shells.

Right there under my toes, there were hundreds upon thousands of broken pieces. Shattered and scattered amidst the ocean's sand. Their bright colors clashed against the black volcanic ash-like sand of the Nicaraguan shoreline, a sparkle of hope in darkness. As I walked alongside them, I couldn't help but somehow feel connected to these broken, battered, seemingly-useless shells.

Shells - these shells - their broken pieces press into the bottom of my tender feet and I feel them speaking their story. A story of being broken and shattered and completely undone by the ocean's harsh conditions. A story of being washed up onto the shore and completely forgotten as each passerby looks out to loud, screamingly beautiful sea. A story of being rejected as little hands forge through the delicate, broken pieces in search of the one or two that are whole. Because somehow being completely whole, without a single hole or scratch or missing piece has become the standard for beauty. Has become what our eyes are drawn to and long for and seek out.

I feel for these shells. That feeling of feeling completely unwanted - it slays you. But as I look closer at these million broken pieces, I feel something different swelling up in me. Because when I look, really look, the whole collection of broken pieces that are all right there together under my feet, it's just so dang beautiful. All these shells scattered together - big and small, broken and whole, loud and quiet, colored and muted - when they are all laid out in front of me, I can't help but notice their undeniable, unspeakable beauty. A kind of beauty that lets the soul breathe and the heart sigh and the eyes leak the holiest of tears.

This is the definition of beauty I need for my own life. When I get enough courage to truly look at all the broken pieces that make up my heart and soul and mind, that I would see grace, not shame. Hope, not darkness. Love, not guilt. Acceptance, not rejection. Beauty, not brokenness.

Because the truth of the matter is that no matter how broken life might feel, our broken pieces tell a story. Our story. My story. And these million little beautiful pieces that are scattered all around me - these are the million little ways that Jesus is whispering His beautiful love for me.

gratitude.

It was a Monday morning in January and we met together over frozen coffee drinks and warm croissants at our favorite coffee shop. We gabbed and laughed and caught up about all the craziness that had ensued in each of our lives over Christmas break. Then, quieting our souls and opening wide our hands, we prayed together - inviting the Spirit to enter in and speak to our hearts. And so He did.

Thankfulness. Gratitude. Thanksgiving. What do these things really mean and what do they mean for us as we stumble through this one grace-covered life? This is what we are going to dive into in these next months - she told me - this is what we need.

So in we dove. We studied. We prayed. We asked questions. We cried tears. Each Monday morning over coffee and croissants, there was a new wave of fresh air and fresh eyes to see thankfulness for what it truly was. A life line for the weary. A anchor of hope for the tired. A healing touch for the broken. A light for those hiding in darkness. And we kept a list. Oh, the list. Week after week after week of scratching and scribbling down those things for which we were thankful.

It became a nightly ritual for me. With my notebook and pen living next to my bed, each night I looked forward to looking back at the day to remember. To remember all the grace gifts I could give thanks for. This practice became as natural as breathing. So many nights falling into bed and turning out the light in pure exhaustion - only to find myself five minutes later with the light shining once again, pen and notebook in hand, simply listing and listing and listing. Eight hundred and twenty-seven things. That's a lot of grace in a mere ten months.

Pizza & Bachelor at Jen's house.
Morning light after run.
Riding in car with windows down at night.
Life coaching seminar.
"Let's All Be Brave" by Annie Downs
Andrew looking at rings for Ty.
Sunrise service.
Cali.
Psalm 27.
It's brave to be sad.
Watermelon smoothies at Bible study.
Thank you notes from 4th graders.
Soul touching book.
Spin classes.
Birthday celebration with Isa.
God's promises.
Harry Potter movies.
Romans 12:1.
Dancing at Elsa and Dito's wedding.
Being desperate for Jesus.
Papa's boots.
Grace's gift from Africa.
Milkshakes in movie theaters.
Writing letters.
New students at Young Life.
Girl's winning basketball game.
Honest conversations.
Salted Caramel Apple Pie bars.

To name a few. As our study wrapped up mid-May, the months continued to come crashing in with all their change and loss and grief and insecurity - but I continued to list. I continued to give thanks. I continued to look for grace. Partly because now it was habit but mostly because now I needed this list to survive. I need to know His goodness on days that are filled mostly with tears. I need to see His loving-kindness on days shadowed with doubt and insecurity. I need to be reminded of His grace on the days where I can't see past my own brokenness.

So I will continue to list out all the ways He loves me and I will continue to attempt to live out of this heart place of gratitude and thankfulness and thanksgiving. Without it, I melt into the doubt and fear and anxiety. But with it, I can visibly see His touches of grace that cover this whole and holy life.

fall.

I used to hate the fall. "Fall only means that winter is coming." - I would claim - "It just means colder temperatures and everything dulls and dies. Summer forever!" Throughout my college years I stood by this notion firmly. As my friends all cozied up and enjoyed the new brisk air coming through, I sulked and prepared for what seemed to me "the worst".

I used to hate the fall. Until I moved to country where seasons don't change and it really does feel like  summer forever. Nowadays autumn is one of the seasons that makes me the most homesick. I miss the changing colors, the not sweating every time you step outside, the flannel and scarves, the chill in the air. I miss the wrapping up in a blanket and bonfires and apple picking and fair food and ALL THE PUMPKIN SPICE. And the boots. Oh, how I miss the boots.

But this missing of the fall season goes so much deeper then just the frills that come along with it. I think on another level, my heart longs to see the physical proof that there can be beauty in brokenness. Because in reality when fall hits and temperatures drops, a lot of live things around us begin to die. The leaves changing and dropping from the trees really does signify that winter is coming. That darkness is upon us. That brokenness is all around.

But yet, somehow it's just so beautiful. There is always thankfulness in the brokenness. So really what I think I miss most about the fall is the healing that always awaited me there. That amidst the red and yellow and orange leaves falling, I was somehow falling more in love with Jesus. That as I wrapped that blanket around my shoulders, the Spirit of comfort would wrap itself around my heart. That as I drew close to hot cups of coffee and big, blazing bonfires to warm my fingers and toes, my heart was somehow drawn closer to Him to warm the colder places of my soul.

There's something to be said about the changing of seasons. Each one brings its own ups and downs and curveballs and joys - but autumn and all of it's healing { and let's be honest, all of it's pumpkin too } is one that I will continually miss the most.

wild & free.

I know I need to...but when I'm honest with myself, I don't really want to. Enter into my brokenness. Go towards the darkness. Walk towards the pain. Everything in me sends red flags and loud sirens straight to my heart. A stop sign flashes before my eyes - warning signals all around. Suddenly distractions come at me from every angle. My phone vibrates on the couch. I find my mug of coffee empty (and it was only my first!). My cat curls up next to me, asking for attention. My newest novel sits on the table in front of me, begging to be cracked open.

But I hear the truth sweetly whispering in my ears: Until I finally face the brokenness, I will never experience the healing I so desperately seek. Unless I can admit the loss that has come in this season of change and transition, I will continue to walk around wounded. With my heart bleeding and my soul crying and my mind weakening - making way for the sudden influx of lies and despair that seem to be seeping in.

"Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light." 

- Brené Brown

My friend has this quote tattooed across her side. There, permanently etched in black ink, just about as close to her heart as a tattoo could be. I see it there, from time to time, on beach trips or days spent by the pool. Each time I read it, it makes me sigh with relief and cringe with fear all at the same time.

I also see it on a daily basis - because my friend lives this way as well. Unafraid of her darkness. Confident that by entering in she will once again see and experience the light. She's so very brave, this friend of mine. And simply by living this out in a real and tangible way, she invites me to be just as brave. To face my darkness. Brokenness. Loss.

And to trust that on the other side, there is infinite light awaiting me. There is healing awaiting me. There is wild freedom awaiting me. So I take baby steps - poco a poco and little by little - but with each step I take, my heart grows a little lighter, a little wilder and a little more free.

knew.

I still have those moments, you know. They come randomly and unexpectedly - driving down a pothole filled road, lying in bed exhausted after Young Life club, worshipping in Spanish, getting stupidly excited about finding the right kind of Greek yogurt at the grocery store. And it will hit me.

I can't believe this is my life.

I can't believe I have lived in another country for over 3 years now. I can't believe that I understand { most of the time } when people speak another language to me. I can't believe that I know where I'm going in a place that doesn't have street addresses. I can't believe this is my job. I can't believe these are my friends. I can't believe that didn't work out. I can't believe this did work out.

And what I really can't believe is how normal this all feels. How normal is feels to live a life that I never would have dreamed up for myself. The more I keep on living this wild life of mine, the more I realize: it had to be this way.

Even though it probably wasn't the path I would have ever forged on my own, He knew. God knew exactly what He was doing. He knew exactly what I needed in order to become the person He created me to be. He knew it had to be International Young Life staff. He knew it had to be a heart-softening year in Costa Rica. He knew it had to be a hard transition into Nicaragua. He knew it had to be the end of that relationship. He knew it had to be this house. He knew it had to be the onslaught of the reality of poverty. He knew it had to be these grace-filled Nicaraguan friends. He knew it had to be a job that wasn't what I thought it would be. He knew it had to be my closest friends moving away when I least expected it. He knew it had to be that conversation. He knew it had to be a season of intense loneliness and longing. He knew. He always knew.

And somehow, this gives me peace and strength and courage all at once. Because even though I never knew what to expect - or worse, what I expected didn't or hasn't happened - He did. Not only did He know but even orchestrated this unexpectedly beautiful life just for me to continually move me and mold me into the person He created me to be. It couldn't have happened any other way.

The lessons I've learned about life, the things I've learned about myself, the promises I've learned about God. All the healing and tearing and binding and breaking. The tears, the laughter, the sadness, the joy. Pure. Raw. True. Sweet. Bitter. They were always part of the plan.

Sure, when I think back to the various crossroads in my life - other paths that could have been might have brought me to this place as well. Never will I know what would have come of me if I had made that other decision or taken another job or lived somewhere else or had different friends. But I like to think it was this specific path - the one that is fragrant with His loving kindness - that He has used { and is using } to shape me into His image.

Because this is the truth that gives me hope. That even when my life feels like one big question mark, He knew. He always had a plan. He has always been for me. He has always been before me - hand extended - inviting me into a bigger story then I could have hoped or dreamed or imagined.

worth.

I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of the constant, raging battle within me that allows what is around me to tell me who I am. I'm tired of fighting for my sense of worth against the billowing waves of society and culture and relationships. I'm tired of walking with the weighty, rusted chains attached to my hands and feet that rub my wrists and ankles raw when I attempt to shake them off. I'm tired of allowing myself to be defined by the curveballs life tosses at me. I'm tired of walking through life with a limping soul.

I'm done with that life. They. Don't. Get. That. Power. I'm taking a stand. It's an internal stand, one that perhaps will go unnoticed by the average eye. But everything within me is roaring and fighting and battling because I have to make the choice. The choice that chooses truth over feelings, trust over walls and One over all.

They don't get to define me anymore. No one but One gets to tell me who I am and Whose I am. That Young Life girl who decided to stop taking my calls? That job which causes so much sacrifice?  That guy who walked away? That device that is no longer the newest or most updated?  That person whose standards I can never seem to live up to? That friend who never said "I'm sorry"? That image of perfection I'm supposed to create for people around me?

I've over them. I wash my hands of their false claims that tell me I have to look a certain way to be someone. That I have to act a certain way to get someone. That I have to perform a certain way to prove I am someone. For too long I have run on the hamster wheel of self-worth - running faster and faster and faster trying to reach the next acceptable image of myself. The image of myself that I will finally think is worth something. All the striving and hoping and conforming around some foreign, unobtainable sense of worth has got to stop.

There is only One who should have that kind of power and I have denied it of Him for too long. He comes and gently lifts me when I have run myself dry, spent myself on an endless list of things I think will fill me up, only to find myself left emptier then I was before. He whispers in my ears and His voice travels directly to the realms of my heart and He tells me exactly who I am:

I am unique.
I am beautiful.
I am creative.
I am loving.
I am compassionate.
I am valuable.
I am brave.
I am strong.
I am tender.
I am faithful.

There, in ten simple words, my worth is found again. My soul breathes again. My heart pitter-patters within me because this kind of worth is not one that I have to seek - it is one that is simply given, gracefully and lovingly.

For twenty-seven years I have tried it the other way and let me tell you - it just isn't working. I'm tired of the fight. He tells me I'm worth it every day...it's time I start doing the hard work of simply believing.

change.

"I've learned the hard way that change can push us, pull us, rebuke and remake us. It can show us who we've become, in the worst ways, and also in the best ways." - Shauna Niequist

Change. It's one of those things that I sometimes can crave down to the very depth of my soul: change of pace, change of temperature, change of seasons, change of schedule. But unexpected change - the kind of change that comes running out of no where and side tackles me - that kind of change can leave me lying on the ground, unsure of which way is up.

One might think that as I get older, change comes more easily.
"It's inevitable!" they say.
"It's life great teacher!" they say.
But as I've found myself in another season of change and transition, it seems with age it only takes longer and longer for my mind to accept, for my heart to adjust, for my life to re-normalize.

Many times with change - no matter how big or small - comes loss. Loss of what was, loss of comfortability, loss of the familiar. And if I'm not careful, I can get lost in the blur. I get so caught up in the loss of what was, that I lose sight of what could be. In essence, I lose hope.

Recently, a friend spoke on change and the way that life is really just one change after another. He said: "God places each of us in a sea of change so that you will not cling to some passing ship." And isn't life just that - a blurry sea of change. A sea of change in which the only thing that does not change is Him.

Change isn't always fun and new and welcomed. Sometimes change is heavy and hard and cruel. But it's in those moments of change that grabbing hold of just any passing ship simply won't do. In fact, passing ships do anything but save me - they only sink me lower. There is only One solid Rock to which I can cling, trusting that there I am safe.

Embracing change is a lesson I'm still learning. But in the midst of the seasons of transition and change and growth, my heart breathes in these words of truth, replaying them over and over again:

"So here's what I want you to do, God helping you: take your everyday, ordinary life - your sleeping, eating, going to work and walking around life - and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for Him." -Romans 12:1 (MSG)

Cling to what is sure, dear heart. Trust in His sweet goodness. Embrace the story that is being written by hands of Love. Brave those tumultuous changes of life by grabbing hold of His promises and never letting them go.

July.

August, August, August. How did you get here so fast? It seems like only yesterday I was staring at the first of June on my calendar, dreaming of all that the summer months had to offer. And now we're back to square one - calendars and to-do lists and schedules galore. Now don't get me wrong! I do love the  fresh start of a new school year. But today...today I just want to spend a little time remembering the whirlwind month of July. RIP July - we had a good run.

July is for popsicles, Vida Joven outreach events & beauty.

July is for Independence Day at the beach, circle time, enjoying beautiful sunsets, bro time and creek floats.

July is for best friend's wedding.

July is for spending time with friends you haven't seen in a while.

(yes, including the pups!)

July is for spending two weeks at the Nicaragua Young Life camp, La Finca.

July is for helping run program at YL Family Camp.

(Nica's national YL director knows how to get wYLd, too!)

July is for hosting mission teams and planting coffee plants.

July is for being surround by beautiful views.