This season of life has been slow in the best way possible. There have been waffle eating mornings with the family, and watching cooking shows with my mom in the evenings. Changing diaper after diaper and learning that there is grace in every little messy moment. There has been routine. Glorious routine, I love routine with bits of spontaneous adventures sprinkled in. I catch myself thinking and planning so far ahead that I miss out on the little glories and joys right in front of me. Being a planner is good. I love to plan but I know that I need to be right where my feet are.

That’s my anthem. Being right where my feet are. To allow myself to be planted, to have roots. I got told a couple of days ago, that even though I was planted, I would grow. In these times of growing, it’s when you begin to see the fruit.

I know that I have strong roots here, right at home. My parents have created more than just space for us to grow up in, but rather they built a home. My home is where I curl up in the rocking chair in my room, with a hot cup of coffee and a book in the morning. Home is where I grab a chair at the table when my mom shouts dinner. We eat together because that is one of our family values. Home is where the candy cupboard is always stocked and “drive safe” echoes after us as we walk out the door. Home is full of plants. I had to get my plant love from somewhere. Somebody once told me, that as soon as they walked in the door of my home, they felt at home. That speaks volumes for what my parents have built.

In the same way of having deep roots, my parents have done an incredible job of encouraging us to spread our wings and fly. They want the absolute best for us and have proved that over and over. They come alongside us and celebrate the victories and encourage us when times get rough.

Home is where my roots are, but my branches are reaching into Hamilton. Where I plan to spend at least the next 3 years of my life, and from there I don’t know where they will reach.

Home is a beautiful thing. Dig deep. Plant yourself and allow yourself to have roots because, without roots, there isn’t fruit. Stretch your branches into new cities. New places.

Go. Live where your feet are.

Bless up,


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joy soaked words

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