The protest of my body in the months before had made me adamant about one thing: I would not write unless I knew God went with me. I was unwilling to write good news for others unless I could keep receiving it as good news for me first. I knew the only way I could make it through the marathon of each day, the only way I could emerge with both an intact manuscript and an intact psyche—while wading through problems that couldn’t get solved quickly—was to anchor myself in a peace that passed all possible understanding.
