getting older.

may the seemingly random circumstances of my life become the pinholes through which i see the face of God.

immersed in a weekend full of community, no sign of slowing down, i can't stop thinking about the human condition - the dynamics and desperation, the climbing and falling and the guts it takes to admit you were wrong.

things i keep inside:

i am so sorry your dad died. it doesn't seem real. we don't talk and that is okay. but your family had a lasting impact on me. your dad... he was a dynamic guy. full of laughter and life, always quick with a comeback. he could make anyone feel instantly comfortable and welcome. he loved Jesus. you could see it in the humble, quiet way he served your mom, your siblings, you, me. the way he'd fix my car on a bitter cold morning, the way he'd cook a big breakfast when my friends and i were snowed in at your house, the way he'd ease the tension, or play with his grandson, or sing in your church's choir... your dad lived life out loud. i know this is massive right now. it's all you can see. but i pray you take all the good things with you, tucked deep inside, keeping you warm. keeping you from bitterness. i pray you are able to emulate his love.


in my inability to comprehend such a loss, i hold my loved ones a little tighter. i take a backseat in conversations and thank the Lord for the sweetness of my grandma, the goofy, rambling stories of my father, the raw sensitivity of my sister, the laughter of my mother, the cool confidence of my cousin, the undercurrent of strength in my grandpa. on a breezy november night, bathed in warm, low light of candles and lamps, sharing stories of soup-gone-wrong and halloween pranksters, i am now old enough to know these moments are fleeting, and they are the most beautiful moments in the world.