I grew up in Southern California, tried my hand at running with the boys but did better in musical theatre. My four brothers stole my heart, each and every time my dad told me over the phone, "your mother had a...'nother boy!"
My mom filled our apartment with music, her grand piano providing the soundtrack to our lives, our grimy fingers needing a good washing before we dared stain the ivory keys. She instilled in me a passion for adventure, for trespassing onto the unbeaten path. Poking the little creatures in tide pools, dancing in the tall grasses of WildWood, hiking the forgotten creeks on our own church property were all inspired (and first attempted) by her.
My dad saw my heart, from the beginning to even now--calling out every unspoken crush, speaking wisdom to a heart in need of guidance. He promised me that my "man of God" would pursue me to the ends of the earth, propping up the deep insecurities I felt with pillars of promise that carried the weight of adolescence. He even joked about my falling in love with some southern boy who loved country music, to which I vowed I never would.
And I did. Neal and I were friends, exclusive, not-seeing-anyone-else, love-hate, are-you-guys-together, kind of friends for two years before we had The Talk and married nine months later. That's for another post, maybe. My heart met the safety it had so desperately longed for. God gave me the man I'd been waiting for. Marriage, to Neal, has been good. It's hard work, sometimes, getting over yourself and figuring out how to make it work, but it is so good. My heart knows no loyalty like it does to him.
Carter was born three years ago and Walker was born in October 2010. They changed my life and I write about them a lot.
Other than that, you might want to know I run very slowly, I wrestled with an eating disorder as a young teenager and then had a binging problem in college, I taught third grade in the inner city before deciding to stay home with the little ones, I was molested and have been following Jesus' lead towards healing for over 15 years, I wish I lived overseas and have a problem with "white guilt," I'm discovering the glory of food for the first time ever, and my kitchen is a wreck, I'm not good at parking, I'm a synesthete, my husband is a pastor, I speak Spanish, I'm a quasi-feminist who still takes the Bible literally, I have hippie blood running through my veins, but still covet shoes, and I really, really, really love Jesus, in a kind of broken, selfish, limping-as-I-go kind of love.
And I believe he loves you too.
