by Paula Hendricks Marstellar
I was ten when I first wrote about a boy in my journal. It didn't seem to matter that his last name was Roach, or that he came in and out of my life one short afternoon. He wasn't the first boy I noticed—or the last. Over the years, my "cute, innocent crushes" became more and more frequent—and more and more costly.
When I tried to fix myself, it was like slapping a flimsy Band-Aid on a deep, gaping wound. Then I prayed a desperate prayer: that God would free me from my idols and teach me to trust Him with my love life.
I don't know what I expected, but it certainly wasn't the punch to my gut that left me reeling and my world spinning out of control. But I'm getting ahead of myself . . .
Soft cover, 151 pages.