Who I Am Beyond the Book

I’ve poured so much of myself into this story that sometimes I forget there’s more to me than the pages I’m writing. But if I’m asking readers and parents to trust me with a story that touches faith, friendship, and growing up, then I owe them an answer to a bigger question.

Who am I beyond this book?

I’m a Christian first. My relationship with God is the most important part of my life. I accepted Jesus as my Savior while enlisted in the Air Force in the 1980s, stationed in Madrid, Spain, at the age of twenty-one. At the time, my faith was simple. If the Bible said it, I believed it.

But life has a way of testing simplicity.

As the years went on, my faith was stretched by hardship, confusion, and disappointment. I began to question—not out of rebellion, but out of pain. My twenties were marked by uncertainty, and for a time I lost my way. Yet even then, something deep within me knew God was the only one I could trust. When life unraveled and I had nothing left to hold onto, I found Him again—not in big or obvious moments, but in quiet ones where prayer was all I had.

Over time, my faith changed. It became less about certainty and more about dependence. Less about having answers and more about holding on.

That understanding shaped the way I approached the next most important part of my life: my family.

My wife and I were married in the late 1990s while I was attending Bible college. Our daughter was born a year later, and our son followed while I was working in ministry. Being a husband and a dad has been the greatest joy of my life—and the greatest challenge. Parenting has taught me more about patience, humility, and trust in God than any role I’ve ever held.

One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned as a parent is that faith can’t be forced. It has to be lived.

When circumstances later led us to homeschool, I found myself wrestling with how much to guide and how much to let go. I still wanted my kids to know God. That desire never changed. But I had to learn when to step back and give them breathing room. When I relaxed, not in belief, but in intensity, the relationship shifted. I continued to share my faith and model it, but I stopped trying to manage the outcome. Whether they noticed that change at the time, I’m not sure. Somehow, I think they did.

That experience reinforced something I’ve come to believe deeply: faith shows up most clearly in action.

Kids notice more than we think. They can tell when words and behavior don’t match. Faith has to be lived because that’s the essence of love, not perfection, but honesty, presence, and consistency. That belief was shaped further through my years working in nonprofit ministry, including traveling as a program facilitator with Feed My Starving Children. Serving others taught me that no need is too small to matter. I want kids to know they can bring everything to God; big fears, small worries, unanswered questions, and that all of it matters to Him.

That sense of care and attention ties back to something that has always mattered deeply to me: belonging.

Growing up, my family moved every two years because of my dad’s job. That was simply our normal. I didn’t realize how different it was until I saw cousins who stayed in one home, with the same friends, year after year. Friendships were scarce, and that scarcity followed me into adulthood. Belonging shows up so strongly in my stories because it’s something I didn’t have, and something I wanted my kids to experience.

Creating safe spaces for kids has never been something I only talked about. When my children were very young, I used to ask them a simple question during hard moments: “Where is the safest place in the whole wide world?” They learned the answer quickly. “In my daddy’s arms.” I wanted them to know they were always safe with me. My hope has always been that they would one day feel that same safety with God.

In early 2025, my life shifted again when I became a full-time caregiver for my adult daughter. Much of our time together is quiet and shared at home. During that season, I returned to a story I had been carrying for years.

I had tried writing it many times before. It never quite worked. I eventually had to admit that while I knew how to write, I still had a lot to learn about fiction. I took classes, sought feedback, and talked with other writers for the first time in the process. And something changed.

Writing alongside my daughter changed things even more.

I would read each new chapter aloud to her and listen to her feedback. I never considered a chapter finished until we talked it through and I made changes. Writing became less lonely. It drew us closer. It reminded me how important it is to listen—really listen—and to value another person’s voice.

So why do I keep writing when outcomes are uncertain?

At first, I would have said it’s because I want kids to know Jesus. And that’s still true. If one child trusts Jesus with his heart, every hour spent writing is worth it. But I’ve come to realize God has been doing something in me through this process as well. Writing has drawn me closer to Him. How exactly, I’m not fully sure yet, but I know it’s been real.

What I hope a parent feels after trusting me with their child’s reading time is peace and joy. I want them to feel confident that their child can get lost in the adventure, laugh with the characters, and encounter faith in a way that feels natural, not forced. My hope is that kids can walk through the world of the story alongside the characters, simply enjoying being kids and, in the process, learning about God without feeling like they’re being preached at.

That’s who I am beyond the book.

And that’s the heart I bring to every page.