I have dyslexia, and I’ve never read well. Entering a church culture that grew by passing books around was always a challenge for me. I felt left out, and no one understood why. I learned what I could from sermons, then marched out boldly to try life that way. After failing more times than I can count, I finally bought the Bible on tape and listened to sermons to hear how they interpreted what I could not easily read. I remember thinking, If he can make that connection here, then I can do the same here, here, and here. That kind of thinking was a disaster. But it did reveal something important: the inconsistency we all bring when we treat the Word as the only document needed to follow Jesus, instead of a living witness pointing us to Him. Meanwhile, my life kept imploding through hard and painful seasons. I needed more than borrowed interpretations. I needed a living God. But the Holy Spirit felt distant because I believed something in me was unforgivable—better left alone, better not touched. So, I clung to two simple truths: Jesus loves me. Seek, and you will find. Those two lines carried me through surgeries, failures, loss, and loneliness. And somewhere along the way, I was introduced to a Jesus who is real and working today, and to a Holy Spirit who is active and alive in me—not to win arguments, but to walk humbly and share His wisdom. Today I look for Jesus everywhere and in everything, just as David did, just as Jesus Himself did. I no longer see the Bible as a rulebook I must master, but as a map pointing to a Living Lord who reigns—a Lord who meets me in my weakness, my questions, and my searching. And the more I look for Him, the more I find Him. ...

I learned to see my sin the hard way—when the books I couldn’t read were replaced by a voice that named what I’d been hiding. I was six years old when my friends and I found a large box of pornography in an old shed. Even at that age the images were spellbinding. My brothers caught us looking at it, and in a rare moment of moral clarity, they marched from house to house to tell our friends’ mothers what we had done. One by one, the mothers shrugged it off. But as we approached the last house before mine, my brothers warned their friends, “If she doesn’t care, we’re not telling on him. He’ll get beaten.” She cared. And they told. My mother, for reasons I still don’t fully understand, decided to tell my father—who had been distant for a long time. I was terrified. At dinner she slid one of the centerfolds across the table and said, “Look at what your son was looking at today.” Everyone braced for his anger. He glanced at it, smiled, and said, “That’s my boy.” My brothers commandeered the box, and it followed us secretly for the next ten years. It seems harmless when you start because you don’t understand the price you will pay. Pornography leads to isolation and loneliness. First it trains you to rely on private pleasure as normal. Then it warps how you see the opposite sex. You begin to believe beauty equals worth. You stop looking at character. You start seeing people as objects rather than partners. To see your sin is a spiritual gift: it exposes our need and points us back to the Lord. David understood this when he wrote, “my sin is ever before me” (Psalm 51). I understood it too, though slowly. What confused me for years was Paul’s promise that one day “we shall know fully, even as we are fully known.” I wanted to be known for the noble things—the good things—not the sin. But that desire itself was flawed. If you are not known fully, you will always fear that if God or others truly saw you, you would not be enough. The truth is far better: He already sees you. And He does not turn away. The vulnerability we fear, Jesus embraced. Before a man was crucified, he was stripped naked. That is vulnerability. That is exposure. And that is the love of our God. His nakedness on the cross is not shame—it is a radical call to authenticity. A call to step out of hiding. A call to receive mercy. The human heart is made to be known. We were created for community, not performance. Living honestly with others is countercultural, but it is also the doorway to healing. It is how grace becomes real. I stopped looking at pornography twenty years ago, but the images lived in my mind long after. To free myself, I had to choose a life of celibacy, and I have carried that commitment for fifteen years. It has not been easy, but it has been freeing. It taught me that confession is not humiliation—it is liberation. If you are tired of pretending, come home. Bring the truth and let grace meet you there. ...

I once heard someone say that you are made up of little pieces of everyone you have ever met. The older I get, the more I believe that is true. No one is self‑made. We are shaped by our encounters and experiences, and the Lord uses those encounters to form us. Over the years, I have found myself returning to a few trusted voices — people who speak with clarity, conviction, and a kind of honesty that calls something awake in me. Strangely enough, all three of them came to me through YouTube, and each one has shaped the way I read Scripture and understand the Lord. Rick Atchley What I admire most in him is his dogged refusal to give up on the text. He holds Scripture with both reverence and realism, insisting that it still speaks into today’s culture without needing to be trimmed, softened, or apologized for. Megan Fate Marshman She was my first real encounter with someone who brought her personal life into teaching with such honesty and depth. She showed me that vulnerability is not a distraction from the gospel but often the doorway into it. Sr. Miriam James Heidland, SOLT Her insights into Scripture have led me into a deeper understanding of the Lord’s heart. She speaks with a gentleness that somehow carries great strength, and her reflections have helped me see Jesus in places I had overlooked. When you allow someone to influence you, their thoughts slowly become part of the way you think. I have tried to keep my own creativity distinct, but if I have failed at that, I want to acknowledge it openly. Their voices — their beliefs, their experiences, and their very different ways of interpreting the Bible — have become part of the way I now approach Scripture. I do not know whether any of them would agree with where I am today. I only know that I am not, and never will be, a finished product. All I can say is, Here we are, Lord.