On the Road

No, I Do Not Have Grandchildren

For a Season

A Place for Us

The Truth I Thought I Wanted

Finding my biological father didn’t heal my past. It opened the door instead. For thirty-six years, nothing appeared to be amiss. A birth certificate held a name. That name belonged to a face. The face sat at holiday tables, appeared in family photographs, and answered to “Daddy” without

Seeing the Cracks

The place where I finally saw the wall. Not every story inside that wall belongs on these pages. There are too many of them. Some are painful. Some are ordinary. Many simply repeat the same lesson in different forms. After the day everything changed, the years rolled on, and the

Choosing Our Own Way

Learning to trust the life that was calling me. After graduating from college, I was almost immediately pulled back into the life I had begun trying to outgrow. My father offered me a position in his company at a salary far greater than anything I had found on my own.

When My Anchor Was Gone

Permission to search for God in my own way. When my grandmother died unexpectedly, the person who had anchored my world was suddenly gone. She had raised me, protected me, and loved me through years when so much of life felt uncertain. Her faith was woven into everything she did.

The Breakaway Begins

Sometimes leaving home is the first step toward finding yourself. My decision to go to college surprised everyone in my family. My father couldn't understand why I wanted to go. “What do you need college for?” he asked. My mother was living in a world of her own

The Hands That Held Me

God was working in ways I could not yet see. Let me tell you a little about my grandparents—my mother’s mother and father. Grandmother and Granddaddy were the safest place I knew as a child. They made my life bearable when so much else was uncertain. They could

The Day Things Changed

A continued reflection on That Wall… Some childhood memories soften around the edges as the years pass. Others never do. This is one of mine. It began on a Sunday. My younger sister and I were staying with our grandparents, as we often did after my parents divorced. Sundays were

The Girl In The Second Pew

Trying to belong. Every Sunday I went to church. If there was a service, a meeting, a choir rehearsal, or a youth activity, chances are I was there. My grandmother took us on Sunday mornings. My grandfather took us back on Sunday evenings. Between Sunday School, worship services, Girls’ Auxiliary,

The Lessons I Really Learned in Kindergarten

Some lessons were never written on the blackboard. My first day of kindergarten arrived on a warm September morning along the Texas Gulf Coast. My parents were divorced by then, but that morning my father came to walk me to school. I remember the comfort of his hand wrapped around

Daddy Where Are You?

Before the Labels Before we learn our names, before we speak our first words, before we accomplish anything at all, we enter the world carrying an undeniable truth. We are born worthy. We are born to belong. She knows nothing of success or failure, approval or rejection. She knows only

Why Am I Writing This Now?

Somewhere along the way, I learned to protect myself. I don’t remember making that decision. I simply remember living it. Whenever disappointment came close, I withdrew. Whenever criticism appeared, I grew quiet. Whenever life hurt, I built another layer of armor around the softest places in my heart. Looking

What's Inside That Wall?

Meeting the little girl who learned to build walls. Whenever I sit down to write, a familiar fog settles over me. Ideas are plentiful, yet the moment I reach for them, a quiet voice insists I have nothing worth saying. For years, I believed my struggle with creativity came from

That Wall That Keeps Stopping Me

What the journey is about. My soul clamors for a creative release. Yet whenever I reach for a pen, a paintbrush, a keyboard, or a blank page, something unsettling happens. A fog creeps in, and a familiar voice begins to whisper: Stop. You don't know enough. Don'

Begin Anywhere

The porch light is on. You’re always welcome here. I don't have one long story to tell you. I have small pieces of my life, set down as I've found the courage to look at them. Some I understood right away. Others I'm

The Unfolding

The quiet work that shapes a soul. A home for my voice. The porch light is on. You're always welcome here.