I was seventeen with my nose to the glass of my plane window looking out over the glorious sun-streaked Andes as I made my way homeward after nearly three months living in Cuzco, Peru. Streaming through my headphones, the voice of Michael Card washed over a weary heart: “Though you are homeless, though you’re alone, I will be your home. Whatever’s the matter, whatever’s been done, I will be your home.”

When I started The Way Back to Ourselves in August of last year, I had a vision for a NEW kind of community—a place full of believers and seekers who were yearning for more and looking to find themselves and their faith again in a world that has forgotten how—a place to help us become more whole, so we could love, lead, and live better for our families and communities…

The Way Back to Ourselves is proud to announce our FIRST poetry contest! Submissions open May 1, 2023. Can’t wait to see what you can do! Click here to find out about the exciting details! Winner gets a cash prize. Winner and runner-up get publication and promotion!

We are on the eve of our precious daughter’s sixth birthday, and I can’t help but to be overwhelmed with unbelievable gratitude. She is the daughter we weren’t supposed to have. And here she is. She is the child we learned to let go of after ten years of infertility and loss. Yet here she is. Quite simply put, she is the impossible staring us in the face. She is God on display. She is the child breathed to life by our prayers—made room for in my broken womb.

Some seasons feel so heavy that they become like burdens—or like 10-pound weights attached to the wings of a butterfly (I’ll get to the butterflies later). For my family, and many others more, life since 2020 has felt this way. From Covid-19 and quarantines to political strife and economic instability, in every way life has felt harder. And adding an additional health trauma to the list also showed us that my illness-turned-disability has a way of seeping into every aspect of our lives, leaving nothing untouched: work, family planning, schooling, friends, social outings, transportation, access, opportunities, and reputation.

I don’t know about you, but I still love a good old-fashioned handwritten letter. What can I say? I’m an old soul, and letter-writing is still—in my humble opinion—one of the truest ways to tell someone that they mean something to you.

In 2020, when the world was shutting down from COVID, I was shutting down too, as I battled an insidious autoimmune disease, multiple surgeries, and sepsis. So, it feels rather silly to state the obvious: the past two years have been the most difficult years of our lives. Overnight, everything we thought we knew was flipped upside down. And to be honest, that kind of life-shattering change brings even the strongest of faith to their knees. I know this because it happened to me.

Some seasons in life are bleaker than others. Some places you’re called to are harder than others, and some people you know will hurt you more than others. We’ve all been there before. The terrain is arid and untilled. Even downright hostile. In fact, the gossip and suspicion can last so long that you swear it’s going to be the end of you.

As you might have guessed, I have a mild obsession with words. Okay, scratch that. I am obsessed with words, and I love nothing more than to learn a new word—especially so, if that word becomes a part of me or seems as if it’s a word I have always known.

We are committed to finding a way back to ourselves, so that we can be WHOLE, and in turn, love, lead, and live better for our families and communities. And why not?