A Homestead Update from the Quiet Middle
I’ve been quiet lately—not because nothing’s happening, but because everything is happening slowly. The kind of slow that involves sinus fog, chick fluff, and deer with Olympic aspirations.
My manuscript is in the hands of my editor, and while I wait, I’ve been slowly working on the graphics for my children’s book. The publisher is patiently waiting for me to finish them so we can move forward with the next phase. It’s a slow process, but I’m learning to honor the pace of grace. Not every season is marked by breakthroughs or big announcements, some are simply marked by faithfulness.
🐣 Homestead Hijinks
Meanwhile, life on the homestead is delightfully full. We welcomed eight fluffy baby chicks last week, and they’re already growing fast—tiny puffballs with big personalities. They chirp with purpose, peck with conviction, and remind me daily that growth doesn’t always look glamorous, but it’s always sacred.
I’ve also been building a garden fence to keep the deer from nibbling away at our vegetables, though I suspect they view it more as a challenge than a deterrent. It’s eight feet tall, which feels impressive until I remember that deer are basically woodland ballerinas.
If they *do* manage to take a running leap into the great dome of the earth and land gracefully in my garden, I will officially believe our local deer are bionic and operating on some kind of agility spectrum I could only ever dream of.
(Telling myself I am not jealous of deer. Not jealous of deer. Indeed.)
🌧️ The Fog and the Faith
On a less cheerful note, I’ve come down with a sinus cold that’s put a bit of a damper on my creative energy. It’s the kind of fog that makes even simple tasks feel like uphill climbs. I’ve had to slow down, rest more, and let go of the pressure to produce. It’s frustrating, yes—but I’m trying to receive this pause as part of the rhythm.
Even in the stillness, God is near. And sometimes, the quiet is where He speaks the loudest.
📖 Scripture in the Stillness
Spiritually, I’ve been studying Isaiah and Romans side by side—two books that speak so powerfully of redemption, restoration, and the mystery of God’s mercy. Isaiah reminds me that beauty often blooms in desolate places, and Romans calls me back to the foundation of grace.
Isaiah speaks of the wilderness blossoming like the crocus—“The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad; the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus” (Isaiah 35:1). It’s a picture of hope breaking through desolation, of beauty blooming in places that once felt barren. The crocus is one of the first flowers to push through winter’s frost, and that image has stayed with me. It reminds me that even in seasons of waiting, weariness, or creative fog, God is quietly preparing something vibrant beneath the surface.
Romans, meanwhile, reminds me that suffering produces perseverance, and perseverance, character, and character, hope. These truths are not just theological, they’re deeply personal. They meet me in the garden, in the brooder, in the quiet corners of my studio where creativity feels stalled but not forgotten.
🌱 A Gentle Benediction
So, while there’s not much to announce, there’s much to be grateful for. Thank you for walking with me through every season—especially the quiet ones. Your presence, your prayers, and your patience mean more than you know.
I’ll share more soon, when the next breakthrough comes. Until then, may your days be filled with peace, purpose, and the gentle unfolding of God’s promises.
Stay Blessed!
-FASP