a change of heart

Before I had boys, I imagined motherhood as quiet lullabies and storybooks—quiet moments curled up on the couch, cocoa in hand. And while we do have those moments, motherhood—especially out here in southeast Alaska—has turned out to be so much more wild, raw, and real than I ever imagined.

Nature isn’t just something we visit. It’s something we live in. It pours into our rhythms, our routines, and even our relationships. And raising boys in it? That’s where I’ve come to meet both the wildness of Alaska and the wilderness inside my own heart.

I used to try to tame it all—clean hands, schedules, neat answers to their endless questions. But boys don’t thrive in boxes, and neither do God’s creations. Somewhere amidst the muddy boots, scraped knees, and sea glass collections stuffed in raincoat pockets, I realized I was trying to control something that was meant to be explored.

Nature is their best adventure, and I’ve slowly learned to see it not just as common Alaskan scenery, but sacred. The forest teaches them courage. The mountains teach them wonder. The rivers teach them movement, and the snow teaches patience. And through it all, God is whispering—not just to them, but to me too.

He reminds me that boys don’t need to be tamed or calmed. They are wild hearts learning to grow. And the wilderness—both the one we hike through and the one inside of them—is not something to quiet. It’s something to walk through, hand in hand.

Some days, motherhood feels loud, chaotic, and unpredictable. But other days, it’s like a calm, snowy morning, where time slows down just enough for me to see them: muddy, curious, laughing, whole.

I used to think I was supposed to shape them. Now I see that we’re all being shaped—by the land, by each other, and most of all, by a faithful God who made my beautiful boys, the wilderness, and the way through it.