Kath and I got engaged the summer after I graduated.  Not too long after that, we got …uh… disengaged.

Years later, I met and married one of my co-workers at a bank, and we had two children.  The marriage didn’t ultimately work out too well, but we separated without acrimony, and I found myself a half-time single dad.

I loved the time I had the kids, and I also loved the time I had to myself, when I could work on things like writing and painting. Among other things, this resulted in self-publishing a book.  While I can legitimately claim sales from coast to coast and across the Atlantic, there weren’t actually very many of these.  I did get some nice compliments, though, from one of the people I sent page proofs to—a former chief presidential speechwriter who had gone on to become the Washington editor of a prestigious magazine.
 
At a certain point, I began posting some additional writing to the forum section of this magazine’s online site.  It generated interest and traffic, and my ongoing communications and growing relationship with the Washington editor led to his calling my writing better than his own, and suggesting that I submit an article proposal to the managing editor.

At exactly this point, a critical medical issue arose, and the floor fell out from under me.

The bad news was that for an extended period of time, I was too debilitated to properly pursue the writing opportunity.
 
The good news was that my relationship with God became less problematic.

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