I don’t know if it’s just me, but this season feels extra full. Between family, my oldest son’s upcoming wedding (9 days! 😳), the holidays, and all the writing projects that have been stacking up, I’ve found it harder and harder to sit down and write here — in this space that started it all.
When I began blogging, it wasn’t for likes or algorithms; (still isn’t) it was a way of processing what God was teaching me in real time. Some of those raw reflections eventually became the foundation for Untethered: 30 Days of Pressing on in Hope & Obedience — a devotional born out of old blog posts and journal entries that carried me through one of the most refining seasons of my life.
Untethered isn’t long or complicated — it’s simple short devotionals, honest, and rooted in the same kind of conversations I have with God when life feels messy. But since its release on Amazon, my writing time has shifted. I’m still learning how to balance being a writer and a blogger — how to keep writing for publication without losing the heartbeat of why I started writing in the first place.
And honestly? That tension has been good for my soul. Because slowing down to write here reminds me that I don’t have to produce — I just have to be faithful.
A Season of Stillness (and Surrender)
In the middle of that busyness, I felt God nudging me to return to the basics — to the quiet practice of slowing down and listening again. Out of that came Stillness with the Savior, a 24-day guided Scripture journal through the book of Luke.
Every December, our family reads one chapter of Luke each day from December 1–24, walking through the story of Jesus’ birth and life leading up to Christmas. It’s become one of my favorite traditions — a way to remind ourselves that Christmas isn’t about the rush, but about Emmanuel — God with us. From birth to resurrection.
Stillness with the Savior grew out of that rhythm. It’s a space to pause, reflect, and put ink to paper as we internalize the truths of Scripture. While we use it during the Christmas season, the reflections are truly evergreen — perfect for any time you need to slow down and realign your heart with His.
Even when it’s hard to find time, I keep coming back to this little corner of the internet — because it’s where so much of what I write begins. This blog is my reminder that the process matters just as much as the product.
If you’ve been juggling your own projects, commitments, and chaos, take this as a gentle nudge: you don’t have to do it all. Just stay tethered to the One who called you in the first place.
Scripture makes it clear—what we say holds weight. Romans 10:9–10 tells us that “if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.” Our salvation itself is connected to both belief and confession. Words matter.
Jesus also emphasized this truth in Matthew 12:35 when He warned the Pharisees about blasphemy, (36) “I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak.” That’s sobering. Careless words aren’t harmless—they reveal the heart and have eternal consequences.
And think about His warning in Matthew 18:6: “But whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea.” For a long time, I thought He was talking strictly about children. But context makes it just as reasonable that He was speaking about anyone young in the faith. That makes me pause. My words can either encourage or discourage, point people to Christ or turn them away.
This hits especially close in today’s climate. With political debates, cultural battles, and everyday frustrations, it’s easy to let passion get the best of us. I’ve caught myself more than once speaking too quickly or too sharply. And while I may feel “justified” in the moment, the bigger question is: did I represent Christ well?
As Paul reminds us in 2 Corinthians 5:20, “we are ambassadors for Christ.” That means when people hear me speak—or read my posts online—they’re not just hearing Raychel. They’re also forming an impression of the Christ I claim to follow. That’s a heavy responsibility, but also a powerful opportunity.
Do our words really matter? Absolutely.
They matter to God.
They matter to those listening.
And they matter for the testimony of Christ.
Additional Scriptures on the Power of Words
Here are just a few reminders from God’s Word:
“Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking deceit.” — Psalm 34:13
“Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits.” — Proverbs 18:21
“Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.” — Ephesians 4:29
“Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak,
slow to anger.” — James 1:19
“Set a guard, O Lord, over my mouth; keep watch over the door of my lips!” — Psalm 141:3
A Call to Action
Think about your words today. Are they pointing people toward Christ, or away from Him? Before you speak—or post—ask yourself: Does this reflect Jesus well? Words can build or break, bless or curse. Choose to use yours to shine His light.
A Prayer
Lord, set a guard over my mouth and keep watch over the door of my lips. Help me to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger. Let my words bring grace to those who hear and reflect the heart of Christ in every conversation. Amen.
On Tuesday, September 16, 2025, we celebrate twenty-five years of marriage. That sentence lands with both the weight of time and the lightness of grace. We didn’t arrive here by perfect planning or flawless execution. We arrived here by choosing—again and again—to return to the table, to tell the truth, to forgive, to laugh, and to keep Jesus at the center.
I used to imagine anniversaries as fireworks and sweeping gestures. Sometimes they are. More often, they’re a Tuesday night with dishes in the sink, someone who needs help with something, a text that says “on my way,” and a quiet moment to look at each other and remember: this is the life we promised to build, one ordinary day at a time.
1) The real miracle is endurance.
Falling in love is a spark; staying in love is stewardship. The miracle isn’t that two imperfect people found each other—it’s that they keep showing up for each other. We’ve had seasons when we were shoulder-to-shoulder, charging the same hill, and seasons when we were back-to-back, covering each other from in the midst of life’s battles. God met us in both.
2) Forgiveness is a rhythm, not a single act.
We’ve apologized badly, and we’ve apologized better. We’ve learned to say, “I was wrong,” and then give each other room to heal. Forgiveness doesn’t erase consequences, but it does open a door for hope to walk back in. Jesus taught us that. He keeps opening doors we would have nailed shut.
3) Small is the new grand.
Grand gestures are wonderful. But the quiet things—the hot coffee, the prayed-for meeting, the “text me when you get there,” the hand on the small of the back at church—those stitch a life together. Love is heaped up in teaspoons.
4) Unity doesn’t mean uniformity.
We haven’t always agreed on pace, plan, or paint color. (Can I get an amen?) Unity for us has meant honoring the same mission: to love God, love each other, and love the people He puts in front of us. When we aim our hearts in the same direction, the rest gets easier to sort out.
5) Laughter is holy maintenance.
There were years when laughter was thin. Then we remembered how to look for it, invite it, and protect it. Joy isn’t a denial of reality; it’s proof that grace is still at work in it.
God’s Design for Marriage
Marriage was never our invention—it was God’s. From the beginning, He set it apart as a covenant, not a contract. His design was that husbands would love their wives as Christ loved the church, and wives would respond with trust and respect, both walking in step with Him.
I have seen my husband live that design every single day. He has demonstrated unconditional love to me just as God tasked him with. It’s easy to follow a man so full of humility, who demonstrates courage by leading us and others with his heart instead of his head—even when he’s encouraged to do the opposite—because he knows that’s not consistent with the Word of God.
He is a man I can trust to have the integrity to behave in public the same way he does behind closed doors, in public conversations and private ones. He constantly seeks to build and grow people, even at great cost to himself, never tearing them down or demeaning them.
He is a true servant leader in word and action—one who doesn’t make decisions to make things easier on himself but easier on those he leads, just as Christ did.
That is the man God gave me. And that is the design God gave marriage: love that lays itself down, leadership that serves, and a covenant that reflects Christ Himself.
6) We needed the third strand.
“Two are better than one… and a cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9–12) We are not the heroes of our story—Jesus is. When we braided Him into our everyday: our calendars, our money decisions, our parenting, our apologies, our celebrations—that’s when endurance turned into peace.
A Prayer for Us (and for You)
Lord, thank You for the gift and grit of marriage. Teach us to serve more than we demand, to listen more than we defend, and to forgive as we’ve been forgiven. Continue to be our third strand—our strength, our wisdom, and our peace. Amen.
If you’re celebrating an anniversary this year—or clinging to hope in a hard stretch—drop a comment. I’d love to pray for you and cheer you on.
“What’s the point in raising your hand if you don’t raise it high?” Today, I’m raising mine—high—for the promise we made and the God who’s kept us.
Recently I had a conversation with a family member I dearly love and deeply respect, still. The topic turned political—my fault, since I voiced frustration about one of the figures in our current administration.
That opened the door to a discussion that revealed we were far more politically divided than I realized. At one point, I was asked directly if I had supported the current (Trump) administration. When I admitted I did—even knowing it could sever our relationship—the response was swift:
“You can’t consider yourself a patriot.”
That stung.
But rather than get defensive, I wanted to hear the other side. I asked for evidence. I asked where the information came from that supported such a claim against me. Because the truth is, I’ve been looking—and I haven’t seen it.
Here’s what I’ve realized: I’m not angry. People are entitled to their opinions. And just because that’s someone’s opinion of me doesn’t make it true.
What I’ve dwelled on most is this—while I am grateful to live in this country, and while I do believe America is a great nation (especially having lived in and visited other countries), I don’t actually care if people think of me first as a patriot.
My U.S. passport proves my earthly citizenship. My Texas driver’s license confirms my state residency.
I also recognize that my freedom to say this—to write, speak, and live out my faith—among many other freedoms-was safeguarded by the blood of countless men and women who gave their lives in service to this country. Because of their sacrifice, and because of the protections guaranteed by our Constitution, I still have the legal right to speak what I believe, even when people who think like me are ridiculed, silenced, or persecuted.
That same freedom also extends to those who don’t think like me. They, too, have the right to speak, write, and live out what they believe—even when we disagree.
I don’t take those soldiers’ sacrifices, past and present lightly. I honor their courage and the high price they paid. I believe that I have voted and will continue to vote in alignment with the beliefs I ascribe to in mind. That freedom points me to something greater…
My residency is in Heaven.
That eternal home was purchased for me in blood by Jesus Christ when He died on the cross for my sins—and yours too. He rose from the grave defeating death and has prepared a place for His followers in Heaven. That reality sets my priorities:
My first allegiance is to God. My second allegiance is to my family. My third and fourth allegiances are to this country and this state.
I am a citizen of Heaven, and I want my behavior here on earth to bear the weight of that truth, run through the filter of eternity. I’m not striving to be a great American or a great Texan. I’m striving to be a faithful citizen of Heaven—because if I live that way, then perhaps I’ll also be both a better American and Texan.
At the end of the day, that’s what I stand for.
I support the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the inerrancy of His Word found in the 66 books of the Bible, the complete and divinely inspired revelation of God. I believe we are all made by Him and in His image—whether we want to admit it or not—and we should treat each other accordingly.
That is my first allegiance. That is my identity. That is where my citizenship rests.
And I’m getting homesick for that perfect place.
👉 “I’d love to hear from you—where do you place your first allegiance? what does being a citizen of Heaven mean to you? Share your thoughts in the comments.”
I watched a clip of a Ted Talk that popped up on my news feed not long ago. I don’t even remember who the speaker was, but the analogy he shared has stuck with me ever since. He wasn’t talking about spiritual matters, but the analogy convicted me spiritually nevertheless.
He asked everyone in the crowd to raise their hand. Most in the crowd indulged him. Then he asked them to raise them a little higher. As the audience pushed their raised hands a little higher, he asked why they had not raised them as high as possible the first time.
I thought instantly of a verse of Scripture: “Whatever your hand finds to do,do it with all your might (Ecc 9:10) and work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men” (Colossians 3:23). I thought of the scene from the Christian movie Facing the Giants that makes me cry every time—where the coach encourages his athlete to do his very best. As the athlete pushes and accomplishes something, he surprises himself with what was actually possible.
In this season of transition, of getting to come home to a community we consider home, we’ve been talking about what we step back into and what we don’t. What we seek. What we keep doing. What we let go of as part of the last season.
And in light of recent horrific events, one thing keeps coming to the forefront of my mind, convicting me.
It’s possible to behave as a Christian in every aspect of your life—at work, at home, on errands. You can lead a life of gratitude toward the Lord and speak that to those you encounter through your daily activities, all without regular church attendance. You can selectively watch sermons that are theologically robust from the comfort of your home.
But is that your very best?
Is that raising your hand as high as possible for the Lord?
Ecclesiastes 9:10 reminds us, “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.”
When I think about Charlie Kirk—whether I agree with 100% of what he said or not (newsflash: I agree with most)—I see a man who raised his hand as high as he could as a servant of Christ. A man who encouraged us all to do the same thing.
I’m not ever going to be a peaceful debater like Charlie was. That’s not my place. But I do feel a sense of responsibility to raise my hand as high as possible for the Lord in the way He’s gifted me. Romans 12:1 says, “Offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.”
Jesus willingly came as the sacrifice for my sin, and His hands were raised and nailed to the cross. The very best of humanity for all time died for our sins and rose from the grave.
I owe it to Him to do my very best.
I owe it to Him to raise my hand as high as possible.
Because really—what’s the point in raising your hand if you don’t raise it high?
That can’t be done quietly from my couch.
If this post spoke to you, share it with others as a reminder to give God our very best. And if you want to walk this journey of faith together, subscribe so you don’t miss the next blog.
There’s something about fall that feels like both a pause button and a reset button at the same time. The air gets a little crisper, the days a little shorter, and the colors around us seem to shout, change is coming.
Our family is standing in that same place right now—on the cusp of a new season. The bright colors of what’s ahead excite us. But here’s the reminder: there’s always work to do before you can fully step into the next.
Think about it.
Even while getting to enjoy fall’s beauty, you rake the leaves.
Before winter sets in, you put away the garden and pull out the coats.
Every season requires preparation.
Spiritually, it’s no different.
Ecclesiastes 3:1 says, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” That means the work of transition is holy too. It’s not wasted—it’s where God gets us ready.
For us, that looks like letting go of things that belonged to the last season and making room for what God is doing in the next. It means tightening our grip on gratitude, loosening our grip on control, and trusting that if He has brought us this far, He isn’t about to leave us now.
And isn’t that what Jesus modeled? He didn’t rush seasons—He embraced them. Luke 5:16 tells us that Jesus often withdrew to lonely places to pray. That was His way of preparing for the next step. If the Son of God needed those pauses, then maybe we do too.
So here’s my reminder to myself—and maybe to you too: the work of transition is worth it. On the other side is the joy of a new season.
Maybe that’s where you are right now—standing between what was and what’s about to be. Don’t despise the in-between. Prepare well, because what’s coming is good.
“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:19)
Friend, God is doing something new—in me, in my family, and in you. Let’s not miss it by rushing through the work of change. The season ahead is bright.
👉 What season of transition are you in right now? I’d love to hear how God is preparing you for what’s ahead.
Since I’ve been so brutally honest in this space about how I often feel about myself, let me just go ahead and share another secret:
This bears no reflection on the character or attributes of God—I’ll be the first to proclaim that He is good all the time, that His ways are higher, and that He is always right, even when I don’t understand.
But here’s the hard thing I wrestle with sometimes.
I get confused when I see people declare things boldly in faith, almost as if they’re entitled to blessing, like they can demand things from God just because they belong to Him. I know we are His. I know He loves us. But I often wonder… is that what faith is supposed to look like? It’s not what I see in the Scriptures.
That posture has never sat quite right with me. Because honestly, I don’t feel like I can ask God for more. He’s already done enough.
As a mom of two sons, I couldn’t imagine giving either of them up—especially knowing they’d suffer and die for things they didn’t do. Even if I knew they would rise in three days, I couldn’t bear it. But God? He did it. He gave His Son. And Jesus came willingly—a sacrifice to atone for my sin. For your sin. For all of us.
That’s why, when I say in my previous post that God thinks you’re worth dying for, this is what I mean. Not some feel-good slogan. But a love so big and sacrificial it defies understanding. A love that didn’t just feel something—it acted.
So how could I possibly ask for more?
I know what Scripture says about prayer. I’ve done the studies. I’ve read the books. I know that He welcomes us to come to Him—to pour out our hearts freely. And I do that. I’m so grateful that when I don’t have the words, the Holy Spirit intercedes for me. When all I have is a sigh or a tear, He knows exactly what it means.
But still… there’s this quiet hesitation in me when it comes to asking for anything more. It’s not about theology. It’s not about what’s true of God. It’s a me thing.
Do you ever feel like that too? Like salvation alone would be more than enough, and anything else feels like asking too much?
If that’s you, I see you. I am you.
But let’s remind each other today:
He already gave the most valuable thing—His Son.
And that same love says we’re welcome.
Not just to be saved.
But to be known.
To be heard.
To be cared for.
So even when it feels like too much to ask—
Let’s come boldly.
Not because we’re entitled.
But because He’s that good.
Let’s talk about it.
Have you ever wrestled with feeling like you shouldn’t ask God for more… even though you know He says you can?
Drop a comment, send me a message, or share this post with a friend who needs the reminder that He welcomes you—fully.
You are loved, seen, heard, and still invited to come.
I told my husband today that I feel like a Dollar Store product.
You know—the kind that’s useful, sometimes even necessary, but never premium. Not the thing people show off. Not the thing they brag about. Just… there. Cheap. Replaceable.
And the worst part? Even if I dress differently—style my hair, wear the fancy sunglasses, tie the sweater around my shoulders like the women I see stepping out of a five-star restaurant and onto their yacht—I still wouldn’t feel like them. I might look the part on the outside, but inside, I still feel like the knockoff version. The “close enough” that never quite measures up.
It’s not about jealousy.
It’s about worth.
And I wrestle with it daily.
Maybe You’ve Felt It, Too
Maybe it’s imposter syndrome.
Maybe it’s the echoes of childhood trauma.
Maybe it’s the insecurity that came from years of not feeling financially safe.
Maybe it’s all of it, tangled into something I haven’t fully named yet.
Part of me wonders if I feel this way because I’ve never fit into the mold of what’s considered traditionally feminine. I don’t always feel “girly.” I love doing things that some would label as guy things—guns, hunting, dirt, grit. I’m hands-on. Rugged. Practical.
I’m also the queen of “making it work.” – Of using what I have, not what I wish I had.
I grew up with limited resources, and even though we’re financially stable now, my mindset never fully shifted. I still catch myself in that same “make it stretch, make it last” mindset. It’s like the struggle taught my brain something my circumstances no longer reinforce—but my heart still believes.
The Price of Believing You’re Not Enough
I know Jesus died for me. I know He would’ve done it even if I were the only human on Earth. I know this in my head. But my heart? Some days, it still whispers: “You’re not enough.”
And that whisper? It doesn’t just show up in the mirror.
It shows up in unexpected places—like my blog.
I’ve never even charged a subscription fee for my writing and struggle to price my books and services.
Not because I don’t believe in the words I share, but because deep down, I’ve struggled to believe people would want to support me. That they’d think I’m worth it.
But I’m learning that my value isn’t defined by who clicks “like,” or who pays, or who praises.
My value was set in place by the One who created me in His image.
From Dollar Store to Divine
God didn’t put more value in someone else’s bank account, waistline, social circle, or wardrobe.
He didn’t slide a secret scale across the heavens and decide some of us were just going to be Dollar Store quality and others made of gold.
He made us in His image.
That’s not Dollar Store.
That’s divine.
The Truth I’m Choosing to Believe
You are not cheap.
You are not replaceable.
You are not less-than.
And neither am I.
Even if we don’t always feel it.
Even if we’re still healing.
Even if we show up in camo and work boots instead of stilettos and a silk scarf.
We are loved by a God who doesn’t shop by brand or budget.
He doesn’t value polish. He values people.
And in His eyes, you’re worth dying for.
📣 If this post resonated with you, would you leave a comment or share it with a friend?
You never know who else needs to hear they’re not alone.
I hate realizing I’ve gotten out of the habit of regular study—and then seeing that I’m spiraling because of it. How’s that for transparency and personal confession?
That’s where I’m at right now. I know my thought patterns haven’t been in alignment with God’s Word. And here’s how I know: anytime I start viewing a person—or group of people—as the enemy, regardless of what they did or how they acted, I’ve taken a wrong turn.
Because the enemy isn’t flesh and blood.
Ephesians 6:12
“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places.”
Study the Enemy’s Strategy
I’ve read (or more accurately, listened to) more military leadership and history books than I can count. And there’s one consistent thread in all of them: they study their enemy.
Surveillance. Intelligence. Patterns. Motivation.
They study past outcomes to prepare for what lies ahead.
And Scripture does the same for us.
The enemy is clearly identified and exposed in the light of God’s Word. If we want to stand firm—if we want to push forward into the light with our families, friends, teammates, coworkers, and everyone we encounter—we’d do well to study his methods.
John 10:10
“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came so that they would have life, and have it abundantly.”
Satan’s playbook isn’t creative. He lies to steal our joy in Christ. He works to destroy relationships. He sows seeds of mistrust, bitterness, and division.
His endgame?
To sever our trust in God and convince us to doubt His promises.
The War Has Already Been Won
But we have a choice.
I, for one, refuse to aim at the wrong enemy. I refuse to participate in his mission through unforgiveness, accusation, or distraction. He may win some skirmishes here and there, but I’ve read the end of the story:
Revelation 12:10
“Now the salvation, and the power, and the kingdom of our God, and the authority of His Christ have come, for the accuser of our brothers and sisters has been thrown down, the one who accuses them before our God day and night.”
He doesn’t win the war.
So I’m putting on the full armor of God (Ephesians 6:10–20), and with the power of the Holy Spirit, I’m not giving him an inch of ground I can defend. I’m digging in—because:
John 15:13
“Greater love has no one than this, that a person will lay down his life for his friends.”
When Worship Becomes Warfare
Last night, my entire family and I attended the Summer Worship Nights concert with Phil Wickham, Brandon Lake, and Josiah Queen.
And when Phil sang “Battle Belongs”—a song that’s become the anthem of my last six months—I stood with my hands lifted and tears streaming down my face.
“So when I fight, I’ll fight on my knees
With my hands lifted high
Oh God, the battle belongs to You.”
– Phil Wickham, “Battle Belongs”
In that moment, I was reminded:
I don’t have to fight this battle alone. I never have.
Worship is warfare.
And when we kneel in surrender, heaven stands in victory.
Untethered is a product of my life drastically changing as a result of a new season. Hi, I’m Raychel! Last year about this time (Jan 2022), my husband, Shaun, and I along with the rest of our family embarked on what we thought would be a new adventure in a new season of calling. It was all of that and then some! The “and then some” is the primary reason I’m sitting here typing this.
Our Family’s Background and Ministry Life in Texas
A little historical context… Shaun and I have been married for 22 years and have 3 amazing kids which I homeschooled, and we have some amazing bonus kids too. He had lived in the same precious town his entire life. I was born on an Air Force base and moved around A LOT until my dad retired, he and my mother got a divorce, and my life sort of went a little haywire but I did manage to go to all 4 years of high school in the same school! By that time, I had lived in Texas for 6 consecutive years. I had, to that point, lived a life untethered to any place and any person except my mother because, up to that point, even though I was incredibly close to my dad, and had a hero-level big brother, she was the only constant in my life… until Shaun. We met a month before I graduated high school.
He was already working for Nucor and when we met, he claims he “knew” immediately that he was going to marry me! He was right, because 5 months later we said, “I do”! We settled into the town he grew up in and 2 years later welcomed the first of 2 smart, handsome boys almost 5 years apart with a firecracker of a gorgeous warrior princess in between them! As marriages do, we had some major ups and major downs but turned to the Lord through all of it and He began to guide us into a season of service that would so deeply connect us to our community, church family, and youth that when He moved us into the new season we are currently experiencing, I felt as though a part of me had been ripped from my body and as a God trusting, Bible reading, praying Christian, I went through one of the deepest depressions of my life.
Becoming untethered can feel positive and negative, sometimes both at the same time.
Our family in Texas right after the Virginia move where God called us into a new season — rooted in love, ready for wherever He leads.
Answering God’s Call to Go
Instead of giving you our entire ministry history, suffice it to say that God used some amazing people to disciple and grow us as we followed Him and eventually led us to a staff position serving in student ministry. May of 2021 was a milestone in ministry as the first group of students that we had the privilege of influencing for all four years of high school graduated, to include our oldest son. We just thought we grieved then! Up until that point we had been equippers and senders, and only goers short term. In January of 2022 that changed, and the call to “go” was heard and accepted. Resigning from youth and stepping away from those families we had grown so attached to was gut-wrenching.
Our oldest was nearly through with his associate’s degree with Liberty University and decided to start work at Nucor, following in Shaun’s footsteps. This meant we had to leave him behind. The family of five who stayed together pretty much 24/7 except for the hours that Shaun was at work, was now missing an entire member.
Adventure was on the horizon as we were doing an interim stint in Indiana and were traveling ahead of an incoming snowstorm! That was probably the only thing that kept me and the kids from crying the entire drive as Shaun had gone up the week before us. We’ve only seen that much snow one other time in our lives when some friends, who we consider family, invited us to their home in New Mexico with them on vacation, but snow melts…
As the snow melted, so did our excitement of the new adventure and we found ourselves in another charming little town, but knowing no one, not knowing how to get anywhere without Google Maps, feeling unknown, unseen, grieving the loss of all things and people familiar, especially our son—being very untethered.
No one really warned me about the minor irritations of just not knowing how to get places, not being able to find the same foods, visit the same chain restaurants. I learned what a comfort familiarity had been and how much I hadn’t recognized or appreciated it before.
Six months later, after an intense interview process, Shaun was offered and accepted an operations manager position in Virginia. More unfamiliar. More unknown. No snow in Southern Virginia to speak of, but we are an hour from the beach and smack dab in the middle of some amazing history! That’s still not enough excitement to overcome some of the toughest mental battles yet.
Losing Identity and Finding God’s Purpose
In Texas, our entire family was serving in our local church body together. Shaun and I served our community on the board of directors of the Chamber of Commerce (2021 was my favorite town Christmas celebration if I do say so myself). I owned and operated a gun shop and training center as a certified instructor. We had cultivated a reputation and credibility from years of service and doing life together with our community. We were known.
Moving to Virginia, Shaun’s reputation preceded him to a degree because he is still with Nucor; mine did not. I entered into a tailspin of lost identity and lost purpose. I could plainly see how God had enlarged Shaun’s sphere of influence and how he was being used, but I could not see the same thing for me.
Virginia is much more restrictive than Texas in a lot of areas that I had previously operated in, and I just felt so untethered—less like a hot air balloon that does have some control over how high it goes and for how long and more like a helium-filled balloon whose string had slipped from a child’s grasp on a windy day.
The Physical Toll of an Untethered Life
The stresses of all of it, not to mention securing a safe place to live that we could at least bring some of our animals to, I had allowed to have detrimental effects to my body. Cortisol, the stress hormone and not having any regular exercise does not do a body or mind good! Starting over is hard, more so when your hubs doesn’t have to start over as much as you do and if not held in check can lead to resentment.
After I graduated from seminary, I knew I didn’t know all the stuff. I couldn’t believe they were letting me walk across the stage with a Master’s degree! It was the same way when we finished our “Counseling By the Book” Biblical counseling certificate program.
In fact, prior to this season, Shaun and I had done quite a bit of counseling, and this season taught me as much—if not more—in some areas as all of our classes did. I can truly empathize with people I couldn’t have in areas I could not have before.
Wrestling with the Desire for Heaven
I can’t tell you how many tears I’ve shed through this season, how much I wished for death. There’s a difference between being suicidal and understanding Paul’s words in Philippians 1:21: “For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”
Life isn’t always sunshine and sparkles, and neither is living out your calling—just look at the disciples! But “heaven will surely be worth it all!” Longing for Heaven because your mind can’t even comprehend how amazing it will be, especially in contrast to this broken world, is not the same as being suicidal.
But, choosing not to do basic everyday skills—like shower, clean up after yourself, move your body, soak up sunshine, read The Word, eat real food, engage in your home and with the people around you—those things are not okay, or healthy. I went through that phase too.
Choosing Trust Over Comfort
While I sit and reflect, I’m not 100% certain what my new grand purpose is in this season. But I trust God. I know I am His, and I know that He is all good. As long as I trust Him and acknowledge Him, He will direct my path.
I know that doesn’t look like the landing crew that guides planes into the airport jetbridge, but I have His Word and I know ultimately I’m supposed to love Him and love others—so I have an outline of things I can do every day!
If I’m writing my daily lessons or musings and it helps one person to feel seen, heard, and keep going, then that’s plenty. I do miss our family and friends in Texas, and Texas itself, but I’m not sorry that I’ve gone through this. I’m already seeing how it has grown me and those around me, and specifically how it has grown my faith.
That’s reason and purpose enough for God to send us. Anything that draws you closer to Him—even if it hurts and is hard—is worth it and purpose enough. By becoming untethered, I find myself completely tethered to Him alone.
💬 Let’s keep the conversation going… Have you ever felt God untether you from something familiar? I’d love to hear your story. Share your thoughts in the comments or send me a message — I read every one. And if you want encouragement like this sent straight to your inbox, subscribe so you don’t miss a post.
Raychel Writes 