When Hope Feels Far Away
There are seasons in life when hope doesn't disappear all at once.
It slips away quietly.
One disappointment at a time.
One goodbye at a time.
One unanswered prayer at a time.
One ordinary Tuesday when you realize the house has become too quiet.
Before long, you begin to wonder if this is simply what life looks like now.
Maybe you've been there.
I know I have.
More often...
Hope arrives quietly.
It shows up in the warmth of morning coffee.
In fresh flowers on the kitchen table.
In a dog who somehow knows exactly when you need companionship.
In the birds singing outside your window before the world wakes up.
In a meal lovingly prepared, even if you're the only one sitting at the table.
In choosing to make your bed.
In lighting a candle.
In opening the curtains.
In taking a walk.
In whispering one more prayer, even when you aren't sure what to say.
These little moments don't erase pain.
But they remind us that beauty still exists.
And when beauty still exists...
Hope isn't as far away as we thought.
If you're reading this today and life feels heavier than you expected...
I hope you'll remember this:
Your story isn't over.
Not because I know exactly what tomorrow will bring.
But because I believe there is still beauty waiting to be discovered in your life.
Sometimes we just have to slow down enough to notice it.
Before you go...
Take one slow, deep breath.
Look out a window.
Notice one beautiful thing.
Carry it with you today.
With hope,
Susan
Take your time.
The Heart Behind Hope Lives Here
I've always been an introvert.
The kind who feels everything deeply.
The kind who can walk into a room and somehow sense the atmosphere before a word is spoken. The kind who carried painful memories quietly, built walls to protect a tender heart, and spent far too many years weighed down by regret.
For a long time, I thought my sensitivity was something I needed to overcome.
It wasn't.
What I needed to overcome was believing it made me weak.
Healing came slowly.
Through countless hours in therapy.
Through endless time in God's Word.
Through long walks with my dog while listening to voices that spoke hope instead of fear.
Through learning that joy and sadness can exist in the very same heart, at the very same time.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to become less sensitive.
Instead, I learned to see my sensitivity as a gift.
It allows me to love deeply.
To notice the person everyone else overlooked.
To sit with someone in their grief without needing to fix it.
To be moved to tears by a brilliant blue sky filled with the puffiest white clouds because I'm reminded that beauty still exists, even after heartbreak.
For years, I thought my tender heart was my greatest weakness.
Now I know it's one of God's sweetest gifts.
And I wouldn't trade it for anything. 🤍
With hope,
Susan
Take your time.
Beautiful things often begin the moment we decide not to give up.
There were days I was certain the obstacles in front of me were simply too big. Days when progress felt invisible and I questioned whether all the effort was worth it. But I've learned something I never could have learned any other way.
Hope isn't wishful thinking. Hope is choosing to take one more step when you can't yet see the destination.
One more prayer.
One more attempt.
One more lesson.
One more sunrise.
Overcoming isn't usually one brave leap. It's hundreds of quiet decisions to keep showing up.
Today I was reminded that perseverance has a beautiful way of rewarding us. My first sourdough loaf came out of the oven. My website finally went live after hours of dead ends and frustration. My little Instagram community continues to grow one genuine connection at a time.
None of those victories happened overnight. They happened because I kept going.
If there's one thing life has taught me, it's this:
Don't surrender your hope. 🤍
Hope has carried me farther than fear ever could.
And sometimes, when you least expect it, you look around and realize you're standing in the very place you once prayed you'd reach.
With hope,
Susan
Take your time.
The Beauty Parlor Protest 🩷
This is Lia on the ride home from what I affectionately call the beauty parlor.
To say she isn't a fan would be quite the understatement.
Every. Single. Time.
She refuses to look at me the entire drive home. Not even one glance. 😂
Apparently, I have betrayed her in the most unforgivable way.
This is my view all the way back to her safe place.
The funny thing is...give her a couple of hours, and she's over it. She's back to following me from room to room as if nothing ever happened.
Watching her always makes me think about us.
How often do we have to do something we don't want to do?
A difficult conversation.
A doctor's appointment.
Paying the bills.
Facing a hard truth.
Making a decision we'd rather avoid.
Sometimes we carry that frustration home and unknowingly aim it at the people who make us feel safest. Not because they deserve it...but because we know they'll still love us afterward.
Maybe Lia's little protest is a gentle reminder for all of us.
It's okay to be frustrated.
Just don't let your frustration become someone else's burden.
And if you ever catch yourself pouting...
I hope this picture of my sweet, stubborn girl pops into your mind and makes you smile.
🤍 Hope Lives Here.
🌿 My Focus Point
This little sign hangs in my office between two pictures...
One of my son.
One of my daughter.
When work becomes overwhelming and my mind is racing, I look up.
Not because the sign has any power.
But because it reminds me to shift my focus.
First, I see my children and remember that no matter what this day holds, I am already richly blessed.
Then I remember that the God who has carried me through every difficult season has never once left my side.
He has stepped in more times than I can count.
This little corner of my office quietly reminds me of three things:
🤍 My children are two of God's greatest gifts to me.
🤍 I already have more than enough reasons to be grateful.
🤍 God has never failed me before... and He won't begin today.
Sometimes all it takes is one glance...
and my heart remembers what my mind has forgotten.
...And then God stepped in.
With hope,
Susan
Take your time.
🌿 The Bridge
These were my mother's pearl earrings.
On my daughter's wedding day...
they became something much more.
My mother adored her granddaughter. She called her "Miss Potts," a nickname spoken with so much affection that even now, I can still hear it.
They spent countless hours together...
playing on the floor,
sharing afternoon naps,
and waking to laughter that drifted down the hallway like music.
When my daughter fastened these earrings before walking toward the love of her life...
I felt my mother's presence.
Not because I believe pearls carry magic.
But because love has a way of crossing places that time cannot.
As I watched Miss Potts wear the earrings her grandmother once treasured, thousands of memories rushed back all at once.
I closed my eyes.
Took a slow breath.
And quietly whispered,
"She's with us today, Momma."
Those pearls became a bridge...
between the grandmother who loved so fiercely,
the granddaughter who was so deeply loved,
and a daughter standing in the middle, grateful enough to witness both.
Some things are inherited.
Jewelry.
Photographs.
Recipes.
But the greatest inheritance is love that continues long after someone is gone.
🤍 Hope Lives Here
With hope,
Susan
Take your time.
Hope Lives Here is beginning its journey after decades of missteps, heartbreak, and learning to rise again.
There were seasons when getting back up felt impossible. There were days when the weight of regret, grief, loneliness, and disappointment convinced me that staying down would be easier than trying one more time.
But somehow, by God's grace, I kept choosing to kneel... then rise... then take one more step.
Not because I was strong.
Because hope kept whispering that my story wasn't over.
This page isn't about having life figured out. It's about what I've learned while walking through the valleys. It's about the people who shaped me, the ordinary moments that healed me, the beauty I almost missed, and the quiet ways God restored my heart.
If you've ever wondered whether you can begin again...
You can.
I know because I've had to begin again more than once.
If even one person finds a little hope here, then every hard chapter of my story will have been worth telling.
Hope Lives Here... because your story isn't over. 🤍
🌿 It thrives in shade
When I first learned that Lily of the Valley actually prefers shade, I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Most flowers seem to reach for the brightest spot in the garden.
Not this one.
It quietly chooses the places where the sun doesn't linger.
The places beneath towering trees.
The hidden places.
The overlooked places.
The shaded places.
I think that's why it speaks to my heart.
For years, I believed the brightest seasons of life were the only ones worth celebrating.
I wanted the mountaintops.
The milestones.
The victories.
The picture-perfect moments.
But life had other plans.
There were seasons marked by divorce.
Grief.
Loneliness.
An empty house.
Questions that had no answers.
Days when simply getting out of bed felt like enough of an accomplishment.
If someone had asked me then if anything beautiful could grow in those places, I probably would have shaken my head.
But God knew something I didn't.
Some flowers aren't designed for constant sunshine.
Some of the most beautiful things He grows in us happen where the light seems dimmest.
Compassion.
Patience.
Grace.
Wisdom.
Gentleness.
Faith that isn't dependent on circumstances.
Hope that survives disappointment.
None of those things were born on the easy days.
They took root in the shade.
Now when I see Lily of the Valley, I don't see a fragile flower.
I see quiet strength.
I see a life that proves beauty doesn't need perfect conditions to bloom.
Maybe that's true for us, too.
Perhaps the places we've been tempted to hide...
The valleys we'd rather forget...
The seasons we'd never choose again...
Are the very places where God has been growing something beautiful all along.
Because sometimes the most extraordinary blooms aren't found standing in the brightest sunshine.
Sometimes they're waiting quietly in the shade.
And maybe...
that's where hope grows best.
🤍 Hope Lives Here