Faith in the Flood

I don’t have all my ducks in a row.

This past week, they’ve been scattered across our property—quite literally—enjoying the floodwaters that have taken over what used to be our land.

Tonight, I stood out in the water in my sneakers, feeling it seep through and soak my feet as the cold crept in. I waded out further, trying to coax the ducks into the barn for the night. They’ve been stubborn lately, preferring the “pond” that is currently our backyard.

I struggled. I muttered. I may have cursed.

More than once, my shoes were nearly pulled off by the mud beneath me, and I almost went down with them. And just when I thought I was making progress, they scattered—like a gang of thieves in the night.

“Why do we have ducks?!” I yelled to my husband.

Battles in the Mud

Earlier in the day, I had the same battle with the goats.

Trying to get to their barn meant navigating a thick stretch of mud that seemed determined to take me out. A few followed with a little grain and some patience, but Myrtle Mae and Hazel refused. I found myself wrestling with them, slipping and sliding, throwing my back out of place just trying to get them across to dry ground.

Once again, I yelled, “Why do we have goats?!”

The Breaking Point

And somehow, that still wasn’t the worst part of the day.

That honor belongs to the morning.

I woke up to colder temperatures, a pounding migraine, and the realization that every single pair of boots and shoes I owned was still soaked from the day before. But the animals still needed to be fed.

So I put on a pair of water shoes and went out anyway.

Some chores didn’t require wading through the deeper water—but some did. Koda had run out of hay, which meant hauling a square bale across ground that was now more water than land. In some places, it came up to my knees.

Every step hurt. The cold cut through everything.

And all I could think was, I really hope I don’t get pneumonia again, because I’ve already been fighting a sinus infection all week.

A Moment to Breathe

When I finally finished morning chores, I made my way inside—peeling off soggy clothes, changing into something dry, and crawling into bed beside my husband just to warm up.

He stirred awake as I let out a long sigh.

“Why does it feel like we just can’t catch a break lately?” I asked. “It started with our truck breaking down this past winter, and it’s just been one thing after another ever since.”

My husband—steady as ever—just looked at me and said, “Maybe you should count your blessings.”

A gentle reminder… if ever I needed one.

The Weight of It All

Easier said than done when exhaustion and frustration start to take hold.

I know we aren’t the only ones dealing with the flooding these past couple of weeks. Properties are underwater. Dams are failing. Families have had to evacuate. It’s been relentless for so many.

Here at home, it’s been one thing after another.

Animals getting sick from the constant wet and the drastic swings in temperature. Barn roofs straining—and in some cases failing—under the weight of the storms. Equipment breaking down after being flooded. Pens that have to be raked out and re-bedded daily just to keep everyone as dry as possible.

Every day is the same cycle—medications, vitamins, checking each animal over carefully to make sure nothing is missed.

And still… it feels like it’s not enough.

I wake up each day determined to give my best, but lately it feels like I’m coming up short no matter how hard I try.

The thoughts creep in when I’m the most tired—quiet, but persistent. Questions about whether I can keep doing this. Whether I’m doing enough. Whether I’m even doing it well.

To say I’ve felt like a failure at times would be an understatement.

A Life I Didn’t Plan

Thinking back, I can’t point to a single moment where I felt God clearly calling me into this life of helping people and animals.

It wasn’t a lightning bolt. It wasn’t a grand moment.

It just… happened.

We lived down the road from a dairy farm, and animals were often abandoned on or near our property. Somehow, I became the one who took care of them. It wasn’t something I set out to do—it was simply what needed to be done.

As I got older, I imagined a different kind of life.

My grandma was a third-grade teacher, and one of my greatest inspirations. I used to play “school” with her leftover papers, pretending I’d grow up to be just like her. I always thought I would be some kind of teacher.

I just didn’t realize what kind.

I’ve always loved helping—people, animals, whoever was placed in front of me.

But life didn’t unfold the way I expected.

I was a sickly kid, but things changed even more after a horse riding accident in high school left me with a head injury—and triggered a dormant rare disease that would alter everything.

What followed were years of trying to understand my own body. Learning how to live with chronic, unrelenting pain. Avoiding the sun. Struggling with basic functions most people don’t think twice about.

There were long stretches of time where I felt isolated… alone.

And in many ways, the animals were the only constant.

I convinced myself that no one would ever truly understand this life—this pull I felt to care for the overlooked, the abandoned, the ones in need.

Even now, with everything we’ve built, those thoughts still creep in.

Questions Without Answers

Because the truth is—this work is hard.

Farming is hard. Rescue work is even harder.

It takes a physically demanding life and layers it with emotional weight. There is always more need than you can meet. Always more animals. More people. More situations that stretch you beyond what feels possible.

And when you’re already physically limited… it raises questions.

Questions I don’t always have answers for.

Why would God choose someone whose body struggles in the sunlight… to live a life that requires so much time outdoors?

Why would He call someone dealing with daily pain to work that demands strength?

Why would He place this responsibility—this calling—on someone who has spent so much of their life just trying to get through the day?

Some days, I wonder if I misunderstood Him.

What Strength Really Means

But maybe I misunderstood what strength was supposed to look like.

Philippians 4:13 — “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

Not all things at once.
Not all things perfectly.

It doesn’t mean I won’t struggle through the mud… or question myself… or feel completely worn down.

Maybe it simply means that when I don’t have anything left to give—He meets me there anyway.

In the cold water.
In the exhaustion.
In the quiet moments where I want to give up.

Just enough strength for the next step.
The next chore.
The next day.

I’ve thought a lot this week about Noah’s Ark—how the rain didn’t stop just because it was hard. How he didn’t know when it would end.

His responsibility wasn’t to control the storm.

It was to remain faithful in the middle of it.

Coming Back to Center

There are moments when I can feel myself starting to spiral.

Times when everything seems to hit at once—too much, too fast—and I feel crushed under the weight of it.

In those moments, my husband—steady and calm in ways I am not—has a way of pulling me back to center. He’ll remind me to pause, to breathe, and to come back to the Serenity Prayer:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

And then—when my thoughts start drifting toward “Why is this happening to me?”—he gently redirects me to something harder, but better:

Count your blessings.

Counting What Remains

If I’m being honest, I don’t always want to in those moments.

But when I do… it changes things.

I always start with him.

Not just because he’s my husband, but because of who he is in the middle of all of this. He shows up—every single day—for me and for the animals, no matter what he’s carrying himself.

He’s the one fixing equipment when it breaks.

The one making sure I have boots and coats to face the cold—and the right gear to protect me in the sun.

The one who teaches me how to plan, to take notes, to work through problems instead of being stopped by them.

I thank God for him every day.

And then I keep going.

We have a roof over our heads.

Food for ourselves and for the animals.

The knowledge to fix what breaks—and people we can call when we can’t.

These may seem like small things… but they are not small.

They are provisions.

And in seasons like this, they are reminders that even in the middle of the storm—we are not without what we need.

Strength for Today

Faith isn’t proven in easy seasons—it’s lived out in the hard ones.

Let’s be honest—you won’t always feel strong.

You won’t always feel close to God.

Sometimes the weight of life wears on you in ways that make that connection feel distant.

But even then… showing up still matters.

There isn’t a single person alive who isn’t struggling with something.

Health. Finances. Anxiety. Loss.

We all go through seasons that leave us exhausted and full of doubt.

And in those moments, the way forward isn’t complicated.

It’s simple—but not always easy.

Just take the next step.
Do the next right thing.
Care for what’s been placed in front of you.

You don’t need strength for everything all at once.

Just enough for today.
Just enough for this moment.

And the beautiful thing is—you don’t have to find that strength on your own.

God provides it.

Even when you’re tired.
Even when you’re unsure.
Even when all you can do is keep going.

The rain may stop, but His strength remains.