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Living a life of hope & wholeness and sometimes writing about it.
I want to practice gratitude. I want to remember that I’m surrounded by gifts, even when my heart tells me to despair. I want to have the perspective of David when he breathlessly marvels, “Who am I, Sovereign Lord, and what is my family that you have brought me this far? …Because of your promise, and according to your own heart, you have brought about all this greatness, to make your servant know it.”
Read MoreThis is the seven part rhythm of the free, abolishing the oppressive lifestyle of slavery. In the midst of work, Shabbat says, “This day is not like the rest.” This day is holy. This day reminds you of your freedom.
Read MoreIn July, I fell in love with a song—"This Love Won’t Break Your Heart" by Annelise Emerick, and it unofficially became my song of 2015. Shout out to Spotify for putting it on my Discover Weekly playlist in July.
Read MoreHailey reminded me, "If you will be brave enough to take off your shoes, I will gently guide your feet to the soap, the warm water, and the towel."
Read MoreA somber heaviness hung over the terminal as passengers gathered around TV monitors to hear the devastating news. An Army soldier sat with his back to the window, eyes watching with sobering determination. A family of four sat on their luggage, huddled together in a circle, kids’ eyes rounded with confusion and worry, parents eyes narrowed with a protective awareness. Dozens of people digesting the Paris attack with one common response: fear. An airport’s just not my favorite place to chill during a terrorist attack, ya know?
Read MoreWriting is a discipline. Do you still want it? It's rewarding, but it takes work. It's beautiful to see words dance, but it's raw and painful. To write about what matters will strike a dissonant chord, but stick with it. There's some intriguing harmonies waiting to exist.
Read MoreFor the last three nights in the Lighthouse, my roommates and I dragged our mattresses onto the empty carpet that used to be Lindsey’s side of the room. Those final nights were devoted to an unspoken ritual of chick flicks, snuggling, bed-heads and sleepy morning coffee. As much as we giggled over our silly and sappy ritual, we soberly understood that we only had a few more days in our gradually emptying Lighthouse, and we savored these evenings on the floor.
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