unfolding than we sometimes expect.

But I’ve been learning to see that differently.

Because even when life feels like it’s in a quieter or slower season, it’s not a blank page between two meaningful chapters.

It is a chapter.

A real part of our story.

And one that God is using just as much as any other part of our life.

A little over a year ago, we experienced a miscarriage. And since then, we’ve been walking forward in faith as we trust God with the desire to grow our family.

And I’ve learned that grief is not something you move past or leave behind.

Some days it is a daily surrender—laying the sadness, the questions, the “why,” and the weight of not understanding at God’s feet. And then choosing, sometimes moment by moment, to keep walking forward in His grace.

We are moving forward, but we still carry it. We still carry those scars that are now a part of our story. And there are still moments where grief shows up quietly when we don’t expect it. I don’t try to rush past that anymore. I just bring it to God again and again and let Him meet me there.

It’s learning how to carry what is still tender while also letting God carry me.

Because what I’ve found is that His grace doesn’t erase grief—but it meets it. It covers it. It holds it. And in those places where something feels broken or missing, His love is what fills in the gaps we can’t fix on our own.

There is a peace that comes from that—not because everything makes sense, but because He is still good and He is still faithful in it all.

And I’ve also learned that joy is something I have to choose.

Not because everything feels easy or resolved, but because I can still choose to see God’s goodness in the middle of what is hard. Joy doesn’t cancel grief, and grief doesn’t cancel joy—they both exist in real life. And I’ve learned that I can experience both at the same time: there can be real moments of grief, and still a steady joy that comes from within, rooted in knowing that God is faithful and good.

Because joy isn’t based on my circumstances. Joy comes from Him and flows out of that truth. Happiness is tied to what’s happening around me, but joy is deeper than that. And I’ve learned that if I live my life only based on my circumstances, especially in a broken and fallen world, I will constantly feel pulled down by what changes around me.

So instead, I’m learning to anchor myself in what doesn’t change—who God is. And from that place, I can still choose joy, even while I’m honest about grief, even while I’m still healing, and even while I’m still walking through seasons that don’t always make sense yet.

Moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting.

It means trusting God enough to keep living while still knowing what has been lost.

It means believing that nothing in our story is wasted in His hands. Even the parts that feel heavy. Even the parts we still don’t fully understand.

This isn’t a page we rip out of our story.

It’s a page that stays there.

Tear-stained. Real. Honest. A part of us. But still held by a faithful God who is present in every part of it.

And I’ve come to see that even this season is not empty.

It’s shaping something in us.

So instead of seeing this as a pause in life, I’m learning to see it as life itself. A chapter that matters. A chapter with purpose. A chapter that one day will make more sense than it does right now.

And in that, I’m learning how to stay present.

Not living like I’m waiting for life to start, but realizing it’s already happening here and now.

One of the things that has helped me is returning to some of the simple rhythms of life that I love. The grounding things. Being in my kitchen again—baking, creating, cooking, and just finding joy in those small, ordinary moments. I’ve also gotten back into writing again, sharing my story, and encouraging others where I can. And really just continuing to choose joy in the middle of everyday life, even when things feel full or uncertain.

Continuing to serve my husband in our home and support him well has also been such a steadying part of this season. Getting to work alongside him, and for him to come home to a home-cooked meal, and just build a home together—there’s something really meaningful in that for me. I’ve found real purpose in those things that may seem small or ordinary, but I genuinely love them. And I’m learning that even those everyday rhythms are a way I get to honor God and bring Him glory in the life He’s given us.

These rhythms remind me that life isn’t only found in what’s next, but also in what’s right in front of me.

This season has grown our marriage in ways I’m deeply thankful for. We’ve learned how to walk through joy and grief together, how to support one another in uncertainty, and how to keep choosing unity when life feels unclear. We’re learning what it means to not just walk side by side, but to actually grow through life together. God has strengthened our marriage and our relationship with Him.

And I don’t take that lightly.

There’s so much gratitude in the simple things—our home, our time together, our family, and the life we’re building even when it doesn’t always look like what we expected. Because even in the unknown, there is still goodness.

And I keep coming back to this truth:

He makes all things beautiful in His time.

Not always in ways I understand in the moment. Not always in timelines I would choose. But always with purpose.

I truly believe some of the most shaping chapters of our lives are the ones that feel like in-between seasons. Not because they are empty, but because they are forming something in us that we can’t fully see yet.

They stretch us. Refine us. Deepen our trust. And prepare us for what’s ahead.

So I’m learning to stop seeing this as a blank page between chapters.

It is not a pause.

It is part of the story.

And I believe I’ll one day look back and see just how much God was carrying, shaping, and faithfully working—even here.

So I’m choosing to stay present.

To live fully here.

To find joy here.

To worship here.

Because even this chapter matters.

And He is still good and faithful in it all.

"I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss. Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning. I say to myself, "The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him!""

Lamentations 3:20-24