From day one of my writing career, I’ve called myself an accidental author. By circumstance, my family’s life was thrust into the public eye via “Immigration Adoption Crisis of 2014.” A blog that began for a handful became a story for thousands. It led to one book, then another, and then another. It led to me writing on a weekly basis—vulnerable things, hilarious things, parenting things, faith crisis things, all for the world to see. And I felt alive doing it. I felt I had truly stepped into my calling.
Writing gave me life. Sure, it was tough at times. It was hard work, and an increase in readership meant an increase in the risk of rejection. But it was okay, because for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had found my lane. My purpose. I was experiencing my own Chariots of Fire, Writing Edition. “When I write, I feel God’s pleasure.” Call me dramatic, but it was true.
And then, our family went through a huge transition.