Her tennis shoes were perched precariously on the crumbling edge of the Mayan step. One more inch forward, and she wasn't sure if she’d find stone or sky beneath her feet. Maybe the endless rounds of chemo and radiation had drained more of her strength than she’d realized. The climb that once felt like defiance now felt like defeat. But there was no going back. She was out of options.

Her biggest mistake had been looking down.

Now vertigo clawed at her senses, and her breath came in shallow gasps. She pressed her palms flat against the rough stone, trying to will herself still. No amount of bravery could erase the fact that she had misjudged—again.

Then she heard David’s voice, sharp and urgent, cutting through the jungle's hum.

"Lift your arms!" he shouted. "I'm going to grab you and pull you up."

It should’ve sounded heroic. It should’ve filled her with relief. Instead, it struck her like the punch line of a bad joke.

She glanced upward and muttered under her breath, half in fear, half in bitter humor: “Is anyone else up there?”

I pass the same dog nearly every day on my run. He’s a beast of a creature—massive, snarling, all teeth and fury, the kind of dog you instinctively cross the street to avoid. Or at least, he would be—if not for one crucial detail: he’s tethered.

Not just any leash either. This dog is bound by a thick choker collar, attached to a heavy log chain that clinks and groans with his every lunge. The chain runs taut to a stake buried deep in the ground, reinforced with a slab of concrete as if his fury alone might otherwise rip it free.

Every day, it’s the same show. He hears me coming and charges full force toward the edge of his tiny domain. There’s even a worn rut in the dirt where his assaults always end—the outer limit of his reach. He growls, bares his teeth, and I jog past, heart racing but face calm. I’ve learned the routine. He’s all bark, no bite. A would-be menace rendered harmless by steel and cement.

But one day, everything changed.

I saw him before he saw me. Something was off. The chain hung slack. The collar was still around his neck, but the stake—his anchor—was gone. And he was standing free.

In that instant, I wasn’t a runner anymore. I was lunch. A slow-moving MRE in moisture-wicking shorts.

He lunged. I ran like I never had before. And as I sprinted for my life, I realized something: that dog had never really stopped being dangerous. I had just gotten comfortable with the illusion of safety. I mistook his leash for weakness, his restraint for defeat.

That old dog taught me a lesson I won’t forget: don’t ever confuse a lack of action with a lack of ability. Just because something can’t hurt you now doesn’t mean it won’t one day. Complacency is comfortable—right up until the chain breaks.

Maybe you can learn something from that dog too.

There were 18,371 children in foster care in 2024. Let that number sink in.

Each of those children represents a story—of loss, resilience, and hope. Behind that staggering statistic are real lives waiting for safety, for family, for love.

Becky and Jordan know this all too well. Their journey into foster care began with a calling—a desire to help. Just nine days after they were officially licensed to provide trauma foster care, their phone wouldn't stop ringing. Each call was another child in need. Each voicemail carried urgency, heartache, and the weight of decision.

Then came one call that changed everything.

Within two years, Becky and Jordan went from a quiet house to a bustling home filled with laughter, sibling squabbles, bedtime stories, and healing. Three children—a brother and sisters who might otherwise have been separated—found comfort in staying together, thanks to them. They didn’t just open their home; they opened their hearts.

And their journey was only just beginning.

With Mother's Day around the corner, we’re celebrating by sharing the stories of a few Uncommon Moms.

Meet Rhonda Angermeier—a mom whose journey into motherhood didn’t exactly start the traditional way. In fact, when she first met her husband, she dropped a surprising line: “If you’re looking to fill your quiver with kids, you might want to move along.” At the time, she had no plans to become a mother.

But God has a way of flipping the script—and sometimes, He does it on a timetable that’s anything but conventional.

Tune in to this episode of Uncommon Moms to hear how Rhonda's story took an unexpected turn, and how her perspective on motherhood was transformed in the most extraordinary way.

Have you ever thought about what the opposite of addiction is? The easy answer might be sobriety. But let me ask again: What is the opposite of addiction?

Justin White suggests just one word—connection. The recovery program he leads has grown into the largest in Indiana, and for good reason: it’s a magnet for belonging.

It’s a powerful and rare story when a pastor openly shares that he became addicted to heroin and fentanyl. His addiction led to an overdose—one that could have easily been fatal. But then... God intervened.

Today, Justin is a voice for those wrestling with hurts, habits, and hang-ups. Drawing wisdom from a wide range of recovery resources, he has built a safe, welcoming space where people can find healing, hope, and most of all—connection.

This is a story worth hearing and sharing. No matter who you are, where you’ve been, or what you’ve done—you are welcome here.

Tammie could not shake her feelings. Her mother's intuition would not be silenced. Getting someone to listen though, that was a different story. She had to change doctors mid-pregnancy to finally get a simple ultrasound. What the ultrasound revealed rocked her world. The Dr. informed her they could not find evidence of the babies lungs. As long as the baby was in utero the baby was fine, but would not survive after birth. Her OB recommended terminating the pregnancy, but there was that nagging voice again. There were no easy answers. The echo of the ultrasound filled here ears. The sense of isolation, the weight of intuition, and the devastation of a diagnosis offers no clear path, no easy answers.

The recent storms in the Midwest with flooding and tornadoes have led to several gloomy days. These are days that just cry out for a smile. Keith shares a few stories that are sure to put a smile on your face and remind you of the versatility and power of story. Do you have a story that makes you laugh or that your family shares on every occasion because it is part of your gloom-buster heritage. At StoryMosaics.com we think it is about time you share your story. Go to https://www.storymosaics.com/pricing-plans/checkout-1?planId=64b5aaa5-bb72-49da-a9f9-8863679e8979 and send us your story. We will give you prompt feedback and maybe even feature you on the an upcoming podcast. No more rainy days and Mondays!

What does it mean to be both uniquely yourself and deeply connected to others? Defined & Connected explores the delicate balance between individuality and relationship—how we shape our own identities while remaining part of a greater whole. Through thought-provoking conversations, personal stories, and expert insights, we dive into the intersections of self-awareness, boundaries, belonging, and human connection.

Join us as we navigate the paradox of being distinct yet interwoven, discovering how embracing both can lead to a more authentic and fulfilling life.

Keith A Wooden