This was six-year-old me.
It’s back when wood paneled, station wagons were the rage, and Otter Pops were a part of the food pyramid. I grew up in the Midwest. Part Michigander, part Hoosier, part Chicagoan.
In 1987, I met a cute boy in a green, Ocean Pacific shirt who was so not my type. In 1993, I sported a sparkly, red, mermaid dress and attended prom with him. In 1994, I swore him off. In 1998, we both attended this little event.
Throughout most of my life, Christians made me feel itchy like a bad sweater. However, through a crazy series of events (and because God knows I never do things the ordinary way), I met Christ through a medicine man on a Navajo reservation. Since that time, God has flung His goodness and grace all over my life.
If we ever meet in real-life, count on me bombarding you with questions. I do this because I yearn to know the stories behind the faces, and it’s also a sneaky way for me to avoid telling you too much about me.
When I was a child, I wrote stories in my head and forced unsuspecting neighbor children to listen. Now, I write for oodles of online and print publications.
I am psyched you are here. I can tell I am going to like you. I know we just met, but trust me on this one. It’s a done deal.
Let’s Connect on Instagram