Hi friends! It’s been a little while since I’ve shared an update here, and I’ve missed being in this space with you. Today I’m coming back with some long-awaited news and a story that tells of both God’s goodness and faith through uncertainty.
We’ve moved!
Even now, it feels a little surreal to say it out loud. For a decade, our days were framed by the steady hum of the city, the rhythm of traffic, the dense city grid, and the constant sense of busyness just outside our door. It was a full life. A good life. But somewhere along the way, we began to feel a tug toward something quieter.
Truthfully, this wasn’t a new desire. We had been praying for years that the Lord would make a way for us to move out of the city, for several reasons, some practical, some deeply personal. And yet, for a long time, it simply never felt like the right time.
Until, unexpectedly, this year it was.
Trust and Obey
When I reflect and look back at the events leading up to the decision to move, even then, it wasn’t an easy or obvious yes. It was the kind that makes your heart beat a little faster while trusting the Lord with so much change and uncertainty.
Stepping away from a life we had built over a decade, a place that held so many memories, rhythms, and comforts, didn’t necessarily make sense on paper. It wasn’t the most convenient choice, and it certainly wasn’t the most comfortable.
But I’m learning something in this season that feels both simple and profound:
Comfort isn’t always the goal.
Convenience isn’t always the goal.
This invitation was merely to trust and obey.
My family had to step out in faith before having every answer. We’re learning to loosen our grip on what feels secure and allow the Lord to lead us into something we could not have pieced together ourselves. And we’re learning to trust that He does give the desires of our hearts, just often in ways that look different from what we first imagined, always with the purpose of bringing Him glory.
I want to sincerely say this, especially to the mothers reading who may feel that familiar tug in their own hearts (or not!):
This isn’t to say that city living is lesser, or that a slower, small-town life is the only way to cultivate peace, presence, or intention in your home.
It isn’t.
A beautiful, grounded, faith-filled life in the Lord can be built anywhere. Amen?!
The Lord meets us just as fully in the middle of a busy street as He does in the quiet of the countryside. And the desires He places on each of our hearts surely look very different from one another.
This move was simply our “yes” to trust and obey.
Our invitation.
Our answered prayer in this season.
But something that doesn’t get talked about enough is this: even when a prayer is answered, it doesn’t always settle peace in your soul the way you thought it would.
Leaving the city wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was a quiet unraveling of what once felt permanent. There were moments of excitement, yes, but more often moments of uncertainty, wondering if we were doing the right thing, yet always held by the steady assurance that it was the Lord who was preparing the way.
Provision In The Pines
Almost immediately upon arrival, something shifted.
There’s a rhythm to life here that feels human. Grounded. The kind you don’t have to chase or look hard for.
Our days now often begin and end outside under the pine trees. There is so much life happening beneath them. A fruit garden we inherited from the previous owner, new birds we’ve never noticed before, lizards darting through the brush, and the occasional wild game that passes through. And then there are the sunsets—so wide and surreal they stop you in your tracks. Every evening feels like a quiet reminder of God’s perfect provision over our lives, even when we don’t always see it.
Somewhere in the midst of the bustling of moving in, something unexpected had bloomed: community.
Not the kind you schedule weeks in advance, or programs you sign up for at church, but the kind that meets you in the yard. The kind that waves from down the road, stops to chat, and lends a hand without hesitation. There’s a shared rhythm here of people tending to their homes, working the land, caring for what’s been entrusted to them, and in that, a quiet togetherness I don’t think we had ever truly experienced before.
It’s been one of the sweetest and humbling surprises of this move.
Even after all the intentional boundaries we tried to create in the city of slowing our schedules, simplifying our commitments, and cultivating community, I’ve realized just how fast-paced my mind had still been. How accustomed I was to urgency. To keep up. To catch up. To the subtle pressure of always needing to be “on.”
Out here, that pace feels out of place.
And so, I’m learning to lay it down.
To be present in a way that isn’t performative or rushed, but deeply rooted, real, and genuine.
Life here has not been perfect (no move or family ever is), but it has been good in the ways that matter most.
We’re still settling in as first-time homeowners. Still finding our footing. Still learning the shape of this new season. But already, we can see that this move has been a blessing. Not in a grand, sweeping way, but in the everyday moments that make up a life well lived.
If there’s one thing this season is teaching me, it’s this:
Sometimes the most beautiful and fruitful changes begin with a simple, faithful “Yes, Lord, I will trust and obey.”
With love from our new little corner of the world,
The Cooper House
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