A few of these things that are winter-time loves would include:
- commercials
- reading books
- The Today Show
- wearing socks
- John Mayer
- blowdrying my hair after a shower
- jazz

Can I get a witness? Anyone?

Currently, I’m caught in a strange sandwich. One the one hand, I’m afraid of failing because the watching world will look at me and see a “bad girl” and call it hypocrisy and reject Jesus because of it. One the other hand, I’m afraid of my life looking perfect because the watching world will look at my life and see a “good girl” and call it legalism and reject Jesus because of it.

There’s a lot of theology, a lot of doctrine, a lot of concepts and ideas and opinions out there in the big world. But here’s the thing that I’m learning about being a Christian. It’s about knowing Jesus. That’s it. The end.

I can try to fix the “bad girl” in me, and I can try to free the “good girl” in me. But focusing on either misses the point. It is not about mustering up the strength to follow the rules. Neither is it about throwing the rules out the window to prove that Christians can be cool. It is about KNOWING JESUS. We get to know Him more, we fall more in love with Him, and we are transformed in the midst of it all.

Jesus fixes the “bad girl” in me. Jesus frees the “good girl” in me. My only job is to seek first the kingdom of God.

One thing I have asked of the LORD;
This I will seek
That I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life
To gaze upon His beauty of the LORD
And to study at His feet

- Psalm 27:4

There is freedom to fail. There is freedom to grow. There is freedom to love. When everything falls apart, God repairs. When you mess up big time, He corrects. When you don’t understand, God reveals. When you are annoyed with God because He is always asking for your heart and you don’t feel like giving it to Him, He is patient. When you give up on God, He is faithful.

Let us set our lives about One Thing: knowing God. What He likes, what He doesn’t like, what He thinks about, what He values, what He thinks of you. And be transformed.

Let me leave you with one last thing that I’m learning. We don’t yet receive the glory of a perfect relationship with God. We don’t always want God. We don’t always choose God. We don’t always believe that God loves us beyond what we could imagine. But in the midst of your apathy and your indifference, trust that God is using every moment to transform you into the likeness of Jesus (Romans 8:28-29). Every conversation, every bike ride, every time you freak out on your roommate, every time you don’t choose God, He is faithfully bringing you from glory to glory (2 Corinthians 3:18).

Be free.

The reason I was at their house was because my parents were at the hospital. My mom was on her way to being not pregnant anymore. Some few hours later on Novemeber 1, my sweet sister Olivia was born. She is the most uniquely minded individual that I know. She is very strange. She loves to read. She is freakishly dramatic. She makes me laugh. She is stubborn. She is is creative. She is beautiful.

There are many memories that I could share with you. But in the interest of time (and not boring you with billions of stories that you probably don’t really care about), I’ll keep it to a minimum.

Olivia and I used to share a room. We had bunk beds, the kind with a twin on top of a double. I, being older and wiser, got the bottom bunk. I quickly learned that this may not have been the wisest of moves.

One night, she wanted to stay up late reading. I wanted to go to sleep. I asked her to turn her light off. She said she would if I would get her a flashlight. Sneaky little booger. I went in to my parents room and grabbed the only one I could find: a mag light. I’m pretty sure those suckers weigh equal to a small planet. That night, I slept diagonally with my head sticking out from beneath her bunk.

At approximately 4am, I awoke very suddenly to what I believed was someone punching me in the face. My brother needs to get a life. My stomach lurched thinking someone was in my room as I sat up to find a light being cast on the wall opposite me. After I was finally able to calm down, I saw the mag light on the floor, battery almost dead.

I had a black eye for two weeks.

There was another night where I woke up to a steady pitter patter on my bed. I rolled over in a whirl to discover a pant-less little Olivia standing on my bed, peeing. OLIVIA!!! GO PEE IN YOUR OWN BED! The bathroom is a mere five steps across the hall. Apparently, it’s more time-efficient to take off your pants and go pee on someone else’s bed.

I have been peed on, thrown up on, and given black eyes because of that child on the top bunk. Yet something in my twisted brain wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Happy Birthday Olivia! I love you!

‘Twas a quiet Friday evening. My roommates were either working or off at a pumpkin carving party. I was all nestled in on my couch in the living room with a book, enjoying an evening to myself.

Now, I had known that there was a mouse in the house. Roommate Kristen had set a mouse trap earlier that day.

I don’t usually get scared when I’m home alone at night. That’s generally because I have every light in the house on. Light is comforting. However, nothing would prepare me for this night.

I was reading on the couch, minding my own business when I heard a rustling noise coming from the kitchen. My heart leapt into my brain for a moment in time. No one is home. Who could that possibly be? Oh poopie, there is someone in my house. I held my breath, waiting to hear it again. Silence. Don’t worry Hopie, it’s probably a squirrel on the roof.

I went back to my book. Not five minutes later, the rustling continued. If I ignore it, it will just go away. There’s some insight into how I may or may not deal with conflict. I stared down at my page as hard as I could, determined to let nothing ruin my night. Out of nowhere came a bewildering SNAP CRACKLE POP immediately followed by a squeak, a squeal and a squawk. To say that I about shit myself would be an understatement.

So this is what it sounds like to die.

I imagined that it had broken its neck and would die within seconds. I waited for the poor thing to stop hollering. Finally, the house fell silent again. I tip toed towards the kitchen and slowly peered my head around the corner. I knew the trap was on the top shelf in the pantry. From where I was, I couldn’t see anything. It didn’t matter if it was dead, I was scared to look. As I crept closer, I heard it skitter around, trying to break free. The squeaking and squealing and squawking continued. I ran back in to the living room, desperate to escape the horror.

This is ridiculous. I’m being a pansy, it’s just a mouse… but it is a dying mouse… and strangely, it won’t die… maybe it’s a zombie mouse. It is Halloween…

Suddenly, the tiny squeaks burst into a wailing scream. What in tarnation! It’s not done yet?! Frick, my neighbors are going to call the cops on me for domestic violence.

Strangely, the source of the wailing scream started moving at a rapid pace down what seemed to be the side of our house. Oh no.  Maybe it died and now it’s rising again, seeking its revenge. How could Kristen do this? We are monsters. And now we’ve created a monster.

It turned out to be my neighbor’s broken A/C belt in their car. Whew. False alarm.

Anyway, the mouse just would not stop squeaking. How long is death supposed to take? I hope I go quicker than this guy. I would never be able to return to my book until this was taken care of. I called on my roommates to get a boy and come help me. A few minutes later, they arrived to take care of business. The trap had gotten poor the thing’s tail and back leg. We had to just put it out of its misery.

R.I.P. Walter

Keepin’ it short and sweet this time around. If I had to choose one song to sum up everything I am about, it’s this. Every line, every word.

It was a beautiful letdown, the day I knew all the riches this world could ever offer me would never do.

Grace and peace,
Hope

I sent someone a message and used the phrase “grab some coffee” and now I can’t stop thinking about how strange it is.

grab – (verb) to grasp or seize suddenly and roughly

We use to to mean “Hey, let’s have a conversation over a nice hot cup of coffee.” It’s very calm and serene and enjoyable.

Now I’ve said grab too many times. What even is grab? No way josé is it a word anymore! Is it a green crab? A stuffy-nosed crap? The world may never know.

P4CM = The Passion for Christ Movement. It is a movement of which I am a part. It is one that is worth giving everything for. But that’s another story for another time.

Free verse. Rhythm. Soul. Their words are carefully chosen and purposefully placed. It is an art form to say the least. They encourage me, they make me think, they stir my heart with love for God.

Seriously, enjoy.

Grace and peace,
Hope

Me: Is that metal? Ash, did you put a metal pan in the microwave?!?!

Ashley: *pause* …it’s oven safe!

Me: That’s not the same thing! Did anything happen to it?

Ashley: *laugh laugh laugh* It sparked!

Me: You can’t put metal in the microwave!

Ashley: What else should I use?!

Me: A plate. A microwave-safe plate.

Ashley: Well apparently NOTHING is microwaveable these days!
And now we are jamming to The Preacher’s Wife soundtrack. I love my life.

Grace and peace,
Hope

I remember standing at the window watching the neighborhood kids playing outside. I wasn’t allowed to go outside. I was contagious. Diseased. Held captive against my three-year-old will.

Easter was one of our favorite holidays of the year (only second to Christmas). The Saturday before Easter, our family dyed eggs together. Vinegar was a primary ingredient in the dye.

The following morning, my siblings and I would wake up at an ungodly hour and sneak out to see what the Easter bunny brought us and then reconvene in someone’s room to giggle the night away until our parents got up. We would run out into the living room to find baskets filled with candy around the dining table, each situated where our designated seat was for meals.

A stuffed bunny lay nuzzled in my Easter basket. It was love at first sight. I named him Twinkle. He fit perfectly under my arm while I slept. I took him to first grade Show-and-Tell. He would ice skate with me in the living room. Through thick and thin, Twinkle was there.

Anyway, our dad would then release us chillins into the wild of our house to let the hunt begin. Eggs under the couches, eggs on the window sills, eggs snuggled in plants, eggs behind picture frames. There were eggs scattered all over the place, each nestled in their own little spot, waiting for us to find them, crack them open and eat their insides. (Only the plastic ones filled with candy, of course. No little kid has a palate that actually enjoys the flavor of boiled eggs.)

We were ravage beasts. It was glorious. Whenever we found an egg, we’d run back and toss it in our respective basket. Twas always a competition to see who could gather the most treats. I love sugar.

Eighteen years later and Twinkle still enjoys sleeping with me. His pink cutie pie nose is gone, his ears are hanging by a thread, and his fur is a little jaundice. But his beautiful blue eyes still shine like the sun.

Grace and peace,
Hope

I have an obsessive personality. It’s probably my most extreme quirk. Possibly even a character flaw. When The Two Towers first came out on dvd, I watched it every weekend for weeks and weeks. Aragorn was the most beautiful man my innocent 15-year old eyes had ever beheld. Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall! Sigh. Scruff, strength, security. Man.

I also tend listen to the same songs over and over and over and over again. Just ask my mom. She has braved the seven-hour car ride to Nashville with me many a time, each trip with a different album on repeat. Be it Coldplay or Paramore or Brooke Fraser. It will happen every time. There are songs on my iPod with over 600 plays. One of these most played songs is my autumn anthem.

Check it.

Imagine driving down a winding country road with orange and red and yellow leaves flying up into the air as you whip by. The smell of woodsmoke tickling your nostril hairs. Mmmmm baby! (The yellow/red/orange country road doesn’t really exist in South Louisiana. Just let a girl dream.)

Plus Chris Thile is totally boss at mandolin. For all who are curious, Chris Thile was the front man for the FANTASTIC folk band called Nickel Creek (NOT to be confused with Nickelback). Tragically they broke up, each to do their own work. Chris went on to form a new band called The Punch Brothers. If you love folk/bluegrass, you definitely need to hit them up. Amazing musicians.

Anyway, for however long this fall lasts, may it be fill with laughter and cheer and pumpkins and beer!

Grace and peace,
Hope