up to the highest height

Let’s go fly a kite
Up to the highest height!
Let’s go fly a kite and send it soaring

On my way home yesterday, I drove past a man on the bridge. He was likely homeless, the childless jogging stroller carrying all of his material possessions. It was a brief glance, but what I saw in him was something I’d not had myself in quite some time.


The man was flying a kite. At this point in the seasons, California is not exactly known for having breezes. There was a slight one, but certainly not such that would pick up a kite and fly it high. The amount of room he had on a sidewalk with a divider certainly added amongst the challenges against him.

Photo by Murat Ustuntas on Unsplash

Yet this man stayed on the bridge and moved and positioned himself as he was able in order to send it soaring as high as he could with what wind he had been given. I couldn’t see his face, but I would imagine a mix of joy, frustration, excitement, and resolve. The wind current and the weather worked against this man, but he flew his kite.

My passion for writing had somehow diminished in recent months. As it stands, I’d lost sight of the goodness of God and believed I had to take on the challenges of the world on my own. I put my kite down and went to work and came home and survived to do it again the next day. Whenever I thought about picking up a pen, I just as quickly pushed the thought away, feeling as though I had deserted my passion and, therefore, had no right to take it back up.

Challenges had begun to arise, revealing survival to be as hollow and unsustainable as was meant to be. I was put on this earth for more than what I’ve been doing. I am most alive when I am following my passion, and I do not have a passion for surviving. It is time to pick up the pen and move forward, adjusting with what I’d been given to work with and pursuing my dream as rigorously as this man pursued his delight.

I don’t know how long the man stayed there or how long he had been there before I’d spotted him, but I would imagine he’d lost track of time, possibly recalling a moment when life was simpler, and he was just a boy with his kite.

And isn’t this the best way to lose the time: doing what you love, what makes your soul soar, and your heart thrive?

Just a girl.

With her pen.

Up through the atmosphere
Up where the air is clear
Oh, let’s go fly a kite!


wake your dreams

“A straight line may be the shortest distance between two points, but it is by no means the most interesting.”

I came to Seattle in chase of a dream. I was positive that this dream was in my future, so I looked for reasons to be up there. The ones I found were so good that I myself was completely convinced.

In my time in the Pacific Northwest, I’d grown leaps and bounds spiritually and emotionally. I attributed the growth to being far away from home and therefore having only God to rely on and no one else. So I thought I needed to stay here in order to keep growing. But really… God is all I have no matter where I am.

I wanted to have more experience in my writing and learn more in order to use this gift properly, so I decided to check out a graduate school. I fell in love with the Bothell campus of UW. Then I got my first student loan bill for my Bachelor’s, and the honeymoon was over. While it’s not as bad as it could’ve been, it is enough to rethink grad school and postpone it indefinitely.

So then, where does that leave me?

I’ve enjoyed this past half-year in Washington. God taught me a lot about trusting Him and growing with Him. He taught me truly what it meant to have faith in Him when all that was around me made no sense, and I had no way of providing for myself.

I’m waking from that dream now, but the end of one dream allows the birth of a new one.

I’m going home.

Photo by Sterling Davis on Unsplash

It’s time to go back to California.

Four years ago this month, I set off on a quest to finish college and get a degree. I’ve gained so much more than an expensive piece of paper in these four years. I’ve become emotionally healthier (though there will always be room for more growth); I’ve healed from wounds I’d numbed myself to and hadn’t realized they’d never properly healed; I gained new family; and I learned to love deeply from the part of my heart that I’d thought was too broken to love at all. It’s time to put that healing to use and stop running from the past.

I love who I was in the Northwest, and that person will always be me in some way, shape, or form.

“Times change and so must I. We all change. When you think about it, we’re all different people all through our lives and that’s okay. That’s good. Gotta keep it moving, so long as you remember all the people that you used to be.”

I was uneasy making this decision. I was so sure I was supposed to be up here; if I was wrong about that, I could be wrong about this. But when I could finally see past my pride to remember the dream that brought me here, it did not seem such an ordained step after all. Still, I can’t call it a mistake, not after all this place has given me.

Sometimes you have to take the long way home to know that you belong there.

“He Himself has said, ‘I will never desert you, nor will I ever forsake you,’ so that we confidently say, ‘The Lord is my helper, I will not be afraid. What will man do to me?'” —Hebrews 13:5-6

One of my life verses of this year has been this: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” —Joshua 1:9

I will wake and live this new dream and do so bravely. I will trust in God’s sovereignty and believe that I cannot escape His will. I will take this step into a future known only to Him.

See you soon, California.

“Our destiny is in the stars, so let’s go and search for it.”

cosmic fantasy

I am convinced that stars were born in dreams.

One of my favorite things to do is stargaze. Stars speak to me in ways people can’t. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve had a relationship with the night sky, and as with any relationship, it grew and changed through time and work. Then, the stars were pretty and sparkly, and they taught me that beautiful things exist in the dark. Now, they humble me and remind me how small I am, and they give me hope because if they can keep burning and shining for so long, I can keep living for so short in comparison.

With each twinkle, stars whisper secrets to each other, and whoever’s listening is graced to hear as well. With each whisper, stars give praise to the God of creation.

I am convinced that stars were born in dreams.

Only one imagination is brilliant enough to turn trillions of gaseous balls billions of years apart from each other and from me into works of art. How much dreaming did God do before He created stars? How did He decide on a canvas? How did He decide on the hues? How did He decide on their placement? How did He decide to create them?

I think God dreamed up stars knowing that someone(s) will look up at them and think of Him and smile. God made stars for kids like me to have something to praise Him for.

And for me to know that beautiful things exist in the darkest times.

I am convinced that stars were born in the dreams of one gracious, imaginative Dreamer.

And He’s not finished dreaming yet.

love begets creation

Before there was time, there was a dream. Amongst all that He was planning, He dreamed of her, birthed her in His imagination. Hair painted with ebony and crimson, cascading as though it wanted to run forever. Skin like parchment, a canvas all His own.

And the eyes. Oh, yes, the eyes that speak without vocabulary. He dips His brush in several shades until He is pleased with His creation: deep brown eyes that encase a secret treasure in their depths, eyes that tell the entire story of His grace and faithfulness.

Oh, the life He has planned for her. The Artist’s heart breaks seeing her heartbreaks, rejoices seeing her rejoicing. This work of art will be His masterpiece.

And hasn’t she become just that? A woman not defined by her sufferings but by His grace; a woman relentless in her conviction that He is good when the world tells her He is not; a woman ruthlessly trusting in Him to give her healing and comfort; a woman after His heart.

The heart. Now that is what He will take the most pleasure designing. The heart He gives her will love intensely, loyally, investing in all things dear to Him and to herself. It will pour itself out till there is nothing left, be filled by Him again, and pour out again in a never-ending cycle of hesed.

It will be a throne fit for a King.

And He will seal it with His Name.

A slow, lazy smile curls up the corners of the Artist’s mouth. Though incomplete, already deeply loved; so loved that He will continue to perfect her until her scars can be worn with pride. And He will share her with His other dreams, that she may love them and be loved in turn.


Born from an idea of the most creative God, she first existed in the corners of His imagination. A smile drew across His lips as He pondered the life He would give her, the blessings He would shower upon her, the pride He would feel to call her His. She is a lump of earth, full of potential, in His skilled hands – hands that molded the stars and hold the universe in place. These same hands were molding her into being, leaving His fingerprints in every aspect of her life. Fingerprints barely visible unless she really searched for them. He left them in the mold that she may follow them back to Him.

As a smile stretched across His face at the thought of blessings He planned to lavish on her, tears escaped His eyes and traced trails down His face when thinking of the heart breaks she will undergo in order to make her perfect, as well as the heartbreaks He will endure for her sake.

Clay does not choose how it is to be molded, what it is to become. The sculptor is the master over his clay. If He is not satisfied, if the creation is not perfect, it is in His power to crush her and begin again. Shattered to pieces, crushed beyond recognition, there is still a bittersweet hope. He does it because she is not yet perfect. He will continue to mold her however long it takes, however many times He must begin again. He will make her perfect.

In the scream of silence, the caress of a whisper brushed across her face. Born from the imagination of the Most High God, He seals her with His promise.

She is His masterpiece.