A letter in my mailbox.

I don't generally struggle with the idea that my prayers

might be falling on deaf ears. In fact, I honestly believe that faith

has become one of my stronger gifts throughout the last couple years.

I have had very real experiences in my life in which prayer has been 

answered. Not by coincidence, not by chance.

But for whatever reason, I've really struggled lately accepting the truth

that He not only hears me, but he acts on what He hears. It seems

I've been a broken record with my prayers for almost a year now. Just typing that 

sentence makes me feel a bit foolish- I know that some people spend 

their entire lives repeating the same prayers, never to see the answer 

in their lifetime. But it's still how I feel.

I think of Joshua and how he asked God to

keep the sun from setting & God did. & I think, surely God could

just change things if he wanted to. So why doesn't he? Questions

like this do sometimes keep me awake at night, but I'm getting better

at seeing answered prayers in ways I am not expecting. 

Yesterday, I experienced one of those moments in which I 

was just certain that I'm being heard. It came in the form of 

a letter in my mailbox. Pretty much everything about

 the letter- the sender, the topic, the timing-

made me realize that God is moving in my life. 

I desperately want to hold onto these moments.  

Rejoice, my heart.

There is something about hymns that really speak to my heart.

Sometimes I can't believe that words written centuries ago have

such truth & meaning so many years later. I can't believe that the

time between then & now hasn't stripped the relevance from the 

verses; that the deepest longings of the writer's hearts are the same 

as mine. Words like: 

O love that will not let me go, 

I rest my weary soul in thee;

I give thee back the life I owe

that in your ocean depths 

its flow may richer, fuller be. 

I've had this song on my mind for a few days now. The words

have been speaking to me, as I've sure they've spoken to countless

others before me. I love that idea.

So rejoice, my heart.

Rejoice, my soul; my savior God has come to thee. 

Rejoice my heart, you've been made whole

by a love that will not let me go. 

Holiday Cheer

The holiday season is officially in full swing.
For perhaps the first time, I am beginning to understand why the holidays can
be a hard time for many people. I mean this in the least dramatic way possible-
My Thanksgiving was great. In fact, I had two: a "friendsgiving" here in Nashville,
and one in Jackson, TN with my aunt & uncle. My days were full of delicious food,
games, good conversation, & so much to be thankful for. I felt so loved & lucky
to have family so close, & time with my friends who also stayed in town was great.

I've written about it already, but there's something about the changing of the seasons
that is hard for me. As holidays approach, it seems like emotions-the good & bad- are
magnified by the sensory overloads, the heightened expectations of things to come, &
the uncertainty that the future holds. I sometimes feel anxious when I think about
the holiday season, and I begin wishing that everything would calm down,
if even for a moment. Before I know it, it is all over
& I've found that I've somehow missed it all.

[I don't want to miss it all.]

So here's to resting this holiday season.
Here's to warm soups, hot drinks, sweaters, & heated blankets.
Here's to joy that is rooted in the hope of a new season.

What I've learned [Part 4]

This is the 4th installment of a mini series.
If you've missed anything, find it here, here, or here.

Brokenness yields opportunity for new things. 


When I moved to Nashville in August, shortly after the hardest season I'd experienced in my life had begun, I knew that few things would  seem familiar in this next chapter I was about to start. 

I was moving to a brand new place 1,000 miles from home, 
&  I knew this move would bring a range of things to adjust to [ traffic, weather changes, 
southern drawls, completely independent living].

 I honestly felt like the person who was moving to Nashville was not the same  
person who had graduated the year before & was about to watch 
all of the intricate dreams she had carefully created for her future unfold. 
I've struggled with living in the now my whole life. If I'm honest, even as I 
write this, I can't help but think of what's next- finishing classes, moving on to my residency
& then moving on from there. 


I've realized that once I saw all of my visualized plans of living in Nashville dissolve, I was left
with a blank slate of opportunity. Nothing I decided to do was hinging on another person,
an idea of my future, or a plan that was already made & waiting to be carried out.
I was completely free [& at times forced] to explore, create, & discover many of the things
I had neglected to think about because I was so far projected into the future I had created.
My time in Nashville so far has been an almost daily experience of recognizing newness;
there are so many opportunities here, so many relationships to be made, and so many 
risks to be taken that I might have missed out on had my 
original plans panned out the way I wanted them to.



 & while I am sometimes still painfully aware 
of the plans I once had & their current state of non-existence, I am finally able to
realize that letting go of them [a daily process] has opened up the opportunity for
new things. Not better or worse, just new. I am not willing to say that none of
these plans will ever come to fruition, but the time just isn't now, & that's okay.

This all reminds me of the song that inspired the namesake of this blog a few years ago:

Hello, my old heart.

It's country Sunday, but I'm listening to this instead:

It's from Texas, so it's close enough to country Sunday.
If you're craving some eclectic folk rock from 

two Texan siblings, give this a listen. 

It's a song that will make you happy & sad at the same time.

I love it. 

Changing seasons

Despite my lack of blogging about it, I am

indeed still trying to keep up with being intentionally thankful. 

It's been good for me. I've realized that as the seasons change, 

I am surprised to be confronted by things that 

I thought might be left in the past. Matters of the heart are tricky 

like that. Sometimes I think they're gone, but if I stand still 

long enough, they catch up to me. But I'm learning to allow them to catch me, 

as opposed to staying busy just for the sake of not allowing any of them 

the chance to look me in the eye.

& when I look at them head on, they don't seem so big anymore.

I am thankful that the changing of the seasons allows this perspective change. 

Sweet melodies & sweeter friendship

Last night, I got to be serenaded for the fourth time

by this man: 

As usual, his voice sounded even lovelier in person than it does on his albums. 

Don't believe me? Listen here: 

Or perhaps here:

But as lovely as his voice was [& always is]

the night was made even more lovely in the company of 

a friend who I have known for exactly one year. 

When I toured Belmont a year ago yesterday, I had no idea

that a girl sitting at my table would become one of my best friends 

in the program & we would be celebrating our friend-iversary listening

to one of my favorite artists. I was and am very thankful for friendships like this.

Thankfulness, continued

This week, little airplane got a new look.

I'm still tweaking it a bit, but change is fun.

Also, this week I was thankful for these things:

Cancelled 7 AM classes & undeserved quiz grades,

Early morning bike rides & pumpkin smoothies,

Stories of adoption that give me hope & a vision of paternal love, 

Warm coffee shops that inspire productivity & dinners with old friends.

metamorphosis.

I listened to a podcast tonight on trusting God, by Jerry Bridges.
He describes a moth breaking out of a cocoon as a metaphor for experiencing adversity:

A moth struggles, as it goes through the metamorphosis process,

to break free from the cocoon it has lived in for a time.

As someone watches, he decides to lift the moth

and cut open the cocoon so as to spare the creature from

the tiresome struggle of ripping through the fibrous enclosure.

He does not understand that this is a God-ordained struggle

with a purpose behind it. 

The moth emerges easily from the cocoon, 

free of the struggle, but doomed never to fly. 

You see, it's it's the struggle that allows the caterpillar to become a moth.

As the moth works toward breaking through the pouch it sits in,

it's body physiologically responds, allowing the correct enzymes 

to be produced & circulating, as well as the strength to be built to use its wings. 

It is impossible for that moth to fly apart from the struggle to break from the cocoon.

Today I am thankful for this: 

No struggle is purposeless. 

Rain.

This morning, 2 classmates & I went on a walk through the woods

around a beautiful lake here in Nashville. The high temperature reached 

75 degrees. Everything about the experience was exactly what I needed:

sunshine on my face, conversation with good friends, & fresh air. 

It's only been several hours & the sky outside my window is dark 

& I can see bursts of lightning & hear claps of thunder. 

It's hard to believe that just this morning, I was walking outside in the warm sunshine. 

As I sit here in my room, I can't help but think that this is similar

to what's gone on in my heart lately. In the "sunshine" I feel satisfied,

happy, & at peace with the unraveling of each day. But in those dark moments,

my reality is the storm, & no matter how close the two experiences are to one another,

I can't think of anything but the realization that there is so much more healing needed in my heart.

I hate that these moments are mixed in so closely with 75 degree sunshine moments. 

It doesn't seem fair that the two should ever meet. 

But the great thing about these storms is they are sporadic. Days with sunshine

here greatly exceed days without. & I am finally beginning to experience the 

same in my heart. Even in the midst of a season painted with sorrow & uncertainty,

the sunshine prevails. It feels good. 

Today, I am thankful for these storms. They exist to put me in a place of

desperation before my God, & I don't want to ever lose that-even in the sunshine. 

30 days of thanks-giving

Last year I decided to spend the month of November

reflecting daily on at least one thing I was thankful for. The

motivation behind this idea was my own cynicism & a particularly

long season of apathy that I just couldn't seem to get out of. 

The experience of focusing on not what I wanted, but what I had been given

was extremely fruitful, & it became a testament to the transforming power

of gratefulness- a lesson I am still learning even a year later.

So here it goes: 

November 1: Yesterday I was thankful for meaningful

roommate conversations. I know I've said this before, 

but I have won the roommate lottery the past several

years, & this one is no different. I am lucky to be able to 

be encouraged, honest, & supported by any friend, but one

that lives in your own house is a great thing. 

November 2: This morning, I am thankful for 

words like this:  

"Be at rest once more,  O my soul, for the Lord has been good to me."

[Psalm  116:7]

Reading that this morning was a good reminder that

I am deeply loved & cared for.