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...

"Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God." —Matthew 5:9 A few weeks back, my dear friend Kylie and I met up for lunch, our young kids in tow. When I arrived, Kylie was already at the counter placing an order. A few paces back in line, I held Bean* and Peanut's* hands in either of mine while I studied the menu, scanning through Nutella-stuffed crepes and cheddar-potato chowders.  The Tuscan sandwich is the one that caught my eye; an ensemble of grilled chicken breast, melty cheese, and fresh roma tomatoes all cradled between two sourdough slices. Yes, please. After placing my order, the kids and I scooted over to the table Kylie had reserved, settled into our seats, and placed our order number at the edge of the table. The kids babbled while Kylie and I started catching up. A minute or two later, a server brought out two plates of chicken fingers—for Kylie's kids—as well as my Tuscan sandwich. To my delight, a side of rosemary fries fi...

“And blessed are all they who do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled with the Holy Ghost.” –3 Nephi 12:6 Hey, Friends. You’ve probably noticed I’ve been gone a while. Some of you have probably wondered if I was ever coming back. I’ll explain all that in a minute. But first, a story. Last Sunday, I became acquainted with a lovely young woman who is a senior in high school. As we chatted together, the two of us exchanged social media information. When I told her that my blog and instagram are called @godisgoodtothejohnsons, she exclaimed, “No way! That’s my phrase, ‘God is good.’ I say it all the time.” I grinned at her. “I say it all the time too! That’s a neat thing we have in common.” Her smile wavered a bit when next, she added, “I used to have a bumper sticker on my car that said ‘God is Good’ on it. But some kids at school ripped it off. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Yeah,” she said. “I got a lot of crap about it. But that’s okay. I’m gonna buy another one.” ...

Do you have friends with whom you share dozens— maybe even hundreds— of happy memories? Bryant and Cierra Nelson are those friends for my husband, Kevin, and I. Staying up ‘til 1 am playing round after round of Pokemon Monopoly. Splitting a pack of Skittles. Having an Italian sandwich picnic on Thanksgiving Point Gardens while talking about TV shows and house hunting. Racing each other down the slides at Splash Summit. Catching up on life while chasing our kids across the park. Talking about Jesus and how we came to know he really is our Savior. The harsh reality of life, however, is that mingled with good times are seasons of tragedy and loss. On Tuesday, February 22nd 2022, Bryant and Cierra welcomed their second child, Elias Christian Nelson, into the world. The following evening, he passed away.  Perhaps you share happy memories of your own with Bryant and Cierra. Maybe you know them only a little, and maybe you’ve never met them at all. Regardless of your connection to my frie...

Yesterday was Mother's Day. I found myself at 9:55am curling my hair as I listened to sermons and worship music. Gleeful cheers of laughter and play sounded down the hallway as my husband played with our boys, making blanket forts together amidst getting ready for our in-home Sunday services. This moment was a welcome reprieve from the LONG week of mothering leading up to it. A sampling of the mishaps and meltdowns of the week include: thrice spilled milk, waking up at 2am to Charlie screaming "I WANT WAFFLES!," my face getting kicked repeatedly during diaper changes, clothing decorated in ketchup and barbecue sauce, burned grilled cheese sandwiches, pen drawings on kitchen walls, and a grand finale: of a lost pair of prescription glasses somewhere along orchard roads (they remain to be found). It was a less than ideal week of shortcomings on my part and tantrums on their part. Amidst the sermons and hairspray and squeals of sons, I thought over the hard week behind m...