I sat down at my desk, an empty Microsoft Word document illuminating my face while the blinking cursor held my gaze. A blank page, a fresh start. I had a story I wanted to write, but I didn’t know where to begin. 

My history with writing sometimes feels like it started with furious typing just before the stroke of midnight to complete an essay for an online class. But when I really think about it, writing was a big part of my life even before then. 

The benefits of independent study as a high school student included the ability to work at my own pace and the freedom to write. I easily remember those days, jumping between schoolwork and the latest story I was writing (which will never see the light of day, sorry 😀). In college, I set those stories aside because I didn’t have the time to put pen to paper. Still, stories, characters, and plot lines filled my mind on a daily basis. 

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was early November 2019 and I couldn’t sleep, so my mind began to drift again to different characters and story ideas. The next morning, I sat in a secluded section of the Rot (the endearing name the students call Liberty’s dining hall. In no way does it describe the food, in case you were curious), and I began to plan a story surrounding characters and a plotline that I had thought of the night before. 

Prior to this, anyone who knew me (and knows me still) knew that I loved a good mystery. Whether it be a cheesy Hallmark Movie and Mystery (Aurora Teagarden or Garage Sale Mysteries are great places to start), a Terri Blackstock novel, or an episode of Monk, I loved watching and reading mysteries of all forms. 

That November in 2019, I began the early writing stages of my current work in progress, which is a crime fiction/mystery novel. While I’m not ready to share anymore details on the storyline itself, I will say that I have been working hard on this story for almost four years. However, in the last five months, I have found myself more dedicated to this story, not because I really want to see it completed, but because I have learned so many lessons from the Lord that I am now writing about in the story itself. I walked through a season a few months ago, and I felt the Lord tugging at my heart saying, “That is what you need to write about.” 

Currently, I have just reached 70,000 words in this draft and the end is in sight. In a little over a month, I will be sending (Lord-willing) my completed manuscript to my editor who will be helping me develop the story and guide me in terms of the plot line, characters, and other story aspects.

I am really excited to see what the Lord is going to do and how He is going to use this story! Thank you so much for reading this blog post/short rambling. I appreciate your support! 

Hi, everyone!

Here is part two of my Faith Journey/testimony. If you haven’t read part one yet, please check it out! 

I also just want to issue the reminder that everyone’s Faith Journey’s will look different and that is totally okay! I hope that my story encourages and blesses you.

As always, please feel free to leave a comment below or email me at sarahbaylorwrites@gmail.com!

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I’m blessed that I was able to see and walk with my parents through some amazing times of ministry, but there were many dark moments as well. From hearing about cancer diagnoses from close family friends, to driving them to cancer treatments, to then standing with the family as they were laid to rest after the Lord called them home. Serving in church ministry certainly has its ups and downs, but these times taught me that no one is perfect and we are all in need of the Lord’s forgiveness, grace, and mercy.  From age eleven to seventeen, I learned that church ministry can be tough, yet so rewarding in the long run. I still woke up each morning, excited to be a part of it and grateful to do it. Because I knew it was good, right, and true. I was doing all of the right things, but later on I learned that it’s more about our relationship with Jesus, and that the reason we do these things is because we want to glorify Him. However, at that time, I had accepted Him into my heart, and ministry is what you do when Jesus lives in your heart.

         During my senior year of high school, the Lord moved my family to Chico, California, located about an hour and a half north of Sacramento. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins on my dad’s side of the family live in Chico and I had grown up going there to visit them, so a part of it already felt like coming home. My dad accepted the children’s pastor position at my grandparent’s church. The church and children’s ministries were already established, and my dad would be a part of a team of pastors now. The transition was easy for me in January of 2017, despite knowing that I myself would be moving almost three thousand miles to Lynchburg, Virginia that August. I quickly became a part of the worship team, alongside my grandma and aunt. I took a leadership role over the kindergarten through second graders at AWANA. I even had a role on the Bible Story leadership team at Vacation Bible School that summer.

         As I was gearing up for VBS at our new church in Chico, I met with the lady – Amber –  who I would be serving with for the Bible Story time and I was eager to learn from her leadership. She was older than me, and newly married, so I was excited to glean from her wisdom.

         While eating Jon and Bon’s frozen yogurt (if you’re ever in downtown Chico, you must visit Jon and Bon’s!), I was telling Amber about how I felt the Lord leading me to study Elementary Education at Liberty that August. I told her a semi-dramatic story of how I felt the Lord was calling me to go into teaching at the time. I felt confident that this was what the Lord wanted me to do. I will never forget what Amber had told me.

         “You know,  the Lord asked you to change your major once, and you listened to Him,” Amber said as I nodded along, “and one day He may ask you to change it again.”

         I nodded and agreed out loud, but I mildly scoffed at her remark under my façade of a confident, trusting senior in high school, believing she was doing what God asked her to do. I’m not changing my major again…that’s for sure!

         The summer continued, and – like always – I chugged along in multiple serving capacities at church, enjoying life in Chico, being close to family, and my many budding friendships.

         Soon, August rolled around and I found myself – and about three to four suitcases – in the entryway of my home that I was only able to really enjoy for about two months. My parents came with me to help get me settled on Liberty’s campus in Lynchburg, Virginia. “Moving to Cloverdale was the hardest transition I ever had to make” quickly became a major understatement as I said goodbye to my parents outside of my dorm on the first day of classes. With sobs lodged in my throat and tears streaming down my face, I ran up four flights of stairs to my dorm room, so that I could avoid any other human presence on the elevator.

My first semester at Liberty was one of the toughest times I had to walk through – alone. Prior transitions in my life had been completed alongside my parents or friends. But this was the first time I chose to walk through something and I did it alone. Especially since I was moving away from everyone and everything I had known in California, all the way across the States to Virginia.

Quickly, the Lord provided a friend group and I am still friends with many of them to this day. However, the toughest season during my first year at Liberty wasn’t moving there alone or feeling homesick daily, but it was during my second semester when my grandma passed away. 

My grandma’s health had been declining during my time away from home. Legally blind and getting older, she needed twenty-four hour care. My mom and my aunts took turns caring for her, and I helped at times before I moved to Virginia. 

Toward the middle of my second semester, my family knew that the Lord would be calling my grandma home sooner than later. Most of my family still lived in California, but my aunt, uncle, and cousin made the trip from where they lived in Hawaii to be with my grandma during her last moments on earth. My parents had decided that it would be best for me to wait until she passed before making the trip out to California. I understood this decision for me to wait, especially since I was nearing midterms during that semester, but it was also incredibly difficult for me to be the only one who wasn’t with my grandma when she passed. 

However, I was grateful for the fact that I had been able to go home for Spring break, just weeks before my grandma breathed her last. I will never forget my grandma’s last words to me.

“Hasta la próxima vacación,” Until the next vacation. I had a feeling deep within me that even though my grandma was referring to my next trip home, I wouldn’t see her again before then. I gave her a hug goodbye as I repeated the words back to her, then left for the airport with my parents. 

In the week’s that followed, I found myself at least once a day leaning over my roommate’s bed to look out at campus from our dorm window, crying while on the phone with my mom. At times my mom would hold the phone to my grandma’s ear where I was able to talk to her in my broken Spanish, but she got to the point where she wasn’t able to respond to me. 

I grieved my grandma’s death before she died. This may seem a bit backwards, but I hated hearing about how she wasn’t able to eat and wasn’t able to hold a conversation any longer. 

Despite being legally blind from a young age, she was one of the strongest women I knew. I have memories of her walking through Yosemite, ahead of the rest of us, as we hiked to Mirror Lake. She moved her four daughters to California from Guatemala by herself while my grandfather had gone before them to start their life in California. She then raised my mom and her three younger sisters after my grandfather had passed away when my mom was seventeen. 

Growing up, my grandmother only lived ten minutes away from me, so we were always over at her house.  After my parents and I moved to Cloverdale, my aunt and grandmother came up to see us every weekend. She had suffered a couple of strokes, and even though they weakened her body, her mind and her spirit were still as strong as ever. When we lived in Cloverdale, she would sometimes stay with us for weeks at a time. I would help take care of her in the evenings and I can vividly remember walking by her room and hearing whispered prayers each night before she went to sleep. She prayed through a list of people – friends and family members – every single night. 

And it was these memories that I grieved those weeks between spring break and her death. 

My roommate and dearest friend had been with me when I got the call from my dad that my Makika had passed away. I cried and I remember telling my roommate, “She can see again! She’s in heaven and she can see again!” I was comforted by this thought, though I knew I would miss her greatly (and still do). 

I was able to go home and spend some time with my family as we celebrated her life and grieved together. It was a beautiful, yet sorrowful time. I’m grateful I was able to spend that time with my family.

Soon, I was back to life at Liberty. Academically, I found myself challenged, yet somewhat lost to what I thought the Lord was calling me to do. Spiritually, I was being fed and encouraged by amazing messages and worship services. 

All my life, I had done the things that showed people that I was a Christian. I made that first decision to “accept Jesus in my heart” at four years old, but it wasn’t until much later did I hear the question, “is Jesus the Lord of your life?”. I had made the choice to follow Jesus and love Him and I did the things to show that – I served in Childrens’ ministry, in youth groups, in worship teams, at AWANA, and in Vacation Bible Schools. I listened to God as I felt Him leading me somewhere or to do something, but I simply didn’t be in my relationship with Jesus. Christianity is so much more than “do this” or “do that”, but it’s about a relationship with Jesus Christ and placing your full trust in Him. It’s not simply living out a list of rules – of do’s and don’ts – but it’s choosing to have a relationship with Jesus and letting your life point to Him through the decisions you make. It should be less of “God doesn’t want me to do this” and more of “If I do this, I know it will disappoint God, so I choose to do that instead because I want to honor Him.” I feel that there’s a common misconception with Christianity today and that’s the “holier than thou” mentality. A lesson I learned in college and have clung to ever since is that I’m not a Christian because I consider myself to be perfect. I am in no way shape or form a perfect person. I make mistakes. I sin. But I’m a Christian because I know I am a sinner in need of a Savior. I’m going to continue to make mistakes, but as I learn and grow in my relationship with Jesus, I try to be more like Him.

My story sometimes seems quite simple, but I’m grateful to the Lord for the life and experiences that I have endured. I am not a perfect person, and I definitely do not claim to be. I simply choose to honor Jesus in every decision I make. Sometimes, I don’t always make the right choice, but I try to learn from my mistakes and learn to be more like Jesus. I do not want people to see me, but I want them to see Jesus Christ living in and through me. 

Hi, everyone! 

I had been thinking and considering what I should publish for my first “official” blog post. I immediately thought of an assignment I had to complete for one of my writing courses. For that eight-week online course, we were each required to write 4,000 words about our Faith Journey, or essentially, our testimonies. I found this assignment challenging, but worthwhile. So, I decided to publicly share it here! This week, you’ll read the first half, then next week, I’ll publish the second.

I hope this encourages you! If you have any questions or comments, feel free to leave them below or email me at sarahbaylorwrites@gmail.com

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A faith journey is something that grows, progresses, and develops over a lifetime. It’s something that may become stagnant, but it is also something that takes work and effort. My personal relationship with Jesus hasn’t always been easy, but it’s something that I try to work on every single day. I believe that it is important to reflect on this journey and how I have grown in my relationship with Jesus Christ. Sometimes, it can be hard to share these stories, either because of the content, or because of the vulnerability that it takes to proclaim this information. As Christians, it is important to share our testimonies with other believers, to testify of what the Lord has done in our lives and how we continue to live, honor, and serve Him.

When I think about my personal faith journey, I first remember the moment that I accepted Jesus into my life. This time of praying to accept Jesus into your heart is typically a pivotal moment for most Christians. It usually happens with a Bible story or sermon being shared, then a time of saying a “repeat after me” prayer. Usually, it ends with a stronger, more veteran Christian, coming alongside the new believer by guiding them and asking questions of their new found faith.. I believe it also helps lay the foundation for the believer, as it tends to be the one moment that the Christian can say, “that’s when I first became a Christian.” In my opinion, it also starts the personal faith journey.

         For me, this moment happened when I was four years old.

         To give some context, I was born into a Christian home with two loving and Christ-serving parents. My dad was (and still is!) a pastor at our church and my mom has always served alongside him (and she still does!). My home church was hosting a week-long Vacation Bible School and Thursday was always “Gospel Day.” This was the day that the gospel was presented to the attendees and to a four year old me. I remember sitting in the sanctuary of our church, the blue carpet and blue fabric of the pews mingling with the sunlight pouring in from the high windows as well as through the stained glass window that formed a cross behind the stage. My dad happened to be sharing the message that day and at the end after the prayer, he had all of the children who prayed that prayer to accept Jesus into their hearts, raise their hand. I honestly cannot remember what truly prompted me to raise my hand or to proclaim Christ as Lord over my life from that point on. I truly believe I had an understanding of the life versus death, heaven versus hell choice that had to be made, and something in my little four year old mind made me want to choose life with Jesus at that point. I remember being ushered to the back of the sanctuary where I huddled in a group with other new, small believers. An adult I had known for my entire four years on earth asked us questions about the Gospel and our choice to accept Jesus into our hearts.

         “She definitely understands the decision she just made,” the Vacation Bible School leader told my dad later. This has always been something that he reiterates whenever this story has been retold through the years.

         I firmly believe I did understand the decision I made at the young age of four. I chose Jesus. I chose eternity in heaven, away from the fiery flames of hell. I chose church. I chose ministry and serving others, just as my parents did. I also believe that I made this decision of my own volition. I think that since my earliest years were surrounded by great, strong Christians, and with my parents serving in ministry, this did influence my decision to accept Jesus into my life. It really and truly was my choice at this point.

         It would not be until my teenage years that I would grasp an understanding of what giving your life to Jesus truly meant. And it wouldn’t be until my college years that I would firmly be able to live that out for myself. But, I’m jumping ahead of the rest of my story.

         Life in general was – for the most part – a blur from the age of four until the age of eleven. I attended the same church – the same church I prayed the prayer of salvation in. My parents and I were involved in most of the ministries and outreaches there. My uncle served as the youth pastor, so we worked alongside him and my aunt. Church events were always a family affair – and I loved it! We were busy at least each night every week, and of course every Sunday, as well as most Saturdays.

         I never disliked being a pastor’s kid (PK for short). I’m an only child, so I also had my parent’s full attention growing up. I loved serving each week and being a part of the church ministry. It wasn’t just work either. In the summer, I would also be a participant of my church’s Vacation Bible School, much like the one where I accepted Christ into my heart. We would also have a week-long sports outreach ministry that I was also a part of (even though the sports skills didn’t stick around for long).

         I remember one summer, we were going door to door in the neighborhood located by our church, handing out fliers about Vacation Bible School (VBS) and talking with families. We knocked on one door, handed the man the flier about VBS, and I vividly remember him crumbling the paper with his hand and chucking it out the door at us. Following this action, he slammed the door in our faces. Was I shocked? Maybe, but growing up in northern California, in a suburb just outside and across the Golden Gate Bridge away from San Francisco, I was basically used to it. It didn’t scare me. My parents taught me well too.

         “Just remember,” my mom would tell me, “it’s not us that they’re against, but unfortunately, they’re against Jesus and His message.” This always stuck out to me growing up and helped me shift my perspective when talking with non-believers that may not agree with everything I believe.

         During my early childhood, I learned all of the Bible stories. I memorized all of the important scriptures. I could recite them from memory and I would get little plastic awards for saying so many of them from my AWANA (Christian Children’s Club) leader. I’d attend Bible quizzing where I got to show off my skills in Bible verse memorization for other church groups (most of the time – I was a little stage-shy though).

         In other words, I knew my stuff. I knew God loved me and that I loved God. I knew I had to serve Him. I knew I believed in Him and that I had accepted Him into my heart by my own decision, my own choice. I never felt forced to do church activities with my parents. I just knew it was good, right, and true. And I wanted to be a part of that.

         When I was eleven years old, my life kind of turned upside down in a way that it never really had before. I tried to see the benefits in the midst of the chaos, but it was sometimes hard for me to wrap my head around it.

         I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a Wednesday night because we had just gotten back from serving at AWANA. My parents said that they wanted to talk to me about something. The three of us sat at our kitchen table, my dad across from me, and my mom to my left. I can still picture my mom sitting there next to me as my dad told me that he had applied to a lead pastor position at another church, about an hour and a half from where we lived now.

         For the first eleven years of my life, I lived in the same house. I attended the same church, with the same people who watched me grow up. I had the same friends since birth. I also had attended the most amazing Christian school since pre-kindergarten. Our whole family lived within ten minutes of each other and we were always at each other’s houses, celebrating events or simply having a movie night with snacks.

         The second half of my sixth grade year was filled with my dad traveling between where we had lived in Fairfield, California to a tiny town called Cloverdale, further north in California. My mom and I would travel to Cloverdale on the weekends when my dad started his new pastor position in a small church. This church had no more than seventy-five people on Sunday mornings and no more than two children in the children’s church ministry. During the weekdays, my mom and I would stay in my childhood home while I finished school. I remember our drives to Cloverdale on Friday evenings. I would sit slumped in the backseat, holding my school’s freshly printed yearbook, as I flipped through each page and analyzed every picture. Those pages were filled with memories and friends and teachers I’d known since preschool.

         Soon, I graduated from sixth grade and we made one final trip from Fairfield to Cloverdale. We still had family in Fairfield, but that last trip up to Cloverdale felt final as we said goodbye to living permanently in Fairfield.

         Cloverdale, California is positioned in the northern part of what’s nationally known as Wine Country. Rolling hills covered with rows and rows of vineyards, like a crocheted blanket, surrounded the town of Cloverdale – population just over 8,000. Our new church – First Baptist Church of Cloverdale – sat in an L-shape building on a small lot.

         “I really like it,” I whispered to my mom as one of the deacons gave us the tour on our first visit there as a family. My dad was the new pastor and we were called to ministry there as a family. I was going to like it, even if it was too hard to leave our home church.

         Our first Sunday there, I had the opportunity to meet the rest of the youth group. As an eleven year old, I was full of preteen emotions and excitement, hoping to easily click into the group, while trying to not let my shy personality get the better of me. Each member of the youth group was at least two years older than I was at the time, and the two children in the children’s church were at least two years younger than me.

         It was the hardest transition my little eleven year old self had to go through, but it came with many blessings that I would not have experienced elsewhere. I did not see these experiences as blessings until later in life, but after much reflection and personal growth, I was able to become grateful for what we experienced when we were living in Cloverdale.

         Growing up, the ministries that I was a part of, were – for the most part – ministries that my parents were involved with as well. However, in Cloverdale, I was a part of the worship team under great leadership. I also formed a small youth worship band with other members of the youth group. I went from attending AWANA as a student, to leading a group of kindergarteners through second graders each week. During the summers, instead of being a participant of Vacation Bible School, I took on a leadership role of teaching the daily Bible story and sharing the Gospel on Thursday of the week. The Lord was able to bring many children to Him, and I was grateful to be part of it.

         I loved that I had a front row seat to watching my parents take a church with only two children, and grow the ministry through outreach with amazing leaders at the church as well. After a couple of years in Cloverdale, we began to have more than a hundred children or so come through our doors and hear the news of Jesus Christ. I was grateful for this amazing experience of ministry and I was thankful that I was able to be a part of it, even if it was a small part. 

Despite the difficulty of moving at eleven years old, I knew we were there for a purpose and I was becoming excited to see it unfold. I know now that those experiences in my early childhood and later on in Cloverdale helped shape me into the woman I am today. Little did I know that this was only a small stepping stone, and that the good times – and the bad times – provided lessons from the Lord.

Hello, everyone! 

This has been a long time coming, but welcome to my blog/website/corner of the internet!

For most of you that know me well, you know that I love writing. This love has grown into a passion of mine in recent years. But before we get into that, I want to share a little bit about myself.

I was born and raised in northern California. I grew up in an awesome Christian home, with two amazing parents. Growing up as a pastor’s kid (PK) brought its own set of unique challenges, but there were so many blessings as well. For college, I attended Liberty University and I now call Virginia my second home. I am currently working full time and pursuing an MA in Professional Writing.

In my free time I enjoy writing (obviously), reading, and spending time with friends and family. I also love crafting the perfect Spotify playlist for any mood and will share them with whoever seems to be interested. 

I also took it upon myself to come up with five fun facts about myself. This is the worst question to ask someone on the spot, and I was kicking myself and texting friends trying to figure out my five fun facts, but here they are:

1. I once hiked a volcano and dipped my feet in the lake in its crater. I had been living in Guatemala on a mission trip for two months with a group of fellow students from Liberty and one of the first weekends we were there, we were given the opportunity to hike this very dormant volcano! At the top, the crater was filled with a lake, and many of us went swimming, but I did not; the water was quite frigid! 
2. My favorite genre of music is rock music, but I tend to listen to anything. However, I have to be in a specific mood during a specific time of the year to listen to country music.
3. I’ve gone on a total of nine mission trips. Three to Guatemala, two to Panama, one to Mexico, one to Idaho, and two to Hawaii.
4. I once had dark blue streaks in my hair for a summer
5. My favorite holiday is Thanksgiving! 

I hope those fun facts give you a chance to get to know me better as I start on this journey!

My goal with the blog is to post on Tuesdays. With this blog, I plan to share encouraging posts of what the Lord is teaching me, book reviews, possibly some music reviews, and other fun stuff! 

I also hope to use this platform to keep me accountable and keep you updated on my writing and my journey to publishing! I am currently in the process of drafting a crime fiction novel. This has been a dream of mine since its origin in 2019. I have a developmental editor in place and my manuscript is due to her on September 24th. I can’t wait to share more, but just know that this book has lessons in it that the Lord has been teaching me and using to mold me these past few months. Stay tuned for more information! 

This blog will also help support my friends and their writing/ministries! Be sure to check out the “More to Explore!” tab to see what they’re up to! 

My heart behind this blog is perfectly summarized by Colossians 2:2-3, which says, “That their hearts may be encouraged, being knit together in love, to reach all the riches and full assurance of understanding and the knowledge of God’s mystery, which is Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.” Basically, I want to encourage you (and be encouraged myself) as we come together in this small corner of the internet to be – Lord-willing – pointed toward Christ, as He is the center of all things. 

I really hope you come along for the journey! If you would like, please enter your email on the side to be able to receive updates whenever I post, directly in your inbox! Feel free to check out the rest of the blog space too! 

For His glory,

Sarah