Last year around this time, there were things that I found upsetting in modern politics. As I sat in Church in an hour of prayer, I laid it all out before God and asked, “Should I speak?” And I very clearly felt Him say no. It was not the time. I didn’t understand why, but I obeyed.

I think perhaps now I understand why He asked me to wait. I think it may be because I was at the beginning of what turned out to be a year-long (and ongoing) experiment. See, I’d never been one to read the news—it was too depressing. ? Instead, I’d rely on my news-rabid husband to keep me informed. But last January, I’d felt the need to break that old habit…but I wanted to do it right. I decided that I would read news from a deliberate variety of sources. Especially when a big event caught my attention, I would seek out both the liberal and conservative perspectives on it. My husband does this daily and also reads foreign news, so as we discussed things, he would add in the perspective of international news outlets. (He still spends a lot more time reading the news than I do!) Last year, my opinions were not very well-informed, which means they weren’t all that well formed, either. They were emotional responses—not as reasoned as I wanted to think they were, and not nuanced.

In this year of deliberate reading, I discovered something. I discovered that it was very easy for me, a lifelong Conservative, to pick out the liberal bias in a piece, and after I acknowledged and then dismissed my own knee-jerk reaction to it, I could read the actual information contained with objectivity. It was more difficult in conservative pieces, because their bias is my own. I had to work to be able to pick that out and examine the facts.

Although, I also discovered another interesting thing—that as I perceived Conservative politics (from my perspective, I know you may not feel the same way!) deviating more and more from my own long-held beliefs, that bias in Conservative news began to strike me in a new way. I was angry. I was upset. It felt like a slap in the face that made me do something very strange—it made me want to turn away from it entirely.

That was bizarre. While I have new understanding of many liberal views, there are also key issues where I still very much disagree with the usual lines…but this knee-jerk reaction was pushing me toward them. And then I realized why it was.

I felt betrayed. And when you feel betrayed, a frequent emotional reaction is to want to turn completely away from the perceived traitor. This is why couples who go through divorce can so quickly go from love to hate. Once I identified this emotion, I was able to sit back, evaluate my actual, continual core principles, and realize that the appropriate response was not abandonment…but healing.

That’s the journey I’ve been on in this last year with modern politics.

Now—I’ve long had a policy. As a Christian novelist with a growing platform, a core tenet of my interactions with the public has always been “don’t talk about politics.” It’s a guaranteed way to alienate half your readership—because there are Christians on both sides of the political aisle. But as American politics continue to spiral into snarling shouting matches, I found myself again at a place where I wanted to speak.

This time, it was different. This time, it was because of a few stupid memes. Now, another key tenet of mine is “Don’t argue with people on Facebook,” a corollary of which is “Especially don’t argue with memes.” ? But these particular memes struck me because they were cruel…and they were shared by people I know personally. Now, this is nothing new with these particular people (again, people I know in real life, in my hometown). But on this particular Friday night, it brought me to tears. (Granted, I’m super emotional right now after my second cancer diagnosis, LOL. See my post called “Given to Tears.”) Not because of the political opinion—but because of the attitude of disgust and bitterness and hatred from these people who I know love Jesus. That brought me to tears. It wasn’t worry, it wasn’t anger. It was sorrow.

And responding from sorrow…that’s very different from responding from anger.

I asked again, “Lord, is it time to speak?” And this time, the answer was very different. This time, the answer was yes. That night, I woke up at about 2:15 and, as often happens to me in the middle of the night, my brain clicked on. (This is where most of my books are plotted, LOL. In the dark of the night, when I should be sleeping. Now you know my secret.) I lay there for the next four hours working through what He would have me say—what would glorify God and also lay my heart bare. What would not invite argument, but rather dialogue. I crafted and recrafted the words in my head. I prayed. And as David eventually woke up in the morning (LOL), I told him my thoughts, and the tears came again.

Again, not from anger, not from worry. From sorrow. From grief.

So I got up and I wrote a Facebook post. It was five pages long, LOL. THAT wasn’t going to work, so I had ChatGPT recommend where to cut and tighten, and I ended up with a far more reasonable two pages. In this post, I spoke directly to my MAGA friends (though I didn’t name names). I did something I don’t do—I talked about politics. I shared my own stances and opinions, from the perspective of why I feel betrayed by my party, and more, why I feel betrayed specifically by these people—these people who helped raise me, who are the ones who taught me how to follow Jesus, who taught me what I should look for in politicians. Who, from my point of view, are now not only defending things they once taught me to despise, but who are mocking those who disagree. Am I misunderstanding them? I really hope so. (I had a lot of people who chimed in saying, “Do you consider me MAGA just because I voted for Trump? Because there are a lot of things I have problems with, I just made a decision based on these key things.” My answer to them is, “No, you’re not the ones in particular I was addressing, though I do really appreciate your perspective! I was addressing those who defend everything he does.”)

I didn’t set out to convince anyone of anything—not my goal at all. I set out to be vulnerable. To express why I feel the way I do, to share how I’m interpreting their actions, and to ask them to weigh in and correct me where I’m wrong, explain the things I just don’t understand, and to help me see their point of view more clearly. I love them. I don’t want to judge them (but I had been…which ain’t cool. I know that.). I want to start healing this wound in my own heart, and also healing this rift that is growing within the Church.

What followed were thousands of comments, both from my MAGA friends and from a lot of people who feel the way I do but thought they were alone. People from all sides—from the left, from the right, and from this weird place in the middle of current definitions where I find myself—who had given up speaking because they were afraid of being attacked. The comment section, and my private messages, became a place where they could engage honestly and openly and without fear. It was overwhelming, I’ll be honest—I spent that entire Saturday answering comments and messages—eight long but beautiful hours. When I woke up on Sunday morning, there were about 360 comments, many of which were my own replies, and when I left for church, I had about 50 yet to go through. After church and nursing home ministry and lunch and a nap, I went back to my computer to hit “refresh,” and there were 900 comments, 600 of which I hadn’t read.

I’ll admit it–I panicked, because I hadn’t been there moderating. And yet the newest comments, from total strangers, many of them even from around the world, were to the effect of, “Wow, I didn’t think conversations like this could still happen. This gives me hope.” It gives me hope too. =) The comment section did eventually devolve, and I know of at least two cases where people were hurt and only seeing ugly, bullying comments, and they were baffled by how I was saying it was good…and I get that and regret so deeply that this happened to them! I will share one particular experience about how it resolved soon. And I will also say that I learned how tricky it is for anyone to see a full picture when algorithms are in play! I kept getting notifications like “Jane Doe + 56 others tagged you in a comment.” When I clicked on it, it would show me that first comment, but none others, and short of clicking “all comments” and scrolling for an hour to try to find one in particular, by which time more had come in…I simply couldn’t see them. I imagine it was the same for others, who were alerted when they were tagged, so if they were targeted with bullying, that would be all they saw. Which wasn’t at all what I intended.

But in general, as people checked out (understandably) it was often with comments to me thanking me for the tenor of the original post and conversation. Even with ugly sneaking in at the end, many people agreed that it was beautiful. It was healing.

And I realized that it isn’t enough. It’s the proof of a concept, but one that needs to continue. Because friends, we can’t continue like this. We can’t continue refusing to hear things we don’t like, dismissing any view not our own, and embracing those knee-jerk, emotional reactions that tell us if someone disagrees, then they’re not really a Christian. That if someone disagrees, they’re evil. If someone disagrees, then we should dismiss them entirely. More, we can’t continue growing angrier at each other, letting the wounds fester. That isn’t what God wants for us, and I know we all agree on that!

Ours is a world of nuance. How can it not be? We serve a God who is at once so simple, able to be summed up in a single sentence: God is love. And yet so infinitely complex that our human minds will never grasp His intricacies and mysteries this side of Heaven. We serve a God who is both perfect Justice and perfect Mercy. His creation is just as complex. And fallen humanity? Hoo, boy! There’s nothing simple about how to untangle the mess our sin has created in this world.

And so, in the next few posts, I’m going to keep speaking—and you can expect me to continue to do so. Not to be political—I may discuss current events, and I’m of course coming from my own perspective—but to invite dialogue, to dig down not only to the heart of issues but also into our own hearts, and to grow our mutual understandings. Because I will be the first to admit that I do not understand ANYTHING fully. I am keenly aware of how my own opinions shift as I learn more. So if my opinions change, why would I try to convince you of them? I’m just hoping you’ll want to come along on the ride of discovery and learning and deepening our own understanding, with the goal of better seeing the nuance of those complicated issues and also of each other’s hearts.

I’m going to break these into multiple posts (because this one is already long), but I’m going to publish several of them all at once. If you’d like to engage, you’re welcome to do so at any time on any of the topics. As I publish them, I’ll be adding links to each topic at the bottom of this cornerstone post.

I hope and pray that whether we’re in the same place or different ones, we can be open and vulnerable like that Facebook conversation was at the start—because I love you. You, my readers, are my whole purpose. You are the reason I get up every morning and write the stories God has put on my heart. I don’t love you because we agree—I don’t love because we’re on the same “side.” I don’t love you because I think you’ll echo back to me my own beliefs.

I love you because you are so precious in the sight of God. Most of you know Him and love Him (I know I have some readers who aren’t there yet, too). So most of us are starting from the same place…but that doesn’t mean we’ve taken the same journey or are viewing things in the same way now. And that’s not only okay, that’s beautiful. That means we have so much to learn from each other. It’s no coincidence that Jesus invited both Zealots and tax collectors into His inner circle. Two diametrically opposed positions in that world—both of whom could bring those opposite politics to the Lord’s feet and love Him.

I want us, the Church, to begin healing. And that requires conversation. Not shouting matches, not debates, not trying to win or be right. Learning. Truly learning the other points of view, truly seeking to see others’ hearts.

You’re going to find other people who are standing exactly where you are—and you’ll realize you’re not alone. You’re going to find people who disagree with you—and who can show you things you’d never considered before. You’re (again) going to find people who disagree with you—and who need to hear what you have to say. You’re going to be confronted with uncomfortable truths, no matter your opinions. And you’re going to have to wrestle with them. Because denying them doesn’t achieve anything but the hardening of our own hearts.

I hope you’ll come along on this journey with me. If you’re not up for it, that’s okay. I get it. Maybe it isn’t your time to speak yet. But if it is, and if you do, I pray you’ll join me in the spirit in which I’m opening this dialogue, and I pray you’ll be vulnerable and share your thoughts and opinions and stances. I need to hear them. I need to understand where you’re coming from. I still have so, so much to learn—I know that. And since you’re human, I bet you do too. ?

A year ago, I was angry and wanted to hold people accountable. This year, I’m grieving, and I want to heal. Are you ready for that, too? Then please, come along.

In one of my next posts, you’ll find my story as I shared it on Facebook. In another, I’m going to pause to remind us all of what makes for constructive dialogue, and I’m also going to equip us with something I sure need—a logical fallacy toolkit. The purpose of that will be to give us the tools and words to help us identify why certain arguments feel “off” to us, which in turn helps us know how to respond. I’ll be using examples of them straight from my social media feed. And from there, we’re going to start talking about some of the hard topics and hot button issues we’re confronted with every day right now, from immigration to Greenland to abortion.

And I’m doing something else too. I’m opening up a place to talk about these things live. If there’s enough interest, I’ll be hosting Zoom chats with my husband, in the tradition of Benjamin Franklin’s Junto club or the Maryland founding fathers’ Wednesday Club—where we talk about things that matter from a place of vulnerability, desire to learn, and love and respect for each other. No “winning,” no “agreeing to disagree” (I hate that phrase! LOL). Just earnest, open communication between people who love God and crave that unity in the Church that’s sorely lacking right now.

I’m calling this “The Common Room.” Historically speaking, that’s the place in an inn where people would come to gather—to share a meal, to learn, to talk. We’re going to be emphasizing what we have in common (our faith, our love of God and of the home here on earth He’s given us, and also of each other), and we’re going to be learning from each other when it comes to differences. So I’ll also be sharing the “rules of engagement” for these meetings. ? I hope you’ll come. If you’re interested, please fill out this super-fast form so I (a) know there’s enough interest to warrant it and (b) can send you the Zoom link.

And so, this post will end with this message: if you are liberal, I love you for your concern for your fellow man. If you are conservative, I love you for your adherence to core principles and belief in the sacred. If you are moderate, I love you for trying so hard to strike the balance between the two. If you are confused about it all, I love you for your self-awareness and admission that there’s just too much to take in. No matter where you stand right now, your perspective matters. Your views are not only valid, they are valuable. Come be seen. Come be heard.

Come be healed.

(*A quick note–when this posts, I’ll be in Morgantown for my next chemo infusion, and my website does hold comments from first-time posters for approval, in order to weed out bots. So if you comment but don’t see it pop up immediately, that’s why. I’ll get online as soon as I’m able to approve anything that’s waiting. I just don’t want you to think any delay is intentional or aimed at whatever you might have shared!)

A Quick Guide to My “Hard Topics” Articles

I had my first infusion for what I’ve been thinking of as my “cancer blocker treatment” on January 7, so today, over two weeks later, I figured it would be a good time to update you on how I’m doing.

These infusions are NOT full chemo. They’re somewhat similar to treatments I had after surgery in 2024, going into May of 2025, and with those, I had zero side effects. So it’s been my hope and prayer that I would respond similarly with these. These, however, are not quite the same and do include a sizable list of possible side effects–most of which are things like stomach issues and thinning hair, but the serious one is a lung condition. (I DEFINITELY appreciate prayers that I don’t experience any serious ones!)

I’ll admit I got a little emotional when I went in on the 7th and my doctors were refilling my anti-nausea meds…and when the infusion had pre-meds for anti-nausea as well. Because I know that when I was on chemo, I felt nauseous every day. Every day from mid-May until the end of August. And y’all, I do not want to feel sick every day for the next year, so that hit me hard. Hopefully I won’t, but I did definitely get some of that belly-upset in the days immediately following the infusion. No vomitting or anything, so praise God for that…but about 8 days of feeling crummy, and seriously exhausted for the first 2 or 3. As in, sit down to read after dinner and fall asleep instead, which I never do.

The bright side was that I went in with a cold, but the steroids they gave me opened my nose up and helped me get over it, LOL. I’ll take my wins wherever I can!

I was also warned that I’m very likely to feel more tired than usual in general. Which isn’t great, given that I have 7-8 books to write this year, so prayers are VERY much appreciated for me on the energy front. One of my big goals for the year is to figure out how to rebalance my schedule to allow for more, better time for writing, which will likely mean taking time from my design schedule. Prayers for wisdom in how to juggle all those things greatly appreciated too!

They do also consider me to be immune-compromised while on this treatment, so I’ll be going back into “careful” mode, masking in crowds and avoiding anyone I know is sick.

But my oncologist did also make it VERY clear that his goal is to get me off this treatment as quickly as possible. It will still likely be a year of infusions (though likely with a break in there for my next reconstruction surgery), but he does NOT want me to be on this indefinitely, and that’s music to my ears.

As for that next surgery…so my initial reconstruction isn’t doing so well, and radiation is no doubt to blame. It can (and clearly did) damage the whole area, not just the skin but the muscles and everything else in there. In my case, my right side has tightened, meaning daily pain. The area itself is still always sore and sometimes outright painful, and even my neck/shoulder muscles have been effected. When I last saw my PT and told her that my hand was tingly, we quickly determined it was from the muscles in my neck and shoulder. When we finished the diagnostic exercises that verified that and she got to work on it, it earned a “Dang, girl!” LOL. So…yeah. I’ve been doing the exercises she gave me, but I still get a tingly hand every couple days and frequently either wake up or end my day with super tight neck/shoulder muscles that result in a splitting headache.

On Monday, I had an appointment with my surgeon, who agrees that our next step should be to remove the current reconstruction and do the deep-tissue method, which uses belly fat/skin to reshape the breasts. This is where I wanted to end up eventually, I was just hoping to defer it to “down the road.” Because I’ll be honest–I’m tired of surgeries, LOL. And timing this one is tricky. My oncologist will have to clear it, and when I spoke to him about the possibility on the 7th, he said that if my scans in March are clear, then he will be comfortable pausing the infusions while I undergo and recuperate from surgery.

Because it’s a big one. It’s long and complicated, and that means recovery is too, requiring a solid eight weeks, from those I’ve spoken to who have had it. My oncologist (a) wouldn’t want me dealing with side effects from infusions while also dealing with this recovery and (b) chemo can in fact slow and interfere with recovery in general. So there we go.

As of today, I feel good. But the cycle begins again next Thursday…so prayers are very much appreciated, and I thank you all so much for them!

In my P&P groups, we have several members who “process through tears.” A phrase I’ve always been familiar with, because I have many friends and family members who do the same. 

I’ve never been much of a crier. When I was a young teenager, we got the news that my grandfather had cancer, and while the rest of my family cried, I…couldn’t. Instead, I went back to my room and wrote a poem called “Why Do I Smile?” This is, in a nutshell, very typical of me. I don’t process through tears. I process through words. Not the speaking of them, but the writing of them. It’s not to say tears don’t ever come–they do. But through most of my adult life, I cried maybe twice a year. Sometimes in grief, from a loss. Sometimes in emotional pain. Once in a while in frustration.

Cancer has changed that for me. Specifically, this second round has changed it for me. Since last October, I’ve cried more than in the last decade combined. I cry when I feel my friends’ pain. I cry when I’m struck by the beauty of our Lord. I cry when I think about the future. I cry when I’ve disappointed someone. I only have to open my spirit to the Lord, and tears fill my eyes. On the one hand, this is very unlike me.

On the other, to exist in this state of emotional rawness is its own kind of blessing.

I’ll be honest. 2026 got off to a rough start for me. 2025 was ending well in a lot of ways, I thought. I’d spent Christmas week writing a fantasy novella as a sort of vacation, and I had a blast with it. I started it the Monday before Christmas and finished the Tuesday following. I felt so alive with story that I thought something along the lines of, “I can just do this every day. Just pour it all out in writing, get all those books on my calendar done in no time.”

Then came New Year’s Eve. The day ended with an email that hurt. That made it clear we’d disappointed someone, let them down, that we had failed. That was my final note of the year, and I’ll admit it. I wasn’t just hurt–I was angry. Why, why did this person have to send this email at 5pm on New Year’s Eve? Why couldn’t it have waited for Monday? To be clear, I’m not contesting her points. They were valid. But to send it at that moment felt spiteful to me.

And I crashed. I woke up on New Year’s Day upset with the world and everyone in it. I woke up crying tears of frustration. I tried to pour it all out to God, and I sounded like a whiny toddler, proclaiming, “I hate everything!” This is very unlike me. And to give myself a little grace, I’m sure it was due in large part to the migraine that struck, and the fact that I felt close to vomiting all day. I took an unplanned two-hour nap, cancelled the day’s dinner plans (because even smelling the bread I’d made for it made me feel nauseous), and curled up with a book.

And I cried. That day, and into the second. I cried because this wasn’t how I wanted to start my year. This wasn’t how I wanted to feel. I dug around inside myself and just couldn’t grab hold of the grace I knew I needed, the forgiveness, the peace. All I could find was the hurt. All I could find were the tears.

But you know what? That’s okay. There have been so, so many times over the years when I wished I could cry. When I longed for that emotional release, but I couldn’t dig it up. When whatever it is in my makeup that makes me tend toward smiles and optimism no matter what just wouldn’t let go, even when I needed to deal with emotions.

Now, I found those tears. And I let them come. I let out the frustration, I let out the hurt, I let out the disappointment in myself. I still didn’t process through tears like my friends do. I still needed the words to really work through it.

But the tears…they’ve become a sort of magnifier for me. Through them, I can see the world a little differently. They’ve become a sort of reminder of baptism, an anointing almost. A reminder that He cleansed me. He made me anew. He made me whole. He washed away my sins, and He’ll continue to work in me. Continue to wipe away those smudges.

Will the tears continue for this veteran-non-crier? I have no idea. Maybe so–maybe the rest of my life, I’ll be one of those people who cry whenever I’m moved. That would be fine. Or maybe as I put cancer behind me again (my prayer!), my usual way will reassert itself. That would be fine too.

What I know is this: In this year that began with tears, my prayer is that they water my heart. Soften the soil of it. Nurture the seeds that the Lord has planted inside me, so that I can bear whatever fruit He wants to bring forth. I pray that these tears make me more sympathetic, more understanding, more generous, more kind. I pray they make me a better friend. A better person. A better Christian. More like Him.

Sometimes, we’re told that Jesus was moved with compassion. But we’re also told that Jesus wept. Even when He knew what He was about to do, even when He knew that this death of his friend would be reversed in glory, He still felt it. He still mourned it. He still cried.

Maybe, like “classic” me, you’re not given to tears. Maybe, like “new” me,  you are. However you tend to process your emotions, I pray that in the year to come, as the world becomes ever more divided, ever more given to outrage, ever harsher, that we can become softer. Gentler. More loving. And always ready to grow in Him, like those seeds buried in the ground, just waiting to spring forth once they receive that life-giving water.