Ryan's Ramblings

“How do you pick up the threads of an old life?”
—Frodo, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King

Twelve years ago, my family stepped off a plane from Seoul and walked back into our house in Boise, Idaho. Everything looked the same—the walls, the neighborhood, even the familiar smell of home—but we weren’t the same.

We had lived eight years on the other side of the world. Our daughters grew up at an international school in South Korea, where Dina poured her heart into a classroom of kindergartners from every corner of the globe while I worked in leadership and teaching alongside an extraordinary staff. Those years were full—friendship, travel, heartbreak, laughter, growth, love, and… life.

They were kairos years—not just days on a calendar, but holy time. Time that formed us. Threads that shaped who we became.

And then, it ended.

The bags were unpacked and we were home again. The house was quiet—still familiar, but bearing the wear of years gone by. And Frodo’s question rose in the silence: How do you pick up the threads of an old life?

That question seems to come back to me more often these days.

Seasons have continued to turn. Our girls are now grown—strong and beautiful women, both married. We have a granddaughter named Annie. We’ve updated the house a bit—fresh paint, new floors, a few things replaced. It looks nice. But it doesn’t feel quite the same.

My work has shifted—from professor, to teacher, to pastor. I love what I’m doing, and I have loved what I have done. But sometimes I think about the years gone by, both in Boise and in Korea.

I remember my little girls jumping rope in the driveway, chalk drawings on the sidewalk, school concerts, volleyball games, piano recitals—chopsticks at the table and subway rides across the city—and the beauty and fullness of those days. And I find myself, once again, holding loose threads and asking:

What now?

Here’s what I’m learning: you don’t go back. Re-creating what was doesn’t work. You lean forward into the faithfulness of the God who does not change. The psalmist says it simply: “Your faithfulness continues through all generations” (Psalm 119:90, NIV).

The God who was faithful in South Korea is faithful in Boise. The One who walked with us through transition, homesickness, joy, adventure, and hard goodbyes walks with us now through quieter rooms, friendship with adult children, shifting roles, and the delight of a granddaughter’s giggle.

The pace is different now. The priorities are clearer. Time means more than money. Presence means more than achievement. And love looks like attention.

Corrie Ten Boom once told a story about a piece of embroidery. From the back it looked like a tangled mess—knots, crossed threads, loose ends. But when she turned it over, the picture was clear and beautiful.

We often live on the back side of the tapestry. We see threads we don’t know where to tie, colors we don’t remember choosing, endings we didn’t want and beginnings we didn’t expect. But God sees the front and the back. He sees the design.

So when the question comes—How do you pick up the old threads?—the answer isn’t to weave them back into what we once knew. It’s simply to place them—the bright strands and the dark ones, the past, the present, and whatever is coming next—into God’s hands. And there the old threads become part of a new picture.

We can’t go back. But we can place who we are—these memories, these stories—into the hands of the Weaver… Jesus.

The Weaver is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

And He is still weaving new life from old threads.