Nightingale, the sun is gone, the light has left the sky.
Still you insist to carry on, do you sing or do you cry?
What faith you have to sing so long for a sky that’s fallen black,
No other voices join along, nor do songbirds answer back.
And still, through the deep night you sing, your sweet and haunting tune.
Pure tones over the quiet ring, in dim silver light of moon.
Nightingale, you lose not hope, although you sing alone.
Your song pours o’re each dip and slope, growing stronger tone by tone.
I long to be a nightingale; find faith for sun’s return to sky,
to solo life’s melodic scales; to stretch my wings and fly.

Patiently Waiting

Do you ever have those moments where you see exactly what God’s doing and you’re still afraid of it? I’m walking through a season where God has made it ABUNDANTLY evident that He’s going to teach me patience and trust – whether I like it or not!

10 days ago, I was sitting in my bedroom trying to make sense of a situation in my life. I kept feeling that the Lord was asking me to be patient, but I couldn’t see why. I couldn’t see how I would benefit from waiting patiently, couldn’t make sense of why He was timing things the way He was. As I sat at my desk, I flipped open the book (Passion and Purity by Elisabeth Elliot) that I’ve been [slowly] reading for 4 months. Right there, at the beginning of my next chapter were the words: “I began to learn to wait. Patient waiting does not come naturally to most of us, but a great deal is said about it in the Bible. It is an important discipline for anyone who wants to learn to trust.”

My heart slammed in my chest. Since moving home in March, I’ve been on a journey of uncovering my deepest wounds in an attempt to learn to trust the Lord. I knew the chapter was for me, so I kept reading. The book went on to talk about how God often asks us how to give Him the things we hold most precious. Like Abraham offering Isaac up to God, sometimes we need to put what we hold near and dear on the altar before the Lord and ask for His will to be done.

I prayed over this verse for the next few hours, offering God up the thing I hold the most tightly, asking Him to take control and telling Him I wanted to trust His plan, that I wanted to do things His way. In my prayer, I found myself confessing that I was afraid. “God”, I wrote in my journal, “I want to give you this situation so badly. But I’m only human, I’m made of only dust. I’m so worried that I’m going to hand this to you now and then I’m going to try to take back control. What if I do that, Lord? What if I try to take control? Will you punish me for not trusting you? This is a God-sized challenge and I have only human strength of my own so God, please be my strength.”

The next day I opened the Devotional App I use on my phone and read the daily devotion – it was the story of Sarah trusting God to fulfill His promise to her. Although Sarah knows God has promised He will bless her and give her the thing she most longs for (a son), Sarah, who is made only of dust, tries to make God’s will come about on her own terms. She interferes, telling Abraham to sleep with her slave, Hagar. But God, who is good, does not punish Sarah for her lack of faith. He still blesses her with a son because the fulfillment of His promise is not dependent on her ability to perform.

Later in the week, I received an email from my church which noted that the sermon to be taught on Sunday was titled “Waiting and Trusting.” At the end of the sermon, the pastor left us with a verse to cling to when we are in “waiting room seasons”. The verse he gave us just happened to be the “verse of the day” on my Bible App the day before: Isaiah 41:10 “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God, I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

On Sunday afternoon, I saw a rainbow in the sky and knew that God was reminding me that He is good. On Monday evening, I opened Passion and Purity again and read the words “There was a tiny scrap of rainbow – just an end of ribbon in the clouds – and I knew that it was for me. It was a promise of good things.”

Every day I have been gifted with a reminder that God sees my heart; a promise that God is there and that He loves me. Every morning I pray and ask that I would see God reveal himself in the small moments, that I could rest in peace and find joy and hope in the day; and every day, a new mercy has been revealed.

Does this make the waiting season of my life any easier? Does it make patience and trust any easier to learn? I wish I could say that it does. Every day I still battle to take control, only to pray “God, not my will but yours be done.” (Luke 22:42) Every day I struggle to see that God’s plan is better than my own, only to pray “…my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.” (Isaiah 55:8) Every day I try to fight on my own only to quiet my heart and remind myself “The Lord will fight for you, you need only be still.” (Exodus 14:14).

I know that God is good. I know that His plans are immeasurably better than my dreams. So although I am walking through this season blind, unsure of where I am going, I am holding onto hope as an anchor for my soul. (Hebrews 6:19) Hope that is born out of knowledge of what God has done for me and out of knowing that He has promised to work all things together for the good of those who love Him. (Romans 8:28) So, with a tired heart, I am learning to “be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him.” (Psalm 37:7)

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. – Romans 12:12

Pressing On

Last Friday, I headed towards Yosemite to meet a group of my closest friends from LA. It was the perfect weekend. The weather was gorgeous and sunny (but not too hot), the company was fantastic, the views were breathtaking.

unnamed (1)11046701_10205898164626707_1248721991145253886_n

They say that you’re either a mountain person or an ocean person but I have to disagree, I adore both. Being up in the mountains, surrounded by giant trees, rocks and waterfalls, it’s hard to look around you and not be amazed by what you see. Seeing everything towering around me reminds me of how small I am — in the best way. It’s hard to stand at the base of a waterfall and still be wrapped up in my own head. It’s impossible to stand peering over the ledge of a giant mountain and be distracted by my minuscule problems.

While we were hiking to Nevada Falls, climbing up countless steps, I just kept telling myself to keep moving forward. Hiking is interesting because it’s a beautiful picture of what walking through life looks like. When you’re on a trail, the only choices you have are to move forwards or to give up and turn back. There are moments of (literal) pain that hurt so deeply, you may want to give up or return to where you started. But if you keep going, once you come to the top of the hill and see all around you, the journey feels worth it. At the top of the mountain, you can look back at what caused so much pain in the moment and appreciate how the perseverance through that pain has allowed you to see this beautiful site. Without the difficulties, you miss out on the beauty.

We can choose to live in our pain and live in our struggle, or we can keep our eyes forward, trusting that there’s beauty on the other side of the hurt for those who can just push on.

Some days the baggage I’m carrying feels so heavy, I’m amazed that I can even stand under the weight, let alone keep my feet moving forward. But I trust that I have a Saviour who will carry the weight for me. And with His help, I continue on.

“I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 3:14

unnamed (2)unnamed (4)

Chasing Waves

Well I learned a long time ago that you shouldn’t love a wild thing.
Even though I’ve always been drawn to the wild – to adventures.
But holding onto someone as they walk away
is like trying to hold onto a wave.
It comes crashing in to kiss the shore,
but as soon as it brushes gently against the sand, it’s gone,
rolling back to the deep waters where it belongs.
You can chase the wave as it disappears back into itself,
deeper and deeper you may swim, but it’s lost, you’ll never find it again.
Even as you gasp for breath, drowning in the sea,
you’ll sink, defeated, knowing you never could have held onto something that didn’t want to stay.

In this moment of my hurting, in this moment of my yearning,
You are good, you are good.
In this moment of my breaking, where my heart cannot stop aching,
You are good, you are good.

You meet me right where I am, when I cannot stand,
You reach out to carry me.
You hold me when I fall apart, you see my breaking heart,
And still you tell me you love me.

In this hour of my trial, when my heart lives in denial,
You are good, you are good.
In my failure, though I’m so weak, you have reached out and you’ve saved me,
You are good, you are good.

You meet me right where I am, when I cannot stand,
You reach out to carry me.
You hold me when I fall apart, you see my breaking heart,
And still you tell me you love me.

All I have is broken, but I offer all I am.
Trusting that my breaking is a part of your good plan.

Come carry me home,
Come carry me home to you.
I’ll give my whole world, if you’ll still have me.
Come carry me home,
Come carry me home to you,
I’m broken and bruised, and yet you still want me.


I’m a shadow of the girl I once thought that I would be,
The dreams I held tightly to, now a distant echo.
My edges have been blurred by my failures and faults.
The once bright colors, now diluted by tears.
And still you step back from the picture that you’ve been painting,
And you say that I am a masterpiece.

And words choke up in my throat because I look at my life and I wonder how you could see this mess and think that it is beautiful. Each brushstroke looks so wrong from my point of view, but I know that you have planned the placement of each one. So I trust in the one who has perfect perspective. Holding onto hope that someday I too will be able to see the beauty born from my breaking.


Some things we don’t say.
Like how bad we hurt each other all those years ago –
3 years, right?
Like how we said we were the best of friends,
but walking away was so easy,
as were words whispered behind each others backs.

Some things we don’t give voice.
Like the time I admitted that I hate you –
and that letter I wrote.
Like how we abandoned each other,
right when we needed one another most.
It was easier to pretend that we didn’t.

Some words don’t ever form.
Like the words I feel about that boy who ripped us apart –
remember him?
Like the words I said when you walked by,
and my friends all laughed,
and so did I because it was easier to laugh than to cry.

Some things we don’t talk about.
Like when She left us and we didn’t know how to be –
because she held us together.
Like how we had changed so much that we didn’t know
who the other one was anymore,
but we didn’t know how to say it, so we said we were the same.

Some conversations we don’t revisit.
Because it’s easier to forget they happened.
Let’s erase them in our silence,
let’s forget the ruins in our past,
let’s build on top of them a new monument,
ignoring the shaking foundation beneath.