Looking Up

As I flip through Instagram, Facebook, and other social media, holiday cheer is high.   News feeds are plastered with veggie-tray Turkeys, football memes, and awkward family photos (my favorite). Hashtag “thankful.” It makes me glad to see an acknowledgement of the overabundance of wealth and opportunity that we’ve been given. As Americans, we are incredibly fortunate. Even our concept of “poverty” is ridiculous relative to much of the world’s standards. However, this year, I’m not posting my usual “so thankful for friends, family, and food” paragraph. Not because I’m not thankful for these things—I am. But because God is changing the way I look at thankfulness. To be honest, I started this week unthankful. My heart was discouraged and laced with bitterness. I’m still young, but some days I feel like I’ve seen enough of the suffering in this world. My fragile heart feels like it's going to collapse when I hear about the refugee crisis overseas, when I see a friend lose...

Stoplights, angry red, bored holes into my consciousness. Brakes screeched as my backseat belongings somersaulted. My peripheral vision caught the nose of a white van, too close. The smell of burning rubber overtook my senses. Yep, I was awake now—shaken out of a mental fog induced by sleeplessness, sickness, and stress. As I pulled away from the middle of the intersection, my rear-view mirror showed me wisps of smoke rising from the pavement. I shakily guided Li'l Red into a nearby parking lot, and the words bubbled out:  "I can't handle this anymore."  By "this," I didn't just mean my coffee-less Monday morning. I meant the ongoing trials of life. The unending checklists and bills, the unending brokenness in people I love, the unending battle between fighting for what’s best and settling for okay.  A few seconds later, it struck me that maybe that's exactly what God was waiting for me to say. I had just read that morning: "Fait...