Trying to Live Freely

I turned 23 last week.

For the first time in four years, I didn’t have finals (to take or to study for) on my birthday. That was nice. The rest of the day, I was informed, I spent like an 80-year-old lady.

happy 80-year-old lady.

But continually in the back of my mind as of late has been the upcoming anniversary of my graduation.

One Year.

And it’s crazy to think about where I am now and where I thought I would be by now. If you would have asked me then, I would be living and working in DC (or a smattering of other cities that I was interested in). Though now, with the current political climate, I am thrilled that I am not living there.

I was not going to be living at home. I was not going to be living in Goshen.

But here I am. For better or for worse. I made a commitment to myself last fall to begin settling down. I didn’t know where I was going, or if I was going anywhere. But I knew that what I was doing, this aimless living was not “abandoning myself to God.” I needed to trust that living here was a task given to me. And having a sermon series at church and a Sunday school series that felt like God was grabbing me by the shoulders and trying to knock a little sense into me also helped.

We are uncertain of the next step, but we are certain of God. As soon as we abandon ourselves to God and do the task He has placed closest to us, He begins to fill our lives with surprises. Source

So I did. In the beginning of the year, I began volunteering as a small group leader in middle school ministries at my church. And you know what, that itself was a wonderful surprise. I adore the girls I help lead and I have more opportunities on the horizon at church. Like so many points in my life have been, I know that I will look back on this time and see God’s fingerprints.

Like so many points in my life have been, I know that I will look back on this time and see God’s fingerprints.

Nevertheless, I struggle with contentment and feeling certain that this is where I’m meant to be. It’s that always how it seems to go? Or am I alone in this? “O me of little faith.” I still often feel like I’m driving around a roundabout. And it’s frustrating just going around and around. I like directions. I like to know where I’m going.

“We have a lot less control in life than we wanna believe. because no amount of personal control will be ever enough to ensure our safety. No amount of control will ever remove our fears.” –Carl Frost, pastor at Revolution Chuch, Muncie, Indiana speaking at Commonway Church, Muncie, Indiana

Wondering where or why. Just… waiting in place. And part of me is terrified I’ll never leave this place. And part of me is terrified to leave. I yearn for adventure and independence but enjoy the proximity to the known and my family. I see my friends moving on and taking steps in their lives and I still feel… stuck.

Yet as I find myself making more commitments in this place, I wonder if I’m not on a roundabout but on cruise control instead. (Call me a pendulum, swinging between stuck and coasting.) Not in a rut, just… heading to the next exit. And I have to accept that I don’t know when that is or where it will lead me. This is not a dead end. I’m not a fan of uncertainty. Spontenaittey is not my middle name. No matter how much I like to pretend I can just go with the flow. My friends can attest to that.

“I can only fly freely when I know there is a catcher to catch me. If we are to take risks, to be free, in the air, in life, we have to know there is a catcher. We have to know that when we come down from it all, we’re going to be caught, we’re going to be safe. The great hero is the least visible. Trust the catcher. – Henri Nouwen

May I learn to live freely here. Like a child tossed in the air by her father, may I learn to always trust the catcher.

The Land Between

A photo by Tim de Groot. unsplash.com/photos/M_eB1UjE0do

GOD, your God, has blessed you in everything you have done. He has guarded you in your travels through this immense wilderness. For forty years now, GOD, your God, has been right here with you. You haven’t lacked one thing. Deuteronomy 2:7 (MSG)

I’ve been quiet since I graduated. I’ve started writing this post dozens of times… well, at least I’ve thought about starting it. I kept putting it off because I knew it would be difficult. Putting all of these things into actual words might hurt. But maybe, like the rain that we so desperately needed is falling outside my window to revive the fields, writing this will revitalize my spirit.

I’ve had the tendency to look at the world through rose-colored glasses. The glass is half-full. And I’ll have a job before I graduate. No sweat.

Ha.

But I moved home with some job leads and a reality that I could be moving to Washington, D.C. in a few weeks.

I’m still here. Half of my life and all of my tea is still boxed away in the basement. And it’s free rent, so no arguments there. But it’s been hard to keep playing Pollyanna. I’ve been called out by my family for my attitude, which is not a new thing, but not something that happens frequently.

I’ve struggled being home for the longest time ever in a year and half. I’ve struggled watching my classmates get jobs. I’ve struggled with the deafening silence that meets most of my job applications. I’ve struggled with entry-level positions that want 3 years of experience. I’ve struggled with the uncertainty of making long-term plans. I’ve struggled with not having a job for the first time in six years.

I’ve applied to 63 jobs.

Sixty-three.

Silence.

I’m plagued with questions from myself and others. What do you want to do? What are you looking for? Have you looked here? Here? Here? Are your standards too high?

Waiting. Applying. E-mailing.

Wandering.

The church I attended in college (Oh Commonway, how I miss you.) did a sermon series on Moses over the summer. And I was listening to one titled The Land Between in which Pastor Matt spoke on the 40 years the Israelites wandered in the desert. And I thought to myself, “Yes, that’s where I am.”

I’m just wandering around. Not in the wilderness but in the Land ‘o Goshen. Though some may say they’re the same thing.

Someday, somewhere, I know that the Promise Land (see: job) lies in my future. Not a dream job. But at least a purpose. Something to wake up for in the morning. I’m waiting for positive responses to my applications like waiting for answers to come down from Mount Sinai.

Over dramatic? Maybe. But these waves of melancholy tend to leave me as such. And like the Israelites, despite all of the blessings God has given me, I too, have found it hard to trust Him. 

It’s been so easy to get discouraged. Doubtful. What have I done with my summer? How is it already August?

And I don’t have any answers. I don’t know why I’m still here, unemployed, half-scared to be stuck in Goshen forever and half-scared to leave. And it’s been easy to mark my entire summer off as a failure. I forget about the manna. I’m missing the forest for the trees. Those silver linings have tarnished. I’m missing how God has been providing for me. Some I’ve pushed aside—forgetting to pause and appreciate the sunflowers that have been given to me this summer, and some that will come into focus when I move out of this season of my life.

I was able to see two high school friends and a cousin get married this summer because I’ve been home. I’ve attended bachelorette parties, bridal showers, and baby showers because I am home. I was able to go meet my pen pal from Ontario and attend her wedding because I didn’t have a job to work around. I was able to visit MBZ in Crown Point because my weeks were free. I was able to hang out with my brother and sister-in-law when they came home for July 4th because I was still at home. I was able to make a new friend because I am home. I’ve had adventures with my mom because I am home. I’ve taken MBZ all over Goshen when she’s visited her beau because I’m still in Goshen. I could do a round of Whole 30 with my parents because I am home. I could go on an overnight shopping adventure in Schaumburg, IL with my sister because I am home and don’t have a job.

These are some of my summer Ruth Blessings. When Naomi returned to Bethlehem with Ruth, her daughter-in-law, she became Mara, bitter. But, cultural issues about not having a male provider aside, I always felt like Ruth was slighted in this change of Naomi’s. Ruth stayed by her side and through her presence God continued to bless Naomi. Ruth gleaned in the fields. Ruth found a provider and protector. Ruth gives her a grandbaby.

“He shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age, for your daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons, has given birth to him.” Ruth 4:15 (ESV)

More to you than seven sons.

Sometimes, you just don’t know what something can grow into. Like those people you pick out and decide to just spend a lot of time with… you know, friends.

I’ve been blessed with friends who are always up for long chats. Phone. Facetime. Texting. Coffee at the Brew. Bubble tea on courthouse steps. I am blessed with a group of girls who all revive my spirit in unique and different ways. When my worries, anxieties, and my inability to pause because I run around like a wind-up car—in uncertain paths and running into the occasional wall. Or a solar-powered hula dancing girl.  They hold the key to wind me back up. They are the sun that recharges my wiggle. The Ruth to my Mara (babies not necessary).

So I’m continuing to hula along. I’ve decided it’s time to settle in. Who knows, I might be here for awhile. That tea may be unpacked. September 1st, I’ll head to the temp agency and see what jobs I can find. I’m finding a Sunday School to belong to. I’m considering volunteering with middle school or junior high girls. I’ll begin to cultivate a life in the Land ‘o Goshen. To try and become content.

“Where you tend a rose, my lad, a thistle cannot grow.” – The Secret Garden

And besides, I’m not alone. Though sometimes it’s hard to believe.

“God, I’m sick of this, but I’m going to trust that you see what I’m going through. I’m gonna trust that you’re with me even in this.” – Matt Carder, Pastor at Commonway Church, Muncie, Indiana

 


 

This has been a crazy-long post, and thanks for making it through the analogies, cliches, and idioms. And the general crazy word-vomiting of my soul. I’ve had three months of angsty roller-coaster thoughts to work through. We’ll take a lighter turn for the next few posts… including a recap on my trip to Canada! 🙂

Brand New Leaves: Thoughts on Graduation

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“Life is unpredictable,
It changes with the seasons,
Even your coldest winter,
Happens for better reasons,
And though it feels eternal,
Like all you’ll ever do is freeze,
I promise spring is coming,
And with it, brand new leaves.”

– e.h

I don’t think I ever really prepared myself for the inevitable end of college.

Goodbyes.

Packing up my nest.

I spent most of this year in denial.

There would be no goodbyes.

There would be no last times.

I made myself believe that time would stand still.

I made my website. I went to a conference. I went to portfolio reviews. And then on the first day of April, I cracked. I had a portfolio review the next day. I had very little sleep all week preparing for this review and was spending my class time arguing with the printer. And I left class on the verge of tears. My fears about the future and the stress that had been building up all year finally broke me. But I was going to work, and so tears would have to wait. Note to self: cry later.

I’ve had a lot of conversations with Morgen about this. 1,481 miles away and she has still been the voice of reason in my world. She has this uncanny ability to verbalize what I’m going through. She is the verbose princess. 

“I feel like I’m doing a lot of growing up at once,” she said.

And that’s really what it feels like. And it hurts, man. It’s frightening.

And it’s overwhelming, along with everything else. Like the ground here; it’s been brown since winter, but all at once, after the snow, it’s suddenly green, and there was no warning, and everything changes. And it’s beautiful but it’s new. Sometimes you feel like creeping back to what’s been, but that doesn’t mean that will stop spring from coming.     – The Verbose Princess

And spring is coming. Although it can be hard to see it. Or understand it. And with all of these goodbyes to say and decisions about the future to make, it’s hard to know which path you should take.

There’s an essay by Dr. A.W. Tozer (Miracles Follow the Plow) that seems fitting as our lives are ripped apart and pieced back together.

Break up your fallow ground: for it is time to seek the Lord, till He come and rain righteousness on you” (Hosea 10:12)

“…the cultivated field has yielded itself to the adventure of living. The protecting fence has opened to admit the plow, and the plow has come as plows always come, practical, cruel, business-like and in a hurry. Peace has been shattered by the shouting farmer and the rattle of machinery. The field has felt the travail of change; it has been upset, turned over, bruised and broken.

But its rewards come hard upon its labors. The seed shoots up into the daylight its miracle of life, curious, exploring the new world above it.”

School is all I have known for 17 years. I have measured my years in semesters and summer vacations. Year after year, it’s been the same. The path was straight and I knew it well. It’s hard to see that there is a place in the world outside of that for me. There’s a bend in my path. But like Anne Shirley, “I don’t know what lies around the bend, but I’m going to believe that the best does.”

“It’s a rough time,” Morgen agreed, “but it’s got an expiration date. It’ll keep going if we do.”

But how? How can I keep going and going. I leave campus and all I want to do is curl into a ball and sleep. Or cry. And nurse a cuppa. In one of these times of crumbling, I received a letter from Morgen:

Yesterday I went for a run, the kind that is fueled by emotional necessity, rather than healthy motivation. I looked out at the piles of dirt and caught my breath, and remembered how amazed I was that these massive piles of dirt and stone stay standing through all the wind and rain. “What is holding this up?” And I wondered the same thing yesterday. And it occurred to me that I ask the same thing of myself. I look at myself and wonder if I’ll crumble, who I’ll hurt, and what I can weather. And God is like “It’s the same thing holding you both up.” So I’m a pendulum swinging back and forth between okay and crumbling, and that’s just where I’m at. But I can’t help but believe that this is an essential time.

Essential time. It’s true. It’s a step we must take. It hurts. It’s uncertain. But it’s important. It’s important for my future around that bend in the road. It’s important for my relationships with my friends and for my relationship with my heavenly father.

I have faith that God has a plan for me. But as cloudy as that is, I’m not waiting. And I don’t think I’m supposed to wait. I’ve been reading The First Time We Saw Him by Matt Mikalatos recently.

“We are inadequate to accomplish the impossible. We have insufficient power to do the miraculous. … He merely wants our participation. He could have made lunch for all five thousand people with a clap of his hands. …We ask for the miraculous, and he expects us to participate in the miracle he provides. We are inadequate and we realize we don’t have enough. He tells us to simply bring everything we do have. We bring it all even though it’s insufficient, and he makes up the difference using his divine power. …He tells a man with a twisted hand to stretch it out. he tells a man with withered legs to stand up and walk. At the very least, he asks us to participate in his miracles by having faith. He doesn’t need our faith to do the miraculous, yet he often tells people in Scripture, ‘Your faith has healed you.’ We provide faith or water or fish, and he provides the miracle. ”

Faith is not an idle grace. So I’m applying for jobs while praying for guidance… and a job.

 

Morgen: Young adulthood feels like a second puberty
Kelly: This is young adulthood?
Morgen: I don’t know…what is it? Emerging adulthood?
Kelly: putting adulthood into practice
Morgen: Training wheels come off, and here we go. Tassels on handlebars, helmets on sideways, elbows poised for cement scrapes.

We might be swinging back and forth between okay and crumbling, but here we go.

Cognitive Champagne (Thought Bubbles): Nomad, No Problem

This post has been brought to you by Morgen B. See her on Instagram @guten_morgen14

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Somebody smart said once, “If your faith isn’t changing you, it isn’t saving you.” Somebody else smart also once asked, “What is your faith costing you?”

Around this time last summer, these two ideas were eating away at me. My faith had grown before my eyes into something tangible and vital, and I was aching for direction. At the same time, I was reading stories daily about the hurt and horrors occurring all around the world. People were (and still are) being removed from their homes, shot in the streets, raped and burned and humiliated and destroyed. A beautiful, horrible side effect of following Jesus is suddenly seeing the hurt in the world and feeling the pull to help as you hurt with people.

With these two ideas (The Great Hurt and The Cost) turning over in my washing machine brain, I began to believe that taking any step of faith would mean me personally going to every nation. A one-man-band; all things to all people; Mother Teresa + Ghandi + Ms Frizzle.

But in the process, my selfish soul also convinced me that the best way for me to make any sort of impact on the world would be to be a great adventurer, which, really, is an awfully selfish ambition.

I was struck by the fear that it could be possible that the gifts I have and the place I am in may be equipping me to serve God and His children where I am.

How horribly dull, thought my selfish soul.

This was not what my favorite authors and speakers and heroes had been telling me, right? Everyone I looked up to, like Carl Medearis or Matt Mikalatos or even my discipler had sacrificed everything by leaving their Western context and bringing the Gospel to people who wore different clothes or ate with chopsticks or spoke obscure dialects. And that appeals to me. I love the idea of removing myself from this suffocating cacophony of American culture for the sake of exploring, saving people, and being a hero.

But how sickeningly selfish, thought my conscious. That dream was all about me.

I believe that God’s heart breaks for the millions of people suffering around the world. And I believe that God’s heart breaks for the millions of people suffering under my nose. Who am I to think that a group of people, because they seem more exotic or mysterious to me, is worth more than the souls standing next to me in the checkout line at Meijer? Over the past year, I have learned that sometimes I love people. I can become addicted to feeling like I am making a difference. But does that mean that I am really serving them, or myself?

This is pure speculation right here: I don’t always think that God has a completely specific plan for every aspect of my life. Maybe sometimes He offers a few choices and lets me pick a card, but I know He’s always in and through and around my life, in part for the simple reason that His plan is waaaaaaaaay bigger than the choices I make. So if I were to decide that the best way for me to grow closer with the Lord and to serve other human beings in His name was to go into

the deepest jungle or to an igloo or a cardboard box, He would be proud of me and love me. In the same way, if I were to choose to stay in America, maybe even Indiana, maybe even Muncie (is Muncie the Nazareth of Indiana?), he would be proud of me and love me, not because I’m so cool, but because I belong to Him.

No matter where I go or who I love or what I do, I have to remember that my life cannot be all about me. I’m trying to give that up. When my life is about loving God and the people that God loves (which is every single soul), it really doesn’t matter where I am. The truth is that, because I belong to Him, I have the gift of being able to be a part of what He is doing in the world. I am freed from the burden of straining to make my life more comfortable or exciting because I have been given real life already, here and now. The rest is an adventure we’ll go through together.

-Morgen

Analogies of Accepting Grace

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As I read the gospels, I’m in awe of the gift we’ve been given.

Forgiveness of our sins.

Promise of eternal life.

But grasping the concept of the gift, is another matter entirely. It is so hard to understand why, with nothing in return, this has been given to us.

A story that I’m sure I’ve heard elsewhere but can’t remember. So here it is, paraphrased:

A man places some tires out by the road with a free sign upon them. There is nothing wrong with the tires, they’re just a spare set and he doesn’t need the money from selling them. He wants to help another person. They sit by the road for days, no one wants them. He replaces the free sign with one that says “Tires, $20” The next day, the tires are stolen.

I feel like this story represents our struggle with accepting grace. Nothing worth something in the human world comes free.

I love to give charity, but I don’t want to be charity. This is why I have so much trouble with grace. …you are not above the charity of God

– Donald Miller

I think this is why it is so hard to accept. Everything we know comes at a cost.

But not forgiveness.

Not the promise of eternal life.

Not grace.

We’re free.

Free to accept this gift.

To live.

A Faith Like Lucy

A faith like Lucy

I recently reread the entire Chronicles of Narnia series by C.S. Lewis. (If you haven’t read them, please do)

In Prince Caspian (Book #4), there is a scene where Lucy sees Aslan in the forest. None of others believe her. But Lucy is sure of what she saw:

“Look! Look! Look!” cried Lucy.

“Where? What?” asked everyone.

“The Lion,” said Lucy. “Aslan himself. Didn’t you see?” Her face had changed completely and her eyes shone.

“Do you really mean——” began Peter.

“Where did you think you saw him?” asked Susan.

“Don’t talk like a grown-up,” said Lucy, stamping her foot. “I didn’t think I saw him. I saw him.”

“Where, Lu?” asked Peter.

“Right up there between those mountain ashes. No, this side of the gorge. And up, not down. Just the opposite of the way you want to go. And he wanted us to go where he was—up there.”

“How do you know that was what he wanted?” asked Edmund.

“He—I—I just know,” said Lucy, “by his face.”

The others all looked at each other in puzzled silence.

“Her Majesty may well have seen a lion,” put in Trumpkin. “There are lions in these woods, I’ve been told. But it needn’t have been a friendly and talking lion any more than the bear was a friendly and talking bear.”

“Oh, don’t be so stupid,” said Lucy. “Do you think I don’t know Aslan when I see him?”

“He’d be a pretty elderly lion by now,” said Trumpkin, “if he’s one you knew when you were here before! And if it could be the same one, what’s to prevent him having gone wild and witless like so many others?”

Lucy turned crimson and I think she would have flown at Trumpkin, if Peter had not laid his hand on her arm. “The D.L.F. doesn’t understand. How could he? You must just take it, Trumpkin, that we do really know about Aslan; a little bit about him, I mean. And you mustn’t talk about him like that again. It isn’t lucky for one thing: and it’s all nonsense for another. The only question is whether Aslan was really there.”

“But I know he was,” said Lucy, her eyes filling with tears.

“Yes, Lu, but we don’t, you see,” said Peter.

The group goes against Lucy’s thought that they should follow Aslan, and continues on their way. Later as Lucy is sleeping, she is awoken by a voice calling her. She follows the voice to find Aslan.

The Lion looked straight into her eyes.

“Oh, Aslan,” said Lucy. “You don’t mean it was? How could I—I couldn’t have left the others and come up to you alone, how could I? Don’t look at me like that … oh well, I suppose I could. Yes, and it wouldn’t have been alone, I know, not if I was with you. But what would have been the good?”

Aslan said nothing.

“You mean,” said Lucy rather faintly, “that it would have turned out all right—somehow? But how? Please, Aslan! Am I not to know?”

“To know what would have happened, child?” said Aslan. “No. Nobody is ever told that.”

“Oh dear,” said Lucy.

“But anyone can find out what will happen,” said Aslan. “If you go back to the others now, and wake them up; and tell them you have seen me again; and that you must all get up at once and follow me—what will happen? There is only one way of finding out.”

“Do you mean that is what you want me to do?” gasped Lucy.

“Yes, little one,” said Aslan.

“Will the others see you too?” asked Lucy.

“Certainly not at first,” said Aslan. “Later on, it depends.”

“But they won’t believe me!” said Lucy.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Aslan.

She returns to the camp and tells her tale as the others wake up. Edmund believes her, and although it’s two agains three, they decide to follow Lucy and Aslan. Slowly, first Edmund and then the others, they are all able to see Aslan.

Reading this part, two things hit me:

1. Stay Strong and Believe

Lucy always knew Aslan would come. She didn’t know how or when. But she knew he would come. The others began to loose the faith that she had in him, and as a result, they were not able to see him when he did. A a Christian, it’s easy to be discouraged when I don’t feel like God is around.

Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1

It can be hard to have faith when the world is around us agreeing with our fears.

But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. James 1:6

But because of her faith, Lucy was rewarded by seeing Aslan.

Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?” John 11:40

And then, as the others began to believe without seeing, they too, were rewarded.

Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls. 1 Peter 1:8-9

Lucy was also young and unlike the others, her youth meant her eyes had not yet been clouded by the world.

Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is–his good, pleasing and perfect will. Romans 12:2

 

And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 18:3

 

2. What’s past is past. 

Once forgiven, our past sins are behind us. You can never go back and change your decisions or to find out what might have happened, as Aslan tells Lucy. But instead we must look ahead to the future find find out what will happen.
Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3:13-14

 

Have faith.

What I believe is not what I say I believe; what I believe is what I do. – Donald Miller

Month of Sundays

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Branching Out

In my last letter from my fellow blogger and pen-pal. (More on that here.) I was asked if I was a Christian, or religious. I am. I am a born-again Christian in a relationship with Jesus Christ. And I was frustrated with myself that I did not write that in my first letter to her because it is such a large part of who I am. Instead, the reason she asked was because of a post she read here. I was also frustrated because I knew that I hadn’t written that post. I had just shared it onto my blog via another blog. Why hadn’t I written my own post? No real reason that I can specify. I could reason myself in circles and I do, frequently.

Recently my pastor at the church I attend while I’m in college has said several things that have stuck with me for weeks.

Skirting the Issue

The first thing is how we have a tendency to avoid talking about it. We go to work or class on Monday and talk about our weekends but Sunday doesn’t start until afternoon. Because we don’t want to talk about where we were Sunday morning.  But why? Going to church on Sundays is such a big part of my life. I love Sundays mornings. I get so excited. Why don’t I share that with others? Sure, I’ve got my own excuses (not that they count for anything) and others have theirs. But if we believe in something so strongly we should share it with others and invite them along!

In-between Sundays

The second thing that has been sticking with me is the idea of how we live Sunday to Sunday. I know that’s not a new concept to be discussed and I’ve heard many a sermon on it throughout high school. In this case, what triggered my thinking was the Prayer series we recently finished at church. It was the idea of the frequency of our prayers. Do we set aside time each day to be in communication with God or do we only enter into that relationship on Sundays? I know I’m guilty of that. So I’m challenging myself to live everyday like it’s Sunday. I shouldn’t need a challenge, I’m aware. But I’m human just like you on the other side of the internet reading whatever this post is turning into. Just because I’m a Christian, doesn’t mean I’m perfect — which is a lie I’ve heard again and again.

Month of Sundays

I don’t want to have a relationship that is only once a week. Those can be hard to keep. I want to live my life like everyday is Sunday.