Summer to Remember

Some summers shine in our memories like the brightest star.
Others we'd rather forget.

The summer I turned ten, we moved to Alaska. What an adventure! We were going to live on an island, swim in the ocean, and eat fish. That year I discovered I was allergic to crab. A breathing attack and a high-speed ride to the emergency room, and I haven't tried the delicacy since.




August 1975, I married the cutest boy in church. He could sing and preach and was enthusiastic about the Lord. I loved his smile. Still do.

Other summers brought babies, youth camps, and new adventures as we grew up together. I can't even imagine being married at seventeen! Can you?




Then there's the summer of '06. We don't like thinking about that one. We lived in a double-wide trailer, and everyone on our block was evicted so the land owner could build a subdivision. (Ten years later, he still hasn't built anything on that property!) We had to find somewhere to move our home--fast. Ever since we'd left Alaska, Jason and I had been hoping to live in the country on some rustic land. Like pioneers. The wilderness family. All that. So we found our little piece of paradise and began the arduous task of prepping for the arrival of our home. So much work, effort, blood, and tears went into that move. I won't go into all the troubles. The weeks of no electricity. Camping in the backyard. Delay upon delay. But finally...we got settled enough to survive. Definitely a summer to remember. Er, forget.

(my brother and me at our land in '06)

Last year was Jason's and my 40th anniversary, so that was a fun one. We took time to do things we enjoy. Several days at Pensacola Beach was a highlight of our trip.

Then there's this year.
Sometimes the thing we want is not the thing we want at all. Because getting to the thing we want will just about kill us. Ha. After ten years of living on the land, we decided to do something different. A new adventure. My husband lost his job, and we decided that the weeks in between employment would be the perfect opportunity to remodel, paint everything, get rid of junk, and find a way to live small in a big world. What did that mean for us? Ten weeks of remodeling. Morning til dark tasks. Removing wallpaper, repairing damage, texturing, painting, then moving to the next room and doing it all over again. Plus all the outdoor stuff. (My camera stopped working so no before and after shots to share. Sorry.)

Jason did get a different job. But poor guy, he worked through his entire break!

There are seasons in life when things just seem hard. But I wanted this, right? Well, I wanted the outcome, not necessarily all the work. (haha) It certainly came at a cost. Aside from my exhaustion, I've given up writing for two months. That's been sad for me. However, I have had lots of quiet hours to contemplate writing.

We are coming to the end of this journey. Our house listed yesterday. Soon--God willings--we will launch into a new season of living smaller. I hope to write about that. 

I'm eager for the opportunity to finish my second chance series. I don't know how I'm going to wrap up the whole thing. A friend told me she couldn't wait to find out what happens in the last book. And I agreed, "Me too!"

Here's what my new office will look like. I told Jason we should write the word "family" after "Wilderness." :)

If you've had a difficult summer, hang in there. Surely, good is around the corner. I'm convinced troubles and hardships and struggles create new levels of strength and determination within us. We are stronger than we think. And we can do everything through Him who gives strength.

I'm praying for you for a new sense of adventure and renewed hope and dreams in the upcoming fall.

Blessings.
Mary

Don't Like My Writing?

If you don’t like my stories, that's okay!

Not everyone will.

I respect that.

There are books and movies I don’t like.

Some people love what I absolutely dislike.

We all have different things that appeal to us.

Look at a painting in a gallery.

If a hundred people stood in front of the exact picture and offered comments, there would be one hundred views. Some would delight in it. Ooh and aah. They’d say how the lighting was perfect. The colors enchanting. While others would think “blech.” Some would question why the painting was even allowed to hang on the wall.

We ALL have our opinions.

Go to any page on Amazon. In fact, go to the product page of a book or movie you love, and you will see negative reviews. (Of course, there are exceptions.) I always wonder how someone could say such an awful thing about a book or movie I enjoyed.

One of my favorite reconciliation stories is A Time to Dance by Karen Kingsbury. Hallmark recently made this outstanding story of marital healing into a movie, which I’m excited to see. On Amazon, the book has received 257 reviews.

“This is the book that made me love Karen Kingsbury's books.”~5 stars

“This one will not disappoint anyone!”~5 stars

And then ...

“I found this book emotionally exhausting.”~2 stars

“I was appalled by the story line of this book.”~1 star

How can we read the same book and look at it so differently?

I think it comes down to opinions, tastes, expectations, and sunglasses.

Let’s imagine differing views on a marriage-themed fiction book:

Opinion:

I don’t like reading about a married couple going through difficulties.

I like stories about couples finding hope and healing in their relationship.

Taste:

I prefer boy-meets-girl stories. I like the excitement leading up to marriage.

I’m excited to see how God is going to bring hope and healing to a married couple.

Expectation:

I want a simple story of love or adventure. Nothing too deep.

I enjoy a book that challenges me to look at life and my marriage differently. 

Sunglasses: We all look at the world through our own past experiences.

I’ve gone through my own tough times. I sure don’t want to read about someone else's.

I relate to hurts and struggles in marriage. I’m encouraged by the characters trusting God and working to make their relationship better.

A friend went through a painful struggle in her marriage. She told me during that difficult time, she searched for books having to do with what she was going through. During my marriage crises, books like the one I mentioned above, A Time to Dance, and Francine Rivers’s And the Shofar Blew encouraged me.

Our journey through life is better because of the uplifting tales we read. So many times I’ve learned something in a marriage-themed book that has made me a better wife ... and person. Stories have uplifted me, challenged me, and spurred me toward a positive change.

But these types of books are not for everyone.

That’s okay.

A lady at church explained why she doesn't read my women's fiction books. As a single, she doesn’t read romantic stories at all. Yet, she continues to ask about my youth-theater stories as a way to encourage me. I appreciate that. And I’d like to say “thank you” to friends and family who don’t care for marriage-themed stories, yet still encourage me as a writer. You are a blessing.

I hope that just because a story has a married couple as main characters, people won’t give it a thumbs down. The world needs to see the love of God in the hearts of married people and families as they work through brokenness and hurts. God is the healer and redeemer. He changes people--and married couples--for the better. I can testify to this.

Stories of healing, redemption, and reconciliation are the kinds of stories I love.

I hope to keep writing and reading them.

Stories should reflect life.

God is a real part of my life.

He's shown up in my desperate hour. He’s walked me through the storms. He’s been the glue in my marriage. He's here for you and me today.

I want to experience more of His hope and healing.

In writing. In life. In second chances.

Confessions of a Mess Maker

If you opened our guestroom door, this is what you would see.

Am I lazy? Maybe.

A terrible housewife? Possibly.

Putting off the inevitable? Definitely.

Sometimes our lives are messier than we want anyone to know about. We'd rather be seen as happy, (almost) perfect people, parents, Christians, employees, whatever. And then there are our messes.

I have other problems I could confess to, but this is the one on my heart. After a big project, like the conclusion of a production or the release of a book, I suffer with discouragement and depression. I don't know why. It doesn't have anything to do with the project's outcome. The play could have been perfect, the book can have great reviews, and yet I'm plagued with a gut-awful feeling. I'm like the kid who throws a tantrum because she doesn't want the day at Disneyland to end.

After twenty-seven full stage productions and the release of five books, I've come to realize a few things about myself. I thrive on the high energy leading up to a production. Opening Night is the greatest rush ever. The launch of a book is exposing dreams I've carried in my heart. It's scary, yet thrilling. I'm cautious, yet exhilarated. I want to live on that mountaintop forever, where I feel needed and useful and alive. But I can't stay there. Honestly, I would wear out entirely.

In the weeks leading up to the show or book release, I stay up until one or two every morning, working to reach my deadline. My to-do list is humongous. I'm tense and giddy. But there's nothing like the passion and joy I'm experiencing.

Then it's over.

In one fell swoop, my emotions plummet.

I don't like that place.

Can you relate? If you don't, imagine that time when someone you love gets on the jet to return home and you're left feeling sad and empty. Then multiply those emotions.

A year ago, after a great finale of A Taste of Joy, the high school production I'd written and directed about joy, I had the worst bout of depression--quite the opposite of joy! It was bad enough I seriously considered retiring from theater. The pain didn't seem worth the pleasure. Then, last October, when I released Summer's Dream, I had a similar reaction, although not as intense.

Since my heart's desire is to continue writing and directing--without the emotional struggle--I decided I had to try something different. Without going to a psychologist or turning to medicine, I needed a healthy plan that would work for me.

In my shed, I have over thirty, eighteen-gallon tubs filled with costumes: medieval, '20s, '50s, western. After each show, one of the biggest struggles I have is packing away costumes. I've likened the process to filling a coffin. Now, the costumes are only one aspect of a show, but it's one of the visual steps in helping young people become their character. I've made a lot of the clothes--or else searched many thrift stores for that perfect match--and I have a strong emotional attachment to them.

This year, I talked to my husband and let him know I wasn't going to pack up the costumes right away. In fact, I wouldn't do it until I was sure I could handle it. The day after the final curtain, he and I carried armloads of costumes into the guestroom and shut the door! Thus the picture at the top of this blog. A month past the show our guestroom looked like that. Good thing no guests showed up unexpectedly!

In the evenings I started setting the timer for fifteen minutes, and I'd go in and fold costumes in increments. I made sure to do this when Jason was home, so I wouldn't be facing it alone. I must confess, I haven't packed any tubs yet. It's the next thing on my agenda. Hopefully, I'm far enough removed from the emotions of the show that I can pack things without falling apart. Fortunately, my husband was understanding about the mess. At least I wasn't the mess this time! :)

The other thing I did differently was I planned things to do following the cast party. Before my production week, Jason and I talked about taking Monday off and going for a long drive. Starting early that day, we drove into Montana. It was a great time of coming down from the high emotions and talking a lot and seeing new things. We ate breakfast in Sandpoint, Idaho, lunch south of Kalispell, Montana, and dinner back home.

Also, I had another project to look forward to in the following weeks--finishing the editing and formatting for Autumn's Break. Both of those things took my full concentration and helped recapture my dreams.

I'm happy to say, my plan worked. I've had some letdown, but it's been minor. In the past I would never have admitted to being depressed. As a Christian, I like being joyful. But in truth, I was depressed, for a time. Putting off the hardest emotional part has helped me coast. As did making plans in advance of how I would spend the next weeks.

Our lives certainly have messy parts, don't they? But God is our healer. Our restorer. He gives wisdom and grace to help us through the most difficult tasks.

When you're facing something that seems too hard, what helps you get through?

The New Baby

Please welcome Autumn's Break to the Second Chance family! Autumn's Break is book #4.

For the last seven months--minus my theatrical time--I've been living in the story with Autumn and Gar, facing their difficulties and trials, and deepening their characters. These two. Boy, oh, boy, do they get to me.

Meet Autumn! For years, she longed to have children. After going through testing and much disappointment, she finally accepts she'll never have kids of her own. Her heart is broken. She pulls deeply into herself, keeping Gar at arms' length. She eats comfort food. In truth, I can't fully imagine the pain she's going through. But I tried really hard. For the first two years of our marriage, I wasn't able to conceive, and I was fearful I wouldn't be able to have children. I tapped into those feelings to reach into Autumn's heart. In her story, there are things that help draw her out of her hurts. And I enjoyed walking that journey with her. Autumn and I have something else in common--a love for chocolate! Mmmm. She's learning how to make specialty fudge. And I was thrilled to do research on that important topic. 

Meet Gar: Gar loves youth theater and finds much of his self-worth in his onstage efforts and in his career as a teacher. I can relate! I worked for 18 years in Christian education, and I've directed 27 full-stage productions. There's nothing like the rush of Opening Night! And I'm always disappointed when the show is over. When the school board shuts down Gar's arts program, he struggles to make sense of it. Can't they see the good he's done? Gar's response to the principal is dramatic and unkind, but it was easy for me to imagine how the ending of his dreams--on top of the guilt he was already carrying over a flirtation that went too far--could bring him to the point of doing something stupid. Gar leaves his marriage. But he has much to ponder in the coming weeks as he faces his own shortcomings--and God's conviction.

The Lord is so good to put people in our lives at just the right time. While Gar is staying in Coeur d'Alene helping in his cousin Kyle's mechanics shop, he meets Ty Williams.

Ty is determined not to be pushy about discussing marriage and reconciliation with Gar. But if he gets the chance, he's going to share about his own journey back to God and his wife. Ty and Winter are going through struggles of their own. In this fourth installment, a past employee, Randi Simmons, is bent on revenge when she shows up at a women's conference in Bend, Oregon.

Themes: Marriage, teaching, directing, canoeing, fudge making, ministry.

Settings: Everett and Edmonds, Washington; Coeur d'Alene, ID, and Spokane, Washington. Bend, Oregon. Also, there's an episode outside of Moses Lake, Washington.

This series is dear to my heart because I believe that God can do amazing things in our broken relationships and bring about a beautiful healing. Beauty for ashes. Hurt and pride exchanged for His presence and peace. I look forward to the months ahead as I write the final installment to the Second Chance series: Season's Joy. 

For a full description of Autumn's Break or to purchase it on Kindle click: 

AUTUMN'S BREAK

Do What's in Your Heart

Write, sing, direct, teach, pursue the things God has put in your heart. He's had a plan for us for a long time--even before we knew about it. When I look back on my childhood, some of the things I did, or other people expected of me, helped me to accomplish what I do now. I'm sure that's true in your life also.

When my brothers and I were young, our parents made us stand in front of them--and guests--and perform. We sang solos, told funny stories, played instruments, etc. TV wasn't as important then. Internet didn't exist. We were the entertainment. Today, I work with young people to help them stand boldly in front of an audience--to know beyond any doubt they can do it. I know that started in me when I was eight or so and singing "These Boots are Made for Walking" in front of my parents and aunts and uncles. Haha. Isn't it cool that God was working in our lives, nudging us, even when we were little kids?

Big Cheer

What if every time someone did something good, we cheered wildly?

Did you watch the Super Bowl with a group of people? I love the idea of sharing all that enthusiasm and cheering together. No one is worried about sounding too loud or being embarrassing when they're shouting and clapping for their team. They're free to yell, jump and up down, dance, whatever.

Wouldn't that be a cool way to enjoy life everyday?

What if we heard someone's good news and we jumped up and down and cheered like people did during the football game? Would we feel silly? Maybe. But how much more fun would life be if we weren't intimidated by what other's thought of us and we could express our joy and happiness in a boisterous way? What if someone told us of an accomplishment and we cheered for them right there, even in the middle of a crowd? What if we approached all of life with such zeal?

It makes me think we should laugh and rejoice more. If we're happy, why not let out a loud yippeeeee!? If we receive good news, why not jump up and down or dance about?

Too often, I feel intimidated. I think others might not like my laugh or my singing voice or what I have to say. But lately, I've been laughing louder. When I'm watching a funny movie or hearing my actors adding something humorous to their lines, I let my laughter out. But jumping up and down and dancing? That sounds a little scary. Yet, if I would do it for a game, why not act that way for real-life events? Think how we used to respond when we were kids. I can remember running all over the playground shouting and acting silly and not caring one bit what someone thought of me.

I think it's true of worship and praise too. I like to sing out loud and clap my hands and say my "amens." I want to rejoice and celebrate in all aspects of life. I don't think God is offended by noise. Loud celebration has its place.

Let's enjoy life fully.
Laugh out loud.
Sing with a new expression of joy.
Rejoice.
Dance.
Don't be intimidated.
Be free.

We might even be surprised.
Expressing our joy just might be contagious.

Forgive Us Our Doubt

Faith demands something of us.

When others sit down, faith stands up. It shouts “I will” in the face of “You can’t.”

Sometimes people around us may say things that war against our faith--whether intentionally or not. Maybe we're believing God for something, and someone else is speaking doubt. I have ended a conversation, or walked away from it, to protect that part of my faith that needs nourishing.

True faith is not weak. It rejoices in, even can laugh at, difficulties because the proof is not in seeing the waves roaring about and causing mischief, but in knowing we will make it safely to shore.

Faith throws out a life preserver, then holds onto the rope as tight as it can, never giving up. Never even thinking it might not work.

Faith isn’t wimpy. In a race, faith is the guy with muscles and grit, the one who makes it to the finish line with a breath to spare and a tired, but thrilled, grin on his face.

Faith is climbing a mountain, knowing a reward is at the top. It’s that unction to keep going, to not stop, no matter what discouragements are thrown at us en route.

Faith is jumping into something troublesome, when it would be easier to sit on the sidelines. It takes risks, while doubt tells you to play it safe.

When faith is building its muscles, it may feel a bit shaky. But as faith grows, so does grit and determination. Like three brothers who stick together and face anyone on the opposing team, these three come against the bullies on the block. Doubt shows up to taunt and ridicule, but faith and its allies are ready for a good fight.

The things we hear, read, and see can all influence our faith/doubt struggle. Who are we going to listen to?

It’s in moments of great struggle and adversity that an even deeper level of faith comes to the surface.

When someone says something that chinks at our faith, we need to be bolder. By speaking the truth, by facing the doubt, our faith will take a growth spurt. Sometimes I return from church feeling less faith than when I went. That may sound funny. But there are times when the things I've heard or the people who have talked to me have increased my doubts instead of my faith. That is wrong. I know I need to be the one speaking faith and hope, not the one allowing doubt to receive a power-boost within me.

Faith says it is before it is.

The one standing in faith must go forward with a powerful belief to see what others cannot see. Thus the beauty and the revelation of faith—believing in the unseen. Expecting even before seeing.

I need more faith.
World, do not convince me to doubt.

Family, friends, pastors, leaders, writers, believers—let us not say we believe in one breath, and then in the next, confess we do not by our words or actions. When faith takes a stand in you, allow it the deepest level of trust and truth. Forge a firm determination to believe in God and to stand for what He says is true—no matter who whispers “nay” in your ear.

Are you believing for someone’s salvation? A healing? A miracle? Let faith rise up and refuse to doubt. Do not diminish faith by the words you allow entrance into your heart, via your own lips or that of someone else's.

Doubt lurks about seeking to do evil against faith. Refuse to give in.

Faith does something. It doesn’t sit around waiting for someone else to act first.

Faith needs its day in the gym. Exercise it. Give it liberty to fight doubt and mockery and disbelief head on.

Father, forgive my doubt.

Faith, I invite you to live in me, strong and powerful.

Doubt, I am at war with you. I resist your schemes.

Faith, I release you to rise up stronger than before, stronger than any of us could have imagined—if we but believe.

Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and he will come near to you. ~ James 4:7 & 8

I Can't

Sometimes I'm convinced I can't.

So even if I could, I wouldn't.

I've told myself it's impossible.

So it has to be.

Ever been there?

How can two little words yield so much power? “I can't” becomes “I won't” which easily converts to “I give up.”

Sometimes a case of the “I can'ts” is as bad as getting diarrhea on a road trip. It makes everyone miserable.

When I was teaching, I didn't like my students to say “I can't." To me, that expression was a refusal to try. In my drama class, if I hear someone mutter those words, I ask them to express it differently. “I can't say the line” becomes “I'm having a hard time saying the line.” In the altered version, at least a bit of room exists for improvement. All of us have a hard time at something. Complaining about it rarely helps, other than to garner somebody's sympathy. Unless, of course, I'm the one saying those two words. Ha!

Two weeks ago, I drove in the worst winter conditions I have ever experienced behind the wheel. The challenge wasn't deep snow. The culprit was black ice. A three-and-a-half-hour trip turned into seven-and-half-hours. I drove thirty to thirty-five mph on sixty and seventy mph roads. We saw twenty cars in accidents or in the ditch. It was a dreadful drive. “I can't do this," was in my mind and on my lips. I was exhausted from clutching the truck's steering wheel so tightly. My eyes were bloodshot from peering at the road in the dark, looking for slick spots. My legs were shaking. Giving up wasn't an option—but I sure wanted to.

Later, after the trauma was over and I arrived home, the thing that stuck with me was how we can do so much more than we ever imagined possible when we just keep going. The human spirit is full of grit and determination to survive. That obstinate willpower really is quite amazing.

A few days ago, a friend went through a difficult surgery. He's in a ton of pain. He told us if he'd known how difficult it would be, he doubted he would have gone through with it. Of course, he isn't going to stop now and say “I can't.” Eventually, he'll feel better, and he'll be thankful for the medical success. Sometimes moving forward takes more guts than we think we have. But we can go beyond our “I can't” to “maybe I could” to “I'm doing it” and even to “Hey, Mom, look at me!”

Which reminds me of a cool verse in Philippians: “I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” I like that. In my wimpy self, I may feel inadequate. But when I put my trust in His strength, His power is so much greater than my best attempts.

Let's turn “I can'ts” into “I cans.”

Even if we've told ourselves it's impossible,

the truth is, we can do so much more.

Why I Write Stories of Reconciliation

If you've read my posts or any of my women's fiction, you know I write stories about second chances in marriage--about broken couples who defy the odds and find their way back to each other. You might wonder, is she blind to divorce rates? Unfeeling toward people on their second or third marriages? Is she living in some kind of fantasy world to imagine relationships can recover from horrible rifts, and even the worst crime against marriage--infidelity?

When put that way, it seems like a ridiculous impossibility, doesn't it?

The truth is, before my tenth birthday, my parents divorced. I have relatives who have divorced and married someone else and seem quite happy. And even though Jason and I agreed early on not to mention the "D" word, at a couple of dividing lines in our relationship, we considered separating.

I'm not foolish enough to believe all marriages should be reconciled. If violence is involved, run, flee! Even as a child, I never wished for my parents to get back together.

So why do I write stories of second chances? First, I love reading them. Two of my favorite reconciliation books are Francine Rivers' And the Shofar Blew and Karen Kingsbury's A Time to Dance. I've read both of these inspirational books many times. Second, through telling the married fictional tales of Winter and Ty, April and Chad, Summer and Josh, and now, Autumn and Gar, I get to relive the wonder of a husband and wife falling in love with each other all over again. Bits and pieces of these couples' lives do come from my heart. The saying about writers bleeding into their work is true. Are the books autobiographical? No. But here and there, real life seeps in. The other reason I love reconciliation stories is that I believe in God's amazing power to transform and change couples in such a way that they can let go of their pride, their hurts, and their right to hate or act in revenge. That Jesus can soften a husband's and a wife's spirits to such a degree that they melt before the other one is powerful and life changing.

While I won't go into details of how Jason and I ended up in a bad situation, when we came to the point of deciding whether or not to split, we chose to stick together, instead. One day I turned on the audio of our wedding and asked Jason to listen with me. As I cried and listened to our young selves pledging the words "til death do us part" something gripped me. I had made a lifelong promise to my husband. I still wanted to be married to him. I was willing to fight for and do whatever it took to change, to be humble, to make a marked turnaround. We could only do that and have the testimony we do--we've been married 40 years--because of God's grace and power. He changed us. He made us whole. He brought true love back to our hearts and our home.

That's what I want to write about.

Unfaithful Blogger

In 2015, I was an unfaithful blogger. 
There, I said it. Facing our flaws is half the battle, right?

Two things kept me from sharing. Limited time--I was determined to finish my book. And I felt I had nothing to offer.

It's not that I'm empty-headed--although, maybe I am--or that I don't have an opinion. Because I do! I just felt lacking. There are times as a mom I wished I were like June Cleaver or Dr. Quinn or Maria in the Sound of Music, women who had amazing gifts of wisdom to speak the exact words at the perfect moment. Oh, that's right, they had great writers! But, regardless, when I sit down to create a blog, I want to be like them. Or like one of those bloggers who spin amazing works three times a week and dazzle us with their introspection on life or faith or marriage.

Then, there's me. I sit down and stare at a blank screen and wonder what in the world I have to give.

I'm a dabbler in fiction. If you've read any of my stories, you've peeked into my heart. Without meaning to, I've revealed parts of me which under normal circumstances I would never share. By the way, if you've ever wondered which of my characters is most like me, it would be April Gray, before the editor got a hold of her.

Like most writers, I internalize way more than I should. I grew up with secrets. I like my privacy. Becoming open and vulnerable is foreign, unless I'm sitting across the table from someone drinking coffee and we just start sharing. I can actually say that now, because 21 days ago I started drinking coffee.

I'd like to say I have it all together. Surprise, I don't. I have dreams of having it all together. You know those moments when you see yourself as a perfectly put together wife, mom, writer, house cleaner, and servant of God? Yeah, about that . . .

In the real world, I work at and enjoy my marriage. Jason and I are good friends, and we're learning how to have fun in our post-raising-kids years. I still try to be a good mom, but the rules have changed. I have four adult kids and one daughter-in-law, now. When your kids are little, the world revolves around their needs and activities, and being a mom felt like my whole world. Then they grew up--as well, they should--and that process can leave moms and dads floundering. I'm a parent, and yet I'm not. It's a tiptoe act, but I'm getting better at it. Every day, I work at writing, whether it's at the keyboard or letting the characters come to life in my mind. I've never been a great housekeeper, but, oh well. I don't really aspire to that. Sorry, Jason. In 2015, I began learning more about God as my loving "Papa." In that capacity He is changing me, and that's a journey in itself.

My goal for 2016 is to become more vulnerable and open. I write the kinds of stories that I do for a reason, but I doubt I will ever be as tell-all as some writers. Most likely, my husband, kids, and brothers will thank me for that. But little by little, I hope to share more from my heart.

I may not have anything profound to say, but the truth is, we all live in a messy world. No one is perfect. We must all face our pasts and work through messy situations and relationships in the present. The beauty is that God can take all of that and transform us--day by day, sometimes, minute by minute--into who He wants. I'm on that journey. As are you.

A new year helps me reflect and look forward. I'm hoping to be more honest in my blogging and living in 2016.