Journey On The Ridge: July 2026

Well...it's been a while.

When I sat down to write this update, I fully intended for it to be a quick recap of everything that's happened since my last post in April. A few birthdays, a couple anniversaries, an update on the kids, maybe a paragraph or two about my surgery, and call it good.

Instead...here we are.

Somewhere along the way, this turned into a recap of the last couple of years of our lives. Maybe that's because so much has happened. Or maybe it's because sometimes we don't realize just how much God has carried us through until we stop long enough to look back.

So, grab a cup of coffee, because this one may take a minute.

Part 1

Summer has been exactly what summer should be around our house...

Busy.

Really busy.

Actually...chaotic is probably a better word.

On May 15th, Ridge celebrated his 9th birthday. For the next seven weeks we officially had two nine-year-olds in our house, and I don't think I realized how much I'd enjoy that little season until it was over. It's funny how those little moments become memories before we even recognize we're living them.

Then June arrived, bringing with it anniversaries that always stir up a lot of emotions.

June 22nd marked eight years since Ridge's life-changing, and truly life-saving, Posterior Tracheopexy surgery in Boston performed by Dr. Jennings and Dr. Smithers.

Eight years.

I still remember walking through those hospital halls feeling scared, overwhelmed, and praying harder than I ever had before. We had no idea what the future would look like, but God did.

Looking at Ridge now, it's hard to believe just how far he has come. What once felt impossible has become everyday life. Every birthday, every basketball practice, every football workout, every laugh, every argument with his siblings...they're all reminders that God is still writing his story.

Then, on July 1st, we celebrated another milestone—one full year since Ridge's Aortopexy surgery in Florida with Dr. Smithers.

That surgery came after months of watching his breathing slowly decline again. As parents, there's nothing quite like watching your child struggle while feeling completely helpless. But just like He had done before, God had already gone before us. Looking back now, I can see His fingerprints on every appointment, every phone call, every doctor, every decision, and every answered prayer.

I don't think those anniversaries will ever become "just another day."

Instead, they'll always serve as reminders of God's faithfulness.

Just a couple days later, on July 3rd, our sweet Rylann officially entered the double digits!

TEN.

How is that even possible?

With that birthday, our short little season of having two nine-year-olds officially came to an end. Watching her grow has been such a joy. She has such a tender heart, a determination that's impossible to miss, and a smile that can brighten just about anyone's day. We are so incredibly proud of the young lady she's becoming.

Then came the Fourth of July.

This year felt especially meaningful as our country celebrated 250 years of freedom. We spent the day together as a family, enjoying fireworks, laughter, good food, and simply being together. In a world that often feels heavy, those simple moments are gifts from God that I never want to take for granted.

Of course, birthdays and anniversaries were only a small part of our summer.

The kids have definitely made sure we stayed busy.

Rook has started his off-season football workouts and spends every chance he gets working out with Darran. As much as I love seeing him become stronger physically, I think my favorite part has been watching the relationship between the two of them continue to grow. Those hours in the gym aren't just building muscle. They're building discipline, confidence, leadership, and memories they'll both carry long after football is over.

Reese has hardly slowed down either. Between volleyball camps, school volleyball practices beginning, and continuing to play travel softball, she's constantly on the go. I honestly don't know how she keeps up with it all, but she somehow manages to give everything she has to whatever she's doing.

Rylann has spent most of her summer in the pool. Swim practice five days a week, multiple swim meets, and somehow she still gets excited every time it's time to jump back in the water. I love watching her confidence continue to grow with every race.

And then there's Ridge...

He recently joined a new AAU basketball team and has been busy learning new teammates, new coaches, and continuing to develop his game. Before we know it, football season will be here, and he'll be jumping right into that too.

So yes...

Life has been busy.

Really, really busy.

But if there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's this:

God has a funny way of slowing us down when we need it most.

Even when it's not the way we would've chosen.

Back in April, I mentioned that I was supposed to have surgery on June 5th.

I had mentally prepared myself.

I had my calendar cleared.

The kids' schedules arranged.

Work figured out.

Everything was ready.

Then...

It was postponed.

I'll be honest.

I wasn't exactly thrilled.

Actually, frustrated is probably a better word.

When you've spent months preparing yourself mentally for something that big, it's hard when the plans suddenly change. I was ready to get it over with. Ready to start healing. Ready to move forward.

But isn't it funny how often God sees what we can't?

Looking back now, I'm incredibly thankful that surgery was delayed.

That unexpected pause gave me something I didn't even realize I needed.

More summer.

More time outside.

More opportunities to get in the pool with the kids.

More time helping Mom finish projects on the deck.

More chances to cross little things off the never-ending to-do list.

More ballgames.

More swim meets.

More catch in the yard.

More workouts.

More memories.

More simply being present.

Ironically, the reason my surgery was postponed was because one of my surgeons also serves as a team doctor for UALR baseball and had traveled with them during the Super Regionals in Troy.

I guess that's a pretty good excuse.

I suppose I can forgive him for that.

At the time, I couldn't understand why my plans had changed.

Now I can.

Sometimes what feels like an inconvenience is actually an unexpected gift.

Sometimes God's "wait" is every bit as loving as His "yes."

Proverbs 16:9 says, "The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps."

How many times have we all made our plans only to discover that God's plans were so much better?

Mine certainly were.

Even if I couldn't see it at the time.

Part 2

So...

June 26th finally arrived.

After the unexpected delay, surgery day was here.

And if I'm being completely honest, I walked into this surgery carrying a lot more than an overnight bag.

I walked in carrying fear.

I carried disappointment.

I carried trauma.

I carried unanswered questions.

And I carried a whole lot of doubt.

Not because I didn't trust God...

But because I knew exactly what recovery from a hip surgery felt like.

Or at least I thought I did.

To really understand why this surgery felt so different, I have to go back a little.

Actually...

A lot.

It all started back in 2013 after Rook was born.

After delivery, I began having significant pain in my hips and pubic bone. At the time, everyone assumed it was pelvic floor related. That seemed logical enough after childbirth, so I went to therapy, learned to manage it, and eventually just accepted it as my "normal."

Life moved on.

We had four amazing kids.

There were football games, cheer competitions, softball practices, baseball games, swim meets, basketball practices, workouts, teaching, things to do, grocery shopping...you know...life.

The pain was always there.

But moms have a funny way of convincing themselves they can just keep pushing through.

So I did.

Fast forward to May of 2024.

I was moving everything from my classroom at SLC over to Russellville High School when something suddenly felt...wrong.

Not sore.

Not tired.

Wrong.

Within a very short amount of time, I could barely walk.

I found myself on crutches and eventually sitting in an orthopedic clinic in Little Rock hoping someone could finally tell me what was going on.

After months of appointments, scans, and waiting, I was told I had a torn labrum in my left hip and needed surgery.

Finally.

An answer.

Or so I thought.

That December I had my first hip surgery.

Looking back now, there were probably warning signs I should have paid more attention to.

I never actually met my surgeon until about five minutes before being wheeled back to the operating room.

At the time, I didn't think much about it.

I was simply desperate to get out of pain.

After surgery, I did everything I was told.

Every physical therapy appointment.

Every weight-bearing restriction.

Every exercise.

Every instruction.

If there was a rule, I followed it.

But instead of getting better...

I got worse.

By March of 2025, I still couldn't feel much of my left leg.

The pain was actually worse than before surgery. And the neuropathy unbearable.

There was concern that either my femoral nerve had been injured during surgery or permanently affected by the nerve block.

I still didn't have answers.

Then, almost overnight, life shifted again.

Ridge's breathing began declining.

Suddenly, my hip wasn't the priority anymore.

My child was.

Everything else got pushed to the side while we focused on preparing for another surgery for him.

In June we traveled to Florida.

On July 1st, Ridge underwent another major surgery.

We spent our days in hospital rooms once again, praying, waiting, hoping, and watching God faithfully carry us through another difficult season.

When we finally returned home, my parents happened to have an appointment at UAMS with Dr. Barnes for my dad's hip.

Mom mentioned everything I had been going through.

He listened.

Then he recommended I make an appointment with two surgeons in the hip preservation clinic.

Looking back now...

That conversation changed everything.

My first appointment with what I'll call "Doctor 2" lasted nearly forty-five minutes.

Forty-five minutes.

That may not sound significant, but after feeling like just another patient for so long, having someone actually slow down and listen meant everything.

We took new X-rays.

He measured angles.

He moved my hip in every direction imaginable.

He explained what every image meant.

He answered every question.

He wasn't just treating a hip.

He was treating me.

And then he said the words that completely changed everything.

"You have hip dysplasia."

Not mild.

Not questionable.

Significant hip dysplasia.

The socket of my hip simply wasn't covering the ball of my femur the way God designed it to.

Instead of supporting the joint, my muscles had spent years trying to compensate for something they were never meant to do.

No wonder they hurt.

No wonder they were exhausted.

No wonder nothing had worked.

Then came another surprise.

My previous surgeon had actually documented the hip dysplasia in the operative notes.

They knew.

No one had ever told me.

Doctor 2 explained it in a way I'll never forget.

"It seems like they put a Band-Aid over the bigger problem they already knew was there."

That sentence hit hard.

Really hard.

For a while, I wrestled with anger.

With frustration.

With all the "what ifs."

What if someone had told me?

What if I hadn't needed that first surgery?

What if I hadn't spent months wondering if I was somehow doing recovery wrong?

What if...

Eventually, though, I realized something.

Living in the "what if" steals the joy from the "what is."

I can't rewrite the past.

But I can trust the God who already knew every chapter before I ever lived it.

Romans 8:28 doesn't promise every circumstance will be good.

It promises that God works all things together for good for those who love Him.

Sometimes we don't understand the process.

Sometimes we don't like the process.

But we can still trust the One writing the story.

From July through October, life became a whirlwind of imaging, injections, appointments, planning, and preparing.

Finally, on October 9th, I underwent what is called a Periacetabular Osteotomy, or PAO with Doctor 3.

If you've never heard of it, let me save you the Google search.

It's...a lot.

The surgeon literally cuts the hip socket completely free from the pelvis, rotates it into the correct position so it properly covers the hip joint, and then secures it back into place with screws while everything heals.

To put it simply...

They intentionally break your pelvis so they can put it back together the way it should have been all along.

Recovery isn't measured in weeks.

It's measured in months.

Sometimes well over a year.

It was easily one of the hardest things I've ever physically gone through.

But it also became one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given.

Because for the first time in years...

I had hope.

Not hope that everything would instantly be fixed.

But hope that maybe...

Just maybe...

There really was a light at the end of this tunnel.

Part 3

For the next few months, recovery became my full-time job.

I was off work from October until January.

Physical therapy started in December, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I was learning how to do things most people never think twice about.

How to stand.

How to walk.

How to trust my leg again.

How to rebuild muscles that had spent years compensating for something they should have never had to compensate for in the first place.

January finally rolled around, and I returned to work.

I was excited.

I missed my students.

I missed my coworkers.

I missed the routine.

But my body wasn't ready.

I kept telling myself it would get better.

"Just give it another week."

"Maybe next month."

"I just need to get stronger."

But by mid-February, the pain came back with a vengeance.

Another appointment.

Another set of imaging.

Another plan.

Doctor 3 decided to remove the screws from my first PAO to see if they were contributing to the pain. Around the same time, we discovered my piriformis muscle had become so tight that it was compressing my sciatic nerve. I had injections into the muscle and surrounding tendons in hopes of calming everything down.

We also learned something else.

The surgeon who performed my very first hip surgery hadn't closed my hip capsule, allowing adhesions and scar tissue to develop where they shouldn't have.

So back to physical therapy I went.

Only this time, I started working with a therapist at UAMS who specializes in hip preservation patients and works directly with my surgeons.

We've done strengthening.

Mobility work.

Dry needling.

Electrical stimulation.

And yes...

It is every bit as enjoyable as it sounds.

(If you've never had needles stuck into your muscles while electricity is running through them...consider yourself blessed.)

Even through all of that, something became painfully obvious.

Literally.

My right hip was now becoming the bigger problem.

It had reached the point where it was partially dislocated because of the dysplasia.

It wasn't a matter of if surgery would happen.

It was simply a matter of when.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, another difficult reality settled in.

I couldn't keep teaching in a traditional classroom.

That sentence was incredibly hard to write.

Russellville School District had been home.

I truly believed I would spend my entire career there.

Teaching wasn't just my job.

It was part of who I was.

But every day I came home completely empty.

I had spent everything I had simply trying to make it through the school day.

Then I'd come home to football, baseball, cheer, basketball, homework, dinner, and everything else that comes with raising four active kids.

There wasn't anything left.

Not physically.

Not emotionally.

Not mentally.

I remember praying over that decision more than almost any career decision I've ever made. I remember breaking down to my best friend on the phone while I drove through town because I didn't know what to do and she both sat with me in the silence and guided me through wisdom and prayer.

Walking away felt like admitting defeat.

But sometimes obedience looks an awful lot like surrender.

God gently reminded me that just because one season ends doesn't mean your calling has.

It simply means He's changing the way you live it.

Today, I teach from home through Arkansas Connections Academy.

Looking back, I can see His hand in every part of that transition.

He knew what my body was going to need before I ever did.

What felt like a heartbreaking goodbye became another example of His provision.

Isn't that just like God?

He often prepares the answer before we even know the question.

That finally brings us back to June 26th.

Surgery day.

This time, it wasn't just one procedure.

It was six hours in the operating room with two incredible surgeons working together. [This begins my tears and vulnerability.]

Doctor 2 repaired a large labral tear, cleaned up the impingement inside the joint, and reshaped my femur back to the proper spherical shape.

Then Doctor 3 performed the PAO on my right side, repositioning my hip socket exactly where it should have been all along.

Four nights.

Five days.

One very sore patient.

Today, as I write this, it's been about two weeks since surgery.

And honestly...

This recovery has been so different.

Not because it hasn't hurt.

Trust me...it has.

But this pain feels different.

It feels like healing pain instead of broken pain.

Every day I seem to move a little easier.

A little farther.

A little stronger.

I'm still using my walker, but I'm hopeful that crutches aren't too far away.

I have one larger incision and three smaller ones that are healing beautifully.

I've officially graduated off the stronger pain medication and am only taking my anti-inflammatory, Tylenol, aspirin, and gabapentin.

I'm continuing to teach summer credit recovery from home.

Slowly...

Very slowly...

Life is moving forward again.

But if there's one thing these last eighteen months have taught me, it has nothing to do with hips.

It's this.

I am not nearly as independent as I thought I was.

If you know me very well, you know I don't like asking for help.

Actually...

I really don't like asking for help.

I've always been the one who wants to take care of everyone else.

The one who figures it out.

The one who carries the load.

The one who says, "I've got it."

These surgeries have stripped every bit of that away.

I can't simply get up and make my own plate.

Someone has to help.

I can't grab my own ice packs.

Someone brings them to me.

I can't just jump in the shower.

Someone helps me get there safely.

I can't sleep in my bed.

I can't help cook or do the laundry.

I can't drive my kids everywhere they need to be.

I can't even put my own socks on without getting creative.

And can I tell you something?

That has been one of the hardest parts.

Not the surgery.

Not the pain.

Not the walker.

Dependence.

Because dependence is uncomfortable.

It exposes our pride in ways we never expect.

It forces us to admit that maybe we weren't created to carry everything ourselves.

God has been gently reminding me that dependence isn't weakness.

It's actually how He designed His people to live.

Galatians 6:2 tells us to "carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ."

Notice it doesn't say, "Carry your burdens alone."

It says, "Carry each other's."

From the very beginning, God created us for community.

Adam wasn't meant to be alone.

The early church wasn't meant to do life individually.

Jesus Himself surrounded Himself with people.

Even on the way to the cross, Simon of Cyrene was asked to carry Jesus' cross for part of the journey.

If the Savior of the world accepted help...

Why do we think we shouldn't?

The truth is, I've spent so much of my life trying to be strong enough on my own.

Maybe God's been teaching me that real strength isn't found in independence.

Maybe real strength is found in humility.

In allowing people to love you.

In allowing people to serve you.

In allowing people to be the hands and feet of Jesus when you can't do it yourself.

And if I'm honest...

I think that's a lesson I'll carry with me long after these bones have healed.

Part 4

As I sit here writing this, the house is unusually quiet.

Everyone else has gone to Rylann's swim meet, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I have a few moments to simply sit.

To think.

To pray.

To reflect.

It's amazing what can happen when God forces us to be still.

Psalm 46:10 begins with the words, "Be still, and know that I am God."

I've heard that verse my entire life, but I don't know that I've ever truly understood it until now.

Being still isn't something that comes naturally for me.

I like accomplishing things.

I like checking off lists.

I like taking care of people.

I like being the one others depend on.

These past eighteen months have slowly stripped away every bit of that independence.

Instead, God has surrounded me with people who have willingly stepped into the gaps where I couldn't.

I honestly don't know how I could have made it through all of this without Darran.

If you've ever met him, you know he would never ask for recognition, but he deserves it.

He's stayed beside me through both hospital stays.

He's helped me in and out of bed in the middle of the night.

Helped me shower when I could barely move.

Helped me get dressed.

Helped me walk.

Kept up with medications.

And somehow, while doing all of that, he's continued being an incredible dad to our four kids.

He's carried far more than most people have ever seen.

Then there are my parents.

I truly don't have the words.

They have dropped everything without hesitation.

Mom has become my chauffeur, my caregiver, my personal chef, my ice pack runner, my shower assistant, and honestly...whatever else I happen to need that day, she does it without hesitation or question. I could not have done this without her there as an anchor and a listening ear. She took care of the kids while Darran was at the hospital caring for me, running them to activities, feeding them, and making sure life carried on. She will have a crown with many jewels one day.

Our kids have amazed me too.

I think sometimes we underestimate what children notice.

They've watched.

They've adapted.

They've helped without complaining.

They've learned that serving someone isn't always convenient, but it's always worthwhile.

At night, Mom and the kids have been sleeping in the living room with me so I wouldn't be alone if I needed help getting up.

When I stop and think about that, it overwhelms me.

That's love.

Real love.

Not the kind that's shown in grand gestures.

The kind that's shown in interrupted sleep...

Extra responsibilities...

Making someone else's plate...

Helping them stand...

Rotating ice packs...

Or simply sitting beside them when they're hurting.

Then there are all of you.

The texts.

The phone calls.

The prayers.

The encouragement.

The offers to take kids where they needed to go.

The videos and pictures of my kids while I've had to miss events while healing at home.

Every single one has reminded us that we were never walking this road alone.

Thank you.

From the bottom of our hearts...

Thank you.

One verse that God has continued bringing me back to throughout this journey is Ecclesiastes 4:9-10: "Two are better than one... If either of them falls down, one can help the other up."

I don't know why, but for so much of my life I've read that verse and immediately thought about marriage.

Now I realize it's so much bigger than that.

It's about community.

It's about God's design for His people.

He never intended for us to carry every burden alone.

Galatians 6:2 tells us to "carry each other's burdens."

Romans 12 reminds us that we're one body with many parts.

Even Moses, the man God chose to lead Israel out of Egypt, needed Aaron and Hur to literally hold his arms up when he became too tired to continue.

I've always admired people who seemed completely independent.

Now...

I'm starting to admire people who know when they need others.

Because maybe dependence isn't weakness after all.

Maybe dependence is one of the greatest demonstrations of faith.

It's acknowledging that we were never designed to do life alone.

Not only with people...

But with God.

How often do we tell God, "I've got this"?

How often do we try to fix everything ourselves before ever bringing it to Him?

I know I do.

Yet Jesus reminds us in John 15:5, "Apart from Me you can do nothing."

Not "a few things."

Not "the hard things."

Nothing.

The older I get, the more I realize Christianity was never meant to be lived through self-sufficiency.

It was always meant to be lived through surrender.

Do I still have a long road ahead?

Absolutely.

There are still months of healing.

Physical therapy.

Strengthening.

Learning to trust this hip.

Learning to trust my body again.

I'm looking forward to Monday when I get these stitches removed from my three smaller incisions.

I'm praying I'll soon be able to trade my walker for crutches.

I'm counting down the days until I can get in the pool and start water therapy.

And yes...

I'm already dreaming about getting back in the gym.

Not because I want to look a certain way.

Because I want my life back.

I want to hike with my family.

Play in the yard with my kids.

Walk without wondering how many places I'll need to stop and sit.

Travel without pain.

Cheer from the sidelines.

Help coach.

Work outside.

Take family vacations.

Simply live the life God has blessed me with.

For the first time in a long time...

Those things feel possible.

One morning during recovery, I decided I needed to change the conversation I was having with myself.

So every morning now, I tell myself the same thing:

"Do I want to do this? No. Am I going to do it? Yes. Absolutely. Because why not? It's good for my mind. It's good for my body. Now get up and do it."

It's amazing how much our minds influence our healing.

If I've learned anything over the past two years, it's this:

God doesn't waste pain.

Not a single tear.

Not a single setback.

Not a postponed surgery.

Not a season of waiting.

Not even the chapters we'd gladly skip if we were writing the story ourselves.

Looking back, I can finally see that every closed door, every delay, every disappointment, and every detour eventually pointed me toward the right doctors, the right timing, and ultimately the right outcome.

Only God could weave together a story like that.

So while this certainly wasn't the update I originally intended to write, maybe it's the one I needed to write.

I hope it answers the many questions so many of you have asked about my health, the surgeries, the kids, and what life has looked like around here lately.

More than anything, though, I hope it reminds you of something that God has been faithfully reminding me:

Sometimes His greatest work happens while we're waiting.

Sometimes His greatest blessings come disguised as delays.

And sometimes the strongest people aren't the ones who never need help...

They're the ones humble enough to receive it.

As always, thank you for following along with our little family's story.

Thank you for celebrating the victories with us.

Thank you for praying through the valleys.

Thank you for reminding us what the Body of Christ truly looks like.

We love every one of you, and we're so thankful you've chosen to be part of this journey with us.

Here's to continued healing...

New beginnings...