DECISIONS . . .

            “Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?
            The Cheshire Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.
            Alice: I don't much care where.
            The Cheshire Cat: Then it doesn't much matter which way you go.”
                        ― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

          I spent two weeks in Europe the summer before my senior year. It was an incredible, life-changing experience. Opened to a whole new world beyond small town Iowa, I was overcome with the beauty and rich history of France, Italy, and Spain. A longing to see the world, spread my wings, and fly filled my soul – drowning out my childhood reverie of living next-door to my parents. Upon returning home, the decision of college lay before me. Where did I want to go? Life was waiting for me just beyond the rolling hills and cornfields, but how would I get there? It was at this juncture in my life, that I learned a valuable lesson in decision making.

            The process of selecting a college was more difficult than I had anticipated. I felt like Alice, I just wanted someone to tell me where I was supposed to go. I prayed several times for God to tell me where I should go, but He didn’t. My parents outlined a few parameters to assist me in the process of selecting an out-of-state college. However, not really knowing what I wanted to do with my life (other than help people), proved to be a hindrance. After researching my options via the internet, I finally settled on a university out west. Ignoring the wisdom of my parents, I only applied to one university. Not only was I accepted, but they offered me a full-tuition scholarship. I was thrilled with the exciting prospects of my future. However, I had not prayed to seek confirmation with my decision (a doctrinal principle of my faith). I was flying solo on what I thought was the best option for me.

            Fast forward to spring break of my senior year and a campus visit to my selected school. I walked away from the campus tour feeling deflated, like I had been deceived by the school’s webpage or rather that I hadn’t done my homework on the university. Call it intuition or the prompting of the Holy Spirit, but I had the distinct impression that this was NOT the school for me. Fortunately, my parents trusted my budding intuitive skills and didn’t gloat in their “being right” about applying to other schools. Rather, they offered to drive me to another university a few hours away. Talk about the pendulum’s swing! As I toured campus B, peace replaced the uncertainty I had felt earlier. I could envision myself as a student here crossing the grassy quad under the towering trees with the majestic mountains in the distance. There was a stirring in my soul. I knew this was the school for me. My parents whole-heartedly agreed.

           I went home determined to do whatever it took to get a scholarship. Unfortunately, even with my best efforts, I couldn’t turn back the hands of time. Simply put, I had missed the scholarship deadlines because of my own foolish pride and stubbornness. I thought of the divine counsel given to Oliver Cowdery in 1829 and saw its application in my own life:

“. . .  you have not understood; you have supposed that I would give it unto you, when you took no thought save it was to ask me. [But] you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right. But if it be not right you shall have no such feelings, but you shall have a stupor of thought that shall cause you to forget the thing which is wrong . . .” (Doctrine and Covenants 9:7-9)

            I immediately recognized the error of my ways. God has given each one of us the gift of agency (to choose for ourselves) and He will not interfere with that. However, our Heavenly Father expects us to do our part – to study things out, weigh the consequences, and consult with trusted individuals. Then, we make a decision and ask our Heavenly Father if it is right. He will answer and provide the needed guidance we are seeking.

             With the impending decision before me (University A- that felt wrong but offered a scholarship vs. University B – that felt right but no scholarship), I followed the pattern of decision-making I had been taught.  I weighed the options, talked it over with my parents, and prayed. Ultimately, I chose to forgo my full-tuition scholarship to attend the school I knew was right for me – university B. I’m sure it didn’t make sense to very many people. It certainly wasn’t the logical thing to do, but it was the right decision for me. My Heavenly Father confirmed that to me time and time again with a feeling of peace.

            I finished my senior year achieving the numerous goals I had set for myself – graduating at the top of my class with Honors, speaking at the ceremony, and even receiving a few local scholarships. It was a season of change as we (my friends and I) each went our own ways in preparation for the future, but I was filled with peace. I had learned the importance of counseling with my Heavenly Father regarding decisions. His love and assurance filled me with confidence as I prepared to take the next step in my life. Finally, August rolled around. I said my goodbyes, shed a few tears, and took a deep breath. I was leaving the only life I had ever known having lived in the same house, same town my entire life. I climbed into the backseat, tears streaming down my cheeks, and clutching a pillow. As we drove off into the sunset, I looked back and said goodbye to the life I had known. I turned my gaze forward, squared my shoulders, dried my tears, and pictured the life before me just beyond the setting sun . . .

            What lessons have you gleaned as you’ve made decisions? Do you follow a similar pattern of decision making?

Intersecting paths . . . the billboard

“Hope is the thing with feathers 
That perches in the soul 
And sings the tune without the words 
And never stops at all.” 
― Emily Dickinson

 PART 3 - THE BILLBOARD

      Life can sometimes feel like a road trip through a barren wasteland – the scenery the same as the previous 100 miles – lifeless, desolate, bleak, and lonely. That is, until you see a billboard promising something better ahead. Hope replaces despair and suddenly the miles don’t seem so long nor the journey endless. During my senior year in high school, I felt as though I was on such a journey with countless mile markers of boys who left me wondering where all the good men were – the ones who would actually ask a girl on date, open doors, remember the little details of conversations, and one who would like me for me. I was feeling rather hopeless with my future prospects, until I came upon a billboard that provided the hope I needed and changed my life for the better

            I was standing in the hall at church when I first saw the billboard (in the form of a man). He was holding a sleeping baby in his arms. My heart sank initially at the thought of him being married, but that quickly changed as I was introduced to Tyler by his brother. We talked easily for quite some time about our lives and plans for the future – he was preparing to serve a mission for our church and I was preparing to attend college. His brother said Tyler was going to be in Iowa for three weeks and suggested that we get together. I agreed to the idea. As we walked out of the church together Tyler opened the door for me with his niece in his arms. I drove home with a perm-a-grin on my face, feeling excited and hopeful for the future. With a new vigor for life, I brushed the dust off my journal and wrote about the boy I had met.

            Our first date was a carbon copy of what I had been longing for in a date. Tyler came to the door, no honking from his car for me to come out to him. He took the time to meet and talk with my parents, an unheard of concept among my peers. Such thoughtful actions continued as he opened the car door for me and pulled out the chair at the table before I sat down. Throughout the evening we talked without pretense. Because of the way he treated me, insecurities melted away and I was completely at ease with him. I wrote the following in my journal that night:

“On the drive home, Tyler told me that when he first met me, he thought I was     

  confident and very friendly. He was also happy that I wasn’t a ditz – as he had            

  met pretty girls before who were ditzy and that just turned him off . . . He said he      

  wished more guys would look to what’s on the inside rather than just looks when   

  it came to girls.” (Given my insecurities with my appearance – this was a huge       

  boost for me) . . . “He even walked me to my front door. I’ve never been walked  

  to my own front door! We stood in the cold and talked about seeing each other 

  again – maybe this Saturday. Then he gave me a hug and told me he had had a            

  great time and he was happy to have met me . . . He is everything I’ve been          

  looking for in a guy.”  (Kristen’s Journal – February 14, 2001)

            We spent time together off and on for the next few weeks – hanging out with my family, attending church meetings and activities, and talking on the phone. Each time was a continuation of our first date. He was a perfect gentleman each and every time and made me feel valued and worthwhile; filling a void I’m not sure I completely knew existed. I recorded the following in my journal:

            “When I’m around Tyler – it’s just so comfortable and natural, like I’ve known

             him forever. He makes me want to be a better person. He brightens my day. He

             has done so many wonderful things for me – I’ve started writing in this journal 

             again and my mom and I are closer than we’ve ever been before. I thank the Lord  

             everyday that he was brought into my life.”  (Kristen’s Journal – February 21, 2001)

            Our time together ended far too quickly as Tyler left to go back home. We talked for some time and decided to draw the line at friendship as Tyler was preparing to serve a two-year mission, putting his life and studies on hold to preach the word of God. He wanted to be the best possible missionary and didn’t want to be distracted by a girl back in the states. I respected and even admired his decision, but it still hurt. I had finally found someone who met my criteria and inspired me to be better and now he was leaving for two years. He wrapped me in a hug and left me with a letter. In part it read:

            “I’m glad I got to meet you. You are an awesome girl . . .  and very talented. You

            will bless many people. Just don’t try to do it all . . . You will meet tons of

            awesome guys [in college]. Just make sure they treat you like you deserve to be 

            treated . . . Good luck and take care of yourself. I wish you the best!”

 Our friendship continued over the next two years. We wrote back and forth while he served his mission – sharing scriptures and life experiences. His letters served as billboards along the way, offering encouragement, “Be a good example like you always have been. You have amazing potential and are very talented. Don’t be afraid to use those blessings. Be strong. Keep the faith. Study hard. Relax. Smile and be happy!” His letters came when I needed an extra boost and helped me to keep pressing forward.

            Tyler served as a billboard on the barren dating road of my teenage years. He set the bar for the kind of man I wanted to marry. Because of his example, I rewrote the standards for my future spouse and created my own list of traits, talents and skills I wanted to have to be worthy of such a man. When I considered dating someone in college, I would compare them to Tyler. If he didn’t measure up, I didn’t pursue a relationship further. After meeting Tyler, I knew what I wanted and I wasn’t going to settle for anything less. I’m happy to report that I didn’t settle. Tyler was right, I met some awesome guys in college . . . one who not only fit the list, but surpassed it in every way imaginable - he became my husband.

            Tyler, I may have been just another mile marker in your life, but you were the billboard in mine – promising of a brighter future than I had ever imagined for myself. Your example and friendship lead me on a path to self-discovery as I sought to become the woman God intended me to be. In doing so, I not only found myself but the man who completes me and makes me whole (my husband). I know that our paths were meant to intersect when they did and that God had a hand in it. I am better for having known you. Thank you.

            Who served as a billboard in your life? How has your life changed?

           

Intersecting Paths . . . the co-pilot

PART 2 - THE CO-PILOT

“Friends are angels sent down to Earth to make good days
      and help us find our way.”   -Unknown

With the lessons I had gleaned from my freshman year and a spiritual awakening, I set a course that would lead me to achieve my goals and make my dreams a reality. I threw myself (heart and soul) into scholastic studies, various clubs, and organizations. I was fortunate to recruit a co-pilot (Sandi), who rode “shotgun,” on the road trip of high school. She helped me stay the course while making me a better driver. Sandi read the map, passed the snacks, pointed out the signs ahead, selected the music and most importantly, traded off driving when fatigue set in.

I had known Sandi since kindergarten and our friendship waxed and waned over the years. During our sophomore year, however, our friendship waxed incredibly strong when our paths intersected again. We had a few classes together and were on the dance team, spending many hours together each week. We shared common interests, similar dreams, and even the same moral convictions to abstain from alcohol, tobacco, drugs, and sex. As our friends chose alternate paths, we became each other’s weekend plans. We spent countless hours cruising around our small town with the music cranked up and singing at the top of our lungs; we braved all kinds of weather to attend the football and basketball games – dressing crazy and cheering wildly; and we spent many nights watching our favorite parts of movies again and again. “We were like peas and carrots, Sandi and me,” (said like Forrest Gump). There was never that jealousy issue that often plagues friendships with girls.

            What distinguished our friendship?  We could be our true selves – imperfect, flawed, and sometimes emotional - confiding in one another our hopes and dreams, as well as, our shortcomings and frailties. Sandi and I talked about anything and everything from religion and God to stupid boys and our future husbands. We celebrated each other’s achievements and successes with genuine joy and admiration. Sandi helped me memorize my lines for the school play. I was her number one fan for volleyball and softball – making her posters and cheering her on. Sandi surprised me by coming to my State Speech competition. I purposefully tripped getting off the ski lift to get the name of the cute ski patrol guy for her. Sandi understood my crazy over-achieving, perfectionist tendencies and kept me sane by cracking jokes and telling me to “lighten up” when needed. In turn, I understood her insecurities and helped build her confidence. I can’t recall a single fight between us. I’m sure we got frustrated with each other from time to time, but we always resolved it. We brought out the best in each other and helped each other achieve our dreams.

    We understood the importance of hard work and dedication. Sandi and I served together in the class presidency planning and organizing prom; we were members of the National Honor Society and spent many hours rendering service; we took upon ourselves a rather large art project, painting the elementary school library (and each other); we were selected for the All Iowa Honor Drill Team; and we both graduated with Honors. We achieved great things with each other’s support and encouragement. Sandi and I also knew how to have good, clean fun. One time, we conspired against some boys (with the help of the principal and 3 other friends) to dump buckets of water on them from the school’s roof. The end result was not what we intended. We ended up dangling by our feet over the toilets in the boys’ locker room with the threat of swirlies. Fortunate for us, the football coach walked in at that exact moment and told the boys to put us down. We beat each other up in Chemistry, had food fights, nicknames for each other (SPF and Krusten), shared numerous inside jokes, double-dated and laughed . . . a lot.

            Sandi was the co-pilot who helped me navigate through the vulnerable teenage years. She brought out the best in me and encouraged me to “always follow my heart.”  Even though we have been separated by thousands of miles for many years, we can still pick up where we left off without that awkward silence. We have seen each other through difficult times with the lending of a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, and offering words of comfort. We have also shared some of life’s sweetest moments with happy tears, hugs, and expressions of love. Sandi is truly an angel sent from God. I credit much of who I am today to her example and our friendship. I am better because of her. Although we each have a new best friend in our husbands, the “shotgun” seat of my adolescence bears the honorable name of an unfailing friend – Sandi. Thanks beautiful girl! I love you!

            Have you been blessed with such a friendship that spans time, distance, and life’s circumstances? How has your life changed because of it? Do you still keep in touch with that friend?

Intersecting Paths . . . The Flagger

“No man or woman proceeds alone.

All of us are largely the products of the lives which touch upon our lives.”

- Gordon B. Hinckley

            Along this journey we call life, we cross paths with many different people. Some pass by unnoticed; others kicking up a cloud of dust, and others leave a lasting impression. During those difficult teenage years, my path intersected with three individuals who truly changed the course of my life . . . the flagger – who warned of the slippery conditions on the road I was traveling and offered directions to a safer route; the co-pilot – who helped me stay the course and stay true to myself as we journeyed together; and the billboard – who provided hope for the future like the billboards for Wall Drug along the never-ending barren roads of eastern South Dakota. These individuals each played a unique and distinctive role in my life and our intersecting paths were not coincidental.  

PART 1 – THE FLAGGER

           With the foundation my parents had laid for me, I entered high school with a firm moral conviction to abstain from drugs, alcohol, tobacco, and sex. My friend bet me $20 that I’d drink alcohol during my four years in high school. I accepted the bet, knowing that I would be the victor. High school, however, proved to be more challenging than I anticipated. I had finally blossomed from the ugly duckling, awkward tomboy to a girl with curves who could turn a few heads. I was no longer just “Neil’s sister” to his senior friends – they smiled at me, flirted with me, and paid me compliments. Yet, I was an insecure teenage girl who felt lost, longing to belong, and be a part of the group. Consequently, I purposefully put myself in various situations that tested my moral convictions.

. . . to this

From this . . .

Reading through my journal from that year makes me cringe – if I could go back and visit the younger version of me, I would tell her, “Be yourself – beautiful, imperfect you. Your worth is not determined by your outward appearance, but rather your heart.” But alas, I cannot. Entries of my interactions with the various boys I liked, the fun I had, who I hung out with, and my weekend activities fill the pages of my journal with infrequent snippets about my family and feelings. There is a sadness and hollowness in my writing. I was always looking for a good time and someone to hang out with. I lacked confidence in myself – not really knowing who I was, but trying to be who I thought everyone wanted me to be. I had dark thoughts about myself from time to time, thinking that no one liked me and contemplating anorexia and bulimia as a means to be thinner like my friends (I wish now I was as “fat” as I thought I was then). I had a large group of friends from freshmen to seniors and yet, I often felt alone.

Unbeknownst to my parents, I attended parties where drugs and alcohol prevailed. I tried to relax and have a good time, but panic raced through me at the thought of getting caught and disappointing my parents. Although, I never engaged in any illegal or immoral activity, I found myself in a turbulent sea, struggling to tread water while holding fast to my morals. I was the target of a few senior girls who sought to get me high. One of my friends had a pregnancy scare at the tender age of 15; another’s reputation was ruined when she broke up with her boyfriend, another confided her suicidal thoughts to me, and others were experimenting with drugs. I continued in my naïve ways – attending parties, playing poker, giving back rubs, seeking the attention of any good looking boy in hopes that his acceptance would grant me a feeling of validity.

At the end of the school year, my friend and I attended a party off some back-country road. At the party, another friend, Matt (a senior), came to me, put his arm around me and asked, “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here. This is not where you belong.” He proceeded to tell me of my future – being selected for National Honor Society as a sophomore, graduating with Honors, college, the man I would marry . . . I nervously smiled at him, but his words rang true somewhere deep within. That moment was cut short as we thought we heard sirens. Fear enveloped me, and for the first time I realized that I could lose it all (in Iowa, regardless of whether you are drinking or not, you are guilty by association). I could lose my place on the dance team, my position as Class President, any hope of being selected for the National Honor Society; I could lose the trust of my parents. Matt offered to escort me from the party scene, fleeing on foot if necessary. Fortunately, it was a false alarm. Wanting to leave, I searched for my friend and found her sipping a beer. I stood, open mouthed, and in a state of shock, feeling disheartened and partially responsible as I stared at her. My friend, who had pledged with me not to drink alcohol, had succumbed to the pressure. I tried to get her to leave with me, but she wouldn’t. Realizing that I would have to stand alone, I caught a ride with another friend, said goodbye to the party scene, and never looked back. Matt had offered a peek of what my future held and I knew had to change my ways to attain it.

That was a turning point for me. The next entry in my journal (following the events from that night at the party), I wrote at a church camp. It reads, “I know that Christ died for me and my sins. That is the greatest gift I have ever been given – repentance. I hope to better my life and the lives of all those around me. . .” It concludes with my re-dedication to remain a virgin until I marry and to refrain from drugs and alcohol. Matt intersected my path at a pivotal point, questioning my actions and offering a glimpse of my future. I doubt he recalls the events of that night, but the concern and care he showed towards me are forever etched upon my heart. He was the flagger on that gravel road who warned of the potential dangers ahead and offered directions to a better road that would take me where I wanted to go. To Matt and all the flaggers out there - thank you! I'm grateful our paths intersected when they did.

Who was the flagger on your journey - intersecting your life at a crucial point? Did you give heed to his/her directions? How has your life changed?

           

ROADMAPS

“The tale of someone's life begins before they are born.” 
― Michael Wood, Shakespeare

In many ways the paths and roads I have taken or made in my life are the result of the individual paths of my parents and the road they forged together. The same is true for each one of us. If you think about it, our lives are much like a road map where a dirt road intersects a state road; a state road a highway; and a highway an interstate. You can go from one to the other and back again. The road that is our life is not our own, neither are our stories – they began long before you or I were born and will continue long after we die. A closer examination of this road map will show the intricacies of how of our stories spin together and overlap to create a complex web of seemingly individual, yet shared, experiences and lessons. My parents are a great example of this concept and their story will help you understand who I am and the roads I have chosen to travel.

My parents were an unlikely pair and their story is fit for a fairy tale. My dad, a stubborn, rebellious, and misguided youth from the Bronx of New York, joined the Navy at 18 with the intent to die. While in boot camp, he befriended a country boy from Iowa who encouraged him to select a Midwestern girl to write from his collection of senior pictures. Dad selected my mom’s picture and the correspondence began. He took his leave to Iowa to meet the beautiful girl (my mom). Within moments of meeting face to face, a deep feeling of familiarity, that they knew each other from sometime before, swelled in both their hearts and minds. Thus; began their whirlwind romance, but it was not without shortcomings as their worlds collided.

In the Midwest and especially in farming communities, it is quite common for one to simply lift a finger while driving as a means of saying hello. My father, however, was unaware of such a custom, thought the people were giving him the bird, and proceeded to flip off the entire town. His vocabulary also proved to be a challenge. While eating Sunday dinner with my mom’s family, he said, “Please pass the ‘f-ing’ potatoes.” Followed by, “I’m so ‘f-ing’ sorry.” Silence, shock, and horror filled the room. My grandpa quickly spoke up and came to my dad’s rescue, “I understand son. I also served in the military.”

With some divine intervention, my mom’s parents gave their consent for her to wed. And so the small town girl married the big city boy at the young age of 19. They would live in Washington State, on the beaches of Hawaii, and in Connecticut while my dad served as a Navy diver on a submarine. They loved each other with a fierce, fiery passion, lived for the moment, and were always looking for a good time (this was 70’s – use your imagination). Two years into their marriage, they welcomed my oldest brother Bryan, who was truly a God-send as my parents were only going to raise dogs. With parenthood came responsibility, a longing for guidance on how to raise their child, and a thirst for knowledge.

While on patrol one night a few years later, a man provided such insight by sharing his testimony and his convictions about the gospel of Jesus Christ. My tough, rather uncouth dad was humbled as his heart was pierced with this man’s words. He accepted the challenge to read The Book of Mormon and to pray to know if it was true. With a stubborn determination to know for himself, Dad quit smoking cold turkey, stopped drinking and changed his “other” habits. In doing so, the questions that had plagued him since his youth and had been the cause of his beatings in parochial school, were finally answered. He experienced a mighty change of heart and prayed that his sweetheart would too. 

His heartfelt pleadings were heard and answered. My parents joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1976. My dad’s aunt, a Roman Catholic nun, said that any religion that could change Dad to the man he is today is a miracle from God. Two years later, following the birth of my brother Marc, my parents left the Navy life to settle in small town Iowa. My mom opened up her own beauty salon in our house and my dad worked various jobs. They welcomed another boy in 1979, my brother Neil.

My three brothers kept them busy – flooding the upstairs bathroom, ramming Matchbox cars into new drywall, and other crazy adventures that left my mom in tears and frustrated. A few years later, Mom was pregnant again and longing for a little girl. She had what she calls, “one of the most amazing dreams,” in which, I came to her, told her why I chose our family and what my purpose was in life. My mom awoke and stared out at the starry night sky for quite some time pondering on her dream. She eventually drifted back to sleep only to forget the details of what I had said, but with a sure knowledge that she was going to have a girl.

Eight days late, a whopping 10 lbs, and the cord wrapped around my neck, I made my entrance into this world during the Iowa vs. Indiana basketball game. Mom has always claimed that I was her angel after all those crazy boys. Unfortunately, my angelic nature had a slight defect – an ineffective esophageal sphincter which led to the nickname of “barfy baby.” I threw up each and every time I ate – all over mom in the middle of church service and even in my brother’s mouth following a game of airplane. Poor Marc!

I idolized my three older brothers. I spent my days chasing after their shadows, riding bikes, babysitting their tadpoles, cheering them on at wrestling tournaments, and spinning heroic tales about them. While other girls wore dresses trying to impress the boys, I sported a ponytail, my brother’s clothes (sorry Neil), my Air Jordan’s and consistently beat the boys in arm wrestling - not exactly the best approach to winning my crush over. Beyond that tomboy exterior, I loved to dance and help Mom in the shop, removing the rollers from the sweet old ladies’ hair.

We were not a “perfect family.” We made mistakes, we fought, and we didn’t always like each other, but love was expressed daily. My parents instructed us from the scriptures, took us to church on Sunday, and taught us to pray – although many of our family prayers began and ended in fits of laughter and disapproving looks from Mom. Traditions were important – big family dinners with extended family on Sundays and holidays, being singled out and celebrated on your birthday, and camping in a tent at the lake in the summer. A tradition that didn’t pan out was the cross country road trip in a maxi van to New York - driving 24 hours straight. Perhaps, because we ended up getting lost in the ghetto while my mom searched for a bathroom or the cost factor and my dad’s lack of patience. Mom and Dad worked hard to make ends meet, providing for our family and their three “honorary children” who lived with us throughout the years. They experienced seasons of unemployment, broken appliances, medical expenditures, and simultaneous teenage drivers. 

The road they forged together, laid the foundation for me and my brothers to write our own stories and choose our own paths and roads to follow. Our stories are each unique, although they share the same origination - they are our own and yet they're not . . .  Where did the foundation of your road begin – was it happy, sad, good, or bad?

The Road of Life

“Don’t get so caught up with ‘your plan,’ that you miss

 the better plan God has for you.”  -L. Smith

We are all travelers on the road of life – our journeys are each unique, but encompass a combination of similar roads. Some of us are spinning our wheels digging ourselves deeper in the mud. Others are cruising along, throwing caution to the wind, and searching for the next thrill. Some are stuck in a round-about, going round and round - dizzy, confused, and uncertain of how to exit. Others are going the wrong way on a one way street. Some are making their way peacefully and quietly along the scenic dirt roads – content to slow down and enjoy the drive. Others find themselves on a washboard gravel road – longing for the smooth ride of a highway. And finally, there are those who have their journey mapped out and planned to the T – who are confident and sure of their future.

            I was that girl who had a plan for my life (a rather broad and idealistic plan to change the world), but still it was a plan. Perhaps I was naïve, but it never occurred to me that life would take me on so many different paths – that I would encounter detours, dead-end roads, flat tires, and would even have to make a few U-turns. I never imagined life on a scenic dirt road – this was not in my plan and yet, I’m content here. This alternate route has taught me to slow down, live in the moment, and find joy in the journey.

Hi. I’m Kristen and this is my story – a story of how my decisions at the crossroads of life ultimately altered my course. You won’t find a fairy tale, a magic wand to right the wrong in the blink of an eye, or a song for every scene in my story. This is not a Harlequin romance based on lust, but rather my life – real, imperfect, sometimes messy, and saturated with love. I invite you to laugh, sigh, roll your eyes, and even cry with me as I take you for a ride with the telling of my life’s story. Along the way, you might recognize a version of yourself, find the strength to hold on a little longer, discover your own faith, learn how to ask for directions, or find courage to take the alternate route to the life you had planned. Join with me, my fellow travelers; as we journey on the various paths that lead me to this scenic dirt road I call home.