A letter

Posts Tagged ‘honesty’


In Bloomfield on December 31, 2016 at 7:58 pm


Tomorrow I’ll be another year older. Three-hundred and sixty-five days will have passed, and I will get to start again. Sigh. 

I would be lying if I said the past year was easy. If I said it was free from heartbreak. If I said it was free of disappointments, loneliness, anger, and struggle. There were more days than I can count where all I wanted to do was hide and come out again when it was easier—when the road was less rocky. I feel emotional ending this way. I feel fragile looking back.

But, I’d also be lying If I said there were no joys. If there weren’t victories. If there weren’t graces that kissed us. If there weren’t hands that sustained us. If there weren’t three little people that gifted us with uproarious laughter and delight. If there weren’t milestones to be celebrated—mountains we have climbed. If God didn’t give us His gold in Goldie. If there weren’t wildflowers all along the way.

Pain makes beauty more beautiful. It’s the contrast that highlights. It makes me appreciate the treasures, and savor the richness in life. And, it’s in my broken and fragile state where I find myself really leaning on Him. Not able to contribute a thing to His many graces. Not bringing my own mercies to the morning.

Sometimes life is a fight, and the fight is what’s beautiful. It’s beautiful because it’s real. It’s beautiful because it’s not easy. It’s beautiful because it takes courage. It’s beautiful because it’s what we’ve been given. Not something perfect, or flawless, or easy, but something rugged and dangerous and defying. And it’s in this nitty gritty that it’s most beautiful.

If you want to know where to find me this year, it will be here: back up, stabbing at dreams, peeking around corners, daring to fly, out on a limb, standing at the edge of cliffs. And, I’ll be soaring, because there is always a brighter day. And He who holds the future writes a good story with our lives. And one thing I know for sure is that he’s not done writing yet.

The best days are always ahead!



David gave me this necklace on our anniversary this year. It’s a stirrup. It’s been years since I’ve ridden. Sometimes dreams feel like lifetimes ago. They feel out of reach. This was our reminder to keep dreaming. A symbol of the “better” still ahead. Both old and new. 


In the face of fear: Shadow dwelling.

In New York Summer on August 15, 2015 at 10:27 am

In the throws of change and the unknown, at times this week I felt like I was dangling off a cliff. I fought through the days giving it all I had, grasping for trust, uttering truths under my breath. The nights met me with sleeplessness, and I could feel fear and panic trying to grab my heart. I spent several nights this week bawling myself to sleep just calling out to Jesus, knowing I have nothing to fear, but feeling it so near.

It’s been a Psalm-like week. I find it so easy to romanticize the Psalms I have read my whole life, yet in doing so, forget the real struggle of David’s soul. He didn’t write “tears have been my bed day and night” for poetry’s sake. He wrestled with life’s reality and the goodness of God. He felt at times forgotten. He was aware of the frailty of his own soul. But though he struggled, though he was despairing at times, he continually declared the goodness we know to be true of our God. Even when he heard no answer, he would say,”But for you, O Lord, do I wait: it is You, O Lord my God, who will answer.”

This has been my journey this week. In my dance with fear, at times I felt alone and helpless. Yet in spite of fear, I found courage from David’s journey to speak what I know to be true. I have reminded my heart that I have never seen the righteous forsaken. I’ve continued to believe that I will not be shaken, because He is my Rock. I found courage this week from Davidfrom his honesty, from the bareness of his own soul, and from his clinging to Yahweh amidst darkness. I’ve found freedom in admitting I’m afraid, so that He can take me from it.

You probably remember my childhood verse as well as I do. It’s been my daily bread–my meditation. It’s been so comforting, so familiar, and yet so new:

“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I  trust. For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness is a shield and buckler.”

I’m finding my place in His shadow again.

Love you, friend,


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