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Vaccine sites are popping up all over the city. Stadiums, high schools, and other arenas are being transformed before our eyes. That’s where I found myself on Valentine’s Day – waiting in line at a high school to get my shot. Walking into the cafeteria, I didn’t know what to expect. There, in front of me, were a few dozen nurses decked in white scrubs and all kinds of PPE. The lunch tables had been turned into vaccine stations, one on each end. As a nurse held up his or her numbered paddle, the woman stationed at the front of the line directed the next up to that spot. (Think Trader Joe’s check out line.)

Standing there was emotional. To look around and see this scene reminded me we are in fact living in the midst of a global pandemic. Flashbacks to the field hospital in Central Park flooded my mind. Constant sirens. Empty streets. Overall panic and anxiety and fear. All of it came rushing back to me. While I was tearing up, a nurse approached my section of the line to ask if anyone had questions about the vaccine. The sweet older couple in front of me listed off a few of theirs, and she answered so graciously. Before I knew it, I was being pointed off to my station – 26. And man, was my nurse awesome. We talked about the past year, and she got emotional as she recalled briefly some of her experiences. She explained she’s there, giving vaccines, to do her part to get back to normal. There was hope in her voice. A small glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, peeking out at us. Hope floated in the air. You could almost reach out and grab it.

Before I could finish asking her if it was going to hurt, the needle was in my arm and I was on my way to the waiting area. For the next fifteen minutes, I sat in my chair six feet away from everyone else, and allowed myself to feel whatever I felt. (Sounds easy for some of you, but I’m still practicing.) And friends, there was hope rising up in me. Not because this vaccine is going to fix everything, it’s probably too soon to know for sure. But because it might help. And that’s the risk I was willing to take (more on that below).

Over the past year, I have felt hopeless in ways I’ve never experienced before. I’ve doubted, questioned, and found myself wondering if hope could still be alive. And God used my sweet nurse to remind me of his perfect and flawless and living hope. There is a hope that is an anchor for our souls, firm and secure (Hebrews 6:19). It is unwavering and unshakeable, even in a COVID world. My hope is not in a vaccine, although I am optimistic! My hope is in the Creator of all things, who has gifted us with science and intelligence and creativity. Who stays steadfast in the midst of chaos. And it took the spark of a vaccine to remind me of this.

Now, I’ve been experiencing some pretty brutal side effects of the vaccine so it definitely has not been all sunshine and butterflies. But isn’t that true of hope? Just because Light leads the way, doesn’t mean moments of darkness won’t find us. I’m learning to trust that Light will be there for me, even when I can’t see it or feel it. And maybe I’m over-spiritualizing a shot and it’s effects, but I’m thankful for the ordinary reminders of God’s goodness in the places and spaces around me.

Before you go commenting all the reasons why this vaccine isn’t going to work or why you aren’t going to get it, please know that I am not advocating for you to go, nor am I implying that this is the risk you should take. After lots of research and several conversations with people in the medical field, I decided this was my best risk. Not getting the vaccine and getting COVID again is risky – we don’t know much about the long term effects of it. Getting the vaccine and dealing with side effects is risky – we don’t know about the long term effects of it. And there’s still a chance that, with the vaccine, someone will get COVID and that’s risky too. I’m a big advocate for you to do your own research, talk with your healthcare provider, and decide which risk is best for you. And if you want to know more about my experience, I’d be happy to share.

May you experience a newfound Hope in unexpected ways this week. May Light find you in the places and spaces you inhabit.

It’s not even been a full month of 2021 and I find myself exhausted, confused, and excited. All wrapped into one, weird emotion. From a few COVID cases at work that led to extra shifts to new job opportunities to family stress to day-to-day life stressors, I find myself unable to keep up with anything or anyone. Which led to a hair appointment in an attempt to take care of myself and try something new.

Getting myself to this appointment took a lot of mental work. Pink is bold, and not a natural color. As a natural super blonde, I’ve been told my whole life to never touch my hair with dye because “people would kill for my color.” Just finding the confidence to do this seemingly small thing because I wanted to was a lot.

Unfortunately, my stylist and I weren’t exactly on the same page. By the time I made it down the street, I was full out crying most of my commute. Instead of the fun, bright, pink I thought I had asked for*, I ended up with icy, silvery, gray hair.

A side note: I sent the above picture to a group text of a few sweet friends, and one said in a voice memo, ‘You can’t have that face…the face is giving me ‘I f***ing hate it’ so…” So I tried a new picture the next day where I tried to like it more.

Update. I did not. I know it’s not that different or crazy, but it felt wrong. I felt like someone else entirely. Someone I am not. Honestly, this was the final straw that broke me. I already felt like I had dropped the ball in every other area, the non-profit work, my cafe, with my friends – all of it was suffering. And here we were. Unable to do something for myself with it backfiring. You guys, I spent a week feeling completely and utterly defeated.

During that week, my friends, roommates, and family tried to convince me to go back and have them fix it. I can’t quite pinpoint the reason I didn’t – maybe out of fear of conflict, the fear of being disagreeable, or maybe it was because I felt it as punishment for failing in the other areas? Other people said it looked fine, so I tried to agree. It sounds pretty crazy to write, but some combination of all of those things have been eating at me.

This week has been an eye-opening week. One that is bringing me to my knees. One that has forced me to acknowledge my limits. One that has surprised me. And one that has led to deep relief.

After some great therapy, I’m seeing how exhausted I am…again. And how this pattern won’t go away without some intentional efforts. After a coaching call that required me to throw away a lie represented by plastic in the garbage, I see how much I let other people’s opinion play into my decisions. After some conversations at work, I’m seeing how important self-reflection is going to be in the coming weeks as I look ahead towards a career. After starting a new book and talking with my fellow Analogs**, I’m finding better words for who it is I want to be.

You may be asking, “But how does this relate to your hair?”

Glad you asked 🙂

This week, I finally decided to schedule a new appointment with the stylist my mom goes to, to finally get what I wanted. When she was done and my hair was pink, I almost cried (maybe I teared up, whatever). I felt more like myself. Relief washed over me. That parking spot in the lot off of Hamilton became sacred. It was as if God himself was sitting next to me, reminding me that I was His, and that I am capable of taking care of myself and making good and adventurous decisions. All of this because I got pink hair. I don’t know you guys, it might sound crazy to you, but it’s been meaningful to me.

It’s as if allowing myself to be honest about what I want and need has allowed me to see more clearly. And stepping out to assert those needs doesn’t require me to carry everyone else’s thoughts on the matter.

Maybe you, like me, are tired of making the decisions of your life for everyone else. I encourage you and challenge you to sit with the Spirit as you move into a new season. Make that move that feels so much like you, even if others don’t see it. You aren’t alone and I’m cheering you on.

There’s a lot more to be written and they will, in time. I have some personal work to do as I figure out next steps, and my scrolling sabbatical has given me the time to work through it. If you are the praying kind, would you be praying for me as I work through fears, doubts, hopes, and dreams?

*I did some research before just dying my hair pink, and found this fun article if you want to read! Apparently I’m trendy now. People Are Dyeing Their Hair Pink During COVID-19 Pandemic — Expert Advice | Allure

**The Analogs are the ones with me on my scrolling sabbatical journey. For more info on that, check out this blog.

Normally, I take to my Instagram story to process through my “good list” aka the space where I take time to reflect in gratitude for the week. This is not to share how perfect life is, rather it’s a space to see the beauty in the midst of the mess. Trust me, my life is nowhere close to perfect. And this week sure as hell was not perfect. But there is still good.

1. My laundromat is only 1.5 blocks away.
2. Insurance that covers the dentist.
3. Support from my bosses during technical difficulties.
4. Sitting for lunch during the lull at work with a sweet co-worker. She is encouraging and fun to be around.
5. A food show that let us be together even with COVID restrictions in place.
6. Allowing myself to fully experience the beauty of seemingly ordinary spaces – like the new and improved Penn Station.
7. Warm socks.
8. Book club. I love them. They help keep me grounded.
9. Adventure day with my cousin. We decided to play tourist in our city and enjoy a rooftop day – first to the Empire State Building, then to One World Observatory.
10. I work with great teams, both in my non-profit and at the cafe. I could not be successful anywhere without the many people who work next to me.

May my eyes be opened to see where God is already at work around me. May I experience the width and depth of peace in this season, despite the chaos around me. As Light shines through, may I soak it in as I live it out.

**some pictures I want to share that remind me of the good list**

January 1, 2021 starts a long three month journey for me. I am stepping away from social media, from scrolling, from wasting my time on these apps. And I am so excited. I need this. I want this.

But I am so terrified.

About a month ago, I started considering what it might look like to take a short break from social media after being reminded of how good it was to disconnect over the summer. Then last week, a pastor I know in the city posted about how he was looking for people to join him on a three month scrolling sabbatical and I knew this was my chance to take a break with others. So I signed up and invited a friend to join me! 10 of us from all over the US are in it together, using Slack to hold one another accountable and process this season together.

You guys, it’s only January 1 and I already feel the FOMO (fear of missing out, in case you didn’t know). All day, I’ve grabbed for my phone and went for the Instagram app only to remember it’s not there. I walked through Times Square to see the ball and I went to open Snapchat to send my friend a picture. I grabbed a coffee and went to add it to my story. Look, I know I have a problem. Social media has created these illusions of connection and of friendship and of beautiful lives. I know it’s fake, I understand it’s an illusion. But I’ve fallen hard into the trap.

So why did I do this? What has possessed me to embark on this challenge? Simple. I need a break. Social media takes more time than I car to admit. I don’t want to need it and I want to have time for the things I’ve said I don’t have time for.

The not so easy, answer? As I’m working through identifying my own emotions through counseling, I’m noticing my tendency to scroll instead. Scrolling numbs me. A break from these apps may be a good catalyst that aids in my emotional and mental health.

I realize by breaking from social media, these blogs won’t likely be seen by many. And maybe that’s some of the benefit, too. Instead of posting for more likes, I’m posting for me. My processing/ramblings/learnings will be documented for the sake of myself. And if you’re here, too, may you be encouraged to consider your relationship with social media. And maybe you’ll take drastic measures and join me on my sabbatical.

Until the next time my detox makes me think/feel lots of things.

2020. My “yes” year. Not *quite* what I expected. I rediscovered my Facebook status where I shared the word I felt the Holy Spirit laid on my heart for this year (you can find that below). And I’ve struggled to look back on the year through this lens. Why was this my yes year when it seemed full of loud “no’s”?

Back in January, I was so hopeful and expectant about what was to come. I’ve had to grieve a lot this year my dreams, expectations, hopes – as have many of you. And I’ve done quite a bit of writing about that over the year (both publicly and privately).

As I’ve been reflecting this week, I found myself wondering how this year could possibly bring about any form of the word “yes.”

And then I found old journals.

I was NOT emotionally prepared to relive the past 2 years in my most vulnerable state through writing. My move to New York was anything but easy, and the circumstances I’ve encountered along the way have challenged me deeply.

BUT I found something I had forgotten from back in March. Right before the pandemic. Right before everything came crumbling down.

The first week of March was as normal as they come. I was in Orlando for a conference with my Forge tribe. While I was there, I documented what several close to me had spoken over me for this season – mostly because I, 1) didn’t believe their words and needed to process it and 2) I thought it was crazy.

When I reread these words , I laugh-cried. You guys, God used those people to speak directly into what I was about to face. In ways that I could not even have imagined.

One that I’d like to share with you is what a dear friend and fellow NYCer said to me as we drove from one thing to another. He said, “Be open and ready for whatever this new season brings. I have a feeling that your life is going to look different over the next several months. Be ready to say yes.”

When I heard this, I think I secretly rolled my eyes. I liked the rhythm I had fallen into (even though things were getting hard, and I started feeling restless). I didn’t want anything to change.

One week later, COVID hit NYC and we were in lockdown.

Two months later, I officially had no job to go back to.

Four months later, I started a new job that I’m loving.

Eight months later, I’m an assistant general manager at said new job, and have opportunities to learn and grow as a professional.

I don’t say this to say that things are super awesome and easy now. I know several who are still affected by unemployment and are worried about what happens next. I share simply to show how I have had to make personal “yes” decisions that have led me here.

This year, I’ve had to say yes to self-care. In that, I’ve acknowledged where I am oh so broken, and given myself space to process and grieve accordingly. I said yes to a 4,200 mile road trip that has been more transformational than I could ever explain – you’d just have to see me before/during/after to have some idea. I tried to write through it, but the words still haven’t quite landed for me.

I’ve had to say yes to grief. Isn’t that a funny thing? Allowing yourself to feel a certain emotion? But here I am. Daily giving myself permission to hold both grief and joy in each hand.

I’ve learned to say yes to saying no. I took a job at a different restaurant before I was offered one at the cafe where I currently work. But when the cafe called, I felt better about it than the other. So I quit a job after filling out all the paperwork on the day of orientation for a job that has turned out to be a great fit. BUT I had no idea that’s how it would turn out, so I learned how to say yes when I am afraid.

It’s been an unconventional yes year. It has not been filled with big, exciting, warm-fuzzy events. I have cried more tears, felt more hopeless, and questioned my whole life in ways that I have never experienced before. I got this fun tattoo this year of a wildflower as a symbol of God’s faithfulness over the past 2.5 years. And boy, has He been faithful this year. I said yes to following Jesus into NYC back in 2018, and He has not brought me this far to leave me. This year, I’ve questioned if the yes to NYC had turned into a no. But there is something still stirring in me here, and I’m not sure I ever want to leave permanently. So I’m learning what it looks like to continue to say yes to this life, here, with the people around me. And man is it a beautiful, messy, chaotic, wild, and peace-filled ride.

I have no idea what 2021 will hold. And I’ve let go of trying to figure it out. But I do know that I am becoming more like the person I’ve been created to be. It’s a messy journey at times, but I’m still here, learning and growing through it. May my love and my presence be more and more representative of the One who loves me unconditionally and created me uniquely. And may I be unconditionally loving of the unique people around me as I become more like Light.

Here’s to putting 2020 in the past and stepping into a new year.

Here we are, friends. 25 years of life. A quarter of a century old, if you will.

This has been without a doubt one of the hardest years of my life. From PTSD and heartbreak to a global pandemic and losing all illusions of control. As I’ve been reflecting this week, I can’t help but feel weird about where I am and where I’m going. Something about 25 feels significant. Maybe because it’s a milestone year you talk about throughout high school and college? “By 25, I want to…” And yet everything is not what I thought it would be.

In a moment of vulnerability, one of the biggest wrestling points this week has been around the expectations of marriage and family. When I look outside of my NYC community, I see mostly married (or seriously dating) 25 year old’s. Some have kids. Some buy houses. And I guess I always I’d be there, too. Most everyone in my family was married young, most Christian college friends are married. And that’s great, it’s just not my story. I feel as if I am paving a new way towards 30 that many of my friends and family didn’t experience. I’m not trying to make it sound like my experience is so unique that nobody would understand – because I know there are those out there like me, who feel alone in it. And maybe that’s the root of this birthday reflection. It feels lonely to be where I am, in the midst of a pandemic, being reminded on social media that I’m not like some of my peers.

From 24 to 25, there have been many tears and lots of reflective silence. There’s also been joys, however small. I traveled, took time for myself, and invested deeper into relationships around me. I’ve appreciated the changing seasons in ways I didn’t know possible. Easter and Christmas have regained meaning in my soul. Even in the pain, there has been light. Several friends and my counselor gave me the same encouragement this week – that I am growing and learning and becoming a healthier and whole person. It’s been painful. But God is with me, guiding me along the journey He has set for me. It’s not perfect and it’s not the journey everyone takes, but it’s mine. I am becoming more like the person I was created to be with every step forward, however difficult. I’m learning to love well, help altruistically, and care for myself better so that I can do the other things well.

If I could offer any encouragement to you, it’s this. Quit comparing your story to everyone else’s. You are not “behind.” You are not less worthy because you are single. Even here, you will not miss out on what is meant for you. You aren’t alone for feeling the ways you’re feeling. (Now to continue repeating that to myself…)

Even in the sorrow of the year, I am anxiously awaiting all that I will learn this next year. May Light continue to work in and through me as I become more like love.

Practicing gratitude is hard.

Maybe it’s not for you, but it has been for me.

Practicing gratitude is hard, when it feels like we’ve lost. When we’re balancing new rhythms and practices that change regularly. When your social media feed makes you want to delete all accounts forever. It all looks ugly and cold and hard. So where’s the good in that?

About a month ago, I felt convicted to start practicing gratitude again. I used to make a list every week when I bullet journaled, but hadn’t reincorporated this into my life regularly since then. And with everything digital, I decided to track this on my Instagram. I want to be reminded of the moments of hope and beauty in my week, so tracking through pictures feels like the most appropriate form in this season.

Here’s what I’m learning in this.

When I post the pictures of things that are good in my week, others sometimes see that my life must be good all the time. But it’s not. In fact, sometimes it’s a STRUGGLE to find anything good to say about things. So I’m learning to be honest in my representation of the week by starting with a note to the viewer, saying that it hasn’t been easy but here’s a few of the good.

I wish we’d stop comparing ourselves to other people. I find myself thinking “it’d be easier if I lived in the suburbs or a different city, where everything is easier and rent is less,” way more often than not these days. I’m having to remind myself that there are challenges everywhere, even in the ‘burbs. And that I am choosing to be here, with a clear understanding of the harder parts.

I talked with an old friend (I love that I can say this now, because 12 years of friendship definitely allows for that!!) this week who encouraged me in this practice. She reminded me of another thing I’m learning in this: to hold space for both the good and the bad, the beauty and the pain. I love what Ann Voskamp says:

“The practice of giving thanks…eucharisteo…this is the way we practice the presence of God, stay present to His presence, and it is always a practice of the eyes. We don’t have to change what we see. Only the way we see.”

At the end of the week, I spend time during my Sabbath, practicing gratitude – reflecting on the presence of God in my week. And you know what? I find glimmers of joy and hope and peace in the midst of chaos.

The current realities of life are hard, but God is still infinitely good. He is still with me. He is not cruel, and he does not cause suffering. My perspective often needs transformed, and there is grace upon grace in the learning.

I love what Hebrews 12:28 says: “Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe,”

There is a kingdom that cannot be shaken. Not by coronavirus. Not by the United States’ political tension. Not by the injustices around us. The Kingdom of Heaven is unshakeable. God’s already at work redeeming all things to Himself. There we find beauty and joy and hope. I need this reminder regularly. And practicing a gratitude list is helping me keep my eyes on what matters most.

Maybe you’re like me, and need this too. It’s been amazing to see how many people are with me in hard weeks, and to feel less isolated in the middle of it. You are not alone in feeling bogged down by the weight of things. And who knows, maybe something as small as a gratitude list will give you a moment of hope this week.

May our eyes be opened to the beauty around us this week. May we not miss the glimmers of hope amidst the chaos of things. May we invite Love in, and see with His eyes.

It’s now been almost 5 months since the end of my road trip, and I’m just getting around to this last post.

I’ve decided to keep these last few weeks of the trip to myself and to those who shared it with me. Nothing personal, just learning the art of keeping some things quiet and close to my heart. So instead, I’ll share a few pictures from those days.

May you make space for your soul to breathe this week. In the middle of whatever is going on, may we give ourselves the grace to admit we need a minute. And may you take note of the adventures along the way.

Carrie Underwood’s song “Thank God for Hometowns” always comes to mind when I hear the word “hometown.” One lyric in particular stuck out to me this time, as I reflect on my time in Kansas during my epic, cross-country road trip. She sings:

“And when you’re lost out in this crazy world
You got somewhere to go and get found
Thank God for hometowns.”

Driving from Indiana to Kansas was emotional. I know, most of this road trip to this point seems pretty emotional. Remember, I had reached my absolute tipping point and felt on the verge of a breakdown that kick-started this whole thing. So yes, I cried a lot. Like most of this 9 hour drive. (Now that I’m 2 months on this side of the trip, I can confirm it was, in fact, therapeutic.) When I was lost out in this crazy world, home was my place to go and get found. And I was heading home.

Kansas reminded me of who I am and revealed more of where I come from.

I’m so grateful for 13 year old friendships and late night conversations, filled with encouragement and loaded with love. If you ever need to remember who you are and where you’ve been, go back to those people. They’ll remind you every time.

As I drove through my old neighborhood, memories from 6 years ago flooded my mind. Our last summer in that home, the people we loved coming in and out often, the family meetings around the fireplace. All of the good, sweet things mixed with the hard, painful things, too. I wouldn’t be who I am today without those things. So I choose today to be grateful for where I come from, broken pieces and all.

I’m grateful for the chance to catch up with family, and to see the lives they have continued living since I lived in proximity. It was a sweet privilege to meet the newest baby, to catch up with my cousins and my mom’s cousins, and to snuggle the sweet Colburn girls.

Kailyn joined me here. She flew out and did the rest of the road trip with me, and I’m thankful for the company. We got to spend some time learning our family tree and where we (the Swanks) come from. That time with my grandpa is time I will forever cherish.

While in Kansas, I learned my job was no longer secured and that we were all officially terminated. Naturally, I cried. I can’t help it, I get emotionally attached to places way too easily. And for good reason. That was my first paying job after college. The place that taught me how to love people better. The place that made me pray more than I ever have in my whole life. The place I found community. And now, I didn’t know what I was going to do in order to stay in the city. Without a paying job, and without the additional COVID unemployment bonus, there just couldn’t be a way to stay in the city at the end of our lease. Not to mention the felt loss of relationship. Would I still have the community I had invested two years of time and energy?

And yet, in the midst of that panic and fear, I felt I could release the worry. I couldn’t do anything to fix it right then, so I made a decision to table that worry until I could start doing something about it. I know, that’s easy to type and so hard to do, but I felt such peace in my spirit when I released it for the time being. This would be there for me to work through when I got back to the city (and it was! But more on that at another time).

I left worry behind in Kansas. And I felt lighter knowing that there would be a time to address the realities at hand, but that time was not now.

When it came time for K and I to roll out, we made a pit stop in Manhattan for breakfast before driving across I-70 to Colorado. I made her listen to a book with me on audio (lol more on that later).

And then, we made the BEST pit stop ever. I’ll let the pictures tell the story of Wheat Jesus.

This chapter HAD to be called Zoom. During the next week of my trip, I spent about 35 hours in Zoom calls.

The first Zoom started that Friday on my drive to Indiana from Michigan (if you missed the first part of the saga, you can find it here).

Now for all you rule followers and risk-averse people, I know I know. Zooming and driving is probably sort of dangerous, but I’d like to think I did so safely (on mute, video off, and just listening – until breakouts where I did participate a little).

And I’m so thankful I did. These calls feel like coming home.

I had been so nervous to tell people I was road tripping, mostly because I felt guilty for leaving and because I didn’t want the judgment that seems to come with anything COVID related. (Guilt. That followed me around for a majority of my adventure. But we’ll come back to it another time.) But my tribe encouraged me and saw my heart behind the decision. And if anyone was judging, I couldn’t tell haha!

By the time the call was over, my heart was full. So, to any of you reading who are in the Forge tribe, thank you for showing up and being consistent. It means more than you know.

That evening, I sat down at my first restaurant since working in one in mid-March. I was eating food I didn’t cook at a table with friends that I don’t live with. And I cried. It was beautiful.

After dinner, we adventured by way of sunset chasing. Have I mentioned how perfect Midwest sunsets are? Because wow. The sky is so big and you can see it for miles and miles. Sitting along the road, we watched as the colors danced across the sky and faded to black.

There’s something spiritual that happens inside me when I watch a sunset. I’m overwhelmed by the creativity of God all while being reminded how constant he is.

As the weekend came to a close, I began prepping for conference week. We had spent hours learning the ins and outs of Zoom in preparation for this. And I was nervous. The moving pieces, the desire to do well and be helpful BUT I was also excited. I worked with an incredible team of leaders who taught me tons about leading and speaking and being.

I’m so thankful for the opportunity to be part of this event. It revealed something in me that I hadn’t fully identified in me. There’s something so refreshing about working at something that has an defined ending. I think that’s what I miss about working in the restaurant. Every day, I’d go in, so a task, close it down. And that’s it. There’s no work to take home. And you come in and do it all again. Now, if that was my ONLY job, I think I’d be miserable. But by balancing a task job with my role with Forge, I feel like I get to exercise both the building/dreaming up something and the details of tasks.

Indiana gave me confidence professionally.

Indiana also made me get honest about my own mental and emotional state.

“You’re heartbroken,” was my friends response to my past several months (maybe even year?).

It was as if a thousand little light bulbs went off in my brain. Heartbroken. It made sense. And finally gave a name to what I was feeling. The loss of community, friendships, normalcy. The grief of a hurting city, of a traumatic experience, of living in quarantine for so long.

I recently read a book by Emily P. Freeman called “The Next Right Thing.” She has a whole chapter dedicated to naming a narrative and the importance of names. In it, she says:

But a name is more like a song than a definition. Sometimes the song is all you need. Other times, you play that song on repeat to let its melody smooth the jagged edges of your soul. If you take time to name something that has remained unnamed within you—a fear, a loneliness, a heartbreak, a dream, or a regret—resist the urge to grab and go. Instead, give that name some space to rise up and take shape. Then get curious about it. Hold it in the presence of Jesus. Ask him for direction and wisdom. Let yourself be a gatherer of information when it comes to what’s happening beneath the surface. Name it, but don’t force a definition.

Freeman, Emily P.. The Next Right Thing (p. 40). Baker Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

My knee-jerk reaction is to grab and go. “Well, I’ve named it so I can move quickly past.” But during this trip, Jesus has been ever so gently reminding me to sit with it and do the hard work of identifying what’s beneath the surface. And having my friend sit with me as we named the plot point in the grand story arc of my life was a gift to me.

I’m still not on the other side of this discovery. I’m still pretty heartbroken. And the reality is, I don’t know when I won’t be anymore. But what my counselor keeps reminding me is that it’s okay, even when it feels like I should be seven leaps ahead of where I am now – that these feelings are valid and the way to the other side requires patience in the process.

In Indiana, I left behind work (for the remainder of my trip) and connection via technology (social media, texting generally, etc.). I needed space for my soul to rest.

Next stop: Kansas.