Splash. Splash. Back and forth in a steady rhythm, my paddle pushed the water and my kayak sliced the waves. I moved slowly as my thoughts gathered, but faster as my frustration peaked. The muscles in my arms ached as my jumbled thoughts coalesced into a single sentence: Nice girls don’t change the world! Therein lay my frustration. Since childhood I had dreamed of being a righter of wrongs, a force for good, a soul-soother, a world-changer—a dangerous woman! But what had I been instead? A “nice girl,” an innocuous people-pleaser. Good at going through the safe, socially accepted motions of life, I had lost all sense of passion, giftedness, or dreams.
That would make a great title for a book, my husband suggested later as I spit out my latest kayaking insight. Oh right. But his suggestion lingered. Are there other nice girls out there? Women living out roles that deny their true selves and violate God’s calling on their lives? Women dying to come to life? Should I write for them as well as me? Thus was my little book conceived.