Raising Truth Seekers is here — and the story of how it arrived is very on-brand.
On April 29, around 4pm, I checked my email and saw the notification I’d been waiting for: the books had arrived. I ran to the door, ripped open the top box, and held in my hands what had been ten years in the making — Raising Truth Seekers.
All I could do was cry. Every early morning and late night had been worth it. I started leafing through the pages… and froze.
No. It can’t be.
Every right-hand page read: Raising Truth Seekers Copy.
I had forgotten to remove the word “Copy” from the title in Atticus before uploading the file to Amazon’s KDP. The joyful tears were immediately replaced with embarrassment and shame. My thoughts started to spiral: I can’t sell these books. What will everyone think of me? I’ll be a laughing stock. I’m just not even going to go to the conference.
I sat in my pity party, texting my good friend about the terrible mistake I had made. He tried to make me feel better, but I was pretty inconsolable.
I noticed how late it was, so I jumped in my car to get to FedEx before they closed to pick up the poster for my book table. At least that should look good. Ugh. The font was way too small. I couldn’t even deal with it, so I headed through traffic to make a stop at Kroger before going home to continue the pity party. And what every proper pity party needs is a full jar of almond butter — my “crack.” (You can read more about that in Chapter 13.)
I knew what I needed to do…yet, I did not want to do it.
I wanted to stay mad at myself. Somewhere on the Grand Parkway, almond butter as my destination, the intensity of what I was feeling became impossible to ignore. So, reluctantly, I walked myself through the prayer process I’ve been using for the last dozen years.
What I found surprised me. The frustration wasn’t just about the mistake. It was doing double duty — keeping me from something much more uncomfortable underneath: embarrassment and shame, and the question of why I was feeling it so intensely.
I asked God what He wanted me to know. And He showed up.
He gently pointed out that my frustration wasn’t going to accomplish what I thought it would. And then He said something that stopped me cold: He had allowed this for His purposes.
That got my attention. That’s when the idea came — to share this story with the readers. But I knew there was more. I just wasn’t ready to look at it yet.
I laid in bed that night, certain that sleep wouldn’t come until I got to the bottom of this, so I faced it. I sat with the embarrassment and shame and let myself feel the weight of the words that had swirled in my head earlier: What will everyone think of me? I was almost embarrassed that I was still having those kinds of thoughts after all these years of starting to understand the New Covenant and walking in His finished work.
As I stayed with what I was feeling, I landed in a memory from high school. The details matter less than the words I heard that impacted me: What will the neighbors think? There it was — the same emotion. Shame. A familiar question with a familiar companion.
Then I found myself in another memory, a moment after I was married where I felt that same familiar shame. As I sat with those emotions, something became clear: a lie I had been carrying at the heart level: I don’t measure up. I can’t hit the mark.
I offered that belief to the Lord. He wasted no time.
He reminded me that His opinion is the only one that matters — and that He sees me as a 10 out of 10. When I checked that belief again, it no longer felt true. The Holy Spirit had persuaded my heart of what my head had known for years. For the first time, they were saying the same thing.
This is my way of life now. Sometimes, like this week, it takes me longer to be willing to look at my own stuff. But other times I can recognize it quickly and find myself actually grateful for the trials God allows. Because they keep leading me back to Him.
Oh, and the almond butter? I stood in that Kroger aisle staring at the very jar I’d been so compelled to buy. I could have put it in my cart with zero condemnation. Instead, I paused. Did I still feel compelled? No. I didn’t even want it anymore. And I walked away.
It really is true: it’s not what you do, but why you do it.
The corrected file was uploaded to KDP the next morning. And those books I thought I couldn’t sell? Each one went out with a testimony card tucked inside — a story that wouldn’t exist without the mistake. God really does waste nothing.
And that, friend, is exactly what this book is about.
I want to be honest with you: I did not raise my children using TPM. Raising Truth Seekers is the book I wish I had had. It’s the vision I received over a decade ago — that parents could have a tool to help their children get to the root of what’s happening on the inside, not just manage behavior from the outside. That they grow up knowing when and how to run to Jesus for His truth and perspective.
That vision is now a book. And the story of how it arrived — “Copy” and all — is just one more proof that this message is bigger than my ability to mess it up.
None of this would exist without the extraordinary generosity of the Serenity Retreat Board, whose support made it possible to gift a pre-release edition to participants at our Ring the Bell Fundraising Event on October 3 — the same evening we celebrated Serenity Retreat’s 25th Anniversary. And what a gift it was to watch the completed edition make its official debut at Convention 220 on May 1.
If you know a parent, a grandparent, a ministry leader, or a small group who needs this message — please pass it along. Every share helps it find the people it was written for.
Raising Truth Seekers is available now on Amazon
Paperback · Family Faith Press · ISBN 9798255539055
Thank you for being part of this story. No matter if you have prayed for me, given me encouragement, offered me the privilege to mentor you in a session, teach you in a course, or if you have shared your testimony, God has used it all to form this book in me.
With much gratitude,
Barb Rolen
Program Director, Serenity Retreat