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We were sure.

So sure.

We were certain God was writing a tailor-made story.

Each one of us had reasons – 2 1/2 months of reasons, a lifetime of reasons – as to why this made complete sense, why this particular opportunity HAD to be from God.

I can tell you with certainty that in the 22 years I’ve been with my husband, this was the first time I could see, could sense, could pinpoint a crystal-clear calling on his life. All the pieces leading up to this point made complete sense. Yes, I can say for sure, even in hindsight, that the calling on his life was clear in a way it had never been before.

What is a calling, you ask? How in the world do you define calling? It sounds so mysterious, doesn’t it? So religious. Something reserved for pastors and missionaries, perhaps. How do you know when God is calling you to do something, calling you to go somewhere, calling you to be the specific someone He intended you to be?

A few of us have 100% certainty as to what we’re supposed to do, where we’re supposed to go and who we’re supposed to be. But most of us guess, sense, study, pray and simply BELIEVE there HAS to be a greater reason, a greater purpose for our life, for our story.

That’s a calling, I guess. Going where God wants us to go. Following His lead. Listening for a still small voice. Taking chances when we don’t know the outcome. Being present in ordinary and difficult circumstances. Waiting for His whisper to tell us where and how we’ll have the most extraordinary impact in this world. Quieting ourselves until God tells us yes, or no. Trusting He’ll guide us towards what’s best. Becoming more like Him, day in and day out.


It’s not the word I once thought it was. (At least for right now, that is.)

Perhaps I’m a bit confused.

Perhaps I’ve been a bit misguided.

Perhaps my definition of calling has been too dreamy, too wishful, too worldly.

Perhaps my definition of calling has been too specific, too narrow, too logical.

Perhaps I’ve overthought the concept of calling.

Perhaps I’ve had it all wrong.

I’m okay saying “I don’t know anything anymore.”

Only God.

Only God truly knows.

So 2 1/2 months. Yes, 2 1/2 months we invested in this thing we thought was a calling.

As I watch the leaves blow in the breeze, I’m still a bit jaded, a bit disappointed, thrown off and uncertain as to why 2 1/2 months of step by step, waiting and waiting some more, answers then more answers, action and even more action – all seemingly from God – ultimately led to NOTHING.

Could it be that an outcome we perceive as absolutely NOTHING is actually SOMETHING? That God works even in the midst of NOTHING?

I know the truth. Yet, I don’t know. You know what I mean?

Only God.

Only God truly knows.

My husband was prompt. The minute he learned of the opportunity, he did his part. He did everything right, staying on track ’till late that first night.

Days passed.

Nothing. Nada. Nope.

Finally, an answer. A ray of hope that the door hadn’t closed.

More days passed.

Nothing. Nada. Nope.

We’d all but given up.

Should we reach out, take action? Should we suggest we could do this, do that?

Nope. The answer was WAIT. Wait some more. So we waited.

When we were reaching our end in the patience department, in despair over the lack of results of any kind, I reached out to Hope*Writers friends for prayer. Nothing specific. Just a big, honest prayer request. Later that afternoon, the Hope*Writers hearty dose of prayers resulted in a delightful and surprising response.

YES! The answer was YES!

My husband was moving on to the next step.

How could this be? After weeks of waiting, we finally had an answer. The door hadn’t closed! God had answered our prayers.

Several days later, an awesome 1-hour 30-minute phone call was followed by more weeks of waiting.

Then there was a 1-hour 45-minute phone call.

Then a 1-hour phone call, perhaps the most important of all.

Everything was good. Everything was right. Everything was awesome.

Everything was proceeding. Everything was lining up. Everything was fitting together just so.

God was answering our prayers. He was directing the way. Yes, this all made perfect sense. Things were coming together just as we suspected God wanted for us, our family and our future.

Then there was waiting, waiting and more waiting.

I fasted. Two days.

I prayed like a mad woman, harder than I’d ever prayed before. My husband prayed like a mad man, harder than he’d ever prayed before.

We’ll go anywhere, we’ll do anything for you, God. If this is your will, please let this work for us, please open this door for us.

Yet again, we’d all but given up when my husband got the call. The call came in the middle of devotions, an answer from God Himself.


Come on out.

We want to see you. We want to meet you.

Elation, excitement and tears of joy ensued.

Within a few days, everything was arranged.

His ticket.

My ticket.

We’d fly, yes, we’d fly.

At this point, all the thoughts and plans were in full motion. I’m talking FULL. MOTION. All the what ifs, all the what thens? They’d all been considered. Everything had gone slow, slow, slow until that phone call, but for reasons left unsaid, this now needed to go not only fast on our end, but fast on their end. There was very good reason to believe this was actually going to happen. We had been patient. Slowly, but surely, everything was lining up perfectly. God had opened every door we’d walked through, including an invitation and flight to come out. This was most certainly nothing we could do on our own. It was absolutely, without a doubt, a faith journey. We were following, and God was leading.

I continued praying and began purging like a mad woman, just in case the answer was YES, which honestly at the time seemed like it was very possible. After 10, 15 trips to the thrift store in a desperate effort to purge STUFF as quickly as possible, I finally had to tell them lest I look like a weirdo, “It’s likely we’re going. It’s likely we’re leaving. We’re really close to moving.” I just kept dumping and dumping and dumping and it was all so incredibly freeing. It was becoming more and more clear. God was sending us. Finally, life was making perfect sense. We were GOING to do this as a couple. All I had to do was say YES to God, purge everything that had ever held me back, and just GO and follow Him. Yes, this made complete sense in my framework, my understanding of WHO God was and who God IS. Would I have ever imagined this for myself, that this could ACTUALLY happen? Nope, not in a million years. Would I have DREAMED this for myself, that I would ACTUALLY WANT this to happen? Yes, a million times, YES.

My calling merged with my husband’s calling? YES. 100% YES. Please God, take me there.

I’m ready to purge it all for the sake of your calling. Literally and figuratively. I’m willing to give it ALL.

So we flew.

We left the kids with proper care and we flew.

Two days.

Yes, for two full days, we dove FULL IN to God’s call.

FULL IN. Down to our bones. To the best of our ability. We were there. We were on it. We were surrendered. We were together. We were leaping and trusting that God was IN this, FOR us, ALL ABOUT this opportunity we would’ve never guessed could actually happen.

Only God. This was only God.

In that place of seeing where I was, having no idea how I got there, and being incredibly excited about where God might very well be bringing us, I felt peace. Deep peace. My whole life made perfect sense now. Every step added up to now.

I’m humbled to admit I went so far as to find us a home that first day. Well, maybe that’s dramatic and not quite true. I found us a couple of super solid neighborhoods we could actually afford and a whole lot of amazing neighbors who flagged me over as I drove by, chatted me up in their driveways, and offered sweet tea as they talked and rocked toddlers on their sides. I met girls my daughters’ ages and women I connected with instantly. I did Facetime with the kids, and with the most rare exuberance in my voice showed them the “amazing” neighborhoods we’d be able to live in. “Look, there are little kids riding scooters around by themselves!” “Look, there are two kids riding bikes!” “Look at how nice this neighborhood is! I seriously can’t believe this. You’ve gotta see this.”

We dined and laughed that night over hot buns with honey cinnamon butter, then returned to our not-so-humble home for the night, purposeful, beautiful noise filling the city streets around us.

The next morning, we woke early. It was time. Time to do our best. Time to step up and step out for God, for our future, for ourselves and for our children. 2 1/2 months ago, we’d started this journey. God brought us this far. Why in the world would we have journeyed this far, traveled this far, both literally and figuratively, for the door to close now? We had hope. A certain hope, for sure. But we weren’t arrogant idiots about it. This was NOT a sure thing. Never once did we believe this was a sure thing. We weren’t taking this opportunity for granted for one second. But things had most certainly been adding up. If things went well, there was only ONE MORE YES between us and this future. One more YES that was most definitely in the hands of God.

My husband got ready in the finest of wears. He was handsome, prepared, feeling his best. I dropped him off at the door. He told me to pray, so I prayed on and off all morning as I drove and explored the place we might call home before long.

I considered exploring new territory, but felt led to return to the place I found peace the night before. Great peace. Deep peace. Immeasurable peace. A place where country met city. A place where I was certain I could belong. A place that felt like home so quickly, so easily. A place that honestly, I might’ve been called to my whole life.

Yes, I know with all the logic of my brain that this is utter nonsense and crazy talk, but I haven’t found a place I want to be buried yet. This was most definitely a place I could see myself being buried, a place where the kids could come and know mama felt home here, mama felt complete peace here, mama felt right and good and was called to live and do life all the best of ways here.

So I drove back to that suburb and those neighborhoods to make sure. The opportunity to check things out was passing quickly. Our plane was set to depart in six hours, and if the answer to all of this was going to be a YES, my husband would be turning his life around quick and very quick. We’d need to make a lot of important decisions from a long distance. So I needed to know. I needed to have a sense that this could be right, that this was right. I had a sense. Yes, that morning, I had a deep sense that this could be right, that this WAS absolutely right.

I grabbed chicken, beans and coleslaw for lunch and drove back to the city. Drove around the loop 20, maybe 30 times, waiting for a “come and get me” text from my husband. It was taking a while. This thing was not wrapping up fast. More waiting. More driving the loop. More wondering what life would be like if all of this ended with a YES. After all, he’d sent me a message earlier saying everything was going “AWESOME” in caps.

Finally, after circling the loop way too many times, I parked and waited.

I opened my window, felt the gentle breeze, and noticed a bird perched on the branches above.

I sat for a good 20 minutes, just staring that bird down, waiting for the “come and get me” text.

More crazy talk, I know. But it never occurred to me until later that the bird wasn’t singing. He was just sitting there, letting the breeze blow him around as he waited to fly to his next destination.

Perhaps that’s been me.

Perhaps that’s been us.

Perhaps God’s wanted more from us.

Perhaps God’s wanted more FOR us.

Perhaps God wants us to sing.

Eight days later in the 11:00 am hour, we got an answer.


A resounding NO.

We were floored.


Taken aback.


Deeply saddened and disappointed.

There were tears. Then silence. Then more tears.

What could have gone wrong? How could we have come THIS far, prayed THAT much, waited THIS long, been so patient and hopeful and trusting and wholly surrendered, for the answer to be NO?

We had our story ALL WRONG.

We had it ALL WRONG.

All the ways we added it up over the course of 2 1/2 months for this one gigantic once-in-a-lifetime opportunity were flat out WRONG.

We thought God had called us. We thought it all made sense. We thought our callings were merging for the first time in nearly 19 years of marriage.

All we needed was for God to give us one more YES.

And instead, it was NO.

I grieved deeply.

Then anger emerged, which turned to crabbiness and lifelessness.

I didn’t know anything anymore.

I don’t know anything anymore.

One after another, questions poured out of my soul.

Can I trust my own gut?

Can I trust my own intuition?

Can I trust what I’ve PERCEIVED to be the Holy Spirit prompting me, leading me, working in and through me?

Have I heard God’s voice correctly?

Do I even know what God’s voice sounds like?

Maybe I thought I’ve been hearing God’s voice when in reality I haven’t been at all?

What if I thought I knew how to discern God’s voice from all the others, and really, I had no clue?

And what about prayer?

Perhaps I’ve gotten it ALL. WRONG.

Perhaps I’ve been ALL. WRONG.

Perhaps my spiritual side is lacking infinitely more than I thought it was.

Perhaps my perceptions have been WAY off.

Perhaps I don’t have the intimate relationship with God that I thought I did.

For CERTAIN, God is still good, even when things don’t go my way, even when things don’t turn out the way I thought He was planning. But perhaps, my definition of good, my definition of God was simply OFF, simply wrong, simply twisted into some saccharin, worldly version that simply isn’t true.

I thought I had it figured out at least a little bit. Now I’m not sure I have it figured out at all.

Then I asked the question of all questions, the question I’ve only asked one other time in my life. Can PEOPLE get in the way of GOD’S PLANS? I guess the answer is yes? But then again, no? Now I’m not certain at all. My philosophy, my theology is clearly lacking.

Needless to say, this experience led me into territory I’d never traveled before.

I don’t know anything. God knows everything. Anytime I think I have a grasp on life, a grasp of what might be happening, I should just surrender and say “Hey God, take the wheel, do what you want because honestly, I have no clue what’s best for me. Just let me live the story you want me to live.”

Trees blow in the wind. Flowers flourish in the summer sun. And my five-year-old daughter asks “How did all this stuff get in my fingers?” I tell her “God. God put it there. God made you.” I have no other words. Those are the things I know for sure. God made the wind. God made flowers. God made greens. God made my five year old and all the things inside her tiny little body. There’s a purpose for and behind it all.

God made me and He will not abandon me. God made my husband and He will not abandon my husband. God made my children and He will not abandon my children. When He leads us down long paths that seem righteous and right, He has the authority to turn us around and lead us straight back to where we came from.

God is mysterious. His ways are NOT our ways. He works in ways we cannot see, in ways we’re unable to perceive. He leads us down paths that don’t make sense. He gives us YES, YES, and YES, only to give us NO. We have no other choice but to trust Him, whether it’s a YES or a NO, whether it’s a YES and a NO. His purpose is to draw us closer, to make us more like Jesus.

Four weeks ago when we received the NO, I felt like I was standing in a room with no windows, no doors, no way out. I couldn’t believe the answer was NO after all that, and I didn’t have a clue as to what was next. Today, I feel like I’m standing still in an open field, just watching and waiting, saying “I don’t know anything anymore. I see you, God. I believe in Jesus. But I don’t understand where you’re going with this. Help me see. Help me trust you again. Help me trust myself again. Help me be who you want me to be. Help me die to myself. Help me see WHY we’re right back where we started. Help me see why you led us through all of that for a NO. Help me understand. Help me believe again. Help me wait for what’s next. Help me hope.”

And I think of a mama who lost her baby boy, a mother and writer who was killed in a house fire with her husband and two kids, an auntie whose 18-year-old nephew contracted the flu and ended up dead two weeks later, a friend whose long-awaited house deal fell through, the sweet baby girl who witnessed a shooting, the kids in Kenya who have gaping holes in their shoes, all the people standing in the middle of a field waiting for an answer, crying out to God, “We had our story all wrong. We acknowledge you. We see you blowing in the breeze, we see you in the flowers and the trees, we hear you singing your song, we know you’re here, but we’re waiting. We’re still waiting. Show us how to hope. Show us how to live. Show us how to be fully alive, even if, even still, even now.”

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  • JanaJune 21, 2017 - 9:02 pm

    Amy – Thank you for writing this & hitting “publish.” People need to hear this. Yes, I have been down a road that felt like all yeses & now feels like one gigantic heartbreaking “no” with no idea how or when or if it will change. Your piece reminds me, reminds us that there *are* certainties we can cling to, if we choose to. Hard as it is, sometimes. – grace & peaceReplyCancel

  • RaquelJune 21, 2017 - 3:33 pm

    Praying for you and your family. God has something for you. Something bigger than both you guys can dream. Our flesh is never good at waiting. Praying for peace and knowing to come over you guys and Gods timing to be soon. Hugs!ReplyCancel

This is a story about volunteering written by my younger sister, Tiffany, who has a diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type. Tiffany has shared regular stories on my site since February 2015. The purpose of her writing is to raise awareness of what it’s like to live with mental illness. I’m hoping her stories will help readers recognize that we all have hopes, dreams, challenges and mountains to climb regardless of our mental health status. If you’d like to read the stories I’ve written about Tiffany’s journey and all the stories she’s shared on this site, check out Tiffany’s Story. Without further ado, here’s Tiffany.

I can’t work full-time or even part-time right now because my Schizoaffective disorder, anxiety and other mental health conditions do not allow me to. I get overwhelmed and shut down if things are not in an exact order. Work is usually not in an exact order. I get overwhelmed, don’t get enough sleep and in the past have always quit the job I had. Usually I thought that other workers were plotting against me. That is why my current situation is a perfect reason to volunteer. I volunteer so I can be productive and help people at the same time.

A few of the volunteer jobs I’ve had are college writing tutor, tour guide at the University of Minnesota in Duluth (UMD), emergency room communications, public relations intern, street team efforts for a well-known music company, television news room volunteer and Vice President for my daughter’s Head Start program. I’d like to share a few of my volunteer experiences with you and explain how those opportunities led me to be the person I am now.

One of my degrees in college was Professional Writing. I took a number of courses in writing, and was referred by the Communications department to be a writing tutor. I was a writing tutor for a couple years. I was honored to be a tutor, and had a great time working with various students. There were many times that I’d have to ask other tutors for help or I’d look in my writing manual. Being a writing tutor gave me the confidence I needed to use writing skills in future jobs.

During college, I was also a volunteer tour guide. I gave tours to prospective students who were looking at UMD. I usually talked the entire time during the tours, and pointed out areas of significance at the University. I surprised myself during the tours because I knew more than I thought I did. I really enjoyed that volunteer job. The volunteer tour guide job helped my confidence as an individual.

I was a busy girl during college. For one of my courses, I had to select from a few volunteer opportunities. I chose to volunteer in the emergency room in Duluth, Minnesota. I would visit with the patients that came into the emergency room, and I led them to where they needed to be. I would often hang out with children. I also noticed a high number of homeless people who would come in for shelter, especially during the chilly winter months. This particular volunteer experience sparked my love for helping people in crisis. Being a volunteer in the emergency room was one of my favorite volunteer experiences during college!

One of my college courses also involved volunteering for a communications job. At the time, I was working for a television station as a News Producer. I also wanted to explore working for a public relations agency, so I volunteered for a well-known public relations firm in town. I worked on various projects they needed help with, and really got to explore what public relations was all about. This particular volunteer job led me to work for a public relations firm in Minneapolis after I graduated from college. I was starting to show severe symptoms of mental health issues, and only stayed at that job for a couple years because of my move to Los Angeles. But working in the public relations industry was very rewarding.

I lived in Minneapolis area on and off for a couple years. Almost daily, I would go to the local coffee shop that had computers to explore volunteer and job opportunities. I came across a music company called V2 who were looking for street team volunteers. Due to my experience, I started volunteering for V2 shortly after my communications with them. They would send me hundreds of posters to hang and CDs to give out on the street. Some of the musicians I worked for were the White Stripes, Moby and Zap Mamma. I was also in charge of picking the musicians up from the airport if they had events in town. One day I spent the day with Zap Mamma. Do you know who she is? I picked her up from the airport, went to a radio show with her and attended her concert. I LOVED getting the Moby merchandise because he’s always been my favorite musician. During this experience, my mental health was getting worse. I would sit and read books for days, thinking they were speaking to me. I was told to pick up Moby from the airport and to get him to locations he needed to be at. I unfortunately missed meeting Moby because I was doing horribly mentally. I had to cancel this volunteer opportunity because I was so messed up. I still think about this opportunity and regret my decision to cancel. Working as a V2 volunteer ended when I decided to move to a new town. The opportunity was amazing, and I often wish I lived in a bigger city to do something like that again.

My daughter was involved in Head Start during preschool. I volunteered to be Vice President while she was in that program. Once again, I surprised myself with what I could accomplish. I ran several meetings alone because the President was not there. I chose to do this volunteer job because I wanted to reassure myself that I could accomplish volunteer jobs that would lead me to future opportunities.

The most recent volunteer job that I had for a very short time was in the local newsroom in the city I currently live in. As I stated earlier, I was a news producer in my early 20s. I knew how to run most of the newsroom operations, but I was not familiar with many things, including camera operations. I gave up on the newsroom volunteer opportunity because I did not have the confidence I needed to succeed.

Volunteering makes me feel good about myself. I’ve also learned that many people have problems as bad as mine or worse. I am not currently volunteering, so I hope I can find other volunteer opportunities in the near future. I need to find opportunities that fit well with my mental health issues and being a mother of two young children. Volunteer opportunities can be awesome if you can find the right fit for your lifestyle!


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Something’s come to my attention, moms. Something’s on my heart this Mother’s Day.

Too often, we write ourselves out of our own story.

When our first child was two or three years old, I remember being at my in-law’s house and asking them to watch our son for a couple hours so I could get out and have some time by myself. The outing wasn’t complicated – all I did was go to the mall and meander around for a while – but my memories remain vivid 12-13 years later. I remember feeling completely free as I strolled around the mall that day. Free to be me. Just me. I also remember feeling guilty for feeling so free. After all, I was visiting my in-laws, and wouldn’t it be better for me to be spending time with them since we were there for such a short time? Shouldn’t I want to be with my precious son every waking hour of every waking day? Why was a 2-hour mall outing so important? What did I really have to buy or do there anyway?

The truth is, my default way of thinking and behaving was to write myself out of my story because I’d become a mom. I didn’t want to acknowledge that I needed time for me as a woman, NOT just time for me as a mom. But that day at the mall, I knew it, I could feel it. I needed to write myself back into my own story. I needed to KEEP myself in my story.

Fast forward to the fall of 2012. It was time for our annual photo shoot, so I wanted to secure coordinated clothing for our family of five. I found an outfit for our baby first. A super cute bright yellow sweater with a porcupine on front and a polka dot skirt with striped tights. (Hello, adorable! How cute is that?!) Then came clothes for my oldest daughter. A stunning green sundress with rick rack and a ribbon hair bow to match. Next up, my son. Gap Kids had the perfect plaid button down. Navy blue with tan, pink and yellow accents. Totally boyish but pulled in a bit of flair from the girls. Thankfully, my husband took care of himself. But oops…then there was me, the last person to secure an outfit for our photos. I really needed something nice as I was planning on taking head shots for my website during our family shoot. After all that shopping and searching for the kids, I realized I hadn’t even begun to think about myself. What was I going to wear? I remember searching and searching for something, feeling like I’d never find anything. I had literally forgotten about myself in the process, then when I finally DID remember myself, I had a hard time finding something that fit and represented me as a woman, not just me as a mom. Thank heavens, I have ONE store that fits the bill every time. I had to tell myself it was okay to go there. It was okay to spend a little more than I had planned on myself. It was okay to say YES to myself. This looks beautiful. You deserve to look and feel beautiful in these pictures just as much as the kids.

The truth is, my default way of thinking and behaving was to write myself out of my story because I was a mom. I wasn’t willing to acknowledge that I was a legitimate part of the family as a woman, not JUST because I was the mom. But that day searching for clothes for our family photo shoot, I knew it, I could feel it. I needed to write myself back into my own story. I needed to KEEP myself in my story.

Fast forward to this week. For nearly four months, I’ve been praying a 6-word prayer. Someday, I’ll share that prayer, maybe even in a book. But it’s not time yet. For now, here’s all you need to know. TWO of the words in that six-word prayer are US, as in OUR FAMILY. On Wednesday as I was working out, it occurred to me that I really should ALSO be praying that prayer with the word ME in it. So for the first time ever, I prayed that prayer with the word ME instead of US. Yes, I prayed it BOTH ways, for ME and for US. My gut wanted to feel all kinds of guilt for praying that prayer for ME. But honestly? A bigger part of me wondered how I’d been so blind to have never thought of it until four months in. After all, I was a part of this unfolding story, too. Me, Amy. God has a plan for ME. Why would I not pray for ME in the same way I’ve prayed for US? It sounds self-centered, but some of us need to remember to pray for and tend to ourselves, just as much as we pray for and tend to others.

The truth is, my default way of thinking and behaving has been to write myself out of my story because I’m first and foremost a mom. I haven’t wanted to acknowledge that I need prayer as a woman, NOT just prayer as a mom. But as I prayed for our family and for myself this week, I knew it, I could feel it. I needed to write myself back into my own story. I needed to KEEP myself in my story.

So moms, I just have to ask. How are you writing yourself out of your own story this Mother’s Day? How have you written yourself out of your own story in the past? If you take a moment to really think about it, I bet you’ve written yourself out of your story at least once. More likely? You’ve written yourself out of your story hundreds of times…just like me. We can do better, friends. We are worth it. We are moms, but we are ALSO so much more.

Write yourself back into your story.

Do it for yourself. Do it for the world. Do it so God’s light can shine FULLY through you.

Wonderful you.

Beautiful you.

Just you.