Family & Faith

My walk with Jesus has never been linear. It’s more like an amusement-park map: roller coasters, ferris wheels, and just enough whiplash to keep me humble.

But God has been the steady foundation beneath every chapter — even the ones I tried to write without Him.

I didn’t grow up in a Christian home. My dad was an atheist, my mom a non-practicing Baptist who didn’t acknowledge much of anything religious, and together they raised my sister and me in the “no-faith” category.

Growing up in the Northeast, most of our friends were Catholic or Jewish, and my second-grade best friend — a Baptist — was practically a unicorn. I didn’t even know the difference between Christmas and Easter. (Was Easter when Jesus was born? Or Christmas?)

Yet somehow, even with two parents actively uninterested in God, He was already stitching small threads of Himself into my life. The first tiny seed was planted when that little Baptist best friend invited me to Pioneer Girls. My mom loved a social gathering, so she said yes — and God quietly went to work.