And I remember the way I stood nervous in the foyer of their house on Sunday morning, waiting to take Southern Gal to a church two miles away, and after, to take her nearly 2,000 miles away.

From her home. Her life. Her job. Her mother. Her sisters.

From her “daddy” as she called him and I, growing up in the North, thought it interesting that any child would still use the term “daddy” even after they were grown.  This was my first initiation into Southern culture.

Hearing high heels against the wood floor, I turned to watch her come into the room and I still can see it, can see her beauty, the way her smile radiated calm when I was nothing but calm; how at that very instant, I could see us growing old together and it didn’t bother me at all.

And her daddy stepped close and hugged her tight, long seconds between them and I knew that her heart had already been stolen many, many years ago. 

Then he came to me, wrapping his tall slender frame around me, manly patting of the back as he said, “Take care of her.” And I knew that I would try my hardest, but didn’t realize until now, how many times I would fail.

Because nothing can surpass the love of a father. 

And yet, he let go.

He let go of us, helped us move all those many miles even though sometimes I could see him struggling to let go.

Today….

The doctors are going to repair his broken heart with a triple bypass surgery and we’re all praying, holding our breath as the surgery takes place.

This man, this father of mine, this father to Southern Gal, we need him here below.  We need his strength, his strong faith in God, his easy laughter.

But most of all, a daughter still needs her “daddy”.

So will you not pray today for all to go well, that the Lord, the great Physician can guide the hands of the doctor holding the scalpel and that the healing warmth of prayers can wash over him in the coming days?

Silent prayers pour desperate from within because the lips are hushed for lack of words.

Slowly, the story leaks.

It began with a visit to the psychiatrist.  Where the doctor had said, “We’ve done all we can. At some point, you’re going to need to decide you want to feel better.”

And on the way home, a few texts leak subtle clues to a friend and she drives straight, filled with fearful determination just to make sure she is okay.

She knocks once on the door but desperation pushes her inside the house that isn’t her own, where she finds that one she loves, her best friend, asleep on the couch.

Tears fall on the one too weary to cry for herself.

And the world hushes in a little town in Northern Iowa and we are all not knowing what to do or say or even pray…. Because how can someone we love and admire bend so low as to wring the last drop of life from the dirty rag of depression.

She visits the emergency room where the team fights to live for her, and after a few days stay, she comes home, and if it’s possible, she’s more broken than when she went.

Because this time, her eyes are open.  

The next Sunday, I see her in church, sitting in the back, head down, avoiding people’s gaze.  A few ladies step up and wrap their arms around her, supporting her weariness.

I smile, knowing what it’s like to have those who support you when your world has been broken…. Because I used to be the one whose shoulders their arms wrapped around.

But later, I hear the rumbles.

“She must have a spiritual problem.”

“Obviously, she’s more messed up than we thought.”

“Maybe their nearly failed marriage wasn’t his fault, but hers.”

Each statement, faked concern spewing into the air and I cringe, watching as professing Christians stand, raising their guns to their shoulders, and shoot the wounded.

Walking to my car, I pray, not only for the one who is weary, but that we, the church who should support and love without regard, can be strong.

Because this battle we’ve been called to fight can get ugly…  and no one, no, not one person survives without a few scars.

Getting ready for bed that evening, my heart thuds heavy within me because I see the barely noticeable scars I wear caused by other Christians and I remember how they heal so slowly; how I had to run my fingers over my Savior’s scars countless times to finally learn how to forgive like He had forgiven me.

So I kneel in my bathroom alone, and make a vow to the Lord that I will, by His grace, always be one who heals the scars instead of causes them.

Will you not also make the vow today?

s a writer, contentment isn’t even an option.

So we dig deep and try harder, do more and dream bigger.

And once in a while, that inherent nature born within us produces something beautiful.

Beautiful, but flawed. 

So once in a while, we are called to stop for just a moment and reflect on where we’ve been and what we’ve done.

That’s what I’m doing today.

When I first started writing, I didn’t know what I was doing.  I still don’t know what I’m doing.  But I know a little more than I did a year ago. 

And with your support, dear ones, this site has grown into something beautiful… beautiful, yet flawed.

There are misspelled words in the posts.  Run on sentences too.  Fragments.

There are design errors. Like the sidebar, standing there unfinished.  And the squirrel who seems to have taken a vacation. (Yes, he’s coming back… relax!) And my signature is missing.

Yet in spite of it all, I reflect today and remember what was and what is, because within this cycle we discover the truest form of growth; because growth isn’t measured in outcomes, it’s measured in progress.

So today, I invite you to sit with me, hush the noise of all that becoming and dreaming and progressing… and just reflect.

Reflect on where we’ve been and what we’ve done.  To look at who we are, not who we want to become.

With that said, I thank you all for helping me along this journey to where I am today. 

Welcome, dear friends to the new site.

And hopefully, you’ll come back and sit often with me?

It seems like such a small thing, so insignificant, yet somehow, I believe these highlighters are magic.

At least I hope. 

It wasn’t the iridescent display of colors that attracted me, nor the little dispenser of page markers each of them had somehow fitted into their caps.  It wasn’t that I even needed new highlighters because I already had some in my bag, perfectly good ones left over from last semester.

But it was the new determination I needed. 

Because honestly?  Last semester was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

And there were times, especially staring, with #2 pencil in hand, at a two hour long comprehensive final exam, that I was truly tempted to quit.

Or when, with red-faced embarrassment, I couldn’t find the correct lever to raise or lower the bedside tray and finally the mother had to help me.

Or the time I put too much goop (yes, that’s the medical term) and nearly caused a poor unsuspecting gentleman to live with permanent dentures.

But there were other times.

Times like the second clinical when I realized my patient was on a medication that had chemical properties very similar to another one he was allergic too.  When he found out the tingling in his fingers wasn’t the paralysis progressing upward, but instead an allergic reaction to the medication, the relief and appreciation he expressed made me smile.

After that, I was referred to as the “rock star” but I never felt like one.

Instead, I picked up a food tray and delivered two tiny slices of bacon to a starving boyish man.  After checking his dietary restrictions, I collaborated with his mom to find him the perfect cinnamon roll the town had to offer and his excitement upon the delivery of a still-warm cinnamon roll made me realize that I could start to enjoy this job.

And the time when a patient told me at the end of my shift, “Today was the first day since the accident that I forgot I was paralyzed. So thank you for that.” I walked out the big front doors into the bitter wind and I’m going to blame the tears pooling in my eyes on its bitter sting, not the overwhelming sense of purpose I had just discovered.

And another time, when the priest came by to sprinkle Holy Water on the patient before surgery and after the Catholic wife walked out of the room, how the husband asked me to pray with him.  That prayer wasn’t anything special, and it definitely wasn’t recited like the previous one, and even though I held hands with another man, I remember how it never felt more right.  He whispered to me, grinning, before I left, “Thank you.  I feel so much better and I didn’t even have to be sprinkled with water.”

So yes, this is a calling, this nursing thing.

And there are times when the stress and chaos and mental trauma of it all nearly make a person quit.

But then God supplies a moment.

Just a tiny bit of hope that gives new determination to continue.

I’ve found those moments in my inbox from you, dear friends.  And in my post office box.  And in the encouraging words from my family.  And the listening ear Southern Gal supplies so graciously.

And now, looking back, the new highlighters most definitely aren’t magic.

But it’s the little things that matter the most. 

And as cliche as that sounds, it was the biggest lesson I learned last semester.

“No. I can do it,” my nephew says, and moments later when I look over, I notice the gingerbread man is headless.

I watch as human nature unfurls, marveling how even an innocent child is susceptible to it’s growth.

And I think about how a baby is born into this world, just a tiny bit of nearly perfect but before long, that baby fills their virgin lungs with oxygen and screams.  They clench fists and defy the very world they live in, that they’ve been brought into and they determine that unless they speak up and take charge, they will surely perish.

So that baby grows and grows and one day, that baby becomes me… and you.

I look at my hands, pausing to reflect how often over the past week they clenched in self-determination and I think about those Other hands, nailed open, blood dripping down outstretched arms; outstretched to the world… for all the world.

So I don’t have to live with fist clenched at the world. 

Every dream, every aspiration, every need, every desire… given to Him.

I know the truest test comes in the doing, in the closing of the mouth and beginning to ‘walk the talk’ instead of ‘talking the walk’.  And with deepest shame, I find myself somewhere in the middle, gladly offering to Him the things I already have but those things I really want, those dreams I hold dear, I clench them a little too dear within my fist, determining to make them a reality without Him.

Without Him. 

Those two words stand stark on my white screen and they fill me with empty lonesomeness because surely, not me… would ever go without Him.

So like I do often when I’m filled with questions, I go wandering to find the answers.

Stepping out my front door, the night breathes cool and fresh on my cheeks.  Glancing across the glass river, I see a light reflecting off the riverbed and casting my eyes upward, I see the moon, a round beacon held by God’s hand alone.

With crushing reality, the world sways and I realize how foolish I am to believe that a God who holds the stars and the moon couldn’t hold my dreams and I am tempted to fall against the cold earth floor and offer to Him everything.

But I am frozen in awe of His power and His patience for me.

One hand at a time, I unclench my fist and allow Him to take them from me as the silence reigns over this holy experience.

Given to Him.

Everything.

And His whisper draws near and I hear these words:

“Christ is all, and in all.” Colossians 3:11

So before I even wander far, I’m drawn inside to pick up my Bible. I find this scripture standing true and I read it again and again, picking the leather bound Word up once again to make sure it is true, fingers touching the words like a blind man touches the world, feeling to make sure that it is real.

Christ within me, Christ within you.  In everything, He is.  The great I AM born into each of us and even though we scream and clench fist and determine that we can do it without Him, He never leaves us… He never gives up.

Written in weakness, for I know, He’s not finished with me yet, 

Another year past.

Here, I linger.

I stop short and stare into the face of the days, a grand total of 365 yesterdays.

Taking a deep breath, I expel slowly and close my eyes and pretend for just a minute that time is frozen, that the small man behind the face of the mantel clock has taken a short vacation and I am just able to relax and stop in the knowing that life isn’t slowly passing by.

What’s the purpose of it all?

I throw the question into the coming year’s face. All we do is get older, change just a little bit more, get a little bit pudgier, find another gray hair, another wrinkle, another friend, another career, more opportunities, but really… when we stop and consider it, what is the ultimate purpose?

I don’t know, but I can feel it.

Two thousand twelve wants to change me.

I hear someone in the living room say “only ten more minutes” so I hurry outside and start the car so it’s warm for the getaway once we’ve welcomed the new year. The wind chills me as I run, then I stop suddenly and stare into the darkness, into the shriek of wind running recklessly through the trees around the house.

It is here I want to stand, arms crossed against my chest, push myself into the wind, this wind circling the earth, around and around like hands on a clock, time marching on… and like I said, I want to stop it all here, stand stoic against this bitter earth breath and freeze this moment.

A tree bends low, shivering in the transparent wind.

Thirty five to forty five mile an hour wind, I recall the nearly mechanical weatherman saying.

A branch snaps, brittle brutality.

Yes, two thousand twelve not only wants to change me but wants to break me.

The house is only fifteen feet from where I stand and warm light spills through the front door across my feet.

Just fifteen feet and I’ll clap and yell and the new year will be here, and I won’t wonder about the purpose of it all. I’ll just forget it all, I tell myself.

Later, after my shower, I glance at the clock.

12:49 A.M.

After I close my Bible.

1:05 A.M.

And I lay awake.

1:47 A.M.

2:15 A.M.

Eyes wide, questions circling.

2:50 A.M.

The purpose?

Shortly after I hear the clock in the living room chime three o’clock, I turn on the bedside lamp and flip pages and it stands there, the answer:

“But from that Garden beginning, God has had a different purpose for us. His intent, since He bent low and breathed His life into the dust of our lungs, since He kissed us into being, has never been to slyly orchestrate our ruin. And yet, I have found it: He does have surprising, secret purposes. I open a Bible, and His plans, startling, lie there barefaced. It’s hard to believe it, when I read it, and I have to come back to it many times, feel long across those words, make sure they are real. His love letter forever silences any doubts: “His secret purpose framed from the very beginning [is] to bring us to our full glory.” (1 Corinthians 2:7 NEB). – Ann Voskamp, from One Thousand Gifts

So I commit to 2012.

My word of the year.

Purpose.

I commit to finding little pieces of that purpose… that wild, marvelous plan He created for me when He bent low from the heavens and breathed life into my soul. I commit to living that purpose, that fullest glory He has planned for me, arms spread wide in delight to all the blessings He gives.  I commit to being willing to follow where His purpose leads, whether that be reaching out to the world with a smile or writing words of encouragement for others or just sitting silent, basking in the warmth of His love.

I commit to His purpose. 

Photos Graciously Offered by Kelly Sauer 

I sat panting on hard concrete, sweat dropping from my hair to my hands, the sting of salt on open wounds making me grimace. The dim light of evening, silently peeking in through a single window, cast an eerie glow over the concrete walls.

The boxing bag swung beside me, blackness shadowing this person I’d become. This person I didn’t recognize. This person I didn’t want to be.

The timer sounded the start of another round.

Slipping the tight boxing gloves on, I stood to my feet and worked through the near exhaustion.

This was a pain I could handle; that I could deal with.

The pain of life? Well… that was a different story.

My world two months prior, unbeknownst to me, had started to unravel. And due to circumstances, I had to walk through the corridors of my college for the last time after handing in my resignation.

I was at rock bottom.

So I swung fist and I bled pain all over those concrete floors.

I stayed in quiet, hurt world for a while.

Then my dad suggested, “Call up a friend. Go out and have a good time.”

So I went to eat out with one of my friends, and as I gripped my Pepsi, he said, “What’s up with your hands?”

“Been doin’ some boxing,” I shrugged.

“You should come over and practice in my basement,” was his reply and I was shocked, but I thought about how it would be easier to share my pain with a friend than all alone.

So we boxed. I took a punch or two. I delivered a lot more.

And the pain slowly started to heal. Our boxing matches reaffirmed a friendship I had lost in the business of college life. I started to connect with life away from career and goals, and started to learn who I was again.

During those weeks, my sparring partner took a lot of punches. Angry ones. And after, panting from exhaustion, he spoke of Jesus.

Jesus? I’d forgotten about Him.

Today, I glance at my hands typing these words, and I realize they show no scars. The anger is healed. My life is renewed.

But that Man, the One who died for me, the One my friend reintroduced me in his basement, the One who still takes angry punches from me sometimes…. He’s got scars.

Many years ago, He dripped blood so I don’t have to today.

This is a repost from nearly a year ago.  I’ll be posting new content after the first of the year. Happy New Year everyone!

At the foot of the manger.

And if you slip in quietly, just kneel with me there as we honor together the birth of our King.

Merry, merry Christmas dear friends…

I shiver, pulling coat sleeves over hands so I can touch the freezing steering wheel as I hurry (no time to warm the car up) home from work, my breath hanging crisp in front of me as I try peering through frosted glass.

It’s Christmas. 

Never mind the frustration, the hurrying, the time I bit my tongue until it nearly bled so as not to yell at a customer, for it’s the most wonderful time of the year, you know… we simply must be cheerful. 

So we bake cookies and wrap presents and rush from one party to the next, piling high the celebrations as if we’ll never have further chances of being happy again.

No one mentions Christ at these parties. No, no.. Instead, someone hangs a plaque that reads: Why give when getting is so much more fun? 

I laugh.

Guilt pricks my heart, but no, don’t let anything hurt this time of year.

We must be happy! 

The pressure is rising, can you not feel the tension?

Rush to a cookie exchange.

Scrounge hurriedly through dad’s closet before going to an “Ugly Christmas Sweater Party”.

Pretend to be enthused about the upcoming awkward office celebration.

Can we be done now, the inner Grinch snarls.

“No, can we move that party into January? There is a schedule conflict,” your oh-so-popular cousins tell you and as you repeat this to your wife, your words drip heavy with sarcasm but then you remember Jesus came to earth for them too, and it’s Christmas so please, just please remember to love… love… and love some more… even if it blows a hole in your Christmas hat.

Like I said, by the time I’m done, what little righteousness I had hangs like filthy rags about me.

But…

Angels sing.

Shepherds follow.

And the Lord arrives.

Into the bustle of “It’s Christmas” He comes, all the way from the heavens, and He discovers that in all the preparing and the wrapping and the hurrying, we’re all so worn out that we’ve managed to completely forget His coming. 

I’m almost home. A million stars glimmer in the sky tonight, and I know I’m only seeing the stars of one galaxy among one hundred billion as I drive toward my warm little house with lights in the windows and Southern Gal’s beautiful smile.

And I can’t help but smile that a God out there, the One who created all those galaxies, created a plan for me.

Little miniscule me, just one guy who lives on a planet no bigger than a speck of dust on a map of the galaxies… a plan. 

So bake some more cookies. Let’s go, let’s go. You need my finger to tie a bow? Sure thing, let’s wrap those gifts! It’s a glorious time of year! Oh, don’t mind me, sometimes I just like to sing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs. Yes, my vocal chords are doing yoga.  Smile bigger. Oh, I do love your ugly Christmas sweater. Great Aunt Edna would be so proud.  Yes, I bought a gingerbread village. When will I put it together? Maybe in February when I’m bored.

Yes, I will celebrate.

Because Christ came for me. 

It may not make sense, the gift giving and going and all the doing, but I will do it… even happily!

However, I won’t forget to stop once in a while amongst all the chaos of crumbled gingerbread villages and non-sticking tape and just hush the world.

Hitting pause to try and make sense of it all.

How God would send a gift of love, His love, down to earth for me.

Just one boy on one planet, not even as noticeable as one grain of sand in the entire ocean.

Yet, worthy of a Savior.

Joy… sweet joy to all the world! 

I sing it loud and somewhere, over the river and through the woods, another soul (maybe that’s you) is singing it too and our voices blend together traveling even further through vast galaxies to the Heavens… to Him, the One who made all this joy possible.

]]> http://scribingthejourney.com/singing-together/feed 0 http://scribingthejourney.com/singing-together http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/DuaneScott/~3/-VjLgxCkQ6Q/duane_scottWed, 21 Dec 2011 00:00:00 PSThttp://del.icio.us/duane_scott#2011-12-20<ul> <li><a href="http://adamowens.com/2011/12/im-trying/">I&rsquo;m Trying&hellip;</a><br/> Would you not stop by and tell my friend you're praying? There are many out there simply "trying" this time of year and the least we can do is offer their names to the throne of grace...</li> <li><a href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/HolyExperience/~3/byZW8rhn3n8/">Why You Need to Go Look at the Stars Tonight {and become One of the Wise Men}</a><br/> Ann Voskamp collides science and faith in a beautiful way today. Awe-inspiring...</li> </ul><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/DuaneScott/~4/-VjLgxCkQ6Q" height="1" width="1"/>http://del.icio.us/duane_scott#2011-12-20http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/DuaneScott/~3/SVd2La46Wak/duane_scottTue, 20 Dec 2011 00:00:00 PSThttp://del.icio.us/duane_scott#2011-12-19<ul> <li><a href="http://susan-moment.blogspot.com/2011/12/time-for-peace.html">A Time For Peace ~</a><br/> squirrels, peaceful squirrels... ah... smiles.</li> <li><a href="http://feeds.rlcblog.com/~r/RLCBlog/~3/Apl7YBmmgQw/god-talked-with-me-this-morning">God Talked with Me this Morning.</a><br/> Dusty Rayburn shares one of the simplest truths... yet, one we often forget. Love this!</li> <li><a href="http://sandraheskaking.com/2011/12/sunday-seasoned-sayings-white-as-snow/">White as Snow</a><br/> Really, it's a wonderful thought. But wait until you see how white it really is with these beautiful pictures!</li> <li><a href="http://www.thehighcalling.org/family/its-about-point-view">It's About Point of View</a><br/> Living spontaneous. I love it.</li> </ul><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/DuaneScott/~4/SVd2La46Wak" height="1" width="1"/>http://del.icio.us/duane_scott#2011-12-19 http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/DuaneScott/~3/Roxc-2ob6qQ/turning-comments-off http://scribingthejourney.com/turning-comments-off#comments Mon, 19 Dec 2011 13:34:00 +0000 duanescott http://scribingthejourney.com/?p=3884 I remember how I battled for six months, six months of heart-heavy guilt, piling deep like dirty laundry in the corners of my soul.  And I remember the day, driving to college and wondering how it must feel to be free of all the weight… to feel at liberty to run laughing into all of God’s beautiful world and feel as though I belonged.

So I silently whispered a prayer through an open sunroof and waited for an answer. 

And I remember the way I waited for long hours,  two days in fact, of tires humming on sun warmed pavement, driving back and forth from life until I finally listened to the voice that had been there all along.

The Lord is my Shepherd…  I shall not want. 

And I’m taken back to when I was just seven years old, standing beside my desk at school, reciting the familiar Psalm along with all the other first graders.

Who would have thought, nearly 15 years later, those very words would come back to me… and save me from who I was becoming.

Who was I becoming?

I don’t know.

I really don’t.

But I do know that neither I, nor God, were happy with who it was.

It’s funny how popularity has a way of changing who we are, how the comments and the numbers and the page hits start to matter… and somehow, in the grand mess of it all we start to accept ourselves only as we perceive others accept us. 

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He restoreth my soul. 

The words float through the open sunroof into my car surrounding me until the tears blur the road ahead so I pull my car onto 595^th and just sit.  And here, I ask God what it is He wants.

Create a quiet place, a place beside the still waters, that you and I can walk together.  

Every day, I receive emails from readers asking, “Why don’t you have comments and social media on your site? How is it working? Do you have any regrets?”

Below is the long answer. The short answer?  No, not a single regret. 

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. 

I shall not want anything that is not of Him.  So I will be careful that my earthly wants of comments, page hits, and publicity do not leave me wanting Him instead.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. 

So I will lie here in the plush grass, and maybe I will write, maybe not.  Maybe I’ll just look at the clouds and feel the blades of grass running sleek through toes and just know that I am Home, here with Him, and Him alone but… most of all, that I am loved.

He leadeth me beside the still waters.

Yes, I will drink from this refreshing stream, not once, not twice, but until I am filled to overflowing. And when I overflow, I will pick up my pen and drip words onto paper; allowing Him to guide my hand and the way the words fall onto the canvas of my life.

He restoreth my soul.

Oh, yes, there are times when I am so in need of Him.  When I am empty, when I feel forgotten, I will stop here in His presence and allow Him to fill me until my soul is filled so full that His love drips sincere from my eyes.  Grace, dear grace, without it I would be lost.

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. 

Because this is a quiet place, I will never know the hurtful words of others that do not agree or value faith in an intangible God.  Theologizing and debate has its place, but here, in this place with God, it’s more important to feel Him than to know of Him.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. 

I will remember this, dear Lord. I will remember this when the shadows lengthen and the night grows long. I will remember that you are walking with me, and when I place ink on paper in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep, I will truly, fear no evil because you remind me of the approaching dawn.

For thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. 

The Bible, Your words, sit by me and I will consult them often.  And sometimes, I might become so engrossed in Your guidance that I will forget to even pick up a pen, but that’s okay.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:

I don’t like to hurt others, Lord, but please give me the strength to stand for you, and if that means I make an enemy, or maybe two… I will not view them as personal enemies but instead give them to You so that You can work in their hearts.

Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. 

I don’t feel worthy that You would bend low and anoint my life with Your presence but if by chance, my cup runneth over and it splashes messy on others around me, then let it be to your honor and glory, because even with You, I stumble and trip a bit as I walk the walk of faith.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 

And when the end has come, when my eyes close and my new lungs take their first breath of Heaven, Lord, I want it to be said about me, “He has fought a good fight. He has kept the faith.” And maybe, once all the greeting is done and I’ve marveled at all of Heaven’s splendor, maybe we’ll walk hand in hand to these green pastures and then I can say with certainty as I gaze upon Your face, and feel the scars in Jesus’ hands, that yes, this all… this right here, is real. My heart, Your heart, all our hearts here together… forever dwelling with You.

 It is important to make a public thank you to Ann Voskamp for planting the seed of conviction and for the personal message she sent me that said, “Change is difficult.  And some won’t understand.  But I understand, and I’m here for you.”  It was people like her… and you, dear readers, who have carried me through when I’ve doubted this all is really God’s plan for me. 

 

 

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