Author Description

Somehow, He spoke to me. Not in words or voice. Not in signs or touch. But, to the drum and bleat of my own pounding heart. "Write, child!" "Write!" He seemed to say, over and over again. One sleepless night after another. "But, Father. What am I to write? There are words. So many words pounding on my heart!" "Just write," He seemed to say. "I am your story and your song. The author of your life. It is I, the Great I Am, who writes the script of your life." And, with that, the words poured out. The story unfolded. My heart freed. The tight bud... bloomed. A whisper. An invitation. "Bloom, Child. Bloom as one with the beauty of my love." And, you know? I believe I did.My story, friends. How He bloomed this stubborn bud of a soul, one tightly bound petal at a time. How He can be found and experienced in the every, sometimes mundane, days of motherhood.