The Way Through

This morning I dropped my husband off at work so I could have a vehicle at home. We have seven drivers and three vehicles right now. I’ll let you do the math. On the drive home, a memory surfaced that I haven’t thought about in years. I was four years old. I attended a university preschool program — the kind with rice tables and shiny finger paint paper and a real working kitchen. I loved it with my whole little heart. The morning of this particular memory, my dad was droppin

Last week, I wrote about how the way through often looks like giving encouragement away—strengthening others, naming what’s good, and offering words that help someone take the next step. This week, the way through has looked different. It has looked like building. Over the last year, I’ve been coaching women quietly and consistently. More than one hundred hours of one-on-one conversations—listening, teaching, walking alongside women as they navigate food struggles, nervous sy

When I ran cross country in high school, there was one section of the course I dreaded every single race. We called it the Camelback Hills. It was always hot. The dirt was dry and dusty. And those hills came right in the middle of the race—after the adrenaline of the start, but long before the relief of the finish. There was no powering through that stretch. And there was no sprinting yet, because the end was still far away. The only way I ever made it through those hills was