Good Friday.

"We are more flawed and sinful than we ever dared believe, yet we are more loved and accepted 
than we ever dared hope." -Dr. Timothy Keller

This afternoon I found myself sitting in a darkened room in an old building

in Nashville, thinking about what happened on this day so many years ago. 

The weather outside was appropriate for what I was thinking about- a steady, slow, drizzle of

rain that had begun in the morning had drenched everything by the time I got there. 

The rain was cold & dreary & seemed to have saturated things 

deeper than the gutters & sidewalks it fell upon. 

A few years ago, I read Atonement & it quickly became one of my

favorite books I've ever read. I've always been drawn to stories of redemption

& grace, which is why I found it weird that this was one of the first years that 

Good Friday really sunk in to me deeply. There is so much emphasis on the good news

of what happens 72 hours after this day- the most monumental event in the history of time. 

But I realized that I often overlook the somber, agonizing act of that atonement

for me. As I sat in that darkened room, I could feel the agony of Jesus' sacrifice,

-if ever so faintly at first- & it grew into a deep reflection into my own sin, 

the weight of my affliction, & the most selfless act of love ever shown on mankind. 

I found myself thankful for this day that is good. 

It's good because deeper than his love for me, was a desire to redeem me that I

might experience that love in intimacy. 

It's good because the depths of his grace are far deeper than the depths of my sin. 

It's good because this atonement was once & for all, freeing me from the death I deserved. 

It's good. 

[Those] girls.

          I used to think it was kind of crazy when girls did things regarding their future husbands. I had a roommate once who kept a journal that she wrote letters in- each of them addressed to the man she would one day marry. For whatever reason, the idea of that journal freaked me out a little. I had another friend who frequently wrote, altered, and perfected “the list.” The list was made of details, down to eye and hair color, that described her perfect future husband. She fully believed that this list would manifest her perfect man, & if she searched long enough, she would find him. It is not as puzzling to me why that list freaked me out more than a little bit.  Sure, I’ve prayed for him when I’ve thought about it, on occasion. But most of the time I’ve just rolled my eyes & allowed these activities to be left to the crazy girls; the ones so desperate to discover who they’ll end up with that the quest itself leaves them bitter & jaded by any male relationship that does not fulfill the heavy expectations in their hopeful hearts. I’m not saying this cynical view is correct, but it’s what I’ve generally believed.

         Maybe it’s because it’s spring & the save-the-dates on our fridge are multiplying each time I blink, but lately I’ve found my thoughts wandering to who my future husband is- who he will be. I’m not writing any journals or keeping any lists of characteristics, but I do sometimes find myself musing over what that future might look like. Like just about everything else I am cynical toward & then change my mind about, I tell myself, “It’s different when I do it.”  It’s less desperate or weird when I do it, because my motives are pure, I’m just being forward thinking, etc.  For the record, I’m certainly not becoming one of those girls. [If I were to hashtag this statement, it would look something like this: #denial] So maybe I am becoming one of those girls. But either way, It’s kind of fun to wonder who he’ll be. I mostly wonder about harmless things. Things like:

I wonder if he was on Jack Shepard’s side or John Locke’s side [because he must be on one]

I wonder what his dreams & passions are.

I wonder if he’s contemplated what his patronus would be if Hogwarts were real.

I wonder if he ever wrote a journal to me or if he ever made “the list.”

I wonder if he already possesses a love for Arrested Development, or if he’s willing to be converted.

            The nature of these things I am wondering might be an indication in itself that I am

A. Not ready to married

B. Actually more crazy than "those" girls,

but it is fun to think of these things.  At the very least, it helps me realize a hopeful, non-bitter side to the future of relationships. 

The week I spent in silence

Recently, I found myself thinking about my thoughts. I’m pretty sure this is called metacognition, but after several ethics and philosophy courses, which did little more than confuse the heck out of me, I am not entirely sure. On Sunday afternoon, probably inspired by a particularly strong case of the Sunday Blues, I realized that my thought life has been overwhelmingly chaotic and disordered lately. As I contemplated why I haven’t been as introspective as I usually am [I suppose this is a bit of an oxymoron], I realized that moments of silence are almost non-existent in my life these days. I felt tired of just floating through my days mindlessly, & I decided in that moment that this week would be different. Since I am unable to drastically rearrange my schedule, I confronted different options for how I would spend more time in conscious thought:

11.  Wake up earlier to spend time reading and writing down my thoughts

22.  Use driving time [which is usually used for LOUD music time] for silence

33. Cut out a chunk of mindless internet/social media time just to sit & think

While I truly would love to do all of these things in some form, I chose number 2 for practical, measurable purposes. For anyone who knows me, I love music. I listen to it from the moment I wake up until the moment I fall asleep. Car time for me = music time, & the fastest way I will generally bond with someone is through a mutual appreciation for music. Spending an entire week in silence in the car was a fairly significant commitment for me. 

Here’s what I’ve learned:

Sometimes, when I get the chance to be alone with my thoughts for long enough, I am crippled by how palpable they become. In those moments, I am reminded of a Jon Foreman song that has the words,

“…when all of her nightmares grew fingers & all of her dreams grew tears …”

I remember the first time I heard that song. I actually got chills during those words because in that moment, he just knew me. I got chills not because I related to those specific personifications of abstract things, but rather because my own fears and dreams are that real sometimes, & I was thankful that Jon Foreman was able to articulate it in such an eerily beautiful way.

When I think about my thoughts, I am sometimes frightened by my own reflection. I could honestly give myself a headache in about two minutes of just rabbit-trailing my own brain, but I am simultaneously excited by the fact that I am capable of creating an entire world within my own mind. This week, I confronted thoughts of hopefulness for this new season of life. I confronted fears that felt so real, so human in my mind, that I swear they were sitting in the passenger seat next to me. I was able to confront them in the silence, & it was good.

Confronting the Lie

Two posts in one day. Sometimes I come across an article that I simply have to share.

This one discusses hardship [as most of the articles I've come across & related to recently have.]

It is beautifully honest & full of truth-

two things I deeply desire to be. 

Whether you are in a season that is difficult & dry, 

or one of fruitfulness & joy, this is a good reminder. 

Check this out. 

Sundays, why are you blue?

Sundays were never meant to be what they mean to me currently. 

I've written about it before, but there's something about Sundays in 

my current season of life that leave me feeling just a little bit down on

good days, & straight-up defeated on bad days. 

Sundays were meant for rest. 

Sundays were made for reflection. 

Sundays were meant for restoration. 

I am thankful for this reminder today. 

What 24 looks like to me.

Yesterday I turned 24. Despite being one of the busier days I've

had since starting graduate school- with spring break already seeming like a distant memory-

it was a lovely day. As I sat in one of my favorite Nashville eateries with

a few good friends last night, I realized that my stomach and heart were both full. 

23 was the hardest year of my life. There were more tears cried in that 

year than any other. There were more moments of confusion, frustration, & fear

in that year than any other. There was more taken from me in that year than any other. 

But, as I reflect on the last 365 days, I can't help but feel overwhelmed by the 

beauty that exists in brokenness. Sprinkled into the pain & uncertainty of this last year

were moments when my desperation for & closeness with God were the most tangible

of my whole life. There were moments of joy & feelings of unadulterated belonging that

are simply unmatched by any other year I've experienced. 

So as I contemplate what 24 looks like to me, I am excited. 

I am hopeful. 

I anticipate beauty in the messiness that will inevitably come.

I am so very thankful for another year to practice what I'm learning

& another year to love & be loved well. 

24, I'm excited for you. 

[Cupcake made by the lovely Maria. Check her out here.] 

Letters to the Wounded

" Once, we found a trapped and wounded bird. & when we cupped it close--

it turned toward the light & flew."

This is pretty. 

Love is a puzzle that can't be solved

If it's possible to be homesick for a place you are currently standing in, that's what I am. 

Saturday,  as I ran down my favorite trail in Fort Collins, 

I felt my heart aching. The weird thing was, it was aching to be exactly where I was. 

It was as if the "I-belong-here" joy that flooded into my heart was just too

overwhelming, & the only response my heart could muster up was to hurt. It hurt for the hundreds

of memories I have made in that place, it hurt from the sheer amount of joy I was

experiencing from being there, & it hurt from knowing that that particular

stage in my life is over. As strange as it was that I felt homesick for the land I 

was standing on, it was also strange that this hurt wasn't a bad thing. 

In that moment, I realized that the changing of the seasons

--whether it be the temporal seasons, or the metaphorical ones--

is good. 

I realized that choosing to be present where I am is not

only necessary for the personal growth, but it is also incredibly rewarding. 

Simultaneously, as I missed that place, I felt excited for where I am, & where I'm going.

I felt excited for Nashville. 

I felt excited for new relationships there.

I felt excited for spring. 

Realizing that the love of where I am does not depreciate my love for where 

I've been is a fairly profound realization for me. The two are not dependent on

each other; there is enough love in my heart for both.