Making My Bed in the In-Between

Sometimes I just sit here and realize I’m living the life I dreamed of. As I write this, I’m sipping Kona coffee (hello, hazelnut latte!) in a little local cafe at a window overlooking the Pacific ocean as her waves crash into the lava rock. Depending on my mood, their interaction will either remind me of faith and flesh’s tug of war, or that moment when I can finally fall back into the arms of someone I love. Surrounding me are fellow students, each working on their own memoirs or photo series. Faintly familiar music hums in the background, overpowered by the sea’s song. The lack of air conditioning is slowly growing comfortable, perhaps even preferred. Birkenstocks have gone from relatively new to well worn in a matter of weeks. Glasses are scratched, watch broken in, and hair raggedy. And I have never been more content.

The dichotomy of adoring my present state and missing home is as present as ever, but I’m learning to find peace within that. My heart will always be half here, half somewhere else, but I suppose that’s both the beauty and struggle of being a traveler.

week four (2 of 8)

Having my father come visit me this past week for my birthday confirmed that even more. Home is no longer concrete: it is purely at Jesus’s feet. Life is no longer concrete, so I lay that at His feet as well. While my father was here, Darlene Cunningham, wife of the founder of Youth With A Mission, Loren Cunningham, was speaking to us each morning. Perhaps the most impactful lesson she gave was that Jesus will always give grace right when it’s needed, not before, not after. Because of this, I refuse to worry about tomorrow. My flesh may yell and scream otherwise, but His Spirit in me is stronger and I refuse to give in to the subtle yet pervasive lie that God is not mighty enough to handle the life He gives me.

So I’ll take it all in stride; leaning into it, as my father would say. I’m learning to love this in between state of planning for the next adventure while gleaning as much as possible from┬áthe current. My God is able to do “immeasurably more than all we could ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20),” so I have absolutely nothing to fear. Instead, it’s a wild adventure with the One who formed my soul.

week four (7 of 8) week four (6 of 8) week four (5 of 8) week four (3 of 8)

Until next time,

XOXO

Hungry Hearts

Do You hear the sound?
Hungry hearts
We are one thousand
Crying “Holy, You are.”DSC_0264

Do You feel the rush
Hungry hearts
Grateful, we push
Forward to Your arms.DSC_0237

United purpose
Single Spirit
Fragrant roses
We lift our souls to You.DSC_0206

One thousand tongues
Words of fire
We lift our souls to You
Lift us higherDSC_0244

Joy resounding
From the trees, the sky
We lift our souls to You
Lift us high.DSC_0270

Do You hear the sound?
Hungry hearts
We are one thousand
Crying ‘Holy, You are.’DSC_0277

September Sunrise

It’s a farewell season
On to new horizons
Heralded by autumn’s fire
With each hello this
Summer is demanding a goodbye
It seems, if not to faces
Then phases
But I’m learning
I’m okay with it.


In the quiet
Fear assaults
Ferocious doubt, like a lion
Will tear me to shreds, if not
I take the plunge, over the deep end
Into the blue abyss, swim until
My feet find land.


It is time to leave
My feet are aching
For unknown shores, dreams unseen
I will return
But for now, I must leave
This town feels small
It’s only shrinking
It is I who must grow
My feet are aching.

Rabbit Hole War Base

A quiet little rabbit hole
Come hear His Name
Sweet truths proclaimed
War preparations you’ll see
Defenses for those who can no longer fight
Through the darkness to see the light.

We’ve been deemed insane, once or twice
“There’s no battle coming
The only fight’s inside your mind”
We’ve been told times before
But now
The veil is tearing, revealing
Monsters hiding behind
Seemingly beautiful smiles.

Darling, come in!
There’s room, always room
Let Him hide you
Let Him heal you
The war’s been waged
And you find yourself caught
On the wrong side
He’s reaching, reaching
For you
Will you let His children
Help carry you out?
It will first take a leap
Recognize the cave you’re in
Beloved, it’ll be worth it
To escape those chains
Will you be carried out
Or remain in the miry pit?

We’re used to extremes
There’s no pain you can bring
From which we will shy
All we can do is turn you to Him,
The only One who heals
This is not a song of self-praise
This is a statement of faith
We are more than is seen
We are the quiet underground
Working to save lost and lonely souls
Caught in the raging sea.

Terracotta Sweater

Lately in my life things randomly and bizarrely disappearing has become commonplace, to the point where my dad has seriously considered buying a hidden camera for the house to see where it all goes and how it vanishes. I have learned that even of my personal belongings, I have no real control. Only God does, but in that there is so much peace. But these disappearances are merely a part of a hidden painting.

It’s a season of gentle interludes. Clock in, clock out, typewritten prayers and telephoned memories. Perhaps one day the future will come, but for now it stands a hazy mirage in this desert land. My words feel mediocre. Do I have what it takes to go pro, or will I ever remain an amateur? Clock in, clock out, sip the coffee, make the copies, and pretend to myself that one day I’ll be an honest artist.

I don’t know what the future holds. Perhaps one day the work will pay off and writing will become my full time job, next to ministry; or perhaps it’s just a little girl’s dream along with unicorns and rainbows made of lollipops. All I know is that the Lord is holding it, and if I can let go, there is so much beauty and adventure in the unknown. He will make me into the artist I am designed to be, in His perfect way and timing. While this interlude is meant for rest, my mind insists on pushing on into worry. How often is that the case? The Lord blesses us and we do everything in our power to distort it into something vile. No. Not today. Today I will curl up in my terracotta sweater, sip the coffee, make the copies, and breathe, always breathe. The most perfect God of the universe is holding me and these dreams. Life is haywire, but darling, isn’t it beautiful?

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Photographs taken at Panther Coffee (Wynwood, FL), the Old Florida Bookshop (Hollywood, FL), and the Florida-Georgia Line.