Posts tagged my story

Dear girls, I’m back at my desk after a month of mourning. Not that I’m done with sadness, but I’m sensing the invitation from the Spirit to get back to my calling to write. And so I sit, this morning, at the desk my dad made in this cabin tucked under the scented boughs of an enormous redwood tree. This spot is my refuge, a safe place where I hear God clearer than any place else.

The glimmering candle on my desk reminds me of the beauty of the friend who gave it as a gift of love. My new daughter-in-law’s mother, Natalia, is one of those rare treasures who sparkles with joy in the midst of a story she didn’t want. I am reminded of her as I do the final edits on my own story. Of how the Redeemer we follow weaves texture and color and loveliness into our lives in spite of— or perhaps because of— difficulties.

He is the Beauty-Maker and as He draws us close, we become like Him.


This morning I thought I’d bring you into my cabin to peer over my shoulder as I smooth and polish and pray and ponder over the words that will soon be put to print.

This is a glimpse of the me-I-was just before I was diagnosed with a progressive hearing loss that would eventually lead to total deafness. I was 26, enveloped in the world of babies and toddlers, homeschooling a first grader who gulped up knowledge like a starving lion.

I loved my life. But something left me empty and longing for more…

I wasn’t happy, not really. And I knew it.

And so I began to do the only thing I knew to do, the only thing a good Christian girl could do—I prayed. Every day, I asked God to do something, anything to change my heart. I prayed when I woke up, while jogging, while shopping, while cooking yet another family meal on yet another day of doing right.

I didn’t pray once. Or even twice. I prayed every chance I got, as if by begging God, I’d get Him to hear me and He’d have to give me what I craved.

I needed more. I wanted more. I had to have more!

God knew I would need all of Him to face the days ahead. He also knew that in order for Him to answer my cries for more, I would first need to let go of the pervasively self-serving idea of my own goodness.

The journey that lay ahead of me was going to be more arduous than all my rule abiding good-girl-ness would be able to handle.

I would face dark days, days of discovering that I was not as good as I’d thought, that my façade wouldn’t hold up under the pressures of life gone wrong, that a desperately “bad” girl lurked in my soul. 

That I was a woman who didn’t know her true colors until she didn’t get her way.

I was about to embark on a journey of facing the worst about myself and finding God in the rubble. In that place of desperation, I would discover that what God wanted more than all of my exhausting efforts to be good was me, just as I am. 

The real me.

And though I would flounder and fail, though I would shake my fist in His face, He couldn’t wait to gather me in close to show me what I’d been wanting all along.

As I edit these words I am praying for all of you who know the hunger that haunted me then. That emptiness, the sense that having everything I ever wanted was not enough.

I am praying that you will hear and know and experience the love of God down deep in the marrow of your bones.

That you will crave Him, longing for the beauty He alone brings. And that you won’t stop seeking until you’ve found all He has for you.

From my heart,


(image by Abi Porter)



It’s time for an update on some of the changes swirling around my life, in case you’re wondering where I’ve been.


We’ve moved into Firwood Cottage (photos coming soon!) and I have fallen head over heals in love with my new/old little home! It’s cozy and fresh, full of light with warm wood floors— and the kitchen is a better cook than I am.

There is still plenty of work to be done but now that we’re settled in we can take our time. Stay tuned for my “Garage Give-away”, when I’ll finish sorting through my too-much stuff and spend a Saturday giving it all away. A great way to meet my neighbors and let others enjoy pretty things.


I’ve started in on writing my book.

It is the story of losing my hearing and all the anger and grief that I handled with so little grace… and God’s amazing grace to me in spite of my wrong reaction. It is a story about learning to listen to God and falling intimately in love with my Redeemer.

Many of you prayed as I gathered up the courage to submit my proposal to my agent who in turn submitted it to several publishers. Now I’m hard at work, learning how to do this— still scared but confident that God will not leave me to do it on my own. I signed a contract with Zondervan publishers and have a wonderful editor working with me.


Drums roll… Matt is engaged! If you followed my year of writing LETTERS TO MY SON, you’ll know that he asked me what to look for in a wife. Little did he suspect that his question would prompt such a long reply!

Matthew and Simona met at Bridgetown and have been dating for over a year. The whole Comer family is delighted and filled with joy over their love story. I am hoping to post their story in all its wonderful detail one of these days…

Since Matt just proposed this week (in New York City!) I haven’t yet heard a firm date… details to follow!

And fourth:

My daughter, Elizabeth, along with Brook and their two children are moving to L.A.

I am sad… I have loved being so close to my daughter, who is my close friend. I have cherished the hours spent with Duke and baby Scarlet. Now those relationships will look a little different as we connect from a distance. They will, however, be living just 15 minutes from Rebekah— I expect to gain a whole lot of frequent flyer miles in the years to come!

At the same time, I couldn’t be more proud of Brook and Elizabeth. They are following God’s clear leading to be used by Him to influence and impact one of the culture centers of our world. To do this they have chosen to make significant sacrifices, choosing His way over comfort and ease.

Years and years ago, Phil and I were mentored by two missionary couples (Bill and Laurie Keyes and Norm and Muriel Cook) who pressed into our hearts a saying that we, in turn imprinted into the lives of our children.

We were, and are…

willing to go anywhere… at any time… to do anything.

And so, it shouldn’t surprise us that our children are following hard after the God they have seen to be so fully trust-able in our lives.

Times of significant change, I have learned, either leave us insecure and sad, frantically trying to control the inevitable… or thrust us closer into the heart of a God who never changes.

His sameness becomes our comfort. His faithfulness to care for us becomes our story, and His.

I love this wild adventure of following Jesus. After all these years and decades of tentative trust, of risking and worrying and believing and seeing Him write beauty in our story, I have learned that He is trust-worthy.

For those of you just starting those first wobbly steps of walking after Jesus, let me give you a bit of my courage— it gets easier, it really does.

At this point in my life, to not trust Him would be a flagrant insult.


when I worry and fuss and lose peace, I sense almost instantly that nudging back into God’s comfort and intimate care.


I know with a knowing of many years, that clinging to Him is the only way in to that place of rest I crave.

Give yourself the grace of time to gather up your own stories of God’s trust-able-ness. He’s writing those stories every day. Don’t just skim the headlines, you’ll need those details to help nudge you back to His rest.

One last word: I picked up this enticing nugget of gold from a book by Amy Carmichael…

“And all through, the brave little sister held fast to Him who she believed…

and was held fast by Him.”

May we hold fast all through… and be held fast by Him,

From my heart,


P.S. Are you learning that God is trust-able? Can you share a verse or a story or some word that is helping you to hold fast? 



This morning early Phil and I got on our knees and asked God to give us what we did not have: wisdom, insight, understanding of a culture so different than our own.

We told our Father what He already knew— that this task He has assigned for us— to inspire and teach and encourage and exhort the leaders in Haiti, is beyond our ability.

And as Phil prayed, I wondered… what am I doing here? 

Nothing about this assignment fits who I am. 

I’m a home-body— not an adventurous bone in my body.

I don’t like heat or sweating or dirt or bugs— all of which thrive in Haiti.

And my nose works far too well for this land where running water is scarce and sewage runs open down the streets.

In our harrowing car ride from Port au Prince to Carafour I tried to avoid looking out the open window because when I did, the chaotic, devil-may-dare driving seemed surreal. That and the men with machine guns standing in the middle of intersections.

The strangest thing is that I’ve never once felt afraid.

Me— the one who double-checks the locks in my perfectly safe suburban house.

Add to all that my introverted shyness, my aversion to the limelight, and you know why I asked God, “What are You thinking? I think you’ve got the wrong woman here…” 

And yet, here in this land so far from the familiar, I feel myself turn into a different woman.

Bugs don’t bother me in the least.

The heat feels fine even as sweat drips down my legs and melts the make-up right off my face.

And here I’m not shy.

I am Pastor Diane Carole Comer to these Haitian women.

We are not different— we think and laugh and hurt and fail in all the same ways.

These are my sisters. I am one of them.

This morning I told them things my own kids have never known about me. I told stories of my failures and my discoveries and my joys and deep regrets. We know each other. Kindred spirits who wear our skin a different shade.

And that is exactly why I am here.

Not because I like this place. Not because of the weather or the safety or how comfortable I am or am not.

I am here because something in my story resonates with something in their stories and we share the same Father who is writing something magnificent and magical and mystical in each of us.

And maybe this whole story fits together in some way. Maybe I can’t understand mine until I hear theirs.

Maybe hearing that I hurt helps these women who have suffered so terribly and so often to hurt a little less.

And maybe you need to tell someone your story.

Because maybe someone needs to hear your story in order to make sense of theirs.

And maybe we all need each other’s stories so that we can understand the mystery God is writing at this time in his-story.

A lot of maybe’s…

From my heart,


P.S. Thank-you, dear friends, for praying for me while I am here.

I am sticky, sweaty, dirty, uncomfortable and having the time of my life!




Tonight I will tell my story at a church in Eugene called Ekklesia. 

I'll be nervous of course, trying frantically to memorize what I wrote but will not say...

But I'm excited too. This is a church full of young people with great hearts to listen and learn and do. They're coming to hear how the Father worked in my life and it is my prayer and hope that they leave filled with wonder at His goodness.

So will you pray? Please?

Last night I heard Pastor Mutatu, from Zimbabwe say,

 No prayer, no power.

Little prayer, little power.

More prayer, more power.

Much prayer, much power!

And so I cry out for much prayer.

God's power to grip our hearts and heal deep wounds and teach and encourage-- especially that! 

From my heart,


P.S. I'll be sure to send lots of pics via Instagram...