It’s hard to put into words the flood of emotions these weeks have brought. From rushing John to the ER in heart failure… to long days of inconclusive tests and scans… to a risky operation that saved his life… to twelve days in the ICU… and now to a slow and painful recovery. For the first week, John was nearly incoherent. I had to sign on his behalf to authorize heart surgery, and we had to have a conversation no wife ever wants to have—what to tell our boys if John didn’t make it. That memory still breaks my heart. But by God’s mercy, John came through. He no longer needs oxygen, and his kidneys have healed. Still, it has been heartbreaking to watch him in such pain, unable to breathe easily, unable to walk, unable to do all the things we once took for granted.
For the past two weeks, John has had someone at his side around the clock. Meanwhile, life at home has kept moving—caring for the boys, driving back and forth to the hospital, tending to the farm chores, and keeping up with farmers markets. At times the weight of it all has felt unbearable.
I’ve also been forced to consider the future of our farm in the year ahead. With cattle, pigs, and chickens to care for—beyond the little mouths seated at our dining table—the responsibilities are heavy. After much prayer and consideration, we’ve made the decision to step back from the Delmar Farmers Market for the month of September, as well as pause our Sourdough Saturdays at the farm store. We plan to return to both in October, once the Colonie Market has ended for the season.
There are moments when it feels like everything is unraveling—the plans John and I have worked so hard to build, the fear of having to sell part of the herd we’ve poured ourselves into raising. But then I’m reminded of the story in 1 Kings 17, when Elijah met the widow at Zarephath. She was gathering sticks, preparing her last meal, convinced that she and her son would eat it and die. Her words were heavy with discouragement and finality—she couldn’t see beyond her immediate lack. Yet, even in that hopelessness, she chose to obey Elijah’s request and give what little she had. And God honored her obedience: “And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord, which he spake by Elijah” (1 Kings 17:16, KJV).
I think of her often. She felt hopeless, but God had already written a different ending to her story. And when I feel fear creeping in—fear of losing what John and I have worked for, fear of the unknown—I remind myself that discouragement is not the end of the story. The same God who multiplied her flour and oil has been faithful to provide for our farm, our family, and our future.
I choose to believe He did not bring us this far only to leave us in the wilderness.
As Proverbs 3:5–6 reminds us: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”
We would be so grateful if you would continue to keep John, our family, and our farm in your prayers during this season. Every message, prayer, and kind act has reminded us that we are not walking this road alone. Just as God has sustained us, He has shown us His love through each of you. We are clinging to hope and trusting that brighter days are ahead.