• Why I quit TimeHop

    ByKristin faith, life
    Remembering is good, but I had to take a break from TimeHop.

    For 3,087 consecutive days, I opened and scrolled through TimeHop, often before I even got out of bed.

    I’d scroll through old photos, smile at forgotten memories, and text friends screenshots of moments we’d shared. I love creating side-by-side, then-and-now comparisons. I’m deeply grateful for where God has brought me, my marriage, and my family. I love seeing my now-grown kids with their baby faces and remembering friendships that have stretched across so many years.

    Remembering is a gift.

    But somewhere along the way, TimeHop also became a habit that quietly made me sad.

    Honestly, I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s because it’s difficult to live contentedly in the present when looking backward becomes a daily priority.

    The past three years have been the hardest of my life. I keep hoping, and praying, that we’ve turned a corner. Maybe we have. Maybe we’re closer than I realize. But when you’re walking through a valley, it’s not always easy to tell.

    What I do know is this: I want to remember how I’ve seen God at work here. Those moments haven’t really been fair game for social media yet, but they’re the story the Author and Perfector of our faith is writing. I want to notice His faithfulness in today’s ordinary moments, not just remember how He worked yesterday.

    That’s much harder to do when I’m constantly flipping through pictures of what feel like the “good old days,” the days that seemed easier. The days before one friend moved away, before another quietly wrote me out of her life, before parenting felt less like fighting for my son’s actual life.

    Looking backward isn’t wrong. Scripture is full of reminders to remember what God has done. But remembering is meant to strengthen our faith for today, not pull our hearts away from today.

    So I quit the streak. But I’m not forgetting.

    I’m not saying I’ll never open TimeHop again. I probably will someday, because I genuinely love remembering. But that’s not what my heart needs right now.

    Today, I need to be fully present in the valley God has me walking through. I need to watch for His mercies this morning instead of reliving yesterday’s memories. I need to believe that one day, these difficult days may become reminders of His faithfulness too.

    *****

    God authors the stories on our porches – in every season, wherever we are. If you haven’t already, please subscribe to  #PorchStories emails to receive them about every other week.

  • A decade of country living

    ByKristin family, life
    6 Comments

    We’ve lived in the country for a decade now. 

    When we moved out here, our youngest wasn’t even toddling around yet. Rachel took her first steps here in our one-story house, even though she learned to climb the stairs at our old house in town. We’ve celebrated all of her birthdays here.

    Our oldest, who is probably currently living here for the last summer, was nine that summer we changed addresses. Our boy, sandwiched between his sisters, was six when we moved seven miles from town. Nobody was double-digits yet, and now they’re all there; they’re 10, 16, and 19. Two are driving, and that little one who wasn’t even toddling a decade ago does her best to keep up with them both. 

    We paved the driveway, extended the driveway, finished the room above the garage, filled in a pond, and dug another pond that’s now stocked with fish. We cut trails and maintained trails. We installed a pool and expanded our porch. We built a barn, but I have no idea why we call it that because it houses the lawn mower, side-by-side mule, ping pong table, and space that doubles as a pickleball or basketball court. 

    As a family, we’ve explored, grown as a people, grown tomatoes, grieved, celebrated, swam, walked, and planned. We’ve made a billion decisions around our kitchen table or our porch. We’ve been surprised by life in the best and worst ways. We hunkered down during the social distancing of COVID-19 and several snow days right here on our acreage. 

    For 10 years, I’ve wanted to name this property, but I’ve never found the right name. Even so, this place has given me life, or, rather, God has sustained me and rescued me over and over again, here in the country. I’ve become a plant lady and a cat lady. We have dogs now. The wild turkey and deer are still near, and I try not to think about what else lives in our woods. 

    After my dad unexpectedly passed away in 2019, I bought myself a sign that hangs in my kitchen and says: “And so they built a life they loved.” And it’s true. The decade here on Wright Road has shaped me and grown me in ways that echo God’s faithfulness over and over again. Our family has walked through some winding roads that have challenged us, but we still choose to sit down to dinner together. 

    This is the life we built in the country. Thanks be to God for every moment, all 315,532,800 seconds. 

    *****

    This isn’t the first time I’ve written about our country-living life. I wrote about it in my book, “Bringing Home More Than Groceries: Stories About Gathering & Nourishing People,” and shared that excerpt. I also wrote about what I learned after a year of country living.

    God authors the stories on our porches – in every season, wherever we live. If you haven’t already, please subscribe to #PorchStories emails to receive them about every other week.

  • How to be human

    ByKristin family, life

    I recently told a friend that being a human (a wife, a mom, a friend, a sister …) is hard. Then I recognized part of the reason is that we live in a culture that celebrates humans doing all of the things.

    We praise productivity and are eager for efficiency. We applaud achievement and measure our days by the marks on our to-do list. But if we aren’t careful, we determine our worth based on these metrics and not by what our Creator says. The pressure to do more can quietly shape the way we see ourselves, even as followers of Christ.

    But Scripture consistently reminds us of something different: Before we are called to do, we are invited to be. We were created as human beings to be with God and others. 

    At the very beginning, in the Garden of Eden, humanity wasn’t created with a to-do list. Adam and Eve were created for relationship: to walk with God, enjoy His presence, be with each other, and live in the identity by which He defined them. Their first calling was to BE. Then God entrusted them with working in the garden. That order matters because otherwise we begin to live out of striving instead of identity and become “human doings.” 

    Even in the life of Jesus, we see the rhythm of being. Before Jesus began His public ministry, before the miracles, the teaching, or the crowds, something profound happened at His baptism. A voice from heaven declared: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.”

    Notice something important: Jesus had not yet performed a single miracle or sermon.

    The Father’s pleasure came from who Jesus was, not what He had done. That same truth is extended to us. Through Christ, we are adopted as sons and daughters of God. Our identity is not built on our accomplishments, our ministries, our parenting success, or our productivity. Our identity is rooted in belonging to Him.

    When we live primarily as “human doings,” several things begin to happen: We attach our worth to our productivity. If the day was productive, we feel valuable. If it wasn’t, we feel like failures. We struggle to rest because we think even that has to be earned. We fall into the false illusions that everything depends on us instead of trusting God with outcomes.

    Even spiritually, we can fall into this trap. We can turn faith into a checklist: Did I read my Bible today? Did I pray long enough? Did I serve enough?

    These practices are good and life-giving, but they are meant to flow from our relationship with God, not replace it or define it. 

    From a place of being, doing naturally follows, but it looks very different. Instead of striving for approval, we begin to live from approval. Instead of trying to prove our worth, we begin to serve from the security of being loved. Jesus described this beautifully when He said to abide in Him (John 15).

    While “abiding” is an ongoing verb, it is NOT about constant activity. It’s about connection with God and others. When we live from that place, our work, service, parenting, and ministry become expressions of the life God is already producing within us. Now, this isn’t a call to be lazy, but to be wise and in tune with God says about us as His creations.

    Certainly, listen to how God is calling you into His presence and rest, but here are some suggestions (not a checklist) of how to be human: 

    • Slow down enough to notice God’s presence.
    • Create space for quiet prayer and reflection. Leave the sink of dirty dishes alone for now. 
    • Remind yourself that your value doesn’t rise or fall with your productivity.
    • Take a nap. Sometimes that’s what we need to take care of responsibilities later. 
    • Read. Work a puzzle. Call a friend. Take a walk. Plan a trip. (I’m telling you, hobbies matter.)

    When we rediscover the freedom of being with God and stop the striving and trying and doing, something beautiful happens: Our work becomes worship. Our service becomes joyful. Our rest becomes peaceful.

    That’s how to be as a human rather than do. 

    ***** 

    This is a newly written blog post, but it echoes some of the themes of how we were Created for Communion, which is the title of one of my books. Learn more here.