I’m supposed to be studying, so I figure it’s a great time to update my bloogy.

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,




Grab grab grab.

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.


This is a video that is worth eight minutes of your time. And once you watch this, go check out every single video on their page.

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,

Ready! Aim! Fire!

I live with four of my best friends. And I love them for so many reasons. Truly, we’ve been through the fire and the rain together. Life is never boring.
Ashley: I think I caught our microwave on fire…

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,

An Ode to Twinkle

Once upon a time, I was a three-year-old lass. On Easter of that year, I had a spendid case of the chicken pox. I remember my body being polka dotted with pink calamine lotion. To this day, I hate itchies.

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,

Autumn’s Anthem

Fall has arrived. If only for a week, it is here. I might poop my pants I’m so happy. The air is crispy and cool. Pumpkin cookies and hot coffees are in session. College football has begun. It seriously doesn’t get much better.

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,

Searching For God Knows What

I know these are supposed to be my own thoughts. But sometimes, there is someone else out there who says exactly what I want to say, exactly how I want to say it.

I’m rereading a book for probably the third or fourth time. I’d say it’s my favorite book because the author does precisely what I just said. It’s called Searching For God Knows What by Donald Miller. (You might know him as the author of the book Blue Like Jazz. Another book that’s deserving of your time.) The dude speaks my language.

It’s about how our culture perceives Christianity as a series of formulas and principles to adhere by. We do this because it seems easier this way. We don’t have to deal with a Person. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Derek Webb says it well: Don’t teach me how to live by the Spirit. Just give me a new law.

Fortunately, God isn’t interested in relating to us through rules and regulations and formulas and principles. If that were the case, the Bible would have begun in Exodus with the Ten Commandments and ended somewhere in Deuteronomy. So why all the stories? Why all the poems? Why all the letters?

If the gospel of Jesus is just some formula I obey in order to get taken off the naughty list and put on a nice list, then it doesn’t meet the deep need of the human condition, it doesn’t interact with the great desire of my soul, and it has nothing to do with the hidden (or rather, obvious) language we are all speaking. But if it is more, if it is a story about humanity falling away from the community that named it, and an attempt to bring humanity back to that community, and if it is more than a series of ideas, but rather speaks directly to this basic human need we are feeling, then the gospel of Jesus is the most relevant message in the history of mankind.”

What’s tricky about this is that his audience is Christians. We say we are saved by grace through faith in Jesus Christ, but then we think things like as long as I don’t drink or smoke or cuss and if I pray and read my Bible every day and go to church every Sunday, then God won’t be disappointed in me. If that’s all that God wants from us, then Jesus didn’t really need to come and Christianity really is no different than any other religion of the world.

Just something to think about. More to come.

Grace and peace,