One night, a whisper interrupted my bedtime prayer: “Fire.”

Only, it wasn’t my voice or my thought--but it may have saved our lives.

This is the story of a glowing figure, a gas leak, and the moment I stopped doubting my intuition—and started listening instead

We set out to make memories and bring home scallops. What we got instead was a stranded boat, a snack-fueled survival scenario, and a peacock that definitely tried to warn us. A story of chaos, kids, and learning to laugh when the rails come off—literally.

I used to think healing would come quietly. That if I was faithful enough, gentle enough, good enough—the hard things would melt away in time. That I could sidestep the pain if I prayed right. That I could outrun the unraveling by working harder, loving better, managing more. But it doesn’t work like that. Healing is not soft at first.

It’s fire.