Owning Our Stories

These struggles do not define you. You are not your illness. Not your weakness. Not your brokenness. Not your scars. And though these things all shape you, they do not define you. You are much more than that. 

Believe in your story. Fight for your story. It's worth it. Even on the darkest days when you feel like no one is left standing next to you, it is worth it. Someone out there needs you to speak when they cannot. Someone out there needs to read your words. Someone out there needs you to stand beside them and say, I'll fight for you and with you. I cannot promise that in owning our story we won't ever know darkness again. But I can promise that you are not alone. I am not alone. We are not alone. 

All of us - the brave, the broken, the hopeful, the hopeless - all of us are part of something much bigger than we know or see. Our community is in each other, and our currency is love.

Transformation

Transformation isn't without waiting, without pain, without moments of darkness followed by glimpses of brilliant light. And you just have to hope those brief glimpses are enough to get you through the next series of seemingly infinite darkness. But transformation begins with accepting who you are. With embracing who you are. It begins with laying your heart and soul brazenly on the table and saying, this is who I am, and I am not ashamed.

Imperfect Game-Changers

Let's be game changers -- a collective community who isn't afraid to do things differently. To show all sides, and not just the pretty, polished ones. We can say all we want is to be vulnerable and real, but unless we're willing to actually expose ourselves then these sentiments are just empty words in sermons or motivational speeches or on white computer screens. If we're going to impact one another, if we're going to heal our own hearts, if we're going to truly be in the trenches with the people in our lives, then it starts with showing our imperfect selves -- not just to our inner circles, but to the world.

If we only portray the image we feel others want to see, or others expect to see, we are missing out. We are missing out on embracing our own identities, and we are missing out on letting people know that they are not the only ones who struggle. That they don't have to be perfect. That they don't have to fit a mold. That they are not alone. 

If we only show our light, our triumphs, our perfectly prepared words, would people taken comfort in that? Or would they feel that no one understands, that no one gets it, that no one struggles or suffers as they do? If we censor our thoughts and stifle our stories, then we aren't being truthful. We aren't showing the full, un-edited picture. And it's truth that gives us freedom in a world chained by hypocrisy and lies. It's truth that moves people from the fringes as outcasts and lepers to a place of belonging. Truth, and love, and perhaps faith.

Letters to God

I am standing out here in the storm, screaming. I’m screaming at you, God. I’m screaming for you. What do I need to do to get your attention? If you want me to believe, then be here. Show up. People are starving – for sincere community, for meaning in tragedy, for shelter in chaos, for love amidst hate. What am I supposed to do about this mess of a world we live in? The brokenness and suffering is immeasurable. If you are, then be. Here. With us. Be here, not in corporate songs we sing, but in the trenches of our darkest nightmares. Be here, until your warmth seeps into our veins and frees our hearts from all the pain and all the doubt and all the insecurities and all the unworthiness.

Despite all my best efforts to ignore you, to rebel, to push you away, to scream profanities when no other words seem to express my despair adequately enough, and to annihilate your very existence in my mind – despite all this, I cannot help but see you in the seemingly minute details of the world around me:

In the sun when it rises on the horizon;
In the wind as it sweeps through the trees and cools my face;
In the beauty of foreign landscapes;
In the last bit of light before nightfall;
In the still of evening when an owl swoops overhead and perches on the branches above, looking down at me with wide, almost understanding eyes.

In those brief moments, I want to believe that you're present; and that somehow, everything will be okay.

Real Friendships

I long for real friendships. The kind of friends that you can sit in silence with and not feel uncomfortable. The kind of friends you can argue in front of because you’re just an extended member of the family. The kind of friends you know the majority of the time are going to be up for one of your random adventures – even if that adventure could potentially result in jail time. The kind of friends you can just fall apart with and show up at their door looking like a batshit crazy person with mascara running down your face and they’re like, you know, it’s cool – let’s have wine and watch B-rated movies.

We have to find a way to be more connected – to work harder at reaching each other in an authentic, gritty, “I want to be in your life and I want you in mine” kind of way. We have to acknowledge our need for each other. We have to name it. We’re too afraid to ask for help. We’re too stubborn to admit we aren’t enough. But we can’t sustain life this way. And I don’t believe we were meant to.