House on the Rock

It's week 8. I've ridden more miles on a dusty Walmart bike than I've ever ridden in my life and with every mile I become a little more convinced that I'm probably tour-de-France material despite still falling over on every dismount and being lapped by eighty-year-old Monon Trail Riders who indubitably have more arthritis than I have years of life. That was meant to applaud them but it sounded more like an insult, nonetheless, it's crazy what a community has formed on these trails because it is pretty much the only thing we are allowed to do. I've been a regular at the Sugar Creek Trail since I was in the baby carrier that Mom towed behind her bike, along with seven Thanksgiving Day Pie Runs and about a million walks later, you'd think I would know the trail well. But something about this Spring has Lilly and I convinced that the Parks Department is adding some new landmark every night when the gates are closed. Maybe it's because there's less pollut...

It's approximately week 5 of the quarantine and I haven't smelled fresh air in 427 days. I'm kidding,  but some days this feels like it is probably true. Some days the weather is unexplainably nice for early  April and I sit outside and soak up the sun and go for long walks and smile at my neighbors  and exist in a pleasant state of bubble-like bliss where I nearly forget that anything is wrong in the world. But then there are the days when the temperature ferociously plummets below 40 and snow falls like ice and my whole body feels enraged, entrapped, discouraged, and desperate for an escape. We wear hand-sewn masks over our faces as we sit in the Kroger parking lot and wait to pick up Mom's grocery order and we check our news sources every morning to see whether we've hit our peak of the pandemic. It's truly the weirdest time of my life: more family game nights than I've ever had in my life, online classes that make me publicly celebrate my parents for o...

We’re just under two weeks into this global quarantine and morale is at an all-time low, which God in his goodness is turning to quite an unforeseeable high. The rain flooded our neighborhood that sits in a runoff valley just south of a soybean field, and the misplaced dirt and debris that was carried with the floodwater has dotted our yard with the most joyful-looking soybean-runoff confetti I’ve ever seen. It’s amazing what will excite you when you’ve been in total isolation for twelve days. Week one was relatively easy - I had a mile-long to-do list thanks to tasks like 1.) unpack dorm, 2.) turn the storage room in the moldy basement into a makeshift bedroom because Mom and Dad were not expecting me to be home so soon. 3.) complete all the fun Pinterest quarantine checklists (write a letter, bake bread, etc etc etc). Plus, I was in full-blown Doomsday Preppers mode, calculating how many rattlesnakes I would have to kill in order to suction their blood (80% water) into drinkable liq...

(Disclaimer- I so dearly appreciate everyone who is using this time of uncertainty to write meaningful, uplifting messages of hope-filled reassurance and point us all back to grounding truth through literature. I would try to do that, but a) could never do it justice and b) could never come up with anything that hasn't already been said. So yes, cling to hope, this is allowed to suck, find ways to grow, God's in control. All real. All true. I'm thankful for writers like you.) Four weeks later: The days of lunch on the ramp have come to an end that no one could have anticipated. COVID-19 came like a flood and as emails rushed like raging rapids, we hurriedly started picking up our belongings in hopes of salvaging whatever we could from the turmoil upon us.  Now, we are home. Hearts are broken, but in the words of my girl Lauren Murphy, this is a heartbreak that we can microwave and not slow-cook in a crock pot. It’s something we’re allowed to be sad about - prem...

1. I didn't know that these two blonde girls, both named Maggie, had found each other on Facebook and requested to room with each other, anticipating a room in Olson with just each other. I didn't know that they would later have a conversation over the phone about me getting added to their mix, saying cute little phrases such as, "I feel weird for that girl," and "this is so awkward that she is trying to room with us." 2. I didn't know that this walk on the first of many treks among the golden cornfields lining the backdrop of an Indiana sunset. I didn't know the sunsets in Upland would be the most unbelievable splatter-painted glimpses of glory I had ever seen, and that my future college self would run to the window in hopes of seeing those explosive-color skies. 3. I didn't know that we would be, in essence, each other's only three friends for the entirety of our freshman year. I didn't know we would spend every Friday night drivin...

Relief eschews tidy “inspirational” writing that represses the troublesome and complex dimensions of our lives. Instead we are dedicated to human flourishing through literature.  To turn away from so-called inspirational writing feels countercultural to the crux of Christian literature. So often in Christian circles, we pass around all-too-predictable fiction pieces and expect readers to be surprised when the ending is exactly the same: the prodigal child returns home, the criminal accepts Christ, the marriage is saved. In Relief, we celebrate writing that embraces the harsh realities of this broken world.  We are learning to welcome stories where the addict dies of an overdose and there is nothing redemptive except for the fact that his little sister can fold his laundry as a final recognition of his miserable existence. We marvel at works that depict a young boy who longs to shoot his way out of his father’s home; not because the story is tidy or traditional but bec...

I see a child running uphill through winding mountain streets donned in clothes as white as snow with nothing on her feet. She laughs as her hair blows backward silklike as flags in the wind looking behind her and laughing as she's chased by a jubilant friend. I only saw her for a moment but I'll always carry this plea - Oh Lord my God, protect this girl I pray she is always that free. I pray she is always running uphill and never once being dragged down I pray that her clothes stay snowlike until they are woven into her wedding gown. I pray the ones that are chasing her will always be innocent friends and the only time that she ever feels trapped is when they are playing pretend. I'll smile when I think of that child as pure and playful as can be and I'll pray every day that is how she will stay - I pray she is always that free.

What a year it has been! 2019 has been filled with an innumerable amount of blessings and lessons and as I sit here and reflect on the past twelve months, I can honestly say they have been some of my favorites of all time. One of my favorite ways to praise God is to reflect on His faithfulness, so I'm composing a flyover recap of 2019...mostly for my own sake, and yours too if you're bored. January: The year kicked off with a cinematic airport scene of me tossing my bags behind me and running into the arms of Maggie Theaker, my best friend who had been studying abroad in Ireland. We picked our bags right back up and boarded a plane to Belize with sixteen of my other best friends. The month was filled with laughter, deep conversations, sharing books, playing with children, teaching grammar, and exploring God's creation. I graded sentence diagrams and snorkeled, climbed ancient ruins and taught adjectives. God made it clear that I am meant to be a teacher, and this confirma...

It's the week after Christmas and the town is still donned in light-woven garland that rivals the stars. Christmas was different this year - a balmy 60 degrees with sunshine that turned snow piles into puddles and allowed high-strung mothers to send their children to the streets: "Go try out that new bike!" Those of us who have lived in Indiana for any time at all have given up on singing White Christmas and now begrudgingly resign ourselves to the Hallmark channel's fireplace motion picture on Grandma's 42-inch screen - desperate for any hopes of feeling the wintry warmth that comes with a traditional Christmas. my family also ate at Pizza Hut this year, which is unusual but not altogether unsurprising. Dad as a pastor had to emcee two Christmas Eve services and felt that a greasy deep-dish buffet was a more welcoming (or time-effective) feast to celebrate Christ the coming King. We took our family pictures on the 60-degree day clad in denim on denim, a custom I ...

No word from the Lord will ever fail. All his promises will come true. His name can be fully relied upon - we can ask and expect that he'll move. For Israel, it was deliverance. For Elizabeth, it was a son. For Rahab, it was protection and Daniel, an escape from lions. For David, it was forgiveness - restoring the joy of salvation. For Abraham, it was fatherhood of nation upon manifold nation. For Moses, it was an answer. For the blind man, it was his sight. For a world of weary darkness, it's an everlasting light. For God's children, the promise is Jesus - the vine in which we abide. An all-sufficient savior whose death completely satisfied. That promise is sufficient - it's all I'll ever need. I can sing a song like Mary for his promises unto me. That's not the promise of a child, a family, or even a spouse. It's not a promise of a white picket fence surrounding a wooden-framed house. It's not a promise of a high-paying job ...