Why I’m Sharing These Words Out Loud
If I’m going to be honest, this feels like a new season.
For years, many of you have known me as the homesteading mom. The canning lady. The one who gets a little too excited about root cellars, Cinderella pumpkins, and whether your pressure canner is venting properly.
And all of that is true. Homesteading has shaped our rhythms, our meals, our seasons, and even the way our children see the world. It is woven deeply into the fabric of our everyday life.
But underneath all of that, there has always been something deeper.
Our faith.
If you’ve followed Josh and me for any length of time, you’ve likely sensed it. Faith is not something we tack on or treat as decorative.
It is foundational.
When we first started Homesteading Family, we spent a lot of time praying about how to share that foundation. We felt called to serve broadly, to teach skills, encourage stewardship, and help families move toward resilience and health in practical ways. So that is where we focused.
We taught safe canning. We taught bread baking. We taught pantry stewardship. We encouraged thoughtful living and personal responsibility within the home.
But about a year ago, something shifted quietly in my heart.
One morning during prayer, while I was working on an article for the Homestead Kitchen magazine, I felt a clear nudge. If I was going to write, I needed to write the whole story.
Up until that point, I had been outlining articles and passing them off to a staff writer. I shared direction and ideas, but the words themselves were not mine. When I felt the Lord prompting me to begin writing personally, and to weave my faith openly into those reflections, I hesitated.
Writing has never felt like my natural strength. I am the girl who would have chosen chemistry over composition every time. The one who used to cringe at hearing her own voice on an answering machine. The one who felt her stomach flip when a camera came out at family gatherings.
And yet, obedience rarely waits for comfort.
So I sat down. I prayed. And I wrote.
Not with a grand plan or polished outline, but with a quiet prayer: “If this is what You’re asking, You’ll have to meet me here.”
And He has.
Those articles, Notes from the Heart of the Homestead, have been living quietly in the pages of our magazine over the past year. Tucked between canning recipes and sourdough tutorials, they have held space for something more reflective. A place to share what God has been teaching me through this life.
What humbles me most is how that small, quiet step has grown. What began as an idea around our kitchen table now reaches nearly 15,000 homes each month. Real pages. Real ink. Real people sitting down with a cup of coffee, reading about pantry rhythms and prayer in the same sitting.
That still amazes me.
Over this past year, one thing has become increasingly clear to me. I do not separate my faith from my homesteading. I never truly have.
Homesteading did not begin for us as a trend. We did not even call it that at the time. We were simply trying to steward well what had been entrusted to us. Our land. Our health. Our children. Our home. We were trying to live intentionally.
And beneath that stewardship was faith.
Faith comes first. Not because we are trying to sound spiritual, but because everything else depends on it. When I am not rooted there, everything feels thinner. I do not show up the same way in my marriage. I do not parent with the same steadiness. I do not work with the same peace.
Time in prayer. Time in Scripture. Turning my heart toward the Lord. These shape everything that follows.
Over the years, I have also come to see that God reveals Himself in the ordinary work of the homestead.
When I watch a seed push through the soil after weeks of tending, I see patience.
When a crop fails despite my best efforts, I learn surrender.
When abundance follows a lean season, I recognize provision.
When I feel the pull to strive or prove myself, I am reminded that true fruit does not come from force. It comes from abiding.
There is a reason Jesus used seeds, soil, and vineyards to teach spiritual truth. The land makes invisible things visible.
And I believe He is still doing that today.
As we move forward, I am going to begin sharing these reflections in a new way. Once a month, I will be bringing these articles to life in video form. They will be drawn from past magazine pieces, lessons learned while walking the fields, tending the garden, filling the pantry, and wrestling through my own heart.
You will see the homestead as it is. Frost on the pasture. The orchard in bloom. Steam rising from canning jars. The quiet stillness of winter fields. And alongside that, you will hear the words as they were written.
Not because I have everything figured out, but because I am still learning.
If there is one thing I hope comes through, it is this: hope.
Hope in a world that can feel chaotic.
Hope that your daily acts of stewardship matter.
Hope that God is not distant, but present and near.
Hope that you carry more influence in your home and community than you may realize.
Stepping into this more openly does require courage for me. It means facing fears I might once have avoided. But growth rarely happens in hiding. Sometimes obedience simply looks like taking one step forward.
So that is what I am doing.
And as these videos begin to roll out each month, I would truly love to hear from you.
What is God teaching you in your own fields, whether literal or figurative?
What lessons are unfolding in your kitchen, your garden, your quiet moments of prayer?
Where are you seeing Him at work in your life?
If something I share causes you to pause, reflect, or even see something from a new perspective, I welcome that too. We do not all walk identical paths, but when we share honestly, we grow steadier together.
This has never been about standing on a stage.
It has always been about building something rooted and real, one conversation at a time.
Thank you for being here.
Thank you for walking this road toward resilience and intentional living with us.
And thank you for allowing me to share a little more of the foundation beneath the fields.
Let’s keep tending what has been entrusted to us.
And let’s keep talking along the way.
