My days were filled with music and books, singing and songwriting, afternoon sports, and swimming training. I loved freely and cried openly, shared deeply, and trusted greatly. And in a world as dark as we live in, my carefree nature made me dangerously vulnerable.
I will forever be grateful for the hours of prayer I know my birthmother invested in me as I grew up, a stranger to her but a friend to her Father in heaven. One freezing cold night in a tent at a local dam, my dear friend Lindsey told me about Jesus. I was only twelve but I knew there was something real about what she was saying, more than I had heard in any Sunday school class or church sermon. That night I gave my life to Jesus, with a deep appreciation for what it must have meant to hang your own child on the cross. Not long after I signed a promise that I would keep my heart for Jesus and the man that I would one day marry.
I veered off the path many times during my teenage years, but I had been given safe parameters in which to fail. I also firmly believe that the path ahead of me was covered by the tears of my birthmother and the prayers she had offered up.