It’s Easter weekend – but you already knew that.
In past years blogging, I’ve made a big deal about this holiday – my favorite holiday, that is – and written posts, and tweets, and I’ve jumped up and down over what Easter means to me.
This year’s a little different.
Not because I’m not excited, no. I’m thrilled. But Easter means something a little different to me this year, something a little deeper, something I hold a little tighter to my heart than in years past.
This day means everything to me, and it’s difficult to find the words to describe it well. Continue reading
I turned seventeen this past Sunday – on April second, two-thousand seventeen.
If you don’t know me personally, you may not have known my age until now.
And it’s not as if it’s a secret – I simply decided a while ago that I didn’t want people to judge me or my writing on my age alone, or have to try and explain when I mention school that I’m a college student, even though I’m supposed to be a high school student, and kind of still am for a few more months.
But something hit me really hard last week. I was talking to some college friends, and coming to the realization that the average age of the majority of my friends is around twenty years old.
And it’s funny – because I joke about it all the time, the fact that I forget that I’m not twenty, myself.
But it’s more than just a joke.
After spending almost an entire week discussing everything under the sun with a dear friend, a friend that’s my own age, I realized how important it was that I don’t forget that I’m only seventeen.
I’ll only ever be seventeen once.
My story isn’t over yet.
I gently ink these words onto my left forearm, pen gliding along my skin, the letters coming out with lines and loops.
The words echo in my head, bringing me peace and hope that wasn’t there before.
It isn’t over for me –
I mark a semicolon on the edge of my wrist.
I know the One who holds the pen to my story.
** Continue reading
I’m sitting at the counter, jittering from my intake of caffeine, waiting to take a final, and seriously thinking about the future.
To be perfectly honest, I’ve been a little disoriented lately. Thinking about what I’ll do next is so tiring, sometimes.
Because every time I think I’ve figured everything out about what I’ll be doing and where I’ll be in a few years, something changes. My desires change, my situations change, anything and everything and it sends me into a mental frenzy.
If you couldn’t tell from any of my previous posts, I’m one of those classic Type-A, list-writing, goal-driven, oftentimes perfectionistic girls.
I’ve written about how much this affects my life – about how it’s caused me to struggle with accepting grace, accepting my worth, and living fully, freely, wholly.
But this year, this 2017, I’ve implemented some things into my life that have helped me make grace tangible, my faith just as a part of my life as every other thing on my lists.
And the first thing is my Done List.
Many people in the world have to-do lists; whether chicken-scratched on a loose scrap of paper, dictated into Evernote, or perfectly printed in a notebook, we’re all familiar with the concept. It’s our own human way of organizing our lives, of creating little goals with checkboxes and a dose of self-motivation thrown in.
But I don’t use to-do lists. I use something called a Done List.
Every good story involves some kind of journey.
I’ve been thinking about my journey a lot, lately. Thinking about how in five years I’m gonna look back on this moment and remember the things I felt, the things I thought, what I did and who I spent my time with and how I lived my life, and I’ll be so far removed from those things then.
I’m looking ahead to the day I’ll look back and see how things have changed.
How I’ve changed.
How those around me have changed.
Because even now, I look back, and I’ve learned, and grown, and changed so much. Even the very way I approach life now is so different. I have different perspectives, different struggles, different voices in my life I listen to.
This year so far has been one of conversations, of thinking, of beginning to define myself.
Something that often crosses my mind is this thought: Who am I?
And I can go through the surface things. I can say I’m a college student, a sister and daughter, a musician, a writer. But are those things enough?
I’ve been playing with this idea, of being rather than doing. Focusing on who I am, not just what I do as the definition of me.
On my own, I can do a lot of things. I can write articles and play music and be kind and use my mind. I can. But if I am to place my entire value, the sum total of my worth into these things – where will I be when these things fall away?
I absolutely, positively, love life.
Not that it’s easy, or pain-free, or pleasant all the time. It’s not.
But after a long string of posts about God feeling so far away, and finding hope in pain, and saying no, and inadequacy, and doubting God’s promises, and searching for meaning – I think we need a post on celebrating life.
Sometimes we wake up in the mornings, with a to-do list a mile long, a mess to clean up, and stress to deal with – and it’s honestly rather difficult at times.
But what if we decided to wake up with joy?