Mom. Dear, sweet, proud Mom was talk­ing to a lady a cou­ple of days ago and men­tioned her grand­kids. Some­one who was eaves­drop­ping asked a fol­low up ques­tion and my mom not­ed that I’d writ­ten a book about it. She began to write the title on a piece of paper as the eaves­drop­per whipped out her phone and showed my mom the screen… “Is this it?”

Mom’s jaw dropped.

The book was in this stranger’s cart already. A friend of mine from high school had read it and told her she had to read it.

I don’t know her name.

I don’t know her sto­ry, or how long she’s been on her jour­ney, or what her hard­est nights look like. But I’m pray­ing for her now.

Some­where between a stranger’s con­ver­sa­tion and a friend’s rec­om­men­da­tion, she found her way to this book before my own moth­er could fin­ish writ­ing down the title.

The fact that this occurred with­in a month of release… I have no words for that.

It’s the thing I hoped for but did­n’t dare believe: that the right words would find the right peo­ple through the peo­ple who love them.

If you’re here because some­one hand­ed you this book, sent you a link, or men­tioned it in a con­ver­sa­tion you weren’t tech­ni­cal­ly part of, wel­come. It is writ­ten for you.

And if you’re here because you’ve already read it and you’re the friend doing the telling — thank you. You’re doing some­thing more valu­able than you know.

The hid­den val­leys are real. So is the com­pa­ny we keep in them.

Where to go next?

• More arti­cles
• What is this book about???
• I don’t know where to start
• I’m car­ing for some­one in a pro­fes­sion­al capac­i­ty