Truly Grace

A Nativity Story

The sky was the color of deep silver water and cobalt shadows that night. Soon the sky would darken into a gray blush of dusk and darkness, but for now I breathed the sweet winter air and calmed my heart beating a staccato of fear in my chest.
“Mary!”
My sweet friend Priscilla waltzed across the barren street and pulled me into a hug. Her eyes involuntarily looked towards my growing abdomen. She was the only friend I had told before I had gone to stay with my Aunt Elizabeth for three months.
“Have you told Joseph?”
“No.” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to explain how many nights I had lain awake, crying softly, praying that Joseph would understand. That his faith would be stronger than his reason. That the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob would speak to him as he had spoken to me. I was carrying the Savior of the world. Surely God would help him to understand. But oh…the horror of the possibility that he would believe I had been unfaithful. It made me sick, for I loved this stable leader who had been chosen to be my husband. We were supposed to be married that winter, and I would begin to share his life. This dream – to share his life – had undergone so much in the last few months. At some moments I was at peace, believing that God would surely provide a way, even here, for there to be understanding. Other times I felt fear make me nauseous, terrified of the horror and consequences of bearing a child that was not mine.
“How will you tell him?”
“I may not have to.” My slight frame showed evidence in ways I struggled to hide.
Priscilla nodded, the darkness falling faster now, like snow, blurring the fine lines of sunset and shadows.
“You should get home. May the Lord be with you, my sister.”
“And with you,” I whispered.

I slipped into my father’s house silently. My mother stood in front of the fire, alone, preparing a meal.
“Mary, my daughter. Welcome home.”
My mother placed a hand on my shoulder and let her eyes run over my figure.
“Joseph is coming tonight.”
“Is he home?”
“He came home several days ago, and your uncle sent word you would be home today. I’m sure he is anxious to see you.”
My stomach flipped, flipped again, my heart shuddering and crying out within me.
“Oh, my God and Lord, please, please let Joseph believe me.”
I moved to my little room towards the back of the house. I hung up two of my dresses carefully, and unrolled the soft woven straw mat. I laid on it, tracing the smooth dirt floor with my finger. From the front room, I heard a stern knock on the heavy wooden door. Immediately I felt my heart begin to violently beat. I heard the kind, steady voice of my betrothed.
“She’s in her room,” I heard my mother answer. Footsteps. My stomach was twisting, painful and sharp, and I felt sick. Joseph stopped in the doorway, and I met his eyes with so much confusion and hesitation and fear that I saw his face immediately turn into questioning concern.
“You must be tired,” was all he said, however.
A tear slipped down my cheek, and I tried to brush it away with my fingers, but more began to pour. “Mary…”
I stood up shakily to my feet and turned away from him.
“I’m so, so sorry, Joseph.”
There was silence. He was waiting, perhaps, waiting to hear what I had done. Ohhh how could something so miraculous, so wonderful, be so incredibly painful?
I began to sob, and slowly he came closer, standing behind me and waiting.
“Joseph, I’m…I’m going to have a baby.”
Still silence, but I could tell he had been shocked into silence: cold, severe, unmitigated silence that held so much hurt I could feel it surround me.
“You…?” There was agony in his voice.
I shook my head. “No, no… you have to believe me.”
A measure of relief, yet still his voice was etched with questioning.
“Were you…?”
“No… nothing.”
“Then…?”
Sobs were shaking my body then, and I couldn’t speak. Suddenly his strong, strong arms were encircling my waist, pulling me against him. He turned me to face him, brushed the wet hair away from my eyes. It steadied me, helped me to breathe again. Taking a deep, gasping breath, I tried to calm myself. He took my face in his hands, and his voice was steady, but I could see the weight of the revelation in his eyes. We both knew I could be put to death, and he would be the first to cast a stone. I saw the pain of it in his eyes, and it was in that moment I grasped the depth of his love for me. A shooting, piercing pain tore through my body.
“You’ve always, always told me the truth, Mary. Please, my dear one, tell me.”
“You won’t believe me,” I said.
“I don’t believe this,” he said, as if to himself.
“I… an angel came to me. He- he told me I would become the mother of Jesus, the foretold Messiah.”
Silence. I could fairly see the battle roaring through his eyes. It was so…so incredible. Yet, why would I be chosen? It was possible, yet how could it be proven? They would say he was naïve, so naïve to believe my story. Yet I had never been dishonest with Joseph.
Finally Joseph groaned and ran his fingers through his hair.
For a moment his  eyes locked with mine, and I could see the purest love shining through the chaos in his mind. At last he turned to go. At the doorway, he looked back, but he would not meet my eyes. Again he turned, and again I was alone in my room.
“Oh, Lord,” I prayed, “as you have worked a miracle within me, so work a miracle in the man I love.”
And I had peace.

It was two days later, and the sun was once against resting on the mountains in the distance, waiting for a tiny moment to show one last ray of sweet light before dipping lightly into the cool night.
Bowls of savory food sat ready on the table, and I bowed my head and waited until my father had blessed the food. We said amen; the door burst open. Joseph stood there, his eyes pools of excitement.
“Mary, come with me.”
I pushed back from the table, grabbed a shawl from a peg near the door, and slipped out into the resting twilight. It was calm outside, strangely contrasting with the energy emanating from the man walking quickly beside me. He had only taken a few strides before he looked at me, joy flowing into those steady eyes, tears mixing with their expression.
“Mary, oh Mary,” he said, and his voice was warm and soft. He reached for my hand, his eyes staring intently into mine.
“An angel appeared to me in a dream. He confirmed all that you told me.”
A tear slipped down Joseph’s face, and I felt God’s grace break over my soul.
“Oh Mary. . . I thought I would have to live this life without you. I thought . . . I thought so many things. But now – oh glory to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, who has chosen us to bear His Son. Glory to His Name, that He would choose us.”
I placed my hand over the place the Son of God was beginning to grow inside of me. Truly, truly, this was grace, that He would choose us. Truly, truly, this was grace.

Here

What’s on my heart?

A million things, I acknowledge. 

The days are busy, involved; I suppose sometimes I assume my heart has no time to 

breathe. 

Reflect. 

Remember. 

Learn. 

Grow.

I get so consumed with the maintenance and the moments I forget 

the purpose. 

The beauty.

Inhale, exhale.

What’s on my heart?

Some of the lessons I learned days and days ago are once again inching their way into my heart. 

Jesus is beckoning me closer, calling me to deeper fellowship and love. 

Oh Jesus, how do I wander so far away from you? I’m pursuing good things, yet in the midst of them I lose our closeness. Forgive me, Jesus.

 I’m learning humility…again…

oh Lord, why is this lesson so hard?        

Even this morning he reminded me He’s my refuge. And I remember months and months ago when I learned to hide there, in his presence, away from the chaos surrounding me. 

When did I forget, Jesus? When did I forget I can run to you and hide?

He’s refining my heart, bringing me to repentance. 

Create in me a clean heart, O God.

He’s building new things within me: Run to ME, Sara, first. This burden you’re carrying is too heavy for you. The pressure is too much. Let me handle it. Let me handle it.

I’m learning to see the beauty around me. Yesterday I complained to myself the whole day. Felt anger. Felt my joy seep out of me, replaced with frustration. Anger. Fear.  

Oh Lord, today I choose joy. Today I choose to be aware of your blessings.

So here, in the crowded moments and chaos of this season, I raise my head. I remember how much He’s done. I choose to walk in his joy, his humility, his gifts, his wisdom.

These are beautiful days: learning to sing and dance before Jesus fulfills his promises. Before he whispers what the next step is. This is where living happens, where growth is multiplied, where beauty is born. 

I trust in you, O Lord; I say, “You are my God.” My times are in your hand…”

What’s on your heart?

This Road We're On

We were staying in the Wisconsin Dells that night. It was August, 2017, and my family and I were en route to Chicago on a family vacation. I remember sitting in the dark car with my dad, tears pouring down my face. It didn’t make sense, none of it did. My heart was broken, broken with the weight of things that seemed so big, so insurmountable, so final.

It’s August, 2018. The glow from my laptop illuminates my otherwise dark room, and I sit here, a completely different person.

I haven’t written a blog post like this in a while. But an idea started to pulse in my mind a while ago, and I’m exhausted right now, but this is important. I want to talk about this walk with Jesus we’re on.

It’s lonely.

It’s Tuesday mornings waking up and feeling like you’re the only one in your friend group who’s not in your dream college. It’s Sunday mornings crying “there’s nothing here for me….why am I still here?” It’s Monday night, driving home alone and desperately crying, surrendering with a heart that is confused and scared, but whispering, shouting, crying that you still trust Jesus, though you do not understand.

My life hasn’t made a lot of sense. It’s had a lot of twists and turns, and the thought occurs to me frequently: this walk, following Jesus, is lonely.

You feel this, don’t you? You, too, are on a path mapped out for only you, with hurts that others will never understand and scars that only you see. You too, are on a path that violently turns and bends and leaves you asking, “God, I trusted you; why am I here?”

Oh my friends, let your hope rest fully in the Lord, within these feelings. Let your trust grow exponentially in his grace and goodness.

Because a lonely road is one that makes you own your faith. One that makes you the kind of person who can change the world for Christ. A lonely road is the very road that leads you to the most beautiful relationship with Christ that is literally peace and joy and rest and friendship and love that will bring you to tears. A lonely road is the road where you will feel the least lonely, really.

And there were other days, days that existed only because I had trusted Jesus with my entire heart. Days that only made sense inside of this walk that seemed so foreign to God’s apparent plan for the rest of mankind.

African rainstorms.

Cross-country drives.

Worship sessions.

Dancing.

Long talks with close friends.

Forgiveness.

And amidst all of the moments, the ones that broke me and the ones that made my heart rejoice, there were the moments with Jesus. His guidance. His discipline. Laughing together. Checking in. Apologizing. Praying, as to a friend, as to a divine Savior. Worshiping with a heart that might threaten to burst with joy.

I’m grateful for the times my heart broke, with death, or confusion, or hurt. I’m grateful for the deepest moments of joy I’ve ever experienced and the grief that made me run ever more to Jesus. These days have stretched me in more ways than I thought possible; it has been one thing after another of unexpected.

Very unexpected.

Except for one thing.

Jesus.

So be grateful when you're the only one. Rejoice when you're the only one doing the right thing. Walk in praise when it literally makes no sense, at all, whatsoever.

Because there is Jesus.

There with you and me through it all.

Through our mistakes and awkwardness and questions and doubt and insecurity and grasping ignorantly for approval in places that were never meant to define our identity. 

He was there. He always has been. And he always will be.

{I love You, Jesus. More than I can put into words. You alone have brought me this far. Your grace has covered my mistakes, and your truth heals the rawest wounds I’ve ever experienced. You are so incredibly good to me, and this life will be beautiful because of one thing: your presence. I may be the only one taking this path, but I look up, and there you are, walking beside me, because you love me with the deepest and truest love that strips away all of the words and all of the actions and all of the lies and pride and feelings and leaves a breathtaking view of only…

 your grace.}

Project Short: The Adventure & The Home

Project Short: Story 7

They were seated on the edge of the pier, alone, legs dangling over the wood, the spray from the wild water making them shiver, a little. They had been quiet that night, so much to think about, just so much.

He smiled a little, waiting for her to break the silence. Finally:

“I just- I just don’t want to miss something.” The words burst out of her mouth, and he looked at her, his face only slightly turned toward her. He could feel the tiny droplets of water hit his cheek.

“I don’t want to wake up one day and not have done everything I wanted to do. But I feel like I’ll never get to that place, anyway. And I’m scared to settle down because I’m scared I’ll miss what I was created for. And I’m scared that I won’t leave behind a legacy, that I’ll just be a normal person who lives and dies and is buried and no one cares, no one. I need to make a difference. And settling down: “settling?” The word makes me cringe. I can’t just change diapers and make lunches for the rest of my life, can I? I have to be somebody.”

He had all the answers, and he wondered if she wanted them, and he wondered what she wanted to hear. Did she want to be proven wrong? Right? He wanted to ask her “why?” Why did she have to be great, why did she have to hold herself to this impossible standard, why did she feel the need to be always free and never known? 

He wanted to tell her that she was already living a legacy, that she was already doing what she was created for, that settling down was magic, that all her fear was too much over-thinking. He wanted to tell her these things, and so many more, and he wanted to take her face in her hands and fiercely tell her to stop being ridiculous because love was the only answer to any of these questions anyway. 

She was still speaking.

“And I need adventure. Lots of it. New people and places and opportunities. I need it like air, and I don’t think I’ll ever not need it.”

He said her name then, trying not to reach out to turn her face to look at him.

But the way he said her name made her turn her head, and his eyes made her heart gasp a little. Never had she seen…

“Adventure isn’t always somewhere far off and dangerous and…and unknown,” he said then, and his voice was quiet, a quiet strength. 

It made sense then, everything she had ever wanted. It was all in his eyes…the passion and the compassion, the fire and the fuel, the peace and the storm, the safest danger she had ever encountered. And yet adventure was not what she saw, at that moment.

For she had never seen a home she had wanted, until she saw it in his eyes.

In his eyes was home.

Project Short: “Then What?”

Project Short: Story 6

“Then what?” His question was gentle. He was young, maybe 16. Not your average 16; he had a purity and an intensity that always seemed to contradict. Innocence, and then deep wisdom, would play through his eyes like a haunting melody. 

“Then...” I couldn’t go on. How could a man of 68 explain to a boy of 16 how he had walked away? I swallowed hard, because the regret, even after all these years, still made me choke. But he already knew. He must have, because I saw him nod, and then turn his face away. A car pulled into the driveway, and from his seat next to me on the porch, he stood to his feet, pulling his backpack from the ground. He looked at me closely, as if searching. Maybe he was thinking of a lovely girl, the girl I had once left... a girl with a baby, mine. A baby that would one day have a boy of his own, a boy with contradicting eyes, wisdom, innocence. A boy who would never know his grandfather as his grandfather because... 

I had walked away. 

Project Short: Knew It Then

Project Short: Story Five

I knew I loved him, then. 

But I said nothing.

Nothing of the way I wanted to comfort him, or write him letters, or hear his deepest secrets.

I said nothing of the way I hoped that someday he would love me too, that someday he would let me show the deepest grace and love that I desperately wanted to show him.

I didn’t want to talk about pounding hearts and nice feelings. I wanted to talk about the hardest and the bitterest of life, the trials of faith, the hope of a future together. I wanted to forget the wrongs and celebrate the rights, I wanted to create a home in my heart where he could belong. I wanted to create a home that he could come home to when his day was hard and his heart was hurt. I wanted to be a sanctuary of hope for him, the reason he could smile again. I wanted to tell him that my love for him was as pure as the sunrise as it shatters the grey dawn and scatters the stars in their galaxies, that my heart was as open as the ocean as the sun hits the zenith of the skies, that my trust was as boundless as the cobalt sky over the water.

I knew I loved him, then.

But I said nothing.

Project Short: Nonsense

Project Short: Story 4

“Just slow down for two seconds.” His voice was stern, different from his usually polite and carefully modulated tone. The way he said it, and not the words themselves, made me stop.

“What?” I asked, but the words that I had meant to come out confidently and rebelliously sounded tight and small and intimidated.

He must have been expecting me to be mad, because his face registered surprise at my cowed response.

“I…I just want to talk to you. Without you running off and pretending like you have the world to save.”

“But…” 

He interrupted me. “The world can wait at least as long as I have for you.”

“What?” Seriously, was this the only word in my vocabulary? This time my response sounded bewildered. Why, oh why, and where, oh where, was my confidence and grace and strength and boundaries and carefully guarded inner world?

I looked up, and he was closer than I allowed any man to be. I stepped back, glaring the best I could.

“Would you please give me five minutes of your time? Please?”

I crossed my arms.

“Fine. But no nonsense or else you’re finished.”

“Okay. Fair enough.”

I saw him swallow, hard.

“Is it nonsense to say that I love you?”

Project Short: Uganda 2018

Project Short: Story 3

3.1.2018
I’m sitting in the back seat laughing because I’m in Uganda, in the seventh vehicle in seven days, our car having mishaps for the fourth time in three days.
It’s raining.
I’m in a short sleeve shirt, sniveling into it because I’m coming down with a cold and no one has tissue.
I’m eating pizza left over from dinner and singing James Arthur.
Then I’m writing a song in the back of a friend’s dad’s car and kinda wanting to go home, kinda wanting desperately to not miss the moment, and really, I know this is rambling and weird and just crazy, but I’m crazy happy.
This is adventure.

Project Short: Farmer Jiff

Project Short: Story 2

This story is  based on an incident that actually happened!! 

Farmer Jiff

He lived on a farm. 

He went to my school. 

He was on the wrestling team. 

He was good. 

We all called him Jiff, even though with a flick of his hand he could have sent us flying. I don’t know where the nickname started, but “Jiff” was already a legend, even before the incident. I was there the day it happened though. Anthony Hodges hated Jiff, almost with the same intensity that Martha hated cinnamon. (But that’s another story for another day.) Anyway, it was Thursday, and Jiff was headed home to finish his chores on the farm. The rest of us guys were warming up for a workout, all of us except Anthony, that is. Jiff watched Anthony out of the corner of his eye as he put his uniform in order for the coming match on Saturday. Anthony stopped suddenly and tilted his head to the side, a sneer distorting his face. 

“Aren’t you gonna workout with the rest of us?”

Jiff answered slowly, casually, like he hadn’t heard the challenge and sneer in Anthony’s tone. 

“Can’t. I have to finish up some work on the farm.” 

It wasn’t unique to that night; Jiff never worked out with us, and nobody questioned it. He was our best wrestler. 

Anthony walked closer to Jiff, and Jiff straightened imperceptibly. 

I stepped forward casually, pointed at two apples that happened to be balancing on the table. 

“Jiff, show us how strong you are.”

Jiff tipped his head at me, acknowledging my suggestion. Slowly he reached for the apples, and squeezed. Apple oozed through his fingers, applesauce and juice where two apples had just been. Jiff tipped his head at me again, glanced at Anthony, and walked out. No one ever messed with him again.

Introducing: Project Short

Introducing: Project Short!
It’s writing contained within only a paragraph or page, writing that grasps a moment in time and tells you everything, and nothing.
Join me for the next three weeks as I post a story every other day!


•Story One•

“Are you okay?” His voice sounded breathless, like he’d just finished running, or like he was nervous. I looked into those eyes, and he looked away. Strange. He’d never had any issue with his confidence before. For a moment I forgot how much I wanted to cry.

“Are you okay?”

He took two deep breaths before nodding hastily.

“I thought you were crying..?” he said, slowly, after a moment.

“No. I wasn’t. But I wanted to.”

Had I really just said that? It was against the rules to show weakness.

But the look on his face was not triumphant. He did not seem pleased or amused at my slip. Yet he seemed...glad somehow. Joy and sorrow mixed in his eyes. I wanted to know what he was thinking more than anything.

“What are you thinking?” My eyes widened as I realized that I had again voiced what I had no intention of saying. For a moment his face registered bewilderment. Then, in almost a whisper-

“I was thinking that I just want you to be okay.”

Motivation & Momentum

Confessions of a Tuesday Morning:

Yesterday was Monday.

It was a super productive day.

Today has, so far, not been productive.

After finally falling out of bed, I listened to motivational speeches while I tried to get going. Finally, I made my bed, cleaned my room, did some stretching to help yesterday’s muscles that actually did something, drank some almond milk, and started to see things a little more clearly.

Thank goodness for motivation, and thank goodness that it gave me enough momentum to have opened up a document and written this blog post.

These two things go hand in hand, and they are pretty much all you need to be successful. Motivation tends to play hide-and-seek on a daily basis, so if you’re waiting to get all inspired before you do something, good luck. And momentum can become a heavy weight after a while if there’s nothing to temper its tedious monotony.

So it seems pretty obvious that momentum without motivation is hard, and motivation without momentum is just dreaming.

But here’s the great thing.

These two things, completely independent of anything else, work together.

Here’s the secret.

Start now.

At this moment, take your one square inch of motivation, and get started. Do the first thing, even if you don’t really feel like it. Use someone else’s motivation: this article, a song, a random burst of your own inspiration. You need only a little motivation to start. But once you start, it will be easier to keep going. This creates momentum, which creates motivation, which creates more momentum, which creates more motivation, and it never stops.

But it has to start.

I believe in you.

We can do this.

Start now.

 ♡♡♡

"I Hope..."

♡I hope the word “living” takes your breath away.

♡I hope you think of Monday morning and think of brand new opportunity and productivity and grace and favor and adventure.

♡I hope Tuesdays bring you rest and reflection, learning more than you ever thought you could about yourself and your purpose.

♡I hope Wednesdays bring hard work and scrunched-up-face-smiles and dance-around-the-room-with-your-favorite-song kind of happiness.

♡I hope Thursdays remind you of beautiful rainy days that wash your heart clean from all the bitterness and rejection and pain.

♡I hope Fridays bring fireworks and friends and sitting alone thinking about love so hard that it makes you want to cry because it is so pure, so gentle, so strong, so forever.

♡I hope Saturdays bring new ideas and new friends, and old friends who remind you of old ideas.

♡I hope Sundays remind you that to breathe is to acknowledge that God granted breath to his creation in all of his unfathomable and beautiful love.

♡I hope you live every day with intention. I hope you work hard and rest harder and learn to love more and more with every passing day. I hope you drink more water and do more handstands and eat brown sugar out of the bag and jump on newly-made beds and close your eyes and imagine what it will feel like someday to be in love. I hope you watch more stars and run more miles and talk less and feel more. I hope you wake up every day knowing that whatever comes, life is pretty much what you make it.

♡So dream big, but live in the moment.

♡Go on adventures in the mundane, and rest in the chaos.

♡And thank Jesus for all of his grace…it is truly what gives us life and makes life worth living, after all.

18 Lessons in 18 Years

This week I'm celebrating eighteen years of family, hard work, tears, new mornings, surrenders, laughter, music, and a million other things. 

And all the lessons: here are just eighteen I've learned so far! 

1. Our hope must be in Christ. The things we helplessly grip between our fingers in a hopeless attempt to hold on to what we believe will bring us happiness always fails us. And even if it doesn’t, do you really believe that the love that we find in the pursuit of anything or anyone else could compare to the love we find in Jesus? When Christ is our hope, we are free to pursue abundant life as he designed it, and our hearts are protected by the safety of his faithfulness.

2. Life is constantly up and down. I have to remind myself of this often. Sometimes you literally just have to go through a few minutes of pain before things will begin to look up again. Don’t get stuck in the small picture of what is in front of you. Instead, grow through the moment by going through the grief and then living in joy and peace. It will be okay, and it will probably be okay very soon.

3. God is our refuge.  I can’t even begin to go into all of the implications of such a statement. But knowing that in everything we can hide in his open and loving arms can change any situation.

4. Potential is our greatest gift. Can you imagine what would happen if we pushed to our full potential spiritually, physically, mentally, socially, and emotionally? We could change the world if we used what God has given us. We have the potential to be anything we could ever dream.

5. We have all the knowledge we could ever want at our fingertips. Can we just take a minute and think about this??? We can learn anything we want. I could be a veritable genius at anything (if I put the time/energy into it, of course) just by using info that is readily available to me.

6. When life falls apart, view it as an  opportunity to rebuild life the way you want it. Sometimes your dreams are gonna CRASH, and we need to look at it as a time to ask ourselves what we really want. Then, habit by habit, we are able to rebuild the life that truly reflects our purpose.

7. You are you, and you have to know what that means. You don’t have to accept anything anyone says about you: you know who you are, and that’s enough. You are chosen and beloved by the God of the universe.

8. Your greatest weaknesses are your greatest strengths. Trust me; the same traits that make you unorganized and spontaneous are the same traits that allow you to be creative and flexible. Trust me; the same traits that cause people to tell you that you have no sense of humor or fun are the same traits that allow you to think clearly and logically and practically. And on and on and on. You were created with the most amazing gifts, so stop comparing yourself to what others are or what you think you should be.

9. Run to Jesus first. The Lord has been taking me through this process of challenging me to find my comfort and everything else in him, first. I’m learning that while he has given me the Body of Christ to support me, he wants me to run to him. He is truly the greatest Father, Comforter, and Love.

10. Don’t force feelings. When you are grieving, grieve. And when you don’t want to grieve, don’t try to force it, or feel guilty that you aren't. Go through each feeling fully so that you can heal fully.

11. Laugh with Jesus. God created humor, and I believe sometimes it’s important to share those special moments of laughing over how you were humbled, laughing because of epic fails, etc, etc. God is not some stern entity that can’t identify with us: we are created in his image! He created the beauty of laughing and humor!

12. Travel. The way you allow your brain to be stimulated by new places, cultures, customs, etc. will be the measure that you are able to create and define new ideas in your own life. Traveling is an education  in itself that comes with rewards that are deeply personal.

13. Open your heart to pain. When you listen to someone's pain, it allows them to process through their hurt and continue in their grieving and healing process. They are transferring pain to you, and you will carry it. But it’s worth it. Just give the pain to the Lord and know that you were part of something bigger than yourself.

14. Let your expectations be few. Expect great things in life. Dream. Never settle. But don’t set yourself up for selfish disappointment by feeling entitled or set on having things a certain way. A little contentment goes a long way.

15. Live reflectively. Know your motivation for feeling the way you do, and don’t be afraid of what you’ll find within yourself. A lot of times I find that I lie to myself about my motivation because I don’t want to admit what I’m truly afraid of, or that I’m not brave enough to face what’s truly in my heart. It may take some deep times of reflection and asking yourself questions, and writing, writing, writing!!! But it will be worth it!

16. Don’t be afraid of surrender. What we hold “out of reach” of the Lord will never be truly ours. Only what we surrender will we truly hold, because it will be of his good will for our lives. So often I find myself afraid to give God something because I’m afraid of what he’ll do with it. But the truth is this: he is a good Father who has amazing plans for us!

17. It’s okay to be alone. You can be alone and not lonely; you can be surrounded by people and still feel lonely. But when you feel this way, count it as an invitation from Jesus to be closer to him than ever before. And when he has you on a path that no one else is taking, you can rejoice that he is preparing you for something unique!

18. Live in adventure. Granted, not every day is going to be filled with road trips and roller coasters and fireworks. But if you have the mindset of adventure, you are ready to embrace every part of life as a new story that will take you places you’ve never been before!

 Eighteen, it's been real. 

Friends & Family, you are seriously incredible.

Jesus...you have been the Love that never lets go of me. I can't wait to go on more adventures with you! 

May my life reflect your glory as I choose to follow you. 

♡♡♡

Math Is Apparently Art

It took two weeks. They were the longest two weeks of my life, but there they were, already past, and there I was, passed out in a coma. Or something like it.

It all started when Andrew told me that math was an art. Now, I’ve always been into expression. The emotions and thoughts and ideas and perceptions that all of us have are painted with the most brilliant colors when they are expressed: expressed by writing, by art, by anything and everything. Except, obviously, math. Or not so obviously, since Andrew was convinced that math was also a way of expression. During those two weeks I admit that I bitterly commented that math was an expression…of everything dark and morbid and disgusting. But that was just me being pessimistic because, well, two weeks is a long time.

“Practice makes perfect.”                           

“You can’t practice if you have no motivation, and you can’t be perfect if it’s not your gift.” To me, my argument sounded perfectly logical. The only problem was that his argument also sounded logical, more than mine.

“Fine. But give me two weeks. You practice math concepts, everyday, all day. Then at the end of the two weeks, you’ll understand that mathematics is a way of thinking, and as such a form of expression. You have this idea that it isn’t because math to you is just something you have to do; it’s something that is a necessary evil, and you struggle with the practicality of it. But if it was second nature, it would be a form of art. Just give me two weeks.”

Now anyone else who had suggested that I waste two entire weeks of my life doing something as atrocious as math “everyday, all day” would have gotten a free ride and recommendation to the nearest mental institution. But this was Andrew. And Andrew had always had this weird but magnetic vibe that usually made me game to any of his stupid ideas. At this point I’d already subjected myself to a year of learning the Mandarin language per Andrew’s assurance that I was going to be a newspaper editor with the inherent need to know Mandarin. He’d also joyfully supervised an entire week of my eating only beets. He’d heard of someone who turned orange after eating only carrots, and he figured he’d see if a differentiated antecedent concluded in a like result. (It worked, although it’s debatable whether the results were an effect of something other than beet juice. But that is a story for another time.)

So like I said, two weeks was a long time, made longer by Andrew’s constant lessons and deplorable encouragements that only served to make me mad and fueled my desire to prove him wrong. Which, ironically, resulted in the same repercussions as encouragement, so I guess he knew what he was doing.

The only problem with all of these math  problems (literally problems) was that as I grew increasingly (and annoyingly) familiar with them, I began to (dare I admit it?) actually like these math problems. There was a sense of conquering each problem. But more than that, there was a uniformity in math that intrigued me. No matter how you changed the numbers, the way forward was consistent. I recognized (to my horror) that the rest of my life was becoming easier as I began to think in patterns and logical conclusions rather than subjective emotions and theory. Math had a certain strange appeal that scared me. But it was Andrew, so I pretended that I hated it. And I did, I guess. But in some weird way, I loved it, too. Math was now a part of me, and the things I did were duly influenced by some of its basic fundamentals. And as I began to build on those concepts, I began to see and think in a new way, and express myself as such.

Andrew had done it. Math was a form of expression. Math was art.

Two weeks is a long time. Believe me, I know. Andrew was so ecstatic over this success that I am now assigned to three weeks of only speaking with sentences from War and Peace. Wish me luck, because three weeks is a long time.

Through Fire & Water My Jesus Carries Me

But now thus says the Lord,
he who created you, O Jacob,
he who formed you, O Israel:
Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.

 The Lord laid these verses on my heart this last week, and at first I was scared. “What is he preparing me for??” were my profound thoughts on the subject. I began to briefly imagine what he could be preparing me for, and it scared me. 

But on one night this week, I suddenly felt myself overwhelmed by exhaustion. I had been running and running, pouring my heart and soul and body into ministry with minimal rest and almost literally no introvert time. I spent one night at home during the week, and as I set my alarm at 1:36 in the morning for five o’clock, it was inevitable that I should inadvertently fall back asleep. I was exhausted, and I missed being home with my family and my books and my instrumental music, and I missed working out and having long talks with my dad and eating food that doesn’t make me feel terrible. In addition, it seemed that everyone had an opinion about my life, and I was a little pulled in a million different directions and opinions.

And suddenly, in the midst of my unsettled thoughts, I suddenly felt the sweetest revelation deep in my soul.

I can rest in my Jesus.

It wasn’t a passing comfort. It wasn’t a desperate plea for anyone or anything to temporarily fill the doubts and emptiness.

It was Christ. I suddenly rested in him, in his outstretched arms. He so delights in me; his excitement when I run to his peace and rest is more than my heart can fathom. I journaled in the dark later that night:

More than anything else, I need Christ. I need his love & his comfort & his refuge, because tonight I am broken & afraid & confused & alone & exhausted, and I want to go home. I want my home, & maybe tonight, my being is crying out to go to my true home, where there will be no more tears, & he will wipe away every hurt & I will see face to face the One who carries me. In this moment, in the fire, through the water: my Jesus carries me. He hides me in his refuge & whispers his love to my heart. It’s going to be okay. More than anything, I have Christ.

I don’t know what your story is. But I do know that he will carry you. You will not always feel it, but that’s okay, because Christ’s love is more than a feeling. It is a truth, and you can eternally rest in the fact that he is carrying you through the water and the fire. 

Oh my dearest friends, will you rest in that? ♡♡♡

It's Tuesday & It's Raining

It’s Tuesday.

It’s raining.

And my heart is a little bit of everything today.

It has joy streaked across in it in vibrant crimsons;

it has wonder at the miracle of today painted in deep hues of blue;

it has a little brokenness and questions penciled in charcoal and grey.

The beauty of all the little things that I love:

The sound of rain and the warmth of fire;

The quiet moments of reading and tea;

The necessary moments of dishes and cooking;

The chosen moments of browsing in the library and practicing piano…

They are so beautiful.

I sat alone today, quietly waiting, the clouds at war with the mountain in front of me and the lightness of a rain-trodden sky. And I thought of the love that Jesus grants to us. I thought of how foolish I am to focus on the words of those around me – letting their words impact me – when there is such an abundance of God’s communication with us. How do I find time to let myself be moved by the words of others when his words are surrounding me and his love is so much more than I could ever seek? There is nothing else that can satisfy me like his love. There is nothing that is worth my attention and time like he is. And his love picks me up in all of its greatness and makes me more than I could ever ask or imagine.

It’s Tuesday.

It’s raining.

Resolutions {[(2018)]}

New Year’s Resolutions 2018

If we did all the things we are capable of, we would literally astound ourselves.

-Thomas A. Edison

Just remember, motivation will start as soon as you do. Get up and get started, and you’ll do more than you can imagine.

One hour of productivity: This is the hour where you drink your first two cups of water, put a load of laundry in, make important phone calls, do ministry business, plan out the rest of your day, do dishes, clean room, and meet deadlines. (Goal: no procrastination, cough, cough)

One hour of skill improvement: This is for honing writing skills, learning a foreign language, playing the piano, etc. (Goal: Learn basics on guitar, sharpen piano skills, become significantly more fluent in German, finish FOMC novel, etc. [make sure to define these goals so that you have something to aim for.])

One hour of reading: This creates new neural pathways in the brain, improves memory, widens knowledge, and stimulates new ideas and thought processes. It will relax you and give you an effortless education. ( www.lifehack.org)   (Goal: 50 books/ about one book a week)

Time with the Lord: Time with your best friend. Write letters, read his, laugh, talk together, go on hikes, seek him on your knees, worship him in spirit and truth. There is no agenda in this; you are literally to just delight yourself in the Lord and bask in his goodness and love. (Goal: Since staying active in God’s Word is such a huge part of growing and staying in the game, you should aim to be reading at least a chapter a day if not more. However, quality time is better than quantity, so adjust accordingly.)

Advanced writing skills: This is your few minutes out of the day where you write about any topic as intelligently and precisely as possible with the highest vocabulary you can muster. It may sound forced and unprofessional at first, but with practice I know you’ll thank yourself for these few extra minutes. (Goal: become a better writer that can imitate writing styles of others and communicate professionally.)

Fitness time: This is your “you” time to work out or stretch. Workouts will happen roughly every other day. Work the muscle group that is not sore. :) Please also take one or two days in between to stretch and relax those muscles. (Goal: 150 workouts/ about 3 workouts a week)

Social media at a minimum: Maybe once a day, preferably less. If you want to talk to a friend, call them. There is no reason for you to scroll through everyone’s days and begin to feel overwhelmed/ jealous/ depressed. It isn’t real, and it isn’t something that will contribute to your happiness. If you can’t limit yourself, social media goes goodbye. ;)

Always be learning: Always! Traveling, reading, talking, writing, thinking. Your brain needs to be constantly stimulated.

Redefine your goals: This happens once a month. You may end up in a foreign country or at school or working, and your goals will need to adjust. These are basic guidelines, and not scriptural truth. They can adjust!

Well, other than that, stay present, laugh a lot, and don’t be afraid. Push to your full potential: spiritually, mentally, physically, and socially. You can always do and be more than you think. And remember: God’s love and guidance is enough.

Happy 2018!