It has been three weeks since the voters of District 24 decided they wanted a new senator. During that time, I have been mostly quiet on social media. Not because I had nothing to say, but because after more than a decade of political activism and four campaigns, Tom and I needed time to rest, restore, and heal.

Many people do not realize that my first campaign was for State Representative in 2018. What started as a desire to make a difference turned into a journey that would shape much of the next ten years of our lives. Looking back, I realize politics was never just something I did. It became a calling, a responsibility, and at times a burden that affected every part of our lives.

What people often see are the elections, the campaign signs, the speeches, and the votes. What they do not see are the sacrifices. They do not see the long days, the missed family moments, the financial strain, the attacks, the criticism, and the pressure to compromise. Public service sounds noble, and it can be, but there is a real cost that comes with stepping into the arena, especially when you genuinely believe that government was never intended to control people but to protect their God-given rights and liberties.

From the beginning, I believed the U.S. Constitution and the Idaho Constitution were written to limit government, not empower it. I believed my oath mattered. I believed my responsibility was to serve the people, protect liberty, and stand as a check against government overreach. That belief guided every vote I cast and every position I took.

My faith also shaped how I viewed public service. I have always believed our Founding Fathers were heavily influenced by Biblical principles and that many understood something we are in danger of forgetting today:

Freedom is not sustained by government. It is sustained by virtue, personal responsibility, and a recognition that our rights come from God, not from politicians.

The Founders paid a tremendous price for those beliefs. They faced opposition, ridicule, false accusations, and powerful establishments determined to preserve a government that protected their power, their influence, and their special interests.

The longer I served in public office, the more I realized that human nature has not changed much. There are still those who think as the King of England thought: that government knows best, that power should remain concentrated in the hands of a few, and that ordinary citizens should simply comply rather than question.

There are still people willing to go to extraordinary lengths to protect their power, their influence, and their agendas. There are still those who believe every problem can be solved by creating another government program, another regulation, another bureaucracy, and another layer of control over people’s lives. What surprised me most was not that we disagreed. Disagreement is part of a healthy republic. What surprised me was how willing some people were to attack, intimidate, and even destroy those who refused to fall in line.

Which brings me to something I have found interesting for quite some time. Throughout my years in office, I was often told that I was ineffective. Yet if that were true, why did so many powerful people work so hard to remove me?

That question alone tells me everything I need to know.

Why I Was Elected

The truth is that I was elected because I was willing to challenge government overreach, excessive spending, lack of transparency, and the absence of accountability.

The people did not send me to Boise to go along with the system; they sent me to question it.

As I look back on the amount of money spent against me and the involvement of political leaders, lobbyists, government agencies, unions, water interests, church influences, and others, I have reached a simple conclusion:

I did exactly what I promised I would do.

I fought for the people, asked hard questions, and refused to compromise the principles you elected me to defend.

The Real Cost

Most people understand losing an election. What many do not know is that the election was not the greatest loss our family experienced.

We also lost our livelihood.

That reality is painful, but it is not unique.

Over the years, I have watched the same story unfold again and again. The names change, but the pattern remains remarkably familiar. People like Priscilla Giddings, Janice McGeachin, Mark Fitzpatrick, Diego Garcia, Ammon Bundy, Congressman Thomas Massie, and many others found themselves in the spotlight after challenging powerful interests or questioning accepted narratives. Whether someone agreed with them or disagreed with them was never really the issue. What stood out was what happened next.

It often began when someone asked a question that made people uncomfortable or brought attention to something others preferred to ignore. Instead of a healthy debate, the atmosphere would shift. The conversation would become less about ideas and more about consequences. Pressure would begin to build. Criticism would intensify. Reputations would be attacked. Financial burdens would appear. Professional opportunities could disappear. The message was rarely spoken aloud, yet it was understood by everyone watching.

As each story unfolded, others observed from the sidelines. They saw the personal cost that came with speaking too boldly or refusing to fall in line. Some began to wonder whether it was worth the risk to voice their own concerns. Others chose silence, not because they lacked convictions, but because they feared what might happen if they expressed them.

That is why these stories matter.

Freedom is not measured by whether people are allowed to speak when it is easy or popular. It is measured by whether they can speak when doing so carries a cost. The moment citizens begin censoring themselves because they fear losing their jobs, their businesses, their reputations, or their livelihoods, liberty begins to fade.

The real purpose of intimidation is rarely limited to the person being targeted. It serves as a warning to everyone else. It tells observers to stay quiet, stay in line, and avoid becoming the next example.

My hope is that we never accept that message.

A free society depends on people who are willing to speak honestly and participate without fear.

If fear becomes the price of participation, then freedom itself becomes little more than an illusion.

No Regrets

I was warned more than once by fellow legislators that if I refused to compromise, I would not get re-elected. Perhaps they were right. But I did not run for office to trade away my principles for political survival.

I entered public service because I had grown tired of watching politicians abandon the very convictions that earned them the trust of voters in the first place. I believed then, and still believe now, that elected officials should fear betraying their oath far more than they fear losing an election.

So when the choice came between standing on principle and protecting a title, I chose principle.

Titles come and go.

Elections come and go.

But integrity, once surrendered, is far more difficult to reclaim.

As I leave office, I do so with a clear conscience, knowing I kept my word, honored my oath, fought for what I believed was right, and never stopped asking difficult questions on behalf of the people I was elected to serve.

For that, I have no regrets.

What Comes Next

This chapter has closed, but the story is not over.

For more than a decade, politics demanded our time, our energy, and ultimately our livelihood. When that season came to an end, Tom and I found ourselves facing the same reality many families encounter after an unexpected setback: the need to rebuild. We have spent this time seeking God’s direction, exploring new opportunities, and asking where He would have us go next. While the future is not yet fully clear, we are focused on providing for our needs, restoring what has been lost, and remaining open to whatever doors God chooses to open.

Through it all, I have learned that uncertainty does not have to produce fear.

I do not know exactly what the future holds, but I do know who holds the future.

I am not bitter about what happened.

I am certainly not defeated by it.

If anything, these experiences have clarified what truly matters.

Holding office required a certain level of restraint in what I said and how I said it, but that chapter has now ended. The title is gone, the election is over, and our livelihood has been damaged, yet the things that mattered most were never dependent on any office.

My faith, my family, my integrity, and my voice remain firmly intact.

What has become increasingly clear is that the mission itself has never changed. Long before I held public office, I felt called to stand for truth, defend liberty, ask difficult questions, and speak when others were afraid to do so.

Public office was simply one avenue through which I pursued that calling.

It was never the purpose. It was only a platform.

As Tom and I look toward the future, we are not merely searching for our next opportunity. We are searching for the next mission God has for us. Whether that path leads into business, ministry, public service, or something entirely unexpected, we intend to follow it with the same convictions that have guided us throughout this journey.

Perhaps this is not the end of the story after all.

Perhaps it is simply the beginning of a new chapter.