I walked the floor of the ER once, and that's when I saw them—half a dozen sunrise landscapes decorating the hallways. I stood before each one, these windows to elsewhere when I couldn't get to my own pier. God had provided witness even there. Sometimes making the most of a moment means recognizing that the moment itself—even if it's spent on an ER floor looking at someone else's sunrise photos—is the gift.
God’s faithfulness
The Journal Returns: A Story of Lost and Found
I actually cried when Hector told me he'd found my "book." I think God knew I would be an oft-wandering soul. That friends and loves and family members would come and go, and I would need something to anchor me, something I could rely on even when those I loved couldn't be there for me. The empty page was always waiting to take my pain or rage or joy.
When the Sun Returns (Inside and Out)
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.
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.
Always Someone to Care For: How Purpose Prevents Depression
I'm sitting at Fort Monroe Beach, having just captured a dolphin leaping from the Chesapeake Bay, when the most profound realization hit me. For the first time in almost two years, I'm alone—and I'm discovering that having Tony and Calista in my life is probably one of the biggest reasons I don't sink into depression anymore. It's not their emotional support, though that matters. It's simpler: I never stop doing things. There's always purpose driving my days forward. This revelation, witnessed by dolphins, led me to see how limitations become tools for freedom—in Jack's wheelchair, in my bipolar brain, and in the deep waters that aren't barriers but home.
Writer's Growth 