At the beginning, I failed spectacularly. I made my own starter, and my first attempts were grotesque. Mine was not the process of the professional bread maker.

It wasn’t pretty.

But then suddenly it CLICKED. And these days, it’s hard to ruin it. Maybe it will convince you that there’s nothing hard or time consuming about it?

(But let me assure you I made so many mistakes in the beginning that I can never judge any sort of failed sourdough. I paid my dues and I’m grateful for the experience!)

Here’s what my easy process looks like.

I keep my starter in the fridge. When I want to make some bread, I pull out the tiny bit I keep in there, dump some flour and water in until it is pancake batter consistency, and then leave it on the counter for some hours or overnight.

Then I dump in .5 cups of starter, 1.33 cups water, 2 tsp of salt, and 3.5 cups of flour (recipe from Farmhouse on Boone) and give it a little mix and then leave it on the counter for a little bit.

Then I pull up from the sides and stretch it out a little bit, a few times, every once in a while. I know, I’m very very precise and detail oriented! Optimally 30 minutes or so.

Then I let it sit out for the whole night, or the whole day.

Then I shape it into a nice little ball, stick it top side down into a floured bowl, and then either stick it on the counter for a few hours or in the fridge for as long as I want. It can stay in there for days.

Score with lame or knife.

Preheat the oven to 500 with the Dutch oven in, then pull it out, throw the bread in, bake it with the lid on for 15 minutes and then around 10 with the lid off at 475.

Done.

The timing can vary on all these things. Sometimes I split the bread into four mini loaves. It doesn’t always look the same.

I don’t stress about it.

I think all of the parts and pieces probably take less than 15 minutes of actual work.

I don’t sell my bread, but we all enjoy it, and I don’t discard starter since I just feed and use it and stick it back into the fridge.

Farmhouse on Boone - “Beginner’s Sourdough Bread Recipe”- is my favorite and very simple! This whole process is pretty much a regurgitation of that exact recipe- I can take no credit! I just wanted to share how simple and easy my sourdough process looks as I follow the guidance of the sourdough geniuses and lean on my years long experience of baking for my family and friends!

If you have any questions let me know, or I’d love to hear your process!

I’ve learned from others that doing anything poorly teaches more than never doing it perfectly!

May the Lord bless your days with peace and some delicious sourdough bread,

Sara

But around 30 weeks, I started feeling some burn out. I had some really difficult outings with my older two kids (think, mama-nightmare-tantrum in the library, and embarrassing-book-club-child-meltdowns). I was feeling it.

So I took myself to my planner and wrote down a few pointers to help myself make it through. While I may not have utilized all of them, I did end up snapping out of burn out, at least until somewhere around 41 weeks. (It should be noted I went to 42 and a half weeks, which was NOT fun. But that story will keep until another time- or maybe never. I did not enjoy slow cooking past all normally acceptable limits of gestational age!).

To-do lists may be the last thing you need during burn out, but some of these are things NOT to do, or ways to gracefully make it through. I thought I would share them in case anyone can use one or two in a difficult life season.

As I mentioned above, this is an inexhaustive list, meaning there are endless other options for you to utilize in recovering from feelings of burn out in intense seasons.

But here are a few I wrote down for that period of my life:

1. Continue routine as much as possible.

2. No extra commitments or days out unless truly desired. (Seriously! You can stay home and rest! The world continues spinning!)

3. Continue working out 3x a week- showing up is all that’s necessary. (I had been more consistent from 24 weeks on with working out. Then at 36 weeks I fell - hard - at the pool. I did not have the heart to work out after that! Haha.)

4. Drink 8 cups of water.

5. Invest in truly restful practices - sitting outside, reading, listening, breathing, sleeping -rather than mindless shows that entertain but feel more draining rather than truly filling up.

6. But also- Implement beautiful movies/ shows occasionally - they have their place!

7. Take 10-20 minutes throughout the day to read, drink coffee, & sit.

8. Gratitude journal daily.

9. Sit outside as often as possible.

10. If zero motivation, sit & breathe until feeling ready to get up.

Number 10 may be the best one on the list. If you need to get some dishes done, you can wait 30 seconds until you’re ready to get up. Somehow just having that rule is so so helpful.

As aforementioned, I did not follow this list exhaustively. Indeed, reading through them I’m almost positive I abandoned some of them immediately haha! But writing it out helped in some way. I was able to make it out of my slump and get through to the (bitter) end feeling much better.

Whatever you are facing right now, may you find deep joy and perseverance in knowing it will not last forever, and that God’s grace will see you through! Here’s my proof…

But I am at home.

This little house, with the little rooms, and the grey blue couch, and the sturdy wood chairs, and the door that slams a little too loud, and the shades the kids put up and down in the window.

The drooping fir outside, comical and austere, somehow both at once, like a greyed little old man with a cracking voice and a little goatee and stories to tell.

The generic coffee table, so universal you can’t even see it; blending into the room if you aren’t looking for it.

The little shallow sink, merrily holding dishes,

Tiny little fridge stuffed with the parsley they gave me instead of cilantro (a travesty, really),

And my starter that survived another cross-country move, somehow, and is still usable-

Oven with a little pan of boiled water making steam for sourdough croissants proofing one last time,

Heavy marble rolling pin I received for Christmas and couldn’t bear to put in storage for all the months, so it rode in the u-haul and now is in community with the oven mitt and hopefully doesn’t break the drawer (helpful for aforementioned croissants),

The faithful fire alarm that goes off on a whim, adding adventure to our lives,

And the cheaply made pans that smoked so badly when first used it’s no wonder the building is constantly serenaded by fire-alarm-symphony.

The lamp with the funny shade, that was crooked so successfully I thought it was built that way;

The little French press (“friend-press,” as my three-year-old called it) that makes delightful cups of coffee to help me through the rest of the afternoon.

The sound of a wonderfully narrated audiobook right before I drift off to sleep-

And the sweet little people under the irritating duvet that may not ever stay on exactly as it should… and the little baby stretched out next to my husband while he sleeps.

And while it may only be our house for a couple of months of my life,

It is my home for now,

And oh, how grateful I am!

For the home that is not my house.

For the house that became my home.

I knew life would shift again,

Tripping over sacred seasons,

Dispassionate in its approach,

Unsentimental in its chaos

Disregarding every bit of needed goodbye,

Precious closure

The life we chose

We love -

For its adventure

And its cause

To see the world together, and apart

And to build a family on the sacrifice of a call

This transplanting is bittersweet

Sad to leave, happy to go

Full of memories and people we would have missed

Had we not taken the chance

If we could but keep the leaves, the fruit

Intact on the way to fresh soil

If we could transport the whole garden

The handmade boxes

And the delicate blooms

In generous, warm soil

I pluck the seeded fruit-

The rich friendships will stay with me-

The memories

Everything we learned through fire and plenty

These I can take,

And nothing more

Were I to turn around and go back

My world there would have vanished

The roots below me

Tethered and strong

Made from fibers

Resilient and brawny

I turn my face to the present

Glimmering, staring back at me

So unfamiliar yet full of promise

And all I can ask is that my life somehow

Somehow

Be pulled from the roots

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Seven years ago this January, I deleted my Facebook and Instagram. Here’s part of my final post:

“As we launch into 2019, I’ve made the decision to get rid of social media for this year. I have things to study, places to travel, books to write, people to love. My word for this year is EXCELLENCE, and to be excellent in my time, my relationships & my life, I feel that getting rid of social media will be a change beneficial to becoming the best version of myself. I want to be ME, fully me, not a version of myself I think people want to see or that I think I want to see. I want to be FREE, not worrying about approval from others, how I look, etc etc. I want to invest in REAL relationships this year. I want to get closer to my Jesus than ever before. I want to live every moment for THAT MOMENT, not anything else. Not to look good. Not to get a good picture. Not to look back on. I want to fully, fully experience every moment.

Here’s to a year of working hard & dreaming BIGGER than ever before, of loving truly and freely and becoming the people God created us to be.

Love, Sara”

Dramatic, I know. And I excerpted it because in totality it was ten times cringier. But, oh how thankful I am for the wisdom seven-year-younger-Sara showed in those early moments of life-changing decisions.

A couple months later I got engaged.

A few months after that I traveled to Bulgaria and cowrote a coffee-table book chronicling stories of poverty-stricken children in the country.

The next year I got married.

The next year I birthed my first-born.

The next year my second-born.

The years fell over each other in their excitement to be every bit of adventure I could dream.

We were residents of three states in the space of twelve months.

Joseph commissioned after being enlisted for 6 years.

I lost 30 pounds (well, 50+, but that would include the actual weight of the baby) and was the strongest I had ever been.

Joseph started Undergraduate Pilot Training.

I carried our rainbow baby and birthed her in the middle of summer - fitting - for she is always sunshiny.

Roadtrips.

A sourdough journey.

The start of homeschooling.

I had lots of good things I could and would have posted.

But I didn't post them.

I texted my best friends pictures. I met up with them and laughed over coffee. They saw my real face. I saw their real hair, teeth, skin, makeup - unfiltered.

I FaceTimed family. I wrote letters.

And I didn’t post a single baby picture, graduation ceremony, published book photo shoot, sourdough success, steakhouse date night, or chiseled (hehe, okay not chiseled, just visible) abs pictures on Facebook or Instagram.

Let me be clear. I was not legalistic in this process. If a friend or sibling sent an instagram link, I clicked on it. I have been watching YouTube all seven years except for one 6 month stint last year where I treated YouTube with much more intention. I [obviously] have a Substack. But the endless scrolling/ comparison/ only-good-or-very-bad-virtual diet was gloriously stemmed.

Here’s what happened.

1. I experienced things for themselves and not to be able to post them, and my experiences were not measured by how much validation they received through social media. I can’t imagine getting married, posting my photos, and then waiting to see who liked them. What if nobody liked them? To reduce the biggest life-adjustment other than salvation to a picture album that people could scroll past and decide if they wanted to compliment feels crazy to me. Even crazier to think I could have viewed my wedding through the lens of Instagram or Facebook instead of reality! I like to think I would rather not mar the experience by putting them online to be scrutinized, although I can totally understand the allure and excitement of sharing these experiences with people you know! (And truly, this is all my own perspective; you may have a much healthier approach and I salute you!)

2. I know people for who they really are to me in real life and do not feel influenced by media telling me how important they are to the world or how many people they know. Those who spend the most time curating, gaining followers and likes and whatever else there are these days may have less time in real life to curate real, flesh and blood, "let’s-meet-for-coffee” or “let-me-bring-you-dinner” type friendships. My friendships have gotten better and more personal. This leads to the next…

3. Occasionally when two of my mutual friends meet, I feel a bit left out. Perhaps some people don’t feel this. I have realized that a lot of times I take things too personally, and it’s a work-in-progress for me. I can only imagine how exacerbated this would be by social media revealing to me every dinner party I wasn’t invited to, only to overthink why I wasn’t invited. (Usually it is never personal!) Cutting out these overthinking sessions by removing the overload of information that is really none of my business anyway has probably saved me far more brain cells than I can imagine.

4. I have a small online footprint. My kids have an even smaller one. I have chosen not to show their faces and rarely add pictures of them, for their safety. They are also their own people and should have a say in what is being seen by others. I try to limit personal information, for the safety of all of us.

5. I live in reality, not a curated world created by someone possibly trying to convince me their life is more interesting than mine. When I was on social media, I wanted my pictures to all look the same style like the popular instagramers I knew. (Imagine worth being perceived by how talented someone is at taking and editing their photos, yikes!) I didn’t know how to take good pictures, pose well, use the right makeup, choose the right expression, etc. I just wasn’t good at it. But there were people who were, and I probably chalked them up to having better and more beautiful lives because of it. Now don’t misunderstand me; I love aesthetic things. Pinterest outfits are so cute! But to have an overwhelming onslaught of everyone trying to figure out how to present better is more than I can handle. If you’re my friend, I’ll send the pic where my teeth look yellow. Posting online encouraged me to pursue conceited things with my time. Which brings me to the next point.

6. I realized what a vain peacock I am and destroyed that constant desire for validation through those mediums. I can only cringe knowing I took a cute selfie then tried to find a caption to go with it so I could post it. BOOO. Substack seems to be more about the writing and then adding pictures, although I know how dangerous social media is and how quickly I could be doing the same thing all over again. But genuinely, social media was all about Me! Me! Me! And it was so hard to see when everyone else was doing it and posting at alarming rates.

In short, social media encouraged me to use my time pursuing frivolous things. Surface friendships. Vain pursuits of validation. Prideful exploits of what “I” accomplished. Endless scrolling, refreshing, nitpicking, liking, information overload, dopamine hits to the brain, over, and over, and over.

In the end, social media, though I couldn’t understand it at the time, was built around pride AND insecurity, carefully camouflaged with a mutually supportive community we “built” in the days and hours God created for us to glorify Him. Some people could glorify Him in it, but deep, deep down, it was really all about me.

“See what I accomplished? See what I can look like?” “Oh, look how pretty she is. Look how prodcutive! I wish…”

The thoughts were constant. I never measured up. How could I? The whole point is vanity and vending, and neither of these are ever content.

Our lives can impact people truly and deeply and lead them to Christ. We don’t have to be well-known, or virtually online to change the world. Maybe in 2026, we think we do. I sure hope we can effect some change online… here I am writing on Substack! The online space is part of our lives and understanding; probably irrevocably. The irony of writing on social media about leaving social media is not lost on me.

But Facebook and Instagram?

For me, personally, they were doing far more harm than good.

And leaving behind the frivolous nothingness social media had become as a young adult was one of the biggest and best changes I have implemented so far.

Let’s begin three years ago, when my oldest child was the auspicious age of [one], and our tree was being ravaged by said little busy toddler. I mean, the tree wasn’t really a showstopper anyways, so I’m not sure why it bothered me so much. I hadn’t yet learned the joy of imperfection and watching these wee ones grow through inconvenience. And really, we all like differently styled trees, so why does a half bald tree need to be considered such an eyesore?

My little one is 4.5 now, and this year, rather than eliminating all reachable items, her intention was to stuff as many as could be fitted onto a few branches. The destroying turned to creating, the removing turned to embellishing. Very wonderful, indeed, if one doesn’t mind that the tree now looks like a Christmas tub was dumped on top…er, the bottom.

I think the main change, however, has been me.

I am DELIGHTED.

ENTERTAINED.

CHARMED.

Never have I seen such a beautiful tree, or a more talented child, or better-decorated artifact. There have been other feats this year as well. And not just by my first-born. Here are my unbaked cookies that look like little turds (I included the finished product so as to not be disqualified for such unworthy little dough designs.

Next up we have a few more decor choices…

My personal favorite child-decorated area:

In short, imperfections are what made this Christmas special for me. The unexpected cookies in the manger scene, the kiddos snagging candy cane crumbles from baking trays, the inflatable hedgehog that is our one and only outside Christmas decor but that at least announces to the neighborhood we are not grinches… my kids thinking Santa Claus is the grinch for a while, because their main context of Santa Claus was watching The Grinch… all of the learning and growing and trying that IS childhood. I never want my tree to be perfect if it could instead be blessed by the hands of my precious children.

Thank You, Lord Jesus, for an imperfect Christmas.

And thank You, Lord Jesus, for being the perfect One Who made these moments for us to enjoy.

If when you step into your home someday,
The air doesn’t smell of baking bread
And the air outside doesn’t crinkle with firs

If the doorway is plain, and the eaves undecorated, 
the windows bare, 
the table unadorned

If someday the grass be brown and the trees wilting, and you long 
for warmth 
and calm 
and grace

If there is no one to bid you goodnight or wish you good morning, no one to brush a stray hair behind your darling ear

If your eyes are tired, and your heart weary-
If the friend you love the most has betrayed you,

If you long for comfort and the house is empty-

If nothing else, dear child,

You have a mother that loves you

And a Creator Who gave His all for you

And all these things,

Should,

And can,

And will

Come again

In time

We’ve been offered trials as a prerequisite to living. 

Walking with Christ promises tribulation. 

But we are not chained to hardship. We don’t have to be miserable to fulfill the great Commission. We don’t have to “Eeyore” our way through life when we can “Anne of Green Gables” it.

The first time I wrote this article, it unsettled me. It wasn’t something I wanted to post because it held the pursuit of beauty in stark contrast to the greatest upheavals of our lives rather than merely addressing the longing and acceptance for goodness. I wrote of the three categories of trials; what we can control, what we can’t, etc. And possibly I will include those observations in another post, but it didn’t fit. 

It wrote like a sermon, when it really should have read like an open letter to myself and anyone else who feels they make life more burdensome than it needs to be. 

Maybe it’s not that we seek misery, but that we miss beauty.

We may not ruin our lives, but we never take a moment to see goodness.

We may not seek disaster, but we fill our minds and hearts with all sorts of nonsense. 

Why read Garfield when Dickens wrote masterpieces?

Why complain when we can be thankful?

Why eat pop tarts when we can eat croissants?

Why watch YouTube when we can listen to poetry?

Why be crass when we can be romantic?

Why watch Netflix when the starry sky beckons us to behold?

What is truly, deeply, absolutely controlling our time? 

Accepting and seeking beauty do not mean you are not humbly living out the trials God has allowed in your life. 

Cheryl Strayed wrote, “There’s always a sunrise and always a sunset and it’s up to you to choose to be there for it.”*

Are you showing up for goodness the same way you show up for misery?

In a world of entitlement, of wanting more and yet fearing joy, be confidently grateful in the sound of rain and the taste of coffee and the lisp of a child and the stirring of music and the muse of words and romance and breathing and laughing. 

Are we afraid to taste the good things in case they are ripped from our grasping hands?

We will experience the sorrows and persecutions of this life. The secret to not exhibiting “toxic positivity” is to allow grief its full work of presence in your life. Squirming in the discomfort and shivering in the pain is more of a worthy endeavor than blindly grasping for some sort of impermanent happiness. In the same breath, I beg you to embrace the bad with the good. You can grow through suffering and still welcome sweetness. 

The goodness of God is not diminished when you cannot see it.

When I accept grief and goodness from the hand of God, everything I see blesses me.

My brain is still clumsily clowning around with this topic. Maybe it’s the newborn exhaustion** or losing some of my precious grey matter to pregnancy or just that I haven’t fully understood what I’m trying to communicate. So I’m throwing this out into the world with the hope that I shall soon understand more than I presently do and can someday express more fully what has been rumbling around in my “brain box.” I’m in need of some of the wonderful Poirot’s “little grey cells,” indubitably.

But, in short -

I recommend not being as miserable as your trials invite you to be. There is so much more joy than we can imagine. Why not make your marriage, home, family culture, and inner world beautiful places? Why not fill your hours with all of the goodness in front of you? Walk with God. Enjoy His presence, His creation, His love. Go through trials with a hopeful heart and continue to enjoy the warmth of goodness.

And above all, see it as merely a glimpse of the glorious life to come. 

For after all, we look to heaven to fulfill our deepest desire for beauty.

“In His presence is fullness of joy.”

*I have exactly zero context for this quote other than that her mother said it and the book she wrote it in so if she’s not a worthy example I profusely apologize!

**Mostly just my inability to go to bed, tbh.

Background: Kieran, a young man, is asked to substitute teach in a one room school. He mistakenly assumes that by rigorous effort he can undo the obvious shortcomings of his predecessor. At this juncture he has discovered his teaching must be utterly remodeled in order to reach his lethargic students.

Setting: Not in the last 100 years.

That should be sufficient.

Passage 1

“Kieran was ready to change the direction of his teaching. As his students materialized that crisp Monday morning, he let them seat themselves in whatever blustery and conversational way they desired. Then he announced the advent of exploration time for the duration of the day. The students gaped unequivocally. Mr. Morgan loved books: taught from them, read them, referenced them, pondered them. His students were adamant he actually ate them for lunch. What had happened to their stoic teacher?

At his second suggestion of outside time, his students disappeared out the door expeditiously. There was no point in taking a chance on this wonderful development of schooltime. But Kieran was determined to see his unorthodox scheme through.

The children gallivanted over bridges, through meadows of flowers, up hills laden with trees and mushrooms and blackberry bushes heavy with juicy berries. Kieran had unceremoniously tucked a book into his trousers and presented it when the children had fallen to their backs under the wide open sky, exhausted, sun-burned, and smiling. He read a page tentatively, then stopped to look around at the attentive faces. One or two of the younger children were asleep, but the rest were engaged. He passed the book slowly to Annie. He pointed unobtrusively to the page adjacent to the one he had just finished. She began to read. Her cheeks were bright and her eyes were starry, and her voice was actually intonating the words of the book! Kieran was shaken with excitement. What was this magic of the outdoors? 

All the way home the children badgered him, taking great liberties and trying their luck after weeks of being solemn and joyless. Kieran was nonplussed. He had futilely continued to intensify the level of difficulty of learning and his progress had been utterly nondescript, only to find his method had been the antithesis of the true solution.”

Passage 2

“Kieran’s time as a teacher was coming to an expeditious end. After the first, long, slow weeks of perseverance, he now found himself wanting to halt the time that flew carelessly in the humming classroom. Oh, there was still resistance to school - he supposed children always longed for dismissal as a sort of freedom. But there was deep and exhilarating learning taking place, conversations swirling about history and books, bickering over mathematical solutions, assumptions about social context, predictions of story lines, tears over literary deaths, and a whole host of plenteous growth that Kieran was overwhelmed with the joy of it all. He let the children talk, argue, idealize, debate, and lecture, and sat with his feet propped on the desk, showing keen interest in all the children did. He merely introduced a topic, a book, a problem, and let the probing nature of youth teach what he had not been able to force. Letting go of control of the classroom had been his success, and he chided himself daily for not having realized it sooner. His own childhood and education had not been methodical or tedious, but full of wonder, exploration, and self-pursuit. Why he had ever attempted another method was now baffling to him. He supposed he had always carried presumptions about proper schooling and wondered about the experience, but now he thought with thankfulness of his own education, and relief that his concerns and doubts over missing out on a more traditional classroom were now silenced once and forever.”

I have no further explication at this time, so I bid you a wonderful weekend. :)

-Sara Thibodeaux

There is no lonely emotion
Millions of ways to feel
And endless configurations 
Of the same

If the stars are infinite 
In their maps
No group thrown together
In quite the same way

Could the proportion 
of hate, of tenderness, of fear
Occur in the same consignment
In even two of mankind?

The sum of all we’ve known
And felt, and seen, and heard
Determines what and how and why 
We feel today, and now… and 

I wonder if any of us
Has ever felt exactly the same
As any other person
At any other time

Could history possibly repeat itself
In two hearts?
And if it happened, just once
Could it be you and me?

In fifth grade I fell in love with the word “miscellaneous” while studying for the spelling bee. It was such a lovely word to spell; so sophisticated, so wonderfully wordy and attainable. Oh how I wish they would have granted me that great word. Alas, it was not to be.

Then there was my “impressive word memorization” stage where I pointlessly memorized pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis - a word that, while impressive, was not very practically applied, however liberally shared for intellectual clout. I memorized others - hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, and a Bulgarian monstrosity that I cannot remember but which I spent a particularly warm walk in that country memorizing with the help of a dutiful friend.

But no singular word can ever wholly explain soul wonder, raw questions, abstract emotion. It takes many words to do so- unembellished words we all know, understand, and cling to in our deepest moments. Words so simple that stream through the epochs of a single life that even a mere child can understand.

“I love you.”

“She’s gone.”

“I forgive you.”

“I believe.”

Words give us the power to begin love stories, close chapters, vent our worries, effect change, and a whole myriad of other such necessary life adjustments.

So while most of my words are toddler intelligible these days, they don’t all have to be juvenile.

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