Personal // Beautifully One-Of-A-Kind

Beautiful Girl-

I wrote a letter to your sister on her 10th birthday, a letter that spilled thoughts from my heart- hopes for her future, words of truth to guide her way, and prayers from the depths of my soul. 

You may be the middle girl, sweet one, but you are not overlooked. 

So here's your aunt- albeit in slight disbelief- that I'm already here writing your 10th birthday letter, too. 

You are beautifully one-of-a-kind. 

You're not your sisters, nor do you ever have to be. Truly, there is no one else like you- and that is a glorious truth. You're not the bold one, not the little diva either. I see it in your eyes, hear it in your heartbeat- you have so many voices telling you who you need to be, but please believe me- 

There could never be a more beautiful you. 

God made no mistakes when He created you. He gave you your cautious soul, your servant's heart, your drive to always make others happy. He shaped and formed every inch of you, body and soul, with such intentional detail. 

I pray that no one ever distracts you from pursuing all God has created you to be. 

We went birthday shopping together this week, and as I stood in the dressing room hallway while you tried on summer dresses, my heart wanted to freeze this moment in time. You're so innocent, so lovely, so pure, spinning around to test the twirl factor and trying to find colors that bring out your complexion. My heart ached to shield you from all the harm and evil, all the ugliness and darkness in the world. From people's words and the lies of the enemy, from peer pressures and the world telling you what it wants you to do. 

Never lose your innocence, lovely one. 

You color your world in soft pastels, dancing on tippy toes and with a smile that lights up the room. The past year, I've watched you bloom in such a tender and lovely way. It's like your heart is finally spreading its wings, finally shining your own sunshine in between the large personalities of your sisters. 

Keep shining, precious one. 

On the way home from birthday shopping, I saw you in the backseat fervently reading your new Bible. You didn't even stir when I held my phone to take a picture, a small attempt to capture this moment. You wouldn't put it down, despite the fact you were growing carsick, and when I took it to put on Bible tabs, you told me you'd wait right there in the car until I finished. 

May you always seek after Him with such passion, such fervor, such dedication to let truth wash over your soul. 

You didn't notice, but your little sister saw you. She picked up her new Bible, too, and tried to follow along like you. And this, this is what I pray draws people to be around you- your love for God, your heart to do what's right.

You have influence. 

Don't be a follower of people, sweet girl, because others are watching. Follow after God with all your heart, all your strength. Stir up that quiet determination in your heart to stand your ground in what is true. May you always walk in truth, always walk in the light. May you always shine the love of Messiah in all that you do, all that you say. 

Admit your mistakes, ask for forgiveness, and go forward in the power of the Holy Spirit. 

So this is my prayer- that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and all discernment. That you would approve the things that are excellent, that you would be sincere and without offense until the day of Messiah. That you would be filled with the fruits of righteousness, found in Messiah, to the glory and praise of God. (Phil. 1:9-11)

Beautiful girl, as you take on this world in your own beautiful way, know this:

I'm always here for you. 

Always have a listening ear for you. Always praying for you. Always here to answer your texts and calls. 

Always loving you. 

So, my beautiful birthday girl- you keep coloring your world in all your glorious ways, in ways that shout praises to God for the way He created beautiful you. 

I love you, 

Sho 

xoxo

A Letter // To The Ladies Who Bought My Coffee

To the ladies who bought my coffee today and gave me a flower- 

It seems like such a small thing to do, but it meant the world to me. 

You don't know anything about me. You didn't know that I just spent the past four hours in language class, staring at a computer screen until my back ached and my eyes strained. You didn't know how stressed I felt, feeling like I signed my days away for the next six weeks and not a clue how I'd fit in the multitude of other things I need to get done. You didn't know how my lungs ached to breathe without coughing after days with no apparent cause. You didn't know how I felt about today- humdrum and missing the disappearing holiday week, one that's supposed to be joyous and filled with light and hope. 

You didn't know anything about me- but it didn't stop you. 

One of you put your hand right over the scanner and didn't ask me- you told me- that today you're paying for my coffee. Your friend, holding a bouquet of red carnations, chose one from her diminishing bundle and handed one to me with a smile. 

You didn't know that the last time someone bought me flowers was almost a year ago next week.

It was just a single stem, but it felt like God's grace. I clutched it and smiled, fingers tracing the delicate unfolding petals. You didn't know that I always buy flowers for others, but never for myself. 

I gave you hugs because even though coffee and flowers seem so small and insignificant in the whole scheme of life, nothing could have been more significant today to bless my heart and soul. You only asked that in return, I would text someone to let them know I loved them. 

This is what love does. It goes to the stranger and crosses the bridge to make a friend. It sees the soul and touches it with encouragement. It reaches out when there's no reason to and no reward at all. 

It buys coffee and passes out flowers in a bustling coffee shop in my small downtown. 

From the bottom of my heart- thank you. Thank you for your smiles. Thank you for your joy. Thank you for buying my coffee. Thank you for choosing that flower from your bouquet with me in mind. Thank you for lighting up my day with a brilliant ray of sunshine, a most certain hug from God. Thank you for rekindling hope in my heart- that miracles occur even still today. Thank you for listening to the call, for being willing to give of your own time and money and resources to bless the life of complete strangers. 

Thank you. 

I put my flower in a vase and my mom put hers in there, too. I set it on my desk, overflowing with textbooks and laptop, pencils and notebooks. Because tomorrow, when I wake up and start the day with another round of lessons and a lengthly list to cram in around it of things to do, I need to see this as a reminder. 

God delights to give good things. 

Thank you for letting Him use you to remind me today. 

The Seclusion of Schedules // Being Intentional

It had been over two years since we'd last seen each other. 

We grew up together. We met back in first grade at a co-op, both shy and sharing secrets along with snacks. We trekked through nature walks and science projects and somehow survived gym. There's been moves and relocating for both our families. Graduations. Ministry projects. Growing and changing and sanctification. We'd send letters across the miles and still kept up our friendship. Lately, it's been harder. Jobs, classes, world-traveling...the letters got more scarce, but we always said, "We'll have to get together soon. Someday soon." 

It was always meant with sincere intentions. To spend time sharing hearts across the table instead of across a page or a text. What's a couple hour drive? Doable in a weekend, certainly. 

Yet someday never comes unless you put a date to it. 

While I was away on another world-traveling adventure last month, I'd get emails from her. "I keep thinking we need to get together when you get back," she'd say. Of course I agreed. I was always saying I'd come out to her end of town every time summer came around, but things always came up once it did. I determined that this time I'd make it happen- maybe I should try this fall and not wait for summer. Stop saying someday. 

I sent her a text a few weeks later to let her know I got back safely. "I'd love to get together- any ideas of what would work for you?" I ask. I imagine going back and forth with different dates and times, trying to find an option that would work best for both of us- and I dreaded it.

Sometimes the scheduling wrings us so dry that we can't even enjoy the company. It seems so impersonal, so unfeeling. Shuffling around things trying to fit someone in around the other million things you need to do. 

Something is wrong when we start to schedule people in like we do doctors' appointments. When we let our crazy thrust of productivity dictate the amount of time we spend pouring into others without a deadline. 

But her response surprised me. 

"This Monday at 10:30- we can meet in the middle."

Just like that. She made it a priority. There was no hemming and hawing, no trying to pick out the perfect date or location. We didn't have any Pinterest plans or fancy outfits. We even didn't have a perfect time schedule- we both had to leave by 1 for previously scheduled engagements we had. I drove my mud-covered car with less than a half tank of gas and a lip and chin still hot with hives from an allergic reaction that morning. 

We both showed up- imperfections and all. 

We spent the two hours we had catching up on life- what we've been doing, what God's been teaching us. We hashed out hope and faith and the power of the Holy Spirit. We came to the unanimous consensus that no matter what any author says, it will always be complicated dealing with guy friends. We shared quotes and Scriptures and laughed with excitement when we realized we'd both seen the same YouTube video. We encouraged each other and we both knew we weren't alone on this journey.

When we step back from our schedules, we realize we're not in seclusion. 

The time went by quickly, and with empty bowls on the table we realized it was time to go. As we got up to leave, we gave each other a hug and I whispered in her ear- 

Thank you. 

Thank you for being intentional. For surprising me with lunch. For remembering to take a picture. For listening and for sharing and for being open and beautiful. 

Thank you for taking the time for me. 

I walked away feeling so special and cared for, but more than that, I walked away so challenged to be intentional. 

I'm a dreamer and a visionary. I think of big fancy plans and want to throw the perfect outing and get-together. 

Yet sometimes that hinders me from just grabbing an average cup of coffee for two hours with a not-so-average girl spur-of-the-moment on a Thursday afternoon.

I hate that. I hate that fear of imperfection keeps me from reaching beyond the seclusion of my schedule. I hate that I put things off until it'll be perfect; that I put it off until I think I can craft an atmosphere that will bless people the most...when really all we want is just to be heard and encouraged- biscotti, background music, or not. 

I have another friend I haven't seen in over two years. Now that I've moved, she practically lives down the street from me. We keep saying we'll get together. There really are no excuses other than the elusive someday.

So tonight I map out the middle for both of us, send her an email and give two dates. This week. Not something five months out in advance. I want her to know that I make time for her now, that she's important. 

That's she's far worth the sacrifice of my measly schedule. 

Perfection ruins intentionality. 

I refuse to ruin opportunities anymore. 

Free and Full // Finding Intentional Moments

Math was never my subject.

There's no scope for the imagination, as Anne Shirley would say, in the realm of mathematics. Everything exact, precise, no room for error. You can't just throw numbers in and out and expect the same result. It's structured, ordered, and refuses to bend the rules.

So, it gets slightly depressing and rather overwhelming when you try to nail down how many hours you have in a lifetime. It may be upwards over 657,000 hours, yet time never stands still. It's always draining, always fleeting, always growing shorter.

You can calculate the math all you want- but you still have a life to live, and each moment is one you'll never get back.

I want to live it extravagantly. Not to waste a single moment, to do it big and with a bang of praise to Him. To live it free and full- free of fear, full of His glory.

Yet, in order to do so, I have to take control of the ticking clock before it takes hold of me. Before just checking my email turns into checking blogs, before searching for one recipe turns into researching something entirely different. Before one quick text to ask a question becomes one long conversation that keeps me from the task I'm in the middle of.

Before I waste my moments doing everything, or doing nothing.

I need to make my moments intentional.

And yet, in the middle of taking time for everyone else, I need to take time for myself. To feed my soul so that I can in turn pour it out.

Last week we had an unofficial family gathering, all piled into my aunt's living room sharing old memories with a long-lost relative. My cousin got up and left the room while we were all settling in, and returned moments later with a medium-sized zippered pouch. I leaned over the arm of my end of the couch to watch as she pulled out an embroidery project, and the creative in me became memorized in utter delight. I watched her open a small box of brilliantly colored floss, carefully choosing the shades she wanted. Her zippered pouch contained additional scraps of fabric, bold and beautiful, just waiting to be crafted into whatever her soul desired. My fingers itched to trace each pattern as she showed me different pieces she was working on, and as she did so I realized how much I needed to do this, too- and I'm on a hunt for that perfect zippered pouch to call my own. 

In the middle of sharing stories and listening to each other, she busied her hands to take care of herself, too. To do what she loved, to share what she loved.

She took hold of her moments.

It was only a scattered few- we all had to pile into cars but ten minutes later in order to make it to the restaurant on time- but she didn't let them go to waste. She took care of herself even while taking care of others. Doing what she loved, it opened her heart to give more love.

While I so often am pouring myself out, serving in whatever capacity I can, it can feel so selfish at times to just make time for myself. Yet Yeshua- He left and spent His morning hours alone with the Father. He poured into His own soul before He poured into others. 

It's not selfish if taking a moment for yourself means giving someone a better hour of service later.

So in those few moments that are "mine"- my mornings and evenings- I become intentional in pouring into my own soul in order to be overflowing in service to those around me. In the mornings I pray, praise, and read Scripture. I take the time to read that book, blog post, or magazine article that has been sitting on my desk or browser for the past week, those words that I know will speak life to my heart and encourage me to be all who God has called me to be. In the evenings, I make the time to paint, to draw, to scribble ink on pages and let my heart bleed out. I stitch and weave stories and scraps of fabric alike. I take the time to reflect on all God has done that day, all the ways I must thank Him for His goodness shining through. I take time to develop these giftings He's graciously given to me, to improve them and use them for His glory and to bless those around me.

I take time to breathe. 

It's space my soul needs. 

It's exhaling into the grace of God.

Back to Blogging // The Groove of Thriving

It's been a while.

When you're moving, planning a bridal shower, helping with a wedding, hosting a new houseguest with an endless list of food allergies, having a garage sale, working every odd day and hour possible, and packing up what my life has always been...all within 3 months?

Blogging gets pushed to the back burner.

Truly, there have been so many thoughts and ideas running through my mind. So many words fighting to be freed, and yet whenever I sit down before that stark white screen of a new post, my fingers freeze and somehow my heart can't make the connection to my brain. It's the feeling of being trapped within my own soul, unable to soar because you're chained by...yourself, unknowing how to set your own words free. 

But no more. 

There's only so many well-meaning hints from your grandmother you can take before you start stumbling through typing again. When your Bestie starts outdoing you in posting, you know it's high time you start kicking into gear and just. start. writing. Scattered, unedited, absolutely unpolished, but get the words flowing. 

Eventually, my fingers will remember. Eventually, the words will become fluid again. 

I decided I'd take my friend Amelia's advice- sometimes you just need to get a change of scenery, a place that fosters creativity and serenity and just start. 

I find myself in a coffee shop after work, and I take a deep breath in. The nutty aroma of fresh-ground beans calm me, the deep rich leather chairs and dark rough wood floors speak of stories and stains, people who have come and gone. I find myself the only chair available- the one where I can't sit back and still have my feet touch the floor- squirming slightly self-conscious because I feel the eyes of others on me. But I begin to type...and the voices fade, the clanging of metal measuring cups dim, the footsteps and music disappear. 

I will find my groove again. 

And yet, it's in the pause that I find the inspiration. As Amelia shared from her heart, I feel it resonate with mine- sometimes you just have to stop, take a pause, soak it all in. 

The creative mind can't always be overstimulated. As an artist, I crave the colors, the ideas, the stories and the character. I can't help but search for the beauty in the broken like a wild treasure hunt, splashing paint and words and folds of fabric. 

Sometimes, it's the over-stimulation that stops an artist from continuing on. An artist needs white-space, too. A place of calm, no chaos, a place of peace where one can digest all the explosions of brilliant ideas. 

This unannounced blogging break I took, it's been my white-space. 

It's from this break that I'm learning to totter across a delicate balance of stop-and-go. Between soaking up these last few weeks before my brother's married, and yet exploring this new life and carving out community in a city so different from my hometown. Between taking the time each night to journal again (so many thanks, Tia, for the reminder and push I needed) and dabble with my watercolors, and yet still be intentional with my time to be there for friends and family in special ways. 

It's in the balance that I'm feeling the thrive again. Feeling alive again. 

I'm not just back to blogging, I'm back to living life in extravagant and wildly free worship in every little detail. I'm back to adventuring out of my comfort zone and grabbing the moments of creative grace that I can spill into the lives of those around me. 

Here's to a fresh start of blogging...and a fresh start of life. 

Unplug // The Technology Addiction

Addiction happens slowly. 

Well, maybe not-so-slowly. We're addicted to instant, quick, immediate. Fast food, drive thru, high speed, all the information we ever want always at our fingertips. 

So when my phone decided to check out of my agenda, I was caught off guard...and didn't expect it. 

I wouldn't call myself addicted to technology. Sure, my phone kills time while standing in Walmart's mile-long line, but I'm not always on it. I live my normal life and don't let technology hinder me. 

What I didn't realize was that it was hindering me. 

In today's society, it makes it nearly impossible to unplug. 

My phone blacked out and all of the sudden I realized I had no idea what the time was or what the date was. I couldn't look up a word from language class, I couldn't check my email, I couldn't answer a text. No one could get ahold of me, and I couldn't get ahold of them unless I borrowed someone else's phone. I couldn't check my lists or take a picture. I couldn't use a coupon or locate the nearest grocery store in a different city. 

It was frustrating. 

But it was freeing. 

The guy at the store told me there was nothing he could do but give me a new phone. All my data, all my notes, all my contacts...just gone like that. 

Yes, mom, you were right again- always store things on paper. No contacts because I don't have a paper address book. No passwords because my phone remembers. No notes because they're all in one neat little app that doesn't clutter up my desk. 

Technology isn't always better. 

Gratefully- oh thank you Lord!- I had backed my phone up about a month ago, so I was able to recover everything except for what I had this past month. No hassle with contacts or trying to remember what important notes I had logged. But it made me think- 

I need to unplug more. 

I don't need to answer every text. I don't have to instantly reply to emails. I'm sorry, friends, if I don't comment on every picture you share. It's not you, truly it's not- but I'm learning that if I'm driven to be intentional with a Kingdom-vision life, nothing can be wasted. Words, time, energy. It all needs to have purpose, a focus, an aim. 

Life can be spent trying to be in the loop on everyone else's life, but really you're just missing the loop of your own. 

Now, I don't have the wifi automatically set to connect on my phone. I don't need to know my emails the instant they come in. I deleted apps that really just clutter and don't benefit. I'm trying to be intentional with not having my phone constantly on me or within reach. 

I want to unplug, so I can truly plug in to my life. I want to use my real camera and take lots of paper notes. I want to send pretty mail to others' mailboxes and dream up beautiful ideas sans Pinterest. I want to meet for coffee instead of just a quick text. 

No, in this day you can't be technology-free, but it can be used less if you're intentional. I'm not throwing everything out the window. I still use technology, and often- but I cannot become addicted. 

Which means- note to self- I really should go by myself a wrist watch and a calendar. 

The Girl with Blonde Hair

I had never been so broken before.

My heart thundered, then stopped, then thundered a million more rolls again.

I couldn't leave. I couldn't. 

This place where my heart was planted deep in the rocky terrain, where I bled and I cried, where I laughed and my heart was opened to joy again. To letting people into my brokenness. To being raw and vulnerable without fear.

Where my hand was opened again to receive His good gifts. 

Where I physically saw Him answer prayer in ways I could have never imagined.

Where I fell in love with Him all over again. 

Where He romanced my heart, danced with me through the storms and showed me just a glimpse of the breathtaking vistas He has in store.

I'm not a very emotional person. I could probably count on one hand how many times I've cried in public my entire life. Next to the time when we found out my brother's cancer had returned, I had never sobbed so hard in my life. Wracking sobs that shook my soul.

I felt like I was being emptied. I felt my heart leave my chest, heard mom calling my name, pulling my hands to get onto the van, but my eyes couldn't leave this place. They roamed and scanned wildly and tried to lock in every detail through blurry vision, eyelids blinking to clear.

Now thousands of miles away, months later, it's still a moment I relive a hundred times a day. The burning ache where my heart used to be, my soul yearning to be reunited again.

Some people don't get it. They try, but they just can't. They haven't seen what I've seen, felt what I've felt. They haven't had the dirt run through their fingers and the vision seep into their veins until it wraps and engulfs their very core.

And yet, others do. 

I may relive that moment a hundred times a day, but there's more than just feeling my heart being torn, falling onto the sand. I see more than just blurry images through the tears.

I see a girl with blonde hair. 

She followed me all that day. Hugged me. Wiped tears from her own eyes as she saw mine. She stood by me for hours as we waited for the bus. She whispered words of hope into my ear, then was brave enough to stand there in silence to give room for both our thoughts. She was real- beautifully real- giving of her soul not because it was the "right thing" to do, but because she simple did it without any pretenses or reservations. I may have been seven years her senior, yet she so faithfully ministered to my needs without even a clue. She didn't make it her "ministry". She didn't do it for praise. She just did it- because that's what love does.

And after 3 weeks of pouring into everyone around me, her action wrapped around me like a warm blanket that assured me I wouldn't be alone in this.

She didn't say it would be okay. She didn't say I'd get over it. She didn't tell me to stop crying, that the tears wouldn't stop the inevitable. She didn't say that I had a purpose elsewhere and that's why I had to leave.

She reminded me that He still loves me. 

She reassured me over and over that this was not the end- that He would bring me back. This was not a once in a lifetime experience- it was the beginning of a lifetime of purpose I had never known before.

That this look was not the last. 

There were others who had come by my side that day. They spoke as well, gave hugs and even prayed. But somehow, the girl with blonde hair vividly stands out from the rest.

She silently lived with me through that moment. Didn't speak the profound, just told me what my heart needed to hear. She cried, but she didn't leave. She stood with me as the minutes dragged tortuously onward as I waited for the van. She ran with me. She saw the unglamorous and jagged and didn't shy away.

I want to be like the girl with blonde hair. 

Want to live with people in the moment, in the broken, and be fully there to pour into their souls. Not because I have to, not because it's right- but because I'm right there with them. Not to be the hero- but to be the whisper in their ear that He still loves you. I don't want to shy away from the ugly, from the painful, but to embrace it with the arms of Christ.

It's not a duty, not a job to fix the world, never a place of glamor. It's a position of deepest humility, knowing you can't make it better, knowing your words are nothing.

It's standing there, even in the awkward and uncomfortable, to let Him live through you.

Even in silence and not saying a word. Through just being near. To say "You're not alone, because I'm choosing to walk this hard path with you"

And in that memory, I choose to live like that a hundred times a day.

Craniotomy // Letting Go

I feel so far removed.

Since coming back to the States from my time overseas, I've been someone I have never been before.

I'm turning into an introvert.

I can't seem to get back to where my heart is connected to that around me. I know why- it's still on the mountain where I left it, where I felt it rip apart from my soul and stay in the soil when I had to leave. I couldn't tell you exactly where- I couldn't see through cascading tears, wondering when I'll ever be HOME again.

Without my heart, I feel numb. 

So when my brother has craniotomy surgery today, I'm sitting here waiting for news, calmly drinking coffee and watching craniotomy surgery videos, and I know this should not be normal. Why aren't I so involved, so wrapped up in the emotion and the fear and God only knows what the outcome will be? We thought he'd never make it through last year's surgery, when the clamped his lung shut for good and sewed patches on his heart. I vividly remember the fear then. I can still feel the utter exhaustion, mentally and physically, and my hands still shake whenever I recall the utter helplessness of the unknown. Everything about that day was a last- last kiss, last "I love  you", last walk as a family. We prepared, we prepped, we knew the stakes. We were ready. 

Today, I don't feel it. I haven't prepped, haven't gone through the risks. This isn't just a lung here. It's the drilling of the skull, the opening of a brain that pulses and one wrong move changes everything forever. Somehow, I can't even think beyond this surgery to imagine the possible outcomes.

Somehow, I have closure. 

I've done all I can. I've reached out, I've prayed, I've cried. I've been there- always been there- for my brother. I can do no more. 

We send one last email to each other across the miles, both of us awake in the night because still, you can't sleep on a night like that. We say "I love you" one more time. I tell how much I respect him, look up to him. As always, I treasure his words as only a younger sister can. 

But there is peace. 

I don't know how this surgery will go. I wish I could be more in touch, feel it in the depths of my soul. 

Yet there's freedom in the letting go. 

Enough // Fill the Soul

The tea brews dark in the clear pot, the sound of the kettle still bubbling as the leaves sink deep. Steam curls upwards as I pour the golden liquid into an artsy hand-painted mug- the mug that is my favorite, with all its perfect imperfections and uneven beauty. I wrap my hands around ceramic and breathe long and slow. It smells of havdalah in a cup, sweet and spicy. Havdalah, the closing out of Shabbat, when we begin to count the days until it rolls joyfully around again. 

Some days, I wish I could speed the 24 hour periods between then and when I get to rest in His presence. To be undistracted. Still. Quiet. Listening. Ready. 

So instead I pour a cup a tea, steal away where it's just me and a whole lot of Yeshua. 

I sip slow and deliberate. I soak and absorbe the Word in front of me. I ponder hope. I sing softly holy melodies and try to embrace the few minutes I have before the schedule and grind being anew. Another day dawning, another race to run. Children to love on, souls to feed, people to serve. 

I can't do it on empty. 

I don't know what each day holds, but I know that I am not enough. 

I am not strong enough, brave enough, grace-filled enough, courageous enough, joyful enough. 

Yet He is. 

He fills my soul with the goodness of His presence and that, that is enough. Enough for 4:30am mornings, enough for fussy toddlers, enough for 21 meals cooked in the kitchen, enough for listening to another's life story, enough for my long to-do list, enough to love and forgive even when I just feel too tired to. 

My mug lies empty on the quilt, and time runs its last few grains of sand from the never-ending drip of an hourglass. But my soul- my soul is still and I know that this week He's going to give me all I need. 

All. It is enough. 

Dear Me // Letter to Myself

Dear Me,

One day you'll read this and laugh, because you'll see all those dramas and embarrassments that made you want to sink into the floor as what they really are- such small, little things in comparison to what truly matters. Whether you smile with spinach in your teeth or walk with a twisted skirt, it really is not going to make-or-break your dreams. You may feel like they do- may feel like you've ruined your only shot at this- but I promise you, nothing will make-or-break the dreams God has placed within your soul. 

Don't sweat the small stuff. Even in a world that screams perfection, you were never made to meet that standard. Seeking after it will only leave you dry, empty, and drained of all the talents God wants to reveal through you. Give yourself grace and room to breathe. Give yourself time to take in the beauty, and time to heal from the wounds inflicted by others... and by yourself. Give yourself the freedom to be you- whimsical, lioness, freckle-faced and red-headed you- regardless of what other people say.

You'll look back on the biggest heartbreaks and see them as the greatest launching pads towards God's purpose for your life. Like the summer you had heat stroke and your military aspirations drained away with the IV in your arm, the year you traveled South and experienced culture shock but somehow your heart got tied there too, the winter where you went from joy to heartbreak in 6.3 weeks and your soul grew cold like the thick ice on the windowpane, the year you went to Israel and your world turned upside down and was shaken out.

Like the embarrassment, this pain will fade, too- so don't let it stop you from living life with gusto and whimsy, with joy and dancing and taking big risks. The only regret you will have in later years is from not spreading your wings to fly because you clipped them with fear. Don't spend life avoiding the "thud" of falling, because I promise you every "thud" is worth the 30 seconds of glorious flight living fully alive in the calling God has placed on your life. 

Through it all, you were made to worship with abandon, with every fiber of your being. Every meal you bake, every piece of art you make, is all a glorious song of worship to the King. Don't let others dictate what genre that song is supposed to be, what lyrics are to be spoken, or how fluent your Hebrew should be. God just wants you to show up- in the midst of all your passionate soul, in the midst of your imperfections, in the way that only you can worship Him.   

So dear Me, live with reckless abandon, with joy unspeakable, treasuring the raw blessings, wrestling in prayer, and counting the cost. Do life big, and in years to come you will be able to see this glorious unfolding. 

I guarantee, it'll leave you speechless.

Sincerely,
Me

When Faith Feels Like Dying

You'd think I'd be used to it, having family that's done this before. No trepidation, no hesitation, just a let's-go-get-'er-done mentality. 

And I do. I really do. 

But makes it a world of difference when you're purchasing your own ticket for half way around the world. Makes it a whole lot different when it's yours and not someone else's. 

It's your world that will forever be changed. Not your dad's or your brother's or the widow next store. Your world. 

And what are you supposed to do with that? With all the unknowns and the less-than-ideal environment and late nights and early mornings and food you normally avoid here in the States- and that's not even the spiritual warfare and mental exhaustion and mountaintop highs and valley lows. 

By faith Abraham left. 

Up and left even though he didn't know where he was going. Didn't know what God was going to do. 

Sometimes faith feels like dying. 

Dying of yourself. Your dreams. Your control. 

I've never really admitted to anyone, but I'm scared of heights. I blame it on one too many times of siblings pushing me towards the edge of a cliff, then "heroically" saving me as a scream and flail. Take me to a mountaintop, and I will stay at least three feet away from the edge. Knees turn to jello and my stomach bottoms out. 

So when it's the two of us girls standing at the bottom of the climbing wall, looking up at the zip-line, she panics and says she's not going to because she's afraid of heights. 

Ditto, girl.  

But I lift my chin and say that I'm doing it- and she can, too. We climb to the top of the rickety, curving staircase, boards jutting out and slanting precariously. The attendant clips my line, secures my harness...

And I can't take my eyes off of that one inch wheel, just sitting loosely on the rope, holding me from sudden death. 

"Just jump," the attendant says, nudging me. I gulp. Jump? Really? Won't the wheel come off the track? I sit at the edge of the tower, feet dangling in the air. I clear my throat nervously. Shift back and forth on the platform, slowly inching myself off but hands still gripping wood. 

God, please don't let me fall. Please don't let me fall. Don't let me fall....

I close my eyes, suck in air, and grip the rope like it's my lifeline.

It was the most terrifying 45 seconds of my life. 

Faith is just that. Feels like dying. Feels like letting go and you're just going to fall and shatter every bone in your body. 

But faith feels like living, too. 

Wide awake, adrenaline surging, heart pumping, lungs screaming. Every part of you tingling, senses alert, soul flying. 

It's when you die to your control when you truly can live....whether it's here or halfway around the world. 

Glorious Unfolding

The water pools in the streets, droplets dancing across the surface. The clouds rumble grey, dimming the lights before the wind carries them away. I watch from the window as the evergreens sway in dance and a mist rises from the ground. The curtains billow, and I edge closer, closer, until my forehead touches the screen.

My heart resonates with this.


I can't help but close my eyes and smile, water spray misting my face. My finger traces the damp windowsill, and I wonder if I should shut this glassy pane- but no. 


In the storm, I smell the fragrance of spring.

In the tempest and storm, life springs forth. In the waiting, He is still creating. And even when I feel the rain beat hard upon my back, I know it is yet for my good- purifying me, causing my roots to sink deeper into Him, into His grace, His love.

I trust in a glorious unfolding.

Because the rain is worth the majesty of the sun bursting forth in glorious array after the storm. Worth the vibrant green of the grass soaking it all up. Worth the brilliant bow of color bent across the sky, a reminder of His enduring promise.

Without the rain, the flowers cannot unfold.

This is life- the storms, the seasons of change, the new and the old and the yet-to-be. And I realize as I pray the Amidah in the jet-black morning, as I bang the pots and pans and the smell of breakfast brings the family together before the dawn- this is glorious. To watch as His glory unfolds- in this world, in the ones you love, in yourself. 

If we knew the end from the beginning, where would the anticipation of the unfolding be? 

I look back, and I am in awe- in awe of the constant refining and the outpouring of His grace to create new things within my soul. I'm speechless, unable to convey all that has been going on in my life and in my heart these past few months, the pruning being done in my life and the anticipation of being on the verge of something new. I am eager to see the unfolding- the gloriously unfolding- of what this new season holds. More refinement. More challenges. More beauty and clearer vision. More opportunity. New chapters, new stories penned by Him. After a year of betrayal and heartache and chemo and cancer, I've only been strengthened. My heart throbs with joy-

And this is just the beginning. 

So let the rain fall, dear one. Soak it up, drink it into your soul, let it seep into all the cracks and wounds. Don't shy away from the storm- life spring up from it. Don't run from the storm, hide in your room, build up fortified walls of protection.

Without the storm, the flowers will not unfold.

(oh, this- an anthem that has been on repeat for the past week. perhaps you'll do the same? make it your candle of hope in the midst of whatever storm you're in?)

Personal // Girl Of My Heart

Precious Girl-

Oh girl of my heart, we're so much alike. I look at you, and I see me. 

And I'll say, sometimes it scares me. 

Scares me to think of all the struggles you'll go through, the lies you'll believe, the huge challenges you'll need to overcome. You'll have your fair share of tears and drama and heartache and depression. You'll fight to understand who you are, with ADD and a broken family and insecurity thinking you're at the bottom of the barrel.

And how I wish I could just hold you close. Make the ugly world hide its face. Open your eyes to see the truth and to stand up against the lies.

Ten years apart, you and me, but let me tell you, this aunt of yours still remembers what it was like to be your age. Plain as day. And your Mimi could recall countless tales of your ol' aunt sobbing in bed, thinking the world will end because the acne won't go away, friends shattering my world with their careless words and actions, comparing myself to girls prettier and smarter and skinnier until I could never measure up. 

It's a joy-stealer, darling one. Comparison will rob you blind. 

You are you. Beautiful, unique, amazingly wonderful you. You're the size you are, freckled the way you are, your hair straight and thick the way it is, all because God crafted you the way you are...because it gave Him pleasure. Every part of you, from the crown of your head to the soles of your feet, was crafted specifically and purposefully to give glory and honor to your Creator. Don't mar the beauty He's given you, precious girl, just because the world says you need to be different. Don't compare, girl- because there is nothing and no one to compare yourself to. There's no one in the world who could come close to who you are- because God only created one of you. Take it from your ol' aunt- starving yourself to fit into someone else's size, dressing to appease fashions and trends, cutting your hair and coloring it do look like someone on the screen...it will never bring you happiness or the confidence you seek. 

Never. Ever ever. Looking outside of yourself, you will never see who God has created you to be- and that is where the happiness and confidence is found. In Him. In who He created you to be. 

God has beautiful, unique, amazingly wonderful plans for your one-of-a-kind life. No one else can fill that place, girl. No one else can do what He has placed you on this earth to do. It may never be rescuing orphans in India, cleaning the slums of Haiti, or traveling the world on a book tour. It may just be the little things. Caring for your brothers and sisters. Being faithful to stand for Truth even though you stand alone. Reaching out to the unpopular girl at co-op who sits in the corner- unpopular because the popular ones deemed her the wrong size, wrong color, or wrong style. 

 It may be little things, but believe me, He's got plans for you- and you're going to be a world-changer if you're faithful. 

You're not a mistake, girl of my heart. Your quirks and personalities are given as a gift- ADD, family history, and all. Yes, it will take years for you to grow into them and be confident in what God has given you. Your aunt still doesn't have it down herself- and that's okay. But girl, you know what? We can grow together to reach the highest heights when we embrace these giftings and let God have His perfect way in our messy, broken lives. 

You're not my baby girl anymore. You're on the fast-track to becoming a woman. Life gets more complicated every day, but promise me, darling- promise me you'll open your Bible every day and let the Truth seep into your soul, into the wounds and confusion and drama that life throws at you. Cling to your Heavenly Father. He'll never change- He'll be the rock you can stand upon even though the waves are crashing high. He'll be the Father who protects you and loves you and will never let you go. 

I miss you, sweetheart. Desperately.

Last week, I cried all night. My chest grew tight with missing you. Wishing I could hold you in my arms. Go over and babysit you again- and depend on you as my right-hand girl, in the midst of fists flying and bloody noses and everyone demanding they want something different for lunch. To hear you ask your million questions and try to answer them one by one. 

Remember when Ali came, and some of you ran hiding to the boys' bedroom? How we all just piled on the lower bunk, and I held you all close? How we talked and shared and laughed, and when you were ready we went back out- and the world wasn't scary anymore? 

I will always treasure that, dear one- because I know not when we'll be able to do that again. 

But never doubt this, girl of my heart- with every beat of my own, my love for you will always remain. I'm praying for you. Loving you. Missing you. And forever, always here for you. 

I love you,
Sho 
x0x0

Life // Never the Same

The sun dawns brilliantly in ribbon strips of pink and blue. Orange rays hit the dark, cold pines, and the world begins to glow in flaming light. The ice slowly melts from inside the window. It's a normal winter morning. 

No, not normal. Every morning has become so precious. 

Because when you learn that cancer that has been staying in the chest possibly may now have moved to the brain? 

Your mornings are never the same after that. 

I thought this year would be a safe year, a year to heal and grow and blossom from all the pain that last year held. A time where we could laugh and make art and dance and never have the thought of cancer on our minds. On his mind. A year where grudges would be atoned for and everything would be back to the way it was before this battle ever came onto our radar years ago. 

Am I the only one who feels this way? The only one sounding the alarm?

Sometimes you just wish you could shake people, wake them up from a slumber so they can see life flying past. To stop holding grudges. To make amends. To love, because you may never have another day to love again.

Pass it by now, and you'll live with regret.

I just wish I knew my brother. I could count on one hand the memories I have of him from my childhood. And now that I'm older, our relationship has more to do with PET scans and chemo rounds and all the talking we ever do is done in a hospital room. I understand we're both busy. I totally get it. 

But I desperately want it differently. 

There's a large age gap between me and my older siblings, but I have treasured every word they have spoken. Some words, spoken carelessly, I shouldn't have hung on to- but what else is a girl to do? Aside from those few in childhood, I only have one other memory of my brother. He wrote me an e-mail for my 16th birthday and had my nephew sit on the counter with a Tupperware container on his head for a party hat, and sent me the picture. I believe that was around the time he was going through his first battle with AS. I treasured it- still do. I printed it off and pasted it in my journal, always to be remembered. 

This past summer, he told dad that any guy that came for my hand would have to be approved by him, too. I never felt so loved and protected by him before- and I cry every time I realize that he may never have a chance. That my husband may never know this brother of mine- to shake his hand, look him in the eye. He may never have the chance to draw from Ry's wealth of knowledge, to laugh with him, to know who he is. 

In the blink of an eye, life as you know it is suddenly drastically different. And your life? It will never, ever be the same. 

Personal // It Is Good

To be honest, I dreaded this birthday. Between turning another decade and memories from last year's birthday that still leave me in tears, how could I not? 

So when I'm standing at the sink doing a mountain of dishes alone, still in sweats and the afternoon is flying by, with coughing children on the couch and germs flying in the air- things weren't looking up for this year and I'll admit, depression was setting in. 

It's been one long year. 

Cancer. Betrayal. Death. A horrible family emergency that's still underway. World-traveling. Often being responsible for 6 children when I least expect it. Joy. Tears. 

I stand at the sink and tell mom I don't feel like celebrating. My heart feels as grey as the winter sky above, flakes falling swift and sure, smothering the world below. 

But if you have to do it, you might as well make the most of it. Do something and your heart will eventually follow. I pick out mismatched plates in bold colors (chevron and zebra stripes, anyone?), hang a pin-the-tail-on-Zevi-the-Zebra on the door, try to get in the spirit of joy. Phone rings, I answer, and the bestie's voice bubbles on the other end. She's excited about my birthday, can't wait to show me something....and slowly, joy rubs off on me. 

I hang some streamers to celebrate. Another friend sends me a text out of the blue, makes the sun start to peak around the clouds. 

Mom comes home and surprises me with a bouquet of daisies, dressed in bright bold blues and yellows and pinks and greens. I start arranging them in my favorite little vases I picked up at rummage sales, and the smile comes. 

Yes, this birthday is good. 

Good to leave the past behind. Good to walk through this season and heal. Good to walk life as an adult and take responsibility for my choices. 

I get tangled by a rowdy bunch of kidlets at the door, all clamoring for hugs and kisses. I take the oldest niece to pick up my gluten-free/dairy-free pizza, and we chatter in the car. I share a Virgil's with my grandpa and spin the kids dizzy for pin-the-tail-on-Zevi. 

Yes- it is good. 

And when my Energizer Bunny Boy comes down with a fever and his little body shakes cold, I head out to the store on a medicine run and spend the rest of the evening rubbing Vicks on little feet, coaxing down medicine and wiping tears. Yesterday it was cleaning up blood and rocking the youngest, keeping her calm after a major bloody nose. Two days before that it was doing math and spelling at the kitchen table with six voices asking questions and me trying to wrack my brain to remember the answers (why didn't anyone tell me that I really would need to remember the things I learned in school?). 

Yes- life is good. 

So hello new year- let me take you on with shoulders squared, boots on, and pack empty. Here's to dancing for the audience of One and living fully where He has me- bloody noses, drama, and all. 

Carving time to Breathe

Things have been silent on the screen, but much has been happening away from it. Another adventure to pack for, suitcases laying wide to be filled on the old honey-colored planks of floor, outfits spilling over the bed- a hodgepodge to be sorted, ordered, and made sense of. Evenings like this make my heartbeat quicken, makes it yearn for the things He's going to do. 

Yet it's a quiet evening, because in the midst of skirts and snacks and journals I carve out time for myself to simply breathe. 

This playing softly, in anticipation of a holy weekend of worship. Tea steaming in my old grad mug, perfect size for little hands like mine. Scripture scrawled on the wall, a reminder of His branding on my life, my very being, what He names me. Candles flickering on the table. 

I close my eyes and breathe. Breathe prayers of eucharisteo. Thanksgiving. Grace. Joy. Ponder the work He is doing, how He's weaving this story of mine. Taking frayed ends, tying them off, and weaving threads of gold through this tapestry instead.  

Who knew a story would be written like this? Not I.

So much higher. So much more beautiful. So much more meaningful. 

It's not just my story- it's yours, too. He's in the midst of your story, too- scripting and sculpting and burning away the dross. Bringing beauty from ashes. It's a promise- I've seen Him do it. 

So take a step back and pause. Close out the world. Take the time to breathe- when we stop rambling into the windy storm, shut our mouths and just listen, we will hear His still small voice in the whisper of the breeze. Enter in- and let Him show you the glory He's weaving, the ends He's snipping, and an awe-stirred realization of His faithfulness in your life. 

He's there in the quiet if you carve the time out to meet Him there. 

Grace-filled Simplicity

Growing up, summer was always my least favorite season. I hated the heat, the humidity, the sticky feeling when you go from AC to 90's. But this year, after a winter of darkness and cold, of chemo and pain, the sun's rays have seemed like soothing nectar to my soul. I've never experienced it before.

I can't stop drinking it up. 

Perhaps it's because after a taste of a muggy Southern summer I truly appreciate my balmy Northern one, or perhaps it's because my mighty Elohim is healing my soul- showing me how to sing again, to LIVE again. 

You only get one life to live- we have to embrace it. 

We have to get past the pain of chemo and the sting of relationships and the trama of death of loved ones. We have to learn to open our fists again and fully accept this crazy grace- HIS crazy grace. Choose to see these gifts He's given, to fully be alive and embrace every joy. 

I've found it in simplicity. Taking things slow. Recording these gifts, a living record of His faithfulness. 

I'm going to enjoy this summer to it's fading golden rays. Sometimes it's big things, like glorious weddings and traveling this beautiful country. Joy isn't materialistic things- it's dancing praise with all your might as your bare feet pound the plywood floor with a hundred other hearts, it's spending Shabbat by the lakeshore, it's mending relationships and building bridges. It's little things like sharing chips and pop in the shady grass with a fraction of the passel of nieces and nephews, it's coffee dates with mom, it's swinging on the hammock with my brother as the sun fades and we unburden our hearts to each other. These happy gifts are laughter, fresh produce, new friends and hearing from old ones. It's wrestling prayer, the breezes of fresh air, curly hair and long dresses that make me feel like a princess.

It's choosing to see everything with new eyes. Put the computer away, shut off my phone. Even if it's just for an hour or two- or maybe a whole week media free.

It's recording these moments of grace, these beautiful gifts He bestows on His unworthy bride...

Because love? It never stops giving. 

--
(care to share your list of grace gifts today? can we see if everyone can name at least 10- from sunlight flickering on the windowpane to cupping a hot mug of pumpkin spice latte? share yours in a comment below!)