Top Ten Unconventional Overseas Packing Tips // Find Me Over Here

That You've Never Thought of Before 

...but you'll thank me later... 

{{ find my guest post over at Alisha In Progress today }}

When God Moves // Fear Cannot Hold You Back

The majority of the time, God surprises me. 

It's very rarely I ever sit back and say, "Oh yeah, totally knew He was going to do that." I wish I did. I wish my zealous soul wouldn't consult reality, or that fear would stalk behind faith. 

It didn't used to be that way. Betrayal, death, cancer, and the death of dreams tend to shake the child-like faith upside down and violently wring it out. 

They say time heals all things, but I know better- He does. 

My trip overseas last year left me changed in ways I never want to forget. I saw Him renew my hope, breathe into my soul that He still gives good things. And for this girl who's lived in the cold of winter too long, to see everything as blossoming and beautiful took my breath away. 

It still does. 

He answers prayers of improbability, and it still takes my breath away. 

--

I was convinced the door was closed. I prayed, I fasted, and after hearing nothing I just dusted off my hands and walked away. I wasn't going to keep pounding- no use breaking down a door if He wasn't going to be there. 

Turns out, it was open all along. Instead of pounding on a closed door, I just had to turn the knob. 

Within 24 hours everything just fell into place, in ways that left me utterly speechless. There was no way to hide when the Hand of God worked in front of you in such bold ways, laying it all in place. 

Yet, I wished I could hide. 

The thought of doing this utterly terrifies me. 

I find myself quaking, fearful, terrified of loneliness and sickness and being so removed from my life for such a long time. I'm terrified of the unknown. Terrified of what I've never done before.

Fear and faith cannot coexist. 

Of course, it's the Year of Emuna. The Year of Faith. 

Of course. 

To say yes to the Year of Emuna is to say yes to the Year of No Fear, too. Hand in hand. One cannot come without the other. 

This is the biggest leap of faith I've ever been asked to take. And to be honest, it feels like I'm just going to fall off the edge. I have no idea what to expect. I have nothing to compare what I'm about to do to. 

I just have to keep following His signs. His promises. His working and moving and His fingerprints in it all. 

I have no other choice. Wherever He leads, I have to follow. A covenant doesn't hold only for the sweet comfortable and familiar- it holds fast even if the fire grows hot and uncomfortable. Even if it's lonely or it's scary or it's difficult. Even if it requires unbelievable work and sweat and blood and tears. Even if it costs all I have and it takes every last drop. 

As Danessa Foo says, "Fear is placing your faith in What Ifs rather than God Is"

Never once have I ever walked alone. 

He's not going to leave me now. 

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. 

Happy Birthday // Hope Extravagantly

My dearest brother-

Today is your birthday. 

How many years have I lived thinking there would never be another?

God. He is faithful. 

Cancer, it shouldn't be a routine or a part of anyone's life, but here you are fighting it like the bravest of them. Cancer doesn't give you a day off, so you keep fighting and scaling your mountains even when all you wish you could do is have a break. Have a breather. Do nothing for a while. 

But then, perhaps that is the secret that you know and none of us do- we never really get a day off. 

Every day is a precious, glorious thing. It's one you covet every morning you wake up and every night before you go to sleep. You do anything for one more day- one more chance to make memories, to say the words the hearts around you need to hear, to be there in the thick of it no matter the pain. 

How is it that you fight for this, while others just throw in the towel?

My childhood best friend committed suicide last month. Last week another girl I grew up with did the same. My shoulders bear the weight of phone calls and text messages from countless others who ask me, "Is this really worth it?" 

You and I, we're fighters, and it's hard for me to believe that not everyone is the same way. While they want to give up, I fight their battles for them on my own knees. 

And I pray you, when you feel that same weight, ask those same questions- I pray you do the same. 

Hope is what we crave. 

This year, that's what I pray over you, too. 

Hope. 

Not just hope for a day without cancer, or for one more opportunity. Not just hope for restoration, or hoping you've done all you could. 

I pray you hope in the God of Hope. 

Not just believe in God who sent His Son. Not just a deal with the Creator that if you obey Him, He'll give you your life back. 

He's more than that. 

I pray your relationship with Him fills you with hope in your inner being. That hope that says, "He is always in control and a miracle is always in every breath." That hope that fills you with joy and with peace, knowing that this is not out of His plan. 

Hope, because you trust Him. 

Those who throw in the towel, they lost that hope. They couldn't accept His love in the midst of pain, couldn't trust Him with their lives so they took their lives into their own hands. Nothing in the entire world could satisfy them with the joy and peace they desperately searched for- although He was right there, arms open to them, all along. 

I don't want you to merely survive cancer. I want you to thrive in the midst of cancer. 

I want you to live today- even with this kind of news- so full of grace and His glory that it's sloshing over onto everything you touch. 

Today- and every day- I want you to live extravagantly. 

Where we eat dessert for breakfast and go for midnight walks under starlit skies, where we randomly stop over people's houses to put flowers on their porches. Where no request is too much for us to do, no favor is too high a price. Where everything we do is motivated by love. 

Love does, after all. 

Isn't that the love He shows us? Always doing? Always giving? 

Always extravagant. 

This year, let's live the extravagant. Live moved by hope. Live being still in trust. 

And today, even though there's more treatments to think of and what if always plays in the back of your mind, I pray you celebrate without any hindrance of grief or depression. 

Because today, today is a gift. 

And you are an incredibly priceless gift to me. 

I love you always, 
Your sister
xoxo

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. 

Fear and Fatih

2014 was an amazing year.

It was my year of redemption, to stand on the mountaintops and to see that the past two years of pain were not for nothing. That ever step I took- even in the dark- was on one sure path to the destination He had intended for me.

It was my year of E'chad, my year to be one with God- to be so focused on doing all for His glory and for Him alone that I wasn't concerned on pleasing the crowds and dancing for the approval of others. I won't pretend it was easy- but it was so, so worth it.

It was restoration. To see Him open His hand with good things as I sought who He is, as I pursued a deeper relationship far more intimate than it had ever been before. It was beautiful, and I didn't want it to end.

2015 came, and I determined I would continue on my one-word journey with Emuna- faith- knowing that everything that comes into my life is for a purpose and a reason. It's a year of hope, believing that He has good things in store and that He works all things for my good. Trusting that everything He allows is to shape my character and to grow me into the woman He wants me to be.

I was ready for another year of great things- but in order to get great things, it takes great work, too. Only real risk tests the reality of a belief.

Faith...it seems so simple. Believing like a child. No fear, no anxiety...serenity. Not knowing all the details, and that being okay.

I didn't realize that to say yes to the Year of Emuna was also to say yes to the Year of No Fear.

And that's terrifying.

It's terrifying to jump out of the boat. Terrifying to do the hard things. To do the uncomfortable, the uncommon, the overlooked. Terrifying to take the initiative, to put your heart out there and stake it all on what God has called you to do.

It's terrifying to take that leap of faith. 

Faith isn't defined by comfort or complacency. It's defined by forgoing all logic and statistics, by taking both feet off of solid ground and knowing God is going to meet you there.

Fear and faith cannot coexist. 

I can't trust God and not act upon it. If I say I want increased faith, I have to know that the ground I stand on is going to shift from underneath my feet. I have to know that when the walls crack and the rain pours and the storm swells, that it is well because He's got it all in His Hands. Faith means I can't sit idle. I have to be out there, getting my hands dirty and my brow sweaty, doing hard things in completely faith that He is going to take my tiny measure and make it into something more.

I can't fear failure. I can only trust His faithfulness.

From E'chad to Emuna, I stand at the edge of the cliff and my knees shake. My heart races.

But this is living fully alive. 

Throw fear to the wind- because faith demands the leap.

You may feel like you're falling, but this is how He will teach you to fly. 

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.