Sarah Kate Photography, Huntington Beach, CA (2026)

12/10/2024

Some thoughts from the rocking chair at nap time:

Raising young children is a whirlwind of tender chaos, where the days blur into a symphony of laughter, tiny footsteps, and endless questions.

It’s sticky fingers tugging at your heartstrings, impromptu dance parties in the living room, and bedtime stories that stretch long past their end because “just one more, Mommy.”

It’s juggling naps for the babies while refereeing toddler squabbles, and somehow still catching glimpses of magic in their wide-eyed wonder.

It’s the weight of exhaustion balanced by the sweetness of whispered “I love yous” and sleepy snuggles.

Every day feels like a paradox—challenging and sacred, fleeting yet eternal. You may feel stretched thin, but the love, oh, the love, stretches deeper than you ever thought possible.

In the everyday mundane moments, you glimpse the beauty of grace unfolding, one messy, glorious moment at a time.

11/28/2024

Grief is such an intimate journey, unique to each person. Some days, it feels like a delicate dance—honoring my own mourning for my brother while holding space and respecting the grief of others who loved him too. This tension has often quieted my voice, leaving much unsaid. Yet, not a day passes when I don’t think of him, when I don’t wish I could share this wild, beautiful journey of parenthood with him.

There are seasons when his memory feels even closer, and Thanksgiving is one of them. It was his favorite holiday—a time he loved for the food, the laughter, and the way it brought people together without any pressure of gifts. Last year was our first Thanksgiving without him, and it felt like a piece of the table was missing. It was also the first time we had tentative plans to visit him & Shelby at their home in Louisiana, a trip we never got to take. The weight of what could have been, the memories that could have been shared, will always linger in the air.

The other night I asked the boys what they wanted to do this year for Thanksgiving, and much to my surprise they yelled, “Go to heaven!!!” I asked why, and they answered “So you can see Uncle Matt. Then we could all come back together.” If only they knew how desperately I wish that request could be a reality. Their innocent faith often weaves Matt into our present day. And with it, I hold onto a promise of hope: one day, this separation will end. One day, we’ll be together again, whole and healed, with Christ at the table. Until then, I hold onto the glimpses of heaven my boys give me and the promise of a joy that will never fade.

11/25/2024

A year and a half ago, life broke my heart in a way I never expected. I lost my brother—suddenly, painfully, completely. The kind of loss that leaves you feeling like the ground beneath you has shifted, and you’re not sure how to stand steady again.

And then, a year ago, life surprised me once more. I found out I was pregnant with the twins. Unexpected joy and overwhelm in the midst of deep sorrow. A strange mix of grief and gratitude intertwined. Life’s moments simply arriving, unannounced, with its weight and its wonder.

This year has been nothing like I imagined. It’s been heavy. It’s been humbling. It’s been beautiful. I’ve cried tears for what I’ve lost and for what I’ve gained. There’s a freedom in knowing that I don’t control my story, God does—I only control how I respond to it.

And in that response, I’ve discovered so much. The deep, unshakable love of a community that lifts me up when I feel like I’m sinking. Friends who have become family, holding me steady when I can’t do it myself. Watching my two older boys not just grow up, but grow together—into a bond that I know will be inseparable as they continue to grow. And my husband, my anchor, showing me daily what devotion looks like in its purest, most patient form.

Through it all, I’ve seen His hand at work, weaving beauty into the unexpected, bringing purpose to the pain. There is grace in every heartbreak, strength in His promises, and peace in knowing He goes before me. And there is freedom—true, quiet freedom—in choosing to lean on Him, trusting that His plans are always good, even when I don’t understand them.

10/27/2024

Not gonna lie, this feels a little vulnerable 😅

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