My Family of Builders

How coming home helped me see the builders in my life—and the one in myself.

I didn’t plan on writing this. It came while looking at the river one morning, remembering where I come from, and realizing something important about my family.

As I took advantage of Thanksgiving to reflect on my life here and my family…

something settled in me that I hadn’t named before.

I come from a family of builders.

Not just in the obvious ways — though, yes, the obvious ways are remarkable:

houses tiled and painted, pipes repaired, businesses run, children raised, towns strengthened.

But there is another kind of building that happens quietly, almost without notice —

the kind that makes a place feel like home because someone has cared enough to shape it.

When I step back and look at my siblings, each one of them is a kind of builder.

A craftsperson.

A quiet force.

A creator.

Not always with lumber or tools — sometimes with hands, sometimes with patience, sometimes with sheer determination, sometimes with love.

And seeing that clearly… it made me appreciate them in a way I hadn’t slowed down enough to feel before.

Each of them has carved out a life here —

not in competition, not in comparison,

but in their own style, through their own grit, with their own gifts.

And being back in this town —

after so many years away, after caring for our father, after surviving the chapter I never expected to survive —

I can finally see the full picture:

We are a family that builds.

Each of us, in our own way.

Each of us leaving something sturdy behind.

Ray

Though he’s no longer here, his presence still feels foundational —

the kind of steady reliability every family leans on without realizing it.

A master of his trade, a problem-solver, someone who knew how to make things work.

Ray built with skill…

and he also built with care.

That doesn’t disappear.

Krissy

There is strength that comes from surviving, from raising three children alone after life took someone from her far too soon.

Her hands know healing, and so does her heart.

Her work as a massage therapist, her presence as a mother, the way she keeps moving forward —

that, too, is a kind of building.

Joey

Precision.

Dedication.

Ten children raised with love and structure.

A craftsman who takes pride in doing a job right.

Someone whose work will last and be lived with for decades.

Joey builds sturdiness — in his work and in his home.

Virginia

Patient, steady, and creative in ways people don’t always see.

Six children homeschooled with care.

Someone whose presence brings calm and whose consistency makes things possible.

Woodworking that grew out of curiosity and became craft.

Virginia builds order, warmth, and clarity — often quietly, always sincerely.

Jon

A painter in the truest sense —

someone who knows how to take a room, a house, a wall, and breathe new life into it.

And beyond the paint: someone who shows up.

My Foxtown buddy.

Reliable, easy to sit with, grounded in ways that feel like home.

Jon builds comfort and connection.

Joshy

One of the hardest workers I’ve ever known.

Strong in the ways that don’t always get celebrated —

the kind of strength that holds up the literal structure of a town.

And even in struggle, even when the weight of life is heavy, there’s a resilience beneath it.

Josh builds resilience, even when he doesn’t see it.

April

A leader in every sense of the word.

Seven kids homeschooled with intention.

A creator of a leadership camp that has shaped hundreds of young people.

A woman who invests in people, community, and opportunity whenever she can.

April builds growth, confidence, and belonging.

Holly

A restauranteur with vision and heart —

someone who knows how to gather people at tables and make a town feel alive.

The Blue Rock is more than a restaurant; it’s a gathering place, a pulse point.

And before that, a shepherdess, a mentor, a guide.

Holly builds community and warmth — the kind that leaves a mark on a place.

And me

My way of building has never involved wood or tile or paint —

but it has always involved people.

I build through clarity, through presence, through listening,

through the kind of work that helps others find their way back to themselves.

After years away, after years caring for our father, after rebuilding my own life,

I’ve found myself back in the town where we all began —

not to replace anything, and not to claim a role,

but simply to be part of this constellation again.

We are a family of builders.

Each of us different.

Each of us necessary.

And as I reflect on this season —

this home, this town, these siblings —

I’m grateful for all the ways we’ve shaped the world around us.

Together.

Families aren’t perfect homes — they’re evolving ones. Writing this helped me see the quiet foundation we’ve all built together. Maybe you’ll see something true about your own family, too.

Closing note:

If you’re reading this, maybe take a moment today to notice the quiet builders in your own family — the ones who shape more than they show, and leave more behind than they ever name.