*This post is something I've had sitting in my drafts for a long time. I wanted to come back to revise it, as I think it's relatively thought-provoking. Thanks!

A telltale sign that someone doesn't know me at all is if they don't know that I am the youngest of three. I truly cannot fathom how people can have siblings and it not be one of the biggest parts of who they are, and I realize, in writing this, that that is a blessing for me to say. Because, in my eyes, the very first things I ever became were daughter and sister. 

Hot take: If you hate serving the Lord, you're either in the wrong ministry, or you need to seriously change your posture. Furthermore, if you are not capable of being kind to the vulnerable population you're working with, reevaluate. 

"What do you like to do for fun?" is truly one of the hardest questions for me to answer; it always has been. Fun, or at least fun in its most common contexts, is not really on my radar. I've accepted that, while I am not a bore to be around, I'm kind of boring. 

I deeply enjoy going to coffee shops. Shocking, right? How unique of me!

"You begin to realize that you are not in control of anything--that everything good that comes is a gift from God."

I am not entirely certain where the illustration came from originally, but I remember the time I first heard it. 

I'll be honest--I am prone to emotional (and writing) slumps. I absolutely thrive on connection and community, which has been a huge prayer in my life for quite a long time. Yet, there haven't been huge external changes in that area, and that often leads me to a dry schedule and an unfulfilled spirit. 

My peace cannot depend on an outcome. I don't like thinking about that, to be completely honest here. But if my faith only survives when God gives me the answer I want, then what I have isn't really faith. It's an invalid contract. 

Something incredibly beautiful about a relationship with God is the peace found in knowing that I am not enough, which I'm aware is a bold statement. But hear me: knowing that there is nothing I can do to make God love me less and that His Son paid my debt in completion is a great comfort. It takes any performative pressure off. God desires fellowship with us, not the best performance (which is not an excuse for sin, obviously). I do not have to earn a place with my Father. 

“I don’t know how you do it.” That is a phrase I've heard often over the past year from a handful of friends, and while it’s always meant to be taken as a compliment, I never really know how to respond. In fact, people who have walked through battles way harder than mine have stated that they struggle with an answer to that, too.

There are a handful of things that are guaranteed to make me cry at any time: soldier homecoming videos, people saying goodbye to their childhood dogs, a handful of hyper-specific sad country songs, and a long list of old hymns, specifically How Deep the Father's Love for Us.