by Stacey | Mar 17, 2026 | Devotionals, reflections, and encouragement
St. Patrick’s Day had once been the worst night of Maeve O’Connell’s life. Now it was the biggest celebration of the year at her coffeehouse, The Lucky Clover Café. Green streamers hung from the ceiling, fiddle music drifted through the room, and the scent of fresh Irish soda bread filled the air.
This year marked the café’s tenth anniversary, and Maeve dove into the festivities. She was determined to make new memories and forget the heartbreak of St. Patrick’s Day, one year ago, when the love of her life moved to New York.
Maeve was so absorbed in her tasks that she didn’t notice him at first. But when their eyes met across the room, her breath caught. Aidan Coller. The man she once planned to marry.
“It’s good to see you.” Aidan slid onto a stool and dunked his hand into the bowl of mixed nuts on the counter.
If it were anyone else from her past, Maeve would lean her elbows on the counter, cradle her chin in her palms and reminisce. But before she could even consider playing it cool, her heart slammed against her ribs and her belly did a little flip. Her body didn’t seem to get the memo that Aidan was probably just visiting.
“What brings you back to town?” She hoped the words sounded smoother than they felt tumbling out of her mouth.
He jutted his chin into a familiar head tilt, and it felt like he saw all the way into her soul. “It was time to come home.”
It was the way he said home. It warmed her from her toes to her cheeks.
“New York was missing something. It took me a long time to figure out what.”
She coiled one of her fiery red curls around her index finger, staying quiet.
“I was hoping to reconnect with old friends tonight.” He looked disappointed that she hadn’t asked him to elaborate on what had been missing in New York. “Does the gang still come here?”
Their old friend group would certainly come out for St. Patty’s Day. It would be an act of solidarity to support Maeve on the anniversary of Aidan’s departure.
“They’ll be in at some point.” Maeve forced a bright smile. “What can I get you?”
“Your famous Irish cream hot chocolate,” Aidan said with a grin. “I’ve heard it’s still the best in town.”
Maeve chuckled, relieved to be on safer conversational ground. If there was one thing she could talk about until the wee hours of the night, it was the traditional recipes she served.
The old gang came and went, yet Aidan stuck to her like glue. Maeve had overheard him probing her friends for her relationship status. He’d said that he didn’t pack up his New York apartment on a whim. He knew what he was in for when he walked into The Lucky Clover and he wasn’t leaving until Maeve knew losing her was his biggest regret in life.
She didn’t know what to do with that information.
As the night progressed, Maeve felt herself loosening up. She didn’t even mind when Aidan followed her into the kitchen to keep the conversation flowing. It reminded her of their dating years, when they would cook side by side in Maeve’s small apartment.
Aidan rolled up his sleeves. “Someone once taught me the secret to a great shepherd’s pie.”
“Really?” She cocked a sassy eyebrow.
“Hand pies,” he said, reaching for the pastry dough. “You used to say they tasted like home.”
They fell into a familiar rhythm.
As the clock approached closing time, the place quieted down. They stepped outside and the streetlights cast a soft glow on the cobblestone streets.
“If I could go back in time,” Aidan said, “I’d never leave you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver shamrock pendant. “I found this unpacking. Do you remember it?”
Maeve gasped. Of course, she remembered the pendant. Her fingertips brushed the gem. She’d called it her lucky charm, but tonight she realized it had never been about luck at all. It had always been about love.
“You gave it to me years ago.”
“And you returned it when I left for New York.” He moved slowly, unclasping the necklace and looking into her eyes for permission. “You were what was missing in New York. I came home because I still love you. You’ve built a good life here, and I’d like to be part of it, if you’ll let me.”
Maeve lifted her hair so he could fasten the necklace. Her fingertips brushed the small silver shamrock. She might have called it her lucky charm, but tonight she realized the charm had never been the pendant. It was the man standing in front of her.
She felt the sincerity in Aidan’s words and the weight of what he was offering. Tonight wasn’t about everything they had lost. It was about the possibility of beginning again. About love coming home.
She turned to meet his gaze. “I’d like that.”
They walked back inside, where laughter and fiddle music still drifted through The Lucky Clover Café. The celebration hadn’t ended after all. And neither had their story.
If you enjoyed When Love Comes Home, you might also enjoy Sweet Beginnings in Sycamore Hill, where one brave whistleblower sets off a twenty-four-hour chain reaction on the eve of the town’s most important holiday celebration.
A baker receives a career-making opportunity, a reporter chases the truth, a woman faces her greatest fear, and a lost child returns home as the day unfolds.
As the residents of Sycamore Hill prepare to welcome a new year, five couples discover sweet beginnings filled with hope and unexpected possibilities. This interconnected story sequence introduces the Sycamore Hill Series.
Each Sycamore Hill book offers something a little different—romance, mystery, and even suspense (my personal favorite to write) as the lives of its residents intertwine.
Step into Sycamore Hill and see where the first domino falls.
by Stacey | Feb 26, 2026 | Special Announcements
On March 7th at 6:30pm, I’ll be speaking at a local Safe Families event and I would truly love to see you there.
We all feel it, don’t we? The quiet nudge when we notice a family who looks like they’re barely holding it together. An ache when we read the headlines. The whisper from the Holy Spirit that says, “Love them.”
But what does helping actually look like? How can one person make a difference? Am I equipped? Where would I even begin?
Those are only a few of the questions that swirl when we see the overwhelming and growing needs of people in our communities. That’s exactly why this evening on March 7th matters.
What You’ll Experience
This isn’t a fundraising pitch. This isn’t about pressure or guilt. It’s night to provide clarity and hope.
You’ll learn how Safe Families works right here in our community. You’ll hear how ordinary people step in during moments of crisis to provide stability, dignity, and hope for children and parents. Some open their homes. Some provide meals. Some offer transportation, prayer, friendship, or practical support. Every role matters.
You’ll hear real stories of lives changed through simple, faithful acts of love. And you’ll discover that helping doesn’t have to look the same for everyone. Compassion has many expressions.
I’d Love to Meet You There
I’ll be sharing encouragement that evening, and I’ll also have my books available if you’d like to browse or chat afterward. Nothing brings me more joy than connecting in person with local readers and friends.
If you’re already serving with Safe Families, come and be refreshed. If you’re curious about Safe Families, come and learn. If you’ve felt that nudge but didn’t know what to do next, this is your space. You can be part of God’s work in a way that fits your real life.
Reserve your free spot for March 7th at 6:30pm
I truly hope to see you there.
by Stacey | Feb 14, 2026 | Devotionals, reflections, and encouragement
Valentine’s Day isn’t always candlelight and roses. Sometimes it’s missed buses, awkward reunions, snow in your boots, or the one person you swore you’d never see again standing in the checkout line behind you. I wrote this little flash fiction romance for anyone who believes love doesn’t have to be perfect to be powerful. It just has to show up.
Valerie Thompson stood in her first-grade classroom, inhaling the lingering scent of cupcakes and glue. Their Valentine’s Day party had been a messy success, but now the desks were cleared of glitter and candy wrappers, and all the children had gone home happy with their stuffed cardboard mailboxes. Her own mailbox sat on the corner of her desk, overflowing with handmade letters and notes from the children. Her heart swelled.
A knock at the doorframe startled her.
“Sorry to bother you,” Brad Parkins said, stepping into the room. The school principal looked every bit the part in his button-down shirt, though the tie he’d loosened betrayed the long day they’d all had. “Peter said he forgot his artwork.
Brad’s son, Peter, was one of Valerie’s favorite students, though she’d never admit it—teachers weren’t supposed to have favorites.
“Let me look.” Valerie sifted through a stack of colorful creations. She pulled out a picture and handed it to him—a carefully drawn image of Peter, Brad, and a woman with long dark hair, standing hand in hand. A small pang of longing shot through her at the depiction of a happy family.
Brad’s ears flushed a deep red as he took the drawing. “Peter thinks our family is missing something.”
His sheepish smile made her heart twinge. Peter’s mom had passed away when he was born. Though his grandmother helped fill the void, Valerie had always sensed the little boy’s longing for a nurturing presence.
“It’s a sweet picture,” she said softly. “Whoever she is, she’s a lucky woman. I hope you enjoy Valentine’s Day with her.” Heat rocketed to her cheeks. Why had she said that? It was completely unprofessional—Brad was her boss.
Brad cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m having dinner with Peter tonight. Our mystery lady is more of a question mark.”
She chuckled, but before she could say anything, Brad surprised her by picking up the box holding her valentines.“Let me carry this to your car. I wouldn’t want you to forget it.”
The gesture touched Valerie. “Thanks.” Together, they walked to the parking lot under the dusky sky, their conversation light and easy.
Later that evening, Valerie sat at her kitchen table, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in her hands. She began to sort through the valentines. Her heart warmed with each one. The children’s earnest messages and wobbly printing made her smile, but one card at the bottom caught her eye. Unlike the others, it was tucked inside an elegant envelope with her name written in bold, confident script.
Curious, she opened it.
“I’ve been too shy to ask you to dinner, so I slipped this card in with my child’s valentine. I hope you’ll meet me for dinner tonight at 6:30 at Mario’s. – A secret admirer.”
Valerie’s breath caught. A secret admirer? Her heart raced as she glanced at the clock—6:10. If she hurried, she could make it.
She dashed upstairs, exchanging her work clothes for a flattering yet comfortable outfit, touched up her makeup, and ran a brush through her long dark hair. At 6:29, she stepped into Mario’s, butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
The maître d’ greeted her with a polite smile. “Do you have a reservation name?”
Valerie froze. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t have a name, only a notecard. She opened her mouth to reply when a small, familiar voice called out.
“You came!”
Valerie turned toward the voice just in time to catch Peter barreling into her legs, wrapping his little arms tightly around her.
She knelt, her hands resting gently on his shoulders. “Peter? What are you doing here?”
Peter’s eyes sparkled. “I told Dad you’d come!”
Heart pounding, Valerie stood and turned to see Brad approaching, his expression equal parts hopeful and amused.
“You really didn’t figure it out?” he asked. “I thought for sure you would when you saw the picture and then I insisted you bring your valentines home today.”
Her gaze darted between Brad and Peter, realization dawning. “The picture was me?”
Peter nodded eagerly.
An embarrassed smile crept across Brad’s face. “Peter thought I needed a little help asking you to dinner. I hope the whole ‘secret admirer’ thing wasn’t too cheesy.”
A mix of surprise and delight bubbled up inside Valerie. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Start with, ‘Yes, I’ll join you for dinner,’” Brad suggested. “And maybe, ‘I’ll be your Valentine.’”
Valerie grinned. “Yes to all of the above.”
Brad’s shoulders relaxed, and Peter cheered, grabbing Valerie’s hand and tugging her toward the table.
As the three of them settled in, Valerie couldn’t help but think that maybe Peter’s picture wasn’t just a wish. Maybe it was a glimpse into the future.
by Stacey | Jan 19, 2026 | Devotionals, reflections, and encouragement
My default coping strategy is to withdraw but stay busy. I fill the margins with productivity so I don’t have to sit too long with whatever is stressing me out. Laundry gets folded. Emails get answered. Projects move forward. On the surface, it looks responsible. Maybe even admirable. And to be fair, sometimes it is helpful. Staying engaged with daily life can keep stress from swallowing me whole. But I’ve learned busyness is only a temporary shelter.
Kevin has been on medical leave far longer than we ever expected. What we assumed would be a short season of uncertainty has stretched into something impossible to “power through.” And as my usual coping methods have proven to be insufficient, I’ve begun to notice how thin the line is between healthy and unhealthy coping.
Healthy and unhealthy coping strategies can look very similar from the outside. Keeping busy can be grounding or it can be avoidance. Withdrawing can create needed space or it can isolate. Staying strong can be faithful or it can quietly refuse help. For me, the warning sign is this: If my strategy helps me function but not feel, there’s probably a better way. The psalmist writes,
“When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.” (Psalm 94:19)
Consolation requires presence. It asks me not to numb or outrun my emotions, but to bring them honestly before God. Unhealthy coping numbs me; healthy coping draws me into the presence of the Lord. That presence doesn’t magically remove the stress, but it ushers in a kind of joy that can’t be explained apart from Him.
I’ve had to learn new ways to hold the unknown. Some changes have been small, like letting myself name fears out loud instead of tidying them away. Giving myself permission to rest. Sitting with God in prayer without trying to fix the outcome. Some of them are uncomfortable, like asking for help. Admitting I don’t know how this will turn out. Staying emotionally present even when I’d rather distract myself. And reminding myself that I can trust God, no matter how much my circumstances might challenge that trust. And some days, I still default to busyness. Growth rarely looks like a straight line. Paul’s words have become an anchor for me in this season:
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” (Philippians 4:6)
Not because prayer magically removes uncertainty, but because it keeps me connected when uncertainty remains. Because coping isn’t about escaping, it’s about staying present without being overwhelmed. Faith is able to trust without answers. I still don’t have clarity, but I’m learning to live faithfully without it. And here, right in the unknown, grace has met me.
by Stacey | Dec 19, 2025 | Devotionals, reflections, and encouragement
If this season finds you more tired than triumphant, you are not out of place. God wants to draw near. This prayer is for those suffering sorrows in a season that tells them to sing. It is a reminder that God bends low toward the hurting and His mercies come even to ruined Jerusalems.
A Christmas Prayer
O God of steadfast love and long-remembered promises,
who split the night with angel-songs,
who chose vulnerability,
strength disguised as weakness,
authority swaddled in a manger.
Bend low to me again with the same compassion that moved You to Bethlehem.
You have not forgotten Your promises.
You are tender and faithful in every hidden place.
You bring new morning mercies to a ruined Jerusalem.
Do what only You can do.
For You, Lord, have never broken a promise.
Your faithfulness has spanned generations.
You are worthy of trust; worthy of praise.
No sorrow, wrong, or longing escapes Your attention.
I remember who You are—
the gatherer of lambs,
the renewer of strength,
the lifter of the lowly,
the refuge in trouble.
So I choose praise.
Not because I feel joyful,
but because You remain unchangingly good.
Here I am, Lord.
with lifted hands and a heavy heart.
Remember me,
And lead me through by your faithful hand.
