Can I get a [WITNESS]?

If a tree fell in the woods and no one saw, did it really happen?

I’ve been chasing the tail of a feeling, an idea, a desire since I moved from my parents’ house and into my minimally furnished solo life. Solitude can be good for the heart and teasing abstract thoughts into writing. There has been no shortage of solitude the past few weeks. It’s this creeping uneasy feeling; most days I forget it’s there and rarely it wells up into full-blown unhappiness.

I figured I just needed to boost my social life. Yet weeks of reunions, lunch dates, and meeting new coworkers at work don’t seem to ease the tension.

I thought perhaps once I had more material things (i.e. anything more than a bed and silverware) it would go away but today I sit in a newly inherited chair, staring at 2/3 of an inherited knife block again realizing “things” aren’t the fix.

At this point, my usually restrained girl brain spirals into the only possible explanation—you know, where a boyfriend would fix things—because it’s so much easier to blame my problems on an imaginary person rather than the finicky heart beating in my own chest. (**Proceeds to post snarky comment about singleness on Facebook to give outlet to current frustration. Everyone likes it. Feels better**)

“God, can I get a witness?”

Finally I just blurt it out like I’ve secretly known my issue the whole time. (It sounds more like a whiny girl and less like an African-American, evangelical preacher).

And there it is: a witness.

Because even at the end of a day I have thoroughly enjoyed—unless I post more pictures/statuses/blogs/selfies than I am personally comfortable with in a day (read: 1)—no one else saw my day beginning to end. No one laughed with me while I choked on my toast while watching New Girl in a last-minute rush before work, or saw me get a PR on my three-miler, or heard me mess up the radio lyrics during my commute that blended ‘glory’ and ‘holy’ into an unfortunate mix of ‘hoary’.

And so there’s this trap in thinking that my life isn’t really happening if someone else isn’t there to verify the whole thing. And the trap gets deeper when I tell myself that I my problem would be solved with a spouse or kids or a roommate like everyone else.

God says, “I AM,” and suddenly He opens my eyes to see my heart’s tendency to put hope in creation rather than Creator. 

I’m filled with the Holy Spirit. I’m fully known by God. Christ is my Shepherd. 

Of course I have a witness.

…I just need the occasional reminder.

[Moving Days]

Gearing up for my 7th move in 3 years, it's inventory time again. I haven't decided yet if having so few possessions (read: a bed, dresser, buffet, and dog) is a grand accomplishment or a 25-year-old's failure. Probably both, let's be honest.

As much as I need bowls to eat food from and a couch to relax on, I would not be any more fulfilled than I am today if I had them. Since my inventory was quick to complete, I found myself daydreaming about all the things in my life that bring me fulfillment. I don't own any of them.


Some of my favorite things have hearts and souls and long hair and beautiful smiles. They make me excited about life's opportunities and the beauty of community.


Some have four legs and wet noses and have taught me more about what is important in life with their silence than I've learned from years of others' noisy words.


One is the Savior and the Son of God; He has given me unconditional love, a new heart and endless second chances.


Two of my favorites raised me and give me guidance for life they had to learn from experience. They both push and catch me through life.


Six are younger and share my bone structure and last name. They are unique and wonderful and trying to navigate life just like me.


There are other things like autumn sun, good perfume, a warm mug between my fingers, lilacs in the spring, hot showers, handmade scarves, the 60 minutes after a workout, surprises, generosity, folk music, and dancing like a fool. 


Thankfully, I can take all of these things with me wherever I go. No moving van required.

[UGLY] & BELOVED

I remember the first time.

I can’t recall what I was wearing but my flip-flops were a muddled blue in the weak, yellow light of the 4^th floor girls’ dorm bathroom—my feet firmly planted around the toilet seat of the corner stall. Sick from eating too much food, terrified of what it would do to my body, and exhausted from years of starving myself and over exercising, I reasoned it would be easier to just throw up. I did. That was the first time. It provided twisted relief and I thought I had discovered the solution to all my body problems.

I was eighteen and a college freshman. Now 25, I sit here a grown woman, still untangling myself from the consequences of a path I ignorantly started on seven years ago. It is a path of destruction and shame and lies and condemnation. Through my faith and belief in Jesus Christ, I can humbly say after years of growth I can now walk in victory most of the time. Still, I walked that destructive path so many times that even now I sometimes fall into the ruts, worn so deep, after years of habit.

Friday night was one of those nights. It started innocently with pizza and birthday cake, but in a momentary stumble in judgment, I found myself stuffed and headed into the bathroom.  I had done this, quite literally, over 1,000 times in seven years. It is mindless for me. But Friday was different.

In the midst of my self-inflicted misery, full of shame and food, I became aware of Christ’s immediate presence. I saw no vision, but he was there. I cringed inside as I prayed, “Jesus, I don’t want you to see me like this. I am sorry. I know I should be better. Just go away from me until I have cleaned up my mess.”

He didn’t leave. To my confusion I didn’t sense disgust from Him. He stayed and put his hand on my back to comfort me while I finished making myself sick. He didn’t shy away from my ugliness. He didn’t condemn me for my sin. I sensed him saying, “I love you. I always love you but I think you need to hear it right now, in this moment. I love you. Not after you have cleaned up. Not after you make up your mind to never do this again. But now—as you are—I love you.”

The weight of his words nearly stops my heart even now. I have been motivated to stop my sin by a great number of things—but none so much as the grace-filled love of Jesus.

But I am no exception. That is the heart of the Gospel:

“⁸ But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8.

And though I know that truth on an intellectual level, to experience His love and acceptance in my ugliest moment takes my breath away. Leaves me on my face. Makes it worth sharing my shame with you so I can share His mercy also.

I pray this week that God pins you down with His love. In the middle of your ugliest moment I hope he floors you with His grace.

Like Simon Peter we will fall to our knees and beg him, “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!” (Luke 5:8) but that is not His way. He stays and loves and beckons us into an acceptance that trumps the allure of sin every time if we let Him. Let Him!