The Untended Places

Stewardship, surrender, and taking back what the enemy tried to claim.

I’ve learned a lot about myself over the past 6 months. Not that I hadn’t been learning things before—believe me, I was—but this was a different kind of stewardship. I’ve learned just how much life has taken its toll on me, and for the first time ever, I am not able to hide it behind a smile as easily. The ability to pour from an empty cup isn’t a superpower I can take with me into this next season. It’s humility in plain sight.

Stewardship has been coming up frequently in conversations, reflection, and quiet time alone with God. It seems to be this gentle nudge toward something far greater. Something I was never taught growing up. The scars of my childhood run deep. I get angry and frustrated when they show up unexpectedly because it’s inconvenient, or because I thought I had them neatly tucked away and “behind me.”

But is anything ever really neatly tucked away if it was messy and traumatic to begin with?

Integrity is a place I operate from personally, spiritually, and professionally. It’s taken a long time to understand why this is so important to me. My parents never acted with integrity. Instead, it was manipulation disguised as integrity—if you could even call it that. So why did integrity matter so much to me? Why, when things beyond my control happened, did I feel like I always had to defend my integrity? As if everyone in the world viewed me through the same distorted lens I grew up under.

Those scars, I am learning are a lot deeper than I realized.

I don’t always notice them because when I act or speak, I do so from a place of love and compassion. I act with intention—to help, to heal, to problem solve. I did it my whole life. I was the one looking out for everyone while no one ever looked out for me.

But it was in Boston that story would begin to unfold.

There was always someone looking out for me. I just never had the opportunity to Be Still long enough to discover who He was. Over the past couple years, I was starting to unpack little pieces of that, but it wasn’t until I was truly dependent on a strength only He could provide that I even remotely started to understand the depths He would go to for me.

I think this year has opened up big wounds tied to grief and loss that I thought I had neatly tucked away. Folded up in a little pile that didn’t need to be dusted off or disrupted. I preferred it that way. But how can healing begin if we don’t start to unpack what’s been staring us in the face the whole time?

• Betrayal.
• Loss.
• Anger.
• Hurt.
• Orphaned.
• Alone.
• An outsider.
• Judgment.
• Rejection.
• Hypocrisy.
• Accused of things I never did and called a liar because of it.

Apologies longed for and never given.

My whole life, events around these words stacked up in the corner like a messy pile of clothes that missed the laundry basket. Waiting to be washed out but too painful to confront until you have no other choice but to do so.

I used to think I could hide all the pain I felt behind a solid paycheck, a nice home, a nice car, fancy credentials, and so much more. But the materials never mattered because they wouldn’t fix the pain. They wouldn’t wash away the wounds. They wouldn’t undo years of trauma.

Asking for help? Forget it.

Trusting someone easily? Absolutely not.

How about the endless interactions wishing someone would just take ownership for what they did and not hide behind an excuse?

Disappointment—that was a familiar “friend.”

It made it easy to protect myself when you relied on disappointment. At least then you couldn’t be disappointed… pun intended.

Since coming home from Boston, I think disappointment, distrust, and lack of accountability have hurt me the most, and I didn’t understand why until this past week.

I had slowly learned while being in Boston—and even leading up to moving—who I truly could count on. Unconditional love and friendship found in unexpected people and places that felt so unfamiliar it often caused me to pause and remind myself:

It’s ok to receive help. Allow them to help you. Let them love on you for a change.

It became a running joke—learning how to ask for and receive help from safe people.

I began to show up vulnerable, honest, raw, and unapologetically authentic. And yet, there was still plenty of disappointment that would slowly pick at those old wounds until they couldn’t be ignored anymore.

Leaps of great faith that made me question my worth, my value, my purpose, and my calling. Until a text from a friend planted a seed from the Holy Spirit:

“This was to remind you of your worth.”

Words that months later would only begin to make sense.

Just days before, I was on a walk with Andrew and Jax, watching them pass a basketball around as we made our way through the neighborhood. I remember watching in wonder and enjoyment, taking photos and soaking in what I knew was the mark of something powerful.

I remember so vividly the details of that walk and the moment I looked at Andrew and told him:

“This is Dad Bod By God. This is Family Wellness.”

I couldn’t explain it, but I knew it was another seed being planted. Taking root.

Months of setbacks, heartache, hurt, disappointment, uncertainty, frustration—a mental, physical, and spiritual exhaustion like no other. I had no idea how much more I could take, but I knew it wasn’t much, if any, at this point.

Stress, anxiety, trauma, harsh words, and mismatched actions were taking me down faster than I could control.

But I was never meant to control any of it.

It was meant to tend the soil and prepare the harvest. It was meant to open my eyes and heart to the bigger plans God was laying out before us. Plans we had to look outside the box to truly understand—kingdom impact and true stewardship.

Back to that word: stewardship.

Stewardship is defined as the careful, responsible, and accountable management of resources, assets, or values entrusted to one’s care.

When looking at its origin, the concept is derived from the Greek word oikonomos, meaning a manager of a household, foreman, or steward.

But let’s look at that through a biblical lens.

Biblical stewardship is the management of God’s resources—including time, talents, money, and creation—according to His purposes. Rooted in the belief that God owns all things, individuals act as managers (stewards) accountable to Him. It is an act of worship and partnership, utilizing life to advance God’s kingdom rather than one’s own.

Stewardship is rooted in Genesis 1–2, where humans are assigned to care for and cultivate the earth, reflecting God’s image in their care for creation.

In essence, stewardship defines our purpose in this world as assigned to us by God Himself.

Stewardship is not God taking something from us; it is His method of bestowing His richest gifts upon His people. Stewardship is our obedient witness to God’s sovereignty. It’s what motivates the follower of Christ to move into action, doing deeds that manifest belief in Him.

But somewhere along the way, I think we lost sight of stewardship being about more than just financial stewardship.

Biblical stewardship encompasses every aspect of life—including relationships, spiritual gifts, and physical health.

It is rooted in four core principles:

• Ownership: God is the creator and rightful owner of everything (Psalm 24:1), and human beings are caretakers of His possessions.
• Responsibility & Stewardship: Stewardship involves managing God’s blessings for His glory, often referred to as “stewarding the Kingdom.”
• Accountability: Stewards are accountable for how they use their time, talents, health, and finances, as outlined in the parable of the talents.
• Reward: Faithfulness in managing God’s gifts brings spiritual rewards and is a form of service to Him.

Maybe you’re thinking, Ok… and? Why does this matter? Or what’s your point?

Up until this past year, I associated the word stewardship with tithing only. I didn’t fully understand the depth of what God was calling us into stewarding because Andrew and I were never taught these things growing up.

We knew generational curses and strongholds had taken root and didn’t have a place in our lives anymore. God was showing us that stewardship was meant to be a part of all areas of our lives—not just tithing.

We were beginning to shape our family under the umbrella of stewardship.

Stewardship of our marriage, our family, our children, our home, our finances, our spiritual growth, our bodies, our nourishment, our movement, our gifts, and our talents.

It was woven through every aspect of our life. 

On my walk earlier this week, I cried out bold prayers to God. I yelled, screamed, and told Him I was waiting in great expectation for what He had already prepared. That His mighty right hand would open the doors to clarity in our lives.

Most of that walk was a blur.

Tears fell.

I walked faster, with great intention behind each step and every word that came out of my mouth. It was a prayer of surrender and sheer exhaustion. Trust in the One I know will not let us down.

It was in my spirit I felt the stir and the small still voice whisper…

“March around your house 7 times, just as Joshua did when they took over Jericho.”

There was no hesitation.

I heard:

“Take back what was always yours. The enemy does not belong here.”

Our home is covered in the blood of Jesus.

Reminders of God’s faithfulness and prophetic words spoken over me almost 2 years to the day—and 3 years from His deliverance of me from Egypt and into the wilderness—came flooding back.

As I walked up my driveway, I stopped at the side steps, surrendered to God’s word, and began marching around my house.

Claiming victory in God’s name.

I noticed the space.
I noticed the structure.
I noticed the untended places.

I noticed all the little details of missed stewardship because the enemy had taken up residence in our home and our lives.

I didn’t care what the neighbors thought. They probably thought I looked a little crazy, and chances are I did.

But my spirit was alive.

The instructions were clear.

March around 7 times.

On the seventh time, I shouted and declared back what was ours. I rebuked what didn’t belong and envisioned the walls of Jericho falling as I stepped inside our home.

I walked room to room declaring God’s glory, His victory, His love, His peace, His sacrificial love.

I rebuked what did not belong in our home, in our lives, in our children, and demanded all of it leave in Jesus’ mighty name.

I walked through each room with authority, words just pouring out of my mouth. My spirit on fire.

But it was our bedroom where the tears fell the hardest.

A place where the walls held so much grief, pain, loss, heartache, joy, sorrow, fear, happiness, and safety.

And inside my newly created nook—the place I now refer to as my well—I fell apart in HIS arms.

It is written in Scripture as to how we are to live. How we are to love. How we are to lead.

How our family story shifts from bondage to redemption, from rubble to restoration.

It was in those moments of reflection that we began to see the bigger picture—the redemptive love of God through our children and how each one holds a sacred space in our story and the work He has called us to.

Stories we never understood.

Stories woven in loss and heartache.

Stories that only the Author of our lives would reveal in His timing and remind us that nothing is wasted.

It may just take time to Be Still long enough to hear His voice and allow HIS seeds to plant roots in soil HE tended so we can see the harvest that was always there.

For the first time since Savannah’s death, I finally began to understand Jax’s birth, his calling, his purpose, and his place in this season.

Just as his name means—God has been gracious and shown favor.

But that’s a story of healing for another day…