When I was a little girl, I started playing with words. I loved the craft of writing from a very young age. I think I was eight when my favorite brave girl adventures came to be placed on paper. My heroine’s name was Augusta, and oh, the adventures she had!
When I was in high school, I had two pivotal English teachers. Ms. Drover was my freshman year “coach,” and Mr. Brasch was next up, Sophomore year.
Ms. Drover taught the art of the thesis paper. Structure, flow, transitions. I loved all of it. Mr. Brasch taught us to look at the world in wonder. Day one, he drew two pictures.
The first picture was a mass of squiggly lines. The second, a more recognizable picture of a tree. And then he posed a question…
Which tree do you like better? “The first one isn’t a tree!” exclaimed most of the class!
“When did this become, “not a tree?”” He asked, pointing to those squiggly lines. “When you were just learning to draw, you made pictures with squiggly lines, and your imagination filled in the details. You would proudly show your mom or dad the picture of a tree you just squiggled and proclaim, “This is a tree!” And somewhere along the line, someone drew for you the second picture and said, “No, dear, THIS is a tree,” and you conformed the way you saw a tree to what you had just been taught, by a person, by a teacher, by the world. In my class, I am asking you to see the world with some of the wonder you once had. Be free. Be creative. Define the world with your creative lens and creative words. Don’t let the world jade you and change your vision.”
Those words stuck with me. They gave me permission to play with the words I write. And I am forever thankful for the way that lesson shaped me. Even though I don’t write fiction anymore. Even though I lean towards blogging and non-fiction. I find creativity in the way I pen the stories I share.
For those of you who have followed my journey, this past November marked 10 years since I officially broke away from the Mormon church and walked into the grace of a relationship with Jesus, experiencing a freedom I didn’t know existed. About nine years ago, I started working on a book detailing the rise and fall of my indoctrination, my deconstruction, and my transition as a Christian.
The story has morphed from one of anger to one of healing, and today, it feels more like a story of helping the next person who walks a similar story. No matter what form it has taken, one thing remains unchanged. I’ve never finished it. In fact, I haven’t picked up my “pen” in probably six months. Maybe longer. My favorite excuse…time…or the lack thereof.
No doubt, like anyone reading this, I am busy. I have a busy day job. I am an executive, and I travel more than 50% of my time. I often put in a 12-hour day, and I still don’t get everything done. On my weekends, I lead a bible study group of 15 AMAZING women, and that takes some prep time during the week. I attend church on Sunday, and somewhere in all that, I study the Word, spend time with my family, and make time for precious friendships. That leaves little room for sitting still and writing. Right?
I guess it’s as right as any other excuse.
I am also an early riser. By early riser, I mean I am awake and functional most days by 4:00 a.m. ET. I brew my coffee, grab my glasses, and open my laptop. I surf email, Facebook, and LinkedIn for probably the first hour. Then I dive into whatever God directs me to study in His Word. I might even journal a bit. I do a lot of things, but all of them help me avoid directing my attention to the hard thing. Writing from my heart.
I’m not writing my memoir. I am writing a period of 20 years of my life. The hardest part of writing this has been revisiting who I was and how I felt during that time. The scariest part of writing it is that my bestie may one day read it. I experienced so much loss in my faith transition, but somehow she and I managed to survive with our friendship intact. I stand afraid some days of the one thing I should fear the least. The Truth. I fear looking her in the eyes and telling her she’s been duped. That the God she knows and believes in is not the God of the Bible. I’m afraid she’ll hear this from me and walk away because there is so much risk in stepping out in faith in the way those words require.
The Mormon religion teaches that God was once a man, who became exalted and was given his own world to repeat the process of life that has been perpetuated through time. That means that most Mormons, the devout ones anyway, believe that one day they, too, will have the opportunity to be Gods and Goddesses and have their own spirit children and create their own world that will be populated with those spirits who are looking for life experiences and adherence to the ordinances required for them, too, to become exalted after they die and to repeat the process yet again. The God of their religion is NOT the Alpha and the Omega — the God who is and always was. The one who knit us, loved us, adopted us, and died for us. Not the same at all.
I know as a Christian, as a disciple of Christ, it is my call to share this truth. Her salvation literally depends on it. And as brave a person as I am, I stand in fear. My flesh gets the better of me here. My fear of losing her friendship on earth is outweighing my fear of losing her eternally. I am shaking my head and feeling sick to my stomach as I write those words, because I don’t think I’ve ever said it so succinctly.
I wrestle with this every time I pick up the pen and continue recording the story of my walk with Jesus. So I stopped picking up the pen. I felt too much shame for hiding my boldness when I did.
About two weeks ago, I had a heart-to-heart with Jesus. “Lord, if you want me to write, I can find the time. I can pick up the pen and deal with my greatest fear. But you are going to have to tell me that’s what you want me to do with the talent you’ve given me. I am going to need a really strong nudge.”
And then, no sooner were those words out of my mouth than my hands moved to open my email. I was literally just going about my normal routine after that prayer. Until I noticed a strange email from the Hope*Story conference.
“Only 10 more days until the Hope*Story Conference, VIP!”
What in the world? I opened the email and read all about a conference I apparently signed up for through Hope*Writers, which I am part of, but I literally had no recollection of signing up for their annual shin dig. Looking through my files, I stumbled upon a receipt for a payment I made for the 2026 conference. I apparently signed up on January 21, 2025. An entire year earlier, and then I promptly forgot about it.
Totally a God wink.
Okay, God, I hear you. But time. When is this conference happening? And where is it being held? When I say I had no recollection, I mean none. It’s like I had never heard of the conference before that time.
Now, before all this happened, I had asked for Friday, January 30th, off. I celebrated my birthday on the 22nd of this month, and I was in Colorado on a business trip with my team for the celebration rather than with Frank. So I took the day off and planned to spend it with him. When do you think the conference was being held?
January 29-31, 2026.
CRAZINESS!
The final cherry on top was the venue. Lake Norman. A northern suburb of Charlotte. Literally 45 minutes from my house. If this wasn’t a “nudge,” I don’t know what is. But all three things happening together? This is God practically pushing me off a building to get my attention that He answers prayers, sometimes immediately.
I wrote a quick message to the conference support center. They wrote back confirming my VIP status. Which meant, as a bonus, I would have the opportunity to meet one of the keynote speakers, Ann Voskamp (an amazing author and speaker). Come on now. I was feeling overwhelmed, yet blessed and grateful all at once.
Next, I joined the Facebook group and started seeing messages from others attending solo. A few needed rides from the airport, from local hotels, etc. I responded to a few, and as the days ticked by, I shared my desire to go with Frank, who is literally my biggest cheerleader and always supportive. I packed and headed out the door after working on Thursday, picked up a great gal named Angie from the airport, and away we went.
Our first night was dress-up night. Which I loved. I have several dressy, dresses that I never have anywhere to wear. I arrived at my hotel room, grabbed some dinner, and got myself cleaned up, primped, and dressed. And before anyone asks, no, I didn’t manage to grab a picture of the occasion.
I grabbed a great seat in the auditorium and waited for the Founder of Hope*Writers/Hope*Story/Hope*Books to come out on stage and address us. His name is Brian Dixon. And he is an amazing, God-fearing man, who wears his heart on his sleeve.
He said so many things to us that evening. But the thing that turned everything for me, the simple statement he made, the question he posed, “Who are you writing your book to? Who is your person? Who is this for?” changed everything.
In that moment, I had utter clarity. I’m not writing this book to hide it from my bestie. I’m literally writing it to her. A love letter from God. This book is not about me at all. It’s about God and who He is, and how He pursues each of us. His love for me, for us as a whole, and how He prepared me by walking me through Mormonism, so when I met the Jesus of the Bible, I would clearly and quickly recognize the difference. I was able to hand over my fear to God and, for once, ruminate on the possibilities.
The next morning, I walked straight into the hospitality suite and committed to partnering with Hope*Books. A hybrid publishing arm of Hope*Writers. Their program guides writers from a book concept through writing, editing, typesetting, binding, cover design, title selection, and publication on Amazon, all within a year or less, since I already have some of the writing completed.
I’m under no delusion that this will be easy. I do still have time constraints. I do still feel nervous energy at the prospect of seeing this through. But my faith in God is bigger. I asked for a nudge, and He provided an experience I won’t soon forget. I still don’t remember signing up for the 2026 conference, but I absolutely signed up for the 2027 conference, where I will make my debut, moving from a VIP attendee to a Hope*Author.
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life. ~ Proverbs 13:12
Shrinking Shay 