Welcome to the Dock: A New Journey Begins

 Welcome to the Dock: A New Journey Begins

If you look closely at the top of this page, you’ll notice a shift. For a long time, this space has been a quiet place for reflection, but as the seasons of life change, our lenses have to change with them.

Word has been getting around town lately, and it’s time to share the secret: I am writing a book.

The manuscript is tentatively titled The Dock at the Edge of the World, and it is born out of the exact transition I am living through right now. My husband Roman and I are in the middle of a beautiful, slow, work-in-progress journey—breathing life back into our family lake house property here on Grand Lake.

But this book isn’t just about replacing rotting wood or watching the water. It’s about a question I think so many of us are asking right now: How do we hold tightly to our faith, our family, and our core humanity while navigating a storm of rapid, chaotic technological change?

The photo above is AI generated. I asked AI to create a photo with a current photo I have from the lake house and told it the stories of cleaning the shoreline and finding the rose bushes. AI created this first. Then I was able to ask it to create what my vision looked like. This is what it came up with. Close, but not true to our cove, and we need a boat slip with a cover, not just a swim dock, but this is also how my book was created. I wrote it all down, then asked AI to edit it. I even arque with her now and then. She will try to rewrite something and give it more pizzaz or more adjectives, but often that isn't what I said so I remind her not to change it, just to look it over for mistakes and leave my tone alone. This is how I am using AI to help me write my book, but also keep the human in it.

We often blame our screens and artificial intelligence for disconnecting us from reality. But I’ve come to believe that when used with intention, technology doesn't have to alienate us from nature—it can serve as a powerful magnifying glass that brings the wonders of creation into sharp focus.

Because I want to share this process with you in real time, I’ve updated this blog to serve as a living porch for the book. Moving forward, I’ll be sharing behind-the-scenes snippets, raw memories, and reflections on finding calm in a noisy digital world.

To kick things off, I want to share a raw preview from what will be the final chapter of the book. It weaves together a famous piece of digital folklore by writer Eleanor Ames with the simple peace I found right outside my back door this week.

I hope it brings a little grace and calm,

Consider how a viral piece of digital writing can instantly realign our perspective. The following words, which began as an organic spark on the blogging platform Tumblr by writer Eleanor Ames, spread like wildfire across global networks. It perfectly captures the interconnected brilliance of the world we inhabit:

"How can you NOT believe in God when octopuses dream and otters have a favorite rock they carry around in a little skin pocket and cows have best friends and bees are out there communicating the coordinates of flowers through dancing and they have regional dialects?... Whales make songs and then OTHER WHALES LEARN THE SONG and suddenly everybody across the ocean is singing the new song. Monarch butterflies are born knowing how to fly thousands of miles to a place they have never been. Sea turtles hatch out of an egg, immediately sprint toward an ocean that they have never seen... and then somehow come back to the same beach they hatched on..."

 

Without the digital landscape, this profound realization of intelligent design might have remained locked away in specialized scientific journals. Instead, digital platforms allowed these facts to cross oceans in seconds—mirroring the very whales the text describes.

When I look out from my own back patio, I realize we don't have to look across oceans to find this intelligent design; it unfolds daily right in front of us. 

Roman and I have been dreaming of a family compound—looking at acreage where the roots of our family can stretch out and grow deep. There is a profound peace in the idea of having enough dirt for everyone, a vast sanctuary where our daughter Kelly can send videos of the boys riding their bikes through the trees, possessing that independent, dirt-road freedom to visit Grandma whenever they want. To live in close enough proximity that family isn't a long-distance plan, but a spontaneous Sunday afternoon tradition of chaos, laughter, and shared meals.

Sitting on the back patio with a cup of coffee or sweet tea, watching the turtles sunbathe on logs that drift into our quiet cove after a storm, the world slows down. In those moments of stillness, you realize that the same intricate blueprint guiding a sea turtle across thirty years of ocean is guiding the quiet, slow rhythm of the pond sliders right here in Oklahoma. Having that acreage isn't just about owning land; it’s about creating a safe haven where the noise of the digital storm fades, allowing us to focus on what matters most: human connection, family, and the simple majesty of creation.The Family compound may or may not happen,, but we do have a lake house now that Roman’s mom lives in and we want to fix up. And I am writing a book. Something I have always wanted to do.

So will you Join Me on the Dock?

This project is a journey, and I am determined to see it through to the finish line. If you have friends or neighbors who are looking for a pocket of calm, please share this link with them.

Leave a comment below and let me know: Where do you go to find your quiet cove when the modern world gets too noisy?

Let’s walk this path together.