Why do I write?

Twenty-five years ago today, my dad passed from this world to the next.

During his battle with cancer there was a season when he was trying everything to fight it. Around that time we would run together along the gravel pipeline road near the property where I grew up.

My dad was one of the kindest, most loving men I’ve ever known. When we talked, he asked my opinion about things and genuinely cared what I thought. Now that I’m the parent of twenty-somethings, I understand what he was doing. But back then I only knew one thing for certain: my daddy loved me.

One day on one of those runs he told me about an article he’d read. The author said everyone has a story. That anyone has the ability to write a book. He looked at me and said, “What’s your book going to be about, Heidi?”

It took me more than a decade to finish my first one. But I’m still telling stories. And I suppose that’s why I write—because my dad once asked me what my story would be.

Today we remember him. If you knew my dad, you knew three things almost immediately:
• He loved movies. Nearly everything was a movie quote.
• Work hard and sacrifice for the things you want—and for the people you love.
• Jesus loves you.

I know I was deeply blessed to have him as my dad. So today, in honor of him, hug your family. Hug your pets. And tell your story ✍🏼📚💕

And remember: you are deeply loved.
Heidi xoxo