Into Marvelous Light

Confession, just between you and me: I have spent an embarrassing amount of time planning my wedding. My feeble excuse is that I’m a female. I feel like it’s my right. You know? Don’t all little girls grow up dreaming of a fairy tale wedding—whatever that might look like? My wedding fever comes and goes, even now—at a time in my life when I know I’m not even close to being ready to be a wife or a mom. I look at pictures on Pinterest; I tuck ideas into my memory bank when I attend a friend or family member’s wedding; I keep a note in my phone of all kinds of wedding odds and ends. Okay, in all honesty, I know it’s pathetic. But also maybe a little normal? Because I’ve grown up in this society where we put love on a pedestal. In all the TV shows, all the movies, all the books, the romance steals the show. Love gets good ratings. It just does. We’re relational human beings. We desire to connect deeply with each other, and when we find people we do connect with, we hold onto

This post is a PSA. With a year under my belt of this crazy thing that people call college, I have collected four of the absolute worst statements/questions that I have heard most from friends, family, strangers, what-have-you. I’m calling them hate-ments. Now, if you have said any of these “hate-ments” to me, fret not. It’s okay. I’ve said them to other people my age without thinking. We’re humans. We can’t help it. This is more of a friendly reminder that we college students are actual people, who do think of the future sometimes and maybe don’t always run on three hours of sleep and four cups of coffee like you might assume. Ready? Okay, let’s do this thing: [[Fellow college students, correct me if I’m wrong on any of these, and feel free to add your own hate-ments to this list. It is by no means exhaustive.]] Hate-ment #1: “Have you met anyone?” My gosh. I will tell you when I meet someone. If I meet someone. For real. Or I will post an Instagram because you kn

My soul is a heavy one. Maybe all souls are heavy, and we just carry them differently. Maybe some people can handle it better than others. Maybe some people hide it because they think souls are supposed to be light. Maybe some souls actually are light. I don't really know, you see, because I am not carrying others' souls in this body. The only thing I know for sure is that mine is like lead.  Which, obviously, makes no sense. Because wow, my life is good. Don't think I don't know that. I've never lacked what I need; I've never been unwanted or unloved. Heartache isn't something I'm overly familiar with. I come from a cute little family that lives a quiet, happy life and never rocks the boat for fear of making waves. We are simple, but we are grand. In my opinion. So then why do I feel like my soul is weighing me down when I get up to face each day? If I come from a happy life, shouldn't I have a happy soul? If Jesus died for all my human ins

Okay, it's been awhile. I have a problem. I think these half-thoughts, and I'm like "Oh yes I should blog about that." Then, I don't. And I tell ya what, I frustrate myself  so much. So this is like three months' worth of my half-thoughts. Good luck. I've been really into Sidewalk Prophets over the last couple months. Seriously, I am a fan. There's just something about them. Anyway, their song "Keep Making Me" has been popular over the last year or so, and recently I've started actually listening to the lyrics. [[you know, instead of just singing them at the top of my lungs in my car with the windows rolled down]]. Each verse starts with essentially a request to God: "Make me broken, so I can be healed... Make me empty, so I can be filled... Make me lonely, so I can be Yours." Like wait. Hold up. Make me what? None of those sound all that great to me. I mean the results do. But can't I be healed, filled and His

I am made of empty spaces. That’s what being human means. There is a certain longing, a certain loneliness that comes with existence on this earth. I can’t even count the number of things and people that have filled my emptiness temporarily. That’s the other part of being human—we fill our voids with other human things. All those things, though, [[whether they were people or places or even books]] just ended up leaving me emptier than before. Chasms and canyons of loneliness and isolation. Empty spaces. Here’s the thing about being a human: It’s all temporary. In the span of about 90 years [[on a pretty generous unofficial average, of course]], I’m going to love hundreds of people, go hundreds of places, read hundreds of books. And you know what’s scary? Not a single one of them is going to last. People leave; places change; books end. If I rely on anything in this life to fulfill me—to complete me—I’m going to end up right where I started. A mess of broken pieces and empty space

"All good things must come to an end." I've heard that phrase way too many times in my short nineteen years of existence. Or long nineteen years of existence, depending on the day and my mood. ;) Someone jokingly asked me at one point this past summer, "Why do all good things have to end?" I didn't really think that much of it. It was a joke; I laughed; we moved on. But I've been stuck on that a lot lately. I had a pretty fantastic 2014, ya know? I graduated from high school; I made some priceless new friends, and strengthened my relationships with others; I went to Europe; I loved and was loved so very deeply. And, like all good things, 2014 had to come to an end. High school is over. All my fun little road trips are over. The movie nights and Starbucks dates I shared with the friends I love being with so much are over. And I keep going back to that silly little question: Why? Why do so many of the great things in life have to be so short? Why d