Coming Home to Dixie

Last night I stayed up far too late scrolling through Amazon, researching home security systems and cameras for the new house. There are some great deals right now, and with everything going on lately—including that unsettling break-in—we really want to make sure we’re protected and prepared. Still, I knew better. I should have gone to bed earlier. I’m paying for it today.

I’m dragging. More cups of coffee than usual. More fog in my brain. More to juggle. The packing, the job, the endless to-do list, and the emotions swirling in this house as we inch closer to our moving day—it’s all compounding. We’re officially one week out now, and everyone feels it. The tension, the nerves, the butterflies. It’s all very real.

I placed one last grocery order today—just the essentials we’ll need to make it through this final week. The goal now is to clean out the fridge and freezer as best as we can and not bring more food into a house we’ll be leaving in a matter of days. I also added snacks to the order for the long road trip ahead. I let the girls pick their favorites, and of course, both gravitated straight to candy. I had to redirect that pretty quickly. No way I’m trapping two sugar-crazed kids in a vehicle for 12+ hours a day with no way to burn that energy. So we found a compromise—savory, protein-rich snacks that are still yummy but won’t send them bouncing off the ceiling.

Thankfully, we are done with appointments for the rest of this week. I didn’t realize how exhausting it would be to balance all of that on top of work and moving prep. Between the girls’ doctor and dentist appointments, Honey’s last grooming session before the move, and trying to squeeze it all in around meetings and emails, I’ve been completely spent. We do have a couple of appointments next week—Ava is due back at the vet for a follow-up on her skin condition. Thankfully, the medications seem to be working, and she has a little pep in her step again. It’s so good to see her wagging her tail and following us around with that familiar spark in her eyes.

Finn, our mischievous little Ragdoll kitten, also has an appointment to be neutered before we leave. I’m so relieved the clinic had space for him—who knows what vet availability will be like once we’re in Mississippi. It’s one more thing off the list.

With everything going on, you might wonder—how do I find time to write these blog posts?

Honestly, it’s a lifeline. It’s calming. Cathartic. Writing these thoughts down gives me a few minutes of peace, a little order amidst the chaos. It’s also deeply meaningful to know that there are people out there—you—reading these posts and thinking of us. Keeping us in your prayers. That knowledge lifts me, a bit like that beautiful scene in Peter Pan, when everyone says they believe in Tinker Bell and she comes back to life. That’s what this blog is for me. It reminds me that I’m not doing this alone. (And if you feel like commenting or emailing me to encourage me to keep going – feel free!)

And, truthfully, people have been telling me for years that I should write my story. From my childhood in foster care and being adopted, to boarding school, to moving to Israel and planning a wedding in Australia that never happened. Teaching English in China, coming back to California to start over with nothing but a suitcase full of summer clothes. Surviving cancer just after college. Putting myself through law school. Becoming an attorney. Becoming a foster parent. Adopting my girls. And now—moving back to the South, back to Dixie, to the place where I once began.

Sometimes I look back and think, Did I really live all that? And the answer is yes. And how? Because I’ve known God as my Father since I was six years old. Not in a casual way. In a real way. In a life-sustaining, deeply personal, undeniable way. When I had no earthly parents to guide me or comfort me, He stepped in. I truly believe God is a Father to the fatherless—and I was the proof of that.

Even though I was adopted at eight, it was not a good match. My adoptive parents wanted nothing to do with me. When I was twelve, they gave me a choice: undo the adoption and go back into foster care, or go to boarding school. I chose boarding school. It turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life.

And now, all these years later, we’re moving back to that very place—so my daughters can attend that same school as local students. Full circle.

There have been so many times in my life when I’ve felt completely alone. So many times I’ve had to figure things out without anyone guiding me. But I learned early on to trust God, and He has never let me down. One of the verses I’ve carried in my heart for decades is Proverbs 3:5-6:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.”

That’s been my compass. Even when nothing else made sense.

Sometimes I think not having parents involved in my life was its own kind of gift—because it taught me to listen more closely to God’s voice. I had to. And He’s always been there.

As a child, happiness felt impossible. My circumstances were too painful. But somewhere along the way, I learned that happiness isn’t something you wait for—it’s something you choose. I began to understand that joy is not dependent on how “happy” your situation is. It’s a deep belief that there is hope.

Hope. My favorite word. It’s the heartbeat of my story. It means second chances. It means healing. It means a new day to begin again. It means this season—this stress, this exhaustion—is only temporary. And it means my Heavenly Father is still guiding me. Always has. Always will.

Writing these words has renewed my strength. I’m ready to keep going. To keep packing, keep parenting, keep managing, and keep encouraging my family through these last few days. I’m ready to believe again in the promise of what lies ahead.

We’re almost there.

We’re coming home to Dixie.

And we’re bringing hope with us.