look up.

Perspective is a choice. It takes courage and is messy, but absolutely beautiful at the same time. The circumstances around you may seem bleak, but there is always a ray of hope pushing through. We just need to look for it.

What is your ray of hope today? Don't miss the beauty pushing through the clouds simply because you chose to not look up.

"For God, who said, 'Let there be light in the darkness,' has made this light shine in our hearts so we could know the glory of God that is seen in the face of Jesus Christ. We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves. We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies." {2 Corinthians 4:6-10 NLT}

free movie tickets & 79 degrees.

We picked a movie. We had our tickets. We had our seats. And I was already digging into a fresh box of chocolate covered raisins. Now that's what I call a Sunday night.


The lights dimmed, the previews came and went, and we finally settled into the latest blockbuster flick. And then the power went out. There wasn't a flickering of lights or even a warning. For a split-second, I thought the blackened screen was a part of the movie itself...but then the movie never moved forward. It was frozen on a blank screen.


The emergency lights were lit, but everything else remained pitch black. As if on cue, a sea of iPhone lights began to flood the theater, interspersed with a few iPhone flashlights. Several what seemed like super long minutes passed by, and then the voices started.

Someone call the theater.
Why is this taking so long?
I'd better get a refund.
Will someone start the movie already?!

More minutes ticked by.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

With a sudden flash, we were back in business. The movie picked up right where we left off. But we were missing one key element: sound.

Cue the voices again.

Helloooo...we need sound!
Someone fix this already!
This is unbelievable.

And along with the sea of comments came silly interpretations of what the characters were saying and groups of movie goers who, fed up with the situation, just got up and left.

Awkward.

In a matter of minutes, the sound too returned and we finished the movie without missing a beat. We even received free movie tickets for the inconvenience...and walked outside to a breezy 79 degree Nevada night. For my fellow desert dwellers out there, you know that monsoon season has its upside!

Now this is a great story and all, and I'm sure many of you are wondering why I've even rambled on about it in the first place. No, my point wasn't to simply blurt out my movie going experience for the world to hear. My point centers around the word perspective.

The series of events described above literally took place within the timeframe of 10 minutes. In that short window, a group of people quickly passed through the emotional stages of excitement and anticipation to be hanging out on a Sunday night, to anger and rage towards a movie theater who can't control whether the desert monsoon season decides to send massive lighting bolts its way or not.

In the midst of the chaos, I looked at my friend and we both couldn't help but laugh. People's responses were hilariously appalling...and honestly, kind of sad. And then it dawned on me how strong our perspective truly is. How we think about the circumstances around us has the power to shape them both for the positive or the negative.

For the movie goers who viewed the slight setback as a problem, the entire experience was ruined...and brought out a side of anger towards others that just wasn't even necessary.

For the movie goers who saw the power outage as an opportunity to think about cooler weather outside and a break from the 100+ degree Nevada surges, the experience was a win-win. We were able to finish the movie we intended to see, receive free movie tickets to come back another time, AND walked outside to a gorgeous night!

We were all sitting in the same theater with the same set of circumstances. Yet two completely different experiences took place. And it all stemmed from our perspective...our vantage point...our attitude...our thoughts.

I love how Philippians 4:8-9 guides us: "Summing it all up, friends, I’d say you’ll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw and realized. Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies."

Tonight, I'm wrestling with this question: how does my perspective guide and shape my circumstances?

Today I Reflect.

As I was walking to my car today, I was honestly overcome by emotion. Thinking through the events of the past 24 hours at Central not only reminded me of how thankful I am to be a part of a church centered around sharing the radical grace of God, but Jesus also breathed fresh life into me and this calling He has placed on my life.

So today, I reflect.

I'm reflecting on the hundreds of students gathered in Arizona for IGNITE 2014. More than just a fun summer camp, these students are discovering that it's okay to not be okay, but they don't have to stay that way. They can ignite their lives with an encounter with Jesus.

I'm reflecting on how the LinkCentral team led the Henderson Campus in worship this weekend and reminded us that the cry of our hearts should be to bring Jesus praise.

I'm reflecting on people taking their next steps at Central. We celebrated with our Southwest Campus as many graduated from First Step this weekend!

I'm reflecting on an incredible teaching in our Breaking Bad series—Jud reminded us that to displace worry in our lives, we have to trust Jesus.

I'm reflecting on our incredible volunteers. Weekly across all of our campuses, hundreds of men and women show up with skin in the game—ready to put hands and feet to our mission of introducing people to Jesus and helping them follow Him.

I'm reflecting on this thing we call the church and how she has the potential to be the light of the world...how she carries the greatest story those around us will ever hear—and how we choose to communicate that really, really matters.

I'm reflecting on a God who's bigger than my fears—a God who calls me to this thing called ministry and says He will equip me to do it.

I'm reflecting and I'm thankful. Thankful for a God who is so much bigger than I could ever imagine.

squeeze the day.

With moving to a new place comes a laundry list of new things: new vehicle registration, new doctors offices, new dentists, new friends, new favorite restaurants, new grocery stores, new gas stations, new...everything. My strategy over the last few months has been to tackle all of the "new" items one check mark at a time. Last week, the time came to tackle the "find a doctor" item on my to do list. So I did my research, asked a few friends, and landed on my best choice. I dialed the number, made an appointment, and put a nice big check mark next to that line item. Check. One more item off the list.

And then I got sick.

And not just sick, but down-for-the-count, can't-get-out-of-bed, losing-track-of-days kind of sick. By the time the day of my appointment rolled around, I couldn't have been happier to have tackled that to do list item the week before. I walked into my new doctor's office, conquered paperwork, went through the initial examinations, and then waited for the doctor's diagnosis.

"I'd like to get some x-rays and blood work done to check this out a little further," came her steady reply. "I think you potentially passed a kidney stone and I want to see if you have any other stones. You can get the x-ray taken care of today, and tackle the blood work tomorrow."

X-rays. No problem. That's practically like taking a nap. But blood work? Yikes. That wasn't something I was prepared for. Let me explain why...

In 2009, I had orthognathic jaw surgery. In a memorable turn of events, the surgery didn't go quite as planned and post-operation, I ended up in the ER dehydrated with nurses attempting to get an IV in my system. They tried 16 times before having any success. Just about every vein in my body was jabbed and poked as I pleaded with my own skin to cooperate. The final attempt happened to be in the veins in my neck. I vividly remember being positioned so that my body was upside-down, blood rushing to my head, and the nurse trying to secure an IV needle. I don't think I've ever screamed as much as I did in those few moments. At one point, I remember my Dad, staring straight into my eyes, saying, "Emily, pretend you're somewhere else. You're on a beach! You're on Sanibel Island. We're walking there right now!" I could only look angrily as the pain continued. Finally, a baby needle was brought out and a vein in my hand decided to cooperate. Fast-forward back to 2014.

As soon as I heard the words "blood work" escape my doctor's mouth, I couldn't help but re-live the adventure I just described above. And believe me, that's no walk down memory lane. It's more like a sprint through nightmare avenue. My body tensed as I mentally made note of everything I needed to take care of. Pick up my medication at the Pharmacy. Check. Get x-rays done. Check. Buy a ton of cranberry juice. Check. Ask my Dad how to survive kidney stones. Check, check, check. Get blood work taken care of. I don't want to say check.

But this was something I had to do.

So early the next day, my roommate and I made the trek back to the doctor's office for my dreaded blood work. I was nervous. My palms were sweating. I wanted to cry. All I could envision was the nurse hanging me upside-down and drawing blood from my neck. The fear was real. I wanted to escape. And then my name was called. The moment had come. I walked back and took a seat. As the typical "find a vein" search started, I stared fearfully at Shelby and asked her to hold my hand. She tried to take my mind off of it as the nurse said, "Here we go." And it just happened. I felt a tiny prick. But it happened. There was no pain, no second tries, no hanging me upside down. It worked. My baby veins conquered my blood work. I stared fear in the face and won. And after winning, I celebrated with a smoothie and the reminder to "squeeze" the day. It only seemed fitting.

The night before having my blood work done, I was on the phone with my parents, talking through the events of the week and my Dad said something that really resonated with me: "Emily, you're not in the same condition that you were in back in 2009. You're in a different place. You were dehydrated when they couldn't find your veins. Now, you're not."

This may seem like a stretch to you, but to me, a lightbulb went off. There is pain, grief, shame and sorrow in my past that I don't want to revisit. There are moments in life when I felt like I was hung upside-down, screaming in pain, angry at myself or the decisions of those around me. Sometimes thinking back to those situations, people, and places makes me feel the pain all over again. I don't want to look at the dehydrated moments of my life. I want to run full-steam ahead.

But sometimes we have to face our fear, our pain, and our shame and choose to conquer it in order to move forward. Here's what I'm learning to embrace: I was in a different place emotionally, spiritually, physically and mentally in the moments of my past that bring me pain. The decisions I made then stem from a dehydrated heart, a heart not choosing to be the woman God made me to be. I've found healing from my past hurts, habits and hang-ups by nourishing my soul—replenishing that which was dead with the life-giving water of Jesus. I'm not that broken-down girl who made the decisions I'm ashamed of anymore. I'm forgiven. I'm free. I'm redeemed. And I am whole.

That being said, I don't have to be terrified looking at my past. I don't need to be nervous, scared or ashamed when I walk into a place that reminds me of past decisions, or see an individual that makes me think of past hurt. I can stare at my pain and conquer it because I'm not that girl anymore. I'm changing, growing, healing, and becoming who God made me to be.

You see, sometimes we just have to stare at our pain head-on in order to discover healing and breakthrough. And please hear me: I'm not saying to be unwise here. It would be foolish of us to deliberately walk into unsafe, unhealthy situations that could cause us harm or stunt the growth God is doing in us. I'm talking about situations and circumstances outside of our control: memories, flashbacks, people, and the healing process itself. Healing takes time. It takes a whole lot of prayer. And it takes the courage to face your fears.

I'm thankful I'm not the same girl from 2009 who was so dehydrated that it took 16 tries before the 17th IV needle stuck. I'm thankful I was able to look fear in the face this week and have blood work done without being hung upside-down.

I'm thankful I'm not the same girl who made those mistakes she wishes she could forget. Now, quite honestly, I'm finally coming to a place where I actually believe it's ok to not be ok. And it's ok to make mistakes. Perhaps the biggest mistakes and some of my deepest pain will be how I can help people the most. If anything, my biggest mistakes and deepest pain and shame have helped me discover more of who Emily is—and isn't—than ever before. As a result, I've learned more about God's grace in a way I never imaged, and I'm finally beginning to believe that shame doesn't define me. The internal battles and fearful war can end because I'm not that same girl anymore. I'm a girl who can stare fear in the face...and win. I think it's time for us to stand up and squeeze the day.

Now I'm a Warrior

Seven months ago I made one of the biggest decisions of my life. I packed up my little 2003 Toyota Solara with everything I owned, and drove 2,220 miles away from my family and support system to land in perhaps what’s known as the sin capitol of the world…and call it home.

Now many at first called me crazy. Some perhaps still assume I am. However, something much deeper drew me to Las Vegas than flashy lights, urban culture and an epic career opportunity. My first three months in the desert have taught me something so much more valuable than anything I could have initially hoped it could have. It’s taught me that I’m a warrior.

Moving across the country into a new environment forced me to evaluate my belief system. For the past 23 years, it’s been left somewhat unchallenged by my own mind simply because I never had to face the tough questions I’ve wrestled with on my own, here in the valley. From where I sit today, I’m asking questions for myself. Questions like, “Do I really believe this? Or is this something I just always agreed to because that’s what those around me believed?” Through really diving into the root of these questions, I’ve discovered who I am and who I want to become and the steps I need to take to get there.

One of the most eye-opening truths I’ve learned is that God hand-picked me to be exactly where I am for a very specific reason and purpose. 2 Thessalonians 2:14 says, “God picked you out as his from the very start.” It’s so easy to think that so much in this life is random or purposeless; but God’s Word says the exact opposite!  Our lives are built on purpose—and not just any purpose, but a purpose specific to who He designed us to be. That’s incredible.

After truly allowing this reality to sink into the depths of my bones, I also began to realize that purpose doesn’t stop there. Yes, God has chosen me for such a time as this, and in this exact location; however, it’s up to me to lean in to that purpose. I’ve had to wrestle with feelings of inadequacy, shame of past decisions, and whether what God says about me is even true. That’s when I ran into the words of 2 Thessalonians 2:15-17, “So then, brothers, stand firm and hold to the traditions that you were taught by us, either by our spoken word or by our letter. Now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself, and God our Father, who loved us and gave us eternal comfort and good hope through grace, comfort your hearts and establish them in every good work and word.” I also love how Eugene Peterson words these three verses in The Message, “So, friends, take a firm stand, feet on the ground and head high. Keep a tight grip on what you were taught, whether in personal conversation or by our letter. May Jesus himself and God our Father, who reached out in love and surprised you with gifts of unending help and confidence, put a fresh heart in you, invigorate your work, enliven your speech.”

Purpose is lived out by my willingness to stand firmly grounded on what I believe. In discovering that truth, I’ve really honed in my core beliefs and outlined for myself what I believe for me—not what my parents believe, what my friends advocate for, or even what culture says is right or wrong. What do I believe for me? That’s what it came down to in my own life…and that is exactly what it came down to in order for me stand up firmly.

I read a recent article by Sarah Bessey in which she declared that we’re named by God as “Beloved Warriors.” I couldn’t help but fall in love with that concept. And I think Sarah’s onto something—in order to accomplish living out my purpose and staying rooted in my belief system, I have to fight for it. I need to lace up my boots, stand tall and claim victory. I need to be who God already says I am!

I believe transformation is all about putting my stake in the ground, claiming victory over my past and anticipating the path ahead. It’s about embracing the road we left behind, but not forgetting what brought us to this point in time. It’s a choice to lace up your boots, brush the dirt off your face and declare yourself to be the beloved warrior God already designed you to be. It’s a declaration of war on purposelessness, and the pursuit of victory that is already our’s to claim.

My prayer for you and my prayer for me is that God “puts a fresh heart in you, invigorates your work, and enlivens your speech.” May we be women anchored in our beliefs who passionately pursue the purpose God has on our lives…and may we not be afraid to lace up our boots.

This post originally appeared on pickyourportion.com. 

let your no shape your yes

I read a statement once that I haven't been able to forget: "Some of the most life-shaping decisions you make in this season will be about walking away from good-enough, in search of can't-live-without." That simple truth got me thinking that perhaps what we say no to is just as important as what we say yes to...and sometimes, our no might be even more important that our yes.

Good is fine and all, but I don't want to settle for just good. I want to live out everything God has planned for me to the best of my ability. I want to graduate from good to great. I want to grow, dive deeper, push through leadership lids, and become. I don't want a life that's stagnant and stale; I don't want to live trapped in a sea of bland. I want a life of color, adventure, and risk. I want to put my head on my pillow each night knowing that if God doesn't show up in the dreams He's put in my heart, it's game over for me. I want to be dependent, but only on Jesus. I want to pursue my passions relentlessly. I want to challenge myself, push myself to the limit, and discover just how far I can go.

But in order to really fulfill the call God has on my life, I'm going to have to start saying no.

No to hasty decisions.
No to pleasing people rather than pleasing God.
No to unhealthy relationships.
No to perfectionism.
No to unintentional living.
No to settling for average.
No to thinking I know it all.
No to living stuck in past shame.
No to unwise thoughts.
No to good-enough.

The foundation I build with my nos will lead to a stronger yes. Yes to what God has created me for. Yes to who He has called me to be. Yes to the life I want to lead. Yes to the girl I want to become.

Without saying no, I can't set myself up to say yes.

What will you say no to today in order to say a resounding YES?

what a cruise taught me about college graduation

I'm officially a college graduate. I'm still getting used to the reality of that statement! May 5, 2013 was an exciting day as one chapter in my story came to a close and a new chapter began. To celebrate, my sister and I set sail on the Norwegian Sky for the Bahamas.

On the last night of the cruise, I sat on Deck 12, journaling some thoughts about graduation, next steps, and this crazy, exciting new season I was stepping into. One big idea stuck out to me: graduating from college is a lot like stepping onto a ship and sailing into new, untouched territory. It's parking your car, and stepping away from a way of traveling that was extremely familiar...and completely defined by guidelines and mile markers.  Take a peek into my journal to see what I mean...

A thin layer of salty sand cloaks my sun-kissed skin, the ocean's parting gift at the end of my Bahamian vacation. When I lick my lips, my tongue is greeted by this sugar of the sea, lingering warm and natural—as if it should always be there. I'm lounging poolside, the final rays of sunshine penetrating my skin, whispering, "just a little bit more." 

The ocean seems endless, ongoing, and unpredictable. From my vantage point, it doesn't seem like there's a path to follow...there are no highway signs, no double yellow lines dictating which side of the road you travel on. The ocean, in stark contrast to a road, is open and free, an empty, inviting slate. Yet, in what seems like a giant bowl of bright, blue kool-aid that we could get lost in, we always ended up where we needed to be, settling in a port, ready for the day's sunny excursion. At the end of the day, the control room of the ship, hidden and unseen by the average eye, is what guided the Norwegian Sky to each port of call. Without our Captain, we wouldn't have reached our destinations safely.

I know there are many technicalities to this, but this is all I see: the vast horizon and endless possibilities. I can't help but think of this new chapter, or season, of my life as something like this. I'm sailing in the midst of bright, huge territory, where the opportunities and possibilities seem massive and endless. Exciting and terrifying all at the same time. In the end, the core foundation to this season is trusting God to guide me and learning to follow His markings. It's tasting every flavor, savoring every moment, and drinking deep the rich friendships surrounding me. It's gazing at the horizon with all the hope and intensity I can muster—and loving every minute of the journey.

Welcome to the journey of uncharted territory. When I walked across that stage in the O'Connell Center, I ditched the road map and signs along the highway. This is a season to embrace a God who's bigger than what I can see, and trust that He knows what's best.

what coffee taught me about brokenness

Hitting my alarm clock with perhaps a little too much fervor, my brain tried to sort through the fog of typical morning questions like where am I? what day is it? am I supposed to be going to school? and why was I dreaming that I was going to Mexico? After I sorted through my confusion, I smiled, remembering I'm on Christmas break and can wake up lazily, enjoying the morning. In light of this revelation, I grabbed a sweatshirt and headed to the kitchen to make a fresh cup of French Press coffee.

Now, if you've never made a good 'ole cup of French Press, you're missing out. This is the BEST morning pick-me-up remedy out there. It's a simple process and delivers results that leave your taste buds dancing. But enough about that, back to the story at hand.

I found my way to the kitchen and began dumping heaping scoops of coffee beans into the French Press, topped with boiling water, and then sauntered off for a few minutes to let it steep.

Little did I realize that I had missed a vital step.

Instantly, as I poured my cup, I realized something was wrong. Coffee is not supposed to look like tea. And then it clicked. You're not supposed to put WHOLE coffee beans in the French Press! In order to make a delicious, flavor-filled cup of coffee, you must first grind the beans, breaking them apart.

Welcome round two.

After making my second round and inhaling that first delicious sip, I began thinking about life and what those coffee beans represented in me. Often, I forget (and perhaps don't want to accept!) that it's in being broken that the full flavor of me is exposed and poured out onto the world around me. 

I don't tend to appreciate brokenness. In fact, I run as fast as I can away from it. I've experienced it too many times and the uncomfortable weight of helplessness surrounding me makes me wish I had control. 

I think I'm supposed to live in brokenness though.

When I'm broken, there's nothing left of me...the only thing left for me to do is trust God. There are so many things in my life that I can't control: what I'll be doing after I graduate from college, if a relationship will work out or not, if my friendships will stand the test of time, where I'll live...the list could go on. And this is the point when I usually try to control those looming question marks in my life. I wrap them into tiny little coffee bean shapes and place them neatly in the French Press of my life. But I pillow my head at night dissatisfied because my life tastes like tea when I ordered coffee, flavorless and dull.

Do I believe God wants me to live in a broken state, depressed and in despair? Not at all. It's what I choose to do next in my brokenness and uncertainty that makes all the difference.

When I look at those looming question marks, what I do with them is what matters. I can either embrace the fact that I am not in control and allow everything of me to be broken, leaving room for me to trust God completely; or I can package my life into neat portions and live thinking I'm in control, but in reality feeling truly miserable.

Rich flavor is only found in brokenness. I want to become a person who lets her hair down, ditches perfection, wanders well, and welcomes brokenness with open arms.

"I am a storyteller."

Several months ago in the social media world, I began hearing this buzz about a girl who was leaving letters for strangers in New York City and mailing hundreds of subsequent letters to people she had never met. My attention was instantly piqued, and I just had to learn more about this girl.

You see, I thought writing letters was a dying art form. I thought I was one of the last people on earth who still cherished exchanging correspondence through hand-written form. Don't get me wrong, I'm a social media nerd. In fact, it's an area I'm studying at school. However, there's just something about tangible thoughts on paper that still grips my heartstrings like nothing else can.

Enter Hannah Brencher. What was initially birthed as a form of therapy, became her life mission. "I am not a strategist or a specialist. I am a storyteller," says Hannah. Since leaving letters on the train in NYC, she's sent over 4,200 letters around the world, spreading a message of love and ultimate hope. The stories from Hannah & her organization, The World Needs More Love Letters, are absolutely INCREDIBLE. Rather than trying to re-count what Hannah is passionate about, I'll let her tell you herself. Watch her TED video below:

waving goodbye

I felt exposed, wide-eyed like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Discouraged and flat-out exhausted seem like shallow words to describe the aurora of feelings pumping through my chest. But at the same time, I didn't want to feel at all.

Grabbing a scrapbook of years gone by, I looked into my elementary school girl face and hugged the book to my body, trying to protect my past...cling to it, forever sealing it upon my memory. My fingers traced the outline of that house. The house that seemed so little, so small at the time, but was bursting at the seams with memories. Memories of playing with my sister for hours, creating new adventures for our Magic Attic and American Girl dolls. That time we said we'd sleep in our playhouse outside, but then got too scared thinking of the mini forest behind our backs. The countless days we dressed up in vintage dresses and marched over to our neighbor, Miss Dorothy's house, and had milk and cookies while we told her our wild tales. I remember the day my Mom called us in for lunch. Katie and I had been playing nearly all morning and we were right in the middle of some grand story. We didn't want to waste time on food, so I persuaded my little sister and we threw our sandwiches in some bushes, told our Mom we had finished eating and ran back to play. My Mom was a lot smarter than that though. She found our dirty PB&Js, sat us down, and had us eat it bite-by-bite, until we were finished. I'll never forget that.

I'm trying to avoid sounding cliche, but I can't help but define that place, 214 Crestmont Drive, as the house that built me. I cling to its white walls, big yard, gravel driveway and big hunter green front door like my life depended on it. If I'm honest, sometimes I lay awake at night wishing I could go back. Back to my middle school days in Shippenville, Pennsylvania when everything in the world seemed so right.

I can still hear the laughter behind those walls. I can still see the many mornings my Mom woke Katie and I up before school for our "P.E." class of Tae Bo and bowl of raisin bran. I see those first places I began to write and the time in second grade when I entered a short story on the circus to the local library's writing contest. I can smell the fresh vegetables we had so often for dinner--corn on the cob, bright red tomatoes with a little salt on top, and luscious salads. I first heard the words "delayed gratification" in that house. I can see it so vividly and don't want to let go. It feels like my one layer of safety, the one place in the world where all the bad can't out-do the good.

Sometimes the most healthy thing we can do is let go. So often I want to run backwards as fast as I can and attempt to cling to the little that remains of my past. I'm terrified of moving forward because I can't see two inches before my face, but I can look back and see all the good, all the brightness in life. It's when I'm caught in this "between" that I begin to sink into this mentality of nothing. I don't want to feel anything and my strongest instinct is to run. I have a hard time loving and looking at people with grace, so I want to run away as fast as I can. I want to cling to the good 'ole days, the sweet elementary school moments of life. Those memories have indeed shaped me, but I have to come to grips that they are in my past. By clinging to that house, I'm saying that today doesn't matter and that's the farthest thing from the truth.

Far too often I don't see what God's doing. And to add to that, I can't see what He can do through me or how my decisions affect everything else, like dominoes--one on top of another. If I look in my rearview mirror, I can see what He has done, but looking forward, I don't have a clue. The only thing I can cling to is trust.

I put my scrapbook away and tried to shove down the sadness welling up inside my heart, but I just couldn't. The girl who has been trying so hard not to feel anything can't help but feel an aching longing for the past. What can I do? One thing I know for sure is that I can't go forward if I don't let go of what's behind me.

There is only one person who can help me. Jesus Christ. People and circumstances change like the wind, but the anchor of my soul has been a constant--from that simple house that built me to where I am today. He was in and through those walls just as much as He is with me now. He has not changed. In the midst of that reality, a little sense of peace started creeping in, overtaking that swelling lump in my throat. Those tears I wanted to fight are becoming more of a blessing, a reminder of how good my God is, how gracious He has been to me. It's in that moment, He whispered into my throbbing soul and tired mind, "Be strong. Learn to love. Become. Stay."

These days, I'm not in the same state where my fingers first learned to write. I'm not in that little three-bedroom house that had constant basement water leaks. I'm not dressing up and running to the neighbor's house or imagining wild tales of pioneer women and Indians. I'm over 900 miles away from that place, my past, my childhood, my safety zone. I'm a year away from being a college grad and uncertain of a lot of things. But one thing I'm learning is that through all of that uncertainty and wanting to cling to my past, my future is incredibly bright. Tomorrow is so filled with hope because Jesus has never changed. He is my source of life.

It's time to wave goodbye to my safety zone and choose to trust.

lessons learned from a drummer on the side of the road

It wasn't the comforting sounds of rain tapping on your window. No, not at all. I woke up to a torrential downpour. My first thought as I began to open my eyes was what I would wear with my rain boots. After shaking off the cobwebs lingering in my brain, I poured a quick cup of coffee, grabbed my backpack, slid into my boots, and ran out the door. Quick. Easy. And attempting to motivate myself for the day.

I commute to the University of Florida and have really begun to enjoy the 40-minute drive to Gainesville. Driving down country roads has a calming effect...country music blaring and windows down with the wind blowing through my hair (well when it's not raining!). I was probably about 30 minutes into my drive, lost in thoughts of everything I wanted to accomplish today and hoping that 103.7 would play all my favorite songs, when I hit Paynes Prairie.

Paynes Prairie is this strip of wildlife right before you hit Gainesville--I like to think of it as nature's way of welcoming you to Gator Nation because you are literally driving through a gator nation! It isn't abnormal to see cars pulled off to the side of the road as onlookers take in the scenery, but today I saw something really different.

A white truck caught my attention on the left-hand side of the road. As I began to pass by, I noticed something very unusual--a drum set. And not just a drum set, but a young man playing that drum set with everything in him--with all of nature waking up to the melodies he was creating.

That's when it hit me like a ton of bricks: he was giving today all he had. It didn't matter what people thought as they drove by or that it was a gloomy, rainy morning. It didn't matter to him. He wanted to wake up with the world at his fingertips.

I don't know this man or his story, but what I saw grabbed my attention. What would it look like if I chose to play drums on the side of the road with God's creation as my audience? What would it look like if I chose to write passionately, speak the truth unashamedly, follow my convictions boldly, and loved extravagantly?

Romans 8:15-16 says, "This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It's adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike, 'What's next, Papa?' God's Spirit touches our spirits & confirms who we really are."

What if I woke up each day ready for an adventure? What if I lived like I wanted to wake up the world? I think if I truly lived like that guy jamming out in Paynes Prairie, the world couldn't help but notice.

Proceed With Caution

Warning: Only read the following statement if you're ready for a heart-wrenching, prospective-altering, throw-you-upside-down kind of truth headed straight for your heart & soul.

Ok, now that you've been fairly warned (and if you're choosing to proceed), check out the statement that keeps tumbling around in my head like a ton of bricks thrown into the clothes dryer:

"I want to have fewer rules & fewer conditions on how other people should live. Instead, more understanding, more space, more grace." - Shauna Niequist via Twitter

Wow. Really, that's all I've got to say. Rather than try to come up with something clever to expound on this statement, I'm going to just sit & allow it to permeate my heart. God, help me become a woman who overflows with grace.

Kisses from Katie: My Life in the Red Dirt of Uganda

Yesterday, I posted about Katie's story and her journey of following Jesus to Uganda. Watch the videos below and hear about Amazima directly from Katie's heart!

Read Katie's blog and follow her to Uganda on Twitter.

"Jesus does not ask that we care for the less fortunate. He demands it."

I tried to push back the tears, but I just couldn't. Katie pulled on my heartstrings and brought emotions to the surface of my heart that I haven't felt in a long time.

I can't begin to imagine being a single mother to 13 girls at the age of 22, but Katie is. At the age of 19, Katie went to Uganda, on a short-term trip, not knowing that she would end up making a lifetime decision.

While teaching kindergarten in Uganda, Katie not only fell in love with the Ugandan people, but she saw a desperate need for change. She could have finished her time teaching, come back to the U.S., and gone on with her life. Instead, she chose to follow Christ--wholeheartedly, passionately, unashamedly, and with her whole life.

Katie decided to stay in Uganda and adopted 13 girls while starting a ministry, Amazima that sends over 400 children to school, gives over 1,600 kids meals, hosts Bible studies, provides jobs, gives medical aid, and partners with parents in Uganda.

"People tell me I am brave. People tell me I am strong. People tell me good job. Well here is the truth of it. I am really not that brave, I am not really that strong, and I am not doing anything spectacular. I am just doing what God called me to do as a follower of Him. Feed His sheep, do unto the least of His people."

Katie's faith is unshakable. Looking into her eyes, I saw the honesty in her words. She truly believes that all she needs is Jesus. After hearing Katie's story at Catalyst, I picked up a copy of her book and was completely engrossed in her blog....story after story of what God is doing in Uganda kept leaping out at me, her words echoing in my mind.

Katie's story shook me to my core. A large part of that is because we are just two years apart in age. I keep thinking through life, right now, in this season, and what she has decided to follow Christ in. I want to follow Christ like that. I am done being a fan on the sidelines of life. I'm ready to step into my Uganda and not look back. I'm ready to follow Christ to do the unthinkable, the unimaginable....I'm ready to dive into what I could only do under complete & total surrender to Him.

Never worry about numbers. Help one person at a time, and always start with the person nearest you. ~Mother Teresa

I am so thankful to have met Katie several days ago and see the passion and love in her eyes. Amazima partners with Ugandan women, offering them an opportunity to work for their families by making and selling jewelry. I had the privilege of buying one of their necklaces and every time I wear it, I will be praying for Katie and her family in Uganda.

"Jesus does not ask that we care for the less fortunate. He demands it."

Connect with Katie & Amazima:

Website: amazima.org

Katie's Blog: Kisses from Katie

Twitter: @katieinuganda and @amazima

Facebook: Amazima Ministries

*All pictures and videos are from Amazima Ministries.

Your church social media plan may suck but Youcef Nadarkhani is facing execution

We have needs in our churches. Cool videos, logos, lights, pretty people, greeters, parking teams, Disney shows for the kids. None of these are bad. But sometimes we need to be reminded what the church looks like outside of our walls.

Youcef Nadarkhani is a Christian pastor in Iran who is being sentenced to death if he does not renounce his Christian faith.

So as you sit in your next meeting deciding where you are gonna launch your next campus, or trying to figure out how to increase your churches social media presence, stop and pray for Youcef Nadarkhani and maybe head over to the bar for lunch and share a beer and Jesus with someone.

Then sign this and try to help stop this excecution…

It’s so much bigger than we think…

Article from Ragamuffin Soul, by Carlos Whittaker