Shannon's Corner

  How do you define “home”? For some people, home is a place—the house where they grew up, the town they have lived in for years, or a familiar community. For others, home is more about the people. Home is where their family is, where their friends gather, or where they feel known and loved. I have personally defined home as “where I am.” Perhaps you can relate. If you have moved from house to house, city to city, church to church, school to school, or job to job, you may have learned how to make home wherever you are. You unpack, learn the new rhythms, meet people, and begin creating a life. But recently, while spending time with some Third Culture Kids, I was reminded that the question of “Where is home?” can be much more complicated. For a TCK, home might be the country where they were born, where they spent their childhood, where their parents are from, or a place they haven't lived in for years but still carry within them. Sometimes they have several places they call home. Som...

  Over the past few articles, we’ve explored transition through the picture of a garden—sowing seeds, cultivating the soil, growing beneath the surface, pruning, and harvesting. Holding all of these together is one simple truth: There are seasons. And so do we. There is a time for planting, waiting, growing, pruning, harvesting, and beginning again. We wouldn't walk into a garden in winter and wonder why there isn't a harvest. We understand that winter has a different purpose. Yet we can be hard on ourselves when we're in a season of waiting, rest, loss, or beginning again. What if instead we asked: What does this season need from me? Maybe it needs patience. Maybe courage. Maybe rest. Maybe grief. Maybe exploration or action. Sometimes we want growth when we're being invited to rest. We want answers when we need to sit with the questions. We want to harvest when the seeds have barely been planted. Transition becomes exhausting when we constantly fight against the seaso...

  Harvest is the evidence that something has been growing all along. A harvest is the result of a process. A harvest is the result of planting, tending, waiting, and sometimes weathering unexpected challenges. In transition, we can become so focused on what is next that we forget to notice what has already grown. Maybe you have gained clarity. Maybe you’ve learned to set healthier boundaries. Maybe you’ve discovered strength you didn't know you had. Maybe you’ve learned to trust, rest, grieve, or begin again. These are harvests, too. When we're in transition, it's easy to focus on what we haven't figured out yet. Instead, pause and ask: What has this season grown in me? What have I learned? What has changed? What wisdom am I carrying forward? What can I celebrate? Not every harvest looks the way we expected. Sometimes the outcome is different from what we imagined, but we discover that we have become different along the way. Don't Rush Past the Harvest Before asking...

   SHANNON’S CORNER Connect. Nurture. Grow. This month has reminded me again that we are doing this ministry together.  When I sit across from someone for a debrief, when I meet with someone for coaching or a care session, when I prepare to travel to care for ministry workers and TCKs—you are part of those moments.  You may not be sitting in the room with me, but your prayers, encouragement, and financial partnership help make it possible for me to be there. And this month, we have had some meaningful opportunities to be present with people in the midst of their stories.  I have had the privilege of providing two individual debriefs, one family debrief, four care sessions, and three coaching sessions.  Each conversation has been different, but there has been a common thread: people need space to slow down, process what they have experienced, and listen for what is next. One of the individual debriefs especially stays with me.  She came to the debrief f...

  There is another important part of gardening: Pruning. It can feel counterintuitive. Why would you cut something that is growing? Why remove a branch that looks healthy? Why let go of something that has been part of the plant for so long? Because sometimes growth requires making room. Transition often brings an invitation to prune. Life transitions have a way of revealing what is no longer working. A role may no longer fit. A relationship may need new boundaries. A routine that once served you may now leave you depleted. An expectation you carried for years may no longer align with who you are becoming. Even good things can sometimes need to be released when they no longer belong in this particular season. And that can be difficult. We can become attached to the familiar simply because it is familiar. We may hold onto commitments because we said yes years ago. We may continue carrying responsibilities because we don't know who we will be without them. We may fear that letting go ...

  If you have been following along, we have been talking about sowing seeds in the midst of life transitions and cultivating the soil where those seeds are planted. But there is another part of gardening that can be especially difficult during transition: Waiting for something to grow. You plant the seed. You tend the soil. You water it. And then…nothing seems to happen. At least, nothing you can see. Life transitions can feel much the same way. You may have made the decision, taken the next step, begun exploring new possibilities, or released something that once defined your life. You may be doing all the “right” things, yet you still don't have much evidence that anything is changing. You wonder: Am I making progress? Did I make the right decision? Why don't I feel different yet? When will I know what comes next? But what if there is more happening beneath the surface than you realize? Growth isn't always visible. When a seed is planted, there is a period when nothing app...

  Have you ever walked along a path and noticed how different the ground can be? There may be hard, well-worn paths where nothing seems to grow. There may be rocky places where plants struggle to establish deep roots. There may be areas tangled with thorns and weeds. And then there are places where the soil is rich, ready, and full of life. As I think about the different soils Jesus describes in the Parable of the Sower, I am reminded that transition often reveals the soil we are carrying within us. Transition isn't simply about figuring out what comes next. It is also an invitation to notice what is happening within us as we move through what is changing around us. Sometimes We Find Ourselves on Hard Soil After a difficult season, it is easy for our hearts to become hardened. Maybe you have experienced disappointment after disappointment. Maybe something you hoped would happen didn't. Perhaps you've had to say goodbye to people, places, roles, dreams, or expectations. Over...

  One of the hardest parts of transition is that so much feels uncertain. You may not know where you'll be six months from now. Your role may be changing. Relationships may be shifting. Your routines may have been disrupted. The future can feel like a field covered in fog, making it difficult to know what to do next. In seasons like these, it can be tempting to stop planting altogether. "Why invest in something if everything is changing?" "What's the point if I don't know what the outcome will be?" Yet, transition is not a reason to stop sowing seeds. In fact, it may be one of the most important times to keep planting. Not every seed produces immediate results. Some take weeks, months, or even years before they begin to grow. The conversations you have today, the kindness you extend, the habits you build, the prayers you pray, the relationships you nurture, the boundaries you establish, and the small steps you take toward your goals are all seeds. You ma...

  One of the first things I notice when someone is walking through a significant life transition is that the rhythms that once grounded them have often been disrupted. A move changes familiar routines. A new job alters your schedule. Retirement removes decades of structure. Grief makes everyday tasks feel exhausting. Caring for a loved one leaves little margin for yourself. Even exciting transitions can consume so much of our attention that we slowly stop doing the very things that once brought us life. At first, we tell ourselves it's temporary. "Once things settle down, I'll start walking again." "When this season is over, I'll make time to read." "I'll reconnect with friends after life slows down." But often, life doesn't simply settle down. It continues to change. One season gives way to another, and before we realize it, months—or even years—have passed without intentionally caring for our own hearts. I've come to believe that ...

  SHANNON’S CORNER Connect. Nurture. Grow. Summer has been filled with meaningful conversations, unexpected connections, and moments of rest that have reminded me once again that ministry is often found in both the planned and the unplanned. Over the past few weeks, I have had the privilege of walking alongside a number of individuals through adult debriefs. Hearing their stories and seeing the Lord work in their lives is humbling and rewarding. I also had the joy of facilitating a debrief with a five and three year old Third Culture Kids (TCKs). Children experience transitions deeply, even when they don't always have the words to express them. Creating a safe, engaging space for them to tell their story, identify their emotions, and recognize God's presence in their journey is such meaningful work. I continue to be grateful for opportunities to care for the whole family during seasons of transition. One of the greatest blessings this past month has been ...