The Journal The Porch Family & Faith
When Life Gets Too Loud, I Go Outside
There are seasons when everything needs attention at the same time, and I can wear myself out just thinking about it. Here is what I do instead: I go outside, put my hands on something real, and do the next thing. Then the next.
There are seasons when it feels like everything needs attention at the same time.
The house is half-finished.
The list of things that need fixing seems to get longer instead of shorter.
There are animals to tend, meals to make, laundry to fold, bills to pay, and a dozen little things that nobody else is going to notice if they don’t get done.
And then there are the things that aren’t even things yet.
Decisions that need to be made. Conversations that need to happen. Things I’m waiting on.
Things I’m trying to figure out.
Things I can’t fix no matter how much I think about them.
Sometimes I can make myself absolutely exhausted without actually doing anything.
Just thinking about everything.
Trying to solve tomorrow before I’ve finished today.
I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing that feeling.
And when I do, I’ve learned that I don’t need to sit down and figure out my entire life.
I need to get up.
Go outside.
Put my hands on something real.
The Tuesday Letter
I write once a week about the actual work of this place. The cooking, the preserving, the animals, and the things that don’t go to plan.
One letter a week. Unsubscribe any time.
There Is Usually Something Right in Front of Me
A gate needs closing.
The animals need feeding.
A load of laundry needs hanging.
Wood needs moved. A porch needs swept. Dinner needs started.
Nothing earth-shattering.
Nothing particularly impressive.
Just the next thing.
And somehow, that is usually where I find my way back to myself.
I Don’t Have to Fix My Whole Life Today
And somewhere between the sheep pen and the chicken coop, I usually remember something important:
I don’t have to fix my whole life today.
I just have to be faithful with what is in front of me.
That’s a very different thing.
I think we make ourselves miserable sometimes because we look at the entire mountain instead of the next few feet of trail.
The garden that needs to be rebuilt. The house project that isn’t finished. The bills that need attention.
The things we wish were different.
The things we thought would be different by now.
The decisions we don’t know how to make. The people we can’t control. The future we keep trying to solve before we’ve even arrived there.
It is a lot.
And when I hold all of it in my head at once, it becomes this giant, shapeless thing.
What Actually Needs to Happen Today
But when I bring it down to earth, it gets smaller.
What actually needs to happen today?
Not next month. Not eventually. Not what if.
Today.
Maybe it’s making the phone call.
Maybe it’s washing the dishes. Maybe it’s paying the bill. Maybe it’s fixing the gate.
Maybe it’s sitting down with a piece of paper and figuring out what the next step actually is.
Maybe it’s admitting that something isn’t going to happen this season and letting it go.
Sometimes the Faithful Thing Isn’t Doing More
That last one has been a hard one for me.
Because homesteading can make you feel like you should always be producing something.
Growing something. Canning something. Building something. Preserving something. Learning something.
Doing.
Doing.
Doing.
But there are seasons when the faithful thing isn’t doing more.
Sometimes it’s simply tending what G-d has actually put in front of you. It is the same reason I tell anyone starting out to start with rest, not chickens.
And sometimes that means letting something go.
A garden can fail. A project can wait. A plan can change. A house can be unfinished.
You can have a really good life and still have a really messy Tuesday.
Those two things can exist at the same time. Nobody arrives at this life already finished, and I didn’t grow up on a homestead either.
My Mind Settles When My Hands Are Busy
I’ve also noticed that my mind settles down much faster when my hands are busy.
Maybe that’s part of why I love this kind of life.
There is something about doing work that has a beginning and an end.
Fill the chicken feeder. Stack the wood. Wash the jar. Hang the laundry.
Make the bread. Sweep the floor. Plant the seed.
Whatever is right in front of you.
You can actually see something happen.
And maybe that is what I need when everything else feels uncertain.
Something I can put my hands on. Something I can finish. Something I can leave better than I found it.
Not because that one little task solved everything.
It didn’t.
The bills are still there. The unfinished projects are still there. Tomorrow will bring its own list.
But I am no longer standing in the middle of all of it trying to carry the whole thing at once.
I’m doing the next thing.
And then the next.
And then the next.
Faithfulness Is Smaller Than We Imagine
There is a lot of wisdom in that.
Not because we can control our circumstances by staying busy.
We can’t.
But because faithfulness is usually much smaller than we imagine it needs to be.
G-d doesn’t ask me to carry tomorrow today.
He asks me to walk in what He has given me today.
So when everything starts feeling too loud around here, I don’t necessarily need a new plan.
Sometimes I just need to step outside. Take a breath. Look around.
And ask:
What is the next thing that needs my hands?
Then I go do that.
The rest can wait its turn.
That’s how we’re getting through this season at Hollow Road.
One ordinary thing at a time.
If you are reading this with a list you did not get through today, you are not behind. Pick one thing, go outside, and do the next thing. The rest can wait its turn.
I write every week about this life at Hollow Road: the from-scratch cooking, the preserving, the days that don’t go to plan. It goes out every Tuesday, and you can sign up here.
