On leaving.

For as long as I can remember, I have been captivated by the idea of leaving. Well, not so much of leaving behind the old as running headfirst into the new.  Even entering into this summer, packing my bags and traveling two states away for college felt like a grand adventure and I was overflowing with excited anticipation.

Fast forward to this week.  This week has thrown me a curveball because I wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming waves of emotion surrounding the realness of leaving.  This is what I’ve always wanted, right? It’s not as if I haven’t moved before so why does this time hurt so much?  Two days ago, I had to say goodbye to one of my closest friends who left for school halfway across the country.  As we avoided saying those dreaded words into the long hours of the night, as we broke down crying at the mention of many shared childhood memories, it was then I realized leaving looks inherently less glamorous than the idea of it suggests.

Leaving looks like tearing up at the sight of the mountains, because suddenly the backyard views I take for granted get piled onto the long list of things I am already homesick for.

It looks like staring at empty suitcases for days because I’m paralyzed at the thought of boxing up the last eighteen years of my life and unwrapping myself from its comforting embrace.  Attempts at getting started turn into hours of laying on the floor with my old doggie, me crying and her sighing because we both seem to know this week together could possibly be our forever goodbye until the other side of heaven.

And then when I finally get the courage to tackle the contents of my drawers. It’s finding a box of old letters and writings from a time in life when I was filled with a lot of darkness. Ones I’ve thought about burning or shredding or something as a proclamation that those days are behind me.  And the fact that I found that box, that some of the words still resonate in very deep and tucked away corners of me, leaving stirs up fear that the me that isn’t quite ready to leave home but is going to anyway has the potential to get swallowed up again in the same old darkness that the me poured out in writing on those forgotten pages did.

But leaving also reveals the hearts of gold- the selfless friends who talk me through each little task I can’t seem to focus on because I feel overwhelmed and sad.  Who sit in my room at night despite their early morning work schedules and force me to tackle one drawer at a time even though they have packing of their own to do.  The friends who turn the explosion of clothes on my carpet into metaphors for life because you can’t avoid the mud forever. You must walk through it, sometimes knee deep, to get to the other side.

Saying goodbye sucks. It does. Something about me is that I never really found ‘my people’ in high school. As a military kid, my experience growing up was always that making good friends was a set up for heartbreak because always either they left, or you did.  Going into high school, the idea of letting others see real sides of my life as I was drowning in a season of chaos terrified me, so I shut everyone out including the people who really did try to break through to the pain under the masks of evasiveness and indifference. It was a very lonely time in my life. Furthermore, the idea of leaving never held much weight because there were never other people who anchored me to this place I loved but felt disconnected from.  Yet against all odds and despite trepidation, I learned to let people love me. This summer I became one member of an unlikely little family of strangers who climbed a mountain together and created a safe place in the open air for every person on that trip to be seen and to be known.  Also over the last few months, old relationships have strengthened as I’ve learned to lean into those people who never gave up on me. As I’ve put effort back.  And finally, my family. The people who’ve caused so much grief and hurt and confusion, the ones I once swore I’d leave behind and never look back. But God’s done a lot of work on my heart and as He’s softened the edges, He’s also mended relationships, namely with my parents. I’ve always been an independent child, and I guess that was part of the problem. They wanted to feel needed.  Well it seems growing up can be a paradox because growing up for me meant finding a level of dependence under the people God designed to care for me.  All I’ve ever wanted was a unified family centered in Christ and rooted in love. Now that we’re finally figuring out what that looks like, the thought of stepping out of this place of healing God is still active in is terrifying. He has a plan, though.  He has a plan.  But there are now all these people who I’ve given pieces of my soul and now we all have to go off in our own directions. And the idea of having to all let go in one way or another hurts.  I never quite understood how much of a tree I was planted here until now,  having to endure the painful process being uprooted.

As much as I would love to offer a piece of advise, consolation, something valuable to take away, I’m just so far from that place right now. I’m just a girl who’s said too many goodbyes in the last couple days and who is still staring at a mess of belongings on my bedroom floor.  But I do have one thing to give you if anything: Find the things that make leaving hard.  Find the people who make goodbyes hurt. Let me tell you, I feel really grateful to know what it is to have roots. To have relationships that have grown deeper than simply mutually following each other on social media. There may be the hardship of physical distance, but I know those people aren’t going anywhere. I’m excited for this next adventure, I really am. The process to get there is just hard. But I love where I’m at because despite how hard it is, despite the doubt and the fear and the sadness, there’s a renewing sense of excitement in my soul because I know I’m about to enter into a journey the Lord called me to so many months ago. I will go and plant myself somewhere new, grow new roots into unfamiliar grounds I hope will eventually feel somewhat like home. And there will probably come a time where goodbyes to this new place these new people hurt just as badly.  But I know deep down that feeling hurt is just all part of the process of learning to heal.  God never said this life was easy, but He said it was worth it.
“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” -Winnie the Pooh

you are not a wager.

“I always knew deep down that your big dreams would take you far away from me” my momma wrote to me in a letter. “But my heart goes with you where ever you go”

Sitting outside on the front porch steps of an unfamiliar house this weekend, on a retreat where I didn’t quite know any of the other students, I cried over the words my mom so poured her heart into.  I saw myself in the way she writes- with an urgency to convey the aches of letting go through a paper and pen because the mouth is clumsy and the tongue gets tied.  In this private moment, though; stolen away from the bustle inside, I felt an immense weight off my shoulders because my mother bird was finally telling me it’s okay to fly.

And that is where I am at.  Standing at the edge of the nest, about to test my wings for size.  And it’s scary, jumping and betting on the air’s ability to catch me before the ground catches up.  But I am too quick to forget that our lives are not poker chips being tossed onto the felt table as a wager.  No, I don’t have to jump hoping the winds are dealt in my favor to soften the blow, hoping I won’t crash and burn, because God is already holding me in His hand high above the hardened ground.

I have such moments of doubt- ones where I magnify my own inadequacies and question that my dreams are too big.  I so painfully wonder if I am good enough to succeed, daunted in the face of how completely and utterly useless I feel against all the forces trying to hold me back from pursuing what I know I am called to do.  But a wise person once told me if your dreams don’t scare you a little bit, they’re not big enough.  You see God is altogether limitless.  And who am I to look at Him and question if my ability is enough when His is more than enough?  The author of life certainly has a mighty pen capable of writing me into a story bigger than even the one I currently fear entering into.  I look at California as a place to tackle college, God sees it as a new place to use me for kingdom purposes.  I see myself in the world of business, but God looks at me and says,  girl, you’re in the business of pursuing my lost children.  But even knowing He is sovereign above all else, it is so hard to take the leap and trust He is faithful.  No matter how many times God proves Himself to me, I still shy away from opportunities to see His faithfulness work through my trust.

The words of a song by Jonah Werner, one of the coolest guys you’ll ever meet, play on repeat in my mind as I attempt to take the jump in this next season of my life.  What I fall, will you catch me, and what if I call, will you hear me, and what if I trust, will you help me, and if I’m drowning, will you save me? It is amazing to serve a God whom answers to every one of those questions with an absolute yes. 

God, give me the kingdom mentality, the courage to live out the faith to fly and to stifle the uncertainty that tells me to stay in the nest. Flying should be impossible, but I will spread my wings anyway.  Because nothing is impossible with you.  

Brianna. xx

Set apart.

Sorry dear friends, it has been so long since my last post!  With senior year coming to a close (I graduate two weeks from today!), the days have been filled to the brim with deadlines, papers, tests, and trying to leave time for God to work in the middle of the chaos.  I really do miss talking to you guys though; I promise to attempt sitting down and making time to update you on the happenings of my life and all the ways I am learning to live in step with Jesus. Speaking of senior year, last night was none other than prom.  It’s the day so many girls look forward to, a right of passage if you will.  However, I will not remember last night for the glamorous evening that it was, but more for the lessons it taught me.

To give you a picture of my personality, I woke up the day before prom to my mom frantically asking about jewelry, shoes, and nail reservations.  How did I want my hair and what time was I doing pictures?  Naturally, my answer to every one of those questions was I don’t know accompanied by a shrug and the desire to go back to bed.  Don’t get me wrong I love a good excuse to dress up for the night, but I have way more important things to occupy my thoughts such as how I would finance a future business and how God decides which of our questions He will reveal answers to and which ones He will remain silent on.  That’s just who I am.

Come the day of prom, I found gold heels in the back of my closet just shy of the perfect height, and decided on a very special necklace my mom had made me out of a coin saved from our trip to Egypt a few years ago.  I felt like a million bucks having accessorized for free.  After all, senior year and then moving forward to college is EXPENSIVE.  My sister and her boyfriend’s mom were recruited to tackle my hair and makeup- another win for my bank account.  If it were up to me, I would have gotten ready an hour before leaving.  I mean I seriously did my makeup for homecoming this year in the car on the way to pictures.  But living in a family where appearances are a big deal, I was stuck to a chair at 2pm to begin the process of getting dolled up.  I wonder how movie stars keep themselves entertained while their style teams work away because I had a really hard time sitting still for those couple hours.

Now at the end I felt like something straight out of a movie. Definitely glamorous.  My hair was pinned up in an Old Hollywood kind of fashion and the ruby lips and smoky eyes proved I was red carpet ready.  However, I didn’t feel like myself.  At all.  I’m a dash of powder and a streak of eyeliner kind of girl so the heavy makeup is not my forte. This year has been a trial and error sort of process in learning to live life as authentically as possible, and the layers and layers of makeup made me feel as if I was going against the very nature of the person I am trying to be.  I am so appreciative of all the help I received in getting ready, that much is for sure.  But I just wasn’t prepared to feel so anxious about being covered with makeup even for a night as special as prom.  See with the attempted implication of authenticity in my life, I have also applied vulnerability to my physical state as well.  My makeup habits have become considerably low key compared to past versions of myself and feeling overdone last night affected me very strangely.

I promise I’m getting to the lesson.  I absolutely was in love with my dress and I had a wonderful friend and gentleman as a date, but the unfortunate truth about last night was I simply didn’t feel special.  Now this could partially have been due the the fact that I am battling a nasty cold and spent the night drugged up on every cold medication known to man, but more than that was the fact that I really just didn’t feel like me.  The funny thing about the whole situation is I used to hate being myself.  I couldn’t imagine something as good as being accepted for the unique person God created me to be.  But in learning to walk confidently in my own shoes lately, I have never felt happier nor have I had more deep and fulfilling relationships in my life.  Ironically, my favorite part of the prom experience was waking up rather late this morning at a dear friend’s house. We sat on the porch discussing life over cups of coffee, and I felt completely secure in the fact that ours is a relationship that runs deeper than the hardship of distance as we head our separate ways for college next year. No makeup, unwashed hair, and sweat pants. Know why this moment stood out? It certainly wasn’t for feeling particularly beautiful, it was because in that moment, appearances didn’t even need to cross my mind. I felt sought after.  A friend pursuing our relationship the way God pursues our hearts. (My friend Savannah pictured above on the left and me on the right).

I recently had a wonderful conversation with a mentor of mine, and her words resonate so deeply I’ll never forget them.  You are the best version of yourself when you are living set apart, walking in the unique and specific purpose God intended for your life. It is through those words and my experience yesterday I had an epiphany:  Feeling special is not about the energy you put into yourself, no feeling special comes with living in a way that aligns with how God designed us to pursue life.  In relationship.  Living the purpose designed specifically to us.  Set apart.  So obviously I’m not purposed by God to become a stylist.  Or a movie star.  But I was set apart to step boldly into this world full of adventure and chase God with every last fiber of my being.  I was made to spend less time in front of a mirror and more time looking into the eyes of people who need love spoken into their souls.  God created me to be the weird kid who likes to talk business strategy with adults, but who will also dance like a chicken on stage in the name of a Young Life leader at summer camp. (True story). See I used to think if I changed how I looked then maybe just maybe I would like myself. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. That kind of mentality only leads to darkness and struggles that pull you further away from who you were created to be. No, once I began to seek who I was according to God’s word, how I looked seemed to matter less and less while how I could serve God through who I am mattered more. Friends, you’ll never come to terms with who you are by trying to become something else. Take it from someone who knows; it never works.

Maybe it’s a little disappointing prom wasn’t all it’s hyped up to be.  I’ve never been the kid to find contentment in the typical ‘big moments’ of ones high school career, but I think girl every wants to feel as if the prom experience was memorable and wonderful. But the time spent feeling disconnected with myself was an amazing time realizing I truly am coming to harmony with who God actually made me to be.  No more masks, and no more filters.  In the end, the takeaway was far more valuable than any perfect night could have ever been.

The sun rises on all my fears.

Today, in the early hours of the morning, a dear friend and I dragged our weary feet out of bed to meet up and watch the sunrise.  Something about being awake while the rest of the world slept brought about a great, quiet peace in my soul, and though the thick rolling clouds hid away much of the sunrise and all its splendor, the hints of color which peeked through the darkness were enough to remind me that the Son never fails to shed light and life on the darkness of my own night sky.

If I were to sum up yesterday in one thought, it would be how I am mourning the death of my past selves.  Not that they were better or more desirable than who I have grown to become, those past versions of me, just easier.  It was easier to give into all of the things that drew me apart from God than to fight against them to live in the light.

Why is it we can’t approach this kind of death as we do for that of a loved one?  We don’t lower a coffin 6 feet under the ground and bid farewell to our old selves for the remainder of our time on earth.  I don’t know about y’all, but I have a tendency to take a shovel to those graves on dark and dreary nights, and even occasionally on rainy days like today, and resurrect old demons as if something which is dead and gone could ever be redeemed.

To be more specific, I am struggling with the old nagging grip of fear and worry.  I am anxious over things which I know are in God’s perfect control, because I can’t seem to step back and calm myself with the peace that His timing and His plan are greater than my desire for a clear picture of my life right now.  I am so tired of fear stealing my joy, but the reality is that I open the door when my anxieties knock and then get frustrated when they step in and make themselves at home in my heart.  But today, I will not let them win over my resolution to be real with myself. With others.  I’ve heard a few amazing stories lately about people who let accountability partners glimpse into their lives, so maybe that is sort of what this blog will be.  Because every time I read a post composed of raw feelings, dirty details, and vulnerability, I cheer for the person behind those words through my computer screen and am reminded how I need to do the same.  Therefore dear readers, take my fears and read them, make fun of them, tell me how you overcame them yourselves.  I just need to let them go.

Because I am afraid.

I am afraid I will go to college next year and not find community with people who will encourage me and walk in faith alongside me.  I am sometimes overcome with such overwhelming loneliness, and it is all I can do to weakly pray for relief.   I desperately don’t want to feel that way. But I’m scared to get lost in the newness of it all and to never find the God given friends who will anchor me as I have here at home.

I am incredibly afraid of the wife, mother, and person I may someday become.  Scared that I will become everything I resented growing up.  And though I don’t know what the future holds, I plead with God that maybe I will do better and be better and know how to love better than I was ever loved.  I am afraid my maybe someday children will hide from me their shortcomings in fear I would not react with an abundance of grace, or that I would not be able to recognize the tucked away pain behind their eyes my own mom didn’t recognize in me.  I am scared of broken marriages and harboring unforgiveness and not finding someone who is as passionate as me about the notion that broken things were meant to be fixed not discarded.

And on that note, I am fearful I may never find love.  I don’t mean in a Disney princess sort of prince charming way; I mean I worry that I will never be chosen by someone who is willing to pick up the broken pieces of all I am and who will commit to a life of loving all my quirks, flaws, hopes, dreams, and Jesus on the altar.  Maybe this comes from a deep rooted lie feeling I am not worthy of the love which I try to extend to others, but lie or not it threatens to steal my thoughts and my gaze away from the promise of a good life in Him.  Though these are not the fears which should strike the heart of a young high school girl, I have a tendency to over-think the aspects of my life which I can’t control because it is inherently more comfortable to feel consumed by the future than to fix the hurting of the present.  Since we’re being real, I may as well say that many conversations I treasure are ones with the married women in my life.  The ones who assure me their hearts have echoed these same fears in their past.  Because these are the people who are living testimonies that God works in awesome and mysterious ways to fulfill the human desire to find true, pure, and honest love, and their words bring me immense comfort in the middle of my own unwritten love story.  What’s more, I see the way these women step into the roll of a Godly wife and I admire their strength to submit to the ways God calls us as His daughters to be and I sincerely hope I have the chance to emulate them one day.  It feels so weird to give these fears to you- my readers- but I can’t be the only one who wonders if maybe I am doomed to searching in vain for the love we hope God has in store for our lives.

And even still, there are those fears which I am not ready to admit.  The ones I still need to pray through with God before giving them to other people.  Those are the ones which grip me the most- the paralyzing fears that still manage to work their way into my throat and strangle my ability to speak even to my Father.  I’m trying though, I really am.  And for those of you struggling with fear today too, I pray you experience the peace of a God who is bigger than all of the things that haunt you.

The thing about sunrises, they’re the bringers of new dawning days.  Of renewed energy to lethargic landscapes and of warmth to bitter coldness.  As the sun never fails to bring about its faithful presence each day, I’m working to believe Jesus is the same.  Because it is only through Him I find hope above my fears.

Here is a verse that brings me great comfort, and I hope it encourages you in some way too.

Lamentations 3:22-23

22 Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
    for his compassions never fail.
23 They are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.

Something I would really like to do is to pray for you guys.  We can help each other walk through the anxieties and the worries of life together.  If there is anything weighing on your hearts today, feel free to comment or shoot me a message because nobody should have to face their world alone. Sending love and prayer for the lightness of your hearts today.  May the burdens weighing you down be lifted and filled with the peace that surpasses all understanding.  With love,

Brianna. xx

Stripped down.

I recently read a post that inspired this one. Old Wine and New Skins.  It resonated with me so deeply that here I am two days later writing on my thoughts about sharing raw, real pieces of yourself through writing. I’ll be honest here. I like to hide behind the posts I craft from profound ideas and the artfully worded sentences floating through my brain all day, neglecting a very important detail: the power of my own story.  But here’s the thing.  That’s not simply the way I write, it’s also the way I approach my life- and I really liked Caitlyn’s image of the band aid- allowing people glimpses of the bandages but never fully exposing my wounds for others to see.  I guess it’s just more comfortable to pretend I have all the remedies to heal things myself.

And that is why I want to write this post today, to take a hammer to the walls I’ve built around my soul and to fire the guards I’ve hired to keep anyone from entering the door.  Here’s my promise to all of you starting now.  I am going to try my absolute best from now on to write in naked honesty, no clothing my words behind frills and lace.  And bear with me because it’s not fun.  I don’t remember the last time, if any time, I’ve sat down with a fellow human being and word vomited the contents of my heart as if my life depended on it.  Because it’s awkward.  It’s uncomfortable.  And even behind a screen my heart pounds knowing somebody somewhere may read the fragmented details of a life which God never intended to be broken in the first place.  So in light of the promise I just made to give you nothing but my stripped down soul, I am going to share with you about today.

Rewind to a few hours ago:

Sitting in youth group tonight, we were discussing the strongholds we as young women face.  The topic of image and eating disorders came up; I listened quietly and didn’t think much of it. However afterwards a leader approached me, worried I had been bothered by a certain comment.  Here’s a truth that I often allude to, yet rarely find the courage to straight up say: at fifteen years old, I was diagnosed with anorexia.  I won’t wait until the end of this post to tell you that yes, I am doing just fine now.  God has spent the last few years carving out pathways of healing through the mountains of insecurities, issues, and hurts that caused the disorder in the first place.  As much as I’d like to say it’s all entirely behind me, there are still fears and anxieties that linger.  It must have shown on my face tonight too, because this leader very intentionally approached me on the matter.

What greatly surprised me with tonight was the leader’s boldness to walk right up to me and ask.  I almost never talk about these issues out loud, but I honestly don’t mind sharing about them any time I do happen to be asked.

It’s crazy, really.  How we go through life carrying the weight of unasked questions about ourselves, others, God.  We look into peoples’ eyes and wonder what stories are masked behind them, at least I do.  We wonder to ourselves if we will ever be good enough, strong enough, brave enough to accomplish the plans God has for our lives (the answer is yes). I wonder how long some people watched my color fade away before stepping in with paints and determination to splash the life back into my eyes. But I’ve done the same thing too, knowing deep down a friend needed truth spoken into those dark places I was too afraid to acknowledge were there. However in a conversation earlier today, I looked a girl I know but not very well in the eyes and asked her how her life was. That’s it. I did nothing profound; I simply opened the door to a good conversation about her family and struggles they are going through. I think we as people easily forget, or we neglect, the power we have to reach over and open doors others are simply too scared to open on their own. We avoid these questions for fear of what will be discovered by really digging into the ocean inside another human being. The beauty is, what’s likely found at the murkiest depths are pearls.

We often approach God in the same way we approach people, sidestepping around hard questions we aren’t sure we want the answers to. These thoughts and questions and requests waste away in the recesses of our human brains until we finally wave our white flags in surrender and cry God! Why are you not giving me the answers I need? And if God responded audibly in this situation, I believe he’d say something along the lines of I’ve been waiting for you to ask!

As I sit here thinking about a deeper message I can leave you with to tie everything together, every idea falls short of what I want to accomplish here tonight. And my weary mind begs me to go to sleep as the clock slowly creeps up on 2am, but I desperately want to finish this post. Therefore I am going to settle with this: Allow transparency and authenticity to become engrained in your daily habits. Don’t hide the chapters of your book that set you apart from others, because your story will speak volumes about the awesome character of Jesus if you let it. Your story matters. The parts written, and the pages and pages that have yet to transpire. Also, thank you to all the wonderful people who read my blogs, for giving me a safe place to write. Now give God the pen and sit back to watch Him work. Good night!

Step off the cobblestone

There is just something about Venice. The way stories are woven into the cobblestone streets. How water flows quietly through the canals, filling every crack and void with its presence.  I think Jesus acts in much the same way.  Always present, never pushing.  Displacing our broken and missing pieces  with such a gentle quietness that we often miss the work he is doing.
Reflecting on this season of life, I have come to recognize more and more of the forms God’s love comes in. This love is victory over impossible battles. It’s doors opening for those elusive dreams you never thought possible. For me, it’s the people who have forced me to keep my head above the waters of depression. The ones who know my tendency to drown even though I know how to swim. They keep coming back with a life ring in hand, diving right into the waters of my inconsolable moments and days of irrational darkness. It dumbfounds me, why they stay. But they do, and I thank God every day they do.

Through this year, God has been putting a strange new calling in my heart. One that says step off the cobblestones and into the gondola. Row in and out through the canals of my grace, exploring all my love has to offer. Dear child, there’s so much more to me than what you can see from the safety of the land.. You see, this season for me is about transition. From injured to healing. From controlling to dependent. Letting go of relationships. Moving away from home. Moving past the barriers of my fear and learning to live authentic. He has displaced me from everything I’ve ever known and with nothing familiar to hold onto, I am forced to soften like clay in His sculpting hands. As scary as it is, God has been asking me over and over to lay down all I am at His feet and wholeheartedly trust He will turn the ugly stuff into something beautiful. The thing about God is He never forces me to change. He simply extends a hand in invitation and in the midst of familiar grounds cracking beneath my feet, I take it for support. As I begin to lean into God’s understanding rather than my own, the noise of all my desires slowly fades away until all there is left is His will for me speaking just a little more audibly. See as we actively choose God above our circumstances, He delights in our trust. Through the good and especially the bad. God doesn’t let any one minute of calamity go to waste if we give it to Him; He uses the pains of this world to mold our hearts into a shape that more closely resembles His. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” Romans 8:28.

I hope you’re ready today to lay it all down in eager expectation that God is transforming you. His whispered love is quiet, but the closer you come to God the better you can hear it. So approach the throne and listen. Set your heart at His feet and listen. You and me? It’s high time for that gondola ride.

On matters of surrender

Hiking within the beauty of my home today- the Pacific Northwest- I found myself in an all too familiar conversation with my mind.  Where is my place in this world?  If only I knew who I was supposed to be, if only I wasn’t so scarred and bruised and broken.  Why can’t I shake the hurting of the past?  When will I be able to shed the old aches and pains like layers of skin and simply accept that I am a new creation in the One who made me so?

Sitting at the top of the trail overlooking the glittering lake, things got real real between God and me.  Hey, if you’ve really truly got this, if you’ve got me, I really need some reassurance.  I need a sign from you today.  Something obvious please, my weary heart is too tired to recognize your little daily doses of grace today.  I’m so sorry. 

If there is one thing I’ve learned about sincerity lately, it’s that I have a really hard time with it when it comes to God.  I don’t know what it is, but there is something about whispering my prayers into an empty void that really takes a toll on my soul sometimes and I hate that.  At least for this moment of vulnerability, though, I felt my heart truly pleading with God.

Sitting on the boulders above the lake today,  I asked God for a sign.  I waited for God to appear to me this afternoon, and at some point my eyes wandered to the left of where I sat.  The air was quiet and the wind was still.  Call it chance or call it an answered prayer, but a piece of driftwood happened to float behind a tree above that from my vantage point perfectly formed a cross.  In that moment, I could feel God whispering into my battered heart Child, if you would just rest in the promise of my love.  It is enough.  You are enough.

I am enough.  When will I finally unclench my fists holding onto so many ghosts too tightly, and raise my hands in surrender?

God, maybe today is not the day that I finally let go, but thank you for giving me a glimpse at the water’s edge of the freedom that’s in store when I finally do.

Swing dance style

Over the previous year of 2014, I have taken a great liking to what I know as the swing dance culture.  It is with great fondness that I speak of the nights where my friends and I leave after dark for classy soirees in quaint little swing dances clubs in the heart of the city.  While most of the world sleeps are the hours which these places come alive.  At these ballrooms, there are no dance snobs or segregated lines between the beginners stumbling over their own feet and the people you could watch waltz effortlessly around the room for hours.  It is with bright eyes and nervous anticipation that I stepped into one of these rooms for the first time.  These evenings do not resemble dreaded high school dances in the slightest.  With live jazz bands performing and a dance floor for the taking, strangers, familiar faces, and friends alike ask with utmost sincerity for the honor of a dance.  So all night, you float around the space on the arms of different boys with music filling the atmosphere.  The more skillful souls patiently smooth through the cluttered steps of  newcomers such as me; not one person rolling their eyes or belittling another human for tripping over unlearned footwork or failed attempts.

And it is altogether lovely.  Nobody leaves dejected, lonely, or discouraged from a place where people nurture passion in others by graciously stepping into the journey with them.  I have a hunch that many skilled dancers go so far as to enjoy taking a novice by the arm and ironing through the wrinkled steps, for one of life’s greatest pleasures is helping another fellow human being through bumps in the road and watching them thrive.

Come time for the ballrooms to close maybe 1am, old friends and new ones alike pile into cars and never mind that it’s the middle of the night, if you go to Denny’s breakfast is a must.  We share stories of the night and music tastes and trivial stories that make others laugh and at least for the night, strangers are no longer strangers but friends.  Nobody remembers to take pictures through the late hours because film could never capture the sweet sounds of jazz wafting through the air or the dizzying ecstasy of twirling in and out of other couples. And in a crammed little corner booth taking in pancakes, eggs, and laughter in the shadowy lighting of the night, it’s a moment of human connection.

It is my firm belief that life should be wholly lived swing dance style.

Where some nights, sleep is not so important as the creation of memories.  Life should sometimes be a whirlwind of crazy, for laughing and spinning at breakneck speeds on those dimly lit, wooden ballrooms may just be the closest we ever come to flying.

Swing dance style where strangers love strangers.  Building each other up simply with the goal of sharing passion and passing down wisdom.  See, strangers are not strangers under a common interest in defying the rules of a society that seems to believe that class is dead.

But it’s not.  Class is not  dead.  And neither is memory making, or being a loving, encouraging, decent human being simply for the sake of being loving, encouraging, and a decent human being.

Which is why my resolutions are not in fact New Years resolutions but things I am resolved to do with life.  I want to live in greater connectedness to the people around me.  To be attuned to the nuances of life’s music, whether the notes play a sound of bluesy jazz, feel-good pop. or melancholy violins.  I hope that I never disregard a chance at human interaction by sweeping it under the mat.  My personal goal is to live life swing dance style, full of adventure, class, and the utter passion to love.

Prince of Peace

I kneel in the hay at the foot of a humble manger.
A baby boy sleeps in a trough for pigs, the prince of peace.
Nothing compares to the peace that washes over me on this silent night, for my heart is calm and the stars shine bright.
It’s the same peace that comes and stills my heart when my little world goes dark.
In a bed of straw did you have any idea that you’d someday take the weight of the world on your shoulders? That you’d be beaten, battered and nailed to a cross to die? That your blood would cover the sins of man, that it would cover mine? Did you know on that silent night?
Helpless baby form, so innocent and pure. Did you fathom the power belonging to the tips of your tiny fingers? That ocean storms would obey you and that people would praise you? Did you know?
So I give praise to you on this day of remembrance, that you came to walk the earth among us. That you faced the trials and the hardships of the world through human eyes, and still, you stood holy.
That you are not just a God of love but a God of empathy, for you can comprehend every earthly pain I’ve ever felt. You could have saved yourself, but you chose to save me instead. Overwhelmed by the inadequacy I feel when I try to understand.
You took nails in your hands so my arms could be clean.
And thirsty, mocked with vinegar, all so I could eat.
You wrestled with your burdens as I often do with mine, but I’m stronger because you won the war, so I can win my fight.
Thank you, thank you, no words are enough but they are all these empty hands have to offer on the sacred night you became a small glimmer of a hopeful light in a dark and bitter world that had none.

Holiday Frustrations

Usually everything feels okay, but it’s just one of those hard days where a piece of chocolate throws off your entire morning.
And you can feel the sugar of a candy cane from mall pictures with Santa pulsing through your veins.
Where you gladly offer to run errands to escape the nauseatingly sweet smells of Christmas baking and cookie frosting wafting through the house.
Not ready to face another trying year of holiday festivities with the weight of this lackluster ghost in the closet; joylessly recreating childhood memories that now come riddled with anxieties.
Unsure of where you stand with yourself this year, and altogether afraid to find out.

You just want so desperately to crawl out of this prison skin, to revert back to the days when the only thing holding down your spirit was gravity. But more than that, to be able to enjoy the beautifully glazed snowflake cookies you labored over without guilt, without shame, and with a heart light with the magic of a carefree holiday spirit.