Journal Entry: Made Well

There was a moment this week…it took me back and then was laughable…but it stopped me in my tracks.

I shared on Instagram about an AI platform that confidently made up a song. Not misremembered. Not slightly off. Fully invented—lyrics, title, all of it—offered with certainty. And what struck me wasn’t just the error itself, but how easily it could’ve been believed if I hadn’t already known the truth.

That moment lingered with me longer than I expected. It kept me thinking and pondering so much.

The truth is that we are surrounded by voices every single day. Endless ones. Beautifully packaged. Smoothly delivered. Confidently stated. And not all of them are true.

That realization matters deeply to me—and not just as a woman, a mother, or a storyteller—but as the keeper of a magazine and a personal space that I want to stand for something solid. And something true.

I want to know the truth well enough that I can recognize when something isn’t true. That’ the only way to really know if the voices are false after all.

That applies to what I read.
What I listen to.
What I repeat.
And especially the voices I allow to shape my thinking and my life.

It’s one of the reasons I’m so intentional about what I create and share. We already have plenty of things in this world that are beautiful and fake. I scroll Pinterest or Instagram and get caught up in the beauty of it all…not really stopping to think if what I am seeing is real or manufactured. I am finding more and more that there are plenty of polished stories with no roots. Plenty of trends that sparkle briefly and disappear just as fast.

What we’re often missing is what is beautiful and true.

Not perfect. Not performative. But lived. Earned. Tested.

A few days later, I found myself antiquing with my daughters—wandering slowly, touching old wood, tracing worn edges, opening drawers that had been opened a thousand times before. Pieces that had survived decades of changing styles and shifting tastes.

And it hit me why those things still feel so valuable.

They were made well.

Solid joinery. Thoughtful craftsmanship. Materials chosen to last—not just to sell. They weren’t designed for a season. They were built for a lifetime.

And standing there with my girls, I realized that’s what I want for my life too.

I don’t want a life built on what’s trending.
I don’t want a faith, a home, or a body of work that collapses the moment culture shifts.
I want something sturdy.
Something that can hold weight.
Something that ages with grace.

That’s the heart behind both my writing and the magazine.

Real lived experiences. Stories shaped by time, joy, grief, laughter, and learning. A slower, more intentional way of sharing life—one that values truth over virality and depth over noise. One that doesn’t chase trends but chases Truth.

Because that is what lasts.

And my hope—for myself, for my daughters, and for the spaces I create—is to keep building a life that withstands the years ahead. One rooted deeply enough to remain steady, even as everything around it keeps changing.

Quietly solid.
Beautifully true.
And made to last.

This is my prayer for 2026 and for every other day of my life. Truth that stands the test of time.