It took us four flights and nearly two days to get to our final destination in Kenya, Africa.

Minneapolis to Chicago.

Chicago to Frankfurt, Germany.

Frankfurt to Nairobi, Kenya.

Then a brief overnight stay in Nairobi followed by another flight and an hour-long drive to our final destination, Love for Kenya’s Shangilia Orphanage.

As our final flight landed, the attendant announced, ”We wish you a very good morning and have a blessed Sunday.” Anna and I looked at each other and simultaneously noted the wish for a “BLESSED Sunday.”

No doubt, we’ve already experienced ups and downs on this trip. A lost piece of luggage. Another piece of luggage left at the airport. A team member who became notably lightheaded at the airport in Nairobi and required attention to stabilize.

But all in all, the day and journey has been blessed, indeed.

Five Kenyans greeted us at the airport. Our team of 10, along with the five Kenyans, loaded our bags into three vehicles.

On the way to Shangilia Orphanage, we took in the sights and sounds of Kenya, asking the driver, Richard, a hundred questions about this and that.

Street kids picked through garbage on the side of the road.

The occasional grand estate for those who don’t care to live in the heart of the city.

Men sitting by trees and perched on half-built buildings.

Abandoned gas stations.

Discarded sugar cane littering the streets.

Cars stopped waiting for cows to cross the road.

A quick stop at the equator, even though the sign marking the landmark was removed long ago.

I put my hand out the open window and let it catch the wind as we drove down the bumpy, rocky, red dirt roads. There’s a unique freedom felt here in Kenya. It looks different from our American freedom, but nonetheless, it’s freedom.

Finally we arrived at our final destination, Shangilia Orphanage.

We heard the kids before we saw them.

There they were. The most adorable group of kids and staff huddled together, greeting us in song. We got out of our vehicles and listened to the sweet, sweet song accompanied by clapping, clapping and more clapping.

We were moved. Me, nearly to tears a few times. I looked across the way and saw the team wearing big smiles and others in near tears, too.

THIS is why we came all the way to Kenya, Africa. THIS is why we traveled down long, bumpy, red, rocky dirt roads to Shangilia Orphanage. To visit the sweet orphans, the sweet children of God, and let them know they are loved to the ends of the earth.

The sense of unity was most definitely felt. We are one. We are human. We are God’s children. We are here – together, in this place, on this earth – for a reason.

The sweet, sweet song ended. We made introductions, unloaded luggage from the three vehicles and brought it to the huts we’ll call home for the week. We got settled a bit, then acclimated to our new surroundings.

Our team toured the old boys’ dorm and new boys’ dorm that will open this week if all goes well. We toured the property, including the bathrooms, old homestead, soccer court, girls’ dorm, cooking building, and living area. Near the girls’ dorm, children were actively engaged in making chipottee for tonight’s dinner. Randy even tried his hand at making a few. No doubt, rolling the dough was harder than it looked. But these kids clearly had plenty of practice. Staff made it clear. They’re working hard to teach the children skills they’ll need for life. They’re certainly doing their job. The kids were hard at work patting, rolling, and frying the dough one after the other, after the other.

Our day ended with dinner at the former orphanage director’s house, followed by a team meeting, planning for tomorrow, and an early bedtime for most.

Goodnight, friends. Goodnight from Kenya. Tomorrow will be our first full day here at the orphanage. Tomorrow, we pray God’s will be done.

Amy & Team

This blog post is part of a series I’m writing about my journey to Kenya, Africa, with the nonprofit organization, Love for Kenya, in the fall of 2015. Click here and you’ll be directed to the landing page where you can read ALL the posts from the series. If you haven’t already, read the post I wrote when I announced the trip. Otherwise, scroll to the bottom and you’ll find ALL the Kenya posts listed and linked for your reading enjoyment. Thanks for joining the journey, friends.

Hello, friends! Happy Thanksgiving!

It’s hard to believe, but only one more day and we’ll be on our way to Kenya, Africa, for our mission trip.

Our team consists of 10. Randy. Another Randy. Nate. Anna. Matt. Maggie. Paul. Jamie. Lacey. And me, Amy.

It’s fascinating, really. God called each one of us, uniquely, to go on this trip to Kenya. He brought us together – at this exact point in history, His Story – to form a team.

Our mission? To share the love of our Heavenly Father. To share the love and sweet promises of Jesus. To LOVE Kenyans.

Friday morning, we’ll meet at the airport and make our way to Kenya, Africa, on a series of flights. We’d appreciate prayers for smooth and safe flights, for quick clearance through customs, and for ALL 10 of us and our 20, 50-pound duffle bags to arrive safely in Nairobi, Kenya.

Kenya is NINE hours AHEAD of our home state of Minnesota, so by the time we arrive at our final destination, it’ll be early Sunday morning in Kenya!

Our trip is 10 days long.

While we’re in Africa, we’ll be partnering with a nonprofit organization called Love For Kenya. Our team will be engaging extensively with orphans, widows, staff and local villagers. We’ll spend a lot of time at the orphanage with the children, but will also be spending a fair amount of time in the community building relationships, meeting peoples’ needs, sharing our faith, praying for people, and doing work projects and large-scale outreach projects as we feel led. Personally, I’m really looking forward to a whole day we’ll spend with a group of widows who are considered outcasts, scums of the earth, in Africa. Before we leave, our team will be taking a safari and will also be spending a short time at the Kibera Slums in Nairobi, the largest urban slum in Africa.

Our team leader, Randy, told us that this mission trip will be incredibly RELATIONAL.

We’re as prepared as we can be, friends.

We’re fully funded. (Thank you, thank you, kind and generous supporters!)

We’ve met several times for training and preparations.

We’ve gotten all the recommended vaccinations.

We’ve gathered supplies.

We’ve packed our bags.

We’ve prayed.

And we’ve prepared our hearts.

We’re nearly on our way. One more day.

Kenya here we come.

May God bless us and go before us.

Thank you, friends, for joining our journey. It’s an honor to have you follow along. Thank you in advance for your prayers and support from a distance.

Amy & Team

This blog post is part of a series I’m writing about my journey to Kenya, Africa, with the nonprofit organization, Love for Kenya, in the fall of 2015. Click here and you’ll be directed to the landing page where you can read ALL the posts from the series. If you haven’t already, read the post I wrote when I announced the trip. Otherwise, scroll to the bottom and you’ll find ALL the Kenya posts listed and linked for your reading enjoyment. Thanks for joining the journey, friends.

I never, ever planned to go to Africa in the fall of 2015.

In 2023 for our 25th wedding anniversary? Yes.

In 2041 for an awesome opportunity to write and photograph on behalf of a nonprofit doing outstanding work with the least of these? Yes. Awesome. I’ll be more than ready for that.

But 2015?

Never. Ever.

Not yet.

Give me at least a couple years, okay God? Umm…I didn’t plan on this now. At all. Can I just have some time to save? Can I just have some time to plan? Can I just have some time to let my kids get older and my husband get used to the idea of me flying off to Africa? Can I just have some time to get ready for whatever it is I think I need to be “prepared” for a trip to Africa?

I was invited to travel to Africa on June 1st.

I gave a firm NO to the trip on July 7th.

Then I gave a firm YES on August 29th.

One week from today, I’ll be on the plane to Africa.

Unbelievable.

This mission trip to Africa was a weird mix of God’s call vs. the enemy’s attack from day one. I spent most of the summer of 2015 feeling God’s strong and unexpected call to GO to Africa. But I also spent much of the summer of 2015 feeling the enemy’s attack, the enemy’s every scheme and plan to make this thing fail.

It was brutal at times.

Spirit crushing.

Humbling.

Life changing.

Inspiring and heartwarming, too.

As I stated in my intro post two months ago, I fully intend to guard and keep those three months close to my heart.

Sure, I didn’t plan to go to Africa this fall. Not at all.

But this trip is no mistake.

My saying NO, then YES is no mistake.

Make no mistake, I’ve been on the battlegrounds, the battlegrounds of good vs. evil, of God’s calling vs. the enemy’s plans to kill and destroy.

After I said YES to the Africa mission trip on August 29th and then made the news public on my blog a few weeks later, the attack subsided. Notably. The response from family, friends, blog readers and fellow writers was amazing. My in-laws agreed to help with child care. The remaining balance of my Africa trip was miraculously paid in full by generous and kind friends, family, blog readers, and two photography clients who gave me “extra” to go towards my Africa trip. I put out a call for supply donations on Facebook, and special friends responded with crazy generous and abundant donations of socks, underwear, clothing, shoes and kid movies. Last Sunday, our team gathered and had more than enough supplies to fill 10, 50-pound duffle bags for Africa. And yes, there will be 10 MORE 50-pound duffle bags filled by the time we leave next week.

God has provided.

God has flung open doors.

God has confirmed – abundantly, excessively, faithfully, clearly – that He wants me to go on this mission trip to Africa.

I thought the attacks were done.

Everything was going smoothly.

All the doors were wide open.

God’s provision for this trip has been ridiculously good. Up until today, the title of this post was going to be simply that – Ridiculous Provision.

But today, one week from our team’s departure for Africa, I’m feeling attacks come on again. The enemy of my soul would rather I quit, drop out, say “sorry, I’m not going anymore, this isn’t going to work.”

Last night, I had a dream (or should I say, nightmare) that five armed gunmen entered our home and were going to kill us. In the end, all I could do was beg them to spare our lives with “Please don’t kill me, I’m a mom.” And “Please don’t kill her, she’s my little girl.” I cowered and begged these things while guns were pointing at me. Then I woke up and let a few silent tears fall before moving on with the rest of my day as usual.

Two hours later, I found myself at Kohl’s department store after my morning workout. I wanted to look through final clearance racks to see if I could find ONE MORE long skirt or long dress, and ONE MORE lightweight wrap or short-sleeve cardigan for Africa. I’ve known I’ve needed at least ONE MORE outfit to bring, and the items had been on my to-do list for more than a month. So I got my three-year-old daughter a cart, and headed straight for the junior 80% clearance racks in search of $5-$10 bargains on Africa wear.

I found a white wrap with orange details on super clearance. Seriously perfect and lightweight for wearing over any dress or long skirt. Hung it over our cart. Found another loose 3/4 length shirt also perfect for wearing over any dress or long skirt. Was just beginning to look through the racks for a long skirt or long dress.

My daughter was behaving incredibly well, but wanted to get out of the cart. That was fine, but I knew she needed to stay close. I was talking to her often, and monitoring where she was and what she was doing. She was looking at some flannel shirts to one side of me, and I was looking at the clearance rack on the other side. I’d JUST seen her. She was JUST touching that flannel shirt. I JUST told her to “Stay right by me, okay?” And she even responded, “Okay.”

As I lifted a long black and white dress off the rack, something told me I needed to look back at my daughter again, even though she had LITERALLY just said “okay” to my direction to “stay right by me.”

My intuition was right. She was GONE. GONE!

I couldn’t find her!

My instinct told me to get down on the floor and search for her feet, for her little pink crocs, as I know she has historically attempted to hide in department store racks and thinks it’s so funny.

I expected to see her crocs in the clearance rack I’d been searching.

But I didn’t see her crocs anywhere. I stayed down on the floor and crawled, searching everywhere in the immediate area for her crocs, for my Maisie. I started calling her name, “Maisie.” “Maisie. “Maisie.” “Maisie.”

No answer.

No crocs.

No sign of little feet anywhere.

No response to her name. At all.

No Maisie anywhere!

I ran over to the cashier. Thankfully, I was close. I told the first cashier I found…”My daughter is missing. I can’t find her anywhere. Please put a code up for a lost child immediately.”

The elderly woman in line heard me. In my peripheral vision, I saw her panic and stare as I ran back to where Maisie was supposed to be.

I returned and resumed calling and searching, louder and louder.

“Maisie.”

“Maisie.”

“Maisie!”

“Maisie!!”

“Maisie!!!”

I heard “Code Adam” called on Kohl’s intercom. More than once. Everybody was staring my way. I was frantic, running around, calling her name louder and louder “Maisie, Maisie, Maisie!” I was ducking up and down, looking for those crocs, looking for her puffy little leopard coat. I didn’t care what anyone thought. I didn’t care AT ALL. My baby was missing and nobody had found her. I was crying. I had lost it and I was out of control. An employee asked me what she was wearing, how old she was. I could barely find the words, I could barely utter the words. I answered as quick as I could and kept searching. “Maisie!” “Maisie!” “Maisie!”

I was crazy loud. Loud. Louder. Even louder.

All worries about anyone else or what they thought or how crazy I was were GONE. Out the door. I needed to find my baby. And all I could think of were those evil gunmen I’d dreamed of last night, those evil gunmen ready to come and snag my baby from me in the ONE SECOND I wasn’t looking, the ONE SECOND I wasn’t fully on guard.

I was freaking out.

Crying.

Yelling.

“Maisie!!!!”

“Maisie!!!!!!!!!”

“Maisie!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Going in circles. Up and down. All around. Everywhere. Everyone was staring. Employees were running all around. Cautiously panicked on my behalf.

Then I heard her in the flurry and scurry, the woman who said “Wait, I think we found her! What kind of coat does she have? What color hair?”

The woman who alerted me was around the corner, so I left my panicked post. Another woman was tending my baby, walking her towards me, down Kohl’s way. There she was. My Maisie in her leopard coat.

I ran. I picked her up. I hugged her. I cried hard. Uncontrollably. Unabashedly.

And we left the store immediately. Without any clearance clothes for Africa.

I was shaking. Crying.

I asked my baby where she went, why she left.

“I wanted to see other people, I wanted to say hi.”

All of this because she wanted to say “hi?” And I’d JUST seen her and JUST told her to stay really close to me. And she’d JUST said “okay.”

I headed straight to the car. Opened the door. And put my baby in her carseat. I was still crying notably and an African American woman wearing a pure white winter coat happened to be getting out of her car next to us. She asked if I was okay. “Actually, I just lost her in Kohl’s. They had to call Code Adam, so I’m still recovering,” I said.

She gave me a hug.

“I’m glad she’s safe, sweetheart. Jesus is good. Jesus is good.”

I felt attacked. Big time. Twice in one day.

Yet, oddly enough, I also felt incredibly protected.

Through the crazy and ridiculously scary momentary loss of my daughter in Kohl’s, I learned what it REALLY means to be CALLED.

God’s call is NOT something to be ignored.

He will go out of His way.

He will yell and search and gently “scream” until we listen, until we hear, until we FIND Him, land safely in His arms and follow His way, His plan for our lives.

This is not a joke.

This is not mystical.

This is not crazy talk.

It’s real.

God’s call is real and live and active.

He is CALLING each one of us. Now. Today. Somewhere. Somehow. Uniquely.

I’m telling you, friends. Today, I learned – in the most horrible of circumstances – that God is serious about His call. He is serious about His children STAYING with Him, FOLLOWING Him, and LISTENING to Him. That includes you and me, friends. We’re children of God. Don’t stray. Don’t go your own way. Don’t look left and right, worrying about “saying hi” to this person and that, doing this thing and that thing. Stick with your father, your Heavenly Father. He knows best. He IS the Way.

All of this to say, I’m going to Africa.

I’ve been called.

There’s been a battle. Oh, most definitely.

But I’m not about to turn left or right or divert any which way.

This is a matter of obedience.

Pure obedience.

I don’t know what God’s got up His sleeve for me and Africa, but I’m going to trust. I’m going to follow. I’m going to believe. I’m just going. Because He says GO. NOW. “Stay right by me.”

 

 

 

This blog post is part of a series I’m writing about my journey to Kenya, Africa, with the nonprofit organization, Love for Kenya, in the fall of 2015. Click here and you’ll be directed to the landing page where you can read ALL the posts from the series. If you haven’t already, read the post I wrote when I announced the trip. Otherwise, scroll to the bottom and you’ll find ALL the Kenya posts listed and linked for your reading enjoyment. Thanks for joining the journey, friends.

This is a guest post written by my younger sister, Tiffany, who has a diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type. Once a month, Tiffany documents a single day in her life. The purpose of these posts is to raise awareness of what it’s like to live with mental illness. I’m also hoping the posts 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 posts I’ve written about Tiffany’s journey and all the guest posts she’s shared on this blog, check out the mental health page. Without further ado, here’s Tiffany.

I woke up feeling like I didn’t want to get out of bed. My five-year-old daughter, Raegan, asked me why we cry sometimes, but tears don’t come out. I told her those were silent tears. I was feeling the silent tears that day.

I told myself, happiness is your choice. Just choose to be happy.

My kids were still sleeping. My mom stopped over with my ADHD medication; she is in charge of giving me my ADHD medication at this time because I had issues taking that medication in the past. That morning, I didn’t feel very beautiful, inside or out. She told me that I certainly was beautiful, and I began to feel a bit better. I felt sad because I don’t get to see my mom very much when she substitute teaches, which she is doing now. We said I love you a few times before my mom left for school. I always tell her to have safe travels.

I continued to tell myself to make a choice to be happy!

My kids woke up a few minutes after my mom left. Raegan had unity day at school. She was supposed to wear orange, but I didn’t look through her backpack the night before to know that. I happened to throw on an orange and blue flannel. Raegan and I argued about what she was going to wear for a while. Nothing I selected for her was what she wanted to wear. Finally, she told me she needed to wear orange for unity day. We found an outfit that had orange in it. The day was definitely getting better.

Off to school we went. We took a picture for unity day in our orange outfits before Raegan went into school.

I kept telling myself, I am happy! The kids are happy, I hope?!

Next, I stopped over at a friend’s place and life started to feel a bit more unified. My friend had just gotten engaged and she asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. I am honored and excited. More happiness to add to the wonderful day!

I can’t remember much about the rest of that day except the lesson I learned:

I must keep telling myself to be happy when I’m feeling not-so happy. Telling myself to be happy every day has helped me ever since.

I remember being happy as a child, but at some point, mental illness attacked my mind. I am living and loving as much as I can, even with my mental illness. My support system is amazing and needed for the mental health issues I deal with on a daily basis.

My psychologist always asks me how life is going on a scale from 1-10. I used to say a consistent 7, sometimes 8. That’s pretty good, right? Along with making the decision to be happy, I also made the decision to reach some kind of 10 each day. That is pure happiness in life. I try to live one day at a time, and realize that positive self-talk is essential for living life to the fullest.

So is the glass half full or half empty? My psychologist and I talk about that sometimes. I told him last time that I already know the answer, so I don’t want to answer. If the glass is half full, then I’m an optimist. If the glass is half empty, then I’m a pessimist. I don’t really know what I am. I just try to turn those pessimistic moments into optimistic ones.

Happiness is your choice. Just choose to be happy.

Thanks for reading, everyone!

Tiffany

The journey became official on July 4, 1988. I was 12 years old, going into 7th grade. I cracked open my hot pink diary with an ice cream cone on top and began writing. It was an innocent act, for sure. But to me, it’s proof of my purpose.

I’m convinced. Or perhaps God’s convinced me quietly, time and time again.

Writing isn’t my hobby. It’s my calling.

I just haven’t gotten paid for it yet.

One diary turned into two, then three. Diaries turned into notebook journals. Notebook journals turned into store-bought journals. Teenage-angst journals turned into gratitude journals, love journals and pregnancy journals. Store-bought journals sufficed, yet again, post baby one and two. Then there was the seven-year computerized, therapeutic journal you’ve heard about if you’ve lingered long in this space from the beginning. Yes, all of this led to baby three and my blog launch in July 2012.

July is clearly my month of birth.

The past 3 1/2 years have been marked with tremendous personal and spiritual growth. My inner life is deep and incredibly rich. To know me well is to know that I’m much quieter on the outside than I am on the inside. 368 blog posts have been published and made public. 65 posts sit unpublished in my blog’s draft box. A leather, store-bought journal stamped with “A Penny For Your Thoughts” is nearly filled with notes and dreams of great big things, thoughts and truths I needed to speak out loud.

Some of you have listened.

Some of you have heard.

Some of you have loved my dreams.

Some of you have held them close.

Some of you have quietly affirmed.

Some of you have stood by me.

Some of you have pressed, asked and challenged.

Some of you simply don’t know.

Some of you I’ve been too afraid to tell.

Two of you called me an author last week – even though I didn’t believe it, even though I don’t believe it. “I’m not an author until I’m published.”

I’m a writer.

I own that.

But here’s the thing, friends.

I didn’t set out to become a professional blogger.

I wanted to become a writer.

I dreamed of becoming an author.

All those diaries and journals dating back to 1988? They’re proof that God was working something in me from the beginning, that He had a plan greater than my own, a plan to draw me and others closer to Him through words, through the Spirit moving in and through the everyday fabric of our lives.

The birth of my first baby marked the birth of the dream. In 2003, the dream began taking shape.

I wanted to write books.

I wanted to become an author.

I wanted to move people, to relate to people, to connect with people, to change people, to draw people closer to God and the purpose He has for their lives….in quiet and personal ways, through the written word.

I wanted to write words that make a difference, a lasting difference.

After my baby was born, I was shocked. Motherhood wasn’t anything like I expected. Heck, it still isn’t today. Motherhood is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, the hardest thing I’ll ever do. I needed to know I wasn’t alone in this mothering gig. I found solace and solidarity in the pages of real-life books on motherhood. Those books were unlike anything I’d ever read before. They opened my eyes. They helped me feel understood. They helped me realize I wasn’t alone. They changed me from the inside out.

Those books inspired me.

I wanted to move people like that. I wanted people to know they weren’t alone. I wanted to use my life exactly like that…to inspire and change people through the written, printed word.

So I began dreaming. I wrote the dreams out loud.

First dreams of authoring books appeared in my journals in 2003.

In November of 2006, I spoke my dream out loud to an established author and speaker who’s still alive and kicking today.

In March of 2007, I wrote a simple goal – to author one book on mothering. I defined the long-term vision. (It’s still the same vision I have today, only today’s vision is broader.) I brainstormed 19 book titles. No kidding. I even met with a local author for tips and researched domain names. (See, I was supposed to start blogging way back in 2007 when it was hip and new and the up-and-coming thing to do.)

The dream never went away. It just shifted.

In January of 2010, I started a blog, but never wrote a post.

In July of 2012, after being so exasperated with all the dreaming and writing in my head, I launched this blog. At that point, I’d been called to write publicly for nine years and hadn’t taken a LICK of real action. God is SO patient with us, friends, SO grace-filled. But he will gently remind you of His plan a million times if you don’t listen. After all, He’s a relentlessly loving God, too.

In October of 2014, I was presented with the opportunity to spend 20 minutes with a highly published and highly regarded author at a writing conference. From here on out, let’s refer to her as “Mama Bear.” When I approached Mama Bear, all I intended to do was thank her for her incredible leadership of our generation. All I wanted to do was tell her that I greatly respect and admire her, that when I “grow up,” I’d love to lead, love and write like she does. I told her all of those things. But she invited me in for more. I had no idea what was about to unfold. Add another dear writer friend and 20 minutes of conversation later, we found ourselves revealing our greatest writing dreams to Mama Bear. I told her about the book I wanted to write. I told her about the other book I wanted to write. She told me which book to write first and left me with “You’re more ready for this than you know.”

I met with a literary agent that afternoon. She told me she wanted to see my book proposal. She told me “go do it.” She gave me her business card and even hand-wrote a note on it, telling me what to write in the subject line when I sent in the book proposal.

Those words have echoed in my mind for 13 months now…

“You’re more ready for this than you know.”

“Go do it.”

But I haven’t written a book proposal yet.

I haven’t believed I’m ready for this. I haven’t believed I’m ready for this at all. I haven’t believed I’m good enough. I haven’t believed I have a big-enough platform or a loud-enough voice or beautiful-enough words. I haven’t believed I’m connected enough, that I’m Christian enough or secular enough, that I’m courageous enough to write any book proposal. I haven’t believed I’m strong enough to withstand rejections and criticisms that are part and parcel of any published author’s real life.

I haven’t believed in God’s dreams for me.

I haven’t believed in the plans He began setting out so clearly in 1988 with that hot pink ice cream cone diary.

I’ve started doubting my words.

I’ve started doubting my purpose.

I’ve let the enemy creep in and try to kill, steal and destroy all the plans God ever laid out for my life.

I can’t do it anymore, friends.

It’s coming to a stop today, whether I like it or not.

I’m not playing this game of tug of war anymore.

A plan and a purpose has been playing out in my life since 1988. In case you didn’t realize, it’s the end of 2015, friends. I’m almost 40 years old. God’s been calling me to this since I was 12 years old.

Will I listen?

Or will I not listen?

Will I deny the story He’s written, the story He’s writing today?

I never set out to become a professional blogger.

I dreamed of becoming a published author of books.

When I left my 14 1/2 year career as a speech-language pathologist in December 2014 to pursue writing and photography, one of my writing goals was to publish a blog post 2-3 times per week. I’ve met and kept that goal all year.

Today, I’m making a new goal and I’m making it public to keep myself accountable. Effective immediately and until further notice, I will be publishing blog posts at a frequency of 1-2 times per week maximum. With the exception of my upcoming Africa series (which I’ll write as much as I feel called to write), you can expect me to be writing on the blog with LESS frequency.

Why all the detail, you ask?

Why make this public?

Because I’m tired of the fight. I’m tired of the internal battle. I’m tired of keeping this all inside.

I started writing in diaries and journals when I was 12.

I began dreaming of writing books when I was 26.

I began blogging when I was 36.

I’m still dreaming of writing books and 2016 will mark my 40th birthday.

I’m not getting any younger, friends.

I believe God’s still calling me, still purposed me to author books. If I don’t write those books, nobody will. With that in mind, I am forcing myself, behaving myself out of this place of disbelief and inaction. I am taking the next leap of faith and I’m making it public for the purpose of internal and external accountability.

I have one, great-big book I feel I need to write.

And who knew, I have a children’s book series dreamed up as well. One’s drafted. The second is drafted in my mind. I need to sit down and write it all out ASAP – before it escapes me. As in, it needs to get on the screen within the next week or two or the heart of it will disappear into writer’s oblivion. I’m convinced the children’s series is more than two books. I just don’t have inspiration for books three plus, yet.

There are books beyond that…on calling, friendship, marriage, mission and maybe even motherhood (the original dream). All potential. All possibility. All completely unknown at this point.

I didn’t set out to become a professional blogger. This blog is not the end all be all.

I set out to become a published author of books.

God’s been calling. It’s been persistent. I can’t work my way out of the feeling that I’m supposed to do this. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’m delusional. Maybe I’m a dreamer. Maybe.

Worst case? Call me crazy, delusional, a dreamer. At least I tried.

If my daughter wanted to become a doctor, I’d tell her to try, I’d tell her to go for it, I’d tell her to do what she feels called to do. Why is it so different for writers? Why do we continue to dream in the quiet? Why do we say we’re working on “projects” when in reality we’re writing books? Why does it have to be so mysterious? If my daughter wanted to become a doctor, I can guarantee she’d have no problem publicly proclaiming she was applying to med school.

So there you go. I’m reducing my blogging time with hopes of freeing up time to work on my first book proposal. At this moment in time, I don’t know which book is first. And yes, you might call me crazy. My intention is to pursue traditional publication. (Sigh. Deep breath. We’ll work through this whichever way it goes.)

I’ll be honest. This may be slow. This may be a no go. I know this is NOT an easy road. But I have to try. There’s no more denying it. This is the next right thing to do. This is the next thing God’s calling me to do.

So if you ask me what I’m doing now, how I’m spending my time, what it’s like to be a stay-at-home mom who blogs? Yeah. Stay-at-home moms don’t sit around eating bon bons all day, that’s for sure. (Random ode and props to the bravest of the brave.) I’m not really identifying as a SAHM, anyway. I’m identifying as wife, mom, daughter, daughter-in-law, sister, sister-in-law, niece, cousin, aunt, friend, work-at-home photographer and writer who dreams of becoming an author.