I first want to apologize to those of you who have followed our adventures, struggles and happy times. Covid hit hard for everyone but I feel it was really the beginning of the end of our time in Uganda. There was so much stress coming at us, I started having health issues, my husband had his own health issues and daily life was becoming to overwhelming. I believe God chose to bring us back to the States to heal all three of us and prepare us for our next adventures!
For nine years, our family lived and served in Uganda. It was a season filled with beauty, sacrifice, spiritual warfare, purpose, and profound stretching. We were all in—heart, body, and soul. And we gave everything we had to the ministry and to the people God entrusted to us.
But what they don’t tell you is how disorienting it is to come home.
Coming back to the States after nearly a decade overseas was not the joyful reunion some people expected it to be. In fact, when people would greet us with, “Aren’t you so happy to be back?”, I didn’t always know how to respond. Because honestly? At first, no. We weren’t. It was painful and heartbreaking saying goodbye to those that love us and had depended on us for nine years.
Reverse Culture Shock Is Real
We have stepped back into a country that feels unfamiliar—faster, louder, more disconnected. So much has changed in nine years, and we have changed too. The hardest part? Feeling forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind wasn’t just a phrase—it became our reality. While we were pouring out everything we had in Uganda, life moved on here. Most people didn’t mean to forget. But they did. And we felt it.
We were tired. Burnt out. I personally faced health issues and depression in the last few years before we returned. Our daughter, who had spent most of her childhood in Uganda, was suddenly thrown into American teenage culture. High school in the U.S. was a world she didn’t know, and the adjustment has been overwhelming—for all of us.
For nine years, we carried heavy spiritual responsibility. We shepherded others, discipled, prayed, led, taught, and gave until we had little left to give. And we did it alone. No team, no regular support network, no deep well of emotional or spiritual backup. Just us—and Jesus. There’s a strength that comes from that… but there’s also a cost.
Now that we’re here, everyone expects the next step. When will your husband pastor a church? What’s next for your ministry? Where will you serve? But the truth is—we don’t know yet. We’re in a season of limbo, and while that’s uncomfortable, we’re learning to see it as God’s mercy.
Healing Isn’t Always Instant
This season isn’t about launching into the next thing. It’s about healing.
God has placed us in a loving church family—a body that sees us, embraces us, and gives us space to simply be. Our daughter is making friends and learning what it is to be a Christian teenager in America! For the first time in a long time, we’re not rushing to meet the next need—we’re just letting God tend to ours.
No one really talks about this part of the journey. The grief, the exhaustion, the strange guilt for not jumping right back into “productive ministry.” But healing takes time. And God is in the waiting just as much as He was in the work. I know He is the same God that sent us to Uganda (which was unthinkable to us at the time!) and I know He isn’t finished using us.
So if you’re there too—in between seasons, exhausted from your last chapter, unsure what’s next—I want you to know that it’s okay. God sees you. He holds your story. And He isn’t done yet.
“For I hold you by your right hand— I, the Lord your God. And I say to you, ‘Don’t be afraid. I am here to help you.” Isaiah 41:13
His Grace For The Journey 