The Vacation That Reminded Me How to Be Present

There are vacations where you come home with souvenirs.

Then there are vacations where you come home different.

When Trey and I booked our trip to Secrets Huatulco, I thought what I needed most was rest. After the past several years of walking through mental illness, family struggles, grief, uncertainty, and rebuilding a marriage, I was simply tired.

I thought paradise would fix that.

Instead, paradise exposed something I didn't know I was carrying.

The first thing I noticed wasn't the breathtaking cliffs or the turquoise Pacific Ocean.

Magical Conejos Bay in Huatulco, Mexico

It was the furniture in the lobby.

"This place feels old," I thought.

Even sitting in one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen, I was looking for what was missing.

Isn't that funny?

Sometimes we spend so much time searching for the next better thing that we almost miss the beauty standing right in front of us.

Thankfully, God is patient.

Over the next several days He slowly redirected my attention.

Not with dramatic miracles.

With quiet ones.

A cup of the best coconut cappuccino I've ever tasted.

Best Coconut Cappuccino I have ever had

Fresh fruit that reminded me creation itself is extravagant.

A beach that was peaceful enough to hear the waves instead of the crowds.

The kindest resort staff I've ever met.

Long conversations with my husband that reminded me healing isn't always loud.

One evening Trey asked me what gift he had given me that mattered most.

Without thinking, I answered, "Because of your faith, I wanted more of God."

Neither of us expected the tears that followed.

In that moment I realized something profound.

The greatest gift someone can give you isn't perfection.

It's helping point you toward the One who is.

That conversation alone would have made the trip unforgettable.

But God wasn't finished.

A few days later I caught myself doing something I've done for years.

Instead of enjoying the vacation I was already planning the next one.

I was sitting in paradise worrying about the next paradise.

Why?

Because somewhere along the way I had learned to prepare for loss before I had fully enjoyed the gift.

After enough unexpected pain, your brain starts scanning the horizon instead of soaking in the view.

I knew exactly where that habit came from.

Life had taught me that beautiful seasons sometimes end without warning.

Marriage changes.

People die.

Dreams shift.

Storms arrive uninvited.

So somewhere along the journey I quietly convinced myself that if I stayed prepared, maybe I wouldn't get hurt again.

But standing beside the Pacific Ocean, God whispered something different.

"What if bad doesn't happen today?"

That question stayed with me.

Then came the butterfly.

My sweet little friend the butterfly

I found her on our morning walk.

She was injured—or maybe simply exhausted—but she never flew away.

Instead, she stayed with me all day.

Opening and closing her wings.

Simply resting.

She reminded me that not every beautiful thing is rushing toward the next destination.

Some things are here to teach us how to stay.

Later that same day I found a shell shaped like a heart.

Beautiful heart Shaped Shell

Two simple gifts.

Nothing expensive.

Nothing planned.

Just little reminders scattered across the shoreline by a God who knew exactly what my heart needed.

By the end of the week I realized the greatest treasure I found in Huatulco wasn't the ocean.

It wasn't the sunsets.

It wasn't even the conversations.

It was presence.

Life hadn't stopped while I was gone.

Family issues still existed.

Parenting still required faith.

Marriage was still a journey.

Work was waiting for me at home.

Nothing magically disappeared.

The difference was that my heart had grown quieter.

I came home to the same life.

But I wasn't quite the same woman.

I returned believing something I didn't fully believe before I left:

I don't have to borrow tomorrow's worries while standing in today's blessings.

The God who surprised me with this vacation is already waiting in whatever comes next.

I don't have to rush there.

Today is enough.

As I reflect on Secrets Huatulco, I can honestly say this:

The resort itself could use some updating.

The people could not have been more wonderful.

The views were unforgettable.

The service was exceptional.

But the real reason I'd go back has very little to do with the resort at all.

I'd go back because that's where God gently reminded me that wholeness isn't found by collecting more experiences.

It's found by noticing the treasures already surrounding us.

Sometimes the greatest adventure isn't traveling somewhere new.

Barefoot and present on the beaches of Huatulco

Sometimes it's finally learning to be where your feet are.

And that might be the greatest souvenir I brought home.

Dear Little Girl...The Year Of The Whole

For the past two years, before the noise begins—before the plans, the striving, the fixing, the taking down of the decorations—I come back to this quiet practice.

I write a letter to God.

Not a polished one.
Not a pretty one.

A real one.

It’s full of gratitude and grief.
Faith and fear.
Hope and hurt.

I get naked in the truth.
I name the pain.
I confess the longing.
I say the parts out loud that I usually try to carry quietly.

And then I read it back slowly.

I look for the words that keep repeating—
the ones my soul keeps circling, even when my mind doesn’t know why.

From there, I open the dictionary.
I study the meaning.
I let other words rise up—synonyms, echoes, invitations.

Then I take it all to Scripture.
Because I don’t want a word that just sounds good.
I want a word God is already speaking.

This year, the word that kept rising was Whole.

Not perfect.
Not fixed.
Not untouched.

Whole.

Whole means nothing missing.
Nothing broken.
Nothing that has to be earned back.

It means spirit, soul, and body learning to live in harmony again.
It means being honest about the fractures without letting them define you.
It means choosing safety without shrinking.
Truth without hardness.
Boundaries without guilt.

It means trusting that God can put you back together—not into who you were, but into who you are becoming.

This is the verse that held me:

“May God himself, the God who makes everything holy and whole,
make you holy and whole, put you together—spirit, soul, and body—
and keep you fit for the coming of our Master, Jesus Christ.
The One who called you is completely dependable.
If he said it, he’ll do it.”
—1 Thessalonians 5:23–24 (The Message)

That verse mattered to me because it reminds me of this truth:
Wholeness is not something I manufacture. It is something God completes.

My job is not to force healing.
My job is to stay present, honest, and willing.

This year, Whole is not about pretending things are easy or healed or resolved.
It’s about trusting that even in the middle of uncertainty, I am not fragmented.

I am whole.

Being whole means I no longer abandon myself to keep the peace.
It means I listen to my body when it signals danger or rest or truth.
It means I set boundaries not as punishment, but as protection for what is sacred.

When I live from wholeness, I don’t have to beg for safety.
I can discern it.
I can choose it.
I can wait for trust to grow where respect consistently lives.

This is the mantra I’m carrying this year:

I am whole.
I choose safety.
I allow trust to grow where respect lives.

I place these words by my bed and in my phone—
not as pressure, but as a reminder.

And every year, I wear my word.

A bracelet I keep on my wrist as a quiet witness—
not to who I hope to become,
but to who God is already forming.

My friend Loren creates these bracelets with intention and prayer,
and I love that they are made to endure real life—
water, movement, work, tears.

(You can find her on instagram (@shoploreneveryday.)

This year, the word on my wrist is Whole.

Not because life is perfect.
Not because trust is automatic.
But because I believe God is faithful to finish what He starts.

Dear Little Girl,

You don’t have to earn wholeness.
You don’t have to prove it.
You don’t have to wait for anyone else to make you safe before you become yourself.

You are already held.
Already known.
Already being put together by the God of peace.

Walk gently this year.
Stay honest.
Stay rooted.

You are whole.

🩵