i want my feet to dance

with my sweater keeping me warm and fuzzy socks reaching up to my knees, sun beams fly like swords through the sky and their light finds its way through this window and onto my face. Warmth. I won’t need this sweater for much longer now. 


I wasn’t exactly eagerly anticipating this spring. I knew it would be trying. I knew there would be storms I’d have to weather, hills I’d have to climb, fake smiles I’d have to plaster to my face. I’m fine. How are you? 

And to the ones who knew, I might elaborate, “today was the worst.” And their reply would be a sympathetic “I’m sorry.” 


All I had wanted was for my plan to work. Just once. Please, God. I had great things in mind. I had places and people and times and events swirling in my head just waiting to burst forth into fruition. But they never did. My plan didn’t work. 

I’m done, I told him. I told him I was through- I quit. I didn’t want to be broken, sick, tired, and lost anymore. That was no life for me and I refused to live it. It was time for me to dance away to my own rhythm. 

So I did.


I hadn’t known there was a place like that. A place lower than the bottom, further from lost, more shattered than a million pieces. But that place was where my dancing feet took me and all that was in me felt crushed.


“We can make our plans, but the LORD determines our steps.” 


Fine. You take the lead. I surrendered.


I hadn’t heard the song before. I didn’t like it at first. But I kept listening and as the words continued to flow and our feet shuffled in sync I began to understand the melody, the heart of the tune. 

Trust me.

My shoulders relaxed- I began to trust. My hands would tighten, then release the pressure. Every time I looked down at my feet to be sure of my steps, he lifted my chin and spoke confidence to my soul. 

Trust me.

The chorus repeated- I was just getting comfortable. Then the beats quickened and the notes got lower on the grand and I had an eerie feeling about what was fast approaching. 

Trust me.

I’ve never liked bridges. They’re dramatic and out of place and whatever they have to say can be said after the song ends. Did I have to dance on this bridge? 

Trust me.

So I did.


I suppose I should say am. I’m still on this bridge. I can see the end and I’m almost there, but this is not a bridge I would have chosen for myself. And that’s ok.

“If you love me, obey my commandments.”

I don’t love this bridge. But I do love my dance partner. So I’ll follow his lead and wait for the grand finale when I’ll see all of his promises fulfilled. I believe in that day. I anticipate that day. 

And like the sinful young woman I will dance and weep and pour myself out at my King’s feet day after day because what an honor it is for the bride to dance with her groom. 

“Your new name will be “The City of God’s Delight” and “The Bride of God,” for the LORD delights in you and will claim you as his bride.”


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love even when

She holds out her hands to me, a smile filling her face. She has a gift.

“Pinza pelo,” she says. A pink hairbow. 


I didn’t know what to expect from a week spent in a third-world country. I was so close to not even being able to go that part of me didn’t think about what it would be like, just in case it didn’t work out. 

But it did work out, because the Lord is ever faithful, and I packed my suitcase and hopped on my first plane ride ever and began the journey that would mark me for life.


Their faces. I cannot forget their beautiful faces and my heart even hurts to look at them because all I want to do is kiss their cheeks and adore their laughing eyes. Theirs are the faces of heaven. 

“After this I saw a vast crowd, too great to count, from every nation and tribe and people and language, standing in front of the throne and before the Lamb.”


I asked the Lord for one thing on this trip. I asked for a meaningful encounter with someone. I asked for a moment where, despite the language barrier and minimal Spanish I had tucked away from highschool, I really connected with someone.

He gave me three someones. Three moments. Three answers to my prayer. 


Breydy. She showed me what giving effortlessly looks like. She gave half of her lunch to a friend and candy to me and another team member. She gave me the pink hairbow I’m looking at right now. I think of her when I see it. I think of her generosity and how it is a reflection of the Father’s generous heart. I cannot forget how beautiful she is, how much she looks like her Father. 

“For God so loved the world that he gave…” 


Iris and Daniela. Mom and baby. Seventeen and so young to be a mother, yet so full of life and hope for herself and her daughter. She told me how hard it was to be single, how there were complications during childbirth, how she couldn’t have anymore children after Daniela. But she laughed. Her eyes sparkled with a joy I wanted bottle up and take with me everywhere. She knew that having Daniela was a privilege and blessing and she was honored to be her mother. I cannot forget her ability to love and laugh so much like our God.

“Yes, joyful are those who live like this! Joyful indeed are those whose God is the Lord.”


It’s true, what they say. They say that when you set out to bless people in the name of Jesus that you also end up being blessed. 

I was greatly blessed. Each day held a new lesson, a new adventure, a new revelation that I cannot forget. So much life and truth was spoken into and over me that I cried just trying to take it all in. 

“Whatever you do for the least of these, you do for Me.”


Something happens when you board a plane and travel to another country. Something in your spirit shifts when you leave your homeland and find yourself flying over someone else’s. Your eyes open wider as you take in sunsets from other skylines and breathe the air of other nations. 

This world is big. It’s bigger than my plot of dirt in my city in my state in my country. It’s much bigger. I cannot forget that. 

If I had to sum the entire week in one sentence, I would say “Love even when…” 

Even when they’re dirty, even when they’re mean, even when they’re sick, even when they’re wrong, even when they’re begging, even when they’re not interested, even when they’re taking advantage, even when. 

Even when. Period. 


I cannot forget the success and the joy and the patience and the love and the laughter and the lessons learned and the presence of God from that week. I can’t forget that Nicaraguan heat, the smell of the mounds, the dirt on their faces, and the voices speaking a language I barely understood. I can’t forget the Lord’s faithfulness in bringing me to this place and allowing me to meet some of his children so far away from where I call home. 


I cannot forget because, if I do, I will have missed it. I will have missed the heart of the Gospel entirely. I will have missed the calling the Lord has placed on my life. I will have missed the reality of heaven and hell and the crucial truth that if I don’t tell them there is a Savior, who will? 

“Therefore, go and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.”

People are not projects– they are our purpose.

We can never forget that. 

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eyes wide open

They’ve suggested taking Benadryl as soon as I get on the plane, in case I experience nausea, headaches, ear-popping, or some other “I’ve-never-flown-before” side effect. 

Moses answered the people, “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” 

My stomach’s flipping like a gymnast and my thoughts are all over the place trying to imagine what it will be like, who I will meet, how the Lord will use me in another country.

I look at the highschool girls on Monday nights and hear their prayer needs and personal concerns: grades are failing, temptations rising, independence is surfacing and adulthood is just over the hill. 

Just take a Benadryl.

How easy it would be to sleep through all the unpleasant things. All the things unknown and uncovered. We would bypass the nausea, the headaches, the ear-popping. 

But, in your sleeping, what if you miss the free peanuts the plane hostess brings to your row? 

What if you miss the sunset or sunrise or lone cloud  claiming the horizon of some country you’ve never seen before?

What if you miss the hurting one in the seat behind you, stifling sobs and shaking shoulders?

Don’t close your eyes. 

Don’t ignore the hardships and struggles and frustrations.

Don’t keep your head in the sand forever because you can’t breathe down there, my friend.  

But I get it, I do. It’s scary. I’ve never flown before. 

I haven’t seen tomorrow’s blueprints and I don’t know what’s waiting for me when my eyes open to morning light coming through my window. 

But don’t be afraid. We have One who fights for us. All he asks is that we stay still, stand firm, and keep our eyes wide open. 

You will see deliverance.  

p.s. – the next time I write, I’ll have come back from my trip to Nicaragua! I can’t wait to share testimonies and stories and adventures with you. I appreciate prayers for our team. Thank you to all who gave, prayed, and supported. 


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proclaim the mystery

Must I understand it all?

Must I reach around books on shelves, lift edges of carpet rugs, and crane my neck to see high above in order to find what I’m looking for?
What am I looking for?


It is mysterious how I can want something so badly but not hold it within my hands. Why not?
It is mysterious how I can be in one spot, yet desire to be in another that I’ve never been, can’t see, don’t even know about yet. How?
It is mysterious how the darkest days are the ones that actually shed light on the current state of your heart. Why?


“Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful. And pray for us, too, that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ, for which I am in chains. Pray that I may proclaim it clearly, as I should. Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.”

It’s a mystery. So much of life with no answers, no roadmaps, no neon arrows pointing in a certain direction.

It’s beautiful, though– the mystery. It’s exciting and compelling and liberating.

It’s a mystery that puzzles and satisfies. Causes hunger and contentment. Makes eyes wide and mouths drop. Hands fold and heads bow. All because of the mystery.


It’s the mystery of love and grace and hope and glory.
It’s a thing we think we have a good grasp on, but when the miracles start we realize we have so much more to learn. Much more faith to grow. Much more mystery to uncover.

The greatness is that there’s always more. The well never runs dry. The manna never stops falling. The oil jar never empties. There’s always more.


Proclaiming the mystery isn’t saying, “Let me show you how it’s done.” Or, “This is how you get your life together.”
Proclaiming the mystery says, “Let’s go on this journey of uncovering, unwrapping, and seeking together.” “Come learn forgiveness and freedom with me.”

That’s what proclaiming the mystery looks like.

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it’s like losing your balance


Maybe you forgot there was one more step in the staircase and you stumble forward, hands reaching for structure, feet running to stability.

Maybe there’s a big rain puddle and you’re wearing your favorite pair of shoes so you hop, skip, and wave your arms in circles to keep your soaking frame in a vertical position.

Maybe you’re sitting and day dreaming and leaning ever-so-slightly toward the sun shouting at you from outside your window and you have to catch yourself before you hit the ground and the dream goes away.


It’s that limbo state where you have no control. It’s that place where your body doesn’t cooperate with your mind in enough time to keep equilibrium intact. It’s a funny feeling, losing your balance.

You didn’t build the staircase and you didn’t make it rain and day-dreaming isn’t a fault for you to lay upon your conscience.

Losing your balance wasn’t your fault, but you’re still falling. Or maybe you’ve already hit the ground.


I hit the ground once. I didn’t have any control and I lost my balance and my mind was yelling at my body, “what are you doing?!”
I hit the ground so hard I’ve been walking gingerly ever since. I’ve taken baby steps, made a plan for if I ever were to lose my balance again, and cried because of how bad it hurt to hit the ground. The ground was really hard.

The funny thing is that even if I were to lock myself up in a room where there were no rain puddles, no stairs, nor windows, I might still lose my balance. It happens. And sometimes it happens for a reason.


Just last week, I lost my balance yet again. I didn’t hit the ground quite as hard; just got scraped up, no massive bruises. It still hurt though.

And it still hurts.

What if I fall again?
What if I can’t catch myself?
What if I hit the ground and don’t get back up?

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.”

“And I will be to her a wall of fire all around, declares the Lord, and I will be the glory in her midst.”

Losing your balance might not be the worst place to find yourself, you know. God heals broken people, not whole ones. God wants to fulfill his dreams for you, not yours. God wants to show you that even on the ground, bruised and bleeding and weeping, He is still your wall of fire and you shouldn’t be afraid.

The real question to ask ourselves is this:

If God ever allowed me to fall so hard that I lost the ability to stand again, would I still say He is good? Would I still sing Hallelujah? Would I still fight with all my might to kneel, at the very least, because He is worth it?

He is worth it. He’s worth it all. He’s worth every dream, every goal, every aspiration, every success, every fortune, every piece of my heart.

Because we must hang on to the promise that at just the right time He will look at us lying helpless on the ground and say, “Stand up and walk.”

And right then and there, you will be healed.

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365 opportunities for wonderful


life rules

1. the path is not straight.
2. mistakes need not be fatal.
3. people are more important than achievements or possessions.
4. be gentle with your parents.
5. never stop doing what you care most about.
6. learn to use a semicolon.
7. you will find love.

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middle ground

We are a wanting people. A people who hold one thing our hands but dream about receiving something else as soon as humanly possible.
We are a people who dream big and set goals and have ideas of what would make us happy, satisfied, content. And I don’t think we’ll ever stop. I don’t think we should ever stop.


Abraham believed God, and God counted him as righteous because of his faith.

But Abram replied, “O Sovereign LORD, what good are all your blessings when I don’t even have a son?”

The problem with our wanting is that it’s middle ground wanting. It’s the wanting within our realm, the natural realm, the only world we know.
There are two other kinds of wanting, however.


You have given me no descendants of my own, so one of my servants will be my heir.

There is the wanting that comes after the middle ground wanting when you’ve waited so long and you’re so thirsty that you’ll drink anything, even if it doesn’t quench your thirst or bring life to your bones. You’ve convinced yourself that you’ll never get what you wanted in the first place so you settle for second best. You settle for what kind of satisfies you but doesn’t really because you know it’s so much less than what you wanted.


Then the LORD took Abram outside and said to him, “Look up into the sky and count the stars if you can. That’s how many descendants you will have!”

The wanting He wants us to have is the wanting for what He has to offer.

We can remain on our middle ground wanting, asking for what we think would be best. We can get disappointed when what we want doesn’t come to us within our allotted time table and settle for something second best, less than, and mediocre.

We can stop wanting on middle ground. We can go outside and lie on our backs and attempt to count the stars, and when we can’t count them all we can remember that the lord has so much more in store for us than what we’re wanting.


He could’ve just given Abram a son. One son. But instead, he gave him millions. Millions. And because of that, we now get to claim the promise of God to Abram:

So all who put their faith in Christ share the same blessing Abraham received because of his faith.

Let us not stay on middle ground wanting for one second longer.
Let us not let time and circumstances discourage us from holding on to what we know God wants for us.
Let us not settle.
Let us not reign ourselves in.

Let us let ourselves go wild and tell ourselves over and over again in a day that “greater is He who is in me than he who is in the world” and “His thoughts and ways are higher than our thoughts and ways.”

Let us hold unswervingly to this Hope we profess.

Let us keep wanting and keep dreaming, but never think for a moment that this is the best we can accomplish, for with God, all things are possible.

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