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Five little things I’ve learned about hope since 2020, just in case hope seems hard in 2026. Spoiler: Hope dies last.

To be remembered well, we must give up making ourselves irreplaceable, we must focus on “becoming” instead of “completing,” and get comfortable leaving a thread hanging.

As November pulls into full view, food becomes both a topic of discussion and a source of stress. For me, food was also a big part of home, and how I felt loved. Scripture shows a food ministry of love can arise from our worst days and create a transient beauty that satisfies even the deepest hunger.

A life detour can take us into exile, but there are unexpected gifts in that foreign land. And, as all of us carrying both the pain of displacement and the gifts of the journey know: He never sends us anywhere alone.

Dad would have turned 90 this month. When he passed in the summer of 2020, we had no idea we had just weeks left with Mom, too. Cancer took Dad and we saw it coming, but the end of home as I knew it came way too fast and I felt robbed.

Quick healing can feel like a miracle, but slow has a unique power to transform so many parts of us. Whether it’s grief, or trauma, or physical injury, slow is how we were designed to heal—and bond.