Last week in St. Louis reminded me that nothing stays the same for long. A routine drive turned into discovering our front tires were separating, one of those quiet dangers you don’t see until it’s almost too late. I ordered new ones, called my brother, lined up a weekend fix, and kept moving because that’s what moms do.

Saturday, I loaded up this mini‑human, and we took a little side quest to an antique store, one of my love languages. Then we drove out to the farm, where spring was doing what spring does best: scattering new life everywhere. Baby animals. Muddy boots. Nieces and nephews laughing in the sunshine. For a moment, everything felt soft again.

But on the way home, the van began to shudder. The check engine light flashed like a warning I never asked for. Two long hours of coaxing it down the road, praying over every mile. And somehow, grace carried us all the way back.

Today, I’m just grateful.

Grateful that we made it home.
Grateful that I got to spend Easter with my mini‑humans.
Grateful for the beauty tucked inside this messy, unpredictable life.

I’m thankful, too, for the quiet time with this kid, telling them about my childhood, about how the hard seasons teach us to appreciate the easy days. These are the conversations that shape our children in ways we don’t always see right away.

Life isn’t tidy. It rarely goes to plan. But it is tender, and surprising, and still so achingly good.

Tomorrow we’ll figure out the van. And if this is the worst thing that happened today, it’s still a good day.

And to everyone who has donated, shared, prayed, or shown up for our van fundraiser, thank you. We’re inching closer to a safe, reliable, accessible vehicle for Elijah, and every bit of support helps us keep going. Your kindness is carrying us more than you know.

Tonight, I’m grateful for all of it.