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There are as many Christian faith journeys as there are Christians. Each story is unique. My own faith journey has paralleled my journey in 2004 across the United States, from New Hampshire to Arizona and Texas. Through brutal trials and triumphant joys, I have learned that God created me with a purpose for my life. For over twenty years, my mother and I had cared for several ill relatives. In July 2004, after the caregiving had ended, my mother and I sold most of our belongings, packed what was left into our car, and drove west, in search of a fresh start. I had a vague belief in God, but had not read much of the Bible, and was not aware of His presence in my life. I assumed that I could simply write a script for my life which other people and circumstances would follow. And I do love to write. I would complete my novella, be discovered, and provide a good life for my mother.

When my mother and I arrived in Flagstaff Arizona, we ran out of money and spent a month living in our car. During the night, the temperatures in that mountain town dropped to freezing. As we moved from parking lot to parking lot, my relationship with God began a painful two-year period of growth. Eventually we ran out of money and had to abandon our car. In September, after several chilly nights sleeping in a park, we stayed for a week at a faith-based homeless shelter . After the first hours of gratitude for a warm place to stay, I could not wait to leave. The daily chapel services and Bible studies wore on my nerves, and I craved my freedom. After that week, I found a job managing a data base for a local scientist, and thanked God for delivering us from our experiment with homelessness. It's so much easier to have a grateful heart when life falls in line with one's plans.

However, in 2006, my employer closed his business, and my mother and I once again found ourselves sleeping in the park. I reminded God that homelessness was not part of the script. I found a job at a deli, but earned only enough money to pay for a few nights at a time in a motel. My mother and I would spend a few nights in a warm room, then return to the park as our funds dwindled. We directed all of our energy toward staying warm, finding a meal, and averting our eyes from other's contemptuous glances. At night, as I stared at the dark star-filled sky, I composed a few really good poems, slipped into a deep depression, and finally gave up. I believed that God had decided that creating me had been a terrible mistake.

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