Everything I Teach, I've Wept Through...
I didn't grow up watching love grow old. My father passed when I was just five. From then on, I never really saw a husband and wife growing side by side. I was raised by a strong, beautiful single mama, and as the last born, I lived in many homes, some where love thrived, others where it barely survived.
I watched, I listened, I paid attention. God, in His quiet mercy, gave me front-row seats to many families not just my own. And from that patchwork of lives and stories, a desire bloomed early:
I wanted a love that stayed.
A home that felt like peace.
A marriage that could weather storms and still dance.
So I married. And… it was beautiful. And also? It was hard. Much harder than just wanting it to work.
Turns out, dreams don't come fully formed. They come like seeds. And I had to water mine with tears, prayer, repentance, and a whole lot of learning.
I was broke, overwhelmed, and living in a house that felt too small and too tight but I was determined to build something beautiful anyway. If my kids couldn't go to the "best" schools, then I had to be more intentional at home.
So I began to learn from others, from books, conversations, mentors, and moments. I studied what worked. I tried. I failed. I tried again. And little by little, I grew into the kind of mother who could nurture their minds, shape their hearts, and hold space for their questions. It wasn't instinct but rather intentional learning, led by grace.
I learned how to make a house a home not through money, but through meaning. I found beauty in secondhand pieces and joy in daily rhythms. I learned to create peace, not just buy it.
And the Holy Spirit? Oh, He became my everything. I didn't have a therapist, I had a Friend. One who sat with me in the quiet, wept with me in the kitchen, and whispered truth when all I had were lies. I learned to talk to Him like He was near because He was. That's how I fell in love with prayer. Not as a duty, but as a deep, daily lifeline.
That's how I learned to love my husband not for who I imagined he'd become, but for who he already was. That's how I became a homemaker not just of rooms, but of souls.
So now I pour it all out for you. For the wife who wonders if this is all there is. For the mom who's trying her best with what she has. For the homemaker who feels both grateful and exhausted.
You don't need a perfect life.
You just need a little hope, a little help, and a whole lot of Holy Spirit.
Welcome home, darling. This story isn't just mine anymore. It's yours, too.
