Easter Weekend: on how art echoes purpose & hope in a desperate world

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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

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Happy Anniversary, Scattered Journal Pages + a Giveaway

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Wow.

 

I can’t believe it’s been two years since the inception of this blog; two long years, yet it feels like a blink to me.

 

Looking back on old posts today was nostalgic and slightly embarrassing as I read over the awkwardly-crafted words – but it reminded me of the adventure I’ve been on since 2015.

 

I’ve learned so much just by going for it. By living. By trying new things, like starting a blog when I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

 

I’ve learned that people connect with honesty, vulnerability, and openness, instead of someone trying too hard to be funny.

 

I’ve learned how important it is to listen – not just talk.

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Of Love and Grace

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Love’s crazy and amazing.

 

It’s past one o’clock in the morning. I’m writing, I’m thinking, I’m praying, I’m dreaming. I’m reading, I’m hoping, I’m feeling, believing.

 

Nights like these are good nights for me. Every so often I glance up from my journal and fix my gaze on my twinkle lights, my sky-blue walls, my slatted shades, my messy space – and I take a breath again.

 

I’ve never been in love. At least, not yet. Sure, I’ve had a few crushes here and there, like we all have had growing up, but there’s something about love that just captivates me, awakens my senses to something greater.

 

As I sit here on my bed, legs tucked gently under me, clad in an oversized sweatshirt, leggings, and hair such a mess…I’m honestly quite overwhelmed.

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My Ink-Stained, Remembrance-Filled Practice

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Hey, can I let you in on a little secret?

 

Yes, you. Right here, right now.

 

I have a pretty good memory, for the most part. I can recall so many details from conversations and places and events that happened ten years ago. I can remember sights, smells, tastes, emotions, all so vividly.

 

But there is one thing that I can so easily forget…and that’s goodness.

 

Not goodness in the world, I don’t mean that. Look up random acts of kindness on Tumblr and they’re right there. Goodness isn’t too difficult to find in people’s actions, even when this sinful world’s in chaos.

 

But sometimes…I forget those simple truths I’ve known for years. Sometimes, I forget the goodness of God.

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On Planning and When Things Turn Out Radically Different Than We Imagined

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The funny thing about writing is that it’s made up of so many ideas and so few realities. A lot of thinking, a lot of different visions of where to go – and then sitting down at the computer to actually write is often quite torturous.

 

Yes, I know I say I love this whole writing thing, but it’s really hard, alright?

 

There’s a lot of thinking involved. A lot of planning. A lot of daydreaming.

 

And then I sit down to my computer and the words don’t totally know where to go. They don’t know whether to form long sentences or short, to be sophisticated or poetic or blunt, to be precise or to be vague. They don’t know whether to arrange themselves into a concise doctrinal argument, or into a messy, heart-spilling session of vulnerability.

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Why Do You Do What You Do?

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Why do I even do this?

 

Deeply breathing, I eke out the words, one by one. And slowly, slowly, my fingers begin to glide over the keys, and I let my thoughts run.

 

I don’t really know what I’m doing.

 

Oftentimes, the words come out more vulnerable than I’d like them to be.

 

What if I’m not living the life I’m supposed to be living?

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How to Pursue Purpose-Filled, Intentional Living

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I don’t want to write just to write.

 

I penned these words in my journal on July 17th, 2015, a time when I was wrestling with the difference between simply writing words, and writing words that mean something.

 

After timidly claiming the title of “writer,” I decided that maybe that wasn’t who I truly was.

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