still

i truly do still love to write

i still love Jesus, just a little differently now

i still wear my glasses every single day

i still eat mac and cheese and wear that gray sweatshirt when i’m feeling off

i still love things that feel old and vintage and fragile and beautiful

i still wear those converse and orange is still my favorite flavor

i still love gentle, ballet piano music

i still love singing at the top of my lungs to taylor’s songs

i still really, really love love

it’s exciting to look back and see how far you’ve come and admire all the growth and progress and change, and that is definitely so important to do

but there’s something nice about seeing how much i’ve been through and finding comfort in the fact that i’m still the same me

that some sweet, small parts of me have still remained untouched

new journal

it feels so significant to start a new journal. knowing i’ve filled the pages of another book feels simultaneously satisfying and nostalgic. i remember writing to cope, to live, and starting to come back to that feels good. i’ve journaled almost daily now since march-ish, which is the longest i’ve journaled consecutively since... forever. maybe high school. i love journaling and writing to You and spewing words about my day, but i think i miss describing the intangible. i miss poetry. i used to always be in a poetic state of mind– i think i still have it. i used to love and consume writing and poetry like it was a part of me. i think a big change has been emotional maturity, but also my relationship with You. You’re my solace now, not the blank lined pages. You created me to love this, to process and document here, but it’s not my only safety anymore. You are.

so sure, i’ll keep writing and learning and loving and living in these pages, but it’s different now.

it’s warmer with You here.

falling

i don’t know why i was so afraid, 
i think we’re afraid of the things we’re not totally sure about
i think i’m afraid of the unknown
all the questions that are left unanswered until you ask them
but you’re afraid to ask them
because you’re not sure if you’ll like the answer
falling is universally scary
even if it’s the thing i’m best at
it’s still terrifying 
i know i’m a thrill seeker
but that doesn’t mean it’s not still scary each time
how can you know you want something so badly, but still be scared to death of it?

truly knowing You

I wonder how you’d take your coffee, if you’re a morning person, if you like to sing.
I wonder if you’d listen to folklore with me in the car even though she curses.
I wonder if you get cold easily like I do, and I wonder what your favorite candle scent is.
It’s the trivial things that keep me up, like your favorite color or your sense of style.
It’s the little things that make you up, like what we would talk about if you were really here for a while.
I wonder if you’d like skateboarding, or if you’d prefer to go grocery shopping alone.
I wonder if you have a favorite season, or if you like them all for different reasons– I do.

I know about your grace, peace, and majesty, but I just wish I knew what your laugh sounded like.

she’s still here

she’s been such an inspiration for so long– longer than I can remember. she’s just always been in my life, always providing the soundtrack for whatever season I’m going through. she comes and goes, but she’s always encouraging.

i don’t know her, but I can feel that she wants the best for me.

what’s happening in me now is beautiful and new– it only makes sense that she’d release something beautiful and new. i’m sitting on our patio drinking mediocre coffee and eating a piece of the banana bread brit made yesterday. the sun is warm, but the breeze is cool. i’m listening to my morning mercy playlist. my toes are in the grass and the sky is clear and the air feels new today. it’s exciting, definitely, but it’s also peaceful and calm and comfortable. it feels like alone, but not lonely.

i feel like she probably knows the feeling, and she’s probably written about it too.

32

Close your eyes,
go to a beautiful place,
go to the nearest house,
and open the door.

You from ten years into the future answers the door.
What is she like?

32.

I think she’s glowing, just radiantly happy. She’s confident in where she’s at and where God has her right now. She’s beautiful and kind. She invites me in immediately and makes sweet coffee. She gives long, tight hugs and smells like shampoo. She is gentle, and she is genuine. She has lots of real, interesting friends, and her Spirit-filled community is stronger than ever. She’s content sitting here with me sipping coffee, but I can tell if I were to suggest an adventure, she’d already be packed.

I think she probably thinks about me a lot.

She is encouraging and loving and brave and wise. I couldn’t stay long, and I could tell as I was leaving that there is much more to her than meets the eye. Is she married? Does she have kids? Is she successful in her career? I can’t tell any of these things, and maybe it’s because she doesn’t let those things define her. I noticed her Bible, thick with sticky notes and crumpled, tea-stained pages. I noticed her journals piled high the side table. He is who defines her, finally.

And I’m so excited to be her.

this is new

i have to actively fight it, i have to fight for my life against it
it’s combat
this is a test of endurance
a test of strength
it’s an active fight, something i can never let myself get too comfortable in
an active fight, fighting against my human nature, myself
my tendencies
my old ways, my old habits
everything i’ve ever known
latching
striving
pining

enough.

it’s an active fight against these things
my own flesh
my own blood
an active fight to defeat, to stop, to turn
an active fight,
but also, a continual victory

i have to want to be better
to actually
want
to be and get better
i have to actively try
to try
to be the one
to
be
the one
not just find a one and hang on
enough.
2000
there are ways out
He always talks to me
He always gives me ways out
He is so helpful

i talked about it, but not enough
this part i think i need to do alone
with Him
with mine
with me
He will be the one
teaching me how to be the one
so someday
sometime
maybe

revelations

I’ve been saying “it’s not easier, but it’s better!”

But it sure would be nice if things were also even just a little bit easier

If he inspired me

If he lead me

If he pursued Jesus because He is King,

Not just to get closer to me

And I don’t know if I’ll ever be sure of that

I don’t know if I’ll ever know

Am I okay with being in the dark for the rest of my life?

It’s tiring being an idol

It’s exhausting being the leader

It’s overwhelming being someone’s link to God

I wasn’t meant to be here 

I wasn’t made to be playing the role I’m playing

I wasn’t meant to be doing this

I wasn’t made to be here

it's been a while

i roll the windows down, just a little. the cool breeze tousles my clean hair across my clean face. the soft, bright morning light throws shadows across the highway. how did i just now notice the layers of limestone that line the ozark roads? home. i remember writing about this sweatshirt. it was my dad's. i remember putting my hair up and my pencil down and hearing john mayer playing downstairs. i remember feeling safe at that desk. i remember feeling safe in that notebook. those notebooks. i remember feeling at home there, in between the lines on the pages. i remember writing to cope, to heal, to breathe. i remember those feelings, and i'm starting to feel them again. i could get lost here. i feel safe here. i put that sweatshirt back on, and i got my laptop back out. it's been a while. i wouldn't mind being transported back home. back to that little bedroom with that little desk and that little notebook. i wouldn't mind heading back there, even just for a minute. those memories feel warm, even though they were hard and cold and confusing at the time. she says it's morning now, it's brighter now. and she's not wrong. it might be a new me, a different me, but the old's still in there. she's still in there, and she's glad to be back.


i felt capable this morning. i put on my levi's denim jacket and my dad taught me how to air up my tires at the little a store. i felt capable this morning.

don’t wait

I kept waiting for something poetic to happen to me,
Just so I could write about it.
I waited and waited–
Days, months–
Cold winters and long summers.

Until two days ago.
I realized, moments aren't inherently poetic.
Feelings aren't instantaneously metaphors.
Sadness doesn't spew synonyms and
Happiness doesn't harbor harmonies.

Time doesn't create. I do.