After calling off my wedding and leaving my old school, I'm starting fresh at a new campus. Here's what I learned from a bright-eyed new teacher about approaching life with renewed enthusiasm.
new beginnings
How New Teacher Orientation Opened My Eyes to Who I Really Am
They handed us sunglasses as a symbol of our bright future, but the real vision came from seeing myself through my colleagues' eyes. Sometimes strangers become mirrors.
Why I Skipped New Year’s Resolutions and Chose God’s New Thing Instead
Instead of making resolutions I'd already broken, I remembered my life verse from eighteen years ago. Here's what it means to trust God is doing something new when your future is uncharted territory.
My AWANA Leader’s Daughter Told Me to End the Volume—Well, I’m Renaming It
Deb saw me at five with her picture on my kindergarten poster. Now, decades later, she's reading my blog and suggests I close this volume. But when your vegetable garden finally starts yielding bounty, you don't stop tending it—you just change what you call it from "I Used to Be" to "I Am."
Second Chances and Fresh Canvases: Painting a New Life After Divorce
A paint-and-sip date night became an unexpected metaphor for marriage, failure, and the grace of starting over. Sometimes you need to paint an entirely different picture.
The Piano I Left Behind and the Love I Found Again
I left our piano with my ex-husband because playing it without him felt like a lie. Seven years later, at a wedding with someone new, I discovered what second chances really mean.
What My Herb Garden Taught Me About Planting Seeds After Divorce
Saturday's 40 mph winds had me worried about my newly planted seeds. But gardens teach us this: we can't know which seeds will thrive, go dormant, or blow away. We plant anyway, because the potential for future joy is worth the calculated risk.
The Night I Buried Dead Roses to Grow Something New
Eight months after planting my broken relationship in the garden as fertilizer, Charming sent fresh roses to fill my empty vase. Here's what bloomed in between.
The Oak Tree Fell in February, but I’m the One Who Got Replanted
For months, the hollow oak lay in my backyard—an eyesore, then a barrier, then a mirror. Like that tree, I'd stood tall in Nashville while rotting inside. But somewhere between Syracuse's disposal and Hampton's soil, a seed found new ground.
Writer's Growth 