You may specifically not identify with being Black, female, or a minority in a field dominated by people who may not share your ethnicity, background, or culture. However, I do believe that most people can identify with feeling lonely, out of place, disconnected, or like no one understands how you feel or what you’re going through. You may be looking for your “Waldo” amongst a sea of people around you—only to leave feeling that you are the “only one”. I’m here to tell you that you are not alone. You may feel lonely, but you are never alone.

Sometimes, you have to leave and not wait for the “perfect” time. It could be other things besides your health that make you leave. The company culture, you need time to look for another job, or simply you need more time off. And that’s okay. I want to normalize letting go without having everything in place.

I make a promise to myself. A wish. A hope. A request for renewal. It's always a different promise. But mostly it goes– If I make this leap, I am inviting love and the reward that comes from accomplishing brave acts into my life.

Life with Jesus isn’t meant to be easy, but I believe life with Him is meant to be like one of those Choose Your Own Adventure games. Sure, there are tough decisions, but there are also unexpectedly beautiful and fun journeys that ensue. Following the fun is about choosing to reorient our gazes towards God and the glimpses of His glory that we can catch every day. Sometimes, it's the sweet, simple things like choosing to take the scenic way home or adding sprinkles to your ice cream. Other times, it’s the grueling work of squinting to see a slither of joy amid depression. Whatever it might look like, I believe that God hard-wired each of us for fun.

The contrast between the quiet of the cottage– the only sound coming from birdsong and the odd indignant-sounding sheep’s bleat– and the constant, scratching noise inside my head was stark. It had been a particularly bleak week for news, after a particularly grim couple of years; I felt exhausted, and powerless. I looked at my laptop and my notebook, at my optimistic plans for this precious time, and felt a sudden jolt of clarity, borne simply out of bone-deep weariness, a begrudging admission that things could not continue this way, and a willingness to surrender accordingly. This endless scrolling, this constant consumption of information: it had to stop. I had to stop.

On the surface, toxic positivity can appear benign. Shouldn’t we encourage moving past pain? Toxic positivity, however, is not about healing as much as it is about denial– a refusal to acknowledge experience as it actually is, in favor of a more sanitized, palatable version of reality that doesn't require sustained attention or effort to manage.

Deconstruction is quite terrifying, actually. You find yourself in a strange land where all the things you’ve ever known (and parroted) about “backsliding” or “losing your salvation” play out like the preview to the most terrifying psychological thriller, on repeat. You’ve shed the layers of who you used to be, and you can’t step back into that person, but you really wish you could, because it would be so much easier. Add in the voices of those who are “concerned.” These voices are loud, and they want nothing more than for you just to conform.

Here are a few simple acts to try to love on people when gift-giving is your love language, but you want to avoid giving any more material things to your loved ones:

I had to decide, consciously, that my home was where I was going to focus my time, energy, and attention. (And this is my decision — you, dear reader, may disagree and choose a different path.) Since my kids need someone to be available for them all the time and just in case — why shouldn’t it be me?

In a culture that seeks to escape work with all they’ve got (and truthfully, that used to be my goal too), God says work is good - it's holy.

I’m no travel guru and won’t pretend to be able to give you my top 10 travel tips, but I will share with you some stories, hopefully inspiring you in your own journeys.

Perhaps the new normal even changes frequently. Life is different. It’s terrifying; it's anxiety-provoking. But it’s also beautiful. Precious moments and memories await you. It will be wonderful, it will be hard, but it will also be rewarding.

Most of the time when I read I want to escape: to go on an adventure, to be thrilled and satisfied. Other times (and I am often unaware of this craving), I need a book that makes me think--a book that perhaps asks more questions than it answers, but nevertheless has me feeling better about what I don’t know.

This is a list of those types of books. Thoughtful books. Books that are calm and comforting amidst chaos and confusion. Books that get readers thinking differently, yet don’t ask too much of them. Mindful books. Not books about mindfulness or its practice, but rather books that practice at being mindful.

What would happen though, if instead of looking at our feet, waiting for the next thing to run us over, we trusted our balance. We trusted that we can remain steady, and that if we fall, we will still be ok. And even if we aren’t ok--we will get there.

What do we remember about ourselves, when we surround ourselves with these tiny joys? As we move a thumb idly over the sea-smoothed surface of a shell, what, or whom, do we reconnect with?

The short version of the story is that on an ordinary day in 2018, I passed out at home after a massage. Ten minutes later, I woke up on the floor to discover, to my horror, that I was paralyzed. I literally couldn’t move. That was (and still is) the single scariest moment of my life. My brain had basically shut off communication to my body, but I was totally conscious and coherent.

Here are some tips to find a lasting love for volunteering!

While 40 is considered the midpoint of your life, we all know that you don’t make it that far without a little help. I wanted to celebrate forty in style, but I also wanted to acknowledge forty people that made a positive impact in my life. I wanted to use my birthday as an opportunity to thank them for helping me become the person I am.

I’ve been writing this letter to my birth mom in bits and pieces throughout the years—words trailing when inspiration flows like a staggering stream. I’ll admit, the words feel like mismatched puzzle pieces without a reference picture. How do I convey the assurance I ache to give a woman I’ll probably never meet?