Once upon a time there was a father….

Once upon a time a there was a little girl who lived in a large kingdom. The kingdom was full of many exciting things and many beautiful people. And yet the little girl often felt scared, unsure, and hesitant. She was a very quiet little girl, surrounded by noise and chatter. Day after day she would watch the goings on of the kingdom with yearning.

“Will I ever feel unafraid?” she would ask her toy bears and dolls, the only creatures with whom she felt comfortable enough to converse. “Will I ever be brave?” she whispered, too afraid at times to speak up even to her friends made of cloth and stuffing.

As little girls are prone to do, this one dreamed big dreams and wished big wishes.

Yet, when dreams and wishes go unspoken they often float away like dandelion seeds.

This little girl had so many dreams, yet no voice with which to speak them. For talking did not come easily to her.

Yet, this particular little girl had a father, one of the wisest and kindest in the kingdom (who would often say that his wisdom and kindness came from his dear wife). And this father could see the dreams that lay just beyond his daughter’s voice, just out of her reach.

For he too knew the fleetingness of unspoken dreams.

And so he took a most special tool, one that he knew had the power to unlock his little girl’s hidden dreams. He held the tool most gently as he crafted a masterpiece for his young daughter.

“What do you think?” he asked his wife.

“I think you are wonderful,” she answered, praying that this would help their quiet little one.

“Where should I leave it?” the father asked.

His wife looked around their little cozy cottage. “There,” she said pointing to the pot used to make the morning coffee.

Smiles were exchanged and the masterpiece was left, right where they knew their daughter would find it the next morning.

As the morning sun chased away the lingering darkness, the little girl’s bare feet carried her to the kitchen. In search of her favorite bowl and cup, she was startled to find a sheet of paper propped up against the large coffee pot. Curiosity drove her gaze toward the white page. Her name was at the top. Bowl forgotten, she picked up the letter and began to read:

My sweet daughter, 
I know that speaking is hard for you, and so I have devised a way for us to converse.
I will write to you about my day and then you can write back about yours. I will share with you my thoughts and dreams, and then you can tell me yours. 

What do you think? 
If you like the idea then I shall begin with a dream I have for you:
My dream for you, my little one, is that you will always feel loved, and that that love will lead you to do brave and wonderful things. I pray that you will find great courage and compassion as you grow, and that you will find your voice and the strength to use it.
Now, what is a dream you have for yourself?
Anxious to hear back from you, 
Your loving father 

The little girl held the letter to her heart as she wiped tears from her large brown eyes. A strange and exciting feeling began building in her stomach. It climbed higher and higher, spreading all the way to her fingers. At once, as if moved by an unseen force, she ran to her room, rustling through three drawers until she found what she was looking for.

A pen.

She wrote. And she wrote. Trapped and silent no more, words poured forth from her heart. She shared her dreams. She shared her thoughts. She shared her fears.

That night, with their cozy cottage bathed in moonlight, two little bare feet scampered down the hallway, a letter clutched to a little girl’s chest. With the upmost care she deposited her treasure in the same way she had found the first, leaning against the coffee pot.

She ran back to her room lighter and more carefree than she had left. She hugged her bear as she laid in bed.

“Mr. Bear,” she whispered in her darkened room, “Maybe I can be brave after all.”


To all the daddy’s who make their little ones feel a little braver, who give their children strength to pursue their dreams, and whose love propels their children to love others…thank you and Happy Father’s Day!

And to my Daddy, my hero, my constant encourager….thank you for writing to me that first time and thus beginning our coffee pot chronicles. Thank you for giving me an outlet, a way to share my heart with you. And thank you for loving me with a fierce and protective love, a love that gave me strength, and courage, and a voice. There are not enough words in this world to express how I feel about you, so I will just say: I love you!

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If only you would let others see what I get to see…

I followed the melody up the stairs and into my son’s room. With at least two guitars, a harmonic, and an old recorder in his room, I am often greeted by music when I enter. But this night was different. There was a sound I couldn’t place coming from his room. A whistle that, while familiar, was unidentifiable. I listened outside of his door, as the theme song from “Lord of the Rings” was strummed on a guitar and whistled on a….What was that thing? And how was he making both sounds at the same time?

I walked into his room, convinced I would find his dad or sister in there with him.

What I found instead was my son with his electric guitar in his hands, and a nose flute taped to his face!!!


I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was not that!
I was certainly not expecting to find my normally shy fourteen year old son sitting on his bed with a blue plastic nose contraption held to his face with masking tape, breathing out the tune to “Lord of the Rings” while strumming his white electric guitar.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Hard.

He tried to maintain his serious musician demeanor, but my laughter brought his own.

“What?” he finally asked, having caught his breath, “You don’t like my act? I’m practicing for America’s Got Talent!”


The hysterics started again at the image those words conjured up.

“Oh buddy,” I said, trying to catch my breath, “If only you would let others see what I get to see.

We laughed some more. He played “The Sound of Silence,” “Seven Years,” and “Amazing Grace” on his nose flute. We talked about the book he is reading. Prayed and I told him goodnight.

As I went in to brush my teeth, my own words fluttered back through my mind….”If only you would let others see what I get to see.”

You see my son, who is wickedly funny and absurdly silly at home, is guarded and quiet with most everyone else. Only a handful of people ever get to see the side of him that I get to see.

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I get to see his intelligence and curiosity.
I get to witness his antics and impersonations.
I get to laugh at his jokes and observations.
And I get to discuss his deep, mind-bending questions.

I adore what I see. I get excited about what I see. But convincing him to allow others to see it, is a whole other matter.

If only you would let others see what I get to see.….

The words swirl around my thoughts, stirring up images and memories from long ago:

A little girl hiding behind her daddy’s leg, afraid to talk to people. Yet talking non-stop at home, eager to share about her day.
A shy young girl, singing into a hairbrush in her room, dreaming of one day singing on a stage.
An awkward teenager so afraid of drawing attention to herself, yet longing to stand out for Jesus in some way.


I am reminded that I too was guarded. I too was scared. I too hid and tried to go unnoticed. And yet all along

God saw.
God noticed.
God delighted.

And He placed something in me that He longed for others to see.

A calling.
A light.

How often do we hide who God has made us to be?


How often do we bury the calling He has placed on our lives.

We delight our Father. You delight your heavenly Father.

And yet, we live timid. Unsure. Afraid.

If only you would let others see what I get to see…..

What might God want us let others see? What has He called you to do that you are doing, but hiding in your room doing?

Maybe, just maybe, today would be the day that we are willing to take our nose flute-guitar act on the road and let others see what He sees….

Much love,

God may have called you, but it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s gonna be easy….

I thought it would be a piece of cake. I honestly expected waters to miraculously part, doors to spontaneously open, and words to effortlessly flow. In fact, I not only expected it, but assumed it was part of the package deal. You know, the “God calls you and He’ll do it” special.


And truth be told, I even thought that if things became difficult then maybe that meant I shouldn’t be doing this.

I truly believed that my heavenly calling would exempt me from the hard work of doing.


(Apparently, I figured that all those stories in the Bible of people striving, working, waiting, failing and even suffering in their calling-aka Abraham, Moses, David, Jeremiah, Peter, Paul- didn’t apply to my calling. Um, hello…pride!)

The embarrassing truth is, I thought that because God had called me to do something (in my case write a book) everything would be easy.

Boy. Was. I. Wrong.

While there have been certain aspects which have come easily, others have been very difficult. I often feel out of my league. Overwhelmed. Afraid. Tired. Distracted. Frustrated.




At times those waters, which I assumed would miraculously part before me, have left me tossed and turned with their churning. The doors I assumed would be thrown open have felt nailed shut. And the words I believed would be poured out of me dripped out in a painfully slow trickle.

Yet, with each difficulty, with each labored step forward, God has shown me a clearer glimpse of His faithfulness.


A faithfulness which is not dependent on my performance.

A faithfulness which is not hindered by my lack.

A faithfulness which is not lessened by my fear.

And a faithfulness which is not diminished by my frustrated confusion.

The truth is, the more difficult the journey, the greater the opportunity to see God’s might and faithfulness.

And the rougher the road, the more painful the falls, and rugged the terrain, the more opportunities to find ourselves surrounded and upheld by the arms of Love.

Sure, some callings lead to easy roads where the way is laid wide open before you.


But, other callings lead to winding roads, steep roads, uncharted roads full of unknown dangers and difficulties.


Yet, our God never changes. And He who calls us is faithful.

He may not pave the road, but He promises to hold our hands as we traverse the way.


We have an enemy who loves nothing more than getting us off course, taunting us with the difficulties we face. Whispering lies that difficulties mean God is not with us.

Yet, testimonies drift from heavenly voices –

“God is with us while lion’s crouch before us.”
“God is with us when the fire rages around us.”
“God is with us, even in a jail cell.”
“God is with us when all others have turned away.”

God is faithful, no matter our circumstances or feelings. And if He has called us to do something, then He will accomplish it. Even if the way He does so, looks nothing like we thought it would.

And so….

I type. I edit. I rewrite.

I cry. I pray. I eat chocolate.

And….I trust. In a God who has proven over and over again that He is, and always will be,




Much love,