The Quiet Work of Tuesday Nights

Tuesday nights, I weigh the soap.

Every. Single. Bar.

It’s not exactly the glamorous side of becoming a soapmaker, but I’m beginning to realize that this quiet, repetitive work is molding me, too.

Five months ago, I locked into the idea of building a handcrafted, hand-poured, small-batch soap business.

Three months ago, I started testing cold process soap recipes.

And then life changed.

Two months ago, I lost my mother. A month ago, we buried her.

I find myself in a season of grief where I’m craving quiet.

And I’m incredibly grateful that, somewhere along the way, I started building something that gives me purpose and direction—and gives my mind and my hands something meaningful to do.

This past weekend, Rich and I went to hear MercyMe in concert. Tim Timmons was there, too, and something he shared has stayed with me all week: the idea that grief and gratitude can exist together.

I've been sitting with that.

Because I think that's where I am.

Grieving deeply. And grateful deeply.

And somewhere in the middle of those two things, there are Tuesday nights.

Tuesday nights give me something steady.

I pull the soaps from their curing drawers, place each bar on the scale, record its weight and put it back. Bar after bar. Batch after batch.

The quiet work is teaching me to slow down and focus on what’s right in front of me.

It’s giving me structure.

It’s teaching me to observe instead of rush.

And, little by little, it’s allowing me to look forward again. To believe and dream about what this business might become.

Some people spend Tuesday nights watching television.

Apparently, I weigh soap bars.

And I'm learning.

I'm learning how to formulate. How to observe. How to keep records. How different recipes behave. How much water a bar loses as it cures. How long a bar really needs before I consider it ready.

Every week, I add another little piece of information to what I know.

Last night, I realized I have 124 bars of soap curing in those drawers.

That made me smile.

Not because I have 124 bars to sell.

I don't.

I'm not trying to crank out inventory so I can hurry up and open a shop.

I'm making batches. Observing them. Changing things. Testing ingredients. Tracking cure. Learning what works—and what doesn't. I'm building systems behind the scenes before I need them.

It's slow work.

Quiet work.

But I think there is something really good happening in the quiet.

Yes, selling soap is eventually part of the plan.

Eventually. When the soap is ready.

And somewhere among the batches still to come will be a very special purple bar created in Mom's honor, with proceeds supporting Alzheimer's research.

That one will carry a little more meaning than most.

But for now, I keep showing up.

I keep learning.

I keep building.

And on Tuesdays, we weigh soap.