https://mybook.to/menmistakesmiracle
Early in your story, you talk about being baptized in the Russian Orthodox Church. How did that first experience with faith shape your view of God, even if you didn’t understand it at the time?
Honestly, it felt kind of surreal — lots of incense, chanting, and formality.
God seemed like someone who only showed up if a priest was there or if there
were pictures of Jesus and Mary hanging around. Nobody ever explained what
baptism really meant or why it mattered. Looking back, I think that early
experience left me curious but also disconnected. I knew there was a God out
there, but He felt far away and only reachable through rituals.
You describe growing up in a home filled with both cultural richness and violence. How did those early struggles affect how you saw love and safety later in life?
It set me up to go looking for love and safety in all the wrong places. My dad
could be volatile and scary, so deep down I longed for someone strong who’d
make me feel safe — but I didn’t know what real safety looked like. So I kept
ending up with men who promised love but came with control and jealousy. It’s
taken a lot of therapy, prayer, and self-work to see those patterns and start
breaking them.
You write about using a stuffed dog named Pistachio as a source of comfort for decades. What did it mean to finally let that go?
Pistachio was my ride-or-die for years (laughs). I traveled the world and this stuffed dog came with me. But one day, I realized he’d turned into more than comfort — almost like an idol. God says He’s our comfort and will never leave us, but here I was clutching this toy in my forties. Burying him felt strange but freeing, like I was letting go of a crutch and leaning on God instead.
In childhood, you were drawn to Ouija boards and séances. Looking back, what do you think pulled you toward the unseen world so strongly?
Oh man, so much of it was just woven into my childhood without me even
realizing. I mean, I was literally named after Samantha the Witch from
Bewitched. Add in shows like I Love Lucy — where Ricky Ricardo’s big song
“Babalú” is actually about a Santería deity. I didn’t know that then, but it’s
wild when you think about it. TV and media plant a lot of seeds. Kids are
curious and soak it up, and before you know it, you’re dabbling in things you
don’t understand. And now? The programming is even worse — Disney and other
networks sneak in all kinds of occult and sexual themes. It’s not as “innocent”
as we think.
When you were stranded as a teenager and helped by a man who vanished moments later, you now believe he was an angel. How has that stayed with you?
We were just these clueless teens broken down on the side of the road, and this
guy shows up out of nowhere, helps us, then — gone. Poof. We looked around and
there was no way he could’ve left that fast. For years we just said, “where did that guy come from and where did
he go so fast?”. Just total bewilderment
and the memory never left me. As I got older and heard other angel stories, it
clicked: that was protection. That moment still reminds me I’m not alone, even
when I feel stranded.
During your travels through Israel and Egypt, you felt both
wonder and heartbreak. How did those experiences awaken something deeper in
you?
Travel changed everything for me. Up until then, I lived in
a safe little Canadian bubble. Those travels ignited the travel bug in me and
made me see the world from a different perspective. I was very sheltered up until that time. Having the opportunity to see conflict,
poverty, nomadism, extreme rugged landscapes and thinking that people live in
these regions and deal with these challenges daily was an eye opener. There is so much history in those areas and I
really didn’t appreciate it until I came to faith and started seeing everything
from a biblical worldview. Seeing the
stories from the bible come alive and knowing that I had been in the same
areas, possibly walked the same streets as Jesus and the apostles was
powerful. I admit that I experienced
heartbreak there, but those relationships grew my curiosity about the world,
made me want to travel and experience other cultures more, learn new languages. It made me curious, adventurous, and hungry
for truth. I think God used those trips to pull me toward Him and to the bigger
story of the world.
Many of your relationships followed patterns of jealousy, control, and broken trust. When did you start connecting the dots?
After my second divorce, I had to face the fact: my “partner picker” was broken
(laughs). Healing isn’t a one-and-done thing, though. Trauma’s like an onion —
you think you’re good and then a new layer gets peeled back. Therapy, prayer,
and deliverance have helped me keep going deeper, and I’m way healthier now
than I used to be.
You worked in foster care in Texas and connected deeply with kids who’d been through rejection and abandonment. How did their stories touch your own?
Oh, those kids wrecked me — in the best way. Growing up feeling unsafe and “too
much” gave me this huge compassion for them. They’re carrying wounds they
didn’t ask for. I just wanted to fight for them and say, “This isn’t your
fault. There are adults you can trust.” We even got licensed to adopt teens
aging out of the system, but life threw some curveballs, and it didn’t happen
(yet). That heart to help is still there, though.
Your book mixes raw honesty with humor — heartbreak set to Kenny G and awkward nights in weird hotels. Why that tone?
Because life’s both hilarious and heartbreaking! I can talk about heavy stuff,
but I’d rather not traumatize you in the process. Plus, I’ve done some
ridiculous things. If I can’t laugh at myself now, what’s the point? I want
readers to see that pain doesn’t cancel out joy. They can co-exist.
Ultimately, your story points to redemption and transformation. What do you hope readers who feel lost or weighed down by mistakes will take away?
That it’s not too late. Period. You can stop, pivot, and start fresh. Jesus is
always waiting with open arms and a better plan than your own self-reliance. My
hope is readers feel seen, less alone, and maybe even inspired to reach for
hope — no matter how messy their story is.