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Welcome

Hi! I’m Tiffany. I’m prone to using a lot of words to make things sound lovely. Because of that I have written and re-written this about a dozen times just trying to be concise. You just want to know what you are getting into, right?

Here’s what you’ll find in my little space: writings/musings/stories on my life. I have a big(ish) family; five kids and my wonderful husband. Topics include: homeschool, travel, adoption, child loss/grief, marriage and living a Christ-centered life.

We strive to live simply and love well. Thanks for joining me on this journey. I’m so glad you’re here.

Tiffany

On Growing & Placing Hope & How Scary That Is

This stripping away in my life. Of comfort and safety and certainty. Of normal and same. Of expectations and dreams. Once, it was health. Of control for sure. This stripping away of the conceived idea that I actually can plan or have a plan or even should plan in my own strength.

Since Thao died I haven’t planned. I didn’t keep a calendar for years. I never grew roots. There were things I expected to stay the same. It was probably more of the lack of expectation. Or lack of thought? I didn’t think about things changing my expectations for the future. Dreaming ceased to exist. Are you done having children? I don’t know. Is this your forever house? Probably not. Who can tell? So, you still want to move? Like, away? Whatever the Lord puts in our path and on our hearts, that’s where we’ll go.


Foster care. Moving. Different jobs. New churches. Change.


Stripping away. Peeling layers. I set things down at the foot of the cross. Only to pick them back up again as the Lord leads.

I say we are finished growing our family. One, two, three, four kids later…I know now I know nothing.

A five-year-plan? But what if? What then?

But something shifted in me in that five-year-grief. I began to keep a calendar again. One week turned one month at a time, I can plan a little. Bits and pieces. Here I go. For the future? Retirement? Grandkids? No. But for the month, yes. For the season, maybe.

The shifting began in the smallest of things. Plans with friends. Plans for holidays. Traditions kept and new ones made. Birthdays. Food prepping. Always wondering how long it will last, this life, this season, health. How long do we have them, Lord? These precious children. They are mine. They are Yours. How long?

Will they graduate? Will they grow? Will they come to know you, Lord? Will they love? Will they strive? Will I get to see it all?

The shifting grew. In my heart and in my soul. Maybe the length doesn’t matter. The future holds what the Lord wills, what He ordains and He is Sovereign. And the truth? Nothing lasts. The earth is dying. The foundation fading. The only hope is to turn heavenward. Because wood rots and plants die and people fade away, too.

And then, because of Jesus, my roots grew. Naturally, wherever I landed. Wherever I was with You and with them, my husband and my family. My roots grew into them, into Him, into more than just this place. And to love is to risk. To grieve is to risk. To plan is to risk. Because planning is hoping and risking. Risking that my heart will be broken again. Because dreams have shattered in the past. Expectations have failed. Putting my heart and my soul into more than just here and now, the things I cling to, the moments I treasure, it is so scary.

Hope for the future has failed me before. People fail. Health fails. Plan fail. This doesn’t feel safe.

But it feels right. It feels hopeful. Hope-filled, not because of the treasures or plans here on earth, but despite them. Hope-filled because my hope is placed in the Lord of heaven above. And when things fade away here, fail me here, disintegrate here, I still have the faithful Lord, my good Father, my Sustainer and Redeemer and Friend.

So I planted trees and grew deep roots. I planted a garden. I invested in my home and my community. I planned and hosted. I began again. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.

Because there was a time I didn’t plant trees. I didn’t expect to see them grow. I didn’t plant a garden. I didn’t think I’d get to harvest it. I didn’t invest in my friends or my community because I had zero left to give. Life is short. I know this because I lost my five-year-old. I know this because I am nearing forty. I know this because 83 years wasn’t even enough for my grandparents to walk this earth. That may seem a bit selfish, but I am selfish with the ones I love. It wasn’t enough. Five, forty, eighty-three…it’s not really enough.

But then again, if we truly have the hope of heaven, if the Lord Almighty is truly on His throne, then why do we fight death Why is death the enemy when as Believers death means meeting our Savior face to face? Why is do we wish death to be undone, still here on this earth? What we really want is perfection, new heaven, new earth, Jesus to come back and make His kingdom known. What we really want is holy. Before the fall, life abundant. What we crave is Jesus.

And planting trees, growing roots, these are things that I do because I hope in Jesus. This earth will fade away and when it does, when the trees die, I have not failed. Because my success is not based on life or death. My legacy of love, of sharing Jesus, of my children, of caring for the least of these, that’s my measure of success.

My kids will probably never go to Disney. We may never see the Grand Canyon. They will always share bedrooms.

They will always be loved. They will never be alone. They will be taught to love and respect other humans. Love God. Love People. And whatever else falls in place in the in between.



What If This Is Love

When Nothing Really Makes Sense

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