PW: It must have been tough to grow up as the daughter of the most famous evangelist in the world.
My mother, fortunately, took us out of the limelight. So I didn't have either a sense of burden or entitlement. I had a trouble-free, happy childhood.
It must have been a shock, then, to end up in an unhappy marriage at age 18.
I felt as if the rug was pulled out from under me. I must have been in another room when they said the Christian life involved suffering. I floundered for quite a long time. I made bad choices. It wasn't easy.
When you write about your first husband's adultery, your subsequent two divorces, suicidal thoughts and bouts of depression, you write with painful vulnerability. You're also very forthcoming about your challenges with your children, including a daughter's two out-of-wedlock pregnancies, your son's experiments with drugs and another daughter's battle with bulimia.
I think it is important as Christians to be honest. I journal, so putting things on paper isn't foreign to me. But putting it on paper for public consumption is foreign. It's scary. I've found, though, that if I make myself vulnerable, I give others permission to be honest too.
But in the past, you felt you needed to mask your shortcomings and failures. Was this because of your high-profile family?
We weren't told to behave or act a certain way because we were children of Billy Graham. The pressure I felt was self-imposed. Everyone around me looked so together! I felt like I had to hide my pain.
How did your parents respond when you told them you were writing this book?
They have been very supportive. They obviously are sensitive for me—they don't want me to be hurt or open myself up to pain—but they also realize God has a calling on my life. I have a platform because I'm a Graham and a message because of what I've been through.
How do your children feel about you sharing their difficulties in the book?
They had editorial privileges. Nothing is in the book that they did not see, approve and acknowledge.
You write about a trip to Rwanda where you helped relocate some orphans after a brutal massacre. How did this change you?
It illustrated a principle my mother taught me: when you are hurting, or feeling alone and insecure, do something for others. Rwanda took my focus off of myself. It gave me a new sense of purpose.
There's a beautiful scene in your book when, after making many mistakes that may have embarrassed your parents, you pull your car into their driveway, and your father is waiting to take you in his arms. He tells you, "Welcome home."
When you come broken, shamed and full of regrets, and you find love, acceptance and forgiveness, the healing begins immediately. There's a sense of relief. While I wouldn't compare my father to God—he's a human being with clay feet—he did show me what God is like. He doesn't condemn us or point fingers; he loves us and welcomes us home.
Your parents' health is rocky at the moment.
Their bodies have aged, but not their minds or their spirits. It's hard to see them age. These two people are bigger than life. But they are doing it so gracefully and graciously. I told Daddy I'm so much more warmed by the embers than I was by the fire.
What's next?
My book with co-author Sara Dormon, I'm Pregnant, Now What?, will be published with Regal in November. And Stacy Mattingly, my co-writer on In Every Pew, and I are working on Legacy of Love: Reflections on My Mother (Zondervan). It's such a fun book to do and a surprise for my mother. After that, I'll take a rest.
