I am in Omaha, NE, this weekend for the memorial of my father, who died in January. I am surrounded by the family I love and who love me. I have one memory of Daddy that stands out among them all. I was a sophomore in high school and we were given the opportunity to choose the English class we wanted. I chose Creative Writing, of course. One day my guidance counselor called me in his office to tell me I had to change my choice. Why? He thought Creative Writing was too hard for me, so he put me in another class. The summer went by and when I started my junior year, I complained to my family (at the dinner table, next to my dad) that I wished I could have gotten into the writing class. Daddy did not hesitate to write the school and tell them to put me in the creative writing class. Within a day, I was in and I excelled until I graduated from high school. I had been writing since I was six and I would have continued to write whether I took the class or not. The diamond in this story is that Daddy believed in me enough to stand up for me. He supported my writing and books all of my life until the day he died.
I carry this memory home with me where I will continue to write the stories and messages God puts upon my heart to bless the world.