How one woman’s fierce faith, clarity, and quiet power is helping me find my voice, my peace, and the man I am becoming.
This is Forming 2.0.
Why This Story, Why Now
After 37 years of teaching—elementary kids, middle schoolers, high school teens, and college students—I’ve learned that stories aren’t just memories. They’re maps. They trace where we’ve been, how we got here, and who walked with us.
This space is my memory bank, my legacy letter, my testing ground. I’m here to share stories and unpack my history—for my children, all six of them, for the thousands of students I’ve taught, and for anyone wondering if healing and wholeness are real. I’m testing my ability to communicate life, ideas, and the messy beauty of it all.
This is Forming 2.0—an origin story about the muse who inspires me, the woman who helped me see what was, so I could live more fully in the now. Here’s a peek past the peak, starting with Lindsey.
The Turning Point
There are relationships that decorate our lives—and then there are the ones that rebuild them.
Before Lindsey, I lived in a long, dark tunnel of a relationship where anger and violence weren’t just outbursts—they were survival tools. That kind of life doesn’t just bruise you; it rewires you. I learned to read the air for tension, to spot the warning signs—raised voices, sharp movements—and my body trained itself to disappear. Hide in silence. Duck out of sight. Retreat was my reflex, conflict my cue to vanish. I wasn’t living; I was enduring.
And then… Lindsey.
She didn’t come with trumpets or a savior’s cape. She came with clarity. With peace. With a quiet, Kingdom-first strength that didn’t demand attention but commanded it anyway. And in her presence, I started to unlearn the hiding.
One day, early on, she got frustrated—nothing loud, just human—and I felt that old pull to bolt. My legs twitched, my chest tightened; I was halfway to the shadows before she stopped me.
“Not so fast,” she said, voice steady. “We will work this out together, or it will not get worked out. You will stay here with me. I still love you. But this requires work and presence, not hiding. Let’s grow together, not apart.”
It wasn’t a command—it was an invitation. Oxygen to a man who’d forgotten how to breathe. Where I’d been taught to fear conflict, she showed me it could be a forge, not a firestorm.
Possible Christmas Card Photo?
Real life, real love. Lucy picking her nose, Henry yawning mid-moment. This is us.
Money as a Teammate
Money can unravel people. I’d seen it—couples who’d turn bills into battlegrounds, letting pennies pry them apart. I brought my own chaos to it, no clue how to manage it beyond scraping by.
Lindsey didn’t let it divide us. She handed me Dave Ramsey’s playbook, and suddenly we were a team managing God’s resources. She’s the nerd, poring over budgets; I’m the free spirit, dreaming past the numbers. But she didn’t force me into her mold—she showed me how our differences could fit.
Now we live well and give well, not because we struck gold, but because we struck alignment.
Together, Always
I’ve watched relationships crack—someone’s struggling, and one partner slips off to vent or seek advice alone, leaving the other stranded.
Lindsey doesn’t do that.
“It’s together, or not at all,” she says.
If we need counsel, we go as a unit. It’s not just loyalty; it’s a lifeline. She’s not chasing being right—she’s chasing being whole, with me. That’s a connection I didn’t know could exist.
Among the stacks, held by a woman who holds me steady.
The Hard Thing First
Lindsey lives by doing the hard thing now for the good thing later. Hard workouts. Saving for the big dream. Small habits that stack into something solid.
She doesn’t just talk delayed gratification—she walks it, and I’ve learned to follow. It’s not punishment; it’s promise.
Warrior Walks & Quiet Power
As often as possible, I send her out on what I call her Warrior Walk—an hour alone with God. She walks, listens, seeks. She comes back different—full of peace, perspective, grace that spills over into our home, our kids, me.
It’s her rhythm, and it fuels mine.
The Anchor in My Story
Lindsey’s a planner, a visionary, a family-first soul. She builds our family’s identity and unity—not as a pretty picture, but as a rock we can stand on to take risks and live fully.
She’s given me back the belief in legacy.
Because of her, I’m not just surviving—I’m thriving. I’ve seen restoration bear fruit. I’ve tasted what it’s like to have a partner not behind me, but beside me.
Coffee is a Thing
Contemplative Radience.
Echoes of Her
If you want another year, do the same things. If you want a better year, do different things. Growth seen in me, is her echo in my bones. She’s my muse—not just for words I write, but for the man I am becoming.
Thank you, Lindsey.
You’re not a chapter.
You’re the turning point.
Closing Thought
If you’ve got a muse in your life—or if you’re waiting for the kind of relationship that restores rather than drains—don’t give up. God redeems stories. He rebuilds ruins. And sometimes, He sends a warrior with grace in her eyes and peace in her stride.
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Forming 2.0 
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