Some Seasons Are for Sourdough. Some Seasons Are for Survival.

The image of the modern "crunchy" dream is everywhere: sourdough starters bubbling on the counter, homemade meals simmering on the stove, herb gardens thriving by the window, homeschool lessons laid out on the kitchen table, slow mornings filled with quiet intention, and pantries perfectly organized with mason jars and labels. These scenes are beautiful. They speak of peace, care, and a life lived with purpose. I loved the idea of that life. I believed in it so wholeheartedly, and I still do.

But sometimes life isn’t in a sourdough season. Sometimes it’s in a survival season. I’ve lived both.

A bubbling sourdough starter on a wooden kitchen counter.

The Life I Thought I Would Have

Growing up, I had a very specific picture of what I wanted from my life, and I wanted to get there fast. I imagined building my own home filled with laughter and warmth, raising children who would grow in faith and kindness, having the freedom to pursue my creative endeavors. I believed that if I worked hard and loved hard, life would unfold in a certain way. But I was impatient.

I married the first man who, essentially, was willing to marry me, the first man I had a serious relationship with. I always thought this was how it was supposed to be. You find someone, you love them, you work things out. I glossed over red flags in hopes that I was getting closer and closer to my dream life. And I felt like it was within inches of my grasp. We were married. We were building a house. But behind the scenes, we were fading away.

When Everything Fell Apart

Then all of a sudden, life shifted. My marriage...ended. We had tried to hold on for years, but there were hurts from before we were even married that piled on and piled on and suddenly exploded. I won’t dwell on the details, but the emotional reality was overwhelming: confusion, grief, fear, disappointment, the loss of myself.

In the span of one week, everything changed. Things became dangerous and I had to leave in a hurry. Suddenly, I was homeless, scared, and pregnant, carrying responsibilities I never expected to carry alone. For a few days, I hopped from hotel to friend's house to hotel, until I finally quieted my pride, moved back in with my parents and told them everything. It was the most humbling thing I've ever had to do.

One of the hardest parts of my separation and subsequent divorce wasn't just losing my marriage and the hopes I had for it - it was wrestling with what I believed it said about me. In many Christian circles, divorce is spoken about with such gravity that I had internalized the idea that it represented the ultimate failure. Marriage was supposed to be forever. When I finally left, after years of trying to hold everything together, I wasn't free. I was a failure. I had let God down, let my family down, and become the cautionary tale I never wanted to be. I grieved not only the end of my marriage, but also the loss of the life I thought I was supposed to have, the person I was supposed to be. It has taken me a long time to understand that sometimes love doesn't look like staying no matter the cost, forgiveness doesn't mean erasing all boundaries, and faithfulness comes with a whole lot of humility and letting go.

Moving on was climbing Everest. The exhaustion was real. Some days, just making it through was a victory I didn't want. The quiet mornings I once dreamed of were replaced by lawyers, anxiety, and sobbing on my bedroom floor silently, so my dad didn't worry. The sourdough was a non-starter.

A cluttered kitchen table with bills, children's drawings and a coffee cup.

Survival Isn’t Failure

This is the heart of what I want to share. During some seasons, the victory isn’t homemade bread. It’s getting out of bed when it feels like you might shatter at any second. It’s paying the bills on time. It’s protecting your child from the storms you cannot control. It’s showing up even when you feel broken. It’s trusting God when none of your own plans worked out.

If there is one lesson I keep learning over and over again, it is that faith requires humility. Not the kind of humility that thinks less of yourself, but the kind that recognizes we are not in control. I have spent so much of my life making plans, setting goals, and imagining how the future should unfold. Sometimes those plans worked out great. I have planned some beautiful parties, I must say. Sometimes those plans fell apart completely. (See the previous section of this blog post.) Every day I make mistakes. Every day I fall short. None of us are perfect, and none of us can see the whole picture that God sees.

Scripture reminds us, "The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps" (Proverbs 16:9). I used to read that verse and nod along. Now I understand it differently. I know what it feels like to have carefully laid plans, dreams, and expectations crumble in my hands. I know what it feels like to ask God why He allowed a story to unfold so differently than I imagined.

But faithful living begins when we loosen our grip on the future we have written for ourselves and trust the One who sees the end from the beginning. Proverbs 3:5-6 tells us, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths." Not because we understand the path, but because we trust the One leading us down it.

If you have lived in Christian circles, you know how easy it is to hear words like these and nod, agree on the surface, hear them but not hear them. But I really hope you hear me when I say that trust is never a one-time decision. It is a daily surrender. A daily choice to believe that God is still working when we cannot see it. A daily willingness to say, as Jesus did in Gethsemane, "Not my will, but Yours, be done" (Luke 22:42). It is believing that God's plans are better than my own, even when they are harder, slower, or entirely different than I expected.

I don't always know where God is leading me. Ok, let's be honest. I never know. But I am learning that faithful living isn't about having perfect plans or perfect answers. It is about taking the next step in obedience, trusting that the God who began a good work in us will be faithful to complete it (Philippians 1:6).

Survival seasons are not lesser seasons. They teach resilience and faith in ways that peaceful seasons cannot. I look back on that season of my life with hatred for the person I was, but also gratitude that God pulled me back from it. If I had not gone through that season, I would not be the person, woman or mother that I am today.

What Motherhood Taught Me

In the middle of all of this, motherhood changed me. When so much of the life I had planned slipped through my fingers, my child became a reminder that God was still giving me reasons to hope. Motherhood taught me that love is often less about grand gestures and more about showing up - day after day, even when you're exhausted, terrified, discouraged, or uncertain about what comes next. It taught me that strength is quieter than I once thought. Sometimes strength looks less like conquering and more like enduring.

The irony is that many of the things I once thought were the goal - homemade meals, a peaceful home, intentional living, faith-filled routines, time in nature - are still things I cherish deeply. But I hold them differently now. For a long time, I viewed them as markers of success, proof that I was doing life "right." Now I see them for what they truly are: gifts. They are blessings to enjoy, not standards to achieve. They enrich a life, but they are not the measure of one.

Perhaps that is why I started Grace Over Granola. Because I've learned that life is not divided into people who have it all together and people who don't. We all move through seasons. Some seasons are full of fresh bread, flourishing gardens, answered prayers, and dreams coming to life. Other seasons are spent simply putting one foot in front of the other and trusting God to provide enough grace for today.

And maybe that's the lesson I want to leave you with: survival is not the opposite of thriving. Sometimes survival is its own kind of victory. Sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is wake up, trust God for one more day, and keep moving forward. As Lamentations reminds us, "His mercies are new every morning." Not every year. Not every season. Every morning.

So if you find yourself in a survival season today, know that you are not alone. Your story is not over. God is not finished with you. The same God who walks with us through abundance walks with us through hardship, and His presence is no less real in the wilderness than it is in the promised land.

Some seasons are for sourdough. Some seasons are for survival. God is present in both.