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.

path.

"Every path He guides us on is fragrant with His loving-kindness."

Early this morning, I reached yet again for this reminder - printed in little black swirls across a field of floral, ceramic greenery. I can always tell on the days I need to be reminded. My hand knows before my heart does as I reach seemingly absent-minded for that one specific mug. As my coffee cup was being filled, a sudden longing overcame me for a different type of filling - a soul filling.  I was caught off guard by the sudden sigh that escaped when I read those words. How long had I been holding in that breath?

Sometimes I have a hard time believing - believing that on every path, I am led by bonds of Love (Hosea 11:4). Sometimes I stand and look out at the path before me. I feel strongly that He is the One who brought me here yet somehow am paralyzed with fear in moving forward. I look out and see only uncertainty and unknown and potential risks. I see all the ways I could get lost or fall down or be broken. My vision gets clouded with "what if" and "it wasn't suppose to be this way".

Yet, I feel Him beckoning me, calling me out into the depths of His love. This reminder quiets the wild thumping of my heart as I realize that the only thing left to do is embrace what He has laid out before me - even when I can't be sure of what it will entail.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. (Hebrews 11:1) Easier said then done. Even still - it must be done. I have found that when I am faithful to walk down the unseen path, when I believe just enough to put one foot in front of the other, when I trust that He will be with me always - even to the end of the ages (Matthew 28:20) - when I am brave enough to lean into the fear of uncertainty...He meets me there and carries me through the days and weeks and years to come.

So as I stand before my path today, looking out at the giant question mark that stares me back in the face - I look to His truth to light each step and I simply do the next thing. And right now that next thing is filling up another cup of coffee and breathing in the sweetest of all reminders:

"Every path He guides us on is fragrant with His loving-kindness."

(Psalm 25:10a)

failure.

I don't remember at what point in my life it began to happen. This unshakeable feeling of inadequacy.  Perhaps it's always been there, stirring within me. I was, after all, partly molded and formed by society - a society where having it all meant success and having it all together meant popularity. A society where happiness is judged by the amount of things in ones pocket and a small number on the scale. A society where somehow things outside of one's control were the only source of a sense of worthiness.

I can't pinpoint exactly when I began believing it. When I allowed myself to think this thought and then grab hold of it - tightly. Allowing it to continually make its unwanted path in my brain and snake it's way down into my very soul. This thought that can so easily trump all other truths. Even when my mind knows the difference in what is true and what is not, the thought is there. Waiting to prove itself right when everything else seems to go wrong.

I am a failure.

To fail at something still lets me blame the circumstances. I failed because of this reason. I failed because that reason was outside of my control. But to actually become a failure - this kind of thought can slice down to the very marrow of my bone. Because when this creeping thought rears its ugly head, it's not just questioning my ability or my capacity or even my surrounding forces. It questions my very being. The core of who I am. My already fragile, weak, vulnerable heart.

Am I enough? At the end of the day, when all the success and popularity and happiness melt away, am I left with the conviction that yes - even without all these things - I am still enough?

These days it feels more like a defeating, saddening sigh. I've failed at one thing or another and because of that, I must be a failure. Isn't that how it works?

I didn't check off everything on my to-do list today. Fail.
I disappointed this friend or that person. Fail.
I didn't give money to the man begging on the street. Fail.
I snapped at my teammate this morning. Fail.
I didn't hang out with a single high schooler this week. Fail.
I watched an entire season of Arrow on Netflix and didn't open a single book. Fail.
I didn't wake up early to run. Fail.
I forgot to bring something important. Fail.
I didn't engage in conversation like I should have. Fail.

Most of these things are seemingly small and unimportant and simply part of life. But believe it long enough and it becomes a habit. Believe it long enough and suddenly - I am not enough. When I allow these thoughts to grow deep roots around my heart and overflow out into my words and actions, I lose. I may not realize it at first - I shake it off with the first available mind numbing tool I can find. But inevitable, it returns. With force. Powerful force. Because you see, when I feed this thought by a simple numb, I give it space to grow. And what it grows into is a disbelief in very person I am created to be. The person He created me to be.

And when I question the creation, I question the Creator. I question His goodness, His graciousness, His sufficiency. The real question is not - am I enough? The answer for me will always be no. There is always something I can find to better or fix or do. The real question washes over me - is Christ enough for me? Is He enough?

If my answer is not yes - an everyday, resounding, confidant yes - my days will be confined to defeating sighs and a continual search for something to fill that empty ache. If my answer is not yes, I will continue to lose every single day. He is always enough - even on the days where my failure seems to be all I can think about. The question is actually not in His ability or capability to be enough. The question lies in my heart of hearts - do I believe Christ is enough?

And today, I want to choose to believe it.

waves.

There's this moment. This seemingly gravity defying moment, suspended in thin air, hanging there with all its uncertainty. It's terrifyingly peaceful, this one second of grace. Watching the waves, I can't help but notice it. Each wave comes softly - sneakily almost. It builds and builds and grows and climbs - quietly and steadily. But before it comes crashing down, something surreal happens. The moment. My heart stops, my breathing quiets. The silence somehow engulfs my entire being. Oh, the majesty of pure stillness. The wave idling before me - the silence, the peace, the surrender. Yes, there is even surrender. A certain letting go that happens in this moment. And just as suddenly, it's gone. The wave forms its perfect tubelike shape and it all comes crashing down, from every which way, wreaking havoc and chaos all in one fail swoop.

He is in these wave moments, this faithful Lover of my soul. I see Him there, beckoning. Calling me into the uncertainty of the stillness before Him. Do I trust Him enough to meet Him there? To walk forward into the tension of that one second? Yes. I must go to Him. I must sit there with Him. Without moving into that moment with Jesus, the chaos that follows crushes me. It is simply too much to bear. I need that moment with Him - that moment of letting go. Of courage. Of silence. Of majesty. Of grace. The waves teach me something: the necessity of the holy amidst the chaos. Amidst the confusion. Amidst the crashing. 

cloudy.

The worst is when you can't see anything.

When you look out that small, rounded window and all you see is a white haze of clouds. Nothing.But.White. No beautiful blue sky, no comforting green trees below...just white.

I don't like anything about flying. Something about being suspended in air thousands of miles above the ground in a metal box with wings brings out an inexplicable anxiety in me. But when the view outside my window turns white....it's all I can do to grab hold of my arm rest for dear life { or the hand of the person next to me, if you are so lucky as to receive the gift of sitting with me in an airplane } and focus on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

Because it's in the white when everything becomes bumpy, when turbulence hits the strongest. The slightest jolt of the plane sends my heart into panic. With each bump, I'm sure that we are falling to our death. I don't think straight. My knee begins to shake. The anxiety builds to the point of debilitation. Suddenly, I am controlled by my surroundings...the white cloudy mess of it right outside the window.

Oh and isn't that how it works in my life? When the cloudiness and confusion seep in, everything seems to be falling apart. Can't think straight. Don't know which way is up. Every little bump in the road of life throws me into even more confusion and desperation and the assumption of my impending doom. Will I ever make it out of the fog?

What else can I do but wait. To grab hold of those arm rests - to reach out to people I know are safe and to stand on what I know is true. And breath in deeply the grace of God as I wait for the cloud the pass. I rest in the mystery of what God is doing. The white haziness of life can't stay forever.

Eventually, I spy a peep of sunlight or a glimpse of sky or the ground unfolding below me...relief washes over me and I remember: everything will be okay. The cloudiness will not kill me. The unknown will not break me. The anxiety will not overcome me.

It's in these moments, I stand firm on this promise..."Behold, I will be with you always."

Even in the distortedness of a cloudy window, He does not leave us alone. And I will trust this - I must trust this - with every inch of my being. Because without it all hope is lost. And I cannot lose this grace-filled, loving, trusting kind of hope.

sing.

"Here we stand, our hearts are Yours; not our will, but Yours be done."

We sang a song at church last Sunday. It was one of those songs I couldn't get through without tears streaming down my face. I've heard it before - the harmonious sounds of this band, All Sons and Daughters, blaring through the speakers in my own room on multiple occasions. But it took on a new meaning for me, standing there in the back row of church, seeing the words on the screen before me, singing truth over my hardened soul. I couldn't help but change the words in my mind from the seemingly impersonal plural tense to the soul-searching, heart-piercing singular form.

"Here I stand, my heart is Yours; not my will, but Yours be done."

Am I the only one who finds this painstakingly and terrifyingly difficult to sing? Not only to simply sing but to sing these words with with a heart that truly believes it? To sing it with hands open in a true surrender of control over my life? To sing it in a way that allows for the complete bowing of my heart - my own wants, hopes, desires, dreams - to His?

I've had this song on repeat since Sunday. I can't move past it. And I'm not sure that I want to.

{ click here to listen: Wake Up by All Sons and Daughters }

light.

It seems really cliche for me to have a "word of the year" ... it feels really trendy right now to have that one feel-good word. That one I can write in really pretty lettering and plaster on Instagram on January 1st with the oh-so perfect filter for all the world { aka all my followers } to double-tap that picture and boost my number of likes { along with my self-esteem }. Which seems honestly like a terrible idea when I think about it because suddenly I am totally held accountable by some number of people that I interact with on a daily basis. So if I promise via Instagram to be kind for 2015 and someone catches me on a bad day { or when I've yet to have my morning coffee } and I pour all of my frustrations out on you with a { not-so slight } slashing and stinging of words...you get the picture. I write this because I am this person. This. Is. Me. But that's for a different post. I promise to confront my coffee addiction, hater status and desire to keep my social media life looking perfect while my real life is a mess at a later date.

Back to this idea of "the word". Despite my { completely ridiculous } hesitations, I really love having one, simple word to focus on throughout the three-hundred sixty-five days of madness a year brings. It grounds me. It soothes me. It draws me back into simplicity. 2014 was the year of surrender. I can't tell you how many times I found myself back at this word. Trying not to control, manipulate, over-schedule, hold on. Trying to keep my hands open, free fall into this abyss of grace, trust. I failed over and over and over again but having one word to come back to gave me some sense of sanity in the midst of insanity.

Light. That's my word this year. It's kind of ambiguous which is slightly terrifying for me. My whole life feels ambiguous right now so to add another gray-scale layer to the ambiguity has my mind screaming. But my heart and my soul are at peace with this word and they drink it in deeply...so it stays.

Last year, someone told me: "Put yourself physically where you need to be spiritually." And where I needed to be was in the light. I needed the light of Hope to shine through and break down walls. So I began to seek the light. I open my curtains first thing and let the soft morning light seep into the drab corners of my room. I sit on my back patio and watch our whimsical cat play with bugs in that afternoon hour where everything seems to have a golden filter. I light candles at night when I'm reading in bed and let the sweet aroma fill me while letting the flickering wick dance shadows across my walls.

As 2014 drew to a close and this blank, white canvas of 2015 came into view, I slowly began to realize that I needed this light more then I ever had imagined. So I adopted it as "my word" - my year long obsession with light-seeking has already begun. And honestly, I hope it never stops. Because I'm seeing how it's this beautiful, obscure, mystical idea of light that is bringing me back to life.

remember.

Dear soul,

Please don't give up just yet. I know you are faint, I know you hurt, I know it's hard...but sweetness awaits. Don't forget Who it is that holds you together. That soothes the ache. That mends the brokenness. That fills the holes.

Remember...when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. And when you walk through the fire, it will not consume you. He is with you always. (Isaiah 43)

Remember...He holds your right hand, guiding you along His ways. He is your strength, oh heart, and your portion forever. (Psalm 73)

Remember...that love of His, that relentless love, is wide and long and deep and high. And enough...it is enough for you. (Ephesians 3)

Remember...suffering gives way to perseverance; perseverance, character; character, hope - and hope will never disappoint. Stand on this grace, my soul, and rejoice. (Romans 5)

Remember...all this? All these troubles? They are light and momentary. They are achieving for you an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. Fix your eyes not on the temporary, not on what only you see...fix them on eternity. (2 Corinthians 4)

Remember...before all things, He was there. In all things, He is there. (Colossians 1)

Remember...this God of yours, this God of all grace, will restore you - making you strong, firm and steadfast. (1 Peter 5)

Remember...you will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Be strong, take heart and wait on the LORD in confidence. (Psalm 27)

Remember...His banner over you is love - and His is the sweetest love of all. (Song of Solomon 2)

Be brave, dear soul, for you have not been forgotten. Let the tears fall when they may, for He cherishes each one. I know your temptation to run, hide, self protect... if you let fear win out now, you will miss the blessings. And yes, there are even blessings in pain. Keep living the full life, oh soul - stay open, soft and tender. Endure all things. Believe all things. Hope all things. Bear all things.

Please don't give up just yet. Stay fixed on Him. Remain in His presence. Seek His face. Wait in His grace. No matter where this road might take you, rest in knowing Who it is that holds you.

Stay strong, oh brave soul of mine.

breathe.

This morning was one of those mornings. One of those morning where as soon as my eyes open, I just want to shut them again. Roll over, forget about the day, stay in the comfy fortitude of cream and white cotton where I can block everything out by the simple closing of my eyelids. It was one of those mornings where the first emotion felt was panic because the only thing running through my head was my list. Oh my dreaded, beloved list. I love to hate and hate to love my list. My ongoing, never ending, ever growing, keeps me sane, makes me insane list of all that there is to do in a day, week, month. How am I suppose to even think about this before I can get my hands on my morning coffee? Well this morning I did and let me tell you - it wasn't pretty. I laid there in my bed, petrified of moving, frozen in fear. Unsure of how to let my feet hit the floor...and then I heard the words, loud & clear, whispering to my wildly beating heart:

"just breathe in grace."

I stopped for a moment, letting this sink in - sink in to the very core of my being, to my very soul - when I heard it again: 

"breathe in My grace." 

And so I sat there, in a few minutes of silence before the loudness, craziness, business of the day began...and I breathed in His grace.

breathe in. { grace }
breathe out. { panic }
breathe in. { grace }
breathe out. { anxiety }

And on and on this cycle went, in those precious few moments that He sought me in the midst of my crazy. In the midst of my mess. In the midst of my { almost } full blown break down.

I often find myself back here. This simple act of breathing. This exercise of the soul. In the wilderness of life, it is these simple pauses in the day that keep me sane. But it is always Him who gives me the reminder to breathe. If left up to me, I find myself drowning in panic and doubt and control and lists and hopelessness.

breathe in. { His will }
breathe out. { my will }

breathe in. { hope }
breathe out. { despair }

breathe in. { peace }
breathe out. { worry }

breathe in. { joy }
breathe out. { heaviness }

Breathing these life-giving words in and out have become vital for the wellbeing of my soul. And as long as my physical body keeps breathing, I must allow the soul to breathe as well.

rocks.

It was incredible how well she could articulate exactly how I am feeling with just a few words.

She described a small jar. A jar full of sand and rocks and water - all settled and calm and nice and pretty.

And then it gets shaken.

The sand mixes with the water and the rocks clank around against the glass jar and it almost seems as if the whole thing is on the verge of shattering. 

As this glass jar gets put back on the table, the whole thing looks like one. big. mess. It's murky and dark and unorganized and unpretty and you might wonder if it will ever look the same as it did before.

The hard truth is that it won't: The rocks will never be in the exact same position as they were before. The sand will not fall back into the exact same spot. It is forever changed, this simple glass jar of rocks and sand and water.

But it will settle. The sand will find its home amongst the rocks. The rocks will find their places against each other. The water will become clear and this jar, though different then it was before, will be calm again.

The key, she tells me, is to wait. There is no possible way to force the sand and the rocks and the water to lay still any faster.

Wait. Let go. Surrender. Sit in what may feel like the murky waters of your thoughts and feelings and questions.

So I sit while the rocks and the sand settle back down. I wait for the water to clear. And in the sitting and the waiting and the surrendering and the letting go, I seek hope. 

surrender.

Having the luxury of time to write has become a thing of the past. I often find myself "writing" in my mind, late at night when the insomnia kicks in. Beautiful words come and lull me to sleep before I ever have the chance to write them down. Before I know it, morning has arrived and I'm tired and I need coffee and I'm off to conquer the world. At least, this is how it feels most days. (And I generally fail at conquering the world.)

This summer has been one giant whirlwind of traveling, camps, reading books that change me, physical labor, spiritual labor, laughing til it hurts, lack of sleep, mental breakdowns, sweet conversations, seeing people I haven't in a while, not seeing people I normally see all the time, missing South Carolina, falling more in love with Nicaragua - and amidst it all discovering more and more of this thing we call grace. 

Surrender: to give up, abandon, relinquish. Two thousand fourteen has been a year surrendering for me. Expectations. Timelines. Relationships. Ministry. Schedule. Heart. Certainty. Comfort. But it is in the surrendering that I find peace. When I attempt to hold on, I am unable to free fall into the abyss of grace. And I have found that it is only there that I can live fully. Though often I fight it, grasp at control, lose sight of hope, retreat into my walls - He is always there to remind me that I can trust Him.

And that in surrendering, the eyes of my heart are opened to see Jesus for who He really is...and He is always good.

A Franciscan Blessing.

May God bless you with discomfort...

     At easy answers, half-truths and superficial relationships

     So that you may live deep within your heart.

May God bless you with anger...

     At the injustice, oppression

    And exploitation of people

      So that you may wish for justice,

      Freedom and peace.

 

May God bless you with tears...

     To shed for those who suffer pain,

    Rejection, hunger and war.

      So that you may reach out your hand to comfort

      Them and turn their pain into joy.

May God bless you with enough foolishness...

     To believe that you can

    Make a difference in this world,

      So that you can do what others

      Claim cannot be done.

surrender?

Today is one of those days. One of those days where as much as I want to believe it, no amount of black coffee will suffice.

I came to realize something this morning: I desperately crave a schedule. A schedule that doesn't change or get rearranged last minute. Something solidified. A week where I don't have to mark my pen through previously planned thing in order to move it to another day or add something else in. As the weeks go on, my planner begins to look more and more like a fifth graders homework, where they just can't seem to find the right answer.

I can feel myself growing more and more desperate for stability but the further I grasp for it, the faster it disappears.

And isn't that always the way it works in life? We chase after these things we think will complete us, satisfy us, make us happy...but the longer we chase them, the harder they are to catch.

Stability. Does such a thing even exist in this new life abroad I am stumbling through? I can not be sure. But yet I shamelessly attempt to obtain it, no matter the cost.

But this morning, it was ripped out from under me like a rug and I am left sitting on the ground, looking around for someone to blame. Until I realized that someone to blame was me. Because more then stability, I want control. (There's always a root issue, isn't there?) I want to control this life of mine to turn out the way I see fit. Is there anyone out there that can relate to this or am I the only one attempting to tame my own life?

Surrender to Me, I hear Him whisper to the depths of my soul.

Surrender sounds nice but it is actually terrifying. So I fight it - everyday - running to stability instead of the Holder of my heart. Grasping for control instead of the Soother of my soul. Seeking my schedule instead of the Author of my faith.

And instead of bringing the peace and joy I expect, I am left disappointed, frustrated and confused.

I wonder how many days of disappointment, frustration and confusion it will take before true surrender really happens? I'll have to keep you posted...