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You Can't Out-Dream God

I’ve always been a big dreamer. I used to think my dreams were my own. And maybe God saw them and because He loved me, might let me have a few of them.   However, the longer I walk this journey with Jesus, I see that all my dreams were His first. And not only were they His first, He believes in those dreams and in me far more than I ever do or could. This week has been a pinnacle of a lot of different dreams in my heart, and my brain cannot even begin to comprehend what is happening. All I know is that “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion…” (Philippians 1:6) One thing I have learned about the Lord over the past couple years is that He is a much bigger dreamer than I could ever be. This week two really big things happened in my life. I finished my part in recording an EP that I’ve been working on all summer with some very talented friends of mine. I also left Minnesota and road tripped across the country to move to Redding, California for Bethel S
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Bitter into Sweet

Have you ever watched the show Chopped ? I love that show. I love food; I love to cook; I love to watch people cook. So when I got struck down with the plague (aka, the flu) this week, I wasn’t binge watching Gossip Girl or chick flicks, I was hooked on the good old Food Network. Something that struck me between about episode five and episode six was that the trouble ingredients for the contestants across the board were not the foreign, no-one-actually-eats-this foods. They were the simple ingredients—the sweets. In one particular episode, the contestants were given bakery items in every basket—cakes, macaroons, cinnamon rolls. The contestants’ ideas were as brilliant as any professional chef could realistically come up with in 20 minutes or less. Yet the judges found the same thing every time—too sweet, too sweet, too sweet. As a [want to be] chef, my wheels started turning. Why is it so hard to turn sweet into savory? How can a sugary glaze ruin a pe
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Making the First Move

I am all about metaphors. God speaks to me in metaphors. Maybe that's weird, maybe it's not. You tell me. Maybe that's why I'm a songwriter. But that is beside the point.  I think God loves to speak to us in metaphors. Not only because He is a creative guy Himself, but because He knows that because He is so "other-than" from us, there is no way we could grasp His character without likening it to things we already know.  Like the metaphor of a father. That's a good one. God is the ultimate and perfect Father. The One who abounds in love and goes to the ends of the earth, no, the ends of the heavens, to care for us. There's a song called "Good Good Father" by Housefires. It's probably best for you to go buy it on iTunes this very moment, but I digress... Metaphors. I think that anything in this world that is a metaphor for what God does for us or who He is to us is a good thing for us to take note of.  Now bear with me, I'm
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Authority Over the Darkness

"For you are all children of light, children of the day. We are not of the night or of the darkness" 1 Thessalonians 5:5 (ESV) I am a leader in a women's ministry on my campus called Delight and each week we read and discuss different stories from women all over the country. Delight believes in the power of the stories we each live and how our stories can affect and grow each other deeper in a relationship with the Lord.  This week, the story was about a girl named Caroline who found herself in a time of complete and utter darkness. Without even knowing why, somehow she slipped into a depression-like state and could no longer see the light. She didn't feel that the darkness would end; she couldn't see a way out.  There is so much darkness in this world. It comes with the territory. Fear is a fact of life. Most of us live in almost constant fear and we don't even know it. That's the scary part, we don't even know we are in a battle; we don't e
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God is Not a Life Jacket

Let’s just start with today. Today is the day I am to land (literally and figuratively) in my sophomore year at Belmont University. I started the day already in a flurry.  I spent the summer working. A whole lot. I wasn’t dying or anything, but there were moments in my own dramatized world where I felt I might. Nonetheless, there was little time in my schedule these past weeks to get my brain in order and start packing for my journey back to Nashville. I thought I was pretty much packed when we left on Monday for our three-day family “vacation” to Chicago (I say “vacation” because who can really be properly vacation-ed in 72 hours or less). It was a wonderful mini-getaway and we arrived home at approximately 1:30am. I woke up this morning realizing that in less than 6 hours, I needed to be in the car ready to drive to the airport. Our vacation to Chicago had excluded my little sister Carly due to all the variables and struggles of vacationing with her and we were all in need o
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