Hello, beautiful people. I know you’re out there, stressing over finances, tearing up over relationships, loving as much as your sore hearts can bear, grasping for a tentative hold on true life. I know, because I’m right there with you. You can stop worrying now. You don’t have to be brave here in this hallowed little spot before the throne of grace. Vulnerability is going to get you everywhere.
I live on a wind—cupped prairie with my parents and five younger sisters. I see soft growing aspen leaves in the spring, sweet—scented hay bales in the summer, Canada geese and big skies in the fall, and frosty patterns on the trees in the winter. I see light reflecting like a stained glass window, light painting the sky and the seed heads out in the fields.
Life has been good. God has been kind. I write to pay a debt to all the authors with soul—searching words who’ve brushed against my consciousness. I write with blind faith that someone will hear and will see the heart of the Father. I write because that is my way of giving. And giving is living, unhindered, broken living.