This is me.

Welcome! I’m Rachel L. Richard—a small-town farm girl turned suburbanite, a delightfully irreverent optimist, Mrs & Mama, floppy dog ear scratcher, lifelong learner, channel surfer, wanderer, believer, occasional creative, out-of-practice musician, cupcake addict, book devourer, and lover of all people. I’m a work in progress, and if you’ve made your way here, you probably are, too.

This blog is where I show up honestly with a messy bun, open heart, a little too much caffeine, and a firm belief that life’s most profound truths often show up in the most mundane places.

I grew up a small-town farm girl with dirt under my fingernails and big dreams in my heart. Now I live in the Midwest suburbs with my husband (my favorite human in the whole world), our two college-aged kids, and our old lady beagle.

My journey has taken me through seasons of photography, ministry, entrepreneurship, leadership, grief, joy, doubt, reinvention—and somehow, I still believe in people. I still believe in grace. I still believe in good stories, the sweetest iced tea, and the healing power of a well-timed meme or a belted song lyric.

I mainly write for me. It’s how I process life—through words, through rhythm, through a keyboard that sometimes feels more like a lifeline than a tool. These posts are my way of thinking out loud. You’re welcome to ride shotgun if you’d like—there’s always room. Snacks are in the glovebox, and if you’re lucky, I might even let you pick a song or two.

Around here, you’ll find personal stories, reflections, and real talk on parenting, marriage, work, growing, believing, and stumbling forward in this beautiful, complicated life. I don’t pretend to have it all figured out—but I promise to be honest, kind, and occasionally funny on the way there.

So whether you’re deep in the weeds of transformation or just stopping by for a moment of “same, girl,” I hope something here brings you light, laughter, or at least a second helping of grace. And if you brought cupcakes, welcome to the inner circle.

---

Here are 11 facts about me—because I don’t do things halfway, and neither did Spinal Tap. We always turn it up to 11.

I’ve had more career aspirations than Barbie. Writer. Music teacher. Video editor. Photographer. Counselor. Librarian. HR leader. I’ve tried a lot of things—some as hobbies, some that turned into careers—because I asked questions, took risks, and got curious. I didn’t have money or connections, but I had a library card, a brain, a ridiculous amount of stubbornness, and God’s help. That’s more powerful than people realize. The journey hasn’t been traditional—but it’s been mine. And it’s led me to build a flexible, fulfilling life I love.

Books are my happy place. I could absolutely live in a library and never complain. There’s something sacred about the smell of musty pages, the quiet rustle of a chapter being turned, and the weight of a good story in your hands. I’ve always felt at home among shelves lined with forgotten spines and dog-eared paperbacks—like every book is holding its breath, waiting to be picked up and loved again.

I’m good at functioning in chaos. I grew up in a home of seven as the oldest of five kids. I’m the proverbial sheepdog—always herding chaos, scanning the room for trouble, and instinctively jumping in to fix, organize, or redirect. My siblings might call that being bossy. I say that’s just strong leadership with some hefty triage skills. That’s where I learned to do everything from conflict mediation to fast first aid, all while cooking dinner and performing a one-woman musical revue in the kitchen, singing whatever was the current CCM hit. It’s also where I developed my talent for reading a room in under five seconds and knowing when to intervene… or disappear. Was it loud? Constantly. Was it exhausting? Definitely. But it gave me a front-row seat to the beauty of big personalities, strong opinions, and the wild, sacred art of managing mayhem with heart.

My head is full of big ideas. I’m a dreamer with no off switch—always imagining new projects, chasing creative sparks, and building mental castles out of thin air. I have 37 tabs open in my brain at all times, and at least three of them are probably trying to reinvent the wheel just for fun (or because you told me I couldn’t).

Music is my memory keeper. My life has a soundtrack. From Ella Fitzgerald to Eminem, you could probably track my emotional growth through playlists alone. I can never say no to a live concert.

I’m obsessed with old movies, musicals, and live theater. Gene Kelly, Donald O’Connor, and Dick Van Dyke still top my list of favorite performers. I’ve got a soft spot for tap dancing, Technicolor, and the magic of live theater.

My childhood nickname was Fred, courtesy of my dad. A few years later, we adopted a Bassett Hound—already named Fred. You can imagine the confusion—and my dad’s endless amusement.

My sense of humor is an acquired taste. Think dry, snarky, and full of random commentary running in the background of my brain like a sitcom voiceover. My husband is usually the lucky recipient, but once you’ve earned my trust, I’ll probably start narrating life out loud with the same sarcasm. Nothing is safe. You’ve been warned.

Large crowds? No problem. Small talk? Help. I’m perfectly fine singing, speaking, or performing in front of hundreds of strangers. Put me in a group of two or three new people, though? Suddenly, I forget how to be human. Do I wave? Do I curtsy? Did someone just wish me “Happy Birthday” and my response was “You, too!”? Cool. Now I’m just standing here, blinking like a confused NPC.

I cook like I write—by feel. When life feels overwhelming, I chop onions and simmer sauce. There’s something deeply grounding in making a big batch of spaghetti sauce from scratch—measuring nothing, just going by heart. A spoonful of this, a dash of that, whatever ingredients I have on hand. It’s never quite the same twice. (Also, I only know how to cook in quantities fit for a small village, so… leftovers, anyone?) But when it comes to baking? That’s a whole different rhythm. I treat it like a science experiment—precise, methodical, and absolutely not the place to wing it. I’ve perfected the water bath technique for cheesecake and crème brûlée, and yes, I own a kitchen torch. There’s peace and purpose in both approaches.

Leave people better than you found them. This is more than a quote—it’s my personal compass. I believe kindness, empathy, and a little intentionality can shift someone’s entire day, sometimes even their direction. Whether it’s in my work, my writing, or just a quick chat in the grocery store line, I try to leave every interaction with more light than I found it. It doesn’t take much to listen well, offer a laugh, or remind someone they matter. That’s the kind of legacy I want to leave.