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I love music.
Like…love it so much that it might be a requirement for the guy I marry to be musically inclined in some way. Maybe that makes me shallow.

I just think it’s powerful.
Music has a way of bringing us back to things, to people… it has a way of penetrating our hearts. It moves us deeply. It leads us into worship. It’s a way we can express ourselves when words don’t feel like enough. It’s motivating, inspiring…it’s never-ending. It caters to each of us at different times, in different moods, in different settings.

Sometimes I’m overwhelmed with my appreciation for music.

Today was one of those days where music brought me back to a moment in time. A memory that I’m not sure I’ll ever forget. It was a Wednesday night of camp and campers had just experienced ‘The Last Supper’ to the Garden of Gethsemane in full. From the Passover Meal, to the washing of feet, to the praying in the garden….each camper, each week walked through this. It included the usual gagging on horseradish and the awkward silence as counselors squeezed their way into tight spaces in order to wash their camper’s feet.

The night segued into our open-air Pavilion where all the campers would gather from their individual prayer spots. Each camper had been carrying a small rock with them for two days… a rock that represented their story. They’d each had a chance to share their story with their group. On this night, they were given a chance to surrender their life, their story, to Christ. It was a night to open the door for Christ to intersect, for Him to take over…a reminder that there was so much hope in letting go and giving it all to Him.

Their counselors collected each rock/story in a wooden trough and carried them to the Pavilion with their group trailing behind them. The idea was that they represented Christ in this big metaphor. As each pair of counselors came into the Pavilion, one in front of the trough, one in back… I would direct them to a certain spot. As we waited for them to trickle in, no one spoke…but the music penetrated our souls. By the time all the counselors were present, the shape they were in resembled that of the cross.

It was often a pretty intense night for the campers…but I was too far removed from them to really know all the details of what was going on which each of them. The thing that I vividly remember were MY ‘campers’ each week: the counselors. They’d come in carrying this uncomfortable trough, sometimes overflowing with 30+ rocks…sometimes scattered with less than ten. Sometimes I’d watch them try to hold back tears, and the unspoken looks exchanged between us told me that something powerful had just happened in their groups with one of their campers.

Sometimes they stood there for a long, long time as we waited for the last of the groups to show up. One night, in particular, seemed especially brutal. Not only was the wait long, meaning the more uncomfortable they got as they bore the weight of these stories…but there was this spiritual heaviness that seemed pressed upon them. As the music played, the words seemed to pour over us. I remember the tears that so many finally let loose, I remember the heaving shoulders, I remember seeing the desperation in their eyes as they looked up… almost as if they were pleading to God. They were prayers I never heard, but I knew they mattered.

I knew they mattered because it was as if in this moment that we all understood the urgency of the message we were presenting that night. It was the only one we could ever share that truly could change a life. It was a message of hope. And in the midst of the tears and the brokenness, there was the cross that made life possible. That makes it possible.

As my iPod randomly shuffled to one of these songs today, I was immediately taken back to this place. I was immediately back to this time where Jesus Christ was all that mattered… and I needed to be reminded of that again. I needed to be reminded that I am carrying His name…’for all of my days, in all of my ways’.

This is the only story that matters: the Gospel.
How does my own story reflect the only one that does…? How does yours?
Jesus, Your name… forever. 
Soak it in for yourself.

Today started off with a reminder of how small I am.

And it quickly moved into a day where I was reminded how incapable I am of relating to so many people. Sometimes, at the climax of my zeal, I think I can identify with every single person in the world on some level. Today I realized that it might be ridiculous to entertain such a thought.

If we were playing ‘Never Have I Ever’, I think I would lose…because I haven’t really experienced a lot of things that a lot of people have.

Let’s see…
Never Have I Ever…

• been drunk
• had sex
• lost a loved one
• been poor (like, truly poor)
• been homeless
• been severely injured
• had severe health problems
• been friendless
• been abused
• been raped
• had an eating disorder
• seriously considered suicide my only option
• cut myself
• done drugs
• been abandoned by my family
• questioned my sexuality 
• gone without food

‘Do you want to get married?’

It was one of the most significant memories in a cemetery that I can recall to this day. I still blush thinking about the freudian slip while attempting to ask my best guy friend (whom I also had a severe crush on at the time) if he wanted to be Buried or cremated. We were taking an afternoon stroll through a scenic cemetery in our college town on a crisp fall day. Neither of us knew a proposal was on order, and, in my humiliation, I quickly tried to recover… I’ve probably subconsciously avoided cemeteries ever since.

But, there are a lot of cemeteries in the northeast.
I went for a short run/long walk in one this afternoon. Creepy, sure… but beautiful, nonetheless. It’s a cemetery marked by age and history, not to mention the lakes, trees and rolling hills. Aside from the occasional mind rabbit trail where I imagine the thousands of corpses under the ground that I’m treading upon, I tend to think a lot when I’m in a cemetery. Today was no exception.

When I was younger, I used to think (hypothetically, of course) of the ways that I could fake my own death. Once ‘dead’, there would obviously be a funeral for me. My grand plan was to find a way to scout out my funeral and see who would actually show up, who would actually care if I died. Would people make an effort to come? Beyond the showing up, I wanted to know what people would say about me, I wanted to hear the eulogies (eugooglies?).  If I could be a fly on the wall of my funeral…an ant in a blade of grass at my burial…then I would know if I really mattered to people and who I really mattered to.

I imagine other people have had similar thoughts. This desperation in wanting to know that we matter, to know that we’re doing something right, that we’re making an impact on more people than ourselves. It’s a cry to be truly known, loved, cared about.

I was reminded in a sermon today of how risky it is to let people in.
I was also reminded of how worth it it is….and how much we we all, deep down, desire it. We were made for it.

It’s interesting, because sometimes I get concerned with the numbers. I think about my funeral with a small number of people in attendance and it makes me feel like I failed at life. But I wonder how much the opposite might be true. That in this pursuit to be known perhaps we make the mistake of getting caught up in how many people we know versus how many people we know. Facebook friendship vs. true friendship, perhaps?

I’ve realized that my life has become far more about trying to let a mass of people know I care about them and a lot less about letting people actually know me. I’m quick to dodge questions about myself and eager to ask you questions about your life and your own struggles and joys. It’s a one-sided relationship…one where I hope you feel known/loved by me, and one where I escape being known by you. And, as I get to know more people, my ability to truly care about them decreases as my time, energies, efforts are divided. Instead of being a truly good friend to a few, I feel like I’m a disaster of an acquaintance to many.

I’m honestly not sure what this means going forward.
I think there’s something to consider as we develop relationships with other people, as we seek to go beyond the surface. Instead of focusing so much on the number of people that we are Facebook friends with, what might it look like to consider the depth of those friendships. Do you have authentic relationships with others? Relationships where people encourage you, but also challenge your weaknesses and call you to something greater? Relationships where people know you, even the ‘not-so-hot’ you? Relationships where you know you are supported, cared about…and loved… no matter what?

I don’t think this unattainable.
I just think it’s scary. But it’s what we want… whether you’re ready to admit it or not.
I have a few of these friendships, and, to be honest, they sometimes tend to be the people that I run from the most…the people that I find most annoying at times because they ask the hard questions and expect more from me. I can’t hide from them, but yet I try. They are friendships that push me toward Christ in ways that others simply cannot. They are good. They are necessary.

I don’t think we need every relationship on earth to be like this. I think that’s an unrealistic expectation. But, we need some. Even Jesus only had a few close buds.

I hope we become people who care much more about quality than we do quantity. I hope we become people who are willing to go ‘there’ with a few people in life.

Think about it.

And if, by some chance, I do get to witness my funeral? I hope I’m just thankful for those deep friendships instead of disappointed by a lack of attendance. That my significance and worth wouldn’t come from fame or popularity…but from something much greater. Being truly known, loved and adopted by the Creator of the universe…and from that, may everything else flow.

The comment:

When your friend is dating someone you don’t like and you don’t agree with it, do you say something OR do you abide by this supposed code and keep your mouth shut because they are “happy”? 

Great question.
If I had a nickel for every time I got out a relationship and the immediate reaction from close friends and family was elation, I’d be…well, richer.

But, seriously… sometimes I feel like the whole world around me is holding their breath while I’m in a relationship, secretly hoping that this isn’t the guy I end up with. When it’s over, it’s as though they can breathe again and that often includes a barrage of reasons why he just wasn’t ‘right’ for me. Sometimes tears of relief are shed (by people who aren’t even my mom). I can’t help but think, ‘If you were that emotionally distraught by the thought of me being with him, why didn’t you just say something?!?’

I get it. I get why people don’t. When I asked my family and friends why they didn’t say anything when I was in these various relationships, I’m often met with some sort of answer like, ‘Just because I don’t like him doesn’t mean that you don’t… you clearly do, so I wasn’t going to let my dislike of him get in the way of that.’  That’s fair…if you just don’t like him but think that he’s good for me, I guess.

OR, there’s the common, ‘It’s not my business to say anything.’…or, ‘You’re going to be the one to have to live with him your whole life, and I’m not going to try to tell you that I know him better than you.’…or, ‘I trust your judgment.’

Okay… sure. But it’s a little infuriating when the vast majority of the people in your life suddenly come forward after a relationship is over to confess all their concerns and fears about you spending the rest of your life with someone. That certainly doesn’t help me after there’s no need to even decide on whether or not being in the relationship is a good idea. It’s been decided and your two cents after the fact just makes me pissed that you didn’t have the nerve to tell me while we were dating. Even if you’re just trying to make me feel better about the relationship being over… a heads-up while I was all in would have been nice, too.

And some people did say stuff, and I wasn’t willing to listen (can’t we all identify with that?)…but I certainly appreciated them being honest with me, even if I didn’t like it at the time. I’m not really angry about it (whether people did or didn’t say things)… I mostly think it’s intriguing to think about why we don’t always say something and when, or if, we ever should.

There’s a lot of people that get into relationships that I think are terrible ideas. I don’t always tell them. So, at what point do you address concerns that you have? Is it ever appropriate? Is it ever received well?

Honestly–I have a hard time believing that it is ever received well. I’m not sure that’s a good enough reason for us to not be honest with those closest to us, though. I think, in confronting things of such a sensitive nature, we should probably always expect that we most likely won’t be met with open arms. In fact, people may try to distance themselves from us, they may not want to talk to us anymore, they may think we’re out to get them. It’s why it’s risky for us to say anything…and it’s probably why most of us don’t. Plus, we don’t want to meddle.

I think making a decision to say something or not boils down to your relationship with the other person, your reason for it not being a good idea, and how you approach said confrontation. Here are some things to consider:

• How close are you to this person? 
• Do you have the kind of friendship/relationship that withstands disagreements/tension? 
• Do they know that you love them, no matter what? That you have their best interest in mind? 
• In saying something, do you have any alternative motivation for this relationship not working out (i.e. are you in love with your best friend and so any relationship he/she gets in is automatically a bad idea if it’s not you…) 
• Does your dislike of the person have anything to do with you? (i.e. your best friend suddenly disappeared because they started dating someone and now you’re jealous, sad, lonely because you don’t get to see them anymore…you want your best friend back!) 

It sucks when they move on, doesn’t it?
Even if you don’t want them anymore…there’s still this pain that resurfaces when you realize that you’re no longer necessary, that you’re no longer part of the plan… that they no longer want you. It’s probably one of the hardest parts about breaking up. Admitting that there’s actually someone better out there for them than you.

The sting doesn’t ever seem to go away. Even though it’s been over a decade since some of my break-ups, there’s still the prick of a reminder that someone else was better suited for them. It fades, sure… but it’s still there.

It’s hard to not immediately go into my little pity party mode. It’s hard to look at things objectively and rationally and truly put others before myself. It’s hard to not think about the one million things that must be wrong with me that make me unable to maintain a relationship, or unable for someone to want to be with me for the long haul.

It’s actually funny how much I notice self-deprecation when it comes out in other people, but seem perfectly oblivious to it within myself. When others are hard on themselves or unable to see any sort of good that they have to offer, it’s so frustrating to me. How come they can’t see the good? How come they can’t believe in themselves? How come they have to be so consumed by the negative? I don’t get it. I’m not like that…

And then my eldest brother told me how I am like that. I am always putting myself down.
He’s right.
I do.
It’s this form of self-preservation, I think. Even the good things that happen to me, it can never happen because I’m actually good or talented or desirable–but there’s always a hidden motive, reason, excuse for why something good could actually happen to me. I’m too scared to ever hope for anything different.

I don’t believe in me.
And the break ups remind me that I wasn’t good enough. They’re proof that I cling to show the world I was right. The moving on allows me to believe that someone else will always be better than me. It perpetuates this spiral of thinking that I’ll always lose, I’ll always fail.

Self-fulfilling prophecy.

There’s an opportunity for things to be different. For me to be different. There’s that opportunity for you, too. The question always becomes about whether or not we want to change. It seems easier for me to mope and be sad and lonely, believing that I’m ultimately incapable of anything good or that people don’t genuinely care about me without any hidden motive. It’s much harder to go through life hoping and believing…when the risk of disappointment is so high. It’s much harder to keep going through life hoping and believing…even when there is disappointment and heartache.

I want to change.
Do you?
The self-loathing has to stop.  We can’t keep searching for every reason to feel sorry for ourselves, to think we’re failures, to feel like we’ll never get it right. From our ex’s moving on, to not getting a job, to getting a bad grade, to messing up a recipe… whatever big or small thing: these are not the things that define us.

My circumstances shouldn’t change who I am. My feelings shouldn’t change who I am.
I suppose it’s about time to start really believing that.
Let’s seize this opportunity for a second chance… another chance to be different, to believe in who we really are. And may that transform everything else…even when they move on.

It’s windy.
And rainy.
Somewhat of an ominous feeling–particularly exciting for a Salem night a few days before Halloween. This place is witch city and the additional impending hurricane makes it all the more crazy (like a ghost town, actually). Fortunately we’re not really within the line of fire (although we attempted to make it into the NYC area today but the threats of squalls and floods deterred us).

Life has been pretty low-key lately. Filled with babies and television and family and food… can you really complain about that? It’s like one really long vacation, only less stressful and with some work stuff on the side.

The last few days I’ve realized how terrified I am about the future. Too terrified to want to make a decision that seems like a long-term commitment. It seems easier to play things by ear, to not settle down, to not decide on anything at all. Time is going by quickly though, and I’m left with some pretty big-time decisions ahead of me.

In the midst of this, I’ve also become very aware that I want a family. It’s something I always said I wanted, but, truth be told, I think I knew I always wanted a husband but felt okay without the additional responsibility of what kids would mean. Babies were frightening and unfamiliar, toddlers were screaming, walking, needy monsters, and teenagers were out of control, near-sighted mistake-makers. No part of raising children seemed super exciting… it only seemed like one sacrifice after another. I never felt competent enough to successfully get kids to adulthood, either.

But then I started hanging out with babies. And one of my brothers introduced me to Parenthood. And then I’ve spent the last 2 months with my family… and I’ve been increasingly thankful for each of them.

I want a family.
I want to have kids. I want to adopt kids. I want to be married. I want to go through the hard stuff of everything that entails…because I’ve seen the joy that also accompanies it. I see the way it refines and changes you and the way you learn to live a life outside of yourself.

And so I’m scared.
I’m scared that as I’m in this period of transition that I’m just waiting for a season of marriage and family to finally kick in. It seems stupid to be waiting though. It’s like I’m wasting time. I don’t want to live life waiting. I want to be proactively doing things that I know I am called to, that I know I am passionate about. So, in the process of trying to sort through what that even means for me, I want to erase this thought in the back of my mind that I’m still just biding my time…that I’m still just waiting.

My oldest brother and I talked a bit about it the other night. He said, ‘It seems like God has a best plan possible for you right now and for you to say that your plan is better than His is ridiculous.’  Which is true. And it’s what I’m doing. I’m essentially saying, ‘Okay God…I’ll do this other thing until you decide to do things my way…. because my plan is the better plan. My plan is what I want more than your plan’.

The hilarious part is that everything is different in hindsight. Looking back at the last ten years of my life, I don’t regret being single for a moment. I love the opportunities that I’ve been able to have, I love the job that I was able to do, I love the people that I got to meet, the places I was able to go… and so much of that was possible because I didn’t have a spouse or a family to worry about or to take care of. It was only what the Lord had for me.

So why can’t that continue to be my mindset?
Why can’t I continue to trust that the Lord is taking care of me, that His plan is best… even if that never entails the things I think I want right now? Why can’t I live that way without having to look back and acknowledge it was better?

It’s kind of this vulnerable spot for me right now.
Still admitting that I don’t have these things and that sometimes I desperately want them…and hoping that people don’t ever feel sorry for me in the process. 

The good news is that I don’t have to make any big-time decisions about my life today. But, when I do (which is sooner than I wish)…I’m going to walk in faith that the Lord does have a best possible plan for me right now, even if it doesn’t include what I think I want. I don’t have to live my life feeling like I’m waiting for something better to come along. Perhaps I might live, instead, with the mindset that wherever I am… it’s good. A balance of being content, yet still pushing on toward what lies ahead…without some preconceived notion of what that actually is.

It’s a funny, complicated thing.
In the meantime?
My big decision will be what kind of topping I want on my pizza. I do love pizza.

Don’t feel sorry for me.
I’m doing exactly what I need to be doing right now.
And it’s good. 

Can you talk about the big ‘M’ without offending someone? Can you talk about it without being too crass or perverse or inappropriate?

I’m going to try to today…and I hope I don’t offend any of my readers. It’s been a topic that’s been brought up more than once and I’ve been too much of a coward to blog about it. I want to talk about it now because I fear the stigma surrounding it lends itself to something we only avoid discussing, when maybe we should do the opposite.

Masturbation.
The word itself is hard to say, look at, type.
I remember the first time that I heard it in a movie and I innocently asked my three older brothers and my mom what it meant. They told me to look it up in the dictionary. I did, but the words failed me. I didn’t grasp the meaning behind it and so I lost interest.

It wasn’t until a few years later when it all started clicking. ‘Oh, that means that??’
I can’t say I blamed my family for avoiding the awkward conversation in the middle of enjoyable family time…I probably would have done the same.

It’s a word that is dirty, shameful, repulsive.
Or, at least that’s what many of us have been trained to think.

There’s much debate over the issue, especially in Christian circles. It seems you either stand on the side of it being undoubtedly a sin, or you stand on the side of it being no big deal. There’s probably a few of us in the middle… and that’s where I stand.

I see both sides of the argument–but I’m not convinced that either are entirely correct. There’s not a lot (or any) biblical stance on this specific issue either. Many might argue that the scriptures on lust are applicable to masturbation…and sometimes they probably are. I could never say that they always are though. There are instances where I think it can be especially harmful to someone, but sometimes I think our bodies are in need of a sexual release.

I’ve had many a girl shamefully confide in me about this secret habit…and my heart breaks for them. Not necessarily because of what they are doing/have done, but because of the shame and humiliation that surrounds it. There are usually always tears, and there’s always the fears of being thought of differently that accompanies such a confession. It makes me ticked off at society… probably our Christian world than anything else. Masturbation, especially among women, is simply not something we do.. let alone something we ever talk about, right? And so, rather than exist in a fellowship where we can openly discuss hard topics and figure out where we stand on these issues, so many women vow to never speak of it. No one else has to know…it’s soon a hidden, dark secret. The more hidden it is, the more it affects us in negative ways. It becomes a slippery slope.

I usually approach conversations with girls about masturbation in whatever way I feel like they need me to. Meaning, if you think it’s a sin…I’m not going to tell you it’s not. If you don’t think it is, I’m not going to tell you that it is. I think both can be true. Most importantly, I want you to know why you think it’s a sin….just like I want you to know why you think anything might be a sin. Sometimes I think we get too carried away in what other people are telling us is sin vs. finding out for ourselves what is and what isn’t. And… isn’t it possible (or just true) that sometimes what’s sin for me is not sin for you and vice versa??

But, as far as masturbation goes…
Here are the instances where I think it can be especially harmful:

• in Lust (I would say if you’re masturbating to pornography, this would be a big clue… or if you’re thinking about someone while doing it)
• Addiction (the lack of self-control… of feeling like you need to do it all the time, that you can’t stop)
• Loneliness (letting it fill some sort of void, trying to get fulfillment from it)
• Impatience (not wanting to wait for the pleasure of what sex can bring)
• Control (doubting God’s goodness in your life and His desire for you to ever have sex…so you’ll just take matters into your own hands)

It’s pretty sweet to walk a few blocks, jump on a bus and less than thirty minutes later be smack-dab in the middle of New York City. I’m not sure if I’d want it to be my entire life, but for a month? I love it. Add in the fact that it’s fall and the weather has been a-m-a-z-i-n-g and I’m finding out more about the true joys of aunthood every day… it’s so good.

My brother and I ventured into the city yesterday and were able to get into a Broadway show for $27.00 each. We won the lottery. The show? We hadn’t really ever heard of it before, but with five Tony’s and some high recommendations from people in the business, we thought we’d give Peter and the Starcatchers a chance. We weren’t disappointed.

I laughed a lot at the witty lines and ridiculous facial expressions and while the show painted a new picture of Peter Pan’s life for us to consider, the following line was the one that really stuck with me.

‘It’s supposed to hurt. That’s how you know it meant something.’ 

In a dialogue between Peter and Molly (the ‘Wendy-like’ character in a story about how Peter got to Neverland in the first place) where good-byes are painful and heart-wrenching, Molly spouts this out.

As I sat in my seat, I churned these words over and over again in my head. Is that a true statement? Do the things that mean more, hurt more? I reflected over my past wounds and deepest heartaches, recognizing on some level there’s some truth to it.

The people that hurt me the most are often the ones that matter most to me.
The hardest people to leave are the ones that I care the most about.
The things I love doing are the things that break my heart when I think about never doing them again.

So, really… the pain results in the absence of the thing that matters most. It results in the absence of loyalty or love, or the absence of someone’s physical presence, or the absence of getting to do what you feel like you were made to do. But perhaps it’s not ever ‘supposed’ to hurt at all…it’s the just the reality of how things are. It would seem that the ‘supposed’ to should actually be that the people we love/love us would never hurt us, that we would never have to leave those we care about, and we would always be able to do the things we love. Right?

I wonder if the ‘supposed to hurt’ is the way we now dictate how much something or someone means to us. Sometimes it’s probably how we decide whether or not to remain in relationships: ‘the thought of not being with you is too painful to bear, so I must care about you too much to ever let you go’. Perhaps the pain we feel can actually be the result of other things, too…and we too easily mix it up with love and passion (maybe we have an unhealthy attachment/addiction and the thought of releasing is devastating…even though the thing/person didn’t necessarily mean as much as we thought it did).

This is the kind of quote from something that you remember and then take with you other places. You make it your facebook status. You tweet it. You make it look all cool and decorated and put it on your mirror. You remind yourself each day that you’re supposed to hurt because that’s how you know things matter.

And, I kind of think that’s bogus and dangerous–especially the more I think about it.
It’s not supposed to hurt…. even if it does sometimes. Pain shouldn’t be the norm, it shouldn’t be what we settle for, it shouldn’t be what we expect. It’s okay (and I think good) for us to believe that sometimes the people we love/love us won’t hurt us, that sometimes we won’t have to say good-bye, that sometimes we can do the things we love for the rest of our lives.

I think this kind of quote enables me to feel sorry for myself and brings out my inner drama queen. It causes me to think more about my current circumstances and forget about the eternal and the joy I have in that….all the time. A place where I’m reminded that there’s no pain, no suffering, no tears.

Do the things that matter most hurt most?
Maybe sometimes.
But not all the time…
And pain should never be our gauge for how much something/someone means to us.

It’s not supposed to hurt.
It can still mean something even without the pain.

Be wary of the words that can so easily be written on our hearts if they are not truth….even if it sounds catchy and witty and, well, true. Dig deeper.

We must.

There’s no telling what’s going to flow from my fingers tonight.
There’s no agenda. There’s no plan.

I continue to wonder how honest I am with this online community. How well do you feel like you really know me? How much do you trust me? Am I more concerned with the amount of hits I receive each day over the quality of what I’m writing? Probably sometimes, unfortunately.

I sometimes want to write about things that I’m too scared for you to see. Controversial subjects–things that may sway you to never read my blog again. Things having to do with sex, and image, and God, and doubt, and fear, and hopelessness, and hopefulness, and love. Things that are raw and honest. Things you might disagree with. Things that might make my mother cringe.

I don’t think we’re open-minded enough though. I think we, all too often, walk around too confident in what we believe to be true, without allowing ourselves to consider that something else might actually be true. To some extent this can be good–being firm in our beliefs. But, sometimes…. sometimes I think that our inability to even hear others out without judgement and condemnation makes us hateful and more self-righteous than ever.

I feel like I know less than I did ten years ago. I feel like I’m less sure of things…but, simultaneously more confident. It’s a great paradox, I realize. Maybe it’s because before I was claiming to believe things without taking the time to really know why or if I even did. Now, I’d rather tell someone I don’t honestly know before taking a stance on something. Now, I’d rather hear someone else out and what they think before projecting my own thoughts and opinions on them.

For the last year I’ve longed to be absolutely stripped of what isn’t true. To be shed of the things within me that I’ve ignorantly believed because it’s what I was told to believe. Some of those things are true…and I cling to them. Some of them are not…and I want nothing to do with them any longer. I don’t want to exist in a place where I am solely defined by American Christianity…because sometimes I think we’ve just completely missed the mark. Because sometimes (ironically so), this Christianity seems void of Christ….which makes me realize how, as I sought to be a ‘solid Christian girl’, that there are parts of me void of Him too. My strife was more about achieving a great Christian status over being more in love with Jesus.

We care too much what people think.
I care too much what you think.
I care about disappointing you.

But, I know I will. I hope you know that, too.
I hope that no matter what I post and no matter what I think, that you would be willing to hear me out. That you would be willing to consider a view that might be different than yours. That you wouldn’t hesitate to challenge me or tell me your own thoughts/opinions on any subject.

I hope, in the end, that you trust that my desire is to unveil truth and to stop living according to the lies…whether that’s found in the religion or in the profane. It’s a journey that I’m constantly inviting you to join me in…as I hope to be constantly different, better, more in love with Jesus and who He really is.

I want to be stripped.
May everything else fall away other than what is true, and good, and pure. In the process, I pray that I learn the fullness of what it means to love and what it means to truly follow Jesus. Because, in my heart, I fear I have yet to know the magnitude of how much this changes everything.

I want to be more raw and real with you than ever before. I want the same from you.
I’m a little scared.
Maybe you are, too.
So… what do you say? Can I be honest with you?