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Dana Rongione 05/08/2026 Dana Rongione 05/08/2026

Exhausted and Withering? Stop Producing, Start Digging

I've never been much of a gardener, but I've become a bit of an accidental tree-watcher since moving to Wales. Between our hikes through the countryside and my endless fascination with anything that grows without complaining, I've picked up a few strange little facts that have stopped me in my tracks. For example, when drought hits, a healthy tree doesn't just stand there and wilt dramatically as I would. It has an ingrained survival strategy.

The tree stops producing new leaves. It pulls back from growth mode and turns its energy inward. And then, rather than throwing a fit about the lack of rain, it sends its roots down deeper into the soil, searching for whatever moisture is still hiding beneath the surface. The tree essentially says, "Fine. If it's not coming from above right now, I'll go find it below." No drama. No dying. Just digging.

Dana Rongione 22/07/2026 Dana Rongione 22/07/2026

I'm Doing Everything Right, So Why Do I Still Feel Behind?

Many years ago, Jason and I decided to tackle the Natureland Trust Trail at Caesars Head. I pictured a pleasant woodland stroll with maybe a stream, some birdsong, and a nice photo opportunity or two. What I got instead was 5.8 miles of "very strenuous" terrain that had me telling my husband, in complete seriousness, "Just leave me here. Save yourself."

I had done some research beforehand. I knew the trail existed. I knew its length. I knew people had hiked it successfully. I even packed water and wore my best hiking shoes. And yet, somewhere around mile three, blisters started to form, and my knees began to scream. I remember thinking, Why does this feel so much harder than I expected? I did everything right. I wore the appropriate clothing. I had all the proper gear. Yet, I still wondered if I was going to die on that trail.

Dana Rongione 06/07/2026 Dana Rongione 06/07/2026

Faithful in the Shadows

There are days when I look at my life and wonder if any of it matters.

I'm not talking about a dramatic crisis of faith. I'm talking about the quiet, creeping question that slips in on an ordinary Wednesday when nobody's reading my blog, nobody's buying my books, and our Bible study only has four ladies in attendance.

Is this really making any difference? Am I doing anything that truly matters?

In my newest book, Hope Refined, my character Merlin wrestles with this very thing. He's lived for decades, faithfully following and serving, yet he looks back and sees what feels like a long corridor of nothing.

No great victories.

No world-shaking moments.

Just years of small, quiet, unseen faithfulness. And he wonders if he's wasted it all.

And then Jesus reminds him of the seven thousand.

Dana Rongione 12/06/2026 Dana Rongione 12/06/2026

When Silence Hurts

I stared at the screen, blinking. One review. One star. On one of my newest children's picture books. My first one-star review ever. Somewhere, confetti was supposed to fall, and angels were supposed to sing, "Well done, thou good and faithful author." Instead, it felt more like, "Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin. You've been weighed in the balances and found wanting." Ouch!

Confusion hit first. I read the review again and again, trying to match the harshness of the rating with the sweetness of the story I'd written. This book, like all the others I've written, had been prayed over, labored over, and, honestly, loved over. It had been written for children who needed hope and truth in a world gone mad. How could someone look at that and see only something worthy of one lonely, miserable star?

Then another question surfaced, and it hurt in a different way:

Dana Rongione 10/06/2026 Dana Rongione 10/06/2026

Is Your World Flying Upside Down?

I learned something recently in my Animals of the Bible study that completely rearranged my brain.

It turns out, moths aren't actually attracted to light at all. I know. I know! Everything we thought we knew about moths is a lie. Well, not a lie exactly, but definitely not the whole story.

Here's what's really going on. Because moths fly in complete darkness, they face a very real problem: how do you know which way is up when you can't see anything? God, being the brilliant Designer He is, solved this problem by giving moths a built-in reflex to always keep their backs toward the brightest light. For thousands of years, that worked perfectly. The sky, lit by the sun or the moon, was always the brightest thing around. Back to the sky, fly straight. Simple. Elegant. Genius.

Then we humans had to invent electricity and artificial light.