BLOSSOMS IN THE FOG OF NEW BEGINNINGS
The peach trees are beginning to bloom.
Each morning I notice a little more color against the gray—soft blossoms opening while the Central Valley fog still hangs low. Some days the clouds linger longer than expected, muting the light. And yet, there they are. Blossoms. Quiet. Persistent. Unhurried.
Living on a peach orchard has become more than scenery to me; it feels like a living parable.
When I married Don July 2024, I made a significant transition—leaving Spokane, Washington, my children and grandchildren, and a lifetime of familiar rhythms to join him here in Reedley, California. Don, on the other hand, has lived in this valley all his life. This land has been in his family since 1925, passed from his grandfather to his father, and then to him. These acres have been faithfully tended for generations.
So while the geography is still new to me, the orchard itself speaks of rootedness, endurance, and patient hope.
Both of us came into this marriage as widows and widowers after 52 years. I brought with me the ache of leaving what I loved and the courage it takes to begin again. Don brought his own transition—learning to love again after deep loss, adjusting to life with a different wife while honoring the long, faithful marriage that shaped him. Joy and sorrow have met us both here, just in different ways.
And still, the trees bloom.
Fruitfulness in a Second Chapter
Scripture never presents fruitfulness as belonging only to first chapters.
God’s Word is filled with lives that bear fruit later, quieter, and differently than expected. Ruth flourishes in a foreign land. Elizabeth rejoices after years of silence. Sarah laughs at life returning when she thought the season had passed.
Second-chapter fruitfulness does not deny loss. It grows because the ground has been broken open.
These blossoms are not fruit yet. They are promise. They do not guarantee the harvest, but they testify that life is stirring beneath the surface—even while the sky remains gray.
That feels especially true in this season of marriage. Adjustments have been real, especially in this first year. Blending two long stories takes patience, humility, and grace. And yet, God has been faithful. Sweet companionship has grown. Shared purpose has emerged.
Don finds deep fulfillment teaching Bible in his 54th year at Immanuel High School. I have found joy and strength serving alongside the women of WOW—Women of the Word, whose friendship, prayers, and encouragement have anchored me during this transition. God is making our lives fruitful in this land—not hurriedly, not perfectly, but faithfully.
A Word for Widows and Singles
I want to speak directly to those who may be reading this from a quieter, lonelier place.
If you are widowed, single, or navigating a season of transition that feels unseen, please hear this: your life is not paused, and your faithfulness is not overlooked.
Fruitfulness is not measured by marital status or visible milestones. Scripture honors seasons of steadfastness, obedience, and trust—especially when they feel hidden. The Lord sees you. He knows the weight of memories, the ache of absence, and the courage it takes to keep believing that He is not finished with your story.
You are not barren ground.
Even now, God is at work—preparing roots, forming promise, bringing life in ways that may still be tender and unseen.
Faithfulness in the Fog
Living here has taught me something simple but profound: fog does not stop growth. The trees bloom anyway.
We do not need full clarity to remain faithful. We do not need certainty to trust. We are simply called to stay rooted where God has planted us.
“Those who are planted in the house of the Lord shall flourish.” (Psalm 92:13)
Flourishing doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it looks like endurance. Sometimes it looks like obedience. Sometimes it looks like quiet blossoms opening under clouded skies.
And that, too, is a holy kind of beauty.
Scripture Reflection & Prayer
“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”
—Isaiah 43:18–19
Prayer:
Lord, help us trust You in the fog. Give us eyes to see the quiet work You are doing beneath the surface of our lives. Teach us to honor what has been lost without fearing what is new. Root us where You have planted us, and let our lives bear fruit in Your time. Amen.
LIFE comes riddled with fall-downs and get-ups, bumps and bruises, fears and tears. Each road challenges us in every way. Yet, the Holy Spirit woos and guides us through each precarious step in this dark world until we see Jesus. Until then, we only catch glimpses of His glory.
SO MUCH MORE than I asked or imagined? Well… I can’t see any big miracle right now. I came in weakness, wondering if I could sustain another Alcan trip of 5,000 miles—our fourteenth journey over fifteen years across these rugged, wintery miles.
TRAVELING HOME from my fiftieth high school reunion, images, faces, voices, and hugs drift in and out of my consciousness. Over all the years, my gypsy life-style kept me from earlier reunions, so the shock of recognition abruptly interrupted my denial of age.
OUR RELOCATION to Alaska 9/9/‘99 without a job once again tested our faith. We moved into the bottom of our second son’s duplex and looked for work. After three long months, a position opened for my husband at our new church to run the Resource Center. Here we were: near our children, in a good church, with a job, back in ministry, and living in a house instead of a motel. Six weeks later we celebrated God’s grace and goodness at a staff Christmas party, about which I journaled:
Walking in the Vine Light 