I can admit when I do something a little silly.  A few months ago, I was on the hunt for a new vehicle for my husband. He’s spent years putting our family first, sacrificing and going without, and I finally decided it was time he had something reliable—and nice—to drive. He’s not a car guy by any stretch. He doesn’t like to talk money, hates the back-and-forth of negotiations, and honestly, he’s happily let me handle our last few vehicle purchases. Usually, I just text him when it’s time to sign.  So, as any good wife would do, I started doing the legwork. Lots of text messages, lots of photos, lots of follow-up questions. One afternoon, as he was showing me a truck he liked, I got a random message from someone at a local dealership asking if I was interested in selling my current car. Strange timing, right? Almost like someone knew we were looking…  I started texting back and forth with this person—who was incredibly helpful. They answered all my questions promptly, had all the info I needed, and honestly got me moving quickly toward setting up a test drive. They were professional, thorough, and made the process painless. So before locking in our appointment, I asked, “By the way, what’s your name? You’ve been so helpful.”  She responded:  “My name is Whitney! I’m happy to help get everything lined up and looking forward to seeing you Monday morning.”

Man, do I LOVE Christmas. I love the twinkly lights, but maybe most of all, I love finding the perfect gift. There’s something meaningful about truly understanding a person and choosing a gift that reflects who they are.

For many, joy is a happy, upbeat word—often categorized as a form of happiness. But for me, joy is so much bigger than that, and quite honestly, not always happy.

2 Thessalonians 3:16

I truly enjoy the Christmas season. As a praise and worship leader for many years, I didn’t always feel that way—at least not fully. Christmas songs were never my favorite, not because of the lyrics or their meaning, but because the notes were almost always too high. And every December seemed to arrive with an extra layer of stress: the expectations, the decorating, the constant bustle.  But the twinkly lights… those are my jam.  There is nothing like sitting in a quiet, dark living room with only the Christmas tree lit. In those still moments, there is a special kind of peace—an invitation to breathe, to be present, to remember.  As a leader in the church for many years, I was blessed to help guide our congregation through Advent. My favorite years were always the ones when God nudged my heart to choose someone to share one of the Advent words—Hope, Peace, Joy, or Love—and simply let them run with it. Those were raw, powerful moments that came straight from the heart, not read from a script. So as the Advent season approaches again, I felt compelled to offer my own reflections this year, beginning with Hope.

I often suggest writing a letter to my clients—sometimes to someone they miss, sometimes to someone they’re angry with, and sometimes to themselves. Letter writing can have such a healing quality. When someone is feeling conflicted, I’ll often say: Sit down and write a letter. Don’t worry about punctuation, the occasional swear word, or whether your sentences run on. Just write. Get every feeling out.  I preface it with this: You are not sending this letter. This is simply a way to get the feelings out of your mind and onto something outside of you.  When you’re done, read it over. Notice whether something showed up that you didn’t even realize you were upset about. Then scan your body from head to toe. What do you feel? Relief? Tension? Sadness? Name it. From there, decide:  Are there pieces of this I actually want to share? Or am I okay now that I’ve released it?  Most of the time, I find I never need to send the letter to feel better.

This month I’ve found myself reflecting deeply on the military—what it means to our country, but also what it has meant to me personally as a mother.

I can finally say it out loud: I was fired.  Now, those weren’t the exact words that were said to me. What I was told sounded much more polished and political:  “The job you’ve held for the last three years is being restructured… we’re going in a different direction.”  Translation? I was fired.  At the time, those words hit hard. I poured so much of myself into that role — late nights, extra projects, showing up for everyone else — and suddenly it was gone. But life has a funny way of working things out exactly when it’s supposed to.

I love going to Goodwill stores. I always seem to find the best deals on the cutest things. My husband swears I end up rebuying things I’ve already donated, but he’s wrong—I promise.  A while back, I found an adorable jumper. I don’t think I’ve ever worn a jumper in my life, but somehow, I felt confident I could pull this one off. When I got it home, it felt a little snug, so I hung it up for a while. But one day, I decided to try it on again. This time, it felt a little looser. I didn’t linger in the mirror—I just headed off to work.  I stopped at a gas station to grab a drink, and the attendant surprised me with a sweet compliment:  “That outfit is so cute.”  I smiled and said, “Thank you so much.”  When I got to work, another compliment came my way:  “You look really cute today.”  I smiled again, proud of my modest find from Goodwill.  All these compliments made me feel good—until I took a picture of the outfit.  And suddenly, I felt sad.  In that photo, I didn’t see the confidence I felt earlier. I saw someone who still struggles with her weight. Someone who doesn’t always feel at home in her body. Someone tired of battling autoimmune issues and the relentless effort it takes to feel “normal.”

As we get closer to the end of the year, I could suggest you start thinking about your resolutions—but let’s be honest. How many of us have made a million resolutions over the years, only to quit them before day three?  So, let me offer you a different approach for 2026.  What if you lived the entire year through the lens of just one word?  It’s a concept I’ve been practicing for years, based on the book My One Word by Mike Ashcroft and Rachel Olsen. The process is simple, but the impact is powerful:  Find one word. Then watch it transform your year.

A few days before my colonoscopy, I got a phone call.  It has taken me years to stop denying the need for the procedure, and when I finally scheduled it, the days that followed were full of angst. Between the surgery center, the doctor’s office, and anesthesia, it felt like I was getting two phone calls a day—each one asking the same questions. I felt like a walking checklist.  But then, the last call came. A quiet, timid voice greeted me on the other end of the line. She introduced herself as someone from billing, calling to go over the charges for my upcoming procedure.  She hesitated for a moment before saying, “So… your insurance deductible is quite high.”  There was a pause, heavy with anxiety.  I responded, “I know the procedure is expensive, and I have the means to pay what I need to today.”  She exhaled. I could almost feel the relief wash over the phone line.  “Oh thank you so much,” she said. “I just didn’t know how I was going to tell you how much you owed. I could only imagine how upset you were going to be with me. Thank you for making this conversation so easy.”

When my son left for college, he left behind a beautiful desk he built tucked into the corner of his room. And what does any good mom do? She takes it over and makes it her very own charging station.  Because honestly, I don’t know about you, but there never seems to be enough power strips and charging cords for all the gadgets that need to be recharged. And that got me thinking… what do we do when our battery hits the red zone—below that 10% mark?

—Taylor Swift

Few things are as simple—and as profound—as wildflowers. I don’t water them, I don’t tend to them, and honestly, I didn’t even plant them this year. Yet, there they are, pushing up through the earth, bringing unexpected joy to anyone who stops to notice them. They bloom where they are planted.  That phrase—“bloom where you are planted”—is scattered throughout my office. But I’ll be honest: there were seasons when I truly questioned whether I could bloom in the chaos around me. Still, somehow, I did.

Last week, I was challenged with something unexpectedly fun: Puzzle Mania.   Most of my blog themes revolve around self-care, and this one is no different.

Not too long ago, I had the opportunity to visit the Sight & Sound Theatre in Branson. I’ve seen a few of their productions over the years, and while Esther will likely always be my favorite, this year’s presentation of David was something special.  What made it even more meaningful was the season I found myself in—attending a church that was walking through the book of 1 Samuel. We were studying David’s story just as I was about to see it brought to life on stage. That kind of alignment is no coincidence; God has a way of weaving truth through different parts of our lives.  

“I always did like flowers, said the Lion. They seem so helpless and frail.”  —L. Frank Baum

You know what I need to do? Drink more water.  You know what I want to do? Drink more Diet Dr. Pepper.

“‘Cause even when your heart is breakin' and you've gone and lost your way.  You're, you're gonna be okay.”

Women need other women in their lives who think they are amazing.  No competition, no jealousy, no hate,

“Putting first things first means organizing and executing around your most important priorities.  It is living and being driven by the principles you value most, not by the agendas and forces surrounding you.”  —Stephen Covey

You are stepping into a new stage of life—sending your kids off to college, the military, or another type of leaving the nest.  I’ve done it—twice to college, once to basic training, and once on a deployment across the globe. And let me tell you… motherhood is hard.

Journaling is my number one counseling tool. It’s something anyone can do—children, teens, and adults alike. The key is finding the right approach, and unlike years ago, there are now so many more options available.  I often remind people that journaling feels hard because our thinking around it is skewed. Most of us associate it with the kind of diary we kept as kids—where we either wrote about the worst things that ever happened (“I had to do push-ups at lunch because the gym teacher said I was talking too loud”) or the very best (“I got a note folded into a triangle from my secret admirer!”). Yes, I know I’m showing my age there.