Brokenness.

She was leaning against the counter, scrolling through her phone. A second later, music came gently slipping through the speakers on the counter. It was the smooth sweet notes from Coldplays new album. 

"Oh, I love this new album!" I said.

"Me too! If it took losing Gwyneth to create something like this, then I guess it was a sacrifice worth making."

By all means do I not want to belittle the heartbreak that happens when a relationship ends. I've had to grieve the ending of a relationship that was deeply rooted in me and there are no distinct words to describe how it feels some days when the hole aches and moans as it works to heal itself. 

Whether you are someone who is known by 2 people or 2 million people, the ache and pain that comes from heartbreak hurts. It really really hurts.

The comment that my friend made really hit me. She was right, if it weren't through true heartbreak, this album would have never been created. This album that has made my mind wander off, that gave me chills, that spoke unspoken words over my soul, it would have never been created if it wasn't for someone going through a time of grieving, a time of loss, a time in their lives that I'm sure they will never want to revisit ever again.

Many artist do this, they take something very strong in their lives, whether good or bad, and they make something out of it. They create something that they then share with the world. They take their brokenness and put words, color, music to it, so that you and I can go and sit with it, listen to it, stare at it, and feel less alone with whatever we are fighting with, whatever it is that we may be struggling with. 

WE FEEL LESS ALONE. 

As I go through this time of rebuilding and repair in my life, I'm beginning to look forward to the good that will be created from it. I can already feel the way my heart is being tugged, shaped, and moved to become something bigger, something better. 

I'm beginning to find myself, for the first time in my life, to be challenged to live in truth, no matter how ugly or unacceptable the truth might be or how it might look.

I would rather live in truth, than to live a life that is run by ensuring that everyone thinks I am living the way THEY think I should be living. 

The only person who has any say so in my life is Jesus and he wants me to be real, he wants me to be honest. Even if that means what I have to say isn't pretty or it isn't what I 'should' say. He wants me to live in HIM and live in HIS truth. And you know what? I think He's ok with me coming to him and saying "I'm struggling" "I can't seem to do this" "I can't get out of bed right now". You know what I have found Him to do in these moments? He cradles me into his arms, he hugs me, and says, "I love you. I'm here. You don't have to do this alone."

NEVER has he condemned me. NEVER has he gotten onto me for saying a "bad word" to him. He listens. He takes me as I am. Exactly as I am.

He takes my brokenness and turns it into beauty. He turns it into something new, something better. 

"By his wounds you are healed" (1 Peter 2:24)

This blew my mind the other day when I really thought about it. How God reversed logic, took everything we could have figured out and completely revamped it by making it so that a wound, a hurt, brokenness, could be our source of healing. 

Healing radiates from His wounds, his scars. 

I still can't get enough of that image. I can't wrap my mind around that kind of love. 

THAT IS SO MUCH LOVE!

Brokenness........ Creating beauty for all of us to enjoy. 

Breaking up with 'Knowing'

From May 2013- May 2014, my world has rocked all over the place.

Many changes.

Some good, some bad.

The one thing that has remained consistent, the one thing that has stayed by my side this year has been the unknown.

You see, as silly as it might sound, school had been the only thing I had known up until May of last year. I had a goal. A BIG GOAL. It had a name, it had a face, and it had a finish line. It led me to different towns, different people, and it opened my mind in ways it would have never been opened if I had never gone on the journey. We were close, 'knowing' and me. We grew to know each other, I knew what it looked like, it's behavior, what to expect, etc.

Then, just like that, 'knowing' was gone. 'Unknown' came riding in, like a savior on a horse. Pumped to be with me, excited that it finally had a chance to go on an adventure with me. It had a mystery to it unlike 'knowing', it had an excitement that was enticing at first. So much energy, so much life, making you fall for it pretty quickly.

'Unknown' had this way of making you forget about 'knowing' pretty quickly. It had this charm and edge that makes you want to go, to dive into it's dark mystery.

Time passes, the charm of 'unknown' starts to wear off. You begin to see that 'unknown' doesn't have answers like 'knowing' did. 'Unknown' is absolutely unpredictable, I could predict 'knowing'. 'Knowing' never fell from it's path, it's curves were predictable, it always stayed in it's set boundaries.

'Unknown' didn't have boundaries. It claimed it did, but they were in the dark and you just couldn't see them.

I wanted 'knowing' back. I needed it back. I knew 'knowing', I knew it so well, I had so much comfort in knowing. As exciting as it was to start something new with 'unknown', 'unknown' made things way too uncomfortable. I grew to hate it, I wanted it gone.

"Go back where you came from 'unknown', I want 'knowing' back. I need 'knowing' back!"

I tried running from unknown, but it just ran beside me. I found a piece of 'knowing', a little piece of itself that it had left behind. I hugged it, hugged it tight. Tried to convince 'unknown' that it was apart of us. It needed to stay.

That little piece fell through my fingers, just like I knew it would. Because the thing with 'knowing' is that you can't form it into anything else, you can't convince yourself that it's suppose to stay, for 'knowing' does not lie. It only knows truth.

Last night, I had one of the best conversations with my roommate. We were discussing this new phase of life, comparing it to the old, and discussing the bits and pieces of it that we wanted to keep.

Being in school for as long as we were, being in a relationship with 'knowing' for as long as we were, we became friends with 'goal'. For 'knowing' is best friends with 'goal'. Losing 'knowing' meant we lost 'goal' too.

Here I am, one year down the road. I've ran into more bumps in the road with 'unknown'. I've tripped, fallen, screwed up, lost, cried..... all because of 'unknown'.

Today, as I sit here and write about 'unknown'. I'm coming to see how much I have tried to push 'unknown' away. I haven't wanted it, it didn't bring me what I thought it would. But yet, when I allow myself to sit still and look 'unknown' in the eye, I'm beginning to see it in a different light.

You see, 'unknown' has a hard job. It has to come across charismatic, fun, adventurous, for people to first take him in. If they really knew the process, no one would ever adventure into 'unknown'.

But despite the bumps and bruises along the way, 'unknown' has been so good to me. 'Unknown' needed to strip parts of 'knowing' from me. 'Knowing' had begun to build a box around me, keeping me safe inside, away from harm. 'Unknown' knows that you can't grow in a box. 'Unknown' knew I wasn't made to be in a box.

'Unknown' knows that 'knowing' does good things for us, but it also knows that you can't survive on 'knowing' alone. You need 'unknown' too. And if you can make it with 'unknown', you can make it through anything.

So I'm choosing to break up with 'knowing'. I'm keeping the good of 'knowing' and throwing off the parts I've used as a security blanket, a safety net. I'm throwing off my safe guards and making myself vulnerable to 'unknown'. For as I look at 'unknown', I see the dirt beneath his fingernails, his unshaved face, matted hair, and the biggest grin on his face. He offered adventure and fun when I first met him. At first I thought he lied, I didn't see this as fun at first. But I'm beginning to see it. I now know why he has wrinkles around his eyes, why he shows off his scars so proudly. It is through 'unknown' that 'knowing' came into existence. 'Unknown' is the creator of 'knowing'. He knows that in order to know you have to allow the bumps and bruises. You have to allow the scrapes, the falling, without it 'knowing' will never come, will never exist. He knows his edginess creates something beautiful, therefore, he will always have this glow about him, he will always be happy to see you. He doesn't expect you to understand, he won't expect you to like it, but he knows what you're making. He doesn't always know what he's doing but he will do anything to help you get there, to get to the good.

'Unknown' isn't afraid, so why should I be?

Passion Killers

I actually wrote this about a year and half ago. I was in my second year of graduate school and was going through a major self analyzing/ making changes, phase in life. It's funny how you battle something, find the answers, feel you defeat it, then find yourself right back where you started.

'Tis life.

I'm really glad I wrote about this, it really helped me to evaluate who I'm around now and being aware of how the type of people you talk with really do impact you as a person. I hope you enjoy this past blog as much as I did.

"I am a passionate person. When I believe in something or I love something, my passion is easily displayed through conversations or actions. I'm not trying to toot my own horn, I'm just sharing what has been told to me by multiple people. It makes me very happy that people are able to feel my passion because when I am passionate, I don't want to keep it to myself. I want everyone in the WORLD to know how I feel. But there's one thing that can happen to passionate people, they can lose their passion by being around, what I call, passion killers. It's not a particular type of person, personality type, or individual. It's more of a group of people. Now it's not a group of people who you are around most of the time, it can be one group plus another group that triggers the passion killing. I hope your following what I'm trying to say here. I'm not judging anyone or any group because no one sets out to kill people's dreams (well unless you have a personality disorder which is only like 5% of the population so no need to worry about running into these types of people on a daily bases). What I'm trying to communicate is that if you are with a group of people who each time you hang out with them, aspiring dreams are never discussed or as a group you never plan to work together to support a members dreams, you are unknowingly becoming a passion killer to someone.

It's funny how this struck me. Like I said before, I'm a very passionate person and I tend to feel passion a lot but lately it's been something I've struggled with. The majority of the problem is spiritual. My passion is the one thing that satan is always trying to trip me up on. But I believe we have a choice and need to be aware of some of the enemies tactics. The other day I was in my non-profit class. Our assignment in the class was to create our own non-profit project and present it to the class. Tuesday I was in class listening to some of my colleagues present their dreams and passions. I cannot tell you how refreshing it was to be amongst people talking about something they are passionate about. It changed the atmosphere in the room. After I left class, I spent half of my trip back home in tears because I was heart broken that I'm rarely in an environment like that. It has become so rare to be in a social setting where you can be vulnerable enough to express your passion and even if your brave enough to do it a lot of the times you get little or no response, therefore your passion that you have just expressed is left to wither instead of grow. This really makes me sad. My theory behind this is that most relationships with people are superficial. Sadly, some of the most superficial relationships are with people you calls friends or even a best friend. The other day I was on pinterest (such a baaad addiction!) and I found a quote that said, "The average person tells 4 lies a day or 1460 a year; a total of 87,600 by the age of 60. And the most common lie is: I'm Fine." And you want to know where my first thought went to after I read this, was church. I can't tell you how many times I walked into the church doors and I was no where close to being OK or fine but when I was asked "How are you?" my response was, "I'm fine". Its so refreshing to finally be at a church where this is no longer a problem.

Oh! If you only knew how much this hurts my heart! I would give anything to smack the enemy in the face for messing up relationships the way he does. I've met multiple people who are so wonderful and so full of life, yet they are crawled up into the lie of "I'm fine", when in reality, I know they are about to explode on the inside. But, the sad reality is that when we are in a social setting our passion, our true feelings, our true selves are murdered and we are all guilty in some form or fashion. And trust me, I am guilty as charged. To be real is so foreign. I feel so blessed because I know people who are passionate and anytime I bring up something I'm passionate about they feed off of it, helping my passion to grow. Then, as they share their passion with me, I feed off their passion, and it also helps my passion to grow.

I don't want to be afraid to be real anymore. God created me in his image, therefore I have some of his qualities and I want to let those qualities shine, whether someone likes them or not. I don't want to feel numb to the passion the Lord has given me, I want to set it on FIRE! And I hope I can do the same for others, in whatever they are passionate about."

Dreams.

Dreams. Dreams. Dreams. This girl is living her dream every single day, but I know it’s just the beginning. It’s just the first step, the beginning of something grander, something more brilliant than I could have ever imagined or DREAMED of.

The only problem that I have found to stumble me is fear. Fear, doubt, and lack of self-confindence to step out of that box. To step out and be so much more, to allow God to use me in such a bigger way.

He’s made me for it. He didn’t make me to fit in a box (something I’ve cultivated and have been trying to do for YEARS). It wasn’t until a few months ago, that God came and resuscitated me. He breathed the bigger dream back into me. He has so much more in store for me.

But it’s like I’m walking around with a fog machine, each level labeled “fear, doubt, low self worth” Sometimes I have one level pushed in, sometimes I have them all, making my vision blurry, making it hard for me to look at my loving Savior, to look at him and see the beautiful picture he has laid out for me.

It’s an easy fix, all I have to do is put down the fog machine, but I just can’t. I can’t seem to un-cling it’s warmth from my grip, I’ve found security in the fog, I’ve found security in the fuzzy view. Because if I see, if I truly see, I know I’m responsible for what I see. I could be like Jonah and run, but I’ve found myself in the stomach of a whale too many times to do that again. So instead, I’ll stand with my fog machine, making things unclear so that I never have to move.

BUT I HAVE TO MOVE. I DO. I need to move for my sanity, so that I can be ME. I’m tired of this girl who is too afraid to see who she truly is, to see that she isn’t small, that God made her with a BIG heart and BIG BIG plans!

Borrowing words, until I find my own

I'm a verbal processor, always have been.

I've had multiple people make commits to me, telling me that I talk a lot. I've always felt bad about this, especially the more I've learned about the importance of listening. I've made a conscious effort to listen more and not talk so much. I feel like I've gotten better at listening (it's still a work in progress) but I've also found that I don't process my mind well, without communicating it, without getting the words out there. I've also found that I've lost my words in the process.

You see, I had become obsessed with becoming a likable person. Truly, for as long as I can remember, I've always made friends easily. I remember my parents would always call me a 'social butterfly' when I was younger (they still do from time to time). I also have always been naturally approachable. I remember being as young as 16, sitting in the dentist office waiting room, and a grown woman opening up to me about her marriage. So it's not that I haven't been naturally likable, actually being disliked is way more of a foreign concept and idea for me.

But just like anything, sometimes we grow attached to a characteristic or habit. It's not that it's a bad thing, it just becomes unhealthy when we begin to use it as a crutch, as our main support, our life support. That's exactly what happened with me wanting to be liked.

I slowly started taking pieces of myself and started hiding them. Pushing them far beneath the surface because in my head, that's what I thought it was going take to be liked more, that's how I was going to go from being liked to being loved. Because it became my life line, my oxygen each day.

 Just like anything else, any drug, any addiction, anything that requires something outside of yourself, it slowly stops working. You need more and more of it to sustain. You need it just to feel normal again.

Not good. Not good at all.

It's crazy how hard it is to peel something unhealthy off of you. Even though you know it's not good, you know it's not healthy for you, it's still so hard to let it go. It's hard to let go of a lie that you convinced yourself is the truth. 

I watched Eat. Pray. Love. the other night. I love the line in the movie where she says, "The only thing more impossible than staying.... was leaving." That's how it feels most of the time. That's how change feels. It feels impossible. It's like the diploma or degree you work so hard for, but the day doesn't seem to arrive fast enough when you can look at what you've earned in your hands.

But I see it, I feel it, and as hard and as uncomfortable it is to peel off. I'm doing it. Millimeter by millimeter (because an inch hurts too much right now). Slowly, I'm letting my words come back, I'm letting my voice come back. I've allowed myself to be small for too long. I'm kicking out the bad and holding onto what's important.

I'm very thankful for writers right now, people who put their words, heart, soul, dreams, thoughts onto a page. I'm borrowing their words for now. I'm taking what makes my heart skip a beat, what makes pulling the strings of change less hurtful, and I'm taking them out on loan. I'll return them, for they were never mine to begin with, but I'm borrowing theirs until I find my words again.

The Good Guys

Good guys, good men.

When you're single, you typically only list your brother, dad, granddad, uncle, or any other close male relative or family friend whose married, as 'good men'. Conversation between single girls go as followed, " My dad has set the bar too high" or "they just don't make men like so and so's husband anymore". Truthfully, in the world of single people, it's extremely hard to find good men or good women. After a while, you forget. You forget what it's suppose to look like, you forget what it feels like. Then, as more time passes, you lose hope, faith that it even exist anymore. So you settle, put up will the bull and games of the single world, because you've forgotten what it's like, what it's really suppose to be like.

I read a blog by Hannah Brencher. I really am obsessed with her writing, I read something if hers daily... Sometimes twice.... Or three times a day. I just love her words and the way her passion just leaps off the screen of the  computer, right into my heart. I'm about 99% positive that she is a kindred spirit of mine. Everything she writes I get, I really really get.

I'm going to post this blog she wrote on good men. It literally brought tears to my eyes. The tears came rising up because I knew she was right, I knew what she was saying was true. In a world that wants to believe all 'good men' are gone, I knew she was right to say they are not. For I've had a small taste of it, a whiff, just enough to leave you believing. Just enough to remind me. To remind me it's out there. As I read her words, I relived that experience and tears filled knowing that it will be mine one day, it will be mine.

I hope you enjoy it as much as me. I leave a copy of the link to the original one at the bottom.

We’ll stop purposely leaving high heels on subways with our name & number tucked into the bottom, stitched in our best cursive, hoping that someone will find us in a fairy tale fashion.

We’ll stop nodding our heads in agreement over conversations caked with heavy laughter and future plans when we hear our girlfriends say with confidence, “They aren’t out there.”

We’ll refuse to be another lamp switched off in a town already grown too dark. We’ll wrap our hair in buns, wrap our hands around warm mugs, and wrap our prayers around a God who simply wants to whisper, “They are out there.”

The good guys.

A rarity, so we’ve been told. Sitting alongside fossils in the “Museum of Things We’re on the Brink of Losing for Good.” Pinned somewhere between the ones who don’t know how to value what they have in their arms and the ones who balance several tiny waists at one time.

The good guys. They are noble. Honest. True. They don’t lust over our legs before looking into our eyes and seeing Hints of Hazel and Gold say,“We are looking for so much more. We came here looking for so much more.”

They are out there. And they get it: There are Things to Chase in this Lifetime.

The Affection of a Good Girl. The Heart and Trust of a Mama that used to sew that Girl’s dresses. The Approval of a Daddy that once lifted that Girl up to the ceiling, up to the solar system.

They are kind. Loyal. They wring passion from the dreams that once hung on their Little Boy walls. They harness morals and values, roping them into their dreams for a family that still believes in dinners at 6pm and king-sized beds with two tousled heads of hair and five huddled bodies when the lightning and thunder roll through.

They are out there and they far outstretch the expectations we’ve pent up for them in beauty magazines and chic-lit rule books: Hold the door open. Bring her flowers. Tell her she is beautiful even with no makeup on. Never, never, NEVER tell her she looks fat in that.  They take our chivalrous boxes and break right out. They transform the term Gentleman as if they’ve been asked to recreate the Classic Mona Lisa Smile.

They are the ones who ask about the longer days or know when not to bring it up; they treat us as we are: beautiful girls who only want one set of eyes upon us. One stubbled cheek to kiss. One pair of arms to fold us in when Tragedy comes to Huff & Puff & Blow our Hearts Down. Beautiful girls unafraid to say that if there be lipstick on his collar, we want it to be ours. Only, only the burlesque shades of a woman that adores that man too deeply to declare it with silly, stuffy, dictionary vocabulary.

They are out there and they’ll say it straight to us, “I’m far from perfect. I’ve got this going on, and this happened last month. I am dealing with this… and that stemmed from this.” Because we were never looking for perfect. And cardboard cut-outs melt in the rain. But they’ll wrap us up in blankets, our legs slung over their lap, and they’ll tell us they need a partner, a halfway, a commitment. A Thick & Thin Kind of Deal.

They are out there. Growing the bones of one-day fathers, harvesting the strength it takes to be a provider, learning what it means to Hold a Girl’s Hand Down an Earthly Wedding Aisle and far Into an “Earth”less Forever that we only close our eyes to imagine on days when the Metro runs late. They are out there, coming to their knees for a Maker who still craves to do so much more than a good work in them. A stunning work. An unspeakable, sacred work in his Good, Good Men.  Making them ready for the day when paths take to crossing and life takes to shifting us from the things we learned of fairytale love when we first cracked open books that taught us how to lose shoes and find princes.

The Art of Letting Go

I have come to find that there are different circumstances that require "letting go". Sometimes it's things out of our control and life rips people and things right out of our clutch. I'm not gonna lie, I prefer it this way. It's easier to accept the fact that you had to lose something that's out of your control. For me personally, I just cope much easier when I know I didn't have a choice or control in the matter.

Another scenario is when we have to let go of something by choice. Maybe it's a person, a job, a relationship. Whatever it might be, when life doesn't make the decision for us, when we have to let go by choice, I'm not sure about you all but I. HATE. IT.

It is so hard for me, especially when there is good in it. Oh it is so hard WHEN GOOD IS INVOLVED.

I'll fight for good. I'll fight for good any day of the week, all day, everyday if I need to. Because when good peaks it's way into my life, I just want to love it. I want to breath life into it. I want to spend every waking hour building it up, helping it to grow to become something great.

But maybe, just maybe, holding onto something too long hurts it. Maybe holding onto it too tightly will cause it to suffocate. Holding on will debilitate it from becoming great. Maybe, we weren't meant to be the sole supply to make good into something great. And to put ourselves into a position, a place where we believe we can bring all the healing this person needs is not only a narcissistic characteristic we're feeding, but a road that will just lead us to a deeper and darker pit.

No one is being helped. No one is growing.


So sometimes we have to let go because letting go means you really care. Letting go means you are for that person ( or for yourself). It means you are in the corner, cheering for good, wanting great things for that person or yourself.

And sometimes, you find your having to do it for YOU. Sometimes, the biggest, most influential cheerleader you're missing in your corner is yourself.

Not letting go can be a selfish act. It's saying, " I need this, I can't survive without this."

I try really hard not to be selfish or self-centered. Lately, I've been on this road of trying to love myself and take care of myself better. It has been the hardest thing I have yet to do in my life. I'm a giver and server by nature, and it's something I love to do, but to take care, give, and serve myself has been an extremely troublesome task for me. I keep hearing myself say, "this is selfish, your going to
become self centered, self consumed." But then I hear another voice. The voice that constantly whispers into my ear "love your neighbor as yourself".

I think of this like an artist and their art work. If you ever go to an art show and look at a piece of art, you stop and look at each detail of the art. You look for meaning, details in it. If you were to stand there with the artist and tell the artist what you see and what you notice, you would bring them nothing but great pleasure and great joy in the fact that you GET their creation. You spent time, you appreciate the work done (even if you don't understand their full intention behind it) but if you stay long enough, the creator will tell you their heart behind their work. They'll reveal the intention of it and they'll go on to express their love for what they've created.

I can't help but think that we are the piece of art and God is the artist. We focus so much on what scripture says about living and helping other people that we forget that He wants us to love ourselves as well. Loving your neighbor as yourself is an equal task, one is not greater than the other.

I truly believe God wants us to take time and marvel over what he's created. He wants us to drink in who he created us to be for He has created us in his image. He loves us and he is pleased and satisfied in who he created us to be and who he's creating us to become.

He celebrates us. He celebrates us everyday and I can't help but think that he wants us to join him. He wants us to celebrate us too. We celebrate other people, why not take the time to do that for ourselves? To just take one moment, one millisecond of your day, and marvel over His creation, his creation being you. You'll find it being a form of worship to God. For I truly believe when we thank God for something or take time in our day to drink in, sit, and enjoy the things he's created, we are worshiping him and he DELIGHTS in that.

The art of letting go is a hard one to master, but it can be just the thing we need to truly love God, ourselves, and others.

It's all about details

It hit me. Just like, that it was there.

I'm a thinker. I am every word, every stereotype, every definition of a thinker. I will beat a thought in my head until it is black, purple, and blue. I think to the point of over thinking most of the time.

It's a gift and a curse to think this much. It's good in the sense that I am capable to really think situations through. When it comes to my job and having to analyze problems, my mind is fantastic. It works like a charm, but then when it comes to the simpler things in life, the small things, I struggle with. Running is a great example of my thinking getting in the way. I'll find myself over analyzing my body, over thinking to the point that I don't think I can run longer, or faster. Instead of just trusting my body to do what it's been doing since high school, I think about it, bringing doubt and fear into play.

Doubt and fear. 

That's what comes stumbling in with my thoughts, when I over think. They're like partners in crime with over thinking. As soon as overthinking takes over, along comes fear and doubt. I start questioning everything, thinking of everything that could happen.

I can actually feel when my mind has reached this point. Everything is moving so fast in my mind, I can see the rubber burning. I smell the stench of confusion, I feel the exhaustion that follows with an over thinking spell. It's really not good for me.

When it hit, when the epiphany hit me, it was when I wasn't conciuosuly thinking, I was actually reading.


I was reading a blog, sinking into the smooth poetic words of this particular writer. She was talking in descriptive detail. I noticed the detail as I was reading. It triggered the memory of my drive into work this morning. Since moving out into the boonies of Ringgold, I take the back way into Dalton, driving over the ridge. As I was driving it the morning, I couldn't help but notice the way the tree limbs grow over the road, the way the sun lays ontop of the leaves, creatings it's own color of yellow and green.

"It's these moments," I thought as I was reading," it's these small detailed moments that I have been missing."

You see, I had been running and I had been running hard with life. I took on every opportunity it laid before me. I took on each task, whether it was hard, easy, rewarding, etc. I took it on with all the strength I had in me. I was going places, I was going to a million different places yet the hole in my
chest kept getting bigger. I would look, trying to find the hole, but could never find it. But I felt it, oh I felt its aches, moans, and groans. I FELT IT ALL.

"Why isn't anything working God?, why aren't you working? I'm trying, I'm really trying, yet I still feel holes. THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!"

I was right, there were holes, but they were pin prick size holes. You couldn't see them without a magnifying glass. Even though they were small, they still hurt as if I had one massive hole in my chest.

"Small things." The sweet gentle voice said. "Small things will fill those small holes."

I need those small details and I need to give them the time they deserve. God didn't make us simple,
 he didn't make us JUST out of big pieces, he included little pieces too.


As I begin the process of slowing down, slowing my mind down, I'm finding the art of taking in each minute as it comes. Drinking in the small moments of my day, no matter how little they may seem.

I'm beginning to feel less empty, the holes are finally disappearing.