A couple of years later, my friends and I decided to start a “band.” (None of us really played any instruments for real.) But I wrote a few songs for our group, heavily inspired by the Christian pop group ZOEgirl. (I can still hear the tunes roaming around in my head. “Who says I’m pretty? Well, I don’t have to be-e. In my heart of hearts, I know I’m free-ee.” Like I said, it was a process.) 

 

In my seventh grade Social Studies class, I got to write a poem about every unit we learned about. That was about the extent of my poetry career, but it was the best Social Studies class I EVER had. I also got to go to “Yearbook Camp” and learned more about writing, editing, and designing yearbooks. 

 

My new dream was to become a writer for Brio Magazine, a publication by Focus on the Family for teen girls.

 

In high school, I continued to write songs—though they were much better once I learned to play guitar. Funny songs, about a church internship and not wanting to grow up. Some, parodies to others’ well-established tunes. In college and beyond, the songs got more serious, about faith and relationships and longing to see the salvation of loved ones.

 

I went to college planning to double major in Religious Studies and Art. I did study these subjects, but when I took the intro-level Messages, Meaning, and Culture class and heard my professor’s assertion that “Everything is communication,” nothing had ever resonated with me more. I became a Communication Studies major. 

 

When I went to study abroad in Tanzania for three months, I decided to start a blog, so I could update people on my adventures. (I wouldn’t have access to a phone, and would only have one hour of internet time each week when we went into town.) When I returned home, I decided to keep blogging. There was something therapeutic about recording my thoughts and sending them out into the universe, in case they could benefit anyone or invite someone else to say “me too.”

 

One of my main topics was exploring biblical femininity. I have always wrestled with what it meant to be a godly woman. To be honest, I am still figuring it out. 

 

When I was 20 years old, I was walking up to my professor’s desk to hand in my final exam for Communication Criticism, when my professor asked me to step out in the hall with him for a moment.

 

A wave of dread rushed over me.

 

Was he about to accuse me of cheating? Had I unintentionally plagiarized something in my final rhetorical criticism essay? 

 

My professor, an adjunct with decades of experience, told me in a very serious voice that my essay, a 27-page rhetorical criticism on the musical genre of “Holy Hip Hop,” was one of the best he has ever read. He encouraged me to submit it to a scholarly journal for publication. The Journal of Communication and Religion rejected the manuscript, but encouraged me to explore the topic more deeply, make some revisions, and resubmit the piece. 

 

I never thought writing in and of itself would be my profession—I simply thought I did not have enough material to comprise a book. But I knew that words were one of the most important things in the world, and that knowing how to use them meant I could do lots of different things.

 

So I worked at schools, nonprofit organizations, churches, a composites manufacturer, and finally a creative agency as an official copywriter and brand assistant. I also helped a friend edit, proof, self-publish, and market her first novel. 

 

All the while, the dream of becoming an author had always been in the back of my mind. But it was just a dream, a hazy little happy thing that “would be nice, someday.” 

 

Then someday came. 

 

I woke up one morning, a scene from a dream fresh in my mind. Some girl named Payton and her friend Wyatt, in his dorm room. Talking about movies and guy-girl relationships. As I got ready that morning, more details began to unfold. It felt to me as though these were real people, whose stories needed to be written down. 

 

From working with my friend, I had known the challenges and effort and financial investment involved in writing a novel. I was wary. 

“Okay, God,” I said. “Are You telling me to write a book? Because, if You are, I’ll do it. But only if it’s from You, and only if You’ll use it. Because otherwise it will not be worth it.”

 

Because, you see, the other things I had always wanted to be were a wife and a mom. And now I was. As a mom of a toddler, I wasn’t really interested in something that would take my time away from her without adding any other benefit (like income) to our family. But God, in His silent, powerful, peaceful way, nudged me to write down these scenes coming to mind. So I wrote. And I never had to strain to figure out what would happen next, it was simply revealed to me. And somehow, the thing was completed, and a publisher wanted to take a chance on it.

 

So here I am, all my dreams have come true. But I am still covered in boogies and spit-up, and I have gray hairs and don’t get enough sleep. Life is far from glamorous. But it certainly is glorious. And I can’t wait to see what else God will do, beyond what I could’ve imagined, as I do my best to be faithful to His call. 

 

I pray that you, dear reader, will hear His voice through my words.