—And Why I Still Chose to Tell It

I want to begin by echoing a powerful piece by Crystal Reed — now spreading like wildfire across social media — about adult children cutting off their parents. She wrote about the heartbreak of estrangement, where silence replaces love, and parents are left wondering why. Her words rang true in my own life.

Why I Wrote Anyway

I didn’t sit down to write out of anger. I didn’t take on this story as a weapon. When I began writing, it felt like the smallest nudge — a sense that maybe God was inviting me to set down what I had carried in silence. I prayed as I wrote, asking for clarity, asking to hear His voice more than my own. The words came like both memory and mercy, and it has been one of the hardest and holiest honors of my life to set them down.

Some of the people who once filled my life — family, friends, and loved ones — do not recognize the man I write about. They knew the version he carried into public: the charming, dependable, larger-than-life presence who laughed and prayed and shook hands. Behind closed doors, however, I knew another man entirely: a man who struck me, who betrayed me, who left me in fear. Police were called into our home. There were affairs and manipulation, and over time, those shadows hollowed me out from the inside until I no longer recognized myself.

I must also own what was mine. My voice sometimes rose in anger; my faith, instead of being a shelter, sometimes became a burden. I don’t claim blamelessness. I only claim the story as I lived it.

And now, our memories no longer match. What I recall brings me accusations, while what others choose to remember has been polished into something untouchable. My story doesn’t fit that version of the past, and that has been painful for everyone.

But even in that ache, I have seen glimpses that truth is never wasted. One reader, Kathy Powell, shared these words:

“Also coming from Christian families we felt the pain and stigma of failure with a divorce that kept many in unhappy situations. I know reading this book will save someone’s life.”

That is why I wrote. That is why I pressed forward even when it cost me. Because if my story helps another soul break free from silence, then no page was wasted.

Why Truth Still Matters

Scripture says: Honor your father and your mother, that it may go well with you (Deut. 5:16). Moses said it. Paul repeated it. It comes with a promise.

I did not write Bones Beneath the Prairie to dishonor anyone. I wrote because I believed it was time — and because I trust that even the hardest truths, once spoken, can be redeemed. I still pray daily that I have heard God rightly, and that these pages are received in the spirit they were written.

If You’re Hurting Right Now

When the weight of silence feels too heavy, begin small. Write down one page of your story, as you experienced it. Let a trusted friend, mentor, or counselor sit with it beside you. Pray each day for softened hearts — starting with your own. And when bitterness tries to take root, release it as best you can, because carrying it alone will only hollow you further.

Even the smallest step toward truth can open a window for healing.

Encouragement for You

Maybe you, too, live with estrangement. Maybe you’ve carried secrets or shame that were never safe to speak. Or maybe you simply need to be reminded that light can break through the darkest silence.

You are not alone. God sees. The truth may not always be welcomed, but it is never wasted.

Bones Beneath the Prairie is not just my story. It belongs to anyone who has lived in silence, carried shame, or wondered if hope could rise again. It is a book about survival, yes — but more than that, about grace, redemption, and the quiet strength that lifts us when we think we cannot stand.

If you need courage to speak, if you need encouragement to believe light can still break in, I wrote this book for you. And it is my prayer that somewhere between its pages, you will find strength for your own story.