What Building a Ranch Taught Me About Faith
When we first dreamed about The Hammie Ranch, I pictured sunny mornings with animals grazing, fresh gardens, and kids laughing during field trips. I saw the dream in its finished form, beautiful, peaceful, complete.
But here’s the thing: dreams don’t come to life overnight. They start with dirt, sweat, and fence posts. And as exciting as that is, sometimes it’s also overwhelming.
I’m going to be honest with you, I struggle with trust. I always have. With anything. With anyone. I like control. I like things done my way, in my timing, and in the order that makes sense to me. And when they don’t? I start to spiral.
For the longest time on this journey, I’ve managed to keep my head up. We’ve been walking through land clearing, planning, dreaming, and even with all the work, I’ve felt steady. But the other day, for the first time since we got this land and started building this dream, I broke.
I looked out at the acres, the brush still needing to be cleared, the fencing that had to be stretched, the barns still just lines on paper, and I suddenly felt the weight of it all. Every “to-do” shouted at me at once. The lists grew taller in my head, and the excitement that usually bubbles in my chest was replaced with fear and overwhelm. How are we ever going to do this?
I stood there with tears threatening to fall, wanting to control it all, wanting answers, wanting everything to happen faster, neater, easier. And then Trevor did what Trevor does best. He didn’t laugh at me, he didn’t brush me off, he reassured me.
With that steady, calming voice of his, he said, “Maria, I know what I’m doing. And so does Jesus.”
And that hit me.
Trevor has spent years in construction. He understands building in a way I never will. He knows how fences need to be braced, how barns need to be framed, how foundations need to be set. He has a skill set that God placed in him long before The Hammie Ranch was even a dream. And more than that, Jesus Himself is guiding his steps.
It was like the Lord whispered through Trevor: “You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”
Because here’s the truth: if I can’t trust the man God gave me, equipped with these talents, and if I can’t trust the Lord Himself who already sees the blueprint of this ranch, then what am I even doing?
That day was a turning point for me. I still want to control things (that part of me doesn’t disappear overnight), but I’m learning. I’m learning that every time I let go, even just a little bit, I feel lighter. I’m learning that trust doesn’t mean pretending everything is easy; it means resting in the fact that God’s got the hard parts covered.
Now, when I see the fence posts going into the ground, I don’t just see a fence. I see a reminder. Each post reminds me: the Lord is steady, the Lord is faithful, and He doesn’t ask me to hold it all together; He asks me to trust Him.
***Not my photo, we do not having fencing done yet.***
And isn’t that true for life, too? It’s not just about fences and barns. It’s about the pieces of our lives that feel too big, too heavy, too overwhelming. It’s about the times we want to grip tighter when really, the peace comes in letting go.
So I’m standing here, dirt on my boots, fence lines in our dreams, learning a lesson that has nothing to do with farming and everything to do with faith.
The ranch will come together, step by step. The animals will arrive, the gardens will grow, and the dream will bloom. But the real foundation isn’t the posts in the ground, it’s the trust I’m learning to place in the Lord.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct your paths.” – Proverbs 3:5–6
