The most enduring messages of hope rise not from the abstractions of ivory tower scholars, but from the stories of those who have lived, lost, and learned to live again through the indomitable spirit of faith, hope, and love. This is my story. This is my message for you as your own story unfolds.
A Place to Heal
My friends in every town or city I lived in often heard me say, “If you ever lose me, you will find me on the red brick streets of Pauls Valley, Oklahoma.” This small town was my birthplace from which I departed at the age of six weeks. I returned whenever I could to reconnect with family, friends, and my deep ancestral roots. For me it was a refuge for healing my hurts and a promised land for recapturing my joys. Now, some 79 years later, I live on one of those red brick streets.
My home—my dream castle—closely resembles my grandparents’ old Victorian home on the other side of town—a home where I stored up some of my fondest memories. Its sweeping veranda bids welcome to all who visit. The old carriage stoop and hitching post in front of our home and next to the brick street is the last of its kind in this rural gem of a village. Here I live in a dream, secure with my loving and supportive husband of 25 years. This quaint old house on this picturesque street is a constant reminder that no matter the lows, the disappointments, the reversals life throws at you, there is always the promise of hope. Dreams can come true.