My mind seeks to organize life in boxes. That's how I work, and it's great for many things. This year has certainly been one to break the boxes. I've been challenged, humbled, confronted, and forced
“‘Dear God,’ she prayed, ‘let me be something every minute of every hour of my life.’” —Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn Her parents started a major missions organization that impacts thousands
I'm sitting at the breakfast bar in my parents' kitchen. It's 9:30pm and I'm knocking back coconut chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven, courtesy of my mom and her practical love. I'm thinking
I've recently noticed that I have a natural aversion to things I cannot figure out, pin down, hammer out. It stresses me out if I cannot put something in a box; life is so complex,
The black hole of my mind. I can spend hours pondering my future, internalizing anxiety and trying to over-analyze my heart's current state. I can become absorbed in replaying memories, following threads into tomorrow, running
Motto for the summer, courtesy of a fictional children's hero: "Get scared later." I have been blessedly led to an internship in The Suburbs. I have been working with H the Women's Ministry Director. I
Orlando. Jane Doe, the survivor of the Stanford rape case. I read their words today. The world is broken, suffering, a slew of one-after-the-others. ISIS. Another Ebola outbreak. Another mass shooting at a high school.