God is Good to the Johnsons

Where in the world is Carmen SanDiego? Ahem, I mean Mikayla Johnson? (a wink to any of you 90s kids that remember that show. To be honest, I don't remember more than the show's jingle, but, still . . . good times) So, where can you find my writing?  Some of you beloved readers have found my writing through this blog; you're die–hards that have been around as long as six years. Bless you. You probably noticed that I did a dive-bomb off the blogosphere from 2019 til 2022. Now, contrary to popular belief, I did not stop writing. Rather, I went back to writing novels.  That's where more of you beloved readers found me. Gratefully, I have a wealth of good people who volunteered to beta read my novels and have been coaching and cheerleading me along in that journey. Bless you, too.  Still, more of you have found my writing through social media platforms, a second website ( mikjohnsonwrites.com ), my ENGL 420 class, and beyond. And, of course, I could never forget the handfu

Hey, friends. Some of you might remember the "I'm a Mormon" videos of yesteryear. If you need a refresher, here's one of my favorites . Recently, my husband and I have been volunteering as "Digital Media Missionaries" in our church congregation (in my church, congregation = "ward"). Basically, my job is to talk about Jesus and connect people with my church via social media. Our higher–up church leaders (called "stake" leaders) encouraged us missionaries to make our own videos, similar to the "I'm a Mormon" videos, about our belief in Jesus Christ. While I wrote my script last month, every time I think about getting in front of a camera, I start feeling queasy. So while I work my way up to video status, I wanted to share my written version of my belief in Jesus Christ here. Enjoy. THE SCRIPT: Hey, I'm Mikayla. I am OBSESSED with stories. From the time I learned my letters, I never stopped reading. And from the time I coul

A neighbor in her mid-thirties. A woman in her seventies. Their single commonality? They both asked me: Where's number three? I have a son, his name Charlie And then McKay, he's not quite three In my heart, both fit perfectly Yet others ask: Where's number three? Perhaps it's that I miscarried, My spouse's infidelity, The ache of infertility, A battle raging mentally, Illness on a crippling spree, Our family is complete, maybe. The reason's one or more of these, Yet you dare ask: Where's number three? In this question, running free Are judgements, jeering icily "You're not enough, Mik, can't you see? Buck up and give us number three!" I used to flounder, squirm, agree Or curl up small, cry, and plead. With time, I've seen things differently. I won't explain for number three. The questions of maternity Are just between my spouse and me And Parents, guiding Heavenly So please don't ask: Where's number three? Artwork Credit: Be