Born Into a Faith I Didn't Choose.

Born Into a Faith I Didn't Choose.

Send a text [https://www.buzzsprout.com/twilio/text_messages/2537770/open_sms]   Every one of us begins life inside a story we did not choose.    Before we ask questions, before we form beliefs of our own, we inherit a version of faith. It is the faith that shaped the air in our homes, the faith that quietly formed how we see the world, and what we believe about God, life, and eternity.    In this deeply personal story, I revisit the faith of my childhood, a faith shaped by a constant awareness of heaven and hell, obedience and judgment, and the terrifying possibility that the world could end at any moment.    As a child, I believed that even small moments, going to the circus, dancing at school, or forgetting to confess a mistake, could determine whether I would be saved or left behind.    Over time I began to realize something profound.    Fear had slowly replaced good news.    This episode explores the difference between inherited faith and living faith, and how curiosity often becomes the doorway through which faith begins to grow.    Because sometimes the most important spiritual moment in a person’s life is not when they stop believing, but when they begin asking questions.

1966 through the birth canal into the glass bowl.

Send a text [https://www.buzzsprout.com/twilio/text_messages/2537770/open_sms] I don’t remember my birth, but my body does. This is the beginning of a longer story about inheritance, faith, watching eyes, and what it means to be born into something before you can choose it. This clip opens the threshold, the place where memory meets imagination. If you’ve ever carried a story you didn’t consciously choose, this is for you. Listen slowly.  Stay curious.

Memory Keepers

Send a text [https://www.buzzsprout.com/twilio/text_messages/2537770/open_sms] This is the threshold, the place where memory meets imagination. Some stories live in dirt under fingernails, some in the noise of a crowded room, and some in the quiet after midnight. Here they gather—scraps of faith and failure, flashes of joy, and the weight of questions that refuse to stay buried. These stories aren’t polished artifacts; they’re living things. They walk with me, wrestle with me, and surprise me. If you follow along, you’ll discover stories filled with soil, laughter, doubt, and grace. You might see your reflection in them or discover something you didn’t know you were searching for. Either way, this is the place where my stories live.