Tuesday Tally and the Tangled Threads of Tomorrow

Hello, friends. I’m writing to you from my favorite spot at the kitchen table, the late afternoon sun casting long, golden rectangles across the linoleum. Mark just pulled the truck into the driveway—right on time at 5:20—and I can hear Biscuit’s tail thumping against the front door in a frantic rhythm of welcome. There is something so grounding about the sounds of a house coming back together at the end of the day, isn't there? It reminds me that no matter how scattered my brain felt during the morning hours, the center always holds.

Today was one of my days at Miller’s Hardware. I walked in at 11:00 am to that familiar, comforting smell of fresh-cut sawdust and motor oil. Mr. Miller was in one of his moods today, grumbling about a late shipment of galvanized nails, so I kept my head down and focused on the ledgers. There is a specific kind of peace in balancing the books. Seeing the numbers line up, watching the slow and steady movement of a small business, reminds me so much of our own journey. Financial growth isn't always a windfall; most of the time, it’s just not spending more than you have and watching the small crumbs turn into a loaf.

I took my lunch break at my desk, staring at the robin-egg-blue journal Megan gave me. I found myself thinking about our talk on Saturday. She’s always pushing me to see the 'extra' in the ordinary. As I tallied up the invoices for the week, I realized that I’m not just a bookkeeper or a candle maker; I’m a builder. We’re all builders, ladies. Whether we’re building a savings account, a business, or a home where two little humans feel safe enough to draw horses on their math homework, the work is holy.

Speaking of my little humans, Emma came home from school today quite upset because she couldn't get the legs right on a drawing of a stallion. I sat with her for a moment before I had to start my candle prep, and we talked about how practice is just a series of beautiful mistakes. It’s a lesson I’m still learning myself. I look at her, so fierce and determined at seven years old, and I see so much of the woman I am trying to become. I want her to know that her worth isn't tied to the finished drawing, but to the courage it took to pick up the pencil.

After the store, I managed to squeeze in three miles for my 5K training. The humidity in Cedar Falls was thick enough to wear, but I pushed through. I’m up to a steady pace now, and as I ran past Joanne’s house, I saw her out there in that signature pink bathrobe, ruthlessly deadheading her petunias. She waved a gloved hand at me and yelled, 'Keep those knees up, Lucy!' It made me laugh, even as my lungs were burning. There’s something about the community of women in this town—from Joanne’s garden to Megan’s bakery—that keeps me upright when I feel like flagging.

When I got home, the kitchen transformed into the 'Lucy’s Little Light' headquarters. I had six orders for the 'Saturday Morning Cinnamon' scent, and the house still smells like a dream. Handling the warm wax and centering the wicks requires a steady hand and a quiet mind. It’s my side hustle, yes, but it’s also my meditation. It’s the way I contribute to our 'anniversary fund.' Nine years with Mark is coming up fast, and I’m hoping to surprise him with something special—maybe a weekend where he doesn't have to be a foreman or a handyman, just a man who is deeply loved.

I spent a moment looking at myself in the hallway mirror after my shower, really looking. Sometimes, when the days are a blur of Noah’s velociraptor pajamas and hardware receipts, I forget to see the woman behind the tasks. But today, I saw the strength in my shoulders from those miles on the pavement. I saw the spark in my eyes that comes from creating something of my own. I felt desirable, not because I hit a certain number on a scale, but because I am a woman who is taking up space and growing into her own skin.

Mark just walked in the kitchen, still smelling like the outdoors and hard work, and gave me that tired, lopsided smile that still makes my heart do a little skip. He noticed the new batch of candles drying on the counter and kissed the top of my head. It’s the small victories, friends. The balanced ledger, the three-mile run, the smell of wax and sawdust, and the way the kids are currently giggling in the other room over a pile of LEGOs.

We’re moving toward October and that Harvest 5K, one step at a time. We’re building our lives, one day at a time. If your day felt messy or if your 'math worksheet' feels full of scribbles, just remember that the sun is going to set and the center will hold. You are doing so much better than you think you are. I’m proud of us for showing up, even when we’re tired.

I need to go help Noah find his 'raptor claws' before dinner—he’s convinced they’re under the sofa again. I hope you find a moment of peace tonight to reflect on your own growth, no matter how small it feels. You are worthy of the life you are building.

I love you. — Lucy