Four mornings in a row, I showed up at the pier to see nothing. But I wasn't really seeing nothing, was I? I was witnessing God's faithfulness in the fog. This morning, after four days of grey, pink threaded through purple across the water. The sun rose today, outside and inside. God is faithful like that despite the fog, or perhaps because of it.
Faith & Mental Health
After the Epic
Sunday's sunrise looked just like that epic one from weeks ago—same impossible oranges, same fire painted across the water. I, however, was different. This time, I wasn't anticipating disaster but processing triumph. God had to prove that when I finally stepped back from the conductor's podium, He could orchestrate something more beautiful than my rigid score ever allowed.
The Thanksgiving Before the Sun
Every morning, I arrive at the pier with empty hands and an open heart, ready for whatever sunrise God chooses to paint. But Thanksgiving? I arrive at Thanksgiving with a script written in my mother's hand, frustrated when God rewrites the scenes.
When Glory Fades: Recognizing Divine Yes in the Waiting
Thursday morning, standing in that tangerine fire, I'd felt held by something infinite. The sunrise was teaching me something about recognition: This is what arrival feels like. This is what yes tastes like—metallic and sweet on your tongue. But when the publishing offer came, where was the orange glow? Sometimes the holiest ground is right there in the middle, suspended between shores.
Between the Rocks: Finding Sanctuary in the Waiting
Sanctuary isn't the absence of uncertainty. It's not found in answered prayers staying answered or circumstances finally settling into place. Sanctuary is the practice of returning to God in the midst of unknowns—the daily choice to sit between the rocks and seek the Rock.
Setting Your Watch by the Sun
My new psychiatrist asked how I get my needs met when I'm busy meeting everyone else's. The answer: At sunrise, every day. I meet God there. For a year now, I've approached dawn like an altar. I can't set my watch by people anymore – their consistency wavers. But the sun rises because God commands it. Every morning, without fail, He proves His faithfulness.
Trading Heroes for Mentors
As a child, my mom was my hero. Now, teaching sixth graders about heroism while navigating my own struggles, I've realized something: I don't have heroes anymore. I collect mentors instead. Heroes stand on pedestals, untouchable and perfect. Mentors sit beside you with their own scars visible, showing you how to navigate the flaws. The real hero's journey? Not an ascent to perfection but a descent from pedestals to walk alongside others.
Anchored at Sunrise: Why Some Routines Are Non-Negotiable
Eight weeks after submitting my manuscript, facing rejections and a complete rebrand of my book, I'm discovering that everyone wants flexibility - my principal, the publishing world, life itself. But I won't skip my sunrise ritual. Because flexibility without foundation isn't resilience; it's just falling.
Free to Fall and Fail Again: Finding Your Song in the Chaos
Everything around me changes with the seasons—the sunrise comes later, the routines shift, the household dynamics evolve. But I show up every morning at the water's edge, and the God who orders all of this—the sunrises and the sea glass walks, the students in room 202, and the beautiful chaos of family life—remains constant.
The Mania September Demands: When Routine Becomes Your Lifeline
My brain woke me at 3am with a mental inventory of everything I needed before students arrived. This is September's paradox for educators with mood disorders: the start of school requires hypomania while you're trying to maintain stability. When my carefully constructed accommodations fell apart, I remembered where my real anchor lies.
Writer's Growth 