Translating the Wind

11 Jun

somewhere between where I was and where I am going,

I reside

abandoning all other options

careless to the chaos of choice

the noise ceases and I am still

Oh restless heart, make peace with yourself

a decade ago I wandered from city to small town

overwhelmed by the meaning

in every place, person, and moment

every noun was a sign

nothing my senses experienced was an accident

I wrote like it was the only way I could see where I was going

and even though it tortured me

I knew I could exist in the moment

I knew Purpose

like sun and rain and soil

and it didn’t matter

that I only had if half-right

that I was cowering to fear

rowing against the waves

to an island I could never land on

Oh restless heart, stop for a moment and rest

at last the illusion broke

I screamed in a hotel room in China

I hated what my beliefs had made me

while loving grace for the lies it exposed

I fell apart and came together

I stood on a bridge far above snow covered streets

and knew impossible was nothing

a remaking of self

a transition from winter to spring

I guess I am not done yet

uprooting, planting, blooming

the layers that ultimately become my being

and I’ll keep going

wondering, wandering and questioning

even if I stay still

the Wind speaks and I can finally translate:

Oh restless heart, this is your home

FullSizeRender (8)


Where’s Jesus?

2 Jun

Every night, I pray with Aurelia. Sometimes it feels special and even sacred. Mostly it feels like routine, and occasionally just meaningless words.

Lately, she’s been talking and communicating and understanding more than I could have imagines for someone who is not even 2 yet.

The past week or so, when we pray she asks a question, and innocent question that stops me in my tracks and pulls me out of the mundane into something more.

“Where’s Jesus?”

“….He’s here, baby. In our hearts.”

“I don’t see him.”

I swallow, choking on some invisible fear, a memory, a doubt.

“He’s here, baby. Whenever we feel love, or happy or full of joy, that’s Jesus. Whenever we see anything good and beautiful.”

I struggle to form the words.

I’ve never had a problem believing God is real.

I don’t remember a moment in my life ever doubting his existence.

I’ve always made my home in ethereal places that don’t count on the tangible and logical to exist.

I don’t have a problem believing what I cannot see.

I don’t even necessarily struggle with the fact that He loves us.

I know he’s a good father.

It’s how good, how joyful, the “bigness” of His grace and love I think I know deep down, yet somehow I don’t apply to every day moments when I need it the most.

“I don’t see him…”

When my prayers feel like they are hitting the ceiling, when my feelings seems too loud, to real to make sense of the Truth.

When I just want my way, my timing.

When I let those old voices in.

When I believe fear instead of love.

When it feels too hard for too long.

When I am about to give up on my dreams.

When I am tired from struggling to believe how good.

How big.

I pause.

Last night I had a vivid dream.

I was hiking in a dense, dark jungle with my husband. We were trying to get somewhere important, somewhere where people were expecting us.

Somewhere we were meant to be.

To get to this place, we needed to cross this terrifying chasm on a swaying, frayed rope bridge. My heart in my chest, I followed my husband across. It was so high up I couldn’t see the ground. I panicked, half-way across.

I can’t do it. It’s too hard. It’s not worth it…

I don’t see him. 

Somehow I kept going.

Somehow we made it across.

On the other side was our destination. A beautiful hotel, more majestic than anything I had ever seen. When we walked inside, we found out that someone had anonymously paid for us to stay there. We walked into the beautifully decorated, enormous suite and looked around laughing with pure joy.

It was a gift. We could rest.

I woke up with a jolt.

It’s a risk, stepping out. But there is an enormous blessing waiting on the other side. 


I don’t have trouble seeing Him in the small things, in my daughter’s eyes and in the little ways he provides our daily needs.

Sometimes it’s the big-ness I struggle with.

“He’s here baby. Everywhere. He never leaves us.”

She looks at me, innocent and whole, with more wisdom in her little-enourmous heart than I can understand, and says,

“He’s in the stars.”


Free Because of the Brave

30 May

Today I woke up, and I have the choice to do what I want with my day.

I can openly speak about what is on my heart to say,

I can express my opinion through writing words, and even publish it for the whole world to see online. I can disagree with you.

I don’t spend time worrying that someone trying to silence me is going to knock on my door and arrest me because of my beliefs.

I don’t have to hide who I am.

I can eat what I want. I can make my own decisions. I can walk the streets without being paranoid about what I am wearing. I know if something happens, I can get help.

My husband and I can raise our family the way we see fit. We can have as many kids as we want, and that our bodies our able to have. I can give birth at home or in a hospital. We can choose the medical care we receive.

If we want to responsibly own guns, for protection and sport, we can.
If we want to start a business or ministry or buy a big chunk of land and live off of it one day, we are able to.

I can choose the career I want.

Any thoughts that I am limited by where I was born and who I was born to, the gender I am, or even my education are just an illusion.

I can rise above that.

I can make something of my life.

I can travel wherever I want.

I can produce wealth.

I can give it all away.

I can make a difference in the world.

I can make life better for my children.

I can live without fear.

Whether I choose to see the bad or the good in this country is up to me.

What I do with my freedom is my own responsibility.

What I do with what’s been given to me is my choice,

My life. 

It is not dictated by anyone else. It’s between me and God.

The majority of the world can’t say this.
They can’t claim this.

They live in fear and instability,
Their individual rights don’t exist, according to their government, or lack thereof.

Life, liberty and pursuing happiness is a far off goal that feels unattainable.

Because oppression rules them,
Power and greed are in charge.

The weak are items to be used and discarded.

There is no justice.

Evil reigns.

You can argue with me all you want.

You can scoff at the idea of patriotism and point out all the wrongs,

(That was once me. I wanted to live anywhere but here. I wasn’t grateful.)

You can live under constant fear that soon all this will be gone.

That one day you’ll get a knock on your door and everything will change.

Liberty will just be a distant memory.

That may be true….but...

It doesn’t have to be.

That’s your choice.

And mine.

We create our own future.

And the fact remains,

This morning, if you’re an American, you’re free.

The world is open for you.

Nothing is holding you back.

And it’s because ordinary people throughout our bloody history, felt something, saw something, valued something…


They knew the potential. They saw beyond their own temporary existence.

They knew what they wanted for their great-grand children.

They knew the endless possibilities in a people who are truly free.

They knew that one act of heroism mattered,

That it could change the course of history.

And it did.

Today I woke up, and I have the choice to do what I want with my day.

Thank you.


What the Water Does For My Words

19 May

I don’t know why I get to this place

away from the joy I used to know

almost afraid to count my blessings

nearly afraid to hope

it’s been a long road

towards home

wet and muddy

close to flooding

I usually feel something different in the rain

It’s always been my soul cleanse of choice

(and my cliche poem topic, too)

I’d stop and see

what the water does for my words

how it rinses the dust in my heart

and carries away old, dead thinking

now it’s just some kind of shivering, wet gibberish

trying to build a bridge

in the gap of thoughts

as water rushes in

I wish it were profound and real

but right now, it’s just me

empty and full again

washed and cold and waiting for the sun

stuck in-between the truth I know will set me free

and wishing for anywhere, anything else

all the potential in the world wrapped up in a feeling

fickle as spring weather in Texas

then I close my eyes and  I am a child

tracing raindrops with my finger as they race

down the outside of the car window

 I am going fast and it doesn’t matter where

I am alive

once again finding wonder

in puddle jumping

and the sensation

of the rain on my skin



12 May

here’s what triggers me:

a soft feeling beneath a cynical view

that today matters

that there is worth in unexpected moments

that greener grass is here, now

I want to take a breath and mean it

like when time stopped and every inhale and exhale

meant bringing a child into the world

a labor of pure love

I want to work like that until my heart is filled again

to fix my eyes on letters

and forget all the numbers

filling my head

peace is not a catchphrase

contentment is not a buzzword

I want them to be the structure which holds

this body together

which binds my skin and keeps all my insides, in

that which infinitely embraces my soul

and keeps me well

that whispers inside my spirit

You don’t have to live like this 

on dark days

I am not sure where to go from here

only that every step matters

like every cell and atom

like rest and color

like music and warmth

like today

this is what triggers me:

a cascade of bright memories

a dull black and white fear

an anticipation of hope

swirling in the sky as one


Embracing Permanence

10 May


The other day I drove past another place that’s been erased from my past.

The trees were overgrown, and I barely recognized the familiar road until I got to the entrance.

I felt an ache in my gut: part anxiety, part sadness, part nostalgia, part relief,

It’s the same feeling I get when driving past the trailer I grew up in in the middle of the woods in New Hampshire.

“You better not leave me, or I might disappear into nothingness,” my husband joked.


I have a weird history of being a part of things that no longer exist. 

1. 2 out of the 3 High Schools I went to shut down.

2. My first job and the main place I worked when I was 16-18 was also a town landmark to get old-fashioned ice cream shakes, burgers, and fish & chips. It burned to the ground.

3. Teen Mania, which I mentioned above, is the ministry which was the center of my existence when I was 18-22, no longer exists.

4. Youth With A Mission Woodcrest, a small branch of a large ministry where I attended a writing program and ended up traveling all over the world with when I was 22-25, pretty much dissolved.

5. Also, the coffee shop I spent years of my life at either hanging out in or working at is no more.

It’s kinda funny, I know. But here I am at almost 31 and I guess there is not much left in terms of my youth but memories.

I spent those years somewhat of a wanderer, living on a bus and in shared homes and rooms, and I loved everyone moment of it, but then I grew tired and wondered what I was running away from.

Add this to a hundred unfinished projects, and dreams I’ve almost given up on.

I guess what I am saying is while many things may be out of my control,  I do have the tendency to jump from one thing to another too fast. Or maybe it’s just the way my life goes. Lately, it has slowed down quite a bit.

I’ve also had the tendency to view people as temporary, too. Like they will just be out of my life soon anyways, why get close? Although, those few that I really let in, stay forever.

I know it’s immature now. I know I can’t just live like a rolling stone my whole life and truly find happiness.

So now my tune has changed, and I while I know there are plenty of adventures to come, I just want a sense of permeance.

I long to put some roots down in a community, and I finally feel like I actually can.

I know I can be connected to a group of people without thinking in the back of my mind, “Soon they will be gone, so what’s the point?”

I want to feel at home in a town. To know the people there, and to let them know me.

I desire to grow something stable and permanent. To plant a seed and watch it grow until years go by and I can sit under its shade with my children’s children.

Yet, to continue to grow and change. To continue to pursue adventure, while still knowing that I always have a safe place to return to.

And I know my husband, my family, is home. 

I know everything changes and nothing is truly permanent on this earth.

But what truly matters, is.

While these things fade, love remains. 



Sparrows and Eagles

10 Apr


I’ve got to get off the ground somehow
If the wind would only create enough lift
For this tattered thinking
Facing destruction
I need a resurrection

I am tired of these rocks in my shoes
Broken views
Hardened by a misuse
Of my mind
Always looking for things I can’t find

But you
You said wait and you’ll renew
My strength
My ability to see
You’ll heighten my view

I am tortured and plagued by this feeling of dread
I’ll never be there
I’ll never be her

But you
You feed all the small birds
And count every missing feather
You know when the snow makes them shiver
How far they roam
Every stick that makes up the nest
They call home
How much more

When I can’t take one more step
When I feel shriveled and used up
When I don’t know what I believe anymore
I am knocked to the floor
Breath gone
Fear seems like it won
My heart feels like rocks
And my chest caves in
And as stones crumble
Light seeps through an open door
How much more

My daughter laughs
And it’s like a crack in heaven’s door
Like love burst forth
A breaking dam
Overflowing, powering cities with joy
How much more

A hand stretched out
Offers bread, a smile, a cup of wine, a song
Conversation that makes you feel you belong
Warmth, connection, pure affection
How much more

Love is here
Complete light
Total hope
Unending flights

I wait
I soar


27 Mar

It wasn’t cold, like I thought it would be

It was warm, like slipping underneath a thick sheepskin at night

Surrounding me, 

Telling me it was ok to let go

I could see shadows as I struggled to keep my eyes open 

and my senses awake

I fought, mostly for my father

He wasn’t ready to leave me yet

My body had hardly begun to change from girl to woman 

but it felt frail like a woman who had many children

and grandchildren 

I knew I would never bear that gift

I would never know the love of a husband

I would never have a home of my own 

I would never see another bright full moon

Or taste a grape, sweet and bursting from the sun 

My time was up

I was going home

I felt a hand, rough and familiar, touch my face:


I heard him weeping

He wasn’t ready to lose his only daughter

His baby girl 

I am sorry, papa

I tried to whisper, but my words couldn’t form

It was so warm

I was floating


The weeping faded

A glint of light beckoned me and I felt myself lifted

I began to soar upward like a bird

Then, as if my wings were heavied by rain

I was pulled back to the ground 

by words 

Soft but firm

Lovely and dangerous 

Echoing in my very core 

Spoken across realms of reality 

Aligning my spirit back into my earthly body 
“Little girl, arise.”

I was staring at him

Someone I had never met,

But knew instantly
I wasn’t home, but I was home

Back to my earthly reality
His warm eyes brimmed with tears

As he smiled from my bedside,

His hand in mine
I felt a surge in my body, like energy from the sun’s rays

and I knew my disease was no more

I stood up 

My legs strong

My heart beating 
My father rushed into the room, tear stained face, eyes as big as the sea.

He gasped
I dropped the hand of my healer and ran to him

He picked me up like a small child 

and swung me around


Only for joy this time

I Fight Anxiety Through Taking Back Words

22 Mar

I’ve had this phrase rolling around my head lately.

I keep pushing it back, telling myself I am ok.

I say it to myself when I wake up in the morning and an immediate feeling of dread washes over me, like I did something terribly wrong but I can’t remember what it was.

When I am literally sick to my stomach and can’t eat because I am anticipating an uncomfortable social situation in my mind, rolling it over and over until I don’t know how to think about anything else.

“I really struggle with anxiety.”

It’s taken me 30 years to say it.
I don’t know what that means, necessarily.
I don’t want label myself.
Or limit myself.
Or pretend I am a mental health professional.

But somehow, admitting it gives it less power.

Whatever it is, I don’t have to let it control me.

I remember all the moments I thought fear had won.

All the tense, churning feelings in my gut.
All the obsessive replays of stupid conversations the other person probably never remembered.

That intense feeling like I am a problem.

Like I am inconveniencing people.
Like I don’t need to ruffle any feathers.

Panicking over a tiny social interaction.

Practicing in my head what I am going to say to someone, even if I’ve known them for years.

Repeating these conversations over and over in my head until I feel sick.

You sounds so stupid. 

Who are you to do this?

Words, betraying me.

This has been me… for as long as I can remember.

Not to say it’s always torture.
There have been moments of triumph.
Moments of victory.
Of letting go and conquering my fears.

Of doing what’s uncomfortable and talking to people I don’t know.
Picking up the phone.
Speaking up.
Speaking out, boldly.
Proclaiming truth.
Doing what I never thought I could do.

But lately, I feel like I am going backwards.
Maybe it’s just a culmination of life right now, or me just being tired from “adulting” but lately I feel I hardly go a moment without feeling the intense weight of anxiety.

Like I am always doing something wrong.
Like the it’s only a matter of time before the world figures out I am a fraud.

Like I have nothing to give.
Like I am 30, but I feel more like I am 4 years old, hiding in a dark closet shaking with fear.

Yet, I get up.
I rise again.
I whisper a feeble prayer.
I push through my day.
I do what I have to do.
I speak when I don’t want to speak.
I make effort to connect with people when I just want to crawl into myself.
When it feels too hard to function.

I write, this.

I fight anxiety through creating with words.

I take them back and make them my own.

I hear whispers of goodness and grace through the sentences that come out as I let go and let myself be honest.


I come to “the breaking point.”
And as tears flow,
I know

In my weakness His strength is made perfect.

I know,

He chooses the weak things of the world to shame the strong.

I embrace Grace.

I know
Every day  is a choice to believe I am who my creator says I am:

I matter.
I have a voice.

I am not how I feel.
I am not whatever thing is plaguing me,
Be it my own imagination or a real diagnosis.

I am not my fears.
I am not my anxiety.

These words, go beyond anything I feel

Straight from the the burning heart of love and truth:

I am simply loved.

Closing Thoughts on the End of Teen Mania

14 Jan

I close my eyes. The music is so loud it shakes my insides. I say a quick prayer of gratitude thanking God I am there, thanking Him that I get to be a part of this “movement of passionate young people.”

I open my eyes. The lights and sounds make the atmosphere overwhelming to my senses. I am in a large football stadium with thousands of people singing with a band at the top of their lungs. Many have their hands in the air and their eyes closed, swaying. I am overcome with emotion. I am 20 and I can’t believe I am on this journey. I know I am part of Something Much Bigger Than Me. 

I get to help make this happen. I get to be here.


Rewind three years back. It was 2002. I  was seventeen and spent most of my life in a tiny, rural town in New Hampshire. I hadn’t exactly traveled a lot, besides family camping trips to Maine and visits to relatives in Connecticut and Florida.

My best friend had convinced me to sign up for a two-week missions trip.

“We need it. We are so up and down. So complacent. I think this will change our lives.”

I knew she was right. I felt it deep down. But I also didn’t feel good enough.

She flipped excitedly through the colorful Global Expeditions brochure in her living room.

“This is where we are going. JAMAICA!”

I agreed excitedly. I wanted to get away from the small-town drama sucking us in. I needed a real adventure. Plus, I did love Jesus. I wanted to be a good Christian. I was sick of feeling like a hypocrite.

At youth group, I’d go down to the altar and cry because I felt so guilty about doing bad things, but inevitably I’d go back to my old ways.

Maybe a clean break away, focusing on Jesus was exactly what I needed.

We had a bake sale and wrote letters asking people for money so we could tell people in Jamaica about Jesus. A few thousand dollars each later we were on our way.

On the airplane, my best friend and I talked about how we probably would end up breaking up with our boyfriends when we got back home.  They were trouble.  From now on, we would only date real Christians.

At the airport, young, good-looking people with bubbly personalities and colorful T-shirts met us and lead us to a big bus where others were waiting to drive the 2 hours from Dallas to the campus in East Texas.

Once the bus started moving, videos screens came down and played a music video.

We both cried and felt deep down our lives would never be the same.

When we arrived on the enormous, neatly groomed campus in Garden Valley, we were thrown into a frenzy of activity. Every moment of our time was taken with team-building activities, worship sessions, preaching, and classes.

I remember having a moment in the auditorium where I felt God’s love tangibly like I never had before.

I remember thinking, “God is more real than this chair I am sitting in.”

That moment was a turning point for me. Whenever doubt crept in, I’d look back at that second in time and the feeling I had, and I knew that no matter what, God was real and He loved me.

It was also during that time I decided I had to move there.

I was going to The Honor Academy, Teen Mania’s internship program.

My best friend said she was going too.


The first year: I wasn’t allowed to date and I was glad. I burned the letters from my ex I had kept. I fasted and almost blacked out. I rolled down a hill repeatedly till I got sick. I slept in the mud. I slept on a broken school bus seat. I confessed my sins. I ran more than I ever ran. I did more on less sleep than I thought was possible. I did flutter kicks in a puddle. I hiked down the Grand Canyon and almost got trampled by a pack of wild donkeys. I wrote passionate promises to myself and to God. I learned to hug.  I sat in the dark woods for hours by myself and begged God to show himself. I avoided guys completely. I cleaned houses for people living in poverty with Hillsong Church in Australia. I learned to be vulnerable. I cried a lot. I obsessed with making every moment count. I spent hours on the phone talking to prospective interns about their problems when I had no clue how to deal with my own. I crawled on my hands and knees through a hay bale maze. I luged down a mountain in New Zealand. I fell in love with Jesus. I soaked up hours of teaching and felt more and more burdened to be better.

My plan had been to go for one year then return home to “ignite a fire in the apathetic church in New Hampshire.” I also had plans to move to Australia and learn to be a Youth Pastor.

Instead, I stayed.

I could probably write several books on the adventures and weird things that happened those 3.5 years. (Was it only 3.5? I always said 4, but time was weird for someone in the January class.)

I spent 2.5 years on the road. Living on a bus. With 3 different teams. Sharing beds, church floors, breathing space, prayers, tears, body odor, laughter, and fear.

Letting go of the religious facades I had unknowingly built around myself.

It was on the road that I fell in love with writing again. I started a book and I felt for the first time in my life that I truly had something to say.

It was on the road that I feel deeply in love with travel. I loved the way the road whizzed passed me as I fell asleep. I can still close my eyes and picture that feeling: cramped on a tight, stuffy, uncomfortable bus. Laying with my body pressed against the cold window.

Watching the lines of the road pass by, filled with a crazy, overflowing joy that I was exactly where I was supposed to be and I was living the greatest adventure. 

I even loved the sketchy trucker stops at 3 am, and when our bus broke down for the 12th time and we were forced to make the most out of it.

Everything was always new and different.

But every great adventure is difficult and it was, on my mind, body and  soul.

I was pushed and prodded and stretched out of my comfort zone in ways I could have never imagined.

On the road, I was exposed.

I couldn’t hide like I had done my whole life.

It was on the road that repressed memories from my childhood were brought to light.

But somehow with God’s strength, I faced my fears and overcame them.

Somehow insecure-little-me rose up to be a leader when it was asked of me.

Somehow I spoke in front of people. Somehow I mentored and encouraged a few.

I was just 20 or 21.

So young. I had no idea what I was doing.

But it was an exciting time.

Teen Mania Ministries was the name in the Christian subculture.

We were big. Everyone knew us. We were making a difference.

Ron Luce led us into a new era of youth conferences…

Battle Cry.

We were doing things in youth ministry nobody had done before.

We were rubbing shoulders with every popular Christian band.

We were cutting edge and revolutionary.

We had lights, fire, dancers, multimedia.

We had a Navy SEALs parachuting into the bay next to SBC Park in San Francisco.

(While I, behind the scenes working as the VIP host for the SEALs watched in terror as this group of tough men got extremely nervous when something malfunctioned on the parachute mid-jump. Thankfully, he fixed it and landed without a hitch. Nobody knew anything had gone wrong but us.)

The mainstream media was noticing. So were groups who thought we were there to destroy their way of life.

(We had protestors before the Westboro Baptist church was infamous.)

In the midst of all the lights, speakers, music, media attention, and excitement of changing the youth of America,

There was a lot of hurt. A lot of strict, overbearing rules.

A lot of things being done in the name of God that weren’t very godly.

There were a lot of really overworked and underpaid people in their early twenties surviving on Starbucks, adrenaline, and prayer.

A lot of legalism, and not a lot of grace.

With all this came a lot questioning of the things I had always believed to be true.

Mostly, why is Christianity so militant and aggressive?

Does God really expect all these things from us?

Did Jesus really mean, “Come to me all who are weary and I’ll give you rest?”

If so, why are we so weary doing so much for Jesus?

Speaking of Jesus, what is His role in the Battle Cry?

Changing lives….. right?

I began to look at the event I had seen week after week and I realized something was missing…


The events had become about trying to fight a culture war against all the immoral things stealing teens from the church.

They had become about being the boldest, biggest and best no matter what the financial cost, no matter how many interns and staff were bulldozed over. 

By then I was done. I had had it. I had seen too much.

Everything was changing and my time was up. I went on to work with several other organizations and go on more adventures all over the world.

Now I am 30 and married with a baby.

My theology has changed.

Or, simplified maybe.

My understanding of grace has changed everything in my life.

I no longer feel burdened or guilty by the weight of religion or my own imperfection.

I spent years frustrated and mad, and just plain heartbroken.

I wanted this ministry that I had loved, that I had grown at, that I had spent some of the best years of my life at to change.

To focus on the finished work of Christ instead of our own works.

I wanted people to feel loved instead of overworked,

To regain the joy of their salvation instead of being “burnt out.”

The more I saw the world, the more I embraced the simplicity of a gospel that really is:

Jesus plus nothing is everything.

The more I disregarded the empty super-spiritual acts that I once deemed important, The more I stopped trying to be holy and realized I already was, The further I felt from this place that had been my spiritual home.

I saw all the bad. The evil in magnifying our own holiness. The weird, cultish ways we tried to get closer to God.

I got angry for all the people that were still deceived. I wanted them to be free.


I saw the way they were misusing finances and the downward spiral begin.

Honestly, I am glad I got out when I did.

Honestly, I am surprised Teen Mania managed to stay afloat this long.

Honestly, I’ve struggled whether or not to use the word “cult” for years.

And yet, I surprised myself by bursting in tears when Ron and Katie sent that final, inevitable email.

Yes, a huge part of me is relieved.

There is a time for everything under the sun.

But there is a part of me that also has to grieve.

And this is why I decided to write this.

To share the good and the bad.

To remember.

To bring closure.

I wouldn’t trade my time there for anything. I have no regrets, other than the fact maybe I could have walked in freedom a little sooner.

I am the person I am today because of what I experienced, positive and negative.

The joys of the adventure of the road. The tears of spiritual oppression.

The deep, real friendships that only comes from going to hell and heaven and back with a group of people.

Those people who were real, bright beacons of light that truly loved others like Jesus and radiated grace.  (Thank you.)

The moments of truly grasping how big and beautiful life is because of the love of God.

The feeling like the whole world is open to you and nothing is impossible.

%d bloggers like this: