One Month
The other day, I asked my husband what I should write about. Now that we’ve moved in and can breathe a little more regularly (hello, running water and working toilets!), I wanted to give an update. I’m so thankful for all of you—faithful saints praying for us and supporting our church plant so we can live here—but when it comes to actually writing, I just draw a blank.
He looked at me with those “Are you kidding me?” eyes and rattled off a whole list of things we’ve done. Honestly, as I sit down now, I’m already forgetting half of them again—but here’s what I do remember, in the blur of an insane amount of change:
After an innumerable amount of trips back and forth from Upper Darby to York, we sold our house. Moving was… rough. But we survived. Rough.
We gutted the old farmhouse, scrubbed every inch, painted the entire place, and tried to update it with our very limited, never-been-professional-handymen knowledge (and budget!). My dad has been our project manager, contractor, and wise counsel throughout the renovation. Thank you, Dad!
We found out the well water was dangerously unsafe—like, don’t-drink-it, don’t-bathe-in-it, don’t-even-brush-your-teeth-with-it unsafe. Multiple tests confirmed: we were drinking straight animal poo. Fixed! Now we have super fancy filtered water.
We hosted our very first Bible study in our humble kitchen and living room—and 18 people came! Andy started by introducing O-I-A (Observation, Interpretation, Application), a great way to learn how to study the Bible. One sweet lady told me afterward she had never thought to really dig deep into God’s Word before. Praise God!
We’ve been fixing things as we go, while also prioritizing teaching, discipling, and soaking up time with our kids.
I’ve been working full-time hours on a bunch of freelance projects during this chaos.
We got baby chicks from my parents’ neighbor, who was excited to incubate some. We’re hoping they’re all hens.
We hung a long clothesline with the sweetest pulley system—it’s been a game-changer.
I have absolutely loved being able to open the door and say, “Go outside and play.”
Andy has been meeting with so many pastors here in York and in the surrounding area.
We’re loving this time with family. It still feels so special to swing by for a quick visit or just stop in to say hi.
A friend gave us all his home gym equipment, and we’ve been enjoying family workouts in the mornings. A dream come true for me.
We hung a few pictures… then I took a few down. Because indecision doesn’t disappear just because you move.
80% of our stuff is still sitting in the carriage house and barn. Today I prayed for a fairy to come put it all away. (Only half kidding!)
And get this—we’ve discovered we can actually eat out as a family of six without breaking the bank. (A minor miracle.)
It’s been a whirlwind—constant, nonstop (good) work. A lot of “Who’s watching the kids so I can do A or B?” and to-do lists scribbled between big dreams and front porch conversations.
But now… it’s quiet.
So, so quiet.
No one’s knocking on our door at random hours. When we step outside, we’re greeted by meowing barn cats and the smell of manure. There’s no neighborhood chatter. I can’t even see our neighbor’s house from the front door. (Though I’m sure they can hear us!)
It’s really quite wonderful. And also… so different.
Even though it’s quiet, my mind is still racing. Still overwhelmed. Still stuck in that gotta-do-the-next-thing kind of pressure. Still the same internal frustrations.
This quiet—this slower pace—is something I’ve longed for. I used to think, If I can just get somewhere quiet, then my mind will be quiet too. Then I’ll finally be able to think clearly. Then I’ll know how to prioritize. Then I won’t be so overwhelmed. Then I’ll pray more, meditate on God’s Word more, serve my family with more joy.
But alas—Elisabeth Elliot’s words echo in my heart:
“The secret is Christ in me, not in a different set of circumstances.”
Oh yeah. That’s right. I still need to tend to my heart.
How forgetful I am. There is no substitute for opening your Bible—letting the sweet and sometimes painful words of truth speak, soothing and shifting your soul. To treasure the Bible. There are no shortcuts.
I caught myself seeking comfort in internalized productivity—the next project checked off, the next activity scheduled, the next light hung. (And yes, they were good things and definitely needed!) But in all of it, I need to say “no” to the temporal and prioritize what is lasting. When I’m overwhelmed, the cure isn’t more striving. It’s to stop. To pray. To seek comfort and instruction in God’s Word. To listen.
This is truly a lifelong pursuit, not a one-and-done conquering.
We’ve had many trials—mostly small ones—trying to figure it all out in our own wisdom. That old familiar feeling of overwhelm crept back in as new challenges unfolded. I started hitting the to-do list instead of spending time with the Creator of the universe. Slowly, I curled inward.
Cut off from our church community in Philly and visiting a new church every Sunday here in York, hoping to find a church home while we build a church home, I found myself asking:
What do I need? More me-time? More understanding? More friends? More activities? More animals? More organization? More pretty things to hang in my home?
Nope.
Just an open Bible. And instantly, my heart is quiet again.
I pray, thanking the Holy Spirit for drawing me upward and outward, and reminding me—once again—to abide in Him.
