The Quiet Rewilding of My Home (and Heart)

 

I’ve inherited my father’s deep and abiding love for plants—the kind of love that borders on botanical obsession. At one point, Dad was the proud parent to over 200 houseplants. The man had an indoor jungle growing in our basement: tiered shelves lined with foliage, some basking under grow lights, others lounging in the shadows. And yes, he even had a plant quarantine zone. If a leaf so much as drooped suspiciously, it was promptly whisked away to convalesce in seclusion, accompanied by the gentle strains of Japanese Kyoto music, which Dad swore had miraculous healing powers. To prove his point, he once conducted a highly scientific basement experiment: two healthy plants, one serenaded by Kyoto melodies from a cassette deck, the other subjected to heavy metal blaring from a transistor radio. The metalhead plant promptly wilted in protest, while the Kyoto enthusiast flourished like a bonsai on a spa retreat.   

Naturally, I grew up under the influence of this chlorophyll cult. Our first apartment was a verdant oasis. 

As a bona fide '70s flower child, I proudly embraced the macramé lifestyle—plants hung in windows, nestled in corners, cascading from shower rods like living curtains. I was a walking Joni Mitchell song with a watering can.   

But then came our relocation to the Arizona desert in the early 2000s, and my plant dreams dried up—quite literally. We couldn’t afford a separate moving truck just for the greenery (and no, U-Haul does not offer a “Jungle Express” service), so I was forced to leave my leafy companions behind. I tried to start over in Scottsdale, but real plants came with an entire entourage of bugs, and the summer sun outside reduced them to crispy green ghosts. So I surrendered to practicality and filled our home with the next best thing: fake plants, forever frozen in perfect plastic bliss.   

 

Then, about 12 years ago, our son Alex asked for a plant for his music room. Sensing a tiny green door opening in my heart, I tiptoed back into the world of the living. I picked three hardy survivors for the job: a pothos, a mother-in-law’s tongue, and a Christmas cactus. I placed the pothos and MIL tongue in Alex’s room, and the cactus elsewhere. The first two thrived like backup dancers in a greenhouse-themed musical. The Christmas cactus? It simply... existed. No blooms. No joy. Just stoic silence. That is, until last Christmas. Perhaps out of desperation or divine prompting, I began speaking sweet nothings to it, stroking its dusty leaves, playing—you guessed it—Japanese Kyoto music. And lo, a miracle: it bloomed! An exuberant explosion of bright pink blossoms, as if it had been waiting years just to be seen, spoken to, and serenaded.   

 

Since then, my plant collection has crept quietly back into my life—an empty-nester’s quiet rebellion against sterile countertops and minimalism. I tuck them inside for the winter and usher them onto the porches during warmer seasons, where they sunbathe like retired botanists in Florida. Then came the lockdown, when the world slowed to a crawl and our only sanctioned outings were to the grocery store, the Chick-fil-A drive-thru, or nature itself. I leaned harder into dirt and green things, finding that tending to plants grounded me in the truth: God is still in control, even when everything else is not. The quiet rhythm of watering, trimming, and propagating began to speak to me of deeper things—of spiritual truths rooted in leaves and soil.   

 

Plants, after all, are living metaphors in terra cotta pots. They stretch toward the light, adapt with grace, and thrive in unlikely places. They teach resilience and patience. They bloom on their own schedule, not ours. They offer beauty, oxygen, and shelter without asking anything in return—little green philanthropists rooted in service. And oh, how they reach for the sun. And when they’re dusty? Their ability to photosynthesize falters. There’s a lesson in that, too. Just like them, we flourish best when our leaves—our minds—are free from the grime of “stinkin’ thinkin’.”  

 

 When our bodies and souls are tended to, when we allow light and truth to reach us. I’ve also learned that lush foliage above means nothing if the roots below aren’t healthy. The unseen, the underground, the buried-in-the-dark—this is where the real strength lies. The beauty may be in the leaves, but the victory is in the roots. And isn’t that just like life? It’s what no one sees that often determines what kind of fruit we’ll bear.   

 

Tending to houseplants has drawn me back to the truth that this world isn’t just “nature”—it’s creation. A divine gift, brimming with wild, unfinished goodness. Plants aren’t pristine sculptures—they’re living, growing, beautifully imperfect beings. They remind me that I don’t have to be flawless to be good. Growth is sacred. Change is a sign of life. We are all works in progress, beloved by a God who isn’t finished with us yet. So here’s to the leaves, the roots, and the sweet miracle of bloom. And maybe a little Kyoto music on the side.

Decluttering Chronicles: The Refrigerator & Pantry Edition (aka: A Fresh Start—Literally)

 

Well, friends, the great decluttering journey marches on! After conquering closets, drawers, and the mysterious black hole under the bathroom sink, I have now stormed the gates of my refrigerator and pantry. Let me tell you, it’s been quite the adventure.

I took a long, hard look at what was lurking in there and made a new rule: if the ingredient list reads like a chemistry exam or the item contributes nothing nutritionally, out it goes. After several rounds of tossing and donating, I realized… there’s hardly anything left. I’m starting from scratch!

This feels oddly familiar—because the last time I decluttered to this level of severity was in 2010, when we moved from Arizona to Tennessee. I still remember parting (finally!) with a jar of beets that I had lovingly—and irrationally—held onto for decades. That jar came from the very first grocery shopping trip Jerry and I made together as newlyweds, back in 1978 at Churchill’s in Toledo, OH. Yes, folks. I kept a jar of beets for over thirty years. If that doesn’t define sentimental snacking, I don’t know what does.

And let’s talk about that pantry: it’s no longer a graveyard of forgotten boxes and bags. Now, it’s a sight to behold—rows of labeled Ball jars filled with wholesome goodness: flours, sugars, grains, dried fruits, beans, seeds. Everything tidy, visible, and ready for healthy, intentional cooking. Opening that pantry feels like stepping into my own little general store, and I love it.

Now, with a fridge and pantry wiped clean of mystery items and ancient memories, I’m embracing the fresh life. And when I say fresh, I mean everything—sauces, dressings, snacks. It’s like I’ve gone from “convenience queen” to “farmhouse chic” overnight (minus the chickens).

Enter: the Snackle Boxes. (Walmart, $9.99) (because the only thing I’m hoarding now is nutrition.) One lives in the fridge, one in the pantry. They’re filled with high-nutrition, no-regret snacks that I rotate out weekly. If it’s not in the snackle box, it doesn’t get snacked on. These little boxes have been an absolute game changer, keeping me honest and my fingers out of the proverbial cookie jar.

And let’s talk refrigerators: can we all agree they weren’t designed with healthy eating in mind? All those drawers and hidey-holes are perfect for concealing ancient condiments, forgotten leftovers, and (apparently) jars of historic beets. But not anymore. I’ve reclaimed that space, and now it’s bursting with color, whole foods, and a fresh sense of purpose.

Here's to decluttering, not just our homes, but our habits. To starting fresh, one snackle box (and Ball Jar at a time, and to creating spaces that nourish us inside and out.  And to that jar of beets- thank you for the memories.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Love Is Met With Silence: The Rise of Family Estrangement and the Battle for the Heart of the Home

 

 

 

A Quiet Grief Few Talk About

 

Some wounds bleed on the inside—silent, invisible, and excruciating. There is a heartbreak uniquely sharp and bewildering that comes when your own child stops answering the phone, replying to texts, or showing up for holidays. When love is met not with conflict, but with complete silence.

 

What used to be unthinkable—family estrangement—has become strangely common. And not only common, but, in some circles, celebrated. Where once people whispered about broken families with shame, today the severing of family ties is often framed as a bold and empowering act.

 

But beneath the buzzwords and self-help slogans lies an epidemic of grief that many parents and grandparents are carrying alone.

 

The New Face of Estrangement

 

In this cultural moment, estrangement is no longer limited to extreme cases involving abuse or toxicity. More and more, it’s happening to loving—but imperfect—parents who gave their lives to raise children the best they knew how. And one day, without warning, they are cut off.

Research reflects what many of us have seen firsthand:

• Nearly 26% of adult children are estranged from their fathers, and about 6% from their mothers.
• At least one in four Americans will experience a rupture in their relationship with a parent during young adulthood.
• In the majority of cases, it is the child who initiates the estrangement, often leaving the parent confused and heartbroken.
  

 

One day the conversations stop. The birthday cards come back unopened. Holidays are hollow. And if communication resumes at all, it’s sometimes in the form of a list of offenses the parent didn’t know had been committed.

 

When “Self-Care” Means Cutting Ties

 

We live in an era of rising individualism, where personal happiness is the highest good and discomfort is treated as trauma. Many are told that anyone who challenges their sense of well-being—anyone who disagrees, who fails to perfectly affirm, who brings up difficult truths—is “toxic.”

 

This worldview has seeped into how we view family.

 

Therapy-speak and social media affirmations often encourage disconnection over reconciliation. Books with titles featuring the word “toxic” abound. TikTok therapists and influencers promote estrangement as an act of self-love.

 

And so, boundaries once healthy are reframed as harm. Differences become danger. Parents—who once gave tirelessly—are dismissed as narcissistic, controlling, or irrelevant. Many are tossed aside like disposable paper towels.

 

It is rebellion wrapped in respectable language. Pride disguised as empowerment. It is spiritual deception in a shiny, socially acceptable package.

 

The Language of Disconnection: “Dis” Words and the Enemy’s Schemes

 

Look at the language we’re using, and you’ll notice a pattern—the language of “dis.”

• Discord
• Disagreement
• Dispute
• Dissension
• Dissidence
• Dissociation
• Disunion
• Disruption
• Discouragement
• Disunity
• Distraction
• Disappointment
• Disillusionment
• Disjunction
• Disobedience
•  

These are not random. They are symptoms of a deeper spiritual sickness. The enemy of our souls has always sought to divide what God has united. He sowed discord in Eden and hasn’t stopped since. He is after our homes, our families, our generations.

 

The Bible is clear: “In the last days, people will be lovers of themselves… disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, without natural affection.” (2 Timothy 3:1-3)

This isn’t just a cultural shift. It’s a spiritual battle.

 

A Word to Adult Children: Where Healing Begins

 

If you're an adult child who feels the pain of your upbringing or the weight of unresolved emotions, I see you. You’re not wrong to want boundaries. You’re not wrong to seek healing. But the world will not tell you the whole truth: your healing won’t come from cutting people off—it will come from Christ.

 

You are not what your pain says you are.
You are not your parents’ mistakes.
You are not defined by rejection, perfectionism, or unmet expectations.
You are not broken beyond repair.

You are who God says you are.

“You are fearfully and wonderfully made.” (Psalm 139:14)
“You are chosen, holy, and dearly loved.” (Colossians 3:12)
“You are a new creation in Christ.” (2 Corinthians 5:17)
“You are a child of God.” (John 1:12)

 

Before you reframe your memories or rewrite your story through a cultural lens, pause and sit with the Author of your soul. Bring your hurt to Him. Ask Him to shine light on your past, your present, and your patterns. Ask Him to reveal the truth—not the internet’s truth, but His.

And if the voice you’re following makes you feel justified in bitterness but leads you away from mercy, away from reconciliation, away from love… consider whether it’s the Holy Spirit or something darker whispering in your ear.

 

There is healing available. There is peace possible. But it comes not through disconnection, but through divine restoration.

 

A Word to the Parent or Grandparent Left Behind

 

If you’re walking this painful path, hear this:
You are not alone. You are not a failure.

The enemy is after families, and one of his most effective tools is disconnection. But you are still needed. You still matter. You still have something sacred to give—your love, your presence, your wisdom, your prayers.

 

Not perfection. But presence. Not flawlessness. But faithfulness.

 

What Can We Do?

1. Stay rooted in truth. Keep your heart anchored in Scripture, not social media.
2. Put on the armor of God. (Ephesians 6) This is not just emotional—it’s spiritual.
3. Tell your story. With grace. With humility. But with truth.
4. Refuse bitterness. Let the ache break your heart open, not harden it.
5. Keep praying. You never know when the prodigal might round the corner.
   

 

The world says people never change.

But God.

 

He specializes in resurrection stories. He brings beauty from ashes. He is still the God who restores.

 

Estrangement is real. But so is redemption. If your family is in pieces, know that the Father of all creation sees, weeps with you, and is not finished. Don’t give up on reconciliation, no matter how far off it feels. The road home is long, but it’s still there.

 

And the porch light is still on.

 

Perhaps there are still aching corners of your heart—places tender with questions, bruised by waiting—where you’ve wondered if true deliverance will ever arrive. You’ve cried out to God. You’ve done the soul work. You’ve leaned in, asking Him to reveal His truth and shine His light into your darkness. And still, healing feels just out of reach.

One of the verses I cling to is Ezekiel 36:26, where God whispers a promise: “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.”

Don’t miss the beauty of those words: “I will give.”

It’s as if the Lord is gently saying, “My beloved, no matter how strong your will, how faithful your efforts, healing is not something you will craft with your own hands. It is not earned by striving or unlocked by sheer endurance. Healing is a gift—my gift—and it is forged in the tender space of relationship with Me. This will not come from within yourself alone, but from the deep well of my grace. I, the Lord your God, will do it. And when it comes, you will know—not just in theory, but in the marrow of your being—that I am the One who loves you, restores you, and makes you whole.”

Listen to Him, He knows what He's talking about. 

 

For Adult Children Seeking Identity, Healing, and Clarity

1. Psalm 139:1–3,13–14

"You have searched me, Lord, and you know me… For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb… I am fearfully and wonderfully made."
Prayer: Lord, help me see myself the way You see me—not through my pain or confusion, but through Your design and love. Heal the places in me that feel wounded or forgotten.

2. Romans 12:2

"Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind."
Prayer: God, renew my thoughts. Help me discern Your truth from cultural noise. Teach me what real healing looks like.

3. Colossians 3:12–14

"Therefore, as God’s chosen people… clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience… forgive as the Lord forgave you."
Prayer: Jesus, teach me how to forgive without excusing. Help me to walk in humility and love as I seek healing.

4. Isaiah 30:21

"Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’"
Prayer: Father, guide me. When I feel lost in my story, help me listen for Your voice above all others.

5. Ephesians 4:31–32

"Let all bitterness and wrath and anger… be put away from you… be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you."
Prayer: Lord, soften my heart. Remove bitterness and replace it with compassion. Help me forgive and trust again, even in small ways.

 6. Psalm 51:10

"Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me."

 

 For Parents or Grandparents Praying for a Prodigal

1. Luke 15:20 (The Prodigal Son)

 
"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son…"
Prayer: Father, help me to be ready—full of compassion, not bitterness—when my child is “a long way off.” Help me keep watching and praying in love.

2. Galatians 6:9

"Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up."
Prayer: God, strengthen me when hope grows thin. Help me keep loving and doing good, even in silence or pain.

3. Psalm 34:18

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
Prayer: Lord, draw near to me. You know the grief I carry. Bind up my heart, and let me feel Your nearness.

4. Romans 12:18

"If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone."
Prayer: Jesus, show me where peace is possible. Help me let go of control and trust You with the outcome.

5. Ephesians 6:12

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers… the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."
Prayer: Lord, I know this is more than just misunderstanding. Protect my family from division and deception. Help me fight in prayer, not with people.

For Both Parents and Children Seeking Reconciliation

1. 2 Corinthians 5:18

"God… reconciled us to Himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation."
Prayer: God of reconciliation, begin Your work in me. Open the door for healing. Show me where to take the first step—or the next one.

2. James 1:19

"Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry."
Prayer: Teach me to listen more than I speak, Lord. Let Your Spirit filter my words and tone. Give me the courage to hear hard things in love.

3. Proverbs 3:5–6

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding… and He will make your paths straight."
Prayer: Lord, I don’t always understand what’s happening. But I trust You. Make my path—and our family’s path—straight again.

Restoring Creativity in Later Life: Inspiration from Classic Characters

 

There are two types of people in the world: those who read books or watch movies once, and those who enjoy them on repeat until practically memorizing the lines and script. I fall into the latter category and have watched my favorite films and read my favorite books more times than I can count on two hands. I have a go-to pick for most circumstances life brings my way—either to improve my mood or help me feel justified in it. My daily conversations are often interlaced with my favorite lines.

There’s something magical about revisiting those characters as you grow. Over time, they seem to evolve with you, offering fresh insight and helping you learn new life lessons on your journey through this life.

For many of us, creativity once flowed freely—through childhood sketches, journal pages, or spontaneous projects. But as the years pass and responsibilities grow, that spark can fade quietly into the background. Then one day, we feel it again: a stirring desire to make, express, and rediscover the parts of ourselves we tucked away.

One theme that I’m hooked on now is restoring creativity in later life. It’s a deeply personal and powerful journey. If you're finding your way back to creativity in later life, you're not alone—and you're in excellent company. Literature and film are filled with unforgettable characters who either reclaimed their creative voice or showed us how it’s never too late to begin again.

If you’re looking for some summer reading on the porch or beach—or movies to enjoy when it’s sweltering outside—consider these timeless characters. They remind us that our most expressive, imaginative years might still be ahead:

 

From the Pages of Classic Literature

Jo March – Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
We often remember Jo as the fiery young writer with ink-stained fingers and big dreams. But her later struggles with identity and purpose are equally profound. As life grows more complex, Jo shows us that creativity must evolve with us.
Lesson: Embrace reinvention. Your creativity may take new forms in different seasons.

Miss Jean Brodie – The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark
Miss Brodie lives boldly, colorfully, and with an unshakeable belief that one’s "prime" is self-defined. Her eccentric, artistic outlook on life reminds us to resist being boxed in by age or expectation.
Lesson: Creativity flourishes when we stop asking for permission.

Clarissa Dalloway – Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
Clarissa navigates a single day with the weight of memory and emotion bubbling just beneath the surface. Though not an artist in the traditional sense, her internal world is rich and reflective.
Lesson: Creativity can live in introspection and quiet beauty.

Celie – The Color Purple by Alice Walker
Celie’s transformation through writing, sewing, and eventually owning her voice is a deeply powerful arc. Her story affirms that art can be both liberation and healing.
Lesson: Creativity can be a way of reclaiming power and joy.

 

From the Magic of Classic Films

Maude – Harold and Maude
At 79, Maude is the epitome of fearless creativity. She paints, steals cars, dances, and finds joy in the little things. Her zest for life is art in motion.
Lesson: Creativity isn’t something you do—it’s how you live.

Julia Child – Julie & Julia
Julia didn’t discover her passion for cooking until midlife, yet her influence became legendary. In her hands, food became performance, poetry, and play.
Lesson: It’s never too late to discover what lights you up inside.

Edna Turnblad – Hairspray
Initially withdrawn and self-conscious, Edna blossoms through dance, fashion, and newfound confidence. Her transformation is not just external—it’s deeply creative.
Lesson: Restoring creativity may start with restoring your boldness.

The Dowager Countess – Downton Abbey
While not an artist per se, her wit, strategic mind, and commanding presence are undeniably creative. She reminds us that sharp thinking and rich conversation are their own kind of artistry.
Lesson: Creativity wears many faces—humor, leadership, and insight included.

Restoring creativity in later life doesn’t mean going back to who you were. It means giving space to who you’re becoming. Whether it’s picking up a paintbrush, writing a memoir, planting a colorful garden, or learning to play again, your creative spark is still there.

Let these characters inspire you not to "start over," but to keep growing. After all, the second (or third or fourth) act is often the most beautifully written.

You are not too late. You are right on time.