This has been a lifelong dream of mine...

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… and it’s finally come true. I’ve written and published a book and I hope you’ll consider reading it.

“A Perennial Life — Finding purpose in every season”

I’m not the girl I used to be. In this book, I share openly about my sometimes tumultuous childhood, a life-threatening eating disorder, and how I discovered forgiveness, faith, healing, and hope. And yes, there’s some humor sprinkled in between, too.

By sharing my story, I believe others will find hope and purpose in their own.

I’d be honored and humbled if you purchased a copy for $12.99 in paperback or $7.99 on Kindle.

If you prefer to read a free excerpt first, one is available on Amazon at the link below where, if you choose, you also can leave a review once you’ve read the book — it would be so appreciated.

Get it here: Amazon.com
Available in paperback and Kindle – plus, read a free excerpt.

Want to watch a video of my reaction when I open the shipment of books for the first time? I’ve shared that on my Facebook page here.


And a huge thank you to everyone who helped with this project. If I know you, it means you've been a part of my story and, therefore, have played a role in making this dream a reality. Thank you.

Blessings,
Tammy Borden, Author & Speaker
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A Story in the Stones

The neighbors must have wondered why a stranger in her Sunday best was picking through the rubble where a barn once stood. Weeds and tree saplings had grown where stanchions once held holsteins, and granite field stones were scattered where they had broken free from the mortar and tumbled from the collapsing walls.

She hiked up her skirt and tip-toed down the center of the cement foundation amid nail-laden and splintered boards, where barn cats and an old collie used to drink fresh, warm milk given to them by a little farm girl. This farm girl.

Nearly 40 years had passed since I stepped foot inside that barn, or what was left of it. Now, instead of looking up to see expansive rafters that supported thousands of hay bales in the hayloft, I saw puffy clouds above me with windows of blue.

I navigated my way to where the milk house had been. Despite the lumber being salvaged from the rest of the barn, the wooden door remained. I wrapped my hand around the rusty door handle and envisioned my seven-year-old fingers pulling on the latch to swing the door open.

This is where my love of the land and nature was formed at a young age. This is where I fed calves, climbed wooden ladders, and skimmed cream from the bulk tank for hot chocolate and fresh butter. This is where I’d run out the back door and across the muddy field in spring to that magical forest where trilliums, bloodroot, and trout lilies beckoned me.

My heart mourned the destruction of the once beautiful structure. This barn had built me in a way, and seeing it crumbled to the ground felt like a piece of me crumbled with it.

I kicked aside a rock with my sandal, a rock that was likely picked from the surrounding fields 100 years ago to lay the foundation. I stooped to pick it up and held it in my hand. Then another. And another. I gathered dozens of large stones and placed them in a pile, as though they were an altar built to remind me that even though the barn was gone, the memories remained. The current owner was kind enough to invite me, my mother, and sister into the home where I grew up, and said I could take whatever I wanted from where the barn had been.

I gathered the rocks and loaded them into the truck. When I got home I arranged them in one of my perennial flower beds to serve as a reminder of where I came from and where my love of gardening began. To others who may pass by, they look like ordinary rocks. But to me, there’s a story in the stones, a story that is as enduring as the glaciers from which they were scattered into the fields of my childhood.

The Weeds of Life

I hate weeds, which means I have a lot to hate about my lawn and garden. But I have vowed to keep fighting despite a losing battle. Let’s face it; it’s tough keeping weeds out of our gardens. It requires lots of getting down on our hands and knees, working the soil, pulling, digging, and at times using some form of concoction to finally get rid of them.

It’s hard work.

There are times when I stroll through my garden and see a small weed, and I think, “Oh, I’ll get that tomorrow.” Well, tomorrow comes, and behold, it's grown into a weed from the Little Shop of Horrors. I’m amazed at how quickly weeds can take over.

There are other times, especially in early spring, when I bend down to pull a weed and catch myself, realizing I was just about to pull out that expensive perennial I planted the fall before. I can say with all honesty that I have carefully tended a plant for months, only to realize in July that I watered and nurtured a clump of wild goldenrod.

There are weeds in life, too. And like in the garden, it requires a lot of hard work to identify them and get them out. They start out unassuming and sometimes unrecognizable from the good things in our lives.

Weeds can be like that.

Sometimes weeds in our lives start out small and subtle... like a habit, that left unattended, can grow into a full blown, uncontrollable addiction. Or a grudge against someone that, unchecked, can grow into an obsession of hatred.

I should know. When I was in middle school I was bullied and made fun of by a classmate. She spread nasty rumors about me and met me after school to beat me up. In gym class, she teased me and told me how ugly I was. Slowly my self-image, value, worth, and dignity faded away. I carried those wounds with me for years. 

My grudge against her was a weed that eventually grew into hatred, and it almost destroyed me. The roots went deep. But the day came when I had to face my hatred towards her and forgive... even though she didn’t ask for it, even though she didn’t try to make up for what she did. The unforgiveness and hatred that I held on to was hurting me more than the pain I experienced in my childhood. By holding on to my hatred, I was still allowing her to dictate my life and determine my value, despite years having passed since I’d seen her.

I wish I had known as a school girl about the principles of weeding: get them when they’re small, and get the whole root. If you’ve ever pulled dandelions, you know they have really deep tap roots. If you just chop off the leaves and those yellow flowers, your lawn will look all right for a few days. But eventually those weeds will come back bigger and stronger than ever, and your lawn will be a sea of yellow.

In our lives, if we just clean up the outward appearance so it looks good from the outside, but don’t get the root, the weeds of life will overtake us and only get stronger and more difficult to get rid of.

There’s another principle to removing weeds. Have you ever tried pulling weeds during a dry spell? Compare that to pulling weeds after a dousing rain. There’s a big difference, isn’t there? When the earth is nourished and softened, it’s easier to pull weeds.

Likewise, I have known some people who have allowed pain, heartache, and trials to harden their hearts like cement. As a result, the weeds of life that have grown through the cracks have a stronghold that won’t let go. I long for them to allow their hearts to be open, to risk having the gentle rain of love penetrate their soul to soften the grip.

Our weeds in life need to be treated the same as weeds in a garden.

Admittedly, I’ve toiled and worked to remove the deeply rooted weeds of my life, and yes, a lot of time was spent on my knees. It’s a continual process. Weeds keep trying to spring up and rob the joy of life.

But as with my garden, I won’t give up the battle. I’ll continue to learn to identify them and get them when they’re small, and continue to experience the joy that working in the garden and life can bring.

What Adele Taught Me About God

Click on image to watch original video.

Have you seen it? It was all over social media - the video of Adele impersonating Adele among a bunch of other Adeles? I've watched this over and over (below). Most people will watch it and laugh. I laughed, too. Really laughed.

But there's a profound truth hidden in the story here. It certainly wasn't intended to be a life lesson - but that's what it became for me.

This story reminds me of someone else who came down from his fame and glory and disguised himself as one of us. He put on normal flesh and bone and identified with our humanity, our brokenness, and how we fall short. Yes, I'm talking about the most famous person to ever walk the earth, or the heavens, for that matter -- Jesus. I know, I know. Please don't stop reading. Hear me out.

Each of us is a mere impersonator of the real thing. We can never be Him, but we can know Him and reflect who He is on our stage - our life. And when that moment comes - that moment when He reveals who He really is to you and each of us, will we respond like those in this story? Will our eyes be opened? Will it catch our breath? Will we be in awe and realize with astonishing and gleeful revelation that He's been among us this whole time and we didn't even know it?

Will we be so focused on our own performance that we miss Him?

Or will we continue to believe it couldn't possibly be true. Why would God lower himself to our level? How can God possibly care about the "little" people? Will we respond in anger towards Him because He didn't quite look or act the way we thought He should have all this time, and because we feel our stage, our story, isn't going according to script?

As He sings His love song to us, will we join in as a beautiful supporting choir of unified voices, not caring if we hit all the notes perfectly? Instead, let's relish in the unfathomable thrill of singing along, not comparing ourselves to the voices around us - but with our eyes fixed on Him.

I'm realizing more each day that the only way to make a difference in this world and truly shine His light is to not set myself apart - to not "make you feel my greatness," but to "Make You Feel My Love."

It Won't Be By

It won’t be by our well-said prayers

And cleverly crafted speech

How well we recite scripture

Or the message that we preach

It won’t be by the cross we wear

Displayed for all to see

It won’t be by the songs we know,

Sung in or out of key

It won’t be by a slogan

By name or reputation

It won’t be by our bank account

Or size of our donation

It won’t be by our bumper stickers

By which we will be known

The logo on a t-shirt

Or ring tone on a phone

It won’t be by our steeples

Or who’s voted into power

The status on our Facebook

That we update every hour

It won’t be by a megaphone

From the corner of a street

Or how cleverly we say it,

How blatant or discreet

It won’t be by our potlucks

With green bean casserole

No matter how fulfilling

That will never fill the soul

It won’t be by appearance

How well we might be dressed

Nor by the tattooed scriptures

Inscribed upon one’s chest

It won’t be by what we tithe

Though, giving, it is good

Yet, it won’t be by our goodness

Let this be understood

It won’t be by what we’re against

Or even what we’re for

The list of dos and don’ts we keep

It’s known by so much more

So, how will they know, you ask?

What must I be mindful of?

They will know that we are Christians

Yes, they’ll know us by our love.

They Will Know We Are Christians

I’m no biblical scholar. I'm no prophet. I'm just a girl with an opinion.

We're commanded in scripture to "be holy as I am holy" (1 Peter1:16). The word holy means to be "set apart." However, in our Christian culture we've taken it further to mean "segregated." In our quest to be holy, we've somehow separated ourselves from the very people we claim we love and want to reach.  

We shrink back from those who may hold a different belief system than ours, or practice a different lifestyle. We angrily speak out against hot-button issues, widening the gap and forgetting there are human souls that bear the image of God behind each one. 

Sadly, we are known for what we're against. We often suggest with our own words and actions that the life-giving gospel of Jesus isn't really about a loving God who laid down his life to save us all from our own depravity; instead, it's more about issues to be debated, agendas to be promoted, and arguments to be won.

I want to apologize for any times I've done this. If I have hurt you, I am truly sorry.

Jesus was perfectly holy, yet he lived among those the world considered outcast: the promiscuous, foreigners, tax-collectors, handicapped, demon-possessed, etc. But he also hung out with the average guy who had an average job to support his average family in an average town. He saw them all with the same eyes of compassion, with the same need for a savior.

He was a friend of sinners. Not just their acquaintance. Not just their teacher. Not just their judge. Their friend. He didn't see them as a problem to be fixed; he saw them as people to be loved.

But be careful. Oh, I don't mean be careful to not fall into the "ways" of unbelievers. Be careful that you don't have the attitude that your purpose for the relationship is to change them into what you think they should be. Be careful to not consider yourself the holy one who is there to save and reform those poor unholy souls.

As if we could.

If all we see is their behavior and actions, we’ll never see the heart that is longing for the very same thing we so desperately need.

When we engage with someone we don't agree with, or feel animosity towards a certain group of people, do we only see their issues, or do we see them as image-bearers? Do we see them as as an evil-doer or as an equal?

Do we choose to see their depravity or their dignity? How we see people will determine how we treat them.

Don't get me wrong; Jesus clearly challenged people about their sin. Likewise, we are instructed to speak the truth in love. I personally don't think people are so often offended by the truth, as much as they are offended by how we tell them the truth. And just as importantly... how we treat them.

They will know we are Christians by our love. Not our picket signs. Not our Facebook posts. Not our politics. 

Our love.