By the time I was six years old, my family of four had become three then four again. Soon after, it grew to six, and I became the middle child of four. I had step-parents and their families to learn.
Before my tenth birthday, the words sexual abuse meant way more to me than they should have.
I met and married my husband, Brian, in Tennessee, followed him around the south for a while, taught in several states, and rescued two dogs before becoming a school counselor. Brian deserves to win the lottery (or at least a year’s worth of chocolate) for riding this roller coaster of life with me.
After feeling exhausted and very unlike me at 35, I became a dairy-free, gluten-free, juicing vegetarian (2015 update: Now I drink raw milk to help build up my immune system and eat meat at times, though I’m still gluten-free.) I am still shocked sometimes that I actually enjoy buying 25-pound bags of carrots and kale.
I LOVE: sunny days, meaningful quotes, yummy food, fuzzy dogs, reading, fireflies, adventure, travel, good friends, writing, wooly socks on a winter’s afternoon, talking, laughing, learning, playing games (that I’m good at), a cool pillow on a hot night, movies, getting excited about the small stuff, music, mountains and all things nature (minus slugs), hearing the laughter of children, snow days, yoga and green juice.
While there has been so much good in my life, my story has cut at me like a jagged edge and then evolved into one of God’s grace and hope and forgiveness. I am a multitude of tales of denial, surviving, changing, growing and healing.
I tend to be hopelessly impatient, but I am learning to wait on big things and small stuff. As a recovering perfectionist, I am trying to be better at letting go and moving on. Right now, I appreciate the journey and am completely overwhelmed by God’s big, big love for me.