Just one month ago, my life took a very unexpected turn. In just one afternoon, everything came crashing down, and it became very clear that life would never be the same. My family was facing great hardship; it became very clear that we should not go through this battle alone. After some difficult phone calls and much counsel, we returned to the States for an indefinite amount of time in order to resolve these issues.

These have been painful days. I am in the fight of my life, in areas I never dreamed would change. Everything that I thought was sure and stable: my walk with the Lord, my marriage, the ministry, life in Honduras, homeschooling my daughter, is tossing about in a sea of uncertainty. Just when I catch my breath, thinking I'm over the wave, another hits.

Areas of my life that were once private are now exposed, and I am raw. I am asking questions I've never imagined uttering. I'm struggling with sins I didn't know I had.

But He's holding my hand through it all. I can feel His firm grip, and I know that no matter how much I'm shaken, I'm in His hands and He's not letting go.

I'm not sure where this road is leading. I'd like to share one of my journal entries from this past week:

This is not the Story I wanted to write. My Story told of foreign lands and incredible adventures. It described culture shock, dangerous situations, and soul-stirring missions at its best. My Story was going to be a best-seller.

I never saw it coming. In just a few moments, everything swirled and spun upside down. I gasped for breath, but didn’t want that breath to come. It hurt too badly.

What did come was the Death of my Story. There was no more beauty to write. New Story was ugly, filthy, and black. It was horror. It was something that happened to other people, never to me. I squeezed my eyes shut, clench my knees to my stomach, and waited to wake up to Old Story. But it wasn’t there. Old Story was no more. Everything about Old Story was a lie. I couldn’t write about it, because I couldn’t believe it anymore. The stench of New Story pervaded everything. New Story was my reality now.

This is not the Story I chose. But it’s the Story my Father gave me. He ripped up Old Story and handed me the pen. Start over. Write New Story.

I don’t like this Story. Nothing about it is familiar. Nothing about it is beautiful.

“Just wait,” He whispers. “You don’t know how it ends.”

As I began my New Story, the Lord spoke to me through the words of a song I had sung/played with Pilo Tejeda (a man in our church in Honduras) just a few weeks before life changed forever. I listened in awe to my own words that now held new meaning for me.




Purify my heart,
Let me be as gold and precious silver.
Purify my heart,
Let me be as gold, pure gold.

Refiner's fire,
my heart's one desire
Is to be…holy;
Set apart for You, Lord.
I choose to be…holy;
Set apart for You, my Master,
Ready to do Your will.

Pray for me as I'm in the Refiner's Fire...I want to come forth as gold! I know I can't do it in my own strength; but He's holding my hand every step of the way.