I was asked to write a bio on myself. When the word biography is condensed to “bio”, you can expect that that means you really should just summarize.

Something like:

Hello friend! My name is Miranda. I’m a stay-at-home mom of two, born and raised in Western Kentucky all my life. I enjoy fried sushi, sweet tea, contemporary Christian music, long naps, neglecting my hair, those chocolate oranges you can only get at Christmas time, and the color coral. My husband Damion is a gentle giant at a staggering 6’4” and made up entirely of docile fluffy, cuddle-worthy sweetness. I like him a lot. I’m not an animal person per se, but we do not, at this time, own (collective gasp) a family pet. I’m also not much on coffee, although I have been known to partake in the occasional salted caramel frappe. (Cue the pitchforks.)

I’ve been called to minister largely through my love and gift of writing, as you’ll come to know. In closing…I’m kind of quirky and I love me some Jesus.

But you are in luck friends, I’m going to expound upon brief summary that just a bit. (However, for the sake of saving time, you’ve pretty much got the gist. I won’t hold you. Life’s busy. I get it. You’re excused.)


For those eager to have a more comprehensive overview of the complexities that are Miranda Walker…

I love being a mom. My goodness. It’s the toughest thing I’ve ever done but it’s my greatest achievement to date. I gave birth to my first child, a girl we named Cambria Malone, in May of 2010. I was 21-years-old at the time of delivery and engaged to Cam’s father, who I did later go on to marry in August of 2011 (3 years to the day we started dating…we got married on a Thursday.) July 3rd of 2014 we welcomed our second child Dorian Reeves.

These two little people I expelled from my body are just nearly my entire life. I suffered from postpartum depression with my daughter and that centered heavily on the concept of my lack of any identity to the contrary of motherhood. It was rough. I had decided to take a semester off from college to “enjoy my pregnancy” (whatever that meant) and never ended up going back. But don’t worry, dearest reader, there’s a happy ending! Read on!

So yeah, I had been an art major at a local community college. I was one semester away from my Associate of Art degree, which would have felt like quite an accomplishment. Alas, I still fill out applications with “some college” as my level of education. Maybe one day. Although if I were to go back to school it wouldn’t be for art. Writing is my passion. Art was a hobby I just happened to be kind of good at and the thing I got recognition for and a sense of validation.

My daughter also was determined to have Sepsis at birth. The hospital I delivered her in did not have a NICU (I had made the assumption that all hospitals did) and was transported to a hospital in a neighboring state where she was given a round of antibiotics to combat her issues. I myself maintained a temperature and was unable to go with her as she traveled as I wasn’t yet discharged from the first hospital. I recall the strange sensation of having a body that was obviously post-delivery, a womb that still bled heavily…and my baby so many miles away from me. I wasn’t sure how dire the situation was and knowing that medical professionals are not meant to let on, I wasn’t confident that all would be well. I was terrified that I would never get to hold her alive. The enemy taunted me with the thought that the beautiful going-home dress, purple and green with butterflies, would instead be the dress we laid her to rest in. I had to go 24 hours without a fever before I could be discharged. 3 days after delivery and almost at the 24 hour fever free mark, the nurse checked me and sure enough I had a fever again. By this point I hadn’t even held my baby and had hardly even been given the chance to see her at all. The nurse called my doctor and they graciously discharged me. Thanks to the Ronald McDonald House, Damion and I were able to stay in a small vacant hospital room on the children’s floor while Cam was in their NICU there. I distinctly remember the first night we were all three together and Damion and I had retired to that room, after having finally held my baby girl, the chunkiest baby that NICU had likely seen in a while and with a set of lungs one nurse said sounded more like a toddler than a newborn, for the first time and breathed her in, I decided to take a shower. And while I took that shower I prayed to God like I had never prayed before in my life up until that point. It was a prayer of surrender. In essence, I prayed “God, I know that this entire situation is in your hands. I am completely helpless.” – And with that prayer, I pretty much summed up my entire walk through motherhood and life in general. I need God every day. I am grateful for price the Jesus paid daily.

My postpartum depression did a number on me, though, and I wasn’t nearly as grateful to God for Cam’s healing as I ought to have been. During my deep depths of despair in my early days of motherhood, when I felt as though I were waiting to die and guilt was ever present, a final act of desperation lead me to where I am today. I sought God out…and I can assure you that I would not be here writing to you today had I not.

The details of when I became “saved” are a little hard for me to pinpoint. I remember at about the age of 9 or 10 that I attended a Vacation Bible School at our local Baptist church in my small hometown. At the end of one of the night’s services, when all the other children had been dismissed to a separate building used for eating and fellowship, I was left alone in the sanctuary with a man I didn’t know who was asking me to accept Jesus into my heart right then and there. My instincts were to say whatever the man wanted to hear so I could join the other children and get away from him and so…I did. But it wasn’t until my surrender to God in my adult life that I ever knew the presence of God. And how glorious His presence is to behold!

As I said, my husband and I had our first child out of wedlock. This is a familial “curse” I hope will be broken with my own daughter. But as He always does, God worked it together for the good of those that love Him and are called according to his purpose for them. Thank you, Jesus!

My own parents separated during my first pregnancy as well so there was plenty of confusion surrounding the concept of marriage for me at the time. Although we were already engaged when we found out we were expecting, the enemy tried to convince me not to do as my mother had done and marry him simply because we were having a child together. In truth, I loved him. I was every bit as loyal and committed him after we exchanged our vows as I had been in the delivery room, and I am confident the same is true for him.

As for my calling, I’m still exploring that territory. But I will tell you that I feel God has big things in store for my life and I somehow sensed that even in my teenage years when I assumed my future was in art making. Perhaps we all feel that way, that we are called to do something extraordinary, but I am determined to live my life as close to God’s plan as I humbly can. And wherever that leads me, wherever the last stop may be, that’s fine with me, Lord.

Although, to look at my past you would have never suspected that I would ever go on to have the amazing ministry I see for myself. Not because I had such a tumultuous upbringing or unsavory past (which, let’s face it, sets us up for an amazing ministry once we get right with God), but because I was by all accounts completely normal (well, let’s not get too carried away perhaps.) I was the most forgettable kid you ever met in your life. The only memorable thing about me was that I was large. Still am to this day, in fact. That didn’t prevent my peers, teachers, and other faculty members of my school from confusing me with two of my friends on a regular basis though. My best friend in junior high had every one of her club pictures in our yearbooks one year with my name attached to her photo. Even the night of my Project Graduation (for those that don’t know, an event aimed to prevent fatal accidents from occurring among graduates the night of their high school graduation, in which the entire class is kept in the gym all night long with games and such) I was called by that same friend’s name. But as it was my last hurrah as a Hickman County Falcon I retorted with “my name is NOT Kathryn. My NAME is Miranda Stephens.” I also read the lyrics to Lee Ann Womack’s I Hope You Dance during the graduation ceremony, so I am definitely engravened in people’s memory forever by now.

I have a bit of an odd and sometimes dark sense of humor. I’ll apologize for that up front. Pray for me. I am excited to see where my time here takes me and to share my thoughts with all of you! Much love!