There is a little town in north-central Nebraska called Atkinson. To most people, it might just be another small town on the map, a place they pass through on their way to somewhere else.
But to me, it will always be God’s Country.
It’s where I was born, where my mother grew up, where my parents began their family, where my grandparents made their home, and where much of what I believe about faith, family, and living a good life first took root.
When I think about Atkinson, I don’t necessarily think about the buildings or the streets. I think about the people, the traditions, and the ordinary moments that have stayed with me all these years.
I remember my grandparents taking their evening walks through the neighborhood after dinner. It was simply what they did. There was no destination or reason to hurry. Just an evening stroll together through the town they called home.
I remember Christmas Eve at their house. The excitement of Christmas, the love of being surrounded by family, and the comfort of traditions that seemed as though they would always be there. I remember the anticipation of gathering in their basement for the making of homemade ice cream. I remember walking from school to meet my grandfather for lunch every day.
At the time, I didn’t realize how special those lunches were. It was simply a part of my day, something I looked forward to and something I could count on. Years later, I would come to understand what a gift it was to have that time with him. Those are the things I remember most. Not grand occasions or elaborate plans, but the ordinary rhythms of family life.
There was something about living in a small town where people knew one another. Where I could leave my grandparents’ house, walk across the street and down the back alley and be at my aunt and uncle’s home. Families were connected, neighbors looked after neighbors, and the people around you became part of your everyday life. There was a sense of belonging that I don’t think I fully appreciated until I was older. And woven through it all was faith.
Faith wasn’t something reserved only for Sunday mornings. It was part of family life, part of the values passed from one generation to the next. The church played a vital role in everyday life. There were dinners and regular meetings in the fellowship hall. Women held baby showers and bridal showers there. Couples were married in the church. The church met for regular Bible Studies and to help around the community. This foundation helped people understand their responsibilities to one another. I was blessed to have family that helped lay that foundation in my life.
Of course, no family or community is without its difficulties. I’m sure there were things happening around me that I didn’t understand as a child. But when I look back, what remains most clearly is the love, stability and sense of family that surrounded me. Those early years gave me something that has stayed with me through every season of life.
They gave me roots.
The older I get, the more I appreciate just how important those roots have been. I’ve lived enough life now to understand that circumstances change. Families grow, loved ones pass away, children become adults, and places that once felt so familiar can look different when we return.
But the things we were taught, the examples set before us, and the memories we carry have a way of continuing to shape us. I see that in my own life.
My love for homemaking, hospitality, family traditions, and preserving things from generations past didn’t begin with a website or a desire to write. It began long before that.
It began with the people who raised me, the grandparents who loved me, and the small Nebraska town where I first learned what it meant to belong somewhere. I’m quite sure that is why I find myself so drawn to small towns today.
When I travel through an unfamiliar town, I wonder about the families who have lived there for generations. I wonder about the grandparents who walk those streets, the children growing up there, the little businesses that have served their communities for decades, and the stories that might otherwise be forgotten. I wonder what memories someone will carry from that place fifty years from now. Because I know what a small town can give a person.
Atkinson gave me a foundation of faith and family, a love for community, and an appreciation for the simple things that make a life meaningful. These are the very things I hope to explore and preserve through this website and blogging.
Here you will find letters about the small towns I visit, the stories I discover, and the people and places that remind me of what matters most. You’ll also find reflections on faith, homemaking, hospitality, and the traditions worth carrying into the next generation.
Some stories will take us down unfamiliar Main Streets. Others will lead us into antique shops, old family kitchens, or back to memories of people we dearly love.
But they all come from the same place. A belief that a well-live life is not necessarily measured by what we have or how much we accomplish, but by our faith in God, the people we love, the lives we touch, and what we leave behind for those who come after us.
I have many stories to tell about Atkinson and so many fond memories. Perhaps one day you’ll find them all together in one place.
For now, I simply wanted you to know where my story began. And before highlighting any other small town, Atkinson deserved its moment, as that is where my roots run deep, and taught me so much of what I know about living A Well-Lived Life.
No matter how far life takes me, a part of my heart will always belong to God’s Country.