When I entered college in the summer of 1998, I had one simple thought in my head: 

Don’t be a statistic. 

My teenage years were unstable, abusive, and marked by trauma I still carry in some ways today. I wanted out. I wanted distance from the chaos and a chance to start over. Like many eighteen-year-olds, I arrived at college with determination but very little clarity. 

I started in political science until my first exposure to Machiavelli made me realize that path was not for me. Then I pivoted to elementary education because I sensed a desire to teach. That dream ended quickly when my GPA kept me out of the program. 

At the time, it felt like failure. 

Looking back, it was the first major turning point. 

I remember sitting with a printed university catalog, mapping courses and requirements by hand, trying to figure out how to graduate before the money ran out. Eventually, scattered notes became a plan: a Bachelor of Science in Communication with a concentration in Organizational Communication. 

When I showed my advisor, he laughed and said, “You don’t need me; you already have this figured out.” 

At the time, I heard encouragement. In hindsight, I see something more significant beginning to emerge. I was learning how to navigate systems, translate complexity, and build pathways where none seemed obvious. 

I graduated in three and a half years. 

By my own definition, I had succeeded. 

I had not become a statistic. 

What I did not realize then was that God was already weaving together threads I would not fully recognize for decades. 

Over the next twenty years, life unfolded in ways both beautiful and painful. Career advancement. Family formation and fracture. A return to faith. A blended family. Professionally, I moved from entry-level work into executive leadership roles in the federal government, despite having no formal background in accounting or finance. 

What consistently opened doors for me was not technical expertise alone. 

It was communication. 

Again and again, I found myself in rooms full of scientists, economists, and subject-matter experts. My role was rarely to be the smartest person in the room. It was to help people understand one another. I translated policy, funding structures, and complex information into language people could actually use. 

Over time, I began to realize communication is not simply the transfer of information. It shapes how people think, relate, decide, and act. 

That realization eventually became spiritual as well. 

When my husband Randy enrolled at Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS) in 2020, I had no intention of returning to school myself. Seminary was “his thing.” I was simply cheering him on from the sidelines. 

But curiosity has always had a way of finding me. 

I started asking myself a different question: 

What would happen if I approached Scripture with the same analytical discipline I had applied in leadership and finance? 

My first attempt to audit courses at DTS did not work out, so I enrolled elsewhere. While the program made practical sense, something felt off almost immediately. I found myself frustrated by leadership material that largely repeated concepts I had already encountered through professional development programs and executive training. 

I did not want more leadership theory. 

I wanted deeper engagement with Scripture. 

Then, during Christmas of 2022, I attended a gathering with DTS faculty and alumni. In a conversation with Bernard Fuller, I shared my frustrations and uncertainty. His response was simple and direct: 

“You should transfer to DTS.” 

Within days, I applied. Weeks later, I was enrolled. 

What followed has been one of the most surprising and formative seasons of my life. 

Along the way, professors and mentors began speaking about gifts and capacities in me that I had never fully considered myself. One professor jokingly suggested I might eventually return to teach doctoral students. 

Honestly, the idea felt absurd. 

Who, me? 

But those moments planted seeds. 

Eventually, I redesignated my degree into the Master of Arts in Christian Education because I realized my interests were converging around communication, formation, discipleship, and teaching. 

Then came a moment I still cannot shake. 

April 2026, I attended the Calvin Festival of Faith & Writing. Oddly, I experienced significant anxiety before and during the trip. It made no sense to me. I have traveled extensively. Why did a simple trip to Michigan feel so unsettling? 

As the conference progressed, I met a professor named Craig Mattson. At first, our conversations were casual. Then I finally asked what he taught. 

“Communications,” he said. 

I immediately lit up. 

“Wait… me too.” 

When I explained my background in organizational communication, he smiled and said, “Organizational communication is my passion.” 

And suddenly, something clicked. 

All the disconnected pieces of my story began to converge. 

Organizational communication studies how information moves through groups and shapes relationships, culture, and decisions. 

That is not separate from discipleship. 

It is deeply connected to it. 

In that moment, the thread stretching from 1998 to today suddenly became visible. The difficult teenage years. The communication degree. Federal leadership. Teaching. Seminary. Discipleship. Research. 

None of it was random. 

God had been weaving together experiences I could not yet see. 

The phrase “don’t be a statistic” once meant surviving my past and beating the odds. Now, years later, I see something deeper. God uses every part of our story, even the painful and confusing parts, to shape us for purposes we often cannot recognize until much later. 

Sometimes He graciously flips the tapestry over for just a moment and lets us glimpse the threads. 

Not the whole picture. 

Just enough to trust Him with what is still unfinished.