Four years ago, my daughter and I tagged along on a business trip my husband had to Hawaiʻi. His company had been asked to assess a potential project, and what was supposed to be a simple work trip quickly turned into something much bigger. About halfway through our visit, it became clear that if the project moved forward, my husband would have to be on-site to oversee the work and manage the logistics.

Although the idea of living in paradise was exciting, it also carried a bit of trepidation at the thought of being so far away from our families and half a world away at that. But we were assured that if we made the move, it would only be for six months. That felt manageable. After prayer and consideration, we took the leap, thinking we’d be away from our families for just half a year and, in exchange, we'd get to experience a little family adventure together.

One of the joys of our family living in Hawaiʻi has been discovering foods we never would have tried otherwise. I've been especially amazed by the incredible variety of tropical fruits, many of which I didn't even know existed before moving here.

One of those is a citrus fruit known locally in Hawaiʻi as jabong. Native to Southeast Asia, jabong was introduced to the Hawaiian Islands more than a century ago and has thrived in the islands' tropical climate.

The first time I saw a jabong tree, I was fascinated. At first, I honestly thought someone had hung giant yellow ornaments from the branches! The fruit is enormous, measuring about 6 to 12 inches across and weighing anywhere from 1 to 4 pounds. Seeing a tree laden down with these massive citrus fruits was both surprising and a little comical. ​

​A couple of weeks ago, my best friend lost her brother to cancer. It was a short but intense battle. And while there is some relief at knowing he is no longer suffering and is enjoying the glories of Heaven and his Savior, it comes as no surprise that there is still immense grief and pain for his family and friends he has left behind. 

Over the past weeks, my friend and I have had many conversations about loss, grief, and the things people say when they don't know what else to say. It hasn't surprised me how often well-intentioned words—even words that may be theologically true—have landed poorly. Instead of bringing comfort, they sometimes deepen the pain, placing expectations on grieving people before they've had the chance to simply mourn.

“He is in a better place.”
“Everything happens for a reason.” 

Years ago, when my husband and I were dating, he had a friend who worked in the kitchen of a very well-known sit-down restaurant chain. What I learned from his stories opened my eyes to what goes on behind the scenes in most restaurants, revealing a world to me that, in some ways, I wish I knew nothing about. 

One such revelation was that most of the food in these establishments is not cooked or prepared on site. Instead, most of these dining chains rely heavily on a system of mass-produced, pre-prepared frozen ingredients and mixes that are shipped to individual locations to be reheated and assembled.

​In one conversation, I remember this roommate saying that the joke within the industry was that one particular restaurant should be renamed “Microwave Garden” since that’s basically what was happening in the kitchen. 

I’ll be the first to admit—I’m an over-thinker. It’s easy for me to get stuck in my own head, replaying conversations, interpreting situations, and second-guessing the choices I’ve made. I tend to analyze and rethink every detail, weighing outcomes, sorting everything into semi-neat categories, and trying to map out what I think is the “right” way forward.

But over time, the Lord has begun to show me what lies beneath all of that. So much of I attempt to take control of what feels uncertain—to hold it together, to figure it out on my own, to soothe my fear and anxiety by organizing everything in my mind.

The ironic thing is that all this self-talk or storytelling I do does just the opposite. For all the effort, it doesn’t bring the peace I’m looking for. Instead, it keeps me striving and circling the same thoughts and narratives in my mind. ​

Our church has just experienced a bit of a baby boom over the last few months. Many of those little ones are the first baby to be born in their respective families. I was chatting with one of the new fathers recently, and he half-jokingly said, “It didn’t take me very long to realize there are so many ways I could mess this up!” 

There are many levels on which this is true. Of course, in those early days where sleep feels elusive and there are the new demands of caring for a baby, parents can find themselves “messing up” by putting a diaper on backwards, struggling for hours over how to install a car seat, or mistakenly putting the baby’s formula in the coffeemaker! But the older a child becomes, even while they are still small, you begin to realize as a parent how many more serious ways you can “mess this up.” As my daughter has grown, so has the weight of what is at stake and my desire to get it right. ​

Often, as one year comes to a close and a new one begins, we consider the changes we’d like to make or how we can implement new rhythms and routines to better our lives. While I think looking ahead and setting goals is a worthy endeavor for the new year, it is also a great time to pause and look back. For the last couple of years, I have tried to make it a practice to spend time reflecting on the closing year.

What were the high points?
What were the lows?
How did God show His faithfulness?
What lessons has God taught me that I want to carry with me into this new year? 

That last question is something I have really given a lot of thought to in the past couple of weeks. Throughout the past year, God taught and revealed many things to me. ​