This year has been hard.

Not just for me, but for so many people I know and tons of people I don’t. It seems like we’re all collectively welcoming in the new year with a big sigh of relief and hope for a new beginning as we give a big middle finger to the one behind us. Of course, hurt isn’t restricted to 2017, but it just seemed to come in a big wave for me. Myself, along with so many of my friends are navigating big changes and challenges that will alter the trajectory of their lives moving forward. It’s been painful to walk through it with them, but that’s what we do right? We show up. I certainly don’t have solutions or answers all the time, but I can offer myself, my friendship, and my time. Sometimes, it means bringing my camera and documenting big moments.

I know that we’re used to inviting someone to photograph life’s happiest moments. We see so many photos of weddings and babies, which are great and welcome, but I was thinking about all the life lived in the in between. What about all the big moments that define us in more subtle ways? I’m excited to explore that space creatively, starting now.

Here’s to a new year, a new path, and a new apartment for my friend Sam. We sat in an empty room and talked about the future. The excitement, the fear, and the freedom to be who you are. We talked about parenting our sons and what it means to show them a strong mama who refuses to sit passively on the sidelines of her life. We talked about the symbolism of a new apartment and the possibility of a new year. We burned sage and cast positive intention over her space. Here are some of my favorite captures from some introspective time well spent.

I’ve not really been all that good at documenting my thoughts and observations on this kid as of lately, but that’s not for a lack of either thoughts or observations. So here’s to  trying to do a better job at things that are important to me.

We’re fast approaching his 3rd birthday and every day there is something new in him that wasn’t there before. His negotiating skills have been on the rise. No matter if he’s trying to eat less bites of dinner or if he’s trying buy more minutes until bedtime, he’s always negotiating back and forth, which has been highly entertaining and yet infuriating.

Hulk is is favorite. Not that long ago, he insisted on wearing his Hulk mask to the grocery store and shouting “Hulk smash” at anyone who walked by. He’s always up for a battle and is happy to assign you to be Ironman or a T-Rex, but Harvey… he’s always Hulk.

When he prays at the dinner table, he always says thank you for the characters of his favorite show Dinotrux. He goes through all of them each time and has to be reminded to be thankful for his meal and other non-essential things in his mind.

He’s quick to say sorry and happy to kiss your toe when you stub it on the couch.

He’s getting really good at Lego building. Also, stepping on them is really as bad as everyone says it is.

He loves to pull up a chair to the kitchen counter and help with whatever I’m doing even if it’s just transferring something from the cutting board to the bowl.

He loves apple juice and has now experienced the joy of candy. He asks for it most mornings upon waking up.

He likes to read books and loves to watch movies. The slide is still his favorite, but he’s warming up to the swing.

He’s his Daddy’s biggest fan.

Couldn’t love him any more.

I recently joined a writing course called Wild Hearts. It’s 30 days worth of writing prompts intended to help you write your way home, to move you out of your comfort zone and push you deeper into yourself, into the wilderness within. To get you writing honestly about where you have been, where you want to be, what you need and what you desire. There were parts of this course description that spoke to me, specifically these call outs that felt like they were written with me in mind.

• You are one of the wild, restless ones – rarely content to swim on the surface of things. You’re meant for freedom, hearing the call of the wolf, longing to dance under the moon, made for diving deep.
• You know, right at your core, that you are meant for more than the constraints of your current reality. That there is something waiting to be born.
• You deeply long for community, a safe space, a tribe of like-minded souls and an inspiring container in which to create. A collection of wild souls – just like you.
• You want to be pushed farther, held accountable, and encouraged to show up.

We are a little over a week in and to be honest, I’ve been overwhelmed and absolutely paralyzed by the prompts. They’re wonderful and deep. They’re inspiring and thought-provoking. They’re rich with meaning and beg me for more time. I thought that I’d post them here each day to share, but that expectation quickly diminished into the background of life and a desire to do myself and my own writing justice. Instead, I’m committing to posting them a week at a time. This way, I can push myself to answer them instead of setting them on a shelf to collect dust. This way I can give them the thought and intention they deserve. This is my balance. This is my way. I hope you enjoy my heart-felt answers and join me as I seek to challenge my voice through words.

For so long, I believed that you are who you are. I didn’t used to consider the deep theological questions pertaining to identity, but who ever I decided to be in that moment was who I was always destined to be. There was never any thought or acceptance of change, morphing, evolving.

Today, I sit in a more empowered place. I feel like I’m living out who I am and embracing the parts of me that just are as they are by design, but I’m also excited that I have power in my hands and my heart. I have the power to create who I am. I have the power to mold my life into something that best represents how I want to live. My faults don’t always have to be my faults. My heartbreaks can heal and I can choose to forgive. I can be more generous. I can be more selfless. I can be an expert in anything I choose. I can learn. I can adapt. I can understand. I can be.

I am begging to be created.

I’m not fully who I am to be. I’m in process. I’m not discouraged by this journey. I’m pinning for it. I’m excited for the next bend in the road showing me new scenery, giving new air to breathe and allowing my eyes to set on sights never before absorbed into my soul. Tomorrow I will have new words and new thoughts and new observations. Tomorrow will be better than today because I’m just a bit closer to who I’m supposed to be. I’m being crafted into a new shape with each passing day. Each daily form brings newness that I’ve never known. I am who I decide to be and in that is a passion that stirs; never satisfied. It’s constant. I’m embracing each phase of this life as beautiful and owning each moment as mine to have. I don’t think about this life as having a completion, but more of being recreated over and over until my days exhausted. There are constants that run through the thread of all my morphs, the medium by which I’m made cannot be altered, but my shape, my purpose, my path is begging to be made and then be made again.

If you cracked open a song of my youth, you’d be flooded with misplaced angst. You’d be covered in tears flowing from streams of loneliness begging to be loved by someone, desired by someone, seen by someone. You’d see confusion and constant searching for understanding rush toward you in a wave of words that don’t make any sense; they’re jumbled and misunderstood. They’re long and out of context trying too hard to sound smart and superior. Hiding in the melody, you’d wouldn’t be able to ignore the pain that sweeps over you like a light that hides all the shadows. You’re unable to cower in the dark forced to face those who tear you down and confirm all your darkest thoughts about yourself. In the songs of my youth, you find tons of eyeliner and fishnet stockings wrapped in passion disguised as indifference desperately trying to blend in to the crowd of misfits.

My pain lives in my mind. It eats away at my confidence and self worth like flesh eating bug determined to devour every last morsel of my existence. It’s the dark thoughts that protest through the busy streets of my mind. Their large hand-painted signs on poster board from the corner convenience store all say the same thing. In bright letters with wonky spaced type, you can clearly see the words “You’re not good enough.” They chant over and over marching with such persistence. They’re armed with reasons and logic to defend their stance to anyone who questions them.

My joy lives in my mind. They’re building up a resistance to pain set out to destroy me. They’re armed with riot gear ready to fight off any signs of negativity. Their shields are lined with my accomplishments and their weapons are the faces of my closest friends and family. Their words are powerful and come from my deep desire to create. They cover the pain like a blanket of gas meant to extinguish pain with hopefulness and love.

The fight of opposing sides continues. The resistance of each side meets in the middle and the war wages on. Pain is mighty and strong, but joy always has the upper hand.

This depth, this feeling, this constant state of being affected is both a weight and a privilege. One cannot exist without the other. This weight leaves me feeling depleted at the end of the day. The weight cannot be lifted, but somedays it feels heavier than others. Some days are light and it merely feels like a penny in my pocket that serves as a reminder of my depth, but other days it feels so heavy that I can feel my bones crushing beneath the insurmountable pounds that seek to rob me of my breath. Even in this burden, I feel privileged and singled out. I see others without this weight and I can’t imagine a life lived in such oblivion. I feel honored to have this gift. I can see things that others cannot. I can feel the searing pain in a grieving mother’s eyes, I can grasp for breath with a victim’s injustice at a criminal walking free, I can weep alongside those who are displaced by wars. I have empathy on a level that I’d never surrender to indifference. However, I can celebrate in the news of a new baby as if it were my own, I can shout in victory as we conquer another plight of social injustice, and I can offer my most sincere congratulations on the marriage union of someone I’ve never met. I can feel both extremes of joy and pain. I know that the weight of the pain is payment for the privilege of joy and I happily make that transfer each day.

Holy is capturing ordinary moments in my mind for safekeeping. Holy is the space between sleep and awake where my consciousness is unsure how to separate reality from dreams. Holy is the promise of a blank sheet of paper and nightly prayers before bed. Holy is in the imagination of created spaces separate from reality. It’s toy cars and wooden puzzles. It’s slow kisses and family vacations. It’s in living room dance parties and red wine while cooking dinner. Holy is grace upon grace that I humbly accept even though it’s undeserved. It’s in bedtime stories and seemingly endless hugs. It’s in cracking open a new book and the sound of keys being punched on a keyboard delightfully expressing a slew of built up thoughts. Holy is paint covered hands and the excitement of a new project. It’s in the friends that fill my home and the sounds of laughter that they bring along. It’s long conversations and deep contemplation. It’s in loving others above yourself and teaching our kids to do the same. It’s in the everyday. It’s in the extraordinary. Holy is in the promise of a new day.

With your ear pressed firmly to my chest, you’d hear it. You wouldn’t even have to try that hard. You’d hear it clearly and boldly and loudly because I never seem to be able to do anything in quiet and this would be no exception. You’d hear thunderous and vibrant passion. You’d hear melody that would make you respond to whatever was in your own heartbeat. It would connect us and it would tell my story next to yours. It would overwhelm you with friendship and hope. It would give you permission to live and love and dive and search. It would comfort you among your insecurities whispering truths of affirmation. It would cook you a meal and listen intently as we both unashamedly devoured our entire plates without apologies and ask for seconds. It would make you feel heard like you’ve never before experienced. It would challenge you to reach and offer you encouragement to dream. You’d hear bold and strong when you needed courage and you’d hear pauses and lightness when you needed compassion. You’d hear the love and genuine heart for you long after you walked away. You’d sing the words even when you didn’t mean to. You’d find yourself humming that tune in the car or the shower reminding yourself that you’re seen and loved and needed in a world of noises not meant for you.

The silence of awe and wonderment come to me in times of observation. It comes when I allow myself to just feel rather than to try and analyze or attach meaning. It comes to me when I’m struck by beauty and can finally find the desire to just sit still and savor the moment. I try to freeze time and capture it in my mind so that I can refer back to it later when I need some solace.  It can come at the view from the top of a mountain or on a beach where the water looks expansive and never-ending. It’s where I’m left speechless and struck by the earth without human interference. I’m left with the feeling of being small, which I think is good for me sometimes. To feel like there are things bigger than me, more important than me, and things that exist without my input or permission. I’m silenced by a Godly authority in my life and I’m comforted like the daughter I am.

I love to do lots of creative things, but it feels like the only thing that I’m really really good at is writing. It’s the only thing that flows naturally and mostly comes easy. Words are so important. They can make or break someone’s day. They seem simple, but nothing is so powerful as a carefully articulated group of heartfelt thoughts translated into prose. That’s one of the reasons that I love More Love Letters.

Hannah found herself in a new city she thought would unlock her dreams. When it didn’t happen, she found herself in the darkness of depression. She turned to writing. I know that truth oh so well. Writing has given me solace and peace in times of trial and turbulence.  Hannah soon found comfort in ripping out the pages of her journal to leave for others, all while imagining that her words, her love letters would help someone in their journey. Thus began the More Love Letters movement.

Hannah and her team now collect nominations for love letter bundles, encourage people to write words of encouragement through a physical love letter, and mail it. Her team receives, vets, and passes these bundles of letters on to the recipient. It’s beautiful and I’m thrilled to participate.

I just mailed off my latest bundle of letters just before the deadline might I add. I wanted to share this with you so you might be encouraged to write some love letters of your own. By all means, I hope that you’ll join me in Hannah’s movement, but if nothing else, I hope you’ll be encouraged to just write one for someone you know. I’m sure there are many people in your life who could use your beautiful words of affirmation in the form of a hand-written letter. It’s such an amazing way to show love in a tangible and thoughtful way.

Everyday this baby boy is less of a baby and showing me more of his big kid self. It excites me and kills me all the same.

This age and phase is such a bizarre mix of sweet moments and new revelations balanced out with temper tantrums and melt downs over the color cup I gave him. Some days he’s full of kisses and snuggles and other days he’d rather growl. Some days he sits and eats dinner at the dining room table and happily brings me his plate when he’s finished. Other days, he refuses to eat anything and throws it on the floor. He’s moody. He’s two.

He’s discovering his voice and most of the time it’s loud, but once in a while it’s soft and sweet.

One time while he was taking a bath, I took one of the bath toy foam letters, put it on my head, and dramatically sneezed it off. He giggled in that way that makes my heart melt. I did it again and again. Now, he does it every single bath. He stacks the foam letters on his head and then… ahh choo. He shakes his head and sometimes the letters don’t move at all. He puts them on my head too and soaks my face in the meantime. It’s hilarious.

We have a little bedtime routine and after bath time comes story time. He likes to read. I love that. I dream about all the books we’ll read together. I fanaticize about reading chapter books to him out loud as we both lie together before bed. For now, he has his favorites, so I’m excited for the time when he doesn’t want to read the same ones over and over again.

I love that we’re here crafting this tiny human and he’s a part of our family, a part of what we do, a part of who we are. He adds immeasurably to our dynamic and has more than claimed his own space here. He belongs.