I feel a special kinship with this tree. We understand each other. We both endured a great and consistent wind that formed and shaped our lives. My "wind" began like most- a constant breeze with a few occasional gusts. Life presented me with its typical struggles and challenges and I took pride in my ability to withstand its flurries. I called it flexibility…

I admit it. Revision is my least favorite part of writing for children. I prefer to remain in the delicious euphoria of having written the perfect first draft. Can’t I dwell there just a moment longer before I am whisked away into reality?

When ministering to single mothers, it is crucial to consider her as among “the least of these”, as defined by Jesus in Matthew 25:35-45. The term “least of these” does not imply lack of worth or importance. Rather, Jesus used the term to identify those who were vulnerable, marginalized, and most in need…

I hung up the phone and sat for a moment in disbelief. “Lord, please help me. I can’t do this alone.” On the front porch, my daughters were anticipating their father’s arrival and I would soon watch their hopes melt into tears…

Once upon a time, there lived a girl who loved to write and I was that girl.
Only, I didn't know I was a writer. I filled hundreds of pages in notebooks with storylines and watched characters dance across the movie screen in my mind. I heard their voices and understood the deepest longing of their hearts…

I don’t remember the first moment fear gripped my soul. Perhaps it was as a twelve-year-old girl, contemplating why our father left us. Or maybe it was a year later when a presumptuous boy attempted to hold my hand…

This is a confession.
I am the worst kind of writer…

I thank God for the work of your hands. You shepherd, teach, admonish, and encourage. You serve as a faithful witness and in doing so, change women’s lives through the love of Christ. I’d like to introduce you to a woman I hold dear…

My Grandmother was a woman of wisdom, whose heart was strong enough to contain life's deepest pain and greatest joys. She was more than just a Grandmother to me. She was my friend, confidant, and teacher. Years ago, she gave me a few clippings she had saved- small bits of old wisdom she hoped to pass on to me…

When you feel tempted to question God’s love for you, when you wonder where He is and what He thinks of you, when you feel alone and lost, or when you simply need a hug….
Read HIS Words for you. HIS story of love.

“I believe in you.” Those were not the words I expected. Moments earlier, I poured out my complaint to a friend via text. Fingers tapped an unrestrained confession of feeling helpless, overwhelmed, and ill-equipped. I questioned my ability to accomplish all I had dreamed and earnestly worked for…

I remember my Grandmother’s hands, prayerfully working through the beads of her beloved rosary. Her familiar voice, hushed in earnest reverence, whispered words of both love and petition…

I trace the stitching of a leather journal. Three years of my life are held within its pages. I marvel at how the cover still looks new, how it gives the illusion that its contents are just as smooth and polished. Covers can be deceiving. I know what lies upon the worn, unedited pages…

"You're late. Jump in." My 8th-grade teacher pointed to the deep end of the swimming pool. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words became lost in fear. Clutching the towel around my awkward, shivering body, I walked to the edge of the pool and scanned its co-ed contents, looking for a friendly face. Surely, someone would come to my rescue and invite me to join them in the shallow end…

All my years of theatrical acting experience did not prepare me for the show I put on that day. Most of the time, I was a master illusionist, able to transform my furrowed, single-momma brow into a display of peace and contentment. But that day was different, and I prayed I wouldn’t bump into anyone familiar…

Far too early on Christmas morning, my daughters burst into my bedroom with the announcement that Santa had come and it was time to wake up. At 10 and 4 years old, they knew the Christmas routine. No one could open a gift until Mom had her first cup of coffee…

And so I begin this humble attempt to calm the raging and wild words within.  Like a river, my words are unruly, unpredictable, and untamed. I wade through the waters and long for a place to rest from the rushing currents, a place that provides clarity and focus to my thoughts.  Such is my life as a writer.