The Woods: Between the Flames and the Stars

Lauren Nixon-Matney • May 4, 2025

The Woods: Between the Flames and the Stars

Hollow Coves: The Woods

Pixel art illustration of a family sitting together by a fireplace reading a book, representing memory, comfort, warmth, words that transcend time and emotional connection in a Searching for Stars universe.

The fire crackles, embers floating into the night like fireflies. The air is thick with woodsmoke, warmth radiating from the flames. Somewhere deep in the trees, the wind hums through the branches, and for a moment—just a flicker—time bends.


The way this song moves my soul—it carries me through time, through embers and echoes of what once was. I am a child again, in a tiny Texas town where bonfires mark the seasons, where homecoming means flames licking at the sky and the whole town gathered around. The heat of the fire against cool night air. The feeling of something unshakably familiar. Belonging. Safety. Warmth.

Pixel art nighttime Texas Homecoming football field illuminated by stadium lights and a glowing bonfire beneath a starry sky, evoking nostalgia, ritual and memory in the Searching for Stars universe.

I see my dad, standing by the fireplace in our childhood home, the glow of the flames flickering across his face. He loved the fire. Not just for its heat, but for what it meant. Stillness. Togetherness. A moment that needed nothing more than itself. He would back up to the flames, hands in his pockets, letting the warmth soak into him like it was part of some ritual. I can still hear his laugh. I can still see him there.


It is New Year’s Eve, 1999. The whole world waits to see if the clocks will glitch, if Y2K will swallow everything we know. My mother is with Carl then. Carl, who is steady and kind and feels like something solid. His kids are there too, laughing, running through the cold, their faces glowing in the firelight. The bonfire is enormous, flames leaping into the sky, heat rolling across our faces. Sparks spiral upward, vanishing into the night like tiny shooting stars. I don’t know what the future will hold, but in this moment, I am warm. I am safe. I am here.


The fire shifts, the scene flickers.


Time moves like a slow-burning ember, stretching between what once was and what comes next. I am older now. My mother is with my stepdad, a drunk but a nice enough man. However, the people who linger around the fire at night—they are not safe. I remember lying awake in my bedroom knife under my pillow just in case I needed the protection, the flicker of flames through the window, the shadows shifting on the walls. Bonfires that once meant community and comfort now feel different. The flicker of flames through my window is no longer inviting, but haunting. A gathering of drunks and addicts right outside. Shadows shifting, voices slurred, laughter that doesn’t sound quite right. Something I do not trust. Something unsettling. Unsafe.


The fire flickers again, and time shifts once more.

I am in California. The mornings are crisp and cold, and my husband and I wake early, flipping on the fireplace before anything else. The warmth spills into the room, chasing the chill away. He feels like home, like something I can hold onto. We sit close, wrapped in blankets, watching the flames dance and listening to old records.


Another flicker.


Later—pregnant with our sweet Maverick, back in my dad’s house, watching him do what he always did. Backing up to the fire, warming himself like it was the most important task in the world. He was always doing that. I never thought about how much I’d miss it.

Pixel art image of The Shaman a bearded man wearing a feathered headdress standing beside Lucy a basset hound in a cozy bungalow, with a crackling fireplace, vintage radio, and starry night visible through a dream catcher decorated window. Representing, nostalgia and warmth in a Searching for Stars story.

The embers glow, and another memory rises.


Hot Springs, Arkansas. The woods, but this time, they are ours. The National Forest stretches beyond our backyard, wild and endless. The trees whisper, and for the first time in a long time, the woods feel like magic again. Like home.


My son is small and some of our best moments are spent by the fireplace—reading, lying together, warmth wrapping around us like something holy. The crackling of the flames, the weight of him in my arms. I will hold onto this forever.


The fire flickers, reshaping time once more.


 New Year’s Eve, 2025 in Texas. The fire burns high, casting long shadows. But this time, it is not my childhood. It is my children’s. I watch them sitting there, faces flickering in the firelight, laughter rising into the night air. Carl’s kids are here too, their own children sitting beside mine. The people I love surround me, old and new, bonded by something deeper than blood.


I sit there, watching the flames, feeling time fold in on itself.


I think of my dad, of the way the fire always pulled him close.


I think of all the warmth that has held me, all the places the fire has burned.


And I know—woven between the flames and the stars where fire meets sky, where embers become stardust—something greater lingers.

Pixel art image of two children sitting quietly beside a campfire under a star-filled night sky, celebrating new years eve, capturing a reflective moment of warmth, memory and connection through time in a Searching for Stars story.

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Good, Strong Words That Mean Something: A Letter of Light Through Pixelated Waves (for Heidi Clements)

By Lauren Nixon-Matney • July 5, 2026
My favorite literary phrase of all time is spoken by Josephine March, written by Louisa May Alcott in Little Women. “I like good, strong words that mean something.” You, my dear, you say good, strong words that mean something. You put good, strong words that mean something into the world, and I thank you so very sincerely for that. You have made such an incredible impact on my life, and on my outlook on beauty and aging. ⸻ I stumbled across your incredible fashion sense on Instagram and was completely hooked on your vibe. I absolutely love fashion. I always have. I’ve definitely had my own kind of zany style over the years. So when I saw you, I was like, OK, yes, she is amazing. I love this energy. ⸻ The way you put things together, the confidence, the energy, it makes you wanna get up, go into your closet, and actually enjoy getting dressed again. And for a woman approaching 40, who’s had three children and has had many of her own struggles with who am I, what’s my fashion, what’s my energy, or what’s my style, You just felt so damn refreshing and inspiring. So I hung around, but what really hooked me wasn’t just the style, it was you, the essence of you. The way you talk, the honesty, the fact that you just say things straight, no fluff, no sugarcoating, no trying to be anything other than exactly who you are.. and somehow that makes everything you say sound even more profound. ⸻ The impact your message was having in my life became undeniable. It wasn’t just something I watched for enjoyment anymore, it was something I actually began feeling, and carrying with me. I grew up in a time where it felt like there was an expiration date on women. Like if you didn’t fit into a certain mold, or size, or type… your worth somehow became less. And then life happens. You grow up. You age. Maybe have kids. Your body changes. Your priorities change. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, you can kind of lose your sense of… who am I now? What’s my style? Who am I supposed to become? Am I too late for something? What even feels like me anymore? So for a while, I think I actually bought into that idea without even realizing it. The idiodic notion that maybe I had passed some invisible point where things were supposed to quiet down. Tone down. Fit into something more “acceptable.” Or the grand illusion that I was out of time to follow my passions! But watching you… that narrative just started to fall apart. The way you show up, the way you speak, the way you move through the world so fully as yourself… it made me realize that aging isn’t something to fear or shrink from. If anything, it’s where things start to get really good. It’s where you get bolder. More comfortable. More you. More beautiful. ⸻ What you’re doing matters so much. The way you show up, the way you speak, the way you fully own who you are, it doesn’t just stay on a screen. It carries through pixelated waves. It reaches people like me, in real life, in real moments, and shifts something quietly but powerfully within us. So I just wanted to say thank you. For your honesty, your energy, your style, your voice… all of it. You have inspired me, Searching for Stars, and undoubtedly countless women all over the world more than words can truly translate. Thank you, for being you!

Getting Your Pink Back: Answered Prayers, Quiet Signs, Bluebirds and a Business Professional Poodle (A Letter of Light for Lindsey Gurk)

By Lauren Nixon-Matney • May 6, 2026
Okay, so I asked God for a sign this week… and I didn’t make it easy on Him. I had just seen this video about asking for a sign, about how God answers, about how He delights in it… and something in me just… recognized that. Like, oh. I’ve felt that before. Lindsey, it was your video. And the second I heard it, I remembered something. I remembered a time, years ago, back in that early, foggy, pinkless season of motherhood, when I had asked for a sign too. I had prayed, really specifically… really honestly… “God, just show me I’m okay. Show me I’m on the right path.” And I asked for a blue butterfly. I didn’t see it right away. I waited. I wondered if I had imagined the whole idea in the first place. And then, not long after, life moved us somewhere new. A new place, new energy… the kind of move that feels exciting and terrifying all at once. They handed us the keys… and right there on them… was a blue butterfly. And I remember feeling that same quiet recognition. Like… okay. And then, a couple months after that, with prayers inside us building for a second child, we went to a park. One of those ordinary days that turns into something you don’t forget. And there were butterflies everywhere. Hundreds of them. Yellow, filling the air, lifting all at once like something out of a dream. And right in the middle of it… one blue butterfly. I just stood there, overwhelmed, because I knew. I knew I had been heard. Nearly one year to the day later, our second child was born. And then… life kept moving. Time passed. Things got busy. Full. Loud. Beautiful… but a little hazy, too. Somewhere along the way, I think I stopped asking like that. Fast forward. I’m sitting with my kids on New Year’s Eve, going into 2025, talking about goals and dreams. The kind of things you say out loud but don’t always fully claim. “I’ve always wanted to write.” And my daughter, so sure, so certain, just looked at me and said, “Then make it your New Year’s resolution.” And something about the way she said it… she didn’t question it. she didn’t overthink it. She just… believed it was possible. So I did. I started building something I’ve carried in pieces since I was in high school. Old notebooks, scattered thoughts, songs, memories… things I’ve never really known how to explain out loud. And for the first time, it felt like someone actually got it. So I got to work. Writing with a baby asleep on my chest… voice notes, typed drafts, music playing in the background… piecing together old memories with new ones. And I love it. I really do. But if I’m being honest… I started to wonder. Is this meaningful? Is this worth the time? Is this something good… or just something I want? And more than anything… I wanted to know if it was something God saw as good. Not just something that looked meaningful… but something that was. So I sat down, quietly, and I prayed. And I said, “God, if this is something I’m supposed to keep building… if I’m on the right path… if this is your will for me… please just show me. Give me a sign.” And I paused… because I knew I couldn’t ask for something easy. I had asked for butterflies before and blue jays have been unusually common in our backyard lately. I needed something specific. Something I wouldn’t just brush off. I looked over… and saw this little pink and white poodle sitting on my daughter’s shelf. And I laughed a little and said, “Okay God… show me a poodle.” almost sarcastically thinking… well, this one’s going to take a little more effort. But of course… Not even 48 hours later, we ran into Burlington. We were just there to grab socks and shoes for my toddler, her sandals were bothering her. Quick in, quick out. We ended up wandering a little. We’re headed to checkout… and my husband steps down an aisle, picks something up, and goes, “Okay, I know this is ridiculous… but we need this for the office.” And he had no idea. Nothing about my prayer. Nothing about the poodle. I’m barely paying attention yet. And then he turns it around. It’s a painting. Of a poodle. Not just a poodle… a poodle in a full business suit… sitting at a desk… reading a newspaper. I just… stopped. A business professional poodle, for the office we’re building together, a space where I can write. Like everything in me went quiet for a second. Because of all the things in the world I could have asked for… of all the ways that prayer could have been answered… it was that. I remember thinking, smiling, fighting back tears of joy… of course it is. Because I had asked for something specific. And apparently… He has a sense of humor. Also, just to make sure I didn’t miss it… because let’s be real, God definitely knows how to show out… the very next place we went… was Petco. And there was this real poodle. Then again. And again. Every aisle I turned… I kept running into it. And that feeling came back. The same one from before. Quiet. Certain. seen. beloved. Lindsey… Thank you so much, you reminded me to ask. You reminded me that God doesn’t just hear us… He answers. Not always in big, overwhelming ways… but in ways we’ll recognize. In ways that feel personal. Specific. Sometimes even funny… like they were meant just for us. And Lindsey… I just want you to know how much I appreciate all of what you’re doing. Your energy, your humor, the way you show up so fully as yourself… it matters more than you probably realize. You make people laugh, you make motherhood feel seen, and you bring light into spaces that can feel heavy sometimes. But there is also so much more than that… God really radiates through you. In the way you speak, in the way you encourage, in the way you remind people to keep going and to keep believing. It’s powerful. And it’s beautiful to witness. What you’ve created with “get your pink back”… that message, that reminder… it’s reaching people. It’s lifting people. It’s giving something back to women who feel like they’ve poured everything out. And that matters. It really does. I’m so grateful I came across your video when I did. And I’m really looking forward to everything you create next… especially your writing. You’re doing something good here. Keep going. Please never stop casting your light into the world… it really does break through the darkness.
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