When I was about seventeen years old I met the boy who would later become my husband. I remember feeling unworthy to be with him. He was so steady, confident, and resolved in his faith. I knew he was the one for me, but deep down I worried that because of all the scary thoughts I had, I wasn’t girlfriend or someday wife material. My mom used to plead with me to go talk to a counselor about all my thoughts, but it always felt like she was trying to punish me for them. How would saying my scary thoughts out loud to a stranger ever be helpful for me???

It looked fine. The ground beef I’d bought for taco night looked exactly like quality meat should. Raw meat is something I’ve had to learn to tolerate as a wife and mother. My OCD makes it a challenge for me to handle, physically and mentally, given my fears of germ contamination. I dumped the meat haphazardly into the pot, flinging a piece of pink meat on my arm accidentally. Taking a deep breath I wiped it off and moved along, using all my strength to cook the meat without tensing my shoulders like I do when I’m anxious.

Comparing sin with laundry is a rough metaphor and it only goes so far. The two are only so similar, but one thing I know is my struggle with both will always be an active part of my life.

There are endless treasures to hunt for along the sandy shores of the ocean. My family has always preferred to look for something that is all too often overlooked; we search for sea glass.