I was invited to come to her house on Saturday morning. Pulling up my car to park under the purple Jacaranda blossoms in front of her home, I still felt my heart of anguish and defeat. Yes, here I was reaching out to an older woman I had always wanted to get know better. I was seeking a mentor in my time of self doubt, loneliness and despair, my first year of being in the role of a Nurse Practitioner. A crisis had fractured my unrealistic expectations and goals, and I needed someone to completely hear me out. That day, she graciously extended her hand, her ears and time for me. She invited me into her story. Her story was always to write. She often explained how she had told God, "all she had was the pen in her hand," but that was enough for Him to use to make her an author of prayer poems. Poems that spoke from the heart, honest and genuine, humorous and uplifting, encouraging and always full of hope. I had been drawn t...