#SunchaserWedding

I’m getting married in 42 days.

The comments and squealing and questions have already been hilarious. “What?!” is the most common, especially at college. “Are you guys going to live together after you get married??” is my personal favorite to cackle at.

(Yes. The answer is yes.)

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When Rocks Cry Out: A Letter

We’ve been cleaning up the house, and we keep finding old, hand-drawn pictures and letters, so I looked up a couple of pictures on my phone.

I showed the pictures to my Mom, but she didn’t want to look at more than one.  She just handed back my phone.  So I curled my soul up around them, and looked at your smiling faces, and was glad you were at least still alive.  At least one of you almost wasn’t (nobody told me, but I knew in my gut what had happened).

It still twists in my chest, some days.  Fire is not just light – it burns and destroys too.  So I go from beautiful moment and joy to hearing people’s brokenness, their darkest secrets that they pour out to me and I don’t know why, and I have to fight to lift up my hands and let go of my burdens.  It feels like even the rocks cry out, groaning under so much shed blood and spirit.  When my eyes get heavy, I have often forgotten the crucible of the story – that Christ died the deaths of thousands in one life, and that He carries my load.  But this still feels like a thousand small deaths, even after so many years.

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shake paranoia

I get angry when I’m afraid.

Not my icy kind of anger.  No, that’s reserved for more genuine injustices in the world.  I mean the downright, take-me-by-the-fists-and-start-punching-and-running kind of anger.  Normal, even kind comments become an insult as soon as they reach my brain.

It’s a miserable conviction to realize fully.  It’s easy enough to see in hindsight, after you blow up at Person A over what they said, that you felt threatened.  Your self-imposed dignity, your history with that person, everything in your heart screams that “NO! YOU CAN’T BE RIGHT ABOUT ME! I’M NOT THAT KIND OF PERSON!”

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thanksgiving tears

Today, I cried all over the Thanksgiving table.

My Daddy, starting last year, pulls out six blank-lined index cards and fills them with his squarish, engineer’s handwriting.  He chooses a word picture for each of us, to help give us a glimpse of what he sees in us.

I was already tearing up as he read my grandmother’s and my siblings’ cards aloud.  When he got to mine, I laughed.  And then I let myself cry through it, because my eyes were very wet.

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intravenous faith & struggle pretty

adulthood is a long, slow climb.

it’s an adventure full of mountains and valleys but nobody said that climbing was always fun. and even the fun parts are draining on your body, climbing up through brush and over stone.  there is the rush, the push to get to the top of the next big thing, that saps away at you when you have to stop for breath.

adulthood is terrifying, because it’s the prospect of doing everything on your own, all at once.  no takesie-backsies, there is no margin for error: every action is written on a page, and the world is watching you.

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dance in the eye

for my guy. and all of us who live.

times like these I’m tired of being tired.  Sophomore year feels like a thousand doors; a thousand doors you’re expected to run through with vigor and enthusiasm! just look at the type of people who run for office on campus! everyone functions like that, right?

hah.
hah, hah.

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