It’s been a long time since I’ve shown up here—or even shown up in my own kitchen in the ways I used to. For years, cooking and baking were such an effortless extension of who I was. They grounded me, fueled me, and brought me so much joy. But as life got heavier and more complicated, that part of me slowly went quiet, and honestly, I could only manage my basics (like homemade granola).
 |
| Maple & Cinnamon Granola |
The last several years have been some of the hardest I’ve ever walked through.
Moving (from a family home—the one I had known my whole life.) An unexpected kinship placement. Running a ministry full of beautiful, but heavy stories. Navigating marriage, kids, homeschooling, chaos, hardship, crisis, and the weight of everyone’s needs while stuffing down my own and not making adequate space for real soul care, because it didn't seem possible.
When you live in survival mode, you don’t realize how much you’re holding until it all finally catches up.
This past year, it did.
And as painful as that unraveling has been, it’s also been the beginning of real, deep, needed healing. Jesus has been the One holding me up through all of it. I’ve clung to Him in a way I never have before, trusting Him to steady me when my world felt unsteady. One verse that has anchored me again and again is:
“He restores my soul.” — Psalm 23:3
 |
| A delicious latte poured by Pete :) |
That restoring work has looked like slowing down, breathing deeply, counseling, biblical lament, nurturing my marriage, practicing gratitude, looking for moments to laugh, and letting the Lord show me the small things that bring life back into my bones—the simple joys He placed in me on purpose.
One of those things, is my kitchen.
A place to create, experiment, dance, smell, taste, share, and be nourished.
This time it's not the kitchen in my grandmother’s house with her electric stove (which I loved because it was hers and so comfortable and sentimental and held part of our family history).
And not the kitchen with the tiny gas stove in my first apartment with Pete, that miraculously survived as I cooked full six-course Tablenosh dinners, creating wildly ambitious meals, and practiced baking my first wedding cakes! I still cannot believe what I managed on that tiny little thing.
But the kitchen I have in this season!! The time has come to embrace this new-for-me kitchen in our humble fixer upper home that God has provided (and sent a village to help us restore.)
In my new kitchen sits the most incredible centerpiece, that a dear friend found second hand, just for me — it is a Viking. Huge. Stunning. And about three times the size of that humble Tablenosh stove of years past!
Do I fully know how to use it yet?
Not really.
Am I excited about it?
Absolutely.
It feels symbolic—this gift of capacity, creativity, and invitation in a season where the Lord is rebuilding me from the inside out. Jesus knows my heart. He knows He made me to love hospitality. And I’m realizing again that this gift—this love of creating, feeding, and welcoming—is from Him.
“Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace.” — 1 Peter 4:10
 |
| Pumpkin Spice Cake w/browned butter frosting |
God gave me this passion on purpose. It glorifies Him. It brings me joy.
And I’m learning that my nervous system actually needs me to make space for creating in the kitchen again.
I want to step back into this space—not out of pressure or perfection, but out of gratitude and healing.
Not to perform, but to worship.
Not to hustle, but to breathe.
Maybe that’s why this imperfect, unfinished kitchen feels like such sacred ground right now. It mirrors me—still healing, still being restored, still under construction… yet full of potential and beauty that’s slowly coming back to life.
As I return to cooking, my prayer is simple:
“Lord, use this space for healing, delighting, creating, sharing—and may I glorify You in it.”
So here’s to a new season—gentler, slower, and more honest than any before it.
Here’s to healing in this new-old house.
Here’s to learning the giant Viking stove.
Here’s to feeding people again, right at this table.
And here’s to a kitchen becoming a place of creativity, laughter, love, and grounding—one meal, one moment, one breath at a time.
Okay, that’s it for now—I’ve got to go make a pumpkin spice cheesecake with a gingersnap crust for a friend’s 40th! Let’s hope I get the temperature right!
