Unexpected harvest

“I guess I’m going to be a gardener, too?” I laughed, counting four tomato plants. I didn't even like tomatoes that much. "I've never tended a garden before, but there's a first time for everything."

Welcome to Nourish, a free monthly(ish) newsletter to help you be kinder to yourself and others. In your September/October 2025 issue: reflecting on our new home, good sleep hygiene, stewardship and three of the best books I’ve read this year.

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Dear reader,

Did we make a mistake?

While I drove to Jack’s new elementary school, this question rattled around my brain like loose change in the dryer. Today was his fourth day of school, and our family was staying with my folks temporarily until we’d move into our new home in 14 days.

By mistake, I meant, Jay and I uprooting our family from Chicago to settle in the western suburbs. Leaving a community and friends we love, Jack’s old school, and our old home, to begin again. We’d decided to move over a year ago, but being new felt itchy and abrasive.

On Jack’s first day of school, I’d stood in the sun and watched him line up on the blacktop alongside third graders he’d never met. A new subdivision sat unfinished beside the school. Kids exchanged greetings. Parents chatted and took pictures. The names of old friends we wouldn’t see rose to mind and a lump formed in my throat. Who will Jack sit with at lunch? Who will I talk with at pickup? Will we be okay here? Tears leaked from behind my RayBans, and with them, leaked the forbidden question: Did we make a mistake? I’d been so sure about this move and now that we were in the thick of change, I’d begun to doubt it.

On my 30-minute drive to pick up Jack, old houses, new construction and unfamiliar businesses rushed by. My preschooler Adam snoozed in the backseat. To soothe my anxious heart, I recalled the core reasons we chose to move:

1. We’d outgrown our old house;

2. We wanted to live closer to my family; and

3. Jack needed a strong public school with gifted programs.

With sweaty palms, I parallel-parked on the street outside the unfinished subdivision — mostly dirt and a handful of new houses — near Jack’s school. I glanced at the car clock: eight minutes until pickup. Outside, an excavator scooped dirt from a plot and dumped it elsewhere. Someday, a house would stand there. Maybe a family would move into that space and call it home.

I stepped out of the car, then unearthed Adam from the backseat. He was still drowsy, I noted. With his 40 pounds against my chest, I approached a sea of strangers. Some stared at us. Every step felt more difficult than the next. I wanted to turn around and hide, but I kept trudging forward, scanning the crowd for Jack. Glancing back at the excavator, I wondered how many months it would take for that new house to be filled. Everyone knows you can’t rush good construction.

Two weeks later, it was finally closing day, and Jay and I had arrived for our walkthrough. We’d not seen our house since early July, the day it went on the market.

As we inspected each room, I recalled pleasing details I’d forgotten since my last visit — the kitchen island, elegant window treatments, teal dining room walls and a laundry room on the first floor.

And then there was the yard. There were magenta roses outside my front door! A lush vegetable garden I hadn’t noticed before. Yellow wildflowers framed the lush, green corner plot, which was coming into focus.

“You’ll need to harvest those soon,” our realtor noted, pointing to the cherry tomatoes. She had a garden herself.

“I guess I’m going to be a gardener, too?” I laughed, counting four tomato plants. I didn’t even like tomatoes that much. “I’ve never tended a garden before, but there’s a first time for everything.”

My gaze flitted beyond our fence to a pond shimmering in the sunlight. I thought back to last year, after we sold our old house and moved to an apartment. Month after month, this new house had been my foremost prayer. Waiting for the answer tested our patience. We were blessed to be home now.

Three days after moving in, I entered my new garden with a shiny silver bowl in which I’d collect cherry tomatoes. Not an Outdoorsy Person at all — I’m indoorsy actually — I’d put on a long-sleeved shirt, pants and boots (on an 85 degree day, no less); loaded up on bug spray; and steeled myself to encounter “the wild.” To prepare for this venture, I’d watched YouTube videos and learned that to harvest a ripe cherry tomato, you gently twist it off the vine. Feet planted in the dirt, hands swatting mosquitos, I began to twist and pick, twist and pick.

Within a couple minutes, my silver bowl filled and I pondered what I would even make with these. Salsa? Bruschetta? I doubted I’d eat them; I always requested no cherry tomatoes on my favorite Chic-fil-A salad. Then again, I’d questioned this move before we’d truly arrived and those doubts now seemed … silly.

Safely inside, I rinsed out the bright red orbs in the sink, then patted them to dry. Abundance gleamed from a bowl. Could I like tomatoes?

I popped one in my mouth. Sweetness danced on my tongue. I reached for another, then another. A giggle escaped my lips, then morphed into deep laughter. It turns out, I love cherry tomatoes off the vine. They taste like candy. Like sun-drenched juicy-red goodness. This move was not a mistake, I decided, in fact, it was quite the opposite. It was a deliberate leap of faith. We were absolutely meant to be in this home at this time in our lives. I couldn’t comprehend it, in the same way I couldn’t understand liking these cherry tomatoes. The only explanation was grace. I felt deeply grateful.

What other discoveries were waiting for us in this community? What else would we harvest here?

“Jay! Boys!” I called out, cherry tomatoes in hand. “Come to the kitchen. You have to try this!”

My family and I smile outside our new home in the western suburbs.

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NOURISH YOURSELF

Last summer, before we found our new home, I’d wake 3-4x a night and ruminate over everything — things I needed to do or buy, social interactions, concerns for our family’s future and the future of our nation. I’d gotten so used to poor sleep, I didn’t realize how problematic it was until we moved. Snug in a new bedroom, I’m only waking once a night at most, and my mood has improved greatly.

How did I fix my sleep? Well, for one, my psyche has settled since my family’s finally settled in a house. What’s more, in this new space, I have a better sleep environment with blackout curtains and an overhead fan. Finally, I’m practicing better sleep hygiene: I’ve stopped falling asleep in my preschooler’s bed before my bedtime. I’ve been regimented about my evening skincare routine, removing makeup, cleansing my skin and treating it with retinol and a new, budget-friendly moisturizer with hyaluronic acid. Afterwards, my husband Jay and I catch up over our days, then we read our novels or scroll our phones with dimmed light. I avoid reading news before bed, rather, saving it for the morning. I’m turning the lights out by 10 p.m. and waking most weekdays at 5:30 a.m. This consistent routine has soothed me.

How are you sleeping these days? What does your bedtime routine look like? Is there anything you can adjust to set yourself up for a more restful night?

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NOURISH OTHERS

As part of my freelance work last quarter, I interviewed a few faithful Lutherans about generosity. Every person I spoke with not only gave generously of their funds, they also donated their time and talents to serve others. One woman leads a card ministry. Another rebuilds homes with Lutheran Disaster Response. Others lead Bible studies.

Their commitment to giving led me to reflect on my life. I asked myself, How have I been stewarding my time, talents and treasures? In our current context, in which we are newcomers to our neighborhood, city, schools and church, I’m starting small. I’ve volunteered at my boys’ schools and baked cinnamon sugar “dirt bomb” muffins for teachers. With extra tomatoes from our garden, I’ve fed neighbors, friends, and family. I’ve also opened our home for some playdates. It’s not much, but it’s all I can give as we set up our home and learn/create new systems. Someday soon, I’ll have more capacity to serve others.

Where are you noticing abundance? What treasures and talents can you steward in service to your community? Include this question in your prayers or journaling sessions.

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NOURISHING WORDS

Recent stellar reads

• The Correspondent: In this novel of letters, readers meet a retired lawyer who has found meaning in a lifetime of handwritten (or email) correspondence, through which she builds relationships and cares for others. Per a friend’s recommendation, I listened to the audiobook of this novel and fell in love with the voice actors. It’s one of my favorite “reads” of 2025; it made me sob good tears as it concluded.

• Wild Dark Shore: Another highlight of my reading year, Charlotte McConaghy’s suspenseful, lyric novel contains urgent reflections on what it means to raise children while creation groans in agony. This mysterious book had me turning page after page to find new revelations. I adored its gorgeous environmental writing that contained deep truths, copying many passages in my commonplace book.

• The Wedding People: With verve and wit, Alison Espach spins a rich tale of a divorced woman rediscovering her agency and reclaiming life after depression, which comes about after she stumbles upon a lavish wedding celebration. I laughed out loud, connected with the characters and immediately passed this library book to Jay after I finished it because I knew it would make him laugh. (I was right.) I can’t wait until this book becomes a movie. Another fave of 2025.

Recent writing

• The view from here

• Reaching for goodness

• After a monthlong fast, I’m back on Instagram and Facebook. My new social media boundary is implementing and sticking to a daily time limit, which seems to help me with its addictive allure. Follow me on Instagram to read more of my writing, including a fun The Summer I Turned Pretty-themed recap and my “What’s In for October” list/poem.

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As always, thanks for reading! May your days ahead be filled with cozy, restful evenings; amazing books; sharing your gifts with your neighbors; and savoring surprising fruit.

Grace and peace,

Erin

“It turns out that the people we meet on mountains, as well as those taking selfies along the Seine, remind us to stop, focus, and zoom in on others. That we should step outside what we think we know, asking questions and listening to those we meet in dressing rooms or cramped airplane seats, across counters, and driving our Ubers. That there is a trail of stories behind each of us, behind this moment, stories of laughter and deep heartaches.”

—Joy Nicholas, “The People We Meet on Mountains”