When my husband and I got married in 2015, we were coming off a really sweet season of life and community in college. We had close friends, shared rhythms, and a deep sense of belonging. But marriage brought a new chapter—and a new zip code.
I moved to a new city, one where he had grown up and returned after college. He had history there. I didn’t. And starting over together as newlyweds—figuring out how to build shared friendships and community in a place that already felt established—was rocky.
As a pastor’s kid, I knew how important it was to plug into a church and find a group. So when we visited churches, we didn’t just attend worship—we checked out Sunday School too.
Our first visit to a church in our new city still makes me laugh. We found a “young married” class online, showed up right on time, found the room… and waited. In an empty classroom.
Eventually, the leader arrived—kind and slightly confused—and gently explained that while we were more than welcome, the average couple in the group had been married seven-plus years and was deep into parenting multiple kids. Everyone was lovely. We still felt like outsiders.
I tried a few women’s groups too. They were friendly, but I was always the youngest woman in the room—often by decades. If there was another woman under 50, she was usually nursing a baby. And look, I love a nursing mother—but at the time, it felt like staring into a future I wasn’t ready for. Pregnancy and babies genuinely terrified me.
I was newly married, completely out of my comfort zone, and barely holding it together. A “good day” back then was any day I cried fewer than three times—and I’m not usually a crier.
In short: I was lonely.
Then we visited another group. And that’s where God introduced me to someone who would change the next ten years of my life.
She was newly married too. Also new to the area. And she invited me to the beach.
That invitation felt like water in the desert.
Sitting in the sand, I told her how hard it had been to find a group we clicked with. That’s when she invited us to check out a small group she was part of—connected to a local church.
We visited once. We never looked back.
That group changed everything.
Last night was our final night meeting together as the group we’d led for years. After a long season of hosting and leading, we’re stepping aside so the group can continue without us—and stepping out in faith to start something new in our home, now that we finally have space again.
I’m incredibly proud of this group and deeply grateful for every person who’s been part of it. God used it to grow, heal, and shape us—our marriage, our friendships, our faith rhythms. Honestly, our whole adult life.
Not long ago, I wrote about closing a different chapter of life and quoted a line from one of my favorite shows, Veronica mars, that’s always stuck with me:
“I thought our story was epic, you know? You and me. Spanning years and continents. Lives ruined. Blood shed. Epic!… And then… and then it’s over.”
That’s how I’ve felt about this group.
Not because it was perfect—but because it was real. We trusted each other with the unfiltered versions of our lives. We embraced the mess together.
I only learned recently that the group had already been meeting for two years before we joined. You wouldn’t have known it—because from day one, they made us feel like we belonged.
We’ve shared joy and loss, laughter and heartbreak, growth and setbacks. We’ve walked through mountaintops and deep valleys together. And through it all, God has been faithful.
Over time, my husband and I stepped into leadership. Not through a formal handoff—just a gradual, natural shift. We hosted for years. Our living room became sacred ground. The couch? Basically group therapy. Every week we’d split into guys and girls for prayer, and someone would inevitably ask, “Okay… who’s crying on the couch tonight?”
Eventually, our house couldn’t hold it anymore. Kids multiplied. Space shrank. You could hear every cry, scream, and meltdown from the living room. It became clear something needed to change.
We moved the group out of our home and eventually transitioned to meeting in a more structured setting with childcare. That shift was life-giving. It gave us breathing room and allowed the group to keep going in a busy season. But it also changed the dynamic—more structured, less personal. Still meaningful. Just different.
For a long time, we’ve missed hosting.
About six months ago, we made a big move. After years of assuming we’d build our “dream home” somewhere else, we surprised ourselves by choosing a different path.
And suddenly, there was space again. Space to host. Space for kids. Space to open the door wide and say, “Come on in.”
As much as we love this group, we knew we couldn’t ask everyone—many of whom now live far away—to make that shift with us.
We’ve felt the nudge to start something new for a while. We tried once before, only to have those plans derailed by a global pandemic and the need for deep relational repair. Later, we weren’t trying to launch something new—but we were preparing the group to thrive without us at the center. Then there was a moment where God made it very clear: not now.
But now it’s 2025. And we have peace. Not just peace—clarity. The kind that only comes from the Lord.
Is it sad to say goodbye to something this meaningful? Absolutely. But we’re stepping forward with the blessing of people who have become family.
I recently read this about happy endings:
“Poor happy endings. They’re so aggressively misunderstood. We act like ‘and they lived happily ever after’ means nothing bad ever happened again. But that’s not how I read it. I read it as: ‘and they built a life together, and looked after each other, and made the absolute best of their lives.’”
—Katherine Center, The Rom-Commers
That’s what this group did. We built a life together. We looked after each other. And we made the absolute best of it.
If you have a group like that—don’t take it for granted. Lean in. Show up. Be honest. Make room for each other.
And if you don’t—start looking. Or be bold enough to begin something new. Invite someone to lunch. Host something small. Say yes to a beach invite.
It won’t be perfect.
But it might just be epic.
Growing A to Z 
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