A Season of Stillness
Photo by Shedding Shots Photography
It’s been quiet around here lately — not because I wanted it that way, but because life had other plans. Since early June, I’ve been walking through a season I never could’ve imagined.
Back in early June, I was in a terrible wreck. It’s the kind of moment that divides your life into a before and an after. By the grace of God, I’m still here. It could have been so much worse, and that truth has a way of humbling a person. Gratitude feels different now — it shows up in the smallest of things. In the laughter of my kids out feeding horses. In watching them step up, without being asked, to help with chores I couldn’t do. In the steady, patient ways my parents have carried more than their fair share of the load when I was zero help. And in Matt, quietly handling the chaos of our home - juggling a full time job, 3 kids and what feels like 7,823 pets - so I could focus on healing. The steady rhythm of the ranch — and of our family — carried on, even when I couldn’t.
This summer — and now fall — has looked nothing like I planned. I had a calendar filled with horse shows I planned to attend, of paddle boarding dates with my Addie, and dreams of honing my awful roping skills. Instead, my days have been spent in a neck brace (12 weeks), in and out of doctor’s offices (still), and learning the hard lessons that come with being still. For someone used to moving cattle, hauling hay, and rarely sitting still, being forced to stop was one of the hardest parts. But stillness has its own kind of work — quieter, but no less holy.
On October 1st, I underwent spinal surgery… again. Writing those words still feels heavy. This time it was on my cervical spine — a procedure I never should have had to face. Recovery has been tedious and humbling, but I’m healing — slowly and faithfully. Life won’t ever look quite the same again, but maybe that’s what grace is all about — allowing what’s been broken to be made new in a different way.
There are pieces of the story I’m not ready to share yet. But someday, when the time feels right, I will. For now, I’m simply grateful to be home — to wake up to the mountains out my window, to smell the fresh cut hay, to see my kids and family carrying on with kindness and love, to feel the pulse of this place that’s held me through every season.
The future feels uncertain — because in truth, it always does when your life is built around the land. Cattle and horses still need to be fed, fences still need fixing, and seasons still roll on whether you’re ready or not. But maybe that’s the beauty of it. Even when we’re standing still, life finds a way to keep moving forward. Sometimes it takes being still to see just how faithfully life — and grace — keeps moving.
