MANGAN PRESS

In January 2025, I lost my daughter. She was 24 years old. I call her Peanut. One moment you're living your life, the next moment everything changes. You don't get to ease into that kind of grief—it hits you like a truck, and the only thing you know for certain is that you'll never be the same.

Two months later, I lost my job. Twenty-two years. Gone. Just like that. I had built something, been loyal, done the work—and it didn't matter. The same God I'd been praying to about losing my daughter was now watching me lose my livelihood. And I didn't understand.

By October 2025, I was staring down homelessness. I had almost lost everything. The job search had been brutal, the grief was relentless, and faith felt like a luxury I could no longer afford. But I kept writing. Even when nothing made sense, even when my prayers felt like they bounced off the ceiling, I kept writing.

In October 2025, I found new work. I didn't lose my home. But I also didn't lose what really matters—I never stopped believing, even when belief hurt. Some people would call it a Job story. Everything was taken. And like Job, I never cursed God.

I'm dyslexic and have ADHD. The words are always in my head—loud, true, real—but they don't come out the way they're supposed to on their own. So I use AI as a tool. Not to write for me, but to get my words onto the page the way they're meant to be heard. Every message, every tone, every word—that's me. I'm not comfortable. I'm not polished. I'm still in the fight.

These books aren't theology textbooks written by someone sitting safely in an ivory tower. They're survival manuals written by someone who's been stomped flat and is still standing. They're written for people like me—people who are broken, angry, questioning, but who refuse to give up on God. They're for the ones who need to hear that it's okay to be furious and faithful at the same time.

I write from the trenches. I pray these books reach the trenches. And I'm praying for you, whoever you are, wherever you are in this fight.