I spent years waiting for joy to find me in the kitchen. Turns out joy isn't weather. It's a garden — and gardens left alone grow weeds.

What happens after the bell stops ringing? In this honest reflection, Kim shares the realities of cancer survivorship seventeen years later — the fear, lymphedema, long-term side effects, cost, gratitude, and hope that continue long after treatment ends.

When I was preparing for chemo, my husband created a quiet corner of our living room with plants, a small waterfall, blankets, books, and a chair that would hold me through some of the hardest days of my life. Seventeen years later, I still need that oasis. This is a personal and practical guide to creating a soft place to land during cancer treatment, surgery recovery, chronic illness, caregiving, or any hard season when your body needs holding.

If Cancer Is a Gift, What's the Return Policy?

(And four other things, please, please don't say.)

The Blue Bag That Started It All

On squirrels, shelves, and finally letting a dream breathe

A reflection on listening to my body, letting go of “good girl” expectations, and learning that hope doesn’t wait for things to get easier.

“For such a time as this…” (Esther 4:14).
Those words echoed in my heart yesterday as I watched Charlie Kirk’s memorial. Until eleven days ago, I had never even heard his name. But his assassination and the stories shared about his life forced me to stop and wrestle with questions I’ve avoided for far too long—questions about faith, courage, and what God is calling us to do now.