Anger And My Fall From Ministry

This book can help you. But hear me out first. There was a stuggle that went before it. I was angry.

At least I was about this time three years ago. I had been caught in adultery. Man, was I angry. At a lot of people. And it was everyone’s fault.

I was angry at the head deacon. I went to him and explained to him what happened. Can you imagine that he was disappointed in me? Unbelievable! That he was disappointed that I would have comitted adultery after eight years of faithful service! What gives him the nerve? To kick me to the side like that?

I was angry. Pastor angry. Like the type of anger parishoners don’t know their pastors get.

More anger to come. From pastors in the area. Lord, help me. I had dozens of pastor friends in the area whom I had gone to seminary with and they had suddenly abandoned me! I had been kicked out of my parsonage and had to move to a rental home in Greenville, Kentucky, covered with cobwebs, and with a ghetto chouch. They didn’t care. Only two pastors and a director of missons reached out. No one cared. I take that back. The only friends I had suddenly were Mormons who were suddenly very friendly. And I was angry. People hated me. Guess whose anger it was? It was all mine. All the sin and anger belonged to me.

In the past two years, my estranged father had died. My mother, who had become my prayer warrior and primary support had been killed in a car accident. What was God doing to me? I had nothing left! The church was in an upheaval! I had nowhere to turn! Life was spinning out of control and I was a mess. And I found the love of my life.

Anger set in. It set in towards those who once had sat next to me in church. They were disappointed in me and my actions. I was alienated from them forever, I felt. I was the fallen pastor. I was an outcast. A sinner.

I began to call fallen pastors across the country. Do you know what they told me? “You’ll never reconcile with your former congregation, so give it up. You’ll never reconcile with your former congregation.” But I didn’t believe them. I was able to in many ways.

Guess what I did? I wrote a letter to them. It wasn’t well written. It was written with pride and I wish I could take it back.

Then, I sought real counsel. I began to blog. Anonymously. Through the name of Arthur Dimmesdale, I told my story online, anonymously. People responded. I told my story and what I had been through. Many people called me out on my sin and I listened. I heard them.

One day, I posted a blog about writing. A publisher came by and asked me if I would be interested in writing. I said I would. I wrote an essay under my pseudonym. Then, I wrote my book. I was overcome with thoughts about my mother who had written eight books on Christian topics. I wasn’t fit to fill her shoes.

I interviewed many fallen pastors, like myself. All of our stories were the same. We were isolated, stressed out, had intimacy issues with our spouses, and had been placed on a pedestal. What if the problems fallen pastors faced were a cultural issue? What if they can be prevented? I felt that there was hope to help others. So with Civitas Press and my editor, Jonathan Brink, I wrote a book.

I was still angry, but at whom? My ex-wife? No. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She and I get along wonderfully now. We agreed that on some level, we were both are fault. What about the church? I could get mad at the church, but pastors today face problems in churches that are worse than what I ever faced. What was I really angry at?

I was angry with myself. My inability to be something I wasn’t. I wasn’t able to meet people’s needs – the needs I thought I should be meeting. I thought I should be super pastor. I thought I was something I wasn’t. I wasn’t perfect and I hated myself for it. And at the end of it, I just wanted out.

When I look at pastors who cry for help, there are different kinds. I talk to many of my pastor friends today who are frustrated with ministry. They say that their families are suffering because of the ministry. Some get into embezzlement, pornography, or depression. Each of those men get help and are rehabilitated back into the ministry. But the pastors who really, really want out commit adultery. Those are the men who want out of the ministry. Out of it for good. I wanted out. And I got out. God help me.

But I will tell you this – three years later – I want to build a ministry for men who have fallen. I’m proud to say that I have a healthy relationship with my ex-wife. I have a great realationship with my current wife. I am able to minister to fallen pastors, their wives, and churches. God is not done with me quite yet.

Friends, what I’m saying is that our anger is a dead end. Our anger eventually finds itself at our own front door. Banging there. Incessantly. We can be as angry as we want with as many people as we want, but in the end, we are only angry at ourselves. Until we deal with the anger that we have within ourselves, we will never move forward. Good news? Christ has forgiven us. He has taken away the guilt for us. He has moved that anger away from us and set us free.

I have not been tossed upon the trash heap of society yet. I still stand here, waiting to be used by God as He sees fit. Angry? Yes. Angry at the sin that infiltrates our churches. Angry at the sin that is waiting at the door of our pastor’s studies. Angry at what pastors know is coming yet they turn a blind eye to it.

I’ve been there. And I have a batallion of men beside me who know the same. Don’t let it happen to you or your pastor. Ministry can weaken a ministry marriage. It can kill it. Be on the lookout for isolation, decreased time with your wife, high expectations, and conflict. Don’t let it weaken you to the point of ministry failure. Don’t become a statistic. Please. Reach out before it is too late.

The ministry is supposed to work to help the church, brighten your marriage and bring light to the world. Make sure it is doing all of those things. If it isn’t, seek help from a mentor, a counselor or a friend. Get help now.

What Goes Into a Book

Fallen Pastor: Finding Restoration in a Broken World has officially been out for a whole day now. I want to take a moment to thank some people who made it happen. Without them, this project wouldn’t have been what it was. They’re not in any particular order, just as they come to mind.

Thanks to Jake Larson, co-founder of Fireproof Ministries. He gave me a lot of quotable material and he graciously wrote the foreword for the book.

Mark Roberts, Hershael York, Bill Leonard, Roger Barrier, Steve Reed, Rodney Cox, David Trotter, Michael Todd Wilson, and Kailla Edger are all names you should get to know if you don’t already know them. Each of them allowed me time for an interview and most of them I quoted profusely in the book.

Thanks to the men I interviewed for the book who were fallen like I was. Each was at a different stage, but they each opened up to me immediately, even though they didn’t know me. We each shared a common bond and experience. I learned much from them.

Thanks to my editor, Jonathan Brink, who gave me great insight, guidance and support. He is a joy to write for.

To all of my blogging and Twitter friends who have followed me since before I had a book offer. You know who you are and I love you dearly. Thank you for being there for me. I wish we weren’t separated by miles, but am thankful we can still communicate via electricity.

To my hometown friends in Russellville. You’ve been very supportive and I really appreciate that. Russellville is and always will be my home and I miss it dearly.

To my children, thank you for loving your daddy. You were the first to forgive me and you’ve always believed in me.

Allison, I love you with all I have. You’ve seen my best and worst yet you stand by me. It’s been a journey and it’s only just begun.


Fallen Pastor: Finding Restoration in a Broken World is available at It will be available soon at other outlets. Ask your local bookstore about availability.

Finding Restoration in a Broken World

Today is the official release date for my book, Fallen Pastor: Finding Restoration in a Broken World.

I’ve got a thousand different emotions going on and a lot of things I want to blog about, but today, I want to take a moment to write about the basic idea of the book.

I fell from the pastorate two years ago when I committed adultery. There were a lot of factors that led to my fall that are common among other pastors. Unrealistic expectations, isolation from friendships, declining relationship with spouse, church conflict and major tragedy. In the end, it was my decision to sin. I’ve discussed that a lot on this blog.

Today, I stand in amazement, though. I’ve found restoration.

Two years ago, I hit rock bottom. I thought God wasn’t listening and I was sure He didn’t care about me. I felt like a failure as a pastor (before and after I fell), I had lost both parents in separate accidents within a year of each other, and I had no one to talk to. In fact, I was pretty sure God had it in for me.

There were days long before I even contemplated adultery that I stood in the pulpit with a smile on my face, tie on properly, shirt pressed, but with a dark, hardened heart. Then the fall came. During the months after, I was sure no one would ever speak to me again. I was sure the stain of sin would be a mark that could never be removed. I was sure that shame would be my constant companion for the rest of my miserable life.

Slowly, repentance came. I discovered that truly, God is a longsuffering and patient God. If He were not, I would have been a grease stain on the carpet of my former church a long time ago. He waited for me when I would not wait for Him.

After I sinned, I had few people who would speak to me, but the ones who remained were the right ones. They encouraged me, loved me and walked with me. I had two close friends who were patient, sometimes firm, but always loving. I reached out to fallen pastors throughout the country who were in various stages of their own fall. They each encouraged me, told me the truth and prayed with me.

My new wife Allison and I also went through a process during that time as well. She watched me as I went from angry to depressed to anxious to humbled.

Those months were terrible, yet redeeming. They are etched in my mind and will stay with me forever. They were necessary for God to break me and make me into something usable.

Very few are willing to reach out to a fallen pastor. It’s something I ponder in the book. A lot of people don’t know what to say to him. Some people think they might be “guilty by association” if they speak to him. Typically, he is cast out, never to be heard from again.

At some point, God grabbed me and said, “I’m not done with you. I have plans for you, but I’m going to humble your proud heart in the process.” He did. And He continues to do so.

When I speak of restoration, I don’t mean restoration to the pulpit. I don’t even mean restoration to the ministry. I just believe that fallen pastors need to be shown compassion and love. They need people to walk with them, to show them the way to brokenness and repentance. It’s important because even a pastor can’t always find the right path, even though we think they should know the way.

I recently joined a ministry team, Fallen Pastors ( who help pastors who are contemplating sexual sin or who have already fallen. They have a small staff, but do their best to answer every email. If you are a fallen pastor or are in trouble, please don’t hesitate to reach out for help. It can become isolated, it can feel like you’re alone. But you’re not.

This book isn’t about me. It’s not about my glorification. It’s about the glory of God and restoring those who have fallen. There is a problem with the culture in which we live. The best thing about problems is that they are fixable. Together, with the compassion of Christ, we can fix people, we can fix cultures and we can find restoration in this broken world.


Fallen Pastor: Finding Restoration in a Broken World is available at It will be available soon at other outlets. Ask your local bookstore about availability.


Empathy and Compassion: Of Black Olives and Yellow Cards

I was just reviewing my day with my lovely wife, Allison, when I realized that I might have grown up a little in the past four years. But just a little. I was telling her about two events that were seemingly insignificant to anyone else in my regular day of sports medicine, but she said, “You showed compassion today, I’m proud of you.”

Funny, that. Solomon may have been granted discernment and wisdom by God, but I would never be confused as being gifted with the gift of compassion.

I’ve always had a level of empathy. I’m not going to pull out the cliche of copying a Webster’s definition of empathy for you. If I remember right, empathy is trying to put yourself in someone else’s place. It’s seeing life from their viewpoint and gaining appreciation. That’s all good and well. But Christ called us to something greater than empathy. He called us to compassion. To show love-oriented action toward people once we gained perspective on their life.

Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit (probably) but I’ll just tell you two stories.

I walked into Subway today (I am not a paid sponsor), wanting to take them up on the $5 for any footlong for the month of October. I was salivating at the prospect of a BMT. I was already running late for a soccer game I had to cover, but I figured I would get in, get my sandwich, and get out. The only problem was that everyone else in town was aware of the promotion. I waited, of course.

While I was in line, I noticed the middle-aged woman who was stuck putting everyone’s vegetables on their sandwich. She didn’t look happy. Her haggard face told me she had been standing there for an entire shift and listening to people repeat the words, “lettuce, tomato, pickle, no cucumber” for at least eight hours. I realized that she was more than a “sandwich artist.” She was probably a mom who had kids at home dependent on her. She wanted to be anywhere but work, but she had to work to pay the bills.

When my sandwich got to her, her weary eyes just rolled up to me. She didn’t even ask what I wanted, but assumed I would tell her. I smiled at her and was as pleasant as I could be, “Everything but black olives and cucumbers, please.”

I was half-watching but looked up when she put a mountain of black olives on my sandwich. I hate black olives. They make me vomit. Profusely. In terror.

Four years ago, I would’ve scolded her probably. But at that moment as her weary hands continued to act in service for me, I said nothing. I thought, “If me having to pick black olives off my sandwich is the worst thing that happens to me today, then I’m a blessed man.” I smiled at her and said, “Thank you so much.” She actually smiled as she topped it off and said, “Oh, you said no black olives.” I said, “Doesn’t matter. Thanks.”

I paid and left for the soccer game. It was a rough one. It was between two high school girls teams and it was close until the end. Each team was physical and a couple of yellow cards had been given by the refs for too much aggressive play. I try not to get into the games too much and stay impartial. I’m there as a medical expert and to give care to anyone who needs it.

Late in the game, a girl from the other team went down after a physical play. The ref stopped the game, turned his back on the girl and proceeded to give a yellow card to the girl from our team. I ran to the other team’s sideline and said, “Hey, there’s a girl down! She’s hurt and needs attention!”

The other team’s coach was surprised by me being there and the ref turned around and stopped what he was doing to see that the girl needed assistance. He finally let her up and to the sideline. I said to the other team’s coach, “I suppose people just forget what the most important thing is out here.” She thanked me. I heard one of their players say, “Who was that?” Another said, “That was the other team’s trainer. That is great sportsmanship.”

“Sportsmanship?” I thought. I was just trying to ensure someone’s safety. All I could think about at the time was, “That is someone’s daughter out there and she needs attention.” I didn’t care what color jersey she wore or about the score of the game. I just wanted to help her.

I told Allison these things and she said I showed “compassion.” I suppose. I’ve gotten better in the past four years. But I’ll be honest. I still have days where I want to throw people through walls because I think I’m the center of the universe.

But how often do we think of other people? The check out lady at McDonalds who has been on her feet for six hours when we get mad about our order being wrong. She probably has a family she’s caring for. Our burger is not that important. The referee at your kid’s YMCA game who missed an out of bounds call. He’s making $5 a game and he’s 15. He might just be at an emotional crossroads in his life and he might take every unkind word a bit too far. What about the single mother who shows up to visit your church on Sunday? Will anyone speak to her? She needs compassion, understanding and love.

It’s not enough to view other people’s lives from where they are. We have to go a step further and act out in love and kindness. That’s what Christ did. And thank God He did.

Cats and Church

We have a cat problem.

We have KitKat, our orange two year old kitty who is scared of his own shadow. He stays in the garage. He’s scared of all of us, but will let you pet him when you give him food.

Recently, we have added two strays. Pearl, who is jet black and is lovable and kind. He’s about 10 months. He nuzzled up to us with some trust and kindness and stays mostly on the back deck.

Then, there’s Buttercup. He loves to eat and will beat the ever loving crud out of KitKat and Pearl to eat their food. He’s a stray as well and is about 10 months old. I keep telling Allison, “Buttercup is okay. He’s just an animal. He needs to eat and doesn’t know how to play well.”

The problem is feeding time. We put KitKat’s food down in the garage and Buttercup comes rushing in and trying to fight her. Then, when we try to feed Pearl on the back deck, same problem.

Tonight, I looked out the front glass door and saw Buttercup, pathetically crying for food. Allison isn’t a fan of Buttercup.

She said, “Isn’t it sad we have to set aside three different feeding times so that the three different cats don’t kill each other? Buttercup would kill the other two just to get their food! It’s like we have to accommodate everyone’s needs just to make all three of them happy!”

I didn’t think about the words when they came out of my mouth. I promise I didn’t.

I said, “Sounds a lot like trying to be a pastor.”

I didn’t mean it . . .



That was tacky, as my mother would say.

A Message From The Past

Allison and I are in beautiful New Orleans enjoying a business/personal vacation that is well needed for us. It’s a good time of quiet and rest.

It’s given me time to reflect on my book and the process of writing and my attitude over the past couple of years and hopefully how I’ve changed. My relationships with people have gotten better, but I still have a long way to go.

Last night, I got up during one of my usual restless spells and checked my email and saw there was a comment to be moderated for my blog. I didn’t publish it. At first I thought it was from someone who didn’t know me who was just trying to push my buttons, but they knew too many details.

It’s from one of my former church members. I’m not typing this out to make a point about them. I’ll get to my point in a minute. Here’s some of the text:

“I’ve read your blog a bit, along with your wife’s. Now, The lord loves honesty and that’s what i’m going to give you. My opinion: You were a horrible pastor, just as you are a horrible writer. Now I sit there in the pew nice and quiet like, but goodness gracious when you were going on and on about the same old thing for 45 minutes, I almost fell asleep. And I never fell asleep in church before then, and I sure don’t now. I mean good Christ mister, how many times you gotta say that relationships are the juice of the lord’s loins? Spit it out junior.

But I did like that part where you cried. Just cried and cried and cried. Oh Lordy, I laughed my dentures out. Now that Allison, she’s a doozy of a *****. Now i shouldn’t be so judgmental, but i am. We all have our faults and the lord will forgive me. He’ll forgive me, for thinking that you’re a hypocritical piece of ****. I have alot more to say but, i think instead of telling you, i’m a gonna write me a little blog titled “Church still disgusted with the fallen pastor and his **** wife”, Under my username “God hates you”. Everything is hunky dory for you right now son, but just you be a waitin. The lord aint gonna punish you foolish kids fer your actions but theres this here thing called karma and shes a big ol’ ****, and some day soon.. she’s gonna find you. Word of advice, I hope you were at least smart enough to choose a church that has a pastor whom is too old and unattractive for your ******wife to seduce, be careful there partner and if things shall get rough, DON’T LET HER GET MARRIAGE COUNSELLING FROM YOUR PASTOR. DON’T DO IT.
With Love,
A former member of ******** Church.”

I didn’t publish the name of my former church and won’t ever mention it on this blog. There’s no purpose in it. I was the one who sinned. They have every right to be angry. And one bad email from one angry person doesn’t mean all of them feel that way. Several of them have been very kind to me and it has made my heart glad.

On to my point, this email didn’t make either of us upset. Six months out of my sin, it would have ticked me off terribly. In fact, I wrote a passive aggressive letter to my church that I never should have written about a year out. I hadn’t fully repented and I was angry at everyone.

The most important thing I’ve learned in all of this was from a pastor who said, “Ray, you don’t get to judge someone else’s reaction to your sin.” Even if they go too far and get angry, start name calling or even shoot me in the head, I don’t get to judge them. Why? Because they’re angry over what I did. He’s  right. I have to extend them grace, patience and love. The same grace, patience and love I want to be extended. The same grace, patience and love Christ extended to me.

You know what? It’s really not that hard when you’ve hit the bottom. Once you’ve lost it all, been at the bottom and all you could see when you were looking up is the hand of God reaching down, you can give the same to others.

For the rest of my life, I will, as David said, have my sin ever before me. There will always be consequences for my actions. I hope that the person who wrote that can find peace in life and with God, and eventually with me. I’m terribly sorry for the hurt I caused them. I’m sorry I failed them as a pastor and pray they will find a contented life now.

For me, I pray for better choices and a life clothed in my redeemed Savior. For me and my beautiful wife.


I got a response from the original writer, same IP address and email. It was a little harsher and needs more editing. Again, I really don’t believe this person represents the feelings of my old church. Several of the people I’ve talked to have been kind to me. However, this response shows the hurt a pastor can cause when he disrupts a church when he falls and the anger that can remain:

Dear Mr. Ray Carrol,

We all hate ya, and none of us want your “grace, compassion, or patience”. You can shove all that right up your devil-lovin’ ***. Also, thinkin’ you’re forgiven for your sin because you prayed for it doesn’t change a thing. You’re still living your sin! Rather than making amends with your family and your ex-wife, you married that cheatin’ Allison! Where’s the regret, the guilt? You betrayed God’s commandments to man and chose to live in adultery. Gettin’ married don’t make it no better. You’ll burn, mister.

Thanks for listenin’, and I hope when you meet the little Baby Jesus and Allah Lord of Lords at the gangplank to the Millenium Falcon with Chewie and Buddha ridin’ shotgun, they greet you with open arms! (otherwise your deviled eggs)

Your friends at ***** ****Church

My Response:

The compassion, love and grace I offer is real. I also offer forgiveness to you. Whether you accept it is up to you. I do know that I have been forgiven by God. My sin was great. My fall was great.

I also know that all sin is abominable in His sight. However, thanks to Christ, it is also freely forgiven. Not because of anything I have done, but because of what He did for me at the cross. What grieves me the most is not the sin I committed at my former church or the impact it had. What grieves me most is that my sin was responsible for the death of my Savior. But I am thankful that His grace abounds to save even a wretch like me. I am thirsty for that grace. When no one else seemed to come after me in my darkness, He was there, calling for me.

Before I fell I was pompous, prideful, arrogant and thought I knew it all. Now I realize I knew nothing. All I really need to know is a Savior who gave all for me. I’m still not perfect, still not humble, still not really much of anything. I’m still a sinner. But each day I’m trying to look away from what I want and toward what He wants.

I hope someday you will forgive me and release your anger. I hope someday you will find peace. Maybe you can start by showing what you wrote to me to your pastor and seek his help in studying the Word. Christ wants all his children to be at peace.

What I really desire is what I have been given by a handful of people since my fall and I hope to be given by more who witnessed my fall. It is found in Galatians 6:1: “Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness. Keep watch on yourself, lest you too be tempted.”

That is my hope and prayer.

Distracting From Real Life: My XBox 360

I basically do eight things in life: Spend time with Allison, spend time with my kids, work at my sports medicine job, worry about my spiritual life, sleep, eat, think too much and write.

When I say I think too much, I really do. Allison always tells me that I’m thinking on at least five different levels at once. I prefer to think of it as three different levels. Typically, I have a surface level I’m thinking on – “This day is lovely.” Then there’s a middle level – “Allison is speaking to me right now about a critical matter.”

Then, there’s a deep level where I’m processing a lot of information. Maybe I’m processing one thing. Maybe I’m processing three things. But it’s going on in the background and I can either keep it going on quietly or it can come crashing in on me unannounced at an inappropriate time. Sometimes I’m unaware that it’s even happening – “Ray, have you even thought that pastors are vulnerable at a core level before they fall? This is big time information for your book!” “Ray, your relationship with your father could have been helped if you had realized your own weaknesses four years ago. Maybe you could blog about this in relation to Paul’s concept of fruits of the spirit and how you expected your church members to keep them but you weren’t.” BAM!

You can probably guess I don’t sleep much. Allison, my poor wife, sleeps less than me. She has a job where they don’t really respect her life, her child, or her time of stay. They beat her like a rented mule. She goes out of her way to make sure my needs are met before hers. Which is interesting. We’re both givers. I do everything I can to make sure her needs are met before mine. She does the same. Can you imagine two people in the same marriage trying to outgive the other? It gets strangely frustrating.

Not to mention that I feel very inadequate for her. The first time I ever laid eyes on her I knew she was special. But she belonged to someone else. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t lust after her at that moment. But she had something about her. There are a lot of women in this world but very few of them have that “special” sparkle in their eye. Some of them try but the majority of them fail. She doesn’t. Allison’s problem is that she’s had the unfortunate problem of being around a lot of losers in life.

I hope I’m not the next loser. After being outside all day, I smell like one. But I digress. Boy, I sure got off point.

Anyway, what I’m saying is that I have a ton to think about these days. My mind never stops. Ever. Even when I wake up in the middle of the night to get a drink, I start thinking. I think about life, my book, my kids, my wife. I think about what I should be doing differently. I think about my past and I think about how many pastors I can keep from falling. I want to stop thinking.

Yeah, I hear you guys out there. Turn to Scripture. I gotcha. I do. I pray. Thanks.

But there are times I just need to turn my stinking mind off. Even Scripture can’t turn my mind off. You know? Sometimes Scripture reminds me of how awful I am. Or of what I need to do next.

So, there’s XBox. Some of my followers have already told me how they hate XBox. My wife hates XBox. So hold your comments.


“If you love it so much, why don’t you marry it?” I would. If I lived in Utah and could marry my XBox and Allison, by Moroni, I would.

There have been nights I haven’t been able to sleep and it has rocked me to sleep like a baby. Go ahead, fundamentalists. Judge me. Tell me I’m a heathen for playing L.A. Noire. For playing Toy Story 3, Mercenaries 2, NCAA Football whatever the year, Red Dead Redemption. Judge me. Guess what? I’m playing video games. I’m distracted. My mind isn’t rambling off it’s five rails into oblivion.

If I get sucked into a Flynnesque warp, that’s fine. You want to argue the commandments and the video game sphere? Yeah, that’s fine. It keeps me sane. I think. Or not.

I’m distracted. I’m tame. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

You know you want to hook up with me on XBox. raynallie is my username.


I’m So Proud Of My Wife

Allison used to have a blog over at Blogspot like I did. She took it down, then realized she missed writing.

She’s started it back up again here at WordPress and I’m so proud of her. I love it when she writes. She’d say she’s not very good at it. I’d say that anytime your heart can connect freely with a keyboard, go for it. Especially hers.

When I watch her write, she has this furrowing of her brow like shes really, really serious. And she is. She has a point to get across. And she doesn’t want to be bothered. And I don’t. Usually.

Now, she’s going to get mad at me for saying this, but when I’m writing, it’s fine to bother me. I’m the master of multi-tasking. “Can you take out the garbage? Did you see what was on TV? My shoulder hurts. I love you so much. What’s the temperature outside? Don’t you think we need new curtains?”

But that’s why we get along so well. We’re different, yet our hearts are the same. She reminds me so much of my dear mother. Yet, she’s better in a lot of ways. And I don’t mean that as sacrilege. I just mean as a wife can be to her husband instead of as a mother can be to her son.

People ask me occasionally, “What do you think your mother would think of all of this?”

I can honestly say at this moment in my life, “My mom would love me for who I am and love Allison too. She’d want the best for us.”

Yeah. And that’s pretty sweet.

Check out her blog at

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