Sometimes I write and people tell me I’m brave.
Because I write hard things. Because I dive past the small talk and tell you where it hurts. Because I don’t want to pretend.
Because I tell you it’s ok if you hurt too, I know the balm for the scars we carry, the antidote to utter despair, the flicker of light when your feet stumble and bruise in the dark night. Because I tell you He is big enough to be met with your doubts and your worries.
I want to invite you to meet Him, know Him more, see Him in the light I do, I want to share my Jesus with you.
And I want words to soothe the ache. I want to point you back to Grace, scavenging hope and beauty to line your pockets on the journey.
I’ve gotten good at digging for treasure. My hands are never clean because to find beauty you’ve often got to break hard soil, clawing it back to the place where things grow. Where hope is planted. It is always dark and broken and so deep down you cannot imagine anything would survive.