I’ve been reflecting and praying about this essay all week. I brought these words to Jesus during Eucharistic Adoration this morning, and now I feel ready to share them with you.

Twenty years ago on May 27th, I stood on the field at the U.S. Naval Academy in my dress whites, surrounded by a sea of celebration and tradition. I had made it through one of the most demanding institutions in the world. I earned a salute from others, a handshake from President Bush, a leadership title, and a place in history. But more than anything, I earned a story—a story I couldn’t fully understand until years later.

I entered the Naval Academy trying to live up to a definition of “perfect” that I had crafted in my mind based on the expectations of those around me—though most of it was self-induced, rooted in a deep desire to be seen. I was chasing excellence, validation, and worth. But more than anything, I was chasing love.

At that point, my faith was shaky—worse than lukewarm, though not quite cold. My worldly ego ran life, which meant the enemy was running it. I thought if I could just accomplish enough, serve hard enough, succeed loud enough, I would finally quiet the aching voice of the enemy that kept whispering, “You’re not enough.”

In many ways, the world applauded that. I don’t blame them—they didn’t know the intricacies. The world loves a polished woman in uniform. A woman who can keep up, speak out, lead hard, and rise fast. And I could. I did. But I was building a life on a blueprint that wasn’t mine.

Here’s the truth I didn’t know at 22: I was made for something else entirely.

The enemy had a foothold in my life and blinded me from the truth by convincing me I could be whoever I wanted—and that I’d be loved if I performed well enough. But once the veil lifted, and the truth was revealed to me, I realized the story had already been written.

I was made to be a wife & mother.

That desire was always there—quietly pulsing beneath the surface. For as long as I can remember, I dreamed of meeting the man of my dreams and staying home to raise children. As a little girl, I didn’t know that dream was holy. I didn’t understand that being “just a mom” was actually one of the highest callings in the Kingdom of God. Culture told me to aim higher, be louder, & do more. So I did.

And yet, the aching voice remained. Nothing I did silenced, “You’re not enough.”

I deployed with a baby at home. I stood on the deck of a ship while my child cried for me. I commuted to work in tears, aching to be with my children. People told me I should’ve waited to start my family until after I left the Navy. Many judged me for wanting motherhood so badly as soon as I met the love of my life. The voice continued. “You’re not enough.”

No one told me that being split in half isn’t strength—it’s a signal. A sign that maybe God’s original design wasn’t flawed. That maybe what the world calls “enough” is still miles from what God calls true.

I’m grateful for my time in the Navy. I don’t regret it. I’m proud of what I accomplished. I learned how to endure, lead, suffer, obey, and serve. I learned how to carry weight. I learned how to fight for freedom.

But now I carry a different weight.
The weight of four sons’ hearts.
The weight of stewarding a home.
The weight of a calling that doesn’t come with medals or rank—but with souls entrusted to my care.
The weight of defending the only true freedom we have: the one given to us by Jesus Christ.

And guess what? That old voice of the enemy repeating, “You’re not enough” is gone. Never to return.

Now, the Lord is asking me to witness for Him through my story.

Because while many are celebrating this milestone with nostalgia and pride, I’m sitting with the Lord in a quiet place of commission. And I hear Him say:
“Your story must be told, so young girls don’t choose what the world wants them to do. They must choose what I command them to do.”

That might rub some the wrong way. I understand. I’m not writing from a place of judgment—I’ve walked this road. But I am here, hand-in-hand with the Lord, dismantling the modern feminist narrative that’s stripping women of the most sacred thing they carry: the divine design God gave them.

“The man called his wife’s name Eve, because she was the mother of all living.”
— Genesis 3:20

We were made to bring life into this world. And if we do, we were made to raise it—to create homes that become an extension of the womb. Places of safety, order, reverence, and truth. Places where saints are formed. Where the Kingdom of God takes root—so that our children never spend a single day choosing the world over Heaven.

“Likewise, tell the older women to be reverent in behavior, not to be slanderers or slaves to drink; they are to teach what is good, so that they may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be self-controlled, chaste, good managers of the household, kind, being submissive to their husbands, so that the word of God may not be discredited.”
— Titus 2:3–5

Everything else must fall behind this mission for the woman who chooses marriage and family.

I stand humbly (and messily) corrected for not understanding this in my early years.

I’m not writing from a place of self-righteousness.
I’m writing from a place of righteousness. As disciples, we are called to wear the breastplate of righteousness at all times.

And yes—this message may offensive to some.

But it’s the truth.

And truth sets people free.

So here I am—twenty years after the Academy. I’m not on a warship. I’m not earning medals. I’m not checking boxes or saluting flags. I’m in my home. I’m on my farm. I’m raising boys to be men of God and building altars in ordinary places. And behind that mission, I enjoy caring for you whether it’s through functional medicine, the products you know and love, or finding nourishment at the farm store. I do love my job “outside of the home.” It’s just ordered correctly now and rooted in Kingdom Work 100% of the time.

I am proud of that young woman who walked across the Naval Academy field in May of 2005.

But I am even more thankful for the woman who finally realized the Kingdom of God doesn’t run on resumes. It runs on surrender.

I’m now obedient now to this calling:
To tell the truth.
To witness.
To testify.
To speak to the young women coming up behind me—before the world steals their design.

If that’s you, hear me now:

Your worth is not earned by this world. It was assigned at creation.
And your design is not a flaw—it’s a divine blueprint.

Motherhood is not Plan B.
It’s not a backup career.
It’s not something to “fit in” around more important work.

It is the work.
It is the mission.
It is the ministry.

"Yet she will be saved through childbearing—if they continue in faith and love and holiness, with self-control.”
— 1 Timothy 2:15

May we raise up daughters who know that from the start.

Sending love and blessings,
Farmer Ashley