Have you ever finished a book and simply sighed in a moment of reverence because the story you had just read took your breath away? It was so wonderful and enchanting and deep and real that you would much rather be immersed in the world it presented than in the world you find yourself in.

The truth is that you are immersed in a story just like that.

Your own.

Your story, regardless of the amount of conflict, the antagonists and protagonists, the plot twists, and the resolutions, is worthy to be called a classic, an epic in the library of the world.

Because of that, today is a day for celebration.
You are unique, and your uniqueness is one the greatest reasons for joy there is.
The way you sing, your eye color, your Africa-shaped birthmark, your accent, your ideals, the jokes you laugh at and tell, your values, your tastes—the list continues for miles. You are a beautiful combination that no other person can claim.
As an avid book-lover, I find my heart melting at the mention of my favorite books, characters, and authors. Finding someone else who celebrates the same things makes enjoying them even more fulfilling.
Today, let me be your companion as we fan-girl (or fan-boy) over your story. The book is your amazing, intricate, beautiful life--the heroine is you, surrounded by your supporting characters, or possibly in your case, victorious over many villains--and the author is God, the lover of your soul. I once read this quote, and it struck me so deeply with its simple and yet profound message: "The Bible is the only book where the author is in love with the reader." Your story is the same way.
I encourage you, my dear friend, to love your story. I promise I know how hard that is, but in turning your love toward your own story and not just the enticing stories of others, you begin to learn how truly breathtaking your own story really is.


We are...

We are...

This post is a simple reminder of who we are as God's children.  

We are stunning beings modeled after the Creator of the Universe.

We are people who were thought of before the stars were placed in the sky.

We are perfectly whole through Him who loved us.

We are justified through the blood of our Saviour.

We are free to live without chains of bondage.

We are affirmed by God the Father.

We are safe in the knowledge of knowing that He is able to guard what we have entrusted to Him until that day.

We are each given a unique purpose.

We are called to be different.

We are forgiven; daily, freely, again and again, and again.

And we are loved. So, so loved; infinitely, boundlessly, freely and eternally.

We matter. We matter. We matter.


who we are

who we are

Who we are ≠ what we do. 


Who we are is very simple - what we do is complicated. (Don't misunderstand me ... what we do is beautiful, needed, unique, creative, passionate, important, life-giving ... but complicated.)

Who we are - our identity - is loved. Good. Made holy by the grace of God alone. Forgiven. Full of light. 

But it is not the same thing as what we do. Who we are does not change whether we scale creative highs or get stuck in the slumps. Who we are is not the author, the dreamer, the artist, the failure, the winner, the published novelist, the girl who can't get past the first chapter, the sick, the better-than, the healed, or the lost. 

This is something that is hard for me. I like to stack up my winnings and my failures in two neat lists, and if the first line is longer than the second, then I am good. I am doing things right. I am worth something. I am A Good Person. You might even feel a little intimidated by me, and you should, because I am awesome (just look at my list!)
But if the second line is longer than the first, instantly, I adopt those failings as my identity. Who I am is the girl who didn't get 100% on her assignment. Who I am becomes the number on the page, the 75% or the 57%, with wide-open gaps in all the places I failed to succeed. Who I am quickly becomes the girl who has a dusty Bible on her nightstand. I am the closed laptop and the list with all the boxes unchecked. I am the alarm that blares when you least want to hear it and I am the energy I don't have to make breakfast in the morning.

And so I live in this flip flop where what I do determines who I am, and I spend a lot of time seasick, stuck somewhere in the center of it all, riding the waves as I wait to see whether the odds will end up in my favour today.
I am only just starting to learn that this is not the way it is supposed to work. I am bad bad bad at taking gifts without giving something in return, but I'm just beginning to figure out that I don't have to do anything to change my identity. I don't have to do anything to be good. I don't have to earn the right to hold my head up high - that is a privilege that has been freely given to me. Who I am - my identity, my life, my story has value and worth because it is a story of holiness that has been dropped on me like a blanket by Jesus. 

My story matters not because I have done great things, or helped lots of people, or because I don't swear or do go to church or check off any other number of so-called "list items". My story matters because Jesus says I matter; not because of what I've done, but because of who I am. 

And I want you to know that no matter who you are, or what you have or haven't done, or what kind of marks you get back on your assignments ... your story matters too. Not because of what you do, but because of who you are. 

Your story matters ... and we can't wait to hear it.

What's your story? Do you ever feel tempted to equate what you do with who you are? What raps you on the head and reminds you that you are holy because God made you holy?

Olivia (s)

you are not a machine

you are not a machine

you, like me, are probably tired.

i see your darkened eyes, your brittling bones, your wry smile that
spreads thinner and thinner.

i see your hungry heart, your hollowed ribcage, and the deep puddle that
you're about to collapse into.

i know your skipping heartbeat, the pain that jolts up your arm as you pound it
against the wooden desk to try again and again and again

i know your adrenaline going to waste because you're sitting through lectures,
taking those exams, working behind the counter, to no avail

i recognize your soul bursting because you're locked inside and you are
overworking yourself

but you will deny it because you, like me, still feel the desire to get things done
because you, like me, will not be contented with enough
because you, like me, would rather go down because you're tired than rest and rise again

but you aren't a machine, and that is the problem.

you are here and you are with me
we are flesh and blood and bone and belief and we still have life
we still have it inside us, curled up like a ball, and it won't let go

we are not rust and steel and cement and rot and death
we are not programmed to work day and night
we are not built of never ending grit

we are more than clockwork, more than rigorous timetables and schedules
we are breathing and sad and happy and mad at all the wrong and right times but that's fine

you, like me, probably need a break

so go for it.

then get back up again.



Darling, you are safe.

You are not lost. You are not alone. You are not abandoned. And you are not drowning.

Darling, you are safe.

You are safe because no one can take you from you. You can never leave you, and you have the freedom to love, comfort, and cherish yourself. You have the ability to be your best friend instead of your arch nemesis. Use that ability; it will give you life you never thought you'd experience.

Darling, you are safe.

You are in the arms of a Papa Who sacrificed everything for you to know what true love looks like. No one can take you from Him.

Darling, you are safe.

Your beauty is unchangeable. No one can alter it with their words, actions, or thoughts. It can only grow and mature. You are a part of Beauty itself.

Darling, you are safe.

Love is the essence of who you are as God designed you. That love cannot be broken, bruised, cut, or killed, no matter what circumstances you find yourself in. That love in you is a shining shield, a light protecting you from the illusion of darkness.

Darling, you are safe.

Even if your life up to this point has been dark and empty, there is never a point at which that life cannot be changed, reshaped, and filled with light. Emily Dickinson once said, “Hope is the thing with feathers.” But that bird never flies away.

Darling, you are safe.

Hannah W.

you are beautiful

you are beautiful

You know that moment, when they tell you you're beautiful and... they actually mean it?
Maybe it's your dad, or mom. Maybe it's your sister or brother or your boyfriend.
I know, cliche as heck, but really. You feel like you can't quite believe them because how could it be true? You've seen yourself. How could that be beautiful? 
Part of you wants to believe them, the other wants to run and douse your face with water till it steams you're blushing so hard.
Part of you wants to cry, another wants to smile. Part of you wants to hide, the other thinks you should say 'thank you’.
And somewhere deep inside, a younger version of you sobs. Thinking about all the lies you were told about how you are plain, or fat, or ugly. 
That you are nobody special.
A little baby girl inside you cries and you feel your heart cracking because of that one person who didn't return your smile, or didn't repeat your 'good mornings’.
A little princess’ fist clenches, trying to keep the sobs in, trying to keep her stomach in.
Trying to fit into jeans two sizes small, and a society that's way smaller than the one she should care about. 
The only one that matters.
It may take a guy to tell you “you're beautiful” in order for you to believe it. It may take that person in the library or the store who smiled at you, and complimented you.
It may take an ounce of love or eight-thousand pounds.
But guess what? You don't have to look far for it. 
It's always there, waiting right behind you.
As you look around and try to find love, look there over your shoulder. See that man? He is bloody. He is bruised. His face doesn't even look human anymore because he's been beaten so badly.
See that cross that is weighing him almost to the ground? 
That's every mean word you've said and was said to you. That's every time you were put down by people and every insult and every lie.
Don't turn away, look at him. Watch him teeter closer and look into his eyes as they find yours.
Listen to him telling you why he is bearing your insults.

because he knows you can't hold them yourself. so he's holding them for you. and he's here to tell you

y o u ‘ r e    b e a u t i f u l

he should know. when he was making you he wanted you to look just like that. 
perfect and beautiful for him.

- Esther 

He remains

He remains

It's an all too familiar feeling

That soul-sucking, draining, never ebbing hole that rests between who you are and what you strive to be

Who you know you should be, but just..aren't
Your feet are close to the edge, it crumbles, you might fall, and it's too much, too much, too much.

Because you try, try, try

But you're never quite enough, enough, enough

And there's nothing you've ever been so aware of as you are your own inadequacy

The war you're waging has you losing more ground than you're gaining

Your own brokenness is staring you in the face, commanding all of your attention

When you fall into the same temptation again and again and start to wonder how there could ever be enough grace in the world to redeem you

When the rug is pulled out from beneath your feet, suddenly you find yourself not being able to hide anymore

Dirty hands, downcast eyes, the overwhelming knowledge that you've got nothing much to offer

Except for a broken heart and wounds so deep they threaten to swallow you alive

But, friend, what is your patch of darkness when it's held up against an infinite source of light?

Because the truth is, there isn't anything so broken or messed up that grace can't step in to make whole

Lay down your arms, it's safe to trust, He's safe to trust

You don't have to be in the trenches alone

There is One who sits with you

Holding your hand, cradling your heart, and whispering

That He knows exactly what you're going through because He's been in the trenches, too

When it's all said and done, maybe it isn't your job to be enough

Maybe fighting against inadequacy is a false choice

Maybe perfection is a less worthy pursuit than progress

Maybe the mess isn't meant to be fixed, but shaped into a message about grace and hope and light

That is less about who you are or who you are not

And more about who He is in you, through you, and around you

About how when you are faithless

He is forever faithful

When you are weak

He is strong

When all other things fade away

He remains