Hi, I’m Cynthia—wife, mom, “Gmama” — and now, after many years of nudging from friends, I’ve started putting pen to paper to share my story and the insights my life’s journey has given me. And these are truly my thoughts, not ChatGPT’s.
For decades, people close to me have encouraged me to write a book or keep a journal. The story of being adopted as a bi-racial child into a white family. The story of growing up with a deep longing to belong, mixed with a lifetime of feeling rejected or not enough. The story of learning what rejection feels like when it follows you through the years simply because of who you are and where you came from.
But also the story of love.
Love that grew in a mixed-culture marriage with my high-school sweetheart—now my husband of 37 years. Love that showed us again and again that differences don’t divide people; fear does. Love that proved family is far deeper than skin tone. Love that carried us into parenthood, blessed us with two beautiful daughters, and then continued to expand as we welcomed two incredible sons-in-love and three precious granddaughters.
One of those grandbabies now lives in Heaven.
The loss of our sweet girl—our radiant little fighter—became the catalyst that finally pushed me to begin this blog. Her short life changed countless hearts. My desire to continue her purpose in life and lengthen her legacy pushed me to write.
My story also includes years spent in ministry—serving, loving, leading, and learning how my relationship with God is stronger after stepping away from full-time ministry. Faith for me has become quieter, deeper, more rooted… less about performance and more about Presence.
If there is one thread that ties my entire life together, it’s my unshakeable motto: Only By His Grace — OBHG. I have lived this for years, but now—more than ever—its truth echoes through my days. Because in my weakness, He is strong. In my sorrow, His grace is sufficient. And in every chapter, He has carried me farther than I could ever walk alone.
This blog isn’t meant to impress. It’s not lofty, polished, or perfect.
It’s real.
It’s honest.
It’s a place to tell the truth about grief and growth, about belonging and heartbreak, about love that crosses cultures, and about the kind of faith that survives when life shatters.
A space shaped by defiant hope. The kind that rises even when your heart feels heavy. The kind that chooses light in seasons of darkness. The kind that refuses to let pain have the final word.
As the days go by and I write, I’ll also share how our family, with God’s help, is learning to soar again. I know the grandbabies here will be part of the joy and love that help heal. You’ll hear about them too. Grief may have thrown us a punch and knocked us down, but we are choosing to rise from the ashes and find beauty in rebuilding, strength in one another, and hope in the future.
If you’re here, welcome.
And may you discover, as I have, that sometimes you touch the sky most deeply when you’re sitting in the ashes on your knees—a truth forever connected to the angel baby who changed my world, beautiful Tatum Sky.
Touch The Sky 