A few months ago, I posted the above picture of Stephen King’s book “On Writing” resting on my new West Elm comforter. The caption implied that I was taking my lunch break to “brush up on the basics” by crawling back in bed and reading. Now. I did crawl back in bed that day and read. But I was actually reading a book that I wasn’t sure I liked yet and that had a dumb cover that I knew I didn’t like. So I popped in my library and grabbed a book I hadn’t even read yet that I thought people would see and think, “gosh she’s cool. And that West Elm comforter rules too. She’s the best.” and I posted something that was kinda true, but kinda not.

I did this because of, what I like to believe is, a semi-healthy blend of millennial-status and an all-too-near history of pathological lying. To put it plainly—sometimes I just can’t convince myself that the truth is as important as how people perceive me.

Let’s put a pin in this for a second, ‘cause we’re getting uncomfortably close to honesty and I’m getting a little jittery. We’ll come back to here. I promise, and with all I can muster, I mean that promise.

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You would hate the sounds of the sirens and helicopters. Don’t worry about it though- I don’t like them much either.

You would absolutely freak if you heard that noise that sounded just like a gun going off in the corner of the office today- a little faint, sure and probably a Nerf gun if I had to guess. But you would definitely run to the bathroom as fast as you could and shake with anxiety and without stopping because you were never great at convincing yourself that it wasn’t your greatest nightmare. Don’t stress it- I did the same thing.

You definitely will want to avoid big groups after you hear the news, so you’ll probably go ahead and skip the school dance. That’s okay- I’m already thinking of ways to avoid my next trip to the grocery store.

You’d hear Orlando, Florida and think to yourself “I just can’t believe it’s getting closer to home.” You have no idea that someday you’ll think of Orlando, Florida as home.

You wouldn’t do well this week. I hate to tell you that- I know you want to hear that you’re doing better, but you still have a lot of counseling up ahead. I think a lot of us do. Continue reading →

Over the past few months, I’ve been in the beginning stages of putting together a magazine centered around the idea of community. In this span of time, I’ve had meetings about community, sent countless emails about community, I’ve asked questions about the value in community, I’ve brainstormed around the one thing we oughta all know about community, I’ve sought awe-inspiring stories about community, I’ve tried to redefine community without lowering the bar of what community can be, I’ve talked about what Jesus intended with community, I’ve typed the word community so many times that I’ve questioned if I’m spelling it right anymore, and I’ve said the word community so many times that it has honestly started to lose all meaning.

And in all of that, I have tried my absolute hardest to just keep it at arm’s length. Coordinate, edit, and write other people’s stories. Don’t internalize any of this. You got a job to do, Schmidt. Continue reading →

My least favorite thing about what I’m about to write is that I know that in so many ways it’s a peek at my least favorite version of myself. How is it possible that this insecure girl, with her desperate need for attention and affirmation, is still alive and kicking inside of this fully-grown adult with her life full of love, joy, and tacos?

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A couple weeks ago I texted my three best friends to let them know that I couldn’t shake an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. At that point it had been building for a few days and it felt all-consuming. While this happens sometimes without being more than a blip on the radar, this one felt different and I wasn’t in a place where wallowing with a jar of cookie butter was an option— one of those super fun fake-it-til-you-make-it-days where it doesn’t actually matter what kind of mood you’re in, you better at least pretend to pull it together. So I did.

In the days following, for whatever reason, the theme of rejection was everywhere I looked. I couldn’t find an area of my life that was untouched by the big, loud, unmistakably clear message: you are not enough. Continue reading →

Since the beginning of 2016, I have had my purse and its contents stolen, a stomach bug/bout of food poisoning that left me void of food for 36+ hours, and a looming change in what I know of my world on the horizon that has me constantly playing Hermione Granger’s voice in my head saying “everything’s going to change now, isn’t it?” and then Harry’s ominous reply. Yes, yes it is.

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On any given Tuesday night you can find me running barefoot through the Herndon Lobby at Summit Church being chased by a posse of middle school girls chanting “8th grade girls…WE RUN THIS PLACE” I’ll be a little out of breath, sure, but make no mistake about it— there’s no place I’d rather be and no group of girls I’d rather be with.

If we were to rewind back to my own middle school years (which, let’s all take a minute and praise God that this isn’t possible), we would meet a version of me that would tell you with absolute certainty that once she got out of middle school, she was not going to look back. Because in so many ways, middle school is the least enjoyable thing I’ve ever spent 3 years of my life doing. And I venture to say I’m not alone in that. For me, the years between 6th and 8th grade were tumultuous. I didn’t know Jesus, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with my insanely curly hair, and I didn’t know how I was going to manage three whole years of drama, hormones, and so much awkward. They are three years of my life that I was fine pretending never actually happened. Continue reading →