It seemed like the perfect, romantic evening. I held Curt’s arm as we strolled through the quaint little village in British Columbia. He took my hand and we watched the beautiful sunset reflect off the snow-capped mountains. I could only imagine what nearby onlookers were thinking.

Awww. Isn’t that sweet? Look at that couple. They must be so in love. 

And they would be partly right.

I do love my husband. But that’s not why I couldn’t keep my hands off of him. Truth was, I was having a bad MS day. I was tired. My body hurt and I felt weak. The pretty (but unsymmetrical) cobblestone streets constantly made me trip. I felt dizzy and I accidentally bumped into people.

This is my life with MS. Lesions on my brain wreak havoc on my body, which show up in a number of different, unpredictable ways. I’m learning to deal with it. But there’s one particular symptom I really hate. Tripping. Especially in public.

My neurologist says I have “foot drop,” which basically means it’s difficult for me to lift the front part of my right foot. This makes walking with dignity difficult. Now, if you add foot drop to a couple more symptoms, (like fatigue, blurred vision, loss of balance, numbness or tingling) walking normally becomes a real challenge.   

I hate tripping in front of people. It’s embarrassing. I feel clumsy. I look like a klutz.

A few weeks ago, I was climbing the gymnasium bleachers at my daughter’s band concert. I stumbled up the steps and totally lost my balance. I nearly landed in another mom’s lap.  

“I swear I’m not drunk.” I said with a nervous laugh.

During the concert, I began to think about it. The whole embarrassing incident could’ve been avoided if I would’ve just reached out and touched someone’s shoulder when I started to feel dizzy. I knew the people around me. I could’ve easily asked for a hand. But I didn’t want to touch anyone. I didn’t want help. And then it hit me. This was an issue of pride ...Maybe I should worry less about the lesions on my brain and a little more about the condition of my heart.

It felt like God was sending me a message. “You need to let go of pride and learn how to lean on others.”  

Yep, sometimes I stumble. But how about you? Maybe you also have something that's tripping you up in life right now. Do you need to let go of pride and learn how to lean on others? If so, take heart. You are not alone!

Sometimes we ask God to change our situation, not knowing He put us in the situation to change us.

​First band concerts ... I’ve witnessed this phenomenon three times now. Several years ago Emily played the clarinet. Then Taylor played the flute. Most recently it was Maddie’s turn. Somehow, I always forget what a band full of sixth graders sounds like. It’s not always easy on the ears.
 
Maddie started playing the oboe last summer. She’s already come a long way. At first she could barely squeak out a noise. When she did make a sound, I could’ve sworn she had bagpipes in the basement. Now she’s playing songs that are not only recognizable, but enjoyable.  

I found a seat as the band warmed up. A hodgepodge of melodies and sour notes echoed throughout the gym. I’m always amazed at the number of band kids in sixth grade. Unfortunately, we all know how it goes. By seventh and eighth grade the numbers drop significantly. That’s when kids realize that learning an instrument is actually a lot of hard work.
 
I glanced through the program. Twinkle Stars. Jingle Bells. Frere Jacques. It seems like only yesterday Taylor was playing those same simple songs. Now she’s in the high school marching band and gets to play cool songs like Eye of the Tiger and Michael Jackson’s Thriller. Her only complaint is the unflattering wardrobe, although I like to call it “character-building clothes.”

I wish I could pull each sixth grader aside and warn them. “There will come a time when you’ll want to quit. Don’t do it. Stay committed. Keep practicing. It gets so much better than this.”
 
The auditorium grew quiet as the conductor stepped onto the platform. In no time she was conducting her little heart out. First she set the tempo. Then she gave signals to show how and when the band should play. But there was only one problem. Very few students bothered to look up at her. Every kid focused on their own music right in front of them.
 
They also weren’t listening to one another. The clarinets overpowered the flutes. The trumpets drowned out the trombones. I could see the conductor wanted certain sections to back off and play a little softer. But everyone just kept blasting out their own parts.     
 
It occurred to me that sixth grade band was much like the early years of my marriage.
 
A few years after Curt and I were married, we began to realize something. Marriage was actually hard work. The main problem? I focused on myself. He focused on himself. We really didn’t listen to one another, because we both had our own agendas. As you might guess, this became extremely frustrating. Honestly, I felt like quitting. 
 
And that’s when we did something we’d never done before.
 
We looked up.
 
God had never been a major part of our marriage. But in desperation, we invited him to lead us. We looked for His direction instead of our own, and we finally started doing what He told us to do.  
 
“Okay, back off now. You’re coming on a little strong. You need to be a little softer here.”
 
Everyone goes through difficult times in marriage. If you’re experiencing that right now, can I just encourage you?
 
There will come a time when you’ll want to quit. Don’t do it. It can get so much better than this.
 
I’m glad we didn’t quit. Our marriage isn’t perfect, but it is a great blessing. I believe the best is yet to come. Especially if we stay committed, listen to one another and most importantly, keep our eyes on our Conductor.

Madison ripped open the envelope and pulled out a gift certificate. Her eyes widened as she read the print. With a joyful squeal, she launched both arms into the air. “Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

It was the reaction I was hoping for. 

Birthday shopping for Maddie had become a challenge. She’s too old for toys. She’s too young for an Iphone. She likes cute clothes, but that’s not really her thing. I wanted to give her something she’d love. 

What did she love? 

Well, she loved gymnastics, but lately that wasn’t going so well. For several weeks she had complained of back pain during practice. I took her to our family doctor who called it a muscle strain. She recommended rest – and no gymnastics for two weeks. Maddie was not pleased. 

After two weeks, the pain continued. I made an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon who ordered an Xray. Thankfully, he found nothing wrong with her spine. He recommended Ibuprofen and more rest. 
                            
A few days before Maddie’s birthday, I stumbled across a picture of our family horseback riding in Colorado. I remembered how much Madison had loved it. Suddenly, I knew what to get for her birthday. After a quick internet search, I found a horse stable that offered trail rides. They had an opening in three weeks. Three weeks? Patience didn’t come easily for Maddie. At least she’d have something to look forward to. 

Taking a break from gymnastics also didn’t come easily. Madison felt lost. She normally practiced four times a week, three hours a day. But what do you do when suddenly it all stops? 

Instead of the gym, we headed to Grandma’s. Maddie loves animals and Grandma’s farm has an abundance of them. They were a welcomed distraction.  

Though I was grateful Maddie’s back didn’t hurt constantly, it still hurt when she ran or moved a particular way. Finally, I’d had enough. I called back the orthopedic surgeon and asked for more tests. He ordered a bone scan. Within a few days, we got the results.
 
“It looks like Madison has a bilateral stress fracture.” The doctor turned to Maddie with a sympathetic look. “This means absolutely no physical activity – no gymnastics, no volleyball, no running, no pitching lessons, no PE, nothing – until your back is completely healed.”
 
I couldn’t imagine Maddie’s emotions. Anger? Grief? Frustration? But I knew what I felt: sadness. Not because my daughter could no longer do gymnastics, but because she could no longer do the things she loved.

After a tough couple of days, Madison accepted the doctor’s orders. Each day was a little better – until she remembered the gift certificate.
                                                                                       
“Do you know what I’m excited for?” She asked unexpectedly one day.
 
Suddenly I felt like a heavy weight had dropped onto my chest. I knew what was coming.
 
“I’m excited to go horseback riding.”
 
The look on my face said it all. There could be no horseback riding. Tears streamed down Maddie’s cheeks and my heart ached again.
 
Over the next several days I couldn’t get her look of disappointment out of my mind. I had to fix this. Surely there was something I could do. If she couldn’t ride a horse, maybe she could at least spend some time with one. I called my aunt, who was the owner of two sweet ponies and three beautiful horses. She was happy to help.

​One night I stopped by Maddie’s room to tell her goodnight. She sat up in bed.   

“Mama, she began, “Do you think we could go to a gymnastics meet and watch my teammates? I think we might have a pretty good team this year.” 

A strange mix of relief, pride and contentment swept over me. “Maddie,” I said. “I think that’s a great idea.”

I suppose it's a lesson we all have to learn; how to let go of our own plan and trust that God has another. It's not easy. I mean, what do you do when you can no longer do the things you love? 

You find something new to love.

​Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. – Isaiah 43:19

My kids took such pleasure in making fun of me. They were sure I was the last person on earth (besides Grandma and Grandpa) who didn’t have a smart phone. Honestly, I didn’t care. My beat-up old phone met my needs. I could make phone calls. I could send texts. I could even take slightly blurry, mediocre pictures. 

I’ll admit, sometimes I felt a tad jealous when other moms whipped out their sleek little gadgets and checked their email or logged onto Facebook. 

But oh well. Who needs gadgets anyway?

Apparently Curt thought I did, because guess what I got for my birthday? My very own iPhone 6! Finally, if for only a moment, my kids thought I was cool. 

It was a great gift. It had a cute purple case and tons of nifty features. There was only one problem. I didn’t use any of those features.  

Yep. This phone offered the world at my fingertips, but I used it only to text my kids and call my mom. I definitely wasn’t using it for what it was made for. (Steve Jobs would be so disappointed.)

Finally after a week or two, I started exploring my options. I downloaded a few Apps. I subscribed to some podcasts. And, just to see what all the fuss is about, I took a few selfies. After all, this phone was a gift; I should use it to its potential! 
                                                                                             
You know, God gives us great gifts too. Unfortunately; like my cell phone, we tend to ignore them. 

Sounds crazy doesn't it? What if God Himself handed you a beautiful present – and you refused to open it? What if you just threw it in a closet and shut the door?

I mean seriously, who would ignore a gift from God?

Well … me, I guess.

When I first started writing for the church newsletter, sweet elderly ladies tried to encourage me. They'd stop me after church and say the nicest things.

“I really enjoy your writing, Sheri. God has given you a gift.”

I’d smile and thank them, but inside I didn’t believe it. What? A gift? Nah! Writing is just my silly little hobby.

For nine years I was more than happy to write for the church. It was fun. It was fulfilling. And it felt safe.

Then Madison started kindergarten, and I began feeling like I should step out of my safe comfort zone. After all, God says if we are faithful with the little things, He will trust us with big things.

And He proved it to me.

The more I trusted Him with my writing, the bigger my audience became. Today I write for Guideposts Magazine. Guideposts generally has two million subscribers – which translates to around six million readers.

Whew! The thought of six million people reading my words … only God could do that!

So how about you? What do you enjoy doing? Is there something you seem to be naturally good at? It’s not a matter of pride; it’s about exploring the gift God gave you. He decides what gifts to give; but only we can decide what to do with those gifts.

Let me encourage you. If you're faithful to use what God has given you - either big or small – He will be faithful to put opportunities in your path. He proved it to me. Let Him prove it to you.


“Your talent is God’s gift to you. What you do with it is your gift back to God.”
- Leo Buscaglia

I spent much of my early childhood years hugging my mom’s leg. I know, call me a mama’s girl, but sometimes you just need your mom close by. Like when a strange man talked to me at the grocery store. Or when I waited for the bus on my first day of school. Or even the time I got lost in the middle of nowhere when I was four years old.

Checking fences is a never-ending job when you live on a farm. The last thing a farmer wants is the cows to get out. This was usually my mom’s job. But I’ll never forget one particular time when I tagged along.  

Mom and I walked together, following the fence. Before long we came to some timber. Mom plopped her hand on her hip and looked down at me.  

“I need to check the fence back in the timber, but I want you to stay out here. Keep walking and follow these trees until you get to the end of the timber. I’ll meet you there.” 

I looked at the wide, open space around me. “But I want to go with you.”

Mom shook her head. “The timber is too rough for you to walk through. Just follow these trees and I’ll meet you there soon.”

A lump formed in my throat as I watched my mom disappear into the woods.

At first everything was fine. I walked along, peering through the trees every so often, just to make sure she was still nearby. 

Then the vegetation grew thicker. Tall weeds and sticker bushes blocked my view.

“Mom! Where are you?”

I stood motionless, straining to hear Mom’s muffled voice. “I’m here, Sheri. Just keep walking.”  

“Mom … I can’t see you!”

Tears blurred my vision and my heart beat faster. Was I even going the right way? What if I got lost and Mom never found me? A faint voice echoed through the timber.

“You’re alright. Just keep walking.” 

Over the next few minutes, Mom hollered to me from deep in the woods and encouraged me to keep going. Finally, I spotted the edge of the timber. I started running through the grass.

From behind me, I heard a rustling sound. I stood still, frozen. I turned around ever-so-slowly, and saw my mom tromping out of the timber. She swiped her hand across her sweaty forehead and smiled.

Of course, later I realized Mom was right. The timber wasn’t the best place for a little girl. It was for my own good. This became even more clear when Mom broke out with a miserable rash the following day. Poison ivy. Itchy, red blisters spread across her face and down her neck. Within days, both of her eyes were nearly swollen shut.

You may be wondering why I’m sharing this slightly embarrassing story with you today. Two reasons, actually. First, I love telling stories about growing up on a farm. And second, I wonder if you may need a bit of encouragement today. You see, I think this story is a great illustration of our relationship with God.

I’ve had times in my life when I felt completely lost in a difficult situation. I couldn’t see God anywhere in my circumstances. But the fact was, He’d been with me all along. Maybe I felt scared and confused, but He never left my side. Looking back, I can imagine Him saying, “I’m here, Sheri. Just keep walking.”

Maybe today you’re walking through a difficult time. Let me encourage you. God is near. He’s even closer than you think. And He wants the best for you. I invite you to call out to Him and He’ll show you the way.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you." 
-Deuteronomy 31:6 NIV

If you enjoyed this story, perhaps you’d also enjoy reading another one of my embarrassing farm stories: “Keeping Company with Cows.” Check it out! 

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I slid into the dentist’s chair and looked down at my feet. This was too obvious. I crossed my ankles, trying to cover one foot over the other. Then the hygienist pushed a button. Ever-so-slowly my chair tilted back. As my head reclined lower, my feet elevated higher. 

I noticed the lamp hanging over my head. I imagined the hygienist grabbing that spotlight, turning it toward my feet, and shining it down for all to see my glaring mistake. Enough was enough. Maybe she wouldn’t have noticed, but I wanted out of my mismatched misery. I may as well face it. I messed up. Everybody does, right?  

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I’m wearing two different shoes.” I tried to suppress the heat rising up my cheeks. 

The hygienist smiled. “I’ve done that before!” 

I felt relieved to share a good laugh over such a silly thing. As she went to work on my teeth, I thought about my day. It sure took a lot of work, trying to hide my feet all day. It reminds me of walking through life, trying to hide our sins from God. 

At first, sin seems easy to hide. We go about our days, hoping no one will see our little secret. We might even think we got away with it because we didn’t have immediate consequences. Like at the bank. No one noticed, so it wasn’t a problem.  

But God is everywhere and He sees it all. We can’t hide anything from God. Walking through the mall, I was almost obsessed. I knew I had made a mistake and was certain everyone else knew it too. And, like the dentist’s chair that elevated my feet, God can elevate our sin if we refuse to deal with it. It becomes so obvious, everyone will see it. Sooner or later, sin creates mayhem in our lives.    

Now here’s the good news. God gives us the opportunity to confess our sins. 1 John 1:9 says, “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us of our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” 

I took this incident as a gentle reminder to inspect my heart for anything I might need to confess. 

And after that morning of mismatched mayhem, my heart isn't the only thing I’ll check. Next time I’ll conduct a careful inspection of my entire wardrobe before heading out the door.. 

I handed Curt the camera and signaled for the kids. “Alright guys, let’s get a quick picture before you open your presents.”

All three girls settled down in front of the fireplace. They knew the drill. We’d had this tradition since they were babies. The night before Christmas they could open two presents: a new ornament and a pair of pajamas.

“How about we start with the oldest this year?” Emily sat up straight, balancing her presents on her lap.    

To my surprise, her two younger sisters obliged. Emily opened her ornament and held it up. “New driver,” she read out loud.

Taylor was next. She opened her ornament and gazed at the miniature volleyball player. She flipped over the ornament and smiled as she spotted #24 – her volleyball number – on the back of the jersey.                                                                            
I motioned to Madison. “You’re up!” She grinned and prepared to rip into the paper.

Suddenly my cell phone rang. Then Curt’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Across the room, our home phone joined in.

What in the world? I grabbed my phone and glanced at the screen. “It’s the school.”

I pushed the speaker button and we all leaned in, listening. The voice of our high school principal filled the living room.

“Good evening staff, students and families. It is with deep sadness that I regret to inform you that our high school lost a great student earlier today.”

The recorded message continued as we sat motionless, trying to comprehend the unbelievable news.

A fourteen-year-old boy had tragically passed away. He was a freshman – the grade right between Emily and Taylor. His younger brother is in Maddie’s class. In our small community, everyone pretty much knows everyone.

I hung up the phone. For awhile, we just stared into space in silent disbelief. Finally, I remembered it was Maddie’s turn to open her gift. But opening gifts didn't seem important anymore.

Throughout Christmas day I couldn't get that phone call out of my mind. My heart ached as I thought about the unimaginable pain this family must be feeling. As we opened our gifts, I pictured the unopened gifts under their family’s tree. When we sat down together for dinner, I thought about the empty chair at their table.

My mind drifted back over the past few weeks. December had been crazy busy. There was Christmas shopping and gift wrapping to be done. A Christmas letter to write. Decorations to drag up from the basement. Two trees to decorate. Cookies to bake. A big ‘ol traditional meal to plan and prepare – complete with turkey and stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn casserole and cranberries, homemade rolls and pie. And in my desire to make the house look "perfect" before family showed up, there was last-minute cleaning to do.

Now I wondered, did any of that stuff even matter?

On Christmas night I grabbed a book from my nightstand and went to bed early. Before long, Madison, all decked out in her new fuzzy jammies, scrambled in beside me. She snuggled close, resting her head against my shoulder. And we sat together, doing absolutely nothing, for a very long time.

It’s hard to describe the emotions I felt as my “baby” cuddled close beside me that night. I'll try to sum it up with six words. 

Completely content. 

Exceedingly grateful. 

Abundantly blessed. 

Madison started to yawn, but then turned away, attempting to stifle it. She looked up at me and exhaled a heavy sigh. “So I guess that means I have to go to bed.”

“Nope,” I said. “You need to stay right here.” 

She raised an eyebrow.   

“And do you know why I want you to stay here?” I didn't give her the chance to answer. “Because there’s nowhere else in this whole wide world I’d rather be than sitting right here, snuggling with you.”                              

“Nowhere?” Her eyes widened. 

“Nowhere,” I said. And I meant it with all my heart.

Will you please join me in praying for the family that experienced this tragedy on Christmas Eve? I would also appreciate prayer for our community. A high school gymnasium should be a place for fun and joyful occasions like pep rallies ... basketball and volleyball games ... graduation ceremonies. But this morning our gym became a place of grief and sorrow, where teachers, classmates, friends, relatives and neighbors gathered together for a young man’s funeral service. Tough weeks are ahead. Thank you for your prayers. 

I knew I was supposed to appreciate my blessings on Thanksgiving, but as we pulled into my grandparents’ driveway, I had mixed feelings. I was thankful to still have my grandparents. I was glad my girls could know their great-grandparents. But lately, visiting them was difficult – sometimes even heartbreaking – as I watched their health decline.

Grandpa, once a big, strong farmer who operated bulldozers and hauled truckloads of rock, cattle and corn, could no longer walk from his chair in the living room to the kitchen table without assistance.

In the past, Grandma had handled their finances. She balanced the checkbook, figured income taxes and paid the hired men. But lately she’d become confused and disoriented. Sometimes during conversation she'd mix up her words. She also struggled with her memory. Last year at my parents’ 50th anniversary party, we watched a slideshow of family photos. Time and again Grandma asked, “Who is that?” as the faces of her children and grandchildren flashed across the screen.

I grabbed my camera and closed the van door. As I walked up the sidewalk, a question lurked in the back of my mind. Would Grandma even know me today?

Voices and laughter echoed through the house. In the living room, family members greeted us. Grandma looked up with a blank expression.

“That’s Sheri,” my mom said from across the room. “You remember my daughter, Sheri. Right, Mom?” 

Grandma gave a slight, unconvincing nod. Maybe she thought I looked familiar in some vague way, but her eyes never seemed to register.

Over the next few minutes I listened to the same conversations I’d heard as a kid. Grandpa asked Dad if he'd gotten his corn picked before the snow started falling. Somehow, the discussions always focused on farming. Grandma sat silent.  

I held my camera out to my aunt. “Would you mind?’

Curt and I sat on either side of my grandparents. Our girls settled down on the floor.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Grandma staring at me. Her eyes narrowed, studying me. All of a sudden she gave me a bright smile.

“I am so glad to see you here!” She patted my knee with her wrinkled hand.

I was completely caught off guard. Had Grandma suddenly recognized me? I couldn't say for sure, but I’ll never forget my initial thought when she spoke those words.  

That’s probably what she’ll say when she sees me in heaven!

I let the idea settle over me. Of course. Grandma may not recognize me today, but she will definitely know me in heaven. I needed that little reminder to look at the big picture.

A few months later, Grandma and Grandpa moved into a full-time care facility. Sadly today, Grandma’s Alzheimer’s has progressed to the point that she can no longer form words. But I know this isn't the end of the story. Grandma and I will talk again.

Until then, I’ll treasure that photo with my grandma’s hand planted firmly on my knee. Each time I see it, my heart fills with thanksgiving because I know there’s a better future waiting for Grandma.

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please like my writer page at: https://www.facebook.com/SheriZeckWrites. 
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Three things always happen at our house during this time of year. Sunday afternoons become all about football. Our oldest daughter starts reminding us that her birthday is only a month away. And my thoughts drift back to a difficult time many years ago. This year it’ll be sixteen. Sixteen years since my husband lost his mother to cancer. But something wonderful happened in the midst of that heartache.

A new baby.

On the night before I went into labor we'd gone to Curt’s parent’s house. It was an emotional evening. We’d recently learned that Carol’s cancer was back – and had spread to her liver. We knew it was serious. There were tears, prayers, and much discussion about options.

We returned home late that night. At 2 AM I woke up from labor pains. I'll spare you the details, but finally at 1:30 that afternoon we welcomed our first daughter, Emily, into the world.

We felt like we'd been on an emotional roller coaster. The night before had been so full of sadness, yet the following day we felt such joy. I remember when Curt’s parents came to visit. It was nice to see them smile. 

Four days after having Emily, the family gathered for Thanksgiving. As usual, Carol wanted to prepare the meal. Unfortunately she felt too sick to eat it.

In the weeks following Thanksgiving, Carol’s health declined quickly. Friends and family stopped by to visit or drop off a meal. Most visitors had one thing in common. After the initial, “How are you feeling” and “I’ll be praying for you,” there usually was an awkward silence. No one knew what to say. But our tiny baby provided the perfect distraction. Carol loved showing off her granddaughter, and Emily brought a bit of happiness during that difficult time. Especially one day, about two weeks before Christmas.

During that time, Carol had been too weak and nauseous to get out of bed. That’s why, when I stopped by on my way to the mall, I was surprised to see her resting in a chair.

“I'm actually having a pretty good day,” she said, gazing at the little pink bundle in my arms. “How about you leave the baby with us while you go shopping?”

Carol reached out toward Emily. I placed the baby in her arms.

“Are you sure you're okay?” I glanced at my father-in-law, across the room. He gave me a nod.

“We'll be just fine,” she said, stroking Emily’s hair.

I was only gone an hour or two, but when I returned I found Emily and Carol exactly as I'd left them. Emily was fast asleep, still snuggled into Grandma’s arms.

At that moment I knew one thing for sure. I couldn't have given my mother-in-law a better Christmas gift. 

Two weeks after Christmas Carol passed away at home, surrounded by her family. After the funeral, friends, neighbors and relatives filled the house. I barely held my daughter that day. Person-after-person took turns holding her. There was something therapeutic about cuddling a baby. It felt like God was saying, “Take comfort. Life will go on.”

This time of year always reminds me of Carol, but I'm also reminded of God’s perfect timing. After all, He gave us a wonderful gift – right in the middle of that difficult season.

Maybe you’re going through a tough time right now. It may not be as serious as losing a loved one. Or maybe it is. Either way, take comfort. And I hope you'll look for a delightful distraction in the midst of the mess.

I tried to enjoy my new-found freedom after my third and final daughter started kindergarten. Instead, I felt lost. Mundane days drifted into weeks. Of course I was still a mom, but my job had changed drastically. One day I shared my frustrations with my husband. 

“After all these years, this was supposed to be my time to pursue my dreams,” I said, plopping onto the couch, “but I can't even remember my dreams.”

Curt sat down next to me as I rattled on. ‘I mean, what am I supposed to do? Return to college? Go back to my old job? Pursue a new career?”

“You should do whatever you want,” he said, “but don’t settle for any job. Do something you really enjoy – something you feel passionate about.”

In my heart, I knew my passion … writing. It seemed like I was always writing something. Stories for my girls. Family Christmas letters. Articles for the church newsletter. But trying to get published? Now that scared me. After all, I wasn't a real writer. What if I wasn't good enough?

I tried to reassure myself. What’s the worst thing that could happen? An annoying voice inside my head spoke up. 

Others will discover you have no idea what you're doing. You could fail.

So I ignored the dream. I tucked it away and tried to forget it. Until a few weeks later when my pastor shared a message I couldn't ignore.  

“How many times do we limit ourselves because of fear?” My pastor’s eyes scanned our congregation. “How often do we miss what God has for us because we fear rejection and worry too much about what others might think?”

I fidgeted in my chair. How did he know I was struggling with fear?

“If you believe God put a desire in your heart, don't let feelings of fear stop you.”

I nodded to myself and scribbled notes in my bulletin.

“It’s okay to be afraid. In fact, it’s normal to feel fear. Just don't let fear control you. Trust God with that fear and He'll walk with you through your fear.”

I wrote down three simple words and underlined them.

Do it afraid. 

Over the following months those words became my motto as I stepped out of my comfort zone and into the wonderful, yet overwhelming world of writing. 

First, I read every book I could find on improving my craft. Then I worked up the courage to submit articles for publication – and had plenty of practice learning to cope with rejection.

Meanwhile, the relentless voice in my head worked hard to discourage me. But I didn’t give up. “Do it afraid,” I said as I pushed myself to write another article. “Do it afraid,” I thought as I emailed a magazine editor. “Do it afraid,” I said as I signed up for a writer’s conference.

And afraid I was.

I remember sitting in the van that morning, wiping my sweaty palms against my khakis. I glanced at the dashboard clock: 7:58 AM. Across the parking lot, a young woman carried an armful of books and headed toward the front doors. Should I go in? Registration began at 8:00, but the first speaker didn’t start for a few more minutes. I’d wait. Right now conference attendees were probably mixing and mingling, sipping their lattes and discussing their latest novels.

I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, trying to ignore the voice inside my head.

Writing for the church newsletter doesn't make you a writer. Anyone can write for a church newsletter.

I watched a couple more conference-goers weave their way through the parking lot and disappear through the front doors. My stomach flip-flopped. Maybe I should forget this silly notion and go home.

But I didn't forget it. I walked into the first workshop with my heart pounding hard inside my chest. Like the new kid in a junior high cafeteria, I searched for a seat among strangers. But by the end of the workshop, I felt at home.     

In the months after the conference, I continued to follow my pastor’s simple yet powerful advice. I joined a critique group, entered a writing contest and started a blog. I surrounded myself with people that encouraged me – and ignored the ones that didn’t.

Each time I stepped out of my comfort zone, God opened another door of opportunity. Eventually as my skills and confidence grew, “doing it afraid” led me down the path to publication.

Then one afternoon I got a phone call.

“Hello, am I speaking to Sheri?”

I exhaled a heavy sigh. “Yes, this is Sheri.” Telemarketers are so annoying.

“I’m calling from Guideposts Magazine and I wanted to let you know that your story was chosen as one of the winners of our writer’s contest.”

I couldn't believe it! And for about a week I couldn't stop smiling. If you'd like to read more about the day I got that phone call, click here. 

It was an wonderful opportunity. Guideposts flew me and eleven other writers to Seattle for a five-day workshop. Their editors taught us how to write inspirational articles for the magazine, and as an added bonus, I made lots of new friendships with other writers across the country. (I also got to meet bestselling author, Debbie Macomber! You can read about that here.

That was two years ago; and there are still times when my insecurities creep back and try to discourage me. That’s when I have to remind myself that the only way I'll fail is to quit.

I feel so blessed to be able to do what I find extremely fulfilling. As I continue on this journey, who knows how far I’ll go when I keep doing it afraid? I may have butterflies in my stomach and trembling knees along the way, but I'm excited to see my destination.