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When I first started taking piano lessons, I had a beginner’s book filled with exercises. I would write the names of the notes, practice scales, and do all my homework so I could put another star sticker by my name on the great big chart in my piano teacher’s lesson room. In the beginning, I had to make myself practice every day for a certain amount of time. But thanks to all that practice the all those exercises, I learned to read music, understand basic theory, and improvise. But it was when I quit taking piano lessons that I really started to play. In fact, interestingly enough, I think I played more after I stopped taking lessons. In college, I would wander over to the music building where they had individual practice keyboards in small rooms, and even though I wasn’t a music major, I would reserve a room for a couple of hours and sit in there and play and sing all by myself. Instead of playing classical and jazz, I learned to play hymns and contemporary worship music. Playin...

We sat atop Pinnacle mountain at 7:02 am in quiet, holy anticipation. The world was dark and still but thirty minutes ago, and over the course of our climb, we watched a glorious unfolding. Colors lightened the black sky. What was previously hidden came into contact with light, taking shape and form. One by one, morning birds awakened the silence with a new song. And in the space of one breath, the burning sun crept up boldly but quietly over their horizon. A Sunday sunrise. “There is something about the sunrise,” my friend whispered in a voice that echoed with awe and wonder. “And I don’t even know if I can put words to it.” “It feels like we are watching something sacred, even participating in it.” Wide open spaces. The stillness of the morning. The freshness of the air. The being awake while most of the world is still asleep. The beauty of such a brilliant sunrise that happens in silence, unannounced, like a glorious surprise intended just for those who pay attention. Doin...

I think Africa made me an extrovert. I used to not be this way. I used to be quite content in my own little space. I loved to retreat into privacy and silence. I didn’t mind being social, but I regained my energy from being alone. Then I moved to Africa. Where privacy is just not a thing. Where the center of life and culture is community not individualism. Where the houses are all right up next to one another and neighbors share a common courtyard. Where cooking and conversing between friends, family, neighbors, and visitors is done on the porches until late into the evening. Where visiting people in their homes is the most popular pastime (and form of entertainment). Where you get knocks on the door at anytime of day and welcome friendly visitors on a regular basis. Where everyone knows everyone, greets everyone, and values everyone. On top of that, I lived the past year of my life in one big house with four other nurses. It was rare to be in the house alone. Because of our day ...

I get a text message right after posting number 18: Bury the Seed. You know, the one where I mention that God gave me a moment of clarity and then didn’t say anything else about it. “Tell me! Where are you going?” I also get an email the next day. “We’re dying to know! What exactly was the moment of clarity that you wrote about? Can you tell me?” Even my mom called. “About your blog. I know that the whole point was about the spiritual truths and all, but I would still just like to know how God gave you clarity in that actual moment of decision.” This final post is really the whole story in one comprehensive narrative. The previous twenty posts have been the layers that occurred between the lines and in the spaces between paragraphs. This post is the lyrics put on paper. It sounds nice when it’s read. But the previous posts are the ten pages of sheet music that tell the story of the song with its staccatos and crescendos, repeats and fermatas. It’s only when you rea...

It’s a nervous feeling in my gut, like a rush of adrenaline, like a glimmer of anticipation. I’m on the brink of a big decision; I know it. And as excited as I am to see it, I can already tell it’s going to be more pale than I originally thought. Not less good. No, the decision will be just as good as I was hoping for. But it has paled in the light of the glory of the face of God through Jesus Christ.  In this past year, through struggling and stressing, though figuring and agonizing, through seeking and searching, through listening and hearing, and through fasting and prayer, I have been with God. And that’s better than making a decision.  I’ve learned to spend time with him not for a plan, but for his presence.  Intimacy with him is better than an itinerary from him. So even though I’m on the brink of the decision, the decision is already made. I will love him forever, I will obey him always. I have decided that my purpose is to be his servant, love his peo...

Lord, direct me through my journey So I can experience your plans for my life. Reveal the life-paths that are pleasing to you.  Escort me along the way; take me by the hand and teach me. For you are the God of my increasing salvation; I have wrapped my heart into yours. When people turn to you,  they discover how easy you are to please — so faithful and true! Joyfully you teach them the proper path, Even when they go astray.  Keep showing the humble your path, And lead them into the best decision.  You will show them the right path to take.  Then prosperity and favor will be their portion, And their descendants will inherit all that is good. There is a private place reserved for the lovers of God, Where they sit near him and receive  The revelation-secrets of his promises.  Excerpts from Psalm 25 in the Passion Translation When I first discovered this Psalm in May of 2019, I was right in the middle of my year ...

On one Tuesday, I was tired of thinking and praying about the decision. I was tired of mulling over everything again and again in my head and then carrying that stress in my heart. It felt like I was overthinking things. God revealed to me that it was time to bury the seed.  Planting a seed is a burial. In the darkness, God covers and protects it. In the silence, he speaks life into it. In the stillness, he brings forth something new and alive.  “The Next Right Thing” put it this way:  Plant something and see what grows.  In an act of surrender and with the hope of a gardener, I buried the seed of my decision. It was a small death, a letting go of the need to know.  “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” Jesus, John 12:24