Brooklyn's Manhattan

Saturday, May 9 broke me.

I got an alert on my phone that said NYC would not begin reopening until June at the earliest. And I cracked. Throughout quarantine, I optimistically added the end of PAUSE to our shared dry erase calendar in the kitchen. And every couple of weeks, disappointedly, I erased that date and moved it further away. But this extension felt heavier than most. And I couldn’t do it anymore.

After I sat in the middle of my bedroom floor to cry, I decided I needed to leave the apartment for some fresh air. It wasn’t particularly warm that Saturday, but the sun was shining and there were fewer people out from the days prior. After grabbing an iced coffee and heading towards the East River, I called a friend to begin processing what I was feeling. (Side note: I can’t usually start processing without a good verbal processing session first. And I’m really thankful for this friend, who doesn’t judge my unfiltered thoughts and listens to my heart.)

By the end of that phone call (and about 40 city blocks later), I decided I wanted to go on a road trip. It would be the perfect way to get out and start processing my own emotions and to find clarity around some decisions.

After a quick call to my parents and a good friend in the city, it was decided. I was leaving NYC for an adventure unlike any other. The tentative itinerary was to drive from NYC to Allentown to Michigan to Indiana to Kansas to Colorado, back to Kansas and a final stop in Knoxville (or someplace along the way) before driving back to the city.

And so began a four and a half week long road trip. One that was uncharacteristic for me – an adventure without a firm plan, shaped and crafted along the way.

I wish I could name for you all of the emotions I experienced as I pulled away from NYC. Relief, grief, urgency to leave, fatigue. More that I don’t know how to explain. I cried a lot my first night away. Feelings of guilt and weakness and grief and exhaustion flooded over me. My soul longed for space away to process, to not think at all, and to be alone.

The first 560 miles were freeing and also challenging. I got to pick things for myself – music, podcasts, snacks, stops. All of it. This began the start of my long struggle with feeling selfish. Selfish for leaving, for buying my snacks, for not making a stop to see everyone (but more on this later).

Throughout this first long drive, I listened to a really great podcast on the growth journey for Enneagram twos. In the podcast, Beatrice Chestnut talked about the growth work for twos. And she said something that continues to stick with me (and here’s the gist):

There is freedom to stop caring about what every person thinks of you. When we need external approval, we often abandon our own self to align with others – turning ourselves into someone else for someone else. When we realize we’re doing it, there’s often a deep sadness that comes from betraying yourself.

I felt that on a deep level. So naturally, I cried. This began the start of a long, month long journey of rediscovering myself and of letting go (way more on this later).

After 8 or so hours in the car, I arrived in Michigan. Watching a perfectly yellow-orange sunset over the Midwest brought my heart joy. I’m so grateful for the hospitality of a friend and her family for letting me crash that night. The next morning, I had my counseling call to lay out my hopes for this trip and then I was on my way to the next stop – Marion, Indiana.

Today, I write from quarantine to my room. It’s only day 3 (maybe 4? The days are really blurring together) that we decided it would be best for me to self-isolate from the rest of the apartment after I began displaying some symptoms of COVID. While there’s no way to confirm for sure, it’s at the advice of a doctor to assume I have it, and treat accordingly.

Lucky for me, I have big windows in my room that overlook the street below. The tree right outside is blooming more and more with each day, and the sun shines in for several hours. I hear people walking around as they soak in the sun for a bit, kids laughing as they walk their dog, and cars passing by. Because it’s quieter here, I’ve even been able to hear the birds chirp. And I hear sirens. I can’t tell if it’s more frequent, or just more jarring due to the quietness around. Either way, my heart drops every time. This season is stirring anxiety, fear, and helplessness within me.

A dear friend of mine continues to share the words God has given her for this season – rest + receive. And I’m convicted by them, too. I feel these gentle nudges every time my mind starts overworking.

REST.

But all I want to do is anything to help someone. I want to be on the front lines of connection with friends & family.

REST.

But I want to accomplish something, anything, lots of things with all this free time I now have.

REST.

My body is tired, so I’ve been sleeping more. That’s rest, right?

REST.

I’m running around crazy (metaphorically of course), when I know that rest comes when I sit still.

When I disconnect.

When I let go of control.

When I quiet myself before the One who promises to give us rest when we come to Him.

RECIEVE.

But I want to give everything I have to serve my friends and neighbors. I don’t know how to accept gifts or words.

RECEIVE.

But I don’t know how to even ask for what I need.

RECEIVE.

I have to receive strength that comes from the One who renews me, the One who restores and refreshes my soul.

I’m learning to say “thank you” instead of “no, you don’t have to!”

My prayer is that maybe, like me, there are some people who just need to know that they are not alone. You are not worth any less because you need to rest, in body or mind. Sometimes, being a blessing to others means receiving their blessing. If you need permission to receive, here it is.

May the God of strength and peace give us the grace to rest in His presence and receive His gifts this week.

com·fort/ˈkəmfərt/

ease the grief or distress of; console.

I’ve gone longer than 10 days without working at the restaurant before, but this time is different. Obviously. The world isn’t the same, and the uncertainty of it all is weighing on us all. Of course we handle it differently, but we’re all in the same boat. All of us. Restaurant workers, students, parents, consultants, business people, etc.

I don’t do change well. In fact, transition makes me want to crawl into a hole and hide until everything has settled. I like routine and being in control.

I’m also a two on the Enneagram, and empathy is one of my top strengths on StrengthsFinder. People keep telling me it’s a “gift” and a “blessing”, but this week it feels more like a curse. I feel all the feelings for others. I’ve had to turn the news off long before I go to bed or the heaviness of the pandemic prevents me from sleeping. I mourn for those who have lost loved ones (which includes my family), I grieve senior year for college students, I am overwhelmed with those who are currently unemployed.

And my tendency is to do something, anything, to help comfort and mend. As you can imagine, it’s been a challenging couple of weeks.

Here’s what I’m realizing: As much as I want to live and be good news & comfort those I share life with, I need the same things.

Which led me to thinking about comfort – the things that comfort us and the way it feels to be comforted. So I took to Instagram to see what comforts others. Some of the answers included:

• knowing that I am safe
• letting myself cry
• cozy, warm scents and feelings
• warm cups of coffee and a candle
• safe, beauty, candles & fresh flowers

These all resonate with me – I feel comforted when I can let down my guard, and when I’m holding a warm cup of coffee next to my yellow flowers (like I am right now). Maybe at the heart of comfort is safety and security.

I came across this passage this week from 2 Corinthians. Paul writes,

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort. He comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any kind of affliction, through the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ overflow to us, so also through Christ our comfort overflows.

2 Corinthians 1:3-5 CSB; emphasis mine

I’ve been challenged by the words here. God – the one who is the very heart of compassion – comforts us so that we can comfort others, and through Christ our comfort overflows. It’s comforting to know I’m not alone in my distress. God himself identifies in our suffering and empathizes with us. So for now, I sit. I’m learning to receive true comfort that only comes from the God of all comfort.

And comfort is not for selfish gain. We are comforted so that we can be of true comfort to others. Friends, as you stay connected to the source of comfort, don’t hold that hostage from your friends, coworkers, or neighbors. We all need to experience and know God as our comforter. My mom often says we are “Jesus with skin on” – so how are we showing up, out of the overflow of who Jesus is in us?

In the midst of chaos, God is still good. He is still faithful. His promises are true. He is who He says He is. May the God of all comfort meet you where you are, so that you may experience joy and peace.

I know, I know. Everyone is posting their year/decade in review and now I’m sharing a new blog on my review. The new year tends to do that to people – cause them to pause and reflect on what the previous 12 months brought. Maybe we don’t do that enough – stop to think and process what’s going on in our lives and in the lives around us. But that’s a topic for another time.

My roommate sparked this blog. She asked “If your 2010 self met your 2020 self, what would she think?” (Isn’t that a fun question to think about?)

This decade has been a pretty big one. I graduated from middle school in 2010, graduated high school in 2014, and college in 2018. I’ve been driving the entirety of the decade! I injured my ankle too many times to count, never because of sports. I participated in 17 theatre productions. I moved from Kansas to Pennsylvania to college in Indiana to a summer in DC to New York City. I’ve been a bridesmaid in 5 weddings. We gained a sister and a beautiful niece (oh do I love her). It’s been a decade of loss – loss of relationships, of grandparents, and of dreams. I’ve had 3 concussions (none from sports). I’ve seen the ugly underbelly of the church far too many times, and have found a newfound love for the church. I experienced burn out at 21 and learned the importance of rest. I’ve started picking words of the year that absolutely wreck me, all in the best ways. I’m not the same Brooklyn I was at 14, but I’m also very much her, if that makes any sense.

As I’ve been thinking through her question, I can’t help but think about 2010 Brooklyn’s perspective. If I had known then who I’d be now/what I’d be doing/etc, I wouldn’t believe it – living in NYC, working in ministry and at a restaurant are all things that would never have crossed my mind. Ever. And that’s probably true for a lot of us – we have no way of predicting the way life is going to play out and where exactly we’ll be. And if you’re exactly where you thought you’d be, I’d love to talk to you more because I want that haha.

The piece of reflection that keeps bringing me to tears is to see the under-working of the faithfulness and goodness of God through it all. Throughout my teen years, I could not figure out how it could be true that God was consistent and did not change when everything else in my life was changing. But this truth is an anchor for me now. I have seen time and time again how God has remained the same when my environment was new or when friendships faltered. God has been so faithful to provide in this decade, whether that be through friendships or moments of quietness or financial provision or access to good counseling and everything in between. The biggest example being in the way my move to NYC was orchestrated. God so faithfully has provided housing, good roommates, finances, jobs, and community. I could write about this for paragraphs more, detailing every example I can think of, because He is just that good.

And I started words of the year half-way through the decade. Each word brought attention to really impactful lessons that have stayed with me.

Intentional (2015) – this year brought with it decisions to be intentional about church, friendships, school, and residents. Part of it including learning the importance of balance because I did not do that well.

Fearless (2016) – this word is my life word. And this year brought with it a new job as ARD and big responsibilities. It included changing my major and learning to be bold. “You Make Me Brave” was an anthem. Fearlessly following after Jesus is who I want to be known as. And this is the word I want tattooed on my wrist in my mom’s handwriting because she’s who I think of every time I hear it (and she finally wrote it for me!!)

Obedience (2017) – first of all, who picks obedience as a word, because this one is rough. I had to learn to hear the whisper of the Holy Spirit and move in step with Him. I worked a crazy internship in DC that forever changed me and made a big decision to change my major and quit my job in the same semester. I heard God more clearly than almost any other time in my life.

Wholehearted (2018) – I jumped into 2018 with baptism, making the declaration that I was wholeheartedly choosing to follow after Jesus from here on out. I learned how to rest and process some of the hard stuff. And I made decisions that I followed through with wholeheartedly. I moved to New York and made no exit plan. And wow, was God so faithful to me.

Stand (2019) – and this year, wow. Standing when things are crumbling around me, by the strength of the Holy Spirit (not by my own). Learning to stand firm in my beliefs and in my values. It’s been a year of learning what I want to stand for and who I want to be. Even though this year has been hard and traumatic and completely unexpected, it’s been filled with blessings.

(My 2020 word has been decided, but I’m not quite ready to share it publicly yet, so check back in the next week or so.)

I have absolutely no idea what to expect in the next year, let alone the next decade. But I’m ready to start figuring it out, day by day and month by month. And for the first time in a while, I’m not afraid of what the future holds. I trust that the One who holds it is already moving and working and preparing me. He’s proven His faithfulness over and over again, so why doubt now? Even when it doesn’t make sense. Even when I’m at the end of myself. I’m walking into 2020 holding tight to the promises and goodness of who God says that He is.

May this year be filled with learning and growth, regular rhythms of rest, and a greater capacity to be light and love to those around us.

I found myself hitting a really worn-out and exhausted state by the end of last week. Due to various things happening in my life, I felt overwhelmed and stressed out. So I did what any normal person would do. I took a 4 hour bus ride out to DC to get away for 36 hours. While on the bus, I laughed as I remembered times in college when my friends and I would joke about “running” as being our defense mechanism and here I was, running away from it all. But this time, I left to gain perspective and clarity; to give myself the space to process and sleep away from the stressors. Which felt different than before.

While in DC, I spent a few hours at one of my favorite little spaces – David’s Tent. David’s Tent is a 24/7 worship tent on the National Mall that’s been in existence since 2015. Here, volunteers lead worship and offer prayer over our country. It’s really beautiful and I always find rest under the tent. One of the worship leaders that afternoon sang “Way Maker,” which has been on repeat over the past several weeks.

Way maker.

Miracle worker.

Promise keeper.

Light in the darkness.

My God, that is who You are.

Even when I don’t see it, You’re working.

Even when I don’t feel it, You’re working.

You never stop, never stop working.

I’m seriously awestruck at the way Jesus gently pushes me out of the way as I’m busy trying to do more for Him to show me that He’s working in ways that only He can.

I’ve put a lot of pressure on myself over the past several weeks to do more and perform well and be the best I can be. I’ve tried to rush through mental and emotional healing from a hard summer. I’ve put the expectation on myself to be the light in the darkness and the way maker.

And it’s really exhausting.

But I am not the light. I am not the way maker. Jesus is.

There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light.

John 1:6-8

In the same way that John was not the light, only as a witness to the light, we are witnesses to the same light, not the light itself.

It’s when I am reminded that I have no control to transform anything or anybody, I find rest. God is in charge and He’s doing His thing. With or without me. And when I spend time with Him and see where He is asking me to step in, I find purpose because God wants me to take part.

I needed a step back to reset and reorient around who Jesus is and who He has called me to be this weekend. And I am so encouraged and excited about what God is doing in my life, and in the lives of those around me. Because, friends, He is moving. As I’ve been walking a season of healing and processing hard things God has shown me more and more how little he needs me but how much he wants me to be a part of his mission.

I hope that wherever you are, you are able to rest in who God is and who you are not. If you’re anything like me, it can be challenging to let go of the control and expectations. But it’s worth it. You can do it. Jesus is there to catch you.

I’m not really a morning person. Because of this, I can only count a handful of times that I’ve been awake for a sunrise – a few times in high school when we had youth lock-ins and didn’t sleep at all, or the couple of times we woke up on the beach.

One night last week, a few friends and I decided to make our way to the Brooklyn Bridge to watch the sunrise over the East River. We were already awake and had been celebrating another friend’s birthday, but we weren’t ready for the party to end. So we hopped in a cab and made our way downtown. When we found got to the middle of the bridge, we found a bench and camped out there for the next couple of hours. This had been on my NYC bucket list for months, so I was excited to finally cross it off the list. In the hour or so before the sunrise, I couldn’t help but notice the stars. I don’t get to see stars very often anymore, and I was stunned by my sudden awe of them. Then, the sun started to peak up over the buildings, and I found myself tearing up. The golden rays reflected off the buildings in lower Manhattan. The colors in the sky shifted and moved with the sun in a beautiful work of art. In the quietness of the morning, the whispers of hope from heaven flooded my heart. Night doesn’t last forever – the morning will come.

A few days later, my roommate and I found ourselves in Jersey, stargazing from the backyard. I think I repeatedly said “wow, look at all those stars.” The simple beauty of the night took me a little by surprise. Again, whispers of heaven flooded my heart. Even in the darkest of nights, there are glimmers of light and of hope.

Just the other day, my cousin and I set up a nice stargazing spot in my parent’s backyard. We had blankets and bug spray, and I was looking forward to another beautiful display. As we looked up, we realized there were too many clouds to see the stars. And I was unreasonably angry. “All I wanted was to lay here in the quiet and look at the stars,” I kept repeating. There were no whispers of hope. Instead, it was quiet and frustrating.

I know, it’s cliche to talk about seasons of our lives as “night” and “day” and to compare hard seasons to the night time. But there was something comforting about experiencing the Holy Spirit in this contrast.

In this season of emptiness and healing, I can feel a lot like I did the night I couldn’t see the stars – frustrated and disappointed. This season is darker than I’d like to admit and more confusing than I thought it would be. But there are glimpses of light. The stars don’t stay hidden behind the clouds forever. There are moments of deep joy and hope that remind me that morning is coming. The glimmers of light remind me of the times God has already been faithful, where He has already moved, restored, and renewed.

I wish our seasons of night ended like clockwork as they do in the sky. I want to plan for the sunrise and count down the hours until this season is over. But there will be a new day, a new season. And when morning comes, oh how beautiful that will be. When the pain and sorrow of the night begin to fade and the light of renewal and restoration begin to shine, what a testament to the goodness and the faithfulness of God.

I’m learning to mourn what needs to be mourned. I’m learning to be when I just want to do. I’m learning to stand in the face of darkness. And I’m holding on to the hope that light will shine again.

I starting writing a new blog post over a month ago that reads like this:

I’m getting ready for a new season. I don’t know what will come next. I don’t know what it will look like in the next few months. I have no idea what God is stirring in my heart.

but I’m getting ready for it.

Which maybe surprises people, because I really like being in the know and I’ve talked a lot about really hating change and transition.

but I’m excited, and surprised about it.

I had the best day I’ve had in New York this week. Like, the BEST. I haven’t felt so connected and more alive since I’ve moved here.

I cried rereading it. I am not where I thought I would be 37 days ago. Everything feels as though it’s come undone. Imagine a liter bottle of water that has water constantly being poured in it. Every once in a while, a sharp object comes by and produces a small hole in its side. Eventually the small holes become larger and the water no longer stays in the bottle. I feel like that water bottle – constantly being emptied out and left with limited resources. I know I need to fix the holes. I know I need to process and deal with some of the issues that have come up regarding grief and trauma and identity. I just wish it didn’t leave me tired and drained.

So I’m entering into this next season more aware of my brokenness and humanity. I have more questions than answers and I am clinging to God’s promises like never before. The song “Goodness of God” by Bethel has been on repeat in my head these past few weeks.

“I love You, Lord
For Your mercy never failed me
All my days, I’ve been held in Your hands
From the moment that I wake up
Until I lay my head
Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God

And all my life You have been faithful
And all my life You have been so, so good
With every breath that I am able
Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God

I love Your voice
You have led me through the fire
And in darkest night You are close like no other
I’ve known You as a Father
I’ve known You as a Friend
And I have lived in the goodness of God, yeah!

‘Cause Your goodness is running after, it’s running after me
Your goodness is running after, it’s running after me
With my life laid down, I’m surrendered now
I give You everything
‘Cause Your goodness is running after, it’s running after me.”

Sometimes it’s easy to get bogged down by the weight of the brokenness around me. Yet even in the emptiness I feel, I am equal parts hopeful. I’m trusting that the goodness of God is in my midst and that He’s got my best interest at heart. His goodness is pursuing me even here. I love how The Passion Translation says Psalm 23:5-6.

You anoint me with the fragrance of your Holy Spirit; you give me all that I can drink of you until my heart overflows. So why would I fear the future? For your goodness and love pursue me all the days of my life. Then afterward, when my life is through, I’ll return to your glorious presence to be forever with you!

I still don’t know what God is stirring in my heart. As a two on the enneagram, it pains me to admit that this season is going to require me to let others help me while I am unable to help in all the ways I want to be. Everything I thought September would bring is just not reality. But I am trusting that on the other side of this, there will be strength and confidence and a brighter light that can only be explained by the goodness of God.

Running. Screaming. Glass breaking. Tables turning.

Complete and total panic filled our Times Square restaurant.

I don’t know why I immediately hid behind the host stand. I don’t remember if I heard people shouting “shooter,” “run,” or “get down.” All I remember was kneeling there thinking that there was someone with a gun shooting up the place.

For no more than 2 minutes (honestly it was probably less but it felt like forever), I thought we were all going to die, or at least be seriously injured. I kept bracing myself for whatever a bullet wound might feel like. The only thing I could think to do was pray, but even that proved to be difficult as I didn’t have any words other than “Jesus keep us safe.” But I really thought I might be face to face with Him soon.

The sweet little girl right in front of me was screaming and crying. She didn’t speak English and kept asking “que paso” through her sobs. I wanted her to know we were okay, so I cupped her face and kept repeating “it’s okay, we’re okay” mostly trying to remind myself.

After calling 911 and once everything got quieter, I stood up. As I got up, I didn’t know what to expect or if there was someone still in there. I just knew we needed answers.

In front of me were dozens of scared people, huddled on the floor and under tables and behind chairs. Several were crying and some screaming. The restaurant was a mess – broken glass and food covered the floor.

The police told us a motorcycle backfired.

As a delayed processor and one who can’t help but stay calm when the world is crumbling around her, I walked back in to start sharing the relieving news to the still freaked out crowds. Slowly, people stood up to begin finding their phones or purses, and even their kids. We checked in on each other, and made sure the injured people were taken care of (because in a stampede surrounded by broken glass, there were plenty of cuts and scrapes to treat). Thank God everyone was okay, and that it was a false alarm.

An hour later, we were seating people again and carrying on as normal.

But nothing was normal. We weren’t okay.

The hardest part about the other night is that, because it was a false alarm, I have a hard time accepting the validity of my feelings/response. Those few minutes were traumatic. I responded as if there really was an active shooter, even though there wasn’t. I believed to my core that I was not going to walk out of that restaurant alive. So I write because if I don’t, I probably won’t process it. I can’t sleep without hearing the sounds of the screams and seeing the kids around me. I can’t hear glass break without jumping and panicking. And I wish I could be completely okay since it was a false alarm, but I can’t.

My heart breaks for the communities in El Paso and Dayton, where they didn’t get a false alarm. It’s devastating that this is the world we live in, that an active shooter isn’t a far-fetched idea but a real reality for lots of communities in our country recently. And I don’t know how to fix it, I just know how to feel and grieve deeply right now.

This just isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

In the middle of my panic and anxiety, I’m thankful that I don’t have to walk through it alone. I’m thankful that the Lord has given me some peace and space to wrestle these feelings with Him these last 24 hours. I’m thankful for my coworkers, who have talked with me and let me verbally process, and for the times we’ve laughed together over our knee-jerk reaction to the whole thing.

And I’m so thankful it was a false alarm.

/un/learn

discard (something learned, especially a bad habit or false or outdated information) from one’s memory.

This week, I had an emotional intelligence assessment debrief. If you’ve known me any length of time, you know how much I love self-assessments. It’s the most fun thing. During my debrief, we talked about my lowest sub-score – assertiveness. Which, let’s be honest, we all know is definitely true of me. Processing through my lack of assertiveness brought up lots of things I learned over the years about asserting myself. I learned to only bring bullet proof ideas to the table. Otherwise, I keep my mouth shut. No one necessarily used words to teach me that, but it was a lesson I learned nonetheless.

So I guess this is a new season of unlearning. Unlearning the lessons that hold me back and prevent me from being the best leader/person/woman God has created me to be.

As I continue to process and reflect on this past year, I see where God has been stretching me and teaching me to unlearn thought patterns and behaviors that are unhealthy or unloving. I’m being reminded that Genesis 1 comes before Genesis 3 (thankful for Deb’s constant reminders on this). I’m unlearning the culture I grew up in and relearning the culture I find myself in. And a lot more that I don’t have words for yet (maybe someday I will).

And it’s good. So stretching. But so good.

Even in my season of unlearning, I’m also finding myself STANDing stronger and more confidently in some of the things I’ve learned in the past. The culture around me has challenged me to dig deeper into the teachings of Jesus. Heck, even in the middle of transition and change (my FAV things), the lessons I’ve learned in the past are being reinforced in big ways. God doesn’t change. He remains faithful. He isn’t going to leave me or forsake me. And I’m more rooted than I’ve been before.

If you’re out there reading this experiencing the growing pains of unlearning lessons, I hope this is encouraging to you to know you’re not alone.

Here’s to letting Jesus gently reteach me and grow me in new ways.

One year ago today I moved to NYC with nothing more than a suitcase and an unpaid internship. I had no place to live, no reliable source of income, and no idea how I was going to make it. If I was going to make it. All I knew was that there was no denying that God asked me to make the move.

I was at coffee with a friend this morning and she asked about my story of moving here. As I started telling her the stories of living on people’s couches for 6 weeks and trying to find a job and an apartment, I realized how crazy I was then. I still can’t believe I did it. My friend called me brave. And that’s how I know God is working through my weakness. I was scared and anxious leading into moving to New York (and sometimes still am about living here), but in the midst of my fear God has shown His strength and faithfulness. He is making me braver than I could have imagined.

In the past year, I’ve moved into my first apartment with strangers who quickly became close friends. I started a job at a restaurant in Times Square. I led a youth group and hosted a life group for the first time. I learned more about the kinds of things I like to do, and those that I don’t. I’ve traveled to Boston, Chicago, Marion, Columbus, Orlando, Nashville, and Knoxville. I walked through Redeemer’s City to City apprenticeship program where I met other 20-somethings in ministry. I had my entire world rocked for the better by the Forge Residency program. And I’ve accepted a new job as Managing Director of Forge New York.

One year ago started the biggest transition of my life. I wouldn’t be who I am today with the experiences of this past year. As I enter into this new transition period – starting a new job, but in the same city – I’m holding on to the same promises of God’s faithfulness that He has shown me all year.

Friends, if you’re anything like me and are scared to take that next step that you feel God is calling you into, I promise it will be worth it. Take the step. Do it afraid. And He will make you brave.

Thanks, New York, for teaching me to STAND. You’re my favorite.