write anyways.

I sat at my piano today. My fingers pounded over the same four chords. Something about the progression invited me in. I found myself with lyrics at the tip of my tongue as if they had been there waiting for me. Honest words that carried the depth of the story they told -- I was taken back at my own reaction.

These are the times I feel myself come alive. The deepest parts of me shaken, dusted off, and uncovered. Words that reveal the place I don't want people to see or know. But I write anyways. Because it is a part of me I get to share with others. It is what I can give to this world; my words and half hearted attempt at vulnerability.

A beautiful friend and poet told me the other day, "you might be the worst writer in the world or the best writer in the world but at least you will have evidence of it." 

So here is my evidence. Just like my songs -- heart to keyboard, keyboard to you.

Not sure I have anything worth reading but what I do know is I have a vision. A vision for each of us to dream big, live full, and be free of judgement. To share what inspires us, what we love, and who we truly are. To remember what it means to love each other and not just like a whole bunch of stuff. 

I could give you a nice photo of myself, a stellar sounding bio, interesting photos and a make my life seem really cool from where you are sitting. We all could and most of us do, myself included. But I am not here to prove anything, especially my coolness factor. And I am letting go of how many people actually "like" anything I do. 

I am writing to feel alive. To awake the parts of me that are often silenced by doubt and self judgement. 

Because I believe my doubts and self judgement will always be the opposition of putting myself out there.

But I need more evidence, so I will write anyways.

(grace)fully letting go.

They say endings give way to beautiful new beginnings. But what if that new beginning is hard? That gravel before the pavement. And I, stumbling along...holding out for level ground. Unable to find it in narrow my view. I find myself amid the friction between my fears and my desires. Because I am not sure how to fully let go. And to do so gracefully at that. 

I’m a visual person and often paint my words into images. 

I close my eyes to imagine grace. The vastness of a wide open field. Flowing hair in the wind, and soft touches of a Savior. The kind that comes to you in the middle of a sweet moment. But what about the grace that hurts? The kind of grace disguised in pain, with little thought of its origin. Only to be brought to light by the reflection of the God who covered us deeply with it. 

Jesus suffering on the cross, the greatest sacrifice of all — is our saving grace. No hair blowing in the wind. Just pierced hands and pierced feet, hanging on the cross. 

I am humbled at the obscurity of my idea of grace. And at the same time comforted in knowing that I am at home in my pain. 

Because when it hurts, it hurts and I am confident that is just where my sweet savior meets me. In those deep hidden places I often forget exist until I am still enough to feel them. Feel that the soft touch I crave, sometimes comes in the form of a firm hand. Just like a father would do to his child, knowing what the child does not. My father’s no has seemed like my death. But maybe it is his very no that is my life-giving yes. My glimpse into grace.

In His no, I am reconciled to new life. 

When I reflect upon all the Lord has done with me and for me, I find no bounds. I can’t seem to express every tiny moment. Nor would you want me to. It is only when I fix my eyes vertically I can begin to share who my Lord is. Who he says He is through the mercy of His holy spirit. There is no need to know how to let go gracefully — it just happens.

So when His no becomes more apparent and my fists clench tighter, resisting; His grace deepens. And I fall deeper in love. For all He is. Even the parts I have yet to discover.

My hope is that we can look at each other’s stories and not find ourselves among them but find our Savior. Our common ground is Him. I do not have any radical new way of thinking or theology. Just a story, still being written. A story of finding grace in the most ungraceful places of learning to let go — fully.