I was in grade school that year, with pigtails and a crazy hunger for books to read. Once a week the youth pastor from the church would come in and read to us from Tales of the Kingdom, a trilogy of books that told of an enchanted city where everything was twisted up and dark,…
I was having a horrible day — not “normal” horrible, not like everything-is-going-wrong kind of day (although those are bad enough). I was exhausted. My brain hurt. I couldn’t think straight, could barely think at all. I wasn’t suicidal, but the darkness of depression loomed over me like a cloud I couldn’t shake.
Courage, dear heart; God is writing your story. He created you. He is the One Who gives you identity.
In Him, there is hope. There is freedom. There is grace.
We’d never even talked on the phone before—just written back and forth on Facebook for the past four months, but it was as comfortable as could be from the get-go. He was sitting at a table when I walked in—not holding a rose like in romance novels—but reading a book in true Trevor-fashion.
I always kind of knew that I’d end up falling in love with a guy who was first just a good friend, because that’s the only way I can really be myself. And to realize that this guy, who answered all my theology questions, and whom I enjoyed spending time with, and who was totally single, felt the same calling as I did for future ministry… that just floored me.
At 29, Ellie realized that if she were going to get married, God would have to bring someone to her. When Don offered to fix her radio, she thought, “Lord, this is the kind of man I would like to have as a husband.”