A Note from Polly
We’d had a waterfall through the ceiling, a basement full of soggy insulation, and a week without a dishwasher. The plumbing was shot, the mower died, and the toilet got pulled up and reinstalled twice.
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For five days, we washed mugs in a bin and dumped the water in the yard like pioneers with high-speed internet.
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I kept thinking: Why does this stuff keep happening to us?
But then I remembered: This is life. Messy, repair-prone, humbling life.
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And yet, every time something cracked, leaked, or failed, grace still showed up. In borrowed trailers. In buckets and towels. In the stubborn kindness of starting over.
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So now, when I see mugs soaking, I don’t sigh. I breathe.
And I whisper the words I’m learning to mean:
Another day, another do-over.
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Every day is another chance to live in God's love — even when everything’s a mess.
Latest Posts
From the Do-Over Archives
This is my version of a charcuterie board—just with old and new blog posts instead of cured meats and cheeses. A little savory, a little sweet, and always good when you nibble your way through.
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Life doesn’t wait for us to get it all together. These are the shaky, honest moments where I kept going anyway—heart pounding, palms sweaty, but somehow still moving forward.
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I don’t write about faith because I have it all together. I write about it because I don’t—and because even when I'm a total mess, God keeps showing up. This is my litany: imperfect, in progress, offered anyway.
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Sometimes a moment comes and everything shifts. These are the cracks where the light got in—the stories that mark the start of something, even when I never saw it coming.
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There are times when you have to laugh so you don’t cry—and because your dog’s face is ridiculous. These stories don’t take themselves too seriously, but they still mean something.
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Tumbleweeds of doghair. Mismatched mugs. Linen closet nightmares. Dinners that somehow still got made. These posts live in the daily grind where beauty and chaos hold hands.
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This is where the rest of me lives: nutty ideas, half-finished thoughts, and ordinary Tuesdays. Not breakthroughs, but breadcrumbs. Not a map, but maybe a mirror. Expect unpopular opinions, unasked (and unanswered) questions — and all the awkward little moments in between.