If you would have asked me three or four years ago, on a scale from 1-10 where would I put myself with regards to my concern with what others thought of me, I would have said, maybe 4. I’m a pretty confident person with some pretty strong opinions; however, after living through the past few years, I now realize I was at an 8, maybe 9. Why wouldn’t people like me? I’m a pretty good person…

I’ve been married for over 30 years and my stomach still does flip flops when I see him. Don’t get me wrong, it’s definitely not all the time, but every once in a while, in an unexpected moment, I see my husband walk into the room, and I feel the attraction I have for him down in my gut. I recently had lunch with my daughter, who is a newlywed, and it’s so encouraging to be around someone who is so in love…

I met him while on a mission trip to India, and he stole my heart. His name is Rockeesh. A brown eyed, chicklet-grinned, beautiful little boy, full of life and laughter. He had been living on the street, along with his sister and brother for years, and had recently been rescued from a life of abuse and poverty by a pastor and his family, sponsored by the Angel House Rescue Orphanage Organization.

Imagine you are going on a road trip across the country. You put the address of your destination into a new travel app, and instead of the usual map with step-by-step instructions, it spits out a paragraph of road names and directions, but not necessarily in any order…

I’ve been holding back. I’ve been cautious and courteous and at times I’ve cared more about what people might think than what my God is telling me to do or say. Well, I’m done being afraid. I’m done worrying about what “people” might say, what you might say. I’ve no pride left. I’ve been wounded, humbled and broken and for the past five or six years, desperation has demanded I pursue the truth.