Faith, Fear, and Following His Call

It Finally Happened.

After nearly ten years, I’ve finished writing a book. At one point, it had fifteen chapters. I sent it to an editor in Asheville, and honestly, I think she might have felt sorry for me—LOL! She made both direct and overall edits, and when I saw her feedback, I felt a little embarrassed. It reminded me of an old saying we use here in the mountains: “Not the sharpest tool in the shed.”

I’m a middle school language arts teacher. My job is literally to teach students how to read and write. And yet, here I was, getting what felt like an epic F in a subject I thought I had mastered—style.

As I combed through her notes, I realized something I hadn’t noticed before. My stories were tangled, with multiple stories within a single chapter. Some chapters stretched to 20 pages, while others barely made it to 10. It took paying someone to point out what should have been obvious. Yep, I smacked myself on the forehead and got back to work.

Rewriting was no easy task. I spent months/years restructuring each chapter, focusing on one main event at a time. I even invested in an editing program to help with grammar, punctuation, and citations. Eventually, I narrowed the book to ten chapters, zoning in on the “big boulders” the editor suggested I fix.

Yet, I wasn’t able to fix one area. The editor felt like my daughter, Brena, would be hurt when I published the book because she wasn’t in as many chapters as my son, Devan. I tried to explain that Brena was more like her daddy and had sense enough not to run into a pole, unlike Devan, who was more like me. If a spaceship were going to fall from the sky, it would land on my car—or his.

I swear, I think some people just have more “accidents” than others, so there are more chapters about him. It is certainly not because I love either one of them more than the other. I love them differently because they are different people with different personalities, different loves, and a whole world of differences. But I don’t love one anymore. When they were little, I always told them, “I love you to the moon and beyond!” 

What’s The Holdup? 

 I want the book to be perfect.

It’s printed and waiting for one final read-through. Then comes the daunting journey of self-publishing. And yet, I find myself dragging my feet, analyzing every possible “what if” and letting fear creep in.

This book shares stories of the trials my family has faced—including surgeries, illnesses, the challenges of growing up, and the impact of suicide. Each chapter recounts the experience, how we overcame it, and its connection to biblical stories, characters, and verses. At the end of every chapter is a self-reflection section inviting readers to engage personally and apply the lessons to their lives.

The book is raw. It’s real. It’s terrifying to put myself out there for the world to see—what I did, why I did it, and how it shaped me. What will people think? Will they assume I’m trying to preach? Will they judge me? Will they dig up my past and rub my nose in it? Maybe I’m the only one who finds these stories interesting—besides my kids. Aren’t people’s lives already “interesting” enough without reading about mine? I’ve even considered using a pen name. And then, another question lingers—what should I charge for it?

For ten years, I poured my heart into this. Initially, I thought I’d price it at ten dollars. It was never about making money and getting rich. Yet, I secretly hoped it would open some doors to another writing journey. But, I wrote it mainly because I felt God wanted me to share these stories—to remind others they’re not alone in their struggles and encourage them to seek Him, pick themselves up, and keep going. 

Then Devan said something that shifted my perspective. I won’t share his words because they’re not mine to tell, but they made me rethink everything. Somewhere along the way, I started seeing this book as a stepping stone, a way to open doors for more books in the future. And somewhere along the way, the journey had become about me.

But that’s not what I told God. 

Before writing each chapter, I prayed—asking God to use my fingers, to let the stories be rich with meaning, and to let Him shine through. And I believe He did. These words aren’t mine. They’re His. So how can I charge for something that doesn’t belong to me?

I wrestled with charging a price and donating half the proceeds to help rebuild the town I love. I admire the woman who shared her survival story with Helene and gave half her earnings back to her community.  (Maybe I can get her to help me navigate self-publishing!) 

Looking back, I see why the book wasn’t finished until now. I had my own timetable—I wanted it finished in because I wanted to move on to another project. Now, I feel like God had a different plan all along. 

As I drove to work the morning after talking with Devan, I was still thinking about our previous conversation while listening to a Steven Furtick podcast. It was then I heard a quiet whisper in my heart:

“My timing is perfect, always.”

I believe this book wasn’t completed until now because He planned for me to publish it and donate all the proceeds to rebuilding these mountains.

His beautiful mountains. 

The ones that hurt me. The ones that made me afraid, angry, and question everything I believed.

These beautiful mountains I’m falling in love with all over again.   

So that’s the plan—unless He tells me otherwise.

Moving Forward

I know I can’t do this alone. I’m trusting God to guide me, to clear any obstacles, and to use this book for His good.

If you’re reading this—whether you’re one of two or twenty-two—please pray for me in the coming weeks. Pray for wisdom in navigating self-publishing, for a fair donation price, and for the courage to follow through with what I believe He asked me to do a decade ago.

Because in the end, this isn’t about me.

It never was.