As a young adult, I had my own definition of success:

 

Marry a Christian guy who loved God.

Adopt the hurting child and rescue him from poverty.

Share the gospel with the nations.

 

So, I married the guy nicknamed Father Teresa.

I adopted the traumatized seven-year-old.

I moved to Bangkok, Thailand with four children.

 

And, years down the road it all blew up.

Father Teresa had some secrets. 

Not only that, he didn't really want to be married to me anymore.

The hurting child, at age 34, took his own life.

 

In my pain, the gospel became more precious to me. 

I cradled it in my brokenness,

while wanting to hand it to others who were hurting, too.

 

So, here I am.

 

Messy. Broken. Hurting.

Crying. Breathing. Living.

Painting. Writing. Speaking.

 

Because Jesus is Good News.