Brooke Lewis
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Is God Really Listening to Me?

1/29/2025

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PictureOn a walk at Buffalo Bayou, talking to God.
On a cold night in early December, I realized I was locked out of my apartment. How that happened is a long story not worth retelling. The short version is that it revolves around me losing my key, my parents giving me their spare key and somehow that key not working. Or even shorter version: The enemy was busy.

I called the locksmith, cold and frustrated with my cat meowing inside her kennel in my car. Clearly, my cat Shadow thought us getting locked out was my fault, and she wanted me to know with every meow. Once the locksmith arrived 30 minutes later, I asked him how much it would be. He looked at me for a second and I could tell in my gut - he wanted to quote me something higher. Something stopped him and he said: For you, only $100. He opened my door with ease and I sent him $100 through Apple Pay.

Even though it was only $100, my stomach turned at spending more money. It had been an extremely expensive month. $600 in car repairs. Pre-holiday shopping. And I had another trip coming up in a couple days. Later that night when I plopped on my couch, I started praying.

Praying for me has become like breathing. It’s an ongoing conversation that never seems to stop with God. Sometimes it starts early in the morning, with me asking for something specific: strength for something hard that day, wisdom over a decision, or covering something for a friend. On the good days, I keep talking to God. At lunch when I’m heating up my food in the microwave. In the afternoon, when I look out the window at the sun or I’m walking to the coffee shop. On the bad days, the conversation is harder. Maybe, I’m tired and the words don’t flow. Or maybe, I’m frustrated because I start to think: God, are you even listening?

That night after a long, frustrating day I opened my mouth to complain, ahem, pray to God. And I asked if somehow, someway he could supply the $100 back to me that I paid the locksmith. After I finished praying, I turned my TV off, and went to bed. I wondered again: God, are you even listening?

In December, I also was reading through the story of Elizabeth and Zechariah in the Bible. This honorable couple who had served God all their lives desperately wanted a child. Year after year they cried out. Year after year they got no response. But then, on one fateful day, an angel appeared to Zechariah and told him the news he’d been waiting to hear all his life.

“Don’t be afraid, Zechariah! God has heard your prayer. Your wife, Elizabeth, will give you a son, and you are to name him John. You will have great joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the eyes of the Lord,” the angel said

And how did Zechariah receive the answer to his prayers? With joy? Excitement? A cartwheel? No, with doubt.

He asked the angel: “How can I be sure this will happen? I’m an old man now, and my wife is also well along in years.”

Sure, his questions were logical. Elizabeth would be 88-years-old when she had their son John. How could God make something like this happen? Was he really answering now?

Because of Zechariah’s doubt, the angel said he would be silenced until the son’s birth. Ouch.

It’s easy to side eye Zechariah and be like: You had a literal angel come down from the sky giving you news about the future. How could you not believe?

But of course, we doubt God all the time just like Zechariah. Sometimes before praying about it, we worry. We come up with every worst case scenario and convince ourselves that it’s more productive than praying because at least we know the outcome if all goes wrong. Sometimes, we take matters into our own hands. Bulldozing to the answer that we’ve come up with in our heads, convinced that we have God’s approval. Sometimes we text five friends about the same situation who can’t even provide the wisdom we need. We wonder if we should do something more “productive” like come up with the solution ourselves. Because well, God is taking too long and we have a life to live and dreams to fulfill.

I write this knowing I’ve done all the above scenarios without batting an eye. I’ve also been smack dab in the middle of an answered prayer, in awe that God actually heard me and almost wanting to doubt that it could be true. I haven’t been silenced like Zechariah, but maybe we need to be quiet sometimes so we can really see God at work.

A couple weeks before Christmas, I visited my grandparents and some of my extended family in Mississippi. As we sat inside my grandparents’ living room and exchanged Christmas gifts, my Aunt handed me an envelope. I tucked it in my purse, thinking it was a card that I could read later. Later, at the hotel, I opened the envelope and out slid a $100. I put the money into my wallet and went to bed smiling.

After Elizabeth became pregnant, her cousin Mary visited her. Mary also had big news. She was pregnant and would be giving birth to the Savior of the world. Her pregnancy also didn’t make sense to the natural eye. She was a teenage virgin. But yet, she believed. And Elizabeth commended her for her faith, saying:
“You are blessed because you believed that the Lord would do what he said.”

It’s hard to keep believing if you’ve been praying for a long time with little change. It’s hard to open your mouth to pray when you can’t even see who you’re praying to. It’s hard to have faith when your circumstances seem to be getting worse. But I’ve found the more I keep talking to God, the closer I feel to Him. And the more I understand who this God is I’m praying to. He’s patient because he listens to me talk about the same thing over and over again. He’s wise and always seems to provide a solution my brain couldn’t have come up with. He’s a great comforter and sometimes just lets me sit and cry with Him. He’s good and is always working something out to surprise me. He’s more powerful than anything else I would turn to in this world. He’s someone I want to be like and I want others to know about. And apparently, giving out $100 is easy business for him.

A few days before Christmas, I had some friends over to watch my favorite Christmas movie The Holiday. After watching the movie, eating our popcorn, and sipping on hot chocolate, we joined hands to pray over our night. I thought it might be a general prayer, but instead a dear friend prayed over each lady. Her words soared over each friend, giving them a word of encouragement, wisdom, or divine direction they needed to hear. We were all quiet as her voice powered through each prayer. Listening to God at work. And I know, God also was up above listening to us.

My first novel, The Faith of Autumn Waters, debuts later this Spring. Follow this link for more information on the book.

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"The slower I go, the faster I arrive."

9/24/2024

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PictureA slow, beautiful day in Galveston this summer.
When I was learning to ride a bike, my Dad held gently onto the back of my seat. At the park by our old house, he would slowly push me and then I would ride as fast I could down the sidewalk. I usually liked knowing my Dad was right behind me in case I lost my balance and fell into the grass. However, one time I just wanted to see how far I could ride without my Dad’s careful gaze behind me. He pushed, and then I glided down the sidewalk, the wind blowing through my hair and the sun shining above me. I liked the feeling so much, that I kept pedaling faster and faster. “Brooke! Brooke!” I heard my Dad calling from behind me, but I ignored him. 
 
What happened next? Well, I eventually fell and lost my balance. Are we surprised? My Dad came sprinting to help me. My parents are very kind, gentle people but growing up they never shied away from telling me when I was wrong. And, in the park, my Dad told me I should’ve waited for him. That he knew I heard him, and I still kept riding as fast I could. 
 
I’m still that girl that likes to ride her bike as fast as I can. I’m a go-getter. If I have a goal, I work as hard as I can to achieve it. I plan out the steps that it will take to get to the next step and I do it. One of my favorite professors once told me that I don’t just daydream, but I do the work to make the dream happen. That’s why when things take longer to happen in my life, I can find myself wanting to pedal as fast as I can to get to the next destination. 
 
When summer began this year, it seemed to stretch out before me. I had already taken my planned summer trip. I wasn’t teaching. And I didn’t have any major projects to work on. A slow summer?  I didn’t know if I would be a fan. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore summer. Maybe it’s being a July baby but summers bring me so much joy --- even the heat. I’d much rather sweat than shiver, which is why I barely made it through two Syracuse winters while in grad school. 
 
But sometimes slowing down, the desires that I’ve kept close to my heart come bubbling up to the surface. Timelines that I have in my head of when I’m supposed to reach certain goals are etched in my mind. Without something to check off my to-do list or a new big dream in my mind, I wonder if I’m falling behind?
 
One of my favorite stories in the Bible is in Joshua. The walls to get into Jericho are securely barred, but the Lord instructs Joshua and the Israelite army to march around Jericho once every day for six days to gain access to the city. On the seventh day, they would march around the city seven times with priests blowing trumpets. Then, he told the whole army to shout and the wall around the city will collapse.
 
Luckily I’m not Joshua, because I would’ve reacted like the guy in that slow-blink meme. Seriously, God? March around a city, blow some trumpets, and this is how you want me to win a battle? Can’t I get something a little more dramatic?
 
What I love about the Lord is his instructions are usually simple, even when I desire something grander. What were the Israelites and Joshua thinking as they marched around the city day after day? Did they wonder if the walls would actually fall on the seventh day? Or did they secretly think God was laughing at them as they marched around in circles? 
 
On one of those slow summer weeks in June, I stumbled upon this song while listening to a podcast. The lyrics filled my quiet apartment: I wanna move slowly. Cause this moment is holy. You’re never in hurry. So why ever would I be?
 
God often asks me to take slow, deliberate steps towards the future I’m dreaming about. And I’m starting to realize, it’s because of these that lyrics come up next: Search me and know me. Prune what you find. 
 
As Joshua and the Israelite army marched around Jericho for seven days, I wonder what was happening in them? What kind of faith was being built? What kind of trust in God?  What was God building in them before they could step into their next season? And what was God building in me this summer? 
 
As the song continues, this is the lyric that changed it all for me: The slower I go. The faster I arrive. 
 
Everything about life with Jesus is counterculture. If someone wrongs you, you’re supposed to turn the other cheek. Pray for your enemies. Love those who curse you. Don’t worry about anything. Pray about everything. I’ve learned that usually what comes to my mind first is the exact opposite of the way God would instruct me to go. 


So, maybe there’s something to the slow, deliberate steps to the future. Maybe, God is breaking things off, shaping, and molding me into the woman that can handle the future she’s praying about. And maybe, there’s moments this summer: days at the beach, long talks over dinner, a beautiful 4th of July day with my parents, mornings reading my Bible, and other memories that he wants me to cherish right here, right now. 
 
Last Sunday at church, I was late. As I ran out of my house, I knew that I would have to park in the overflow lot and would likely struggle to find a seat. Once I made it inside, I was flustered, but managed to find a seat way in the back of the auditorium. As worship began, my heart rate slowed. In front of me, I saw a woman signing to the music. Her hands soared in the air as the music did, and even though I know she couldn't hear the sounds the same way I did, she seemed content. I would've never noticed her if I didn't look up or take a second to breathe. 

If you keep reading the story about Joshua and the Israelites, you know that the walls in Jericho do eventually fall on the seventh day. They take over the city and win the battle. So, I know this moment in my life is temporary. I know that my marching will come to an end. I’ll make it to the other side. My prayers will get answered. And even on the other side of the wall, there will still be new battles to fight. One that God was equipping me to handle in this season of waiting. But even in the in between, I know there’s value here. There’s beauty here. And  I don’t have to ride my bike as fast I can to get to the next season. 

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What Good Can Come From This?

6/10/2024

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PictureA hot and sunny day at Eastern Glades.
During my first year of high school, I aspired to be on our school’s drill team. I spent years taking ballet and jazz classes, so when I got to high school, I figured I was a shoe in to make the squad. My mom also was on her school's drill team. Growing up, a photo of her wearing a white skirt and orange vest sat in our living room. Her smile wide. She still talked about her memories being on the team - the high kicks, the football games, and the friends she made. 

During that first semester of freshman year, I thought about her as I suffered through a Saturday drill team prep class. As I forced my legs to stretch into an almost split. As I adjusted to a new life outside of middle school, away from all my friends who had split off to different high schools. I thought making the team would live up to all the hype she described. If I made drill team, then I would be set for high school.

On a cold Friday before Christmas break, the drill team directors posted a sign listing the numbers of all the girls who made the team. As my friend and I walked over to read the list, my heart pounded inside my body. I had spent the whole Friday obsessing over the list with a twisted feeling in my stomach that made it hard to eat. The friend and I had become very close that semester. Not only did we suffer  through prepping for drill team try-outs together, but we belted out notes in our 4th period choir class. She quizzed me before our Biology tests because she was way smarter in our science and Math classes. I helped her with our English homework because reading and writing were the only subjects that came naturally to me. 

When we got to the board, we quickly realized our numbers weren’t there. My eyes searched and searched for mine. But I kept coming up short. I looked over at my friend. Her eyes reflected that same look of dread. She stared at me. And I knew it. I didn’t make it. We both didn’t make it. We both weren’t chosen. We walked back to the parking lot where our parents were waiting in seperate cars. I didn’t cry until I made it to my parents. The tears fell so fast that my eyes ached. However, I was hungry again. And I wanted a pizza, stat. 

That same night we were supposed to go to a friend’s birthday party to watch a movie. I didn’t want to go. I almost had my parents drive me back home to Katy, so I could cry in my bedroom and eat pizza in private. Instead, my parents drove me and my friend who didn’t make the team to the movie theater. I had popcorn and we watched Cameron Diaz, Jude Law, Kate Winslet, and Jack Black all fall in love during The Holiday. At the start of the movie, Kate Winslet is bawling her eyes out because the man she thinks she wants to marry is actually in love and engaged to another woman.  As I watched her sob pathetically inside her quaint cottage, I felt my whole body exhale for the first time that day. 


Since that cold Friday, life has handed me much harder cards than not making drill team. There’s been break-ups, loss of loved ones, unemployment, sick relatives, a pandemic. Each year, new challenges make not making the drill team look like a walk in the park. But looking back at that moment of not seeing my number on the board, I realize it’s one of the first moments that made me ask the question:

What good can come from this? 

When I moved back to Houston after grad school, it took me six months to land my first big girl reporting job. During those months, I was processing the end of a relationship and the dream of what I thought my life would be after grad school. I certainly didn’t think it would include me delivering food for others all across Houston. I didn’t think it would look like freelancing or becoming an intern. I also didn’t think I would be back in my hometown. I was determined to get out of Houston.

During those listless months, I spent a lot of time with that same friend who I didn’t make drill team with all those years before. Turns out, my friend wasn’t just good at prepping me for Biology quizzes and singing alongside me in choir, but instead God knew that I would need her for much more. She became my closest friend in high school and is still one of my best friends almost 15 years later. We both signed up for a dance class that spring, where we laughed and moved our bodies to music every weekend. When I looked at her dancing freely across the room, I flashed back to that moment in the high school parking lot. We weren’t those same girls. And we never would be again.

I still watch The Holiday every Christmas. I still feel my body exhale when the opening credits start to role. I can still relate to Kate Winslet sobbing pathetically at home. When Cameron Diaz cries for the first time since she was a teenager at the end of the movie, I still wipe away tears from my eyes. I didn’t know that I would find one of my favorite movies on one of my worst days of high school. I didn’t know that I would meet one of my best friends. I didn’t know that those listless months delivering food in Houston, would actually lead me to rediscovering my hometown and falling in love with it again and wanting to stay. 

There’s a verse in Isaiah that says, “My thoughts are not your thoughts. My ways are not your ways.” 

I’m very good at putting God in a nice, tidy little box and telling Him, “This is the way I think it should go.” I can also stomp my foot like a toddler and pout as if I’m not 31. However, God comes right back every time and blows my expectations out of the water.  He closes doors that are not meant for me. He opens doors wides and tells me to run through them like a little kid on a Sunday afternoon. He gently reminds me to wait and not rush something before it’s my time. 

There are many days that don’t feel like a Sunday afternoon or dancing next to your best friend.  However, with each year, I see the story that God has been weaving all along. The bad moments are etched into the story, but there’s also something much bigger he’s weaving too.  Everything may not get tied up in a nice little tidy box. There may be some explosive messes. When there is bad, I know there will be someone God has sent for me to lean on. There wil be a strength handed over from God that’s bigger than me, that could only come from somebody greater. When there is good, I’ll cherish it all the more because of the days where I felt the wind knocked beneath me. And I’ll always be stretching my heart open for more Sunday afternoons and moments to dance with my best friend. 

Isaiah 55: 8 -11 MSG: “I don’t think the way you think.
    The way you work isn’t the way I work.
For as the sky soars high above earth,
    so the way I work surpasses the way you work,
    and the way I think is beyond the way you think.
Just as rain and snow descend from the skies
    and don’t go back until they’ve watered the earth,
Doing their work of making things grow and blossom,
    producing seed for farmers and food for the hungry,
So will the words that come out of my mouth
    not come back empty-handed.
They’ll do the work I sent them to do,
    they’ll complete the assignment I gave them."



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What are you searching for in 2024?

2/16/2024

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Picture
A beautiful wedding to kick off 2024.
If you want to know my least favorite month of the year, it’s January. The sparkle of the holidays have faded and waking up New Year’s Day always feels daunting. The whole year stretches out before me. Instead of looking at the blank unplanned days with excitement, I feel overwhelmed. 

On one of those blah January days, I left church and ran smack dab into a close friend. We screamed and hugged because months had passed since we saw each other in person. She shared with me what her months leading up to January had been like. During our conversation, we ran into another friend, falling into more screams, laughs, and giggles. After a few minutes, we all joined hands and prayed; the noisy buzz of the church crowd fading. I can’t remember the exact words my friends prayed over me, but I do remember their hands squeezing mine. The hope I walked away with.

I recently heard a sermon from Sarah Jakes Roberts. She was talking about the moments that mark us. The big ones that pull us closer to God. You get the job or the promotion. Your loved one is healed. Your mental health gets better after a long season. You finally buy the house. You get married. You have the baby. The miracle moment. The clear evidence of God’s hand in your life, as if he was coming down to earth himself to say, “See, I’ve been listening to you all along.” After one of those big moments, it’s easy to move onto the next thing. To the next unanswered prayer. What hasn’t God answered on my long to do list? What situation is still the same in my life? But did you miss it already? Did you already go searching for the next thing? The next void to fill? As Sarah said, she didn’t want to miss it. Instead, each day she was going to search for God.

Once you start searching for God, trust me, you’ll find him. I found him on that day as my friends surrounded me in prayer. Sometimes you don’t need a miracle moment to feel God’s presence. I found God again, on another random weekday, when my mom and I sung along to Smokey Robinson in the living room. At a Saturday ballet class after a hard week, the music humming.  During a bookstore run on a Tuesday evening, flipping through the pages of a book, dreaming about my own novel and listening to my friend talk about her week. 

It’s also easy to search for other things that don’t you fill with you the hope God brings. Regrets about the past. Anxiety about the future. Comparing your life to someone else’s. The bigger unexpected problems that capture your attention: that phone call you didn’t see coming, a loved one gets sick or passes away, a breakup, job loss, miscarriage, divorce, or a financial issue. 

I haven’t walked through all the problems listed above, but I know what it feels like to walk through a heavy season, where all the days feel like January and God appears far away. Maybe, even the thought of searching for God makes you want to roll your eyes. Or even ask the question, could he be here in this pain too? 

The thing is even when we don’t want to search for God. He’s always searching for us. In Psalms, it promises ”If I go up to heaven, you are there; if I go down to the grave, you are there. If I ride the wings of the morning, if I dwell by the farthest oceans, even there your hand will guide me, and your strength will support me. but even in darkness I cannot hide from you. To you the night shines as bright as day. Darkness and light are the same to you.“

We can run all we want, but God always find us. He’s waiting to bring comfort, hope, and the light that doesn’t even compare to the temporary comforts we search for on the dark, heavy days. Will you receive it? 

No matter what happens this year, I want to keep searching for God. Finding him on the couch with my friends, as we watch movies and spend time that we won’t ever get back. Finding him in the prayers spoken over me. Finding him in the people God has given me to weather the highs and lows of life. Finding him in the prayers he answered and the dreams still to come. I know you’ll find him this year if you keep looking. 
​
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What do you need to release before 2024?

12/15/2023

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PictureA little God wink at Eastern Glades.
​As I drove home from church and pulled onto 610, I looked up to see a trail of white dust painted in the sky. They were line-shaped clouds, or contrails, which are the leftover trail markings of a plane. Usually, it would be hard to make out what I saw in the sky that Sunday. However, the sky was a crystal clear blue and absent of any clouds except for the markings.

It made me think about an analogy I heard in a recent sermon describing a rocket. As rockets shoot into the sky, parts of the rocket fall off in the process. Not all of the rocket can make it to space. The pastor compared the rocket to us, describing how not everything can go with you to your next destination.

This is how God speaks to me. Sometimes, he’s direct. But often, it’s through breadcrumbs threaded through my path. He’s gently guiding me, providing more of the picture with each passing day.

My gut instinct has always been strong. It’s also easy for me to read the room. If my Dad calls me, I can tell by his breath if he’s about to deliver bad news. Sometimes if I think of a friend I haven’t heard from in a while, they call or text me the same day. If one of my best friends walks into meet me for lunch, I can usually tell if they’re having a bad day or not before they even speak. On a first date, I usually know within the first 30 minutes if I connect enough with a guy for a second date, which kinda sucks for them. I know myself. And it’s not hard for me to read others.

But in the winding path of life, it can be hard to determine the difference between my gut and God’s direction for my life. What is he trying to say to me? Where is he guiding me? Sometimes my gut and God’s will align perfectly. I imagine it like a painter working with an assistant. All the strokes within the painting come out clearly. The painting is perfect. Other times, I veer off what God sees for my life and in turn I become more confused and the painting becomes a mixture of colors and looks murky.

So, when I saw the leftover markings of the plane and thought about the rocket, I wondered was God speaking to me? Also, was I becoming one of those weird people who look for literal signs in the sky? I kept driving and ignored it.

There are only a few weeks left of the year. And when that happens, we all can’t help but reflect on where we’ve been and where we’re going. With each year, God has taken me further and further out of my comfort zone. There have been greater levels of faith and trust required with each season. Quitting my job, finishing a book, starting a book festival, teaching college students, caring for a mom with Alzheimer’s. A mixture of long held dreams and trials have required new levels of obedience.

And with new levels of faith and trust, has also come the shedding. I’ve had to let go of parts of myself in order to receive the dreams I have now. I’ve also had to let go of control and live surrendered during the days that don’t make sense. It’s hard to surrender to a God that I can’t see. To a voice I can’t always hear clearly.

Later that same Sunday, I walked around Eastern Glades. The sky was still disarmingly clear. I admired all the families, enjoying the weather. Some were having Christmas photos taken, others were walking their dogs or having picnics in the grass. I looked up in the sky and spotted the same trail of white dust painted that I saw earlier on 610. I couldn’t help but smile.

That day served as a reminder: God is taking me higher, helping me achieve even greater dreams than I could’ve ever imagined for myself. I know in this next season, there will be more leaps of faith required. More steps of obedience. And just like the plane trail markings I saw at Eastern Glades, and the rocket, I know as I soar higher into my purpose, I’ll have to release even more. But in Scripture, there’s promises laid out for me that make it easier for me to trust. In Psalm 23, God promises that even in dark valleys he will never leave me. That he will renew my strength and guide me along paths that bring honor to his name. That my cup overflows with blessings.

And the best yet: that surely his goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.

So, what is God calling you to release so you can be everything he's purposed for you to be? 

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How to honor today when everything is uncertain

6/13/2023

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PictureA day I won't forget for quite a while!
​Thirteen summers ago, I graduated from high school.

The summer after high school is a weird time. It’s like part of your body is still here and the other part is floating in your next chapter. The part of my body still here was consumed with soaking up all the lasts: the last drive to the mall with my best friends, the last pool hang, the last movie nights, the last birthday I would celebrate with my high school friends.

The part of my body ready for college became consumed with questions about the future. Did I choose the right college? Should I have gone to college out of state?

Did it make sense to be an English major? Would I like Austin? Would I like my roommates? That summer is probably one of the first times I felt anxiety stealing joy from my present moments. At night, the “what if?” questions swirled at warp speed, pulling me away from sleep. Maybe, the anxiety came because up until then, my life had been predictable. I would wake up, go to school, learn something, laugh with my friends at lunch, walk to my mom’s elementary school when school let out, and then come home. Rinse and repeat.

​There was a monotony to it that I liked. No big surprises. No big questions. Moving 2.5 hours away from home wasn’t what caused me anxiety. I chose Austin for that very reason. It was close enough to not feel isolated, but far away enough to grow into myself. Instead, the anxiety stemmed from other big questions that couldn’t be answered immediately. Would I become a journalist? What would life be like after college?
 
The bottom line: How can I guarantee that my life will be good?
 
After my summer of questioning, I arrived at St. Edward’s still a little bit afraid. In my first semester, I saw many firsts: my first college parties, first time living with three women, first time going out to a club on Sixth Street, and the list goes on and on. In those moments, I couldn’t help but be present. They sucked me in, calling for me to not worry about the next day, sometimes not even in the next hour. I wanted to live.
 
Still, there was another side that craved certainty and answers. I can still remember one of the first moments God met me quietly. I was sitting in my dorm room, leafing through a daily devotional book my church gave me during a graduation ceremony for the seniors. God to me was still a distant figure. I didn’t talk to Him regularly. Our conversations were usually saved for emergencies. Help me. I’m scared. I promise I’ll be better this time. In my devotional book, I discovered a scripture in Proverbs that would later become a resounding truth in my life: Trust in the Lord with all your heart; and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways, acknowledge Him and He shall direct your paths.

The words stuck with me. For the past few months, I had twisted myself into knots trying to figure out if my life would be good. I was trying to control something I couldn’t. I was treating my life like a game of chess. I’m going to put every piece down perfectly, so I can make sure I have a good life.  
 
Earlier this January, I sat in my living room and logged into my first Zoom class. Somehow, thirteen summers later, I’m teaching a magazine writing class at my alma mater. Before my students joined virtually, I felt those same feelings of nervousness that plagued me before I went off to college. What would be waiting for me on the other side of the screen? Could I be the best professor for them?
 
As you can see, thirteen years later, the craving for certainty hasn’t left me. I want a good outcome. A good life. Don’t we all? But, in that moment I logged on for my class, there was something else I thought about too. I thought about the 18-year-old who had so many restless nights the summer before college. In my restless nights, I never saw myself becoming a professor. But God did. 
 
These moments make me understand what C.S. Lewis says here in his book Mere Christianity, “Because God is forcing him on, or up, to a higher level: putting him in situations where he will have to be very much braver, or more patient, or more loving, than he ever dreamed of being before. It seems to us all unnecessary: but that is because we have not yet had the slightest notion of the tremendous thing He means to make of us.”
 
And that should tie up everything in a nice little bow, right? I was a nervous 18-year-old who became a magazine writing professor at my alma mater? Good for me. No, the thing with faith is that it’s not a nice little bow. It’s a messy knot that all of us will continue to untangle for the rest of our lives. God’s ways are mysterious and confusing. They don’t always wrap up in a way that we understand.
 
Our world is broken and messy. The last thirteen summers have been met with triumphant moments: graduating from college, getting a master’s degree, getting a job at my hometown paper, writing a book, getting a literary agent, and the list goes on and on. Blessings that yes, took dedication and hard work on my end, but were met with the unmerited favor and grace of God getting me into places I could’ve never been able to reach myself.
 
But it’s also been met with unanswered questions and broken moments: a mom dealing with a disease that has no cure, loss of loved ones, and worries about the future.
 
I’ve seen that striving for a “good life” is pointless. Putting the chess pieces all in the right place won’t get me anywhere.  What God has done in my life is far bigger than anything I could’ve dreamt up on a chess board. Instead, it takes partnership. I do what I need to do on my end and then surrender and trust that God will continue to fulfill His purpose for my life.
 
So now, instead of asking, how can my life be good?  I ask myself how can I honor today?

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Are you noticing your hidden gifts?

4/11/2023

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Earlier this year, I saw a blue fringe purse hanging on the rack inside a Heights area boutique. Now, I’m not a huge purse girl. I usually just want something cute and reliable. My bags stay with me. They hang on coffee shop chairs, are tossed in the backseat of my car, and make it to the seat next to me on the plane.
 
But, this bag I saw wasn’t about practicality. It was just beautiful and staring back at me in my favorite color. When I looked at the price, it wasn’t awful but I also had been trying to save money. Inside the boutique, there were pretty dresses, blouses, and pants, but my eye was on the blue purse.
 
Once I decided to not buy it, I walked back out to 19th Street with my friend. I couldn’t afford the purse, but I could afford some chicken quesadillas and a margarita at Goode Company. It was one of those crisp and clear January days, where the sky looks a perfect blue and the sun shines brilliantly because we’ve gone through a string of gray days.
 
Days later, after the margarita and the quesadilla, I found myself still thinking about the blue bag. It’s just a bag, I think to myself. What is it about some gifts in our life, no matter how small, you can’t help but fixate on what you don’t have? 
 
I’ve always been a dreamer. I can think of the best possible scenario for any situation. I can also think of the worst. Oftentimes, when I’m in one room, I find myself thinking about something else. I’ve found it’s easy to dream, but harder to face the reality of your situation.
 
It’s often in long waiting seasons that I fixate on what I don’t have. I grow impatient and it feels like the clock is ticking. When I’m driving sometimes, it always feels like when I’m late for something, that’s when a train likes to block traffic. Especially on Westheimer! I sit there, impatiently tapping my foot, so close to my destination but also feeling so far away. I wonder if I’ll ever get there. The wait feels never-ending.
 
In one of my favorite movies, “The Map of Tiny Perfect Things,” that I stumbled upon shortly after the winter freeze in 2021, the main character’s mom tells her this about time. 
 
“It’s true that we’re losing time every day, all the time, until one day it’s gone. But you’re gaining it too. Every second, perfect moments, one after another, until by the end you have your whole life. You have everything. And it costs you everything. But it’s worth it. I promise it’s worth it.” 
 
What she said hit me like a ton of bricks. What do I already have in my life that I don’t already see? What am I gaining in my everyday moments that I can’t ever get back? 
 
During the pandemic, I usually met up in Buffalo Bayou with one of my best friends to walk. It was our weekly escape. We would chat about everything --- the news, the upcoming election, our families, COVID, jobs, friendships. We covered it all. As we circled the bayou, our mouths never stopped moving. You would think that after years of friendship, we might run out of something to say. But that’s the best part about being around people that just understand you, that know your soul. Back then, I thought about all the things I’d rather be doing than stuck in a pandemic with walks in the park as one of my only escapes. I could be on a cruise. I could be sitting in a café in Paris.
 
During that summer, around my birthday, I was getting ready to turn 28. A few days before my birthday, I found out a longtime source I covered for a story passed away. I was gutted. Hearing about COVID all year long was one of the first times I remember being confronted with how fragile life could be. Everything around me felt unsafe, insecure. That it could crumble at any second. And in turn, my anxiety was through the roof. I didn’t really say all of this to my friend who I took walks with, but she knew. One day, she showed up with a chocolate cake she made from scratch on my front porch with the number 28. My heart burst.
 
Here was a moment that I would never get back again, but I would replay over and over again. 
 
In March, I went back into the boutique on a whim. It was a Friday full of possibility. The sky was clear and the sun beamed down on my back. I just spent the last couple hours, working, laughing and catching up with two of my best friends. I wondered as I walked closer to the store: Could the bag possibly still be there?

As I made it inside the store, I looked around the boutique and picked out a pair of white jeans. I made small talk with the owner. After a few minutes, I finally asked the question: “I saw a blue bag in here a couple months ago. It was Kate Spade and fringe. Is it still here?” 
 
To my surprise, the bag was hanging on the mannequin at the front of the store. No one had bought it yet. My gift was right there in plain sight. She gave me a discount and when I got home, I pulled it out onto my kitchen table, letting the sun shine from the windows onto the blue fringe. My cat brushed her head against the bag, rubbing it slowly back and forth. Even she was obsessed. 
 
This was just a bag. Something that I probably would get tired of and eventually forget about, but it was like my 28 chocolate cake. A gift in plain sight. A gift all for me.
 
The blue bag is just a material gift, but I wonder how many other gifts God has waiting in plain sight that I’m walking right past. That I’m too blind to notice. A lot of the best gifts God gives have nothing to do with something I can carry on my arm. I realized this during the pandemic, when I woke up every day breathing clear in and out of my lungs as others struggled on a ventilator. I could walk next to my best friend in Buffalo Bayou, but some lost their best friend that year. 
 
Each day is another chance to hang onto one of those perfect moments that you may not ever get to experience again. Each day God has a gift waiting for you: sun shine on your back, breath in your lungs, a new fresh start all over again. But do you see it? Or is it easy to ignore?

It’s easy to forget the goodness of God described in Psalm 23: “The Lord is my shepherd. I lack nothing. He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul.” But don’t. Hold tight to it. The goodness. The gifts. All right there for us to take hold of every day. 
​

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Are you in a wandering season?

2/20/2023

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On one of my walks at Buffalo Bayou.

The other day I was taking a walk by Menil Collection. It’s one of my favorite stretches in Houston. I always admire the pristine green lawn and feel comforted by the tall and shady trees. Funnily enough, at the end of 2020, I found out I didn’t get a job I applied to at the Menil Collection. I was devastated. It had been a long year. 2020 made me realize that my career dreams were shifting and it was time for me to leave my job as a reporter. This job at Menil felt like the big next step, but instead a door was closed. 

​Sometimes, when I need to figure something out I go on a walk. It could be at Buffalo Bayou, or Hermann, or around the Menil. I just need to hear my footsteps and sometimes music— Beyoncé, Maggie Rogers, a gospel song, Taylor Swift, some contemporary Christian worship mixed in. It’s easy for me to keep walking. It’s soothing to look up at the trees shading your body and look down at your shoes taking you forward to an unknown destination. Sometimes I have a set goal in mind. And sometimes, I just feel like I’m wandering, lost in a circle, going round and round in the same park. 2020 felt like a walk that would never end.

At church, I was reminded of that wandering journey during a sermon about the Shumanite woman. After years of waiting, the woman watched God give her a baby. Then, later that same child would die suddenly and the prophet Elisha would restore her child back to life. After those miracles, you would think there might be more wow. Instead after all the miraculous moments, God tells her to go “sojourn where you can” for seven years. Sojourn essentially means to wander. So wander around for seven years? Okay cool God, sounds great. 

Back in 5th grade, I found out I wouldn’t be able to go to the same middle school as my elementary school friends. My mom was a teacher for Spring Branch ISD and usually could help get me transferred into a school, but this one was capped for enrollment. Instead at the last second, we applied for a newish charter school in the district called Cornerstone Academy. I got in, but I wasn’t excited to go. 10-year-old me felt like it was the end of the world. I didn’t want to wander at my new school. I wanted a straight and clear walk. 

Turns out, I fell in love with Cornerstone pretty quickly. It was full of students made up of different cultures, neighborhoods, and backgrounds. I truly felt at home. At Cornerstone, I sang in choir with two friends who had a best friend named Pauline. Pauline and I didn’t really talk much at Cornerstone, but years later as we moved stuff into our dorm rooms during freshman year of college we recognized each other. A friendship quickly formed. Now, Pauline is one of the most valuable and essential friends in my life. We spent our 20s fumbling and stumbling through early adulthood, talking about our dreams and watching some of them come true. The next day, after I found out I didn’t get the Menil job, Pauline showed up at my apartment with flowers. 

I’ve realized the twists and turns in life are inevitable. We’re just fickle humans trying to figure out the best path. We should be comforted to know that a sovereign and very intentional God  helps us find our way on those walks that feel like you’ll never get back home. 

During Christmas, I had a week off from work. I did all of the things I normally can’t do: go on a ton of walks, binge terrible TV, write in my journal, and explore the crooks of Houston that I always say I will but never do. On one random Wednesday, I went to the Menil. I walked slowly, studying each painting and sculpture. 

​In 2020, I couldn’t see 2023 me. I didn’t know that I would find a new job that I love. I didn’t know  I would finish my book. That I would help plan a book festival. That I would get to teach magazine writing at the same college where Pauline and I grew up and found pieces of ourselves.

The Shumanite woman also probably never imagined a King walking into her wandering story after seven years to say, “Restore all that was hers, together with all the produce of the fields from the day that she left the land until now.””

​Sometimes, I’m still the 10-year-old version of myself, fighting and wandering with God. And sometimes, I’m the 30-year-old version looking back and seeing that not getting what I want usually leads me to getting everything I actually need.

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What are you treasuring this Christmas?

12/27/2022

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Right before Thanksgiving, I tried to buy a couple of sweaters at TJ Maxx. The line stretched and stretched endlessly, making a circle around the store. For a brief moment, I thought I was already transported to Christmas shopping. "It's not even Black Friday," said one exasperated woman behind me. A store manager standing nearby nodded and smiled. My schedule over the next several hours flashed in my mind, reminding me I didn't really have time to stand in this never-ending line. Later that night, I was supposed to go bowling with some friends. The next day, I was hosting a Friendsgiving at my apartment. I still needed to bake a pie. My stomach grumbled, reminding me I also needed to eat lunch. The endless line at TJ Maxx kind of felt like the never-ending crazy of the holidays that were about to start. 

A couple weeks later, I heard this Bible verse from Luke at a worship gathering. "But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart." I've heard the Christmas story dozens of times. Here's the SparkNotes version: An angel appears to tell Mary she is with child. Her husband Joseph is confused (especially, the whole part about him not being the father.) Joseph and Mary make the trek to Bethlehem and Jesus is born. Despite hearing that story countless times, something about the verse stayed with me. After Mary (a teenager by the way) gives birth to Jesus, the shepherds come to admire the baby boy. Afterwards, they can't help but want to spread the good news to everyone: the Savior of the world is born. But, Mary does something different after giving birth. She treasures it. This once-in-a-lifetime moment and the ones leading up to it. These precious memories she'll never get to relive again. She holds them in her heart. 

That verse set the tone for my holiday season. It made me look around at all of the moments I experienced a little differently. It made me take in every face around the table at a Cheesecake Factory brunch I had with friends from church, the women who prayed for me and encouraged me all year long. It made me want to go to Julep twice in one weekend, because why not? It made me cry at my cousin's wedding as my 91-year-old grandmother walked down the aisle, in awe that this brave and beautiful woman got on a plane from Mississippi to participate. It made me slow down. It made me take deeper breaths during the harder, less cheerful moments that we all experience during the holidays.

The holidays bring up so many feelings. Nostalgia and reminiscing from the past. Our hopes and dreams for the future. There are so many different things we can treasure in this season. We can treasure having a perfect Christmas, where nothing goes wrong. Ha. We can treasure other people's lives on social media, wishing our Christmas looked like there's, or we can treasure our own lives and all they have to offer. We can treasure it all--- the good, the hard and the in-between. I want to be like Mary. I want to hold tight to these little moments happening right now that I'll never get back. I want to settle the right truths in my heart and never let them go, even after the holidays are over. ​

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What are you doing here?

10/10/2022

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​What are you doing here?
 
This is a question I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. It’s a question God poses to Elijah after he’s freaked himself out, run for his life, and ends up in a cave---far away from his original calling. What are you doing here, Elijah?
 
Life is complicated. It’s full of beautiful and broken moments. There are some so achingly perfect you wish you could drink it in for days, but there are the other days where it's hard to put one foot in front of the other. Life can exhaust you, so much so that you end up like Elijah. He had a great a calling and a great purpose. In the Bible, Elijah was a mighty prophet who encouraged others to return to God when they were worshipping others. He also saw God work miracles (hello?! fire raining down from the sky) but a threat from Jezebel on his life sends him running. He ends up at a tree, where he lays down and asks God to take his life. Instead, an Angel of the Lord appears and gives him some food and drink, and he rests. Basically, God says, “Shhhh, I get that you’re tired. But here’s some bread.” That maybe free advice for some of you, who are tired: Go to Torchy’s. Get a breakfast taco.
 
But seriously, Elijah’s story makes me feel less ridiculous. Haven’t we all had those moments? We see God do something miraculous in our lives. Our family member is healed. We get that job promotion. We are becoming the person we always hoped we could be. Then, something else comes swinging in, causing us to forget and run away in fear. We lay down at whatever tree like Elijah. Our tree can be fear. Our tree can be sadness. It can be regret, guilt, shame, whatever.
 
And that’s okay. We’re so obviously human and life is so obviously real. It can come in big and swooping, making us forget the question that God poses to Elijah, and one I’m posing to all of you reading this blog post: What are you doing here?
 
Why did God place you on this earth? Was it so that you could lay down at your tree, mope, and groan about all the ways that life isn’t going the way you thought it would? Or have you gotten so deep into your feelings that you’ve forgotten the bigger purpose? I’m not talking about a big purpose either, one where everybody knows your name and you save the world. Purpose can be misunderstood like that. I’m talking about your everyday reason for waking up in the morning.
 
We all have one. We all have a small difference that we can make in the world. A ripple of change that we can affect with our tiny steps. Stop thinking of purpose as this big, huge thing and start small. Who are the people in my life I can encourage? Who is someone I can help today? What is one step I can make this week towards a dream I have?
 
Life is like a quilt. That’s what Bishop TD Jakes described in one of his more recent sermons. Quilts are usually sewn together with different patchworks, patterns, and designs. It doesn’t look like it would go together, but when it’s all said and done, you get something beautiful. He went further to say that people are like quilts because we’re complicated or at least he said authentic people are complicated. One minute, we’re full of faith. The next minute, we’re full of fear. One minute, we’re pursuing this dream and passion wholeheartedly. The next day, we’re doubting ourselves. We’re humans. We’re Elijah’s.
 
And yet, as he says in his sermon: we are fearfully and wonderfully made.
 
Scripture goes as far to call us God's masterpieces. A masterpiece sounds like a high calling, right? But I think about the process of a masterpiece. The Mona Lisa’s, the Maya Angelou books, the Picasso works of art didn’t start out as such. There were probably a lot of rough drafts, false starts, and balled up pieces of paper thrown into the trash before we got to see the final finished work. That’s what’s happening to us in life. We’re constantly regenerating. Taking a step here. Falling down. Starting over. Then, beginning all over again, with that same renewed hope, that same vision: What are you doing here?
 
I was reminded recently of part of my here, in these verses found in Matthew 5:
Let me tell you why you’re here. You’re here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth. Here’s another way to put it. You’re here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world.
 
Light is why I’m here. There’s a light that God always refreshes me with, a strength, a reminder, a hope for more, that I want to continue to spread to those around me. I think we can all start with that, right? There’s so much dark in the world and so much heaviness happening daily.
 
Couldn’t we all start by just being a light?

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    I am a writer, journalist, dreamer and aspiring novelist. 

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