Bio - My Story

Christmas, 1992 - Holding up the pen to my very first journal while my Auntie Ruby looked on.

Christmas, 1992 - Holding up the pen to my very first journal while my Auntie Ruby looked on.

I was gifted my first journal at the age of 10 as a Christmas present by my Mom's older sister, Rebecca, (whom we all affectionately call "Auntie Ruby"). During my childhood, my parents and their 7 children spent Christmases at Auntie Ruby's and Uncle Bob's house, along with their 7 children. It was a madhouse, but it was loud and alive. Since receiving that journal from Auntie Ruby, it has been like a Pandora's box of words that originate in my head and travel in to my pen, and on to any piece of paper I'm writing on at the time. I tell my story on this platform because I find that it reminds me of God's faithfulness, but mostly because of something I didn't expect--- that my stories offered hope to so many of those who walked down the same concrete path I did. 

“Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.”
— Harry Potter & The Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling

Telling the story of my journey through divorce was my "Voldemort." I treated it as the "situation-that-must-not-be-spoken-of." I held the story in, afraid of being judged, and ashamed of what had happened. If you've read the story, it starts off with 4-year-old Sophie. At the conclusion, she was about to turn 8 in a few weeks. Four years. The journey through those 4 years paralyzed me from doing something I naturally did as in breathing: from writing every day to writing nothing, for 4. LONG. YEARS. If writing was my way of speaking, I felt mute. If writing was my right hand, I felt like an amputee. You can imagine the tears of relief that flowed from me as soon as I hit "publish"---the crying lasted for nearly 4 hours.

I’m sitting here revising this section of the blog, because as of today, I am 6 days in my marriage with Ross---sweet, humble, Jesus-loving Ross, whom God used to restore what those swarming locusts have eaten, and whom He used to redeem the pain and the shame I went through. It is a story only God could have written, as Ross and I met through neatly and precisely orchestrated events that only God Himself could have choreographed.

Ross texted his friends saying he was going to marry me----10 days before we actually met. And when we did meet, we found out that our mothers, in two very different parts of the world, gave birth to the both of us on the same day, of the same month, of the same year. We have many, many coincidences that you can read about here, but if that isn’t a sign that all of this is meant to be, I don’t know what is.

Living this new life with Sophia and Ross, and how I live out the reality of what God has restored and redeemed, is the catalyst of why I write again. 

Photo by Jorge & Sarah Macias @jorgemaciasphoto / @saucysar

Photo by Jorge & Sarah Macias

@jorgemaciasphoto / @saucysar

We read to know we are not alone.
— C.S. Lewis

When you read, I hope that on some level, it makes you feel like you are not alone. 

I've heard it said that vulnerability is a sign of courage and bravery. I seldom ever feel brave or courageous but when I do, it's when I write. This is sneak peek into the contents of my head and heart, vulnerably spilled out.

So, here it is. My personal act of bravery.

"What if I fall? But oh, my darling...what if you fly?" Photo by Lydia Fujimura @lydiafujimura

"What if I fall? But oh, my darling...what if you fly?"

Photo by Lydia Fujimura @lydiafujimura

Guada Chadderdon