Welcome to my blog!

May I simply tell you a story, one that may help us get better acquainted?

. . . . .

It all began on a Monday night, twelve years ago. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I thought I’d throw up. Anxiety soured my stomach as I listened to our teacher describe the impossible task. Nervously tipping my chair backwards to the wall on two legs, the wobbly chair matched what I felt inside. Shaking my head at the enormity of the assignment, I listened as we were asked to write down our thoughts and feelings on a subject as fluid as grasping steam from a tea kettle. I knew it would prove impossible, and I knew I would get hurt.

"Who is God to you?"

Really? Umm…You don’t want to know. Seriously?

"How do you view God?"

Uhm…. nope. Not going there.

“What picture comes to your mind when you think of Him?”

Please don’t make me say! It’s not good.

I couldn't do it.

I didn’t have an answer.

I. Simply. Couldn’t. Do. It.

All pretense of “having it all together” fading away, confusion reigned inside. Secretly, I questioned God. His presence. His love. His fairness. His role personally in my life. I was at a crossroads in my life where deep-seated questions couldn't simply be ignored any longer. They dominated my thinking to such a degree that I outwardly ignored my emotions while I inwardly tortured myself with them. Outside, I appeared gentle and easy-going; inside the swirling thoughts were just about killing me. I couldn’t figure out how to bridge the gap between.

I was a mess. Something had to change.

And it did.

I changed, or rather, I learned that I had already been changed.

But let's get back to that assignment, first.

Back at home, in front of my then large desktop monitor, I sat for hours at the blank screen, numerous virtual wads of the technological paper deleted after a few attempts.

How could I explain who God was to me without others knowing my backstory?

Did I even realize how my backstory affected my view of God? Were they even connected?

I needed to find out.

Curiosity in mind, in 40 minutes flat, I wrote out one scene in my life that probably only lasted ten real-time historical minutes, but seeded a life-time of denial and mistrust.

Feelings poured out that I didn't know existed.

I pondered. I wept. I laughed.

For the first time, I dared to write out the narratives in my head so I could understand my own internal landscape.

Seeing my finished story in front of me, I could now link it to how I saw God.

Accessing a part of my story opened up a new range of hope. It finally made sense to me and I was easily able to write the obligatory two paragraphs.

Just in case you’re wondering, nope, I didn’t just stick to two paragraphs. It was more. A lot more. Brevity can be my challenge. But I’m always up for a challenge. Especially a “double-dog dare"—just ask my sister!

If you know me in real life, you probably would have had zero clue that I love to write, unless you grace my Christmas card mailing list. Then you may ascertain that writing Christmas letters is a favorite of mine. I get to be funny, or at least attempt to be. I share the people and thoughts most important to me. I weave words around ideas allowing my voice to hesitantly reach out in connection.

Finding one’s “voice” can be very daunting, but thankfully I can say that my voice found me.

And I needed to be found.

It’s one thing writing out hard thoughts and stories, keeping them close to the heart, but it’s something else completely trusting another with them. Boy, did I struggle in this area. I actually lost sleep over turning in this assignment.

Do I dare? Should I? What will they think? Can I just stay home and feign sickness, maybe something like "Alice in Wonderland Syndrome" or something unusual like that? (Yes, that's a real disease. No, I don't have it.)

Placing my thoughts into another set of hands and letting go of my story was an agonizing exercise in trust.

And trust didn't come easily to me.

In that anxious moment where two hands suspended mid air, one open and outstretched, the other gripping the paper with vice-like fingers, I knew the balance of my life was going to change. What I didn’t know was that my fingers could continue to find words on a keyboard that couldn’t be accessed anywhere else.

I would become a writer.

The best stories are told in little hints and glimpses and that is how you will receive mine. I invite you to journey with me through questions, through confusion, through triumphs, and through victories.

It's time to raise my unveiled face, trusting that the glory present inside me as Father's Child is because of the wonderful gift of Christ in Me. I have been changed, but I am being transformed, glory to glory, into the likeness of Jesus Christ.

Sometimes it arrives with exultation. Sometimes with pain.

But it's always a thrilling journey.

Come link hands and journey with me, okay? And maybe in my journey, you will sense a bit of yours.

I will share my steps into living free from who I already am.

I’ll tell disconnected bits of my story. I hope to hear parts of yours, too. And together we’ll both trust in Father to connect them all, bit by bit, from glory to glory, as a string of pearls.

What a glorious walk of faith.

What a glorious Father.

You know, this may seem off topic, but really, it’s not. You’re going to often see a favored word in my writing. It is a bridge between two words and sums up the space between “awe” and “amen”.

What’s the word?


"But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as from the Lord, the Spirit." 2 Corinthians 3:18

You are transforming me, Father, into the very likeness of Jesus Christ.

How awesome is that?

As I share stories and encouragement from my faith walk, I sincerely hope it encourages you in your journey, too. We were made for connection and unity. As a good friend of mine says, "All of us is better than any one of us."

Together we are the body of Christ—one that lifts one another up in hope of Jesus Christ.

I pray my blog points your eyes straight to Father. Always.


Note: This story mentioned above, the one I turned in with my assignment, is the first chapter of a completed book, just sitting in my computer. Even though I am working on my first non-fiction book and have two finished children's picture books waiting for an agent, never fear – it is not drawing cobwebs. It rests contently, waiting for the right time to be revealed. Until then, it gathers strength, it ponders connections, and it continues to dismantle deep-seated lies. One day, I may share that story here. We’ll see. Father will show me when the time is right. I can trust Him. Oh, how I can trust him.

But I do not consider my life of any account dear to myself so I may finish my course and the ministry which I received from the Lord Jesus and testify solemnly of the gospel of the grace of God. 
Acts 20:24