Handle With Care

My heart has been broken in ways many people could never choose to face—especially in love. And I’m proud of the faith I’ve built inside of it.

But the truth is… this heart isn’t as strong as people think it is.

It reminds me of a body part that’s been broken and had major surgery. The prognosis might be good, and everyone might assume you’re “fine” now—but in the days, weeks, and even months after, the body is still in repair. It’s balancing the damage that’s been done, trying to relearn its functions… and figuring out whether it’s even strong enough to carry the same weight it once did.

That’s my heart.

It’s healing—but it’s delicate. And it needs to be handled with intentional care.

We’ve all witnessed how people hold a newborn baby. The way they cradle the head and body. The way their eyes stay locked on every inch, making sure they don’t mishandle them or cause distress in any way.

That’s how I feel my heart needs to be held right now—carefully, gently, intentionally. Like something precious that could still be hurt so easily.

And as that baby grows, they become more resilient to the world. Not because life gets easier—but because their parents spend so much time meeting their needs in those early stages: food, sleep, comfort, security.

Now any parent knows that feeling… when a baby is crying, but the need isn’t clear.

They aren’t hungry. They aren’t tired—they just woke up. But they’re still fussing. Still crying. Still unsettled.

Sometimes their little bodies aren’t asking for anything logical.

They’re just asking for comfort.

They’re asking to be soothed.

My heart has been given roots again.

Roots to rebuild trust through full disclosure.
Roots to share a home again—building it, making it ours.
Roots to believe the promises of faith: that we’re going to get through this together.

God guided both of our hearts back to each other, but that doesn’t mean it erased the past. It doesn’t mean the fears don’t resurface. Those fears may never fully disappear… but what I’ve learned is that the enemy will always try to use them.

Evil whispers false narratives into our ears, trying to convince us that what happened before will happen again.

And when God answers, He doesn’t do all the work for us.

He shows up. He leads. He makes a way.
But we still have to walk the path.
We still have to face the hurdles along it.

And I know there are hurdles.

But I’m ready to show my person that the past version of me—the one that hurt him, the one that was reactive, sharp, distracted, or overwhelmed—is not coming back.

Yes, we will have stressful days. Every family does.
But I know now that a house that has stress sometimes is not the same thing as a stressful home.

Sometimes we take for granted the noise and chaos of life. We get frustrated that things can’t be simpler.

But “simple” would be a quiet home.
A lonely home.

A home without a talkative partner.
Without an energizer bunny kid.
Without laughter or movement.

And I know one day we’ll look back and miss the noisy chaos—when our family grows up and the house isn’t full the way it is now.

I also know that my past tone, my judgments, and even the way I carried the mental load of motherhood made my person feel like they couldn’t be their full self.

And I don’t want that anymore.

We are different, and I’m grateful for that.

I will never let our differences—how he supports his hobbies, how he folds his shirts, the cups left in the sink, the way he unwinds on the couch until he passes out—be a reason to argue.

I would rather giggle at all the little complexities of him until I’m holding his hand on our deathbed.

Because the truth is… someone who doesn’t challenge me to sit down, calm down, and enjoy life would leave me lonely. I would miss the other half of my heart.

And still—knowing all of this—I have a heart that needs help in other ways.

Just like the crying baby, my heart cries sometimes, and I can’t always explain what set it off.

Is it because we both have brand new jobs?
Is it because we haven’t had real couch time to just say, “Hey… here are my fears”?
Is it because we’ve been living full throttle since the start of this year?

I don’t know.

But I do know this: the cry isn’t because my person did something wrong.

Sometimes my heart is just asking for extra soothing.

And just like a baby is calmed by the people they trust most… my heart settles when it’s soothed by the one person it’s still learning to trust again.

Even in this new beginning, there are still moments my heart flinches.

I pray that my person also learns how to let me into his heart the way I’m learning to let him into mine.

I pray he tells me what he needs when his spirit feels heavy. I pray he trusts me enough to say, “This is where I’m struggling,” instead of carrying it alone.

Because I don’t just want to soothe my own heart in this season.
I want to be safe for his too.

I pray he knows that he—and my purpose—are what matter most. And that even our hardest disagreements, our most serious moments of stress, and our differences in how we think or feel will never be worth losing each other.

I have eyes now that see what I didn’t always see.

I see the enemy trying to puncture our circle.
I see the whispers that try to turn old fear into new truth.

And I pray that, with time, he develops that same discernment.

Because God didn’t bring us back to this place just to survive.
He brought us back to build.

And when we follow the hard path God placed in front of us—the one that requires humility, accountability, and faith—we won’t just make it through.

We will thrive.

We will have a love that has endured more than most people will ever understand. And I believe, with every part of me, that it will get easier over time.

We’re only four months into this new journey. And if we’re being honest, the first two were filled with holiday distractions—moving pieces, noise, busyness, and survival mode.

So now… now is the time.

Now is the time to buckle down.
In our faith.
In each other.
In our family.

To keep doing the next right thing—
even when it isn’t the easiest thing.

I’ve learned that God doesn’t answer prayers by removing every fear.

Sometimes He answers by giving you the strength to walk forward anyway.

So I’m walking.
With eyes wide open.
With faith as my filter.
With my purpose protected.

And I will keep doing the next right thing—
not because I’m naive,
but because I’ve seen what happens when God steps in and two hearts finally surrender.

This is our new chapter.
And this time, we’re building it with truth.

Because the middle isn’t where stories end—
it’s where they’re finally rewritten.