Dear Friends,
Let’s talk about fresh starts. You know, the kind you romanticize while sipping coffee and journaling with excitement. You picture sunsets at the beach, peace in your home, and real purpose… maybe even a compliment from your mother-in-law.
My truth, my new adventure: well, it looks a lot like aching joints, tuition payments that whisper “you should have started saving when they were born” and bedrooms so spotless they feel haunted by the ghosts of cereal bowls underneath the bed and slammed doors. Funny how chaos feels sacred once it’s behind us. Some call it growth, but for me, it’s more like emotional CrossFit and no one’s handing out protein shakes and high fives. The Empty Nest, plus a house full of silence equals Full on Separation Anxiety.
Off They Go: They say sending your kid off to college is thrilling. Freedom growth potential and bundled with new adventures. But then comes that moment—post drop-off—when the house goes quiet. Not peaceful quiet. Suspicious quiet. Like, “Where did everyone go and who left me alone with my own thoughts?”
Not 100% Ready: Sure, watching them go off to college is exciting...if you enjoy ugly crying into a pile of laundry in the closet while mentally apologizing for never teaching them about finances or how not to fall for the first girl that says, “You’re good looking.” But of course, you don’t let anyone see the spiral. Wouldn’t want your existential unraveling to mess with their “new chapter.”
Meanwhile, they’re probably fine. Cried for five minutes, wiped their face on a new hoodie, met some new friends, and now they’re off to game night. You? Still talking yourself off the ledge.
Pray: So, my advice would be to pray:
“Lord, cover them with wisdom and Wi-Fi. In that order.”
Then I whisper: “And maybe toss in self-respect, good judgment… and a clue about how bills work.” My husband chimes in like it’s a team prayer:
“Start with a job, Jesus. Nothing teaches wisdom like realizing Chick-fil-A isn’t free.
Russian Roulette: Career Edition. One morning I woke up, my kids were off to college, and I decide to say yes to a new adventure. In a blink of an eye, I suddenly found myself in a new zip code wondering if this was courage or just caffeine-induced chaos. The barrel of life started spinning—and spoiler alert—it didn’t slow down just because I bought a new planner and a new pair of heels.
Career Changes: Now With 100% More Drama and Anxiety. So here I am, starting a new job in Minnesota—which apparently doubles as the birthplace of snow, passive aggressive politeness, and cheese curds. Who lives here? Well, you guessed right if you chose me. New career, new state with new personalities And I am still trying to figure out whether this is destiny or a serious GPS malfunction.
The Onboarding Olympics. New beginnings have a way of turning high achievers into anxious blobs. You question every email. You rehearse your phone voice like you're applying for the role of “Competent Adult” You suddenly can’t remember how to form sentences without apologizing first. Meanwhile, your coworkers speak fluent acronyms and seem unfazed that half the instructions sound like encrypted messages from a secret society.
Faith and Footwear. Just when the chaos hits its breaking point—when you're one meltdown away from throwing a shoe and you're inexplicably overdressed for the occasion—Proverbs 16:3 drops in like a divine mic drop: “Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and He will establish your plans.”
Translation? Even when you're spiraling, sweating through satin, and questioning every life choice—God’s still in control.
Starting something new rarely feels like a grand unveiling.
It’s not a cinematic moment—it’s quiet resolve in the middle of chaos. It’s the ache of uncertainty, the discipline of showing up, and the choice to begin again even when no one’s watching.
We romanticize beginnings, but the truth is they often arrive disguised as discomfort. They ask us to trust what we cannot yet see, to believe that the mess we’re standing in might still be holy ground.
The lesson? Starting isn’t about confidence—it’s about courage. And courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it whispers, “Try again and let’s climb”
The steep uphill road? It’s gratifying. It builds the muscles we worked so hard for. The patience we desperately need. And the testimonies we’ll eventually share with friends.
James 1:4 — “Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete…”
And possibly caffeinated.
Funny Truth: Spiritual growth is great until it’s not. So, if you’re panting uphill, remembering how you pictured this was supposed to feel—congrats. You’re in great company. This adventure isn't scenic yet... but it’s sacred. And when you reach the top of your mountain (wearing unmatched socks and carrying seven self-help books), it’ll be worth every step.
Your Friend, Me
