a year of fresh hope

As I enter this year there is an overwhelming sense of fresh and new that fills me. It’s an anticipation that, while some years ask questions, others give answers- and that maybe this year will answer.

On December 31 I took time to sit, with my journal, by myself, and think. This is something I hadn’t done since probably before Thanksgiving, and something I quickly realized I’d been lacking. Sometimes the only way that I can fully process what is going on inside my head is when I get it out on paper. I’ve found that I’m pretty good with shallow verbal communication, but when it’s getting to the depths of my heart, my journal and this blog have aided me greatly.

Sometimes I think it’s not the writing that’s the point, but the creating of space.

As I wrote I realized that I have allowed my heart to become jaded. I know in my head that greater things are yet to come, and my head knowledge tells me that the Lord has provided in the past and will provide in the future. But my heart doesn’t believe it, my heart doesn’t trust it.

I have been allowing my heart to lose hope, and feeding the fears of my mind.

hope deferred makes the heart sick

there has to be trust. trust is what feeds the hope.. and when hope is present there is more.

hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when desire comes it is a tree of life.

and desire will come. it always comes.

it has come in the form of physical healing. it has come as my husband. it is coming in my home.

it will come. it always does.

Because God is. And he always comes through.

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it’s been a while

well, a little over one month ago I had the best intentions of plowing my way effortlessly through a 30 day blogging challenge.

then life hit.

we have been experiencing transition like no other. people joke that all we need to do is get a dog and we’ve successfully accomplished all major milestones in a year. well I don’t know if i’d call a dog a milestone, and we definitely aren’t getting one, but there is some truth to this statement.

November 1 marked moving from our little apartment to our new home. Naturally, we began painting the next morning and have hardly sat down since. I run a tight ship around here.

But really, one season led to another and before we knew it we were half unpacked and putting up a real live evergreen tree in our living room while listening to Bing Crosby’s nostalgic voice on repeat.


Lately I have been cherishing time spent…Since the loss of our precious little one this past September, life has felt a whole lot more raw than it had before. I experienced pains I have never felt before, but found a depth that I wouldn’t trade for the world. Learning to cling to the Lord and ally with my husband are two of the most important things I could ever do during the why seasons.

this holiday I am humbled, and I am tired. I am clinging to the hope that He brings good, and the opportunity to trust that I know I’ve been intentionally given.

I pray that you find rest in this season like we are, that the Lord wraps you in his arms with a peace that is indescribable, and that you know you are loved.

We love you

xoxo and wishing you the Merriest of Christmas’s

The Hostetter Family

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{thank you to our amazing friends Amber Martin, for perfect photography, and Jeff Frandsen, for amazing handtype.}

Sons & Daughters by Allman Brown + Lisa Lawrence

Last night at Zumba I started to cry. Seriously, I did, right there in the midst of twenty women as we stretched. When this song came on it felt so powerful… and since then has been on my Spotify, in constant repeat. I’m not typically a crazy music person. I know I like it, I know I don’t like silence, and I know that music makes me feel things I can’t always put words to. I can’t sing to save my life, and my musical abilities date back to my short-lived career on the piano and a few failed attempts at flute lessons. I love when I discover a singer with a voice that gives you chills, the good kind. And that is what I found in Sons & Daughters, by Allman Brown + Lisa Lawrence.


Sons & Daughters

And I, will hold you tight, like the moon in the arms of the sky
And I, will keep you warm, I will build a fire in this house

And I’ll build a fire, you fetch the water and I’ll lay the table
and in our hearts, we still pray for sons and daughters
and all those evenings out in the garden, red,red,wine
These quiet hours turning to years

And I, I’ll wrap myself around your heart I’ll be the walls of his heart
And I, I’ll keep light on, to call you back home

And I’ll build a fire, you fetch the water and I’ll lay the table
and in our hearts, we still pray for sons and daughters
and all those evenings out in the garden, red,red,wine
These quiet hours turning to years

And it’s all to come for now we’re still young
just building our kingdom but it’s all to come

And I’ll build a fire, you fetch the water and I’ll lay the table
and in our hearts, we still pray for sons and daughters
and all those evenings out in the garden, red,red,wine
These quiet hours turning to years

It’s all to come for now we’re still young



in my kitchen.

when I decided to join the challenge, I didn’t think about October being one of the busiest months in our life lately. packing, working and having a life are exhausting things when all combined! Brent has been the victim of many crockpot meals and egg dishes lately… but one thing I am so looking forward to in my new home is cooking again! 

I have always enjoyed food, and growing up family dinners were a huge part of our life. My mom home-made just about everything, and her granola and applesauce and savory suppers totally spoiled me. Creativity in the kitchen is just another aspect I discovered that I loved as Brent and I got married. I have found that one of my favorite things about my husband is that he shares this love of food. He grew up watching the Food Network and sitting on the counter, watching as his mom cooked. He is probably more well versed in “cooking lingo” than me, and definitely better with meat. Together, we make a good pair. 🙂

When people ask me what I like to cook, I never really know what to say, and usually just say “idk, everything?,” but lately I have been realizing that I do have favorites. I love quiches, and soups, and homemade pizzas-because I get to create, come up with new flavor combinations, decide what colors look good together (I do think of this when it comes to my food) and I don’t have to be constrained by a recipe. I also love to bake, specifically breads. I don’t know if this has to do more with my love for bread as an overall food group, or that I enjoy the challenge of succeeding at gourmet breads, and find warm golden loaves home-y, inviting, and beautiful.

in my kitchen

i feel alive

i feel creative

i feel inspired

i feel at rest

i feel at home.

Yesterday Brent and I got to be in the kitchen together again,  preparing a yummy fall soup for dinner with friends. That morning I had baked some fresh loaves of my favorite french bread recipe, and together we created some delicious whipped butter with garlic and herbs. I want to share this bread recipe with you because I feel like it is the most forgiving of my recipes, and a great one to start with if you are interested in getting into baking! The butter is so simple, but so delicious on the bread! (a great flavor cover if your yeast doesn’t rise properly;)) and we used the leftover butter this evening to fry up some fresh brussel sprouts!

I hope you enjoy, and it’s so good to be back to sharing with you! I’ve missed it!


Forgiving French Bread

-makes TWO loaves!-


1/2 c. warm water

2 TBSP yeast (or two packets)

1/2 tsp sugar


2  c. warm water

2 TBSP olive oil (or vegetable)

2 TBSP sugar

2 tsp salt

5-6 cups flour depending on consistency

Using first three ingredients, dissolve the yeast and 1/2 tsp sugar in the 1/2 cup warm water. Allow to bubble for about 8 minutes.

Add the rest of the ingredients and mix/knead for 10 minutes. I have found that timing with breads is actually important because mixing too much can make the dough tougher.

Allow to rise in a warm place for 1 hour. Punch down, and then rise for another 30 minutes.

Form two loaves (I usually put one on each pan) and slize 5-6 knife marks in the top. If your dough is sticky, grease the knife.

Cover the loaves and allow to rise for 10 more minutes. Do not be alarmed if they don’t look that different.

Brush with olive oil and sprinkle with a little sea salt and cracked pepper.

Bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes. This is a very accurate time, at least for my oven.

Allow to cool before serving!


Garlic Herbed Butter


1 stick of butter

(Approximately )1 TBSP chopped fresh rosemary

1 TBSP chopped fresh basil

1 TBSP chopped fresh oregano

1/2 tsp garlic powder

salt & pepper to taste

This one is so easy it’s ridiculous! The key is the ingredients. Fresh herbs definitely make a difference, but I think you could change up what herbs you use! Throw the softened butter, herbs and spices into your mixer and beat until slightly fluffier consistency. Serve in a small dish garnished with herbs!




sometimes I just need a little bit of inspiration. here are a few things I’m loving these Fall days-


1. Chicken Sweet Potato Apple Skillet

2. warm & inviting string lights

3. countryside, on fire with beauty

4. cozy plaid scarves

5. comforting, warm drinks

6. oh sweet joy blog and clothing line


my pinterest– {for more things I’ve come to love!}


A couple Sundays ago Brent and I decided to go to Panera. I realized when we got there that I actually don’t love Panera. especially when I discovered that you can only log into wifi for 30 minute increments every two hours. But there’s something about that little “cafe” that floods me with memories.

I am a sentimental, nostalgic person. I love the way certain places, people, scents and sights resonate with me and evoke emotion. Panera evokes feelings similar to that of riding the craziest roller coaster you can imagine 27 times in a row backwards.

Let me take you for a little ride.

August 2008- Two good friends meet for dinner at Panera, followed by a trip to the park where they sit on a bench and discuss thier “significant others” all evening. One of the friends was wearing a tanktop embellished with Hollister seagulls, and oddly large (for a not-so-ghetto girl) hoop earrings. I forget what the other friend was wearing. Probably a polo.

December 2008- Katie sneaks away from her little sister’s birthday dinner (sorry Carolyn) to meet her “friend” Brent at the local Panera. They sit in a booth near the back and confess their undying love for each other. Well, not really…but I do remember saying something like “I don’t think this will end,” in reference to our relationship. Apparently I was feeling rather bold that night, in my frizzy french braid and American Eagle sweatshirt.

October 2009- Following a class missions trip to Latvia, the two friends-then lovers-then friends decide to become lovers again. At Panera. My memory fails me as to what my outfit may have been.

We interrupt this story to bring you a very long pause. 2.5 year to be exact, when Panera was still in existence but this relationship was not.

September 2012- Following a rather bold move on Brents part, our relationship was yet again rekindled with a date to Panera, followed by the park. I painstakingly chose a very plain very blue shirt that has since been given to a sister, or to Goodwill, or sold at a closet sale. One of those.

As I sat at a booth with my husband last Sunday, sipping on my cafe latte, I found my heart engaging in our story all over again. It has spanned over so many different seasons that I don’t always remember all the details that played into where we’re at today.

But when I go to Panera, it’s hard to forget.



my journal.

this morning I woke up feeling like I needed to forgo productivity and just spend some time with the Lord. I decided to pull out a stack of old journals, and began reading pages and pages of writings from the start of college up until now. I wasn’t sure what the purpose was, but as I read, curled up in our cozy comforter, savoring warmth and the sweet aroma of my favorite candle, these words jumped off the page, as if written in neon letters-

“let go of anything taken from you, but never let go of My hand.”

sometimes as I journal, I like to envision the Lord talking to me. What would he say?
And then I inscribe it on those fresh white pages, storing it away for mornings like these. Mornings when my own words minister to my heart.

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the monthly heart purge.

today was one of those days that makes you feel good, simply because you were semi-productive.

I have been doing what I like to call the “half-pack” for about a month now. If you are moving in the near future then let me tell you, it’s a great excuse to give your husband when you don’t feel like cleaning, organizing, or being neat at all. When I was in middle school to early high school my bedroom was a disaster area. When I hit 11th grade and started grasping at control over everything in my life my room suddenly became tidy to a fault. This continued throughout college and my early marriage (since it has only been one year this refers to the first half). The combination of life getting busier, and me relaxing into who I really am has produced a shocking discovery- I like to appear neat, but in actuality, I am not. If my home looks organized and is clean, I am perfectly happy. This, however, does not apply to my closets- which results in what Brent has so fondly titled, “the monthly closet purge.” Today was the big day, I emptied out piles of stuff, discovered clothing I forgot I had, packed a box full of things I don’t wear (closet sale coming soon?) and began to organize in preparation for the real packing to begin.

Ironically this discovery about the way I keep a home reflects perfectly on my personality. I do not have life all together, not one little bit. But I have always loved to appear as if my life is picture perfect, only allowing glimpses that are beautifully packaged to show. As long as it looks good on the outside, who cares what is hiding in the closets of my heart. It is something I’ve become more and more aware of, especially in trying to keep up honest communication in my marriage. More often then I would like Brent and I are happy for weeks at a time, and then “the monthly heart purge” has to happen because I wasn’t fully communicating for fear of rocking the boat or creating conflict.

So here is a glimpse at my very messy bedroom, as a gesture of sharing my imperfect life. I am continuing to press forward in sharing my true heart, not just what I want people to realize of me!
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my baby sister.

each of my sisters hold a special place in my heart.

carolyn made me a big sister for the very first time.

amanda and I share similar personalities, so we just “get” each other.

brooke is a sister I gained when I thought i’d only have three!

but lydia will always be “the baby,” and today she became a teenager!


I will never forget (or be allowed to forget) my little 10-year old self running around the neighborhood telling everyone “my little sister is born and she’s FOUR POUNDS FOURTEEN OUNCES!”

This misinformation was the result of evesdropping on our babysitter’s conversation with my dad. Lydia was born at 4:14 PM on October 11, 2001, and I had no concept of normal baby weight.

I remember my parents bringing sweet baby Lydia home from the hospital, and me immediately going into mommy mode.

“Don’t touch her, she’s tired.”

“I’ll get her, she just wants her sister.”

“She’s crying because she doesn’t like you Carolyn.”

I was the loyal protector of Lydia Hope when Amanda came hating on her. I gently stroked the soft spot on her head, and felt super proud that I could change a diaper all by myself. She was perfect for my babysitting resume, and I was old enough to love every minute of her little babyness.

Lydia truly was a little ray of hope exactly one month after September 11th. And she engrained in me the heart of a mother, and the dream that I wanted to be one.


Today, on her 13th birthday we shared the evening shopping, and talking, and drinking caffiene after 8 PM (sorry mom). I was so amazed at who she is grown to be. How we both love rainy days for the thought of curling up with a good book. And we both talk a mile a minute when given the chance, and ask too many questions. How smart she is, and the dry sense of humor she pulls off so well. How grown up my baby sister is.

Happy 13th birthday LYDIA! I love you. I love that I got to hold you tight when I was 10, and I get to be your friend now. You are beautiful, you are kind, and I am proud of you.