I ONCE HAD SOMEONE TELL ME I COULDN’T LET MY STORIES SIT IN LITTLE JARS ON A SHELF LEFT TO COLLECT DUST.
I ignored it for so long. I wasn’t brave enough. I didn’t think I had it in me. I felt too broken. All I wanted to do was sweep all that dust under the carpet and leave it there completely concealed.
AND THEN I READ A LINE SOMEWHERE THAT GOD CREATES MAGNIFICENTLY BEAUTIFUL THINGS OUT OF DUST.
He takes our fragmented natures—our disappointments, frailty, failures, flaws, brokenness, hurts, heartbreaks, loneliness, hopelessness, and insecurities, and breathes life into those places. I never could wrap my mind around that. I still can’t. But He does it.
I’m just a girl with big dreams, love to give, and stories to share. I’ve always really loved the idea of storytelling. It helps me feel like I’m connected. Because there is always someone out there who can share the same sentiments.
THE THING IS—YOU ARE NEVER, NEVER ALONE. AND THAT’S THE TRUTH.
I never imagined myself wanting and willing to do something like this: to write and spill my insides for the world to read. It requires me to let people in and let God work however He wants to, which is not always the easiest. But I have lived so comfortably in my own shell, and have hidden behind my own story for far too long. The underground blog I’ve kept for over half a decade, and the other secret one I’ve had for another half decade before that no longer suffices my internal cravings. I’m hungry to let you know that I care for your soul.
In my perfect little world, life would be filled with sparkles and glitter and rainbows and unicorns, all day every day. And we’d have it all together and figured out. That’s not realistic at all. But we can still throw confetti parties whenever we want, wherever we want. We can. And, we will. I hope you’ll stick around, to journey through this mysterious life thing with me. I can’t guarantee that it’ll always be pretty, or that it’ll always be grand. But that might be what makes it most exciting. So this is me, taking those little jars off of those shelves I’ve kept them on. I’m blowing off the dust so God can do what He wishes with it, untwisting the caps and pouring honesty onto these pages for you.
With a million red cherries,