From the very beginning, our marriage has included room to breathe. Encouragement to take alone time. Support to go home. A trust that distance doesn’t mean disconnection.

This episode is a walk back through the early days. The role music played in bringing us to Tennessee, the long drives, the unexpected detours, and the seasons of uncertainty that followed. We reflect on the years that reshaped everything, and how the very thing that brought us here is even finding its way back again.

This is our road map. So much we couldn't see ahead, but somehow kept walking together.

Part Two continues our conversation about drifting, feeling unseen, emotional burdens, and reconnecting through small, spirit-led moments. Drifting isn’t the death — God restores what feels apart.

When marriage drifts, it rarely happens through drama — it happens quietly.

In this (part one) episode, we talk about the subtle seasons where you aren’t fighting, but you’re not really connecting either.

We explore how small frustrations reveal deeper needs, how resentment begins before anger, and how feeling unseen can happen on both sides at the same time.

Through Scripture and personal reflection, we discuss learning each other, carrying each other’s burdens, and noticing God in the everyday moments.

If you’re feeling disconnected, this conversation reminds you that small things can become pathways back to each other — and God works in the quiet.

We’re learning to slow down and listen, to abide with the Holy Spirit, to trade striving for surrender, and to see the fruit that grows when we walk in obedience.

It's honest conversation with plenty of laughter and a few rabbit trails along the way, but somehow, every one of them leads back to Jesus.

After several weeks away, we’re back with a new episode.

What began as a simple catch-up turned into honest conversations about the next steps in our faith—growing in prayer, seeking a church home, and navigating relationship changes when priorities slip out of place.

With a some space for current events.

It’s not just chatter; it’s daily bread for the soul (Matthew 6:11).

Along the way, we follow a few rabbit trails too—because we don't know how not to.

We’re back after a few weeks off, thanks to RAI (spoiler: it hit harder than expected).

We talk recovery, real-life side effects, and how our “lantern vs. flashlight” brains handle everyday chaos—me with all the tabs open, him with one tab at a time.

Marriage, misfires, and making it work.

This week was one of those blurry ones—where the days feel like molasses but your soul’s sprinting. Walking through thyroid cancer treatment will do that. Everything slows down and speeds up all at once. So, we sat down to record… and somehow ended up talking about roadkill hats, the power of suggestion, pocket preferences, and the staying power of childhood cartoons.

It might sound like chaos (and it is), but somewhere in there, we found a thread—about how little pivots can change everything, how “default mode” somehow became “busy,” and how not every shift in life has to come with blame. Sometimes it’s just a moment. A before and after.

It’s a whole lot of nothing, and a whole lot of everything, wrapped in laughter, fatigue, faith, and tomato plants.

Which honestly? Feels just right for this season.

This week, we talk about low iodine madness, legacy land, and the kind of provision that doesn’t look flashy—but looks a whole lot like faithfulness.

We buried our sweet Reesie, made new friends in unlikely places, and sat in the ache and the laughter of a weekend that didn’t go as planned—but landed exactly where it needed to.

Being surrounded by all our children and grandchildren, running amuck and filling the place with laughter and life— honestly, that might just be the most beautiful kind of holy.

Romans 12:2 reminds us: “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind…”

Like Mary, who said yes to God’s plan before she understood it— we keep showing up.

We don’t let the hard things steal the joy. We let them sit together, and we trust that God can hold it all. Joy and grief held hands. Comparison lied. And the Word told the truth.