When A Psalm Changed Everything

“I have a thing for you to do.” she said, her eyes never wavering. That was something about her soul that inspired me (like all good friends should) she never wavered.

“Alrighty.” I was speaking in fragments that night, spilling my inside ramblings out to two of my sweetest friends. I had no idea how to communicate my thoughts comprehensively. I was a lone girl searching the dark night sky for stars.

and still, her eyes never left mine. My other friend’s hand rubbed my knee reassuringly before busying themselves again with the knitting lying in her lap.

“You should read Psalm 139 as soon as you wake up in the morning and let it be the last thing you see before falling asleep. Not your phone, not another book. But His truth.”

She reached over and grabbed her bible. Fanning through the pages, she stopped at the Psalm. I closed my eyes as her voice gave life to the words.

“Where can I go from your spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?”

It really hit me then that no matter where I run away from Him to… He is always there. He is always faithful. He’s the netting that catches me when I fall off of the tightrope I was trying to get across by myself. He is ever-present & ever-loving & ever-relentless after my heart. I am never alone if I truly believe in a God that loves me like a hurricane. I am not searching the night sky for stars any longer because “even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.”

Her hand reached over to grab mine for a split second as she could sense the tears in my eyes, then it went back to holding her bible upright. “I will praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” His works. He made us… fearfully and wonderfully made us. So we are His works, we are His. That, being His, is something to praise. And I can finally grasp that. I can see it wrapped up in a shiny box with a nice red bow. I am His and He is mine. That love is powerful. That love will move mountains. That love will shake the earth.

After she finished reading, she asked if they could pray. So they took my hands in theirs. And they spoke unto the God we had just finished reading about. Not the God I had known for the past two years, the one that stayed locked inside my attic and I held the key. But the powerful, all-knowing, mighty Father that knew me before I was actually thought up as a possibility. Never before had I thought of how precious I was in His sight. How He cared for my soul, my inner being, the parts of me that were woven together in the depths of the earth.

T-Swizzle had it right… we have to get out of these woods.

The darkness that entangles and ensnares us. We have to search the branches with pointed ends & the leaves that have decayed and fallen & the wind that moans and wails like a lost soul & walk out into the light. Embrace the sunshine as it dapples through a tree in bloom. Smile as rain trickles down our window pane. You are never alone in a universe that was so fearfully and wonderfully made. Let me say that again: You. Are. Never. Alone.

Darling, I hope you hear that tonight as the darkness creeps in and the devils sits on your back and whispers lies into your ears. Hear that truth. Know that truth. Tattoo it on your heart.

My goodness, you don’t know how much I wish you would believe in those words m’dear. Make them your mantra. Ink them into your skin.

I am. I wrote that on my fingers, one word per appendage. I held that truth closely for a long time. Clutched it for dear life in the times I wasn’t presently surrounded by my friends… and still: I am never alone. I learned that a few nights ago, sitting on the bed with best friends. We are fearfully & wonderfully & beautifully sculpted and made by the Grand Designer and Father of the universe. You are never alone. I am never alone.

Baby, I pray you believe that.


Perhaps Grandmother Was Always Right…


We were always told that the monsters under our bed didn’t exist. That we could sleep soundly at night knowing that the demons wouldn’t jump out of the closet. So to prove my grandmother wrong, I slept under my bed one night: teeth brushed and elephant pajamas on. My flashlight was prepped and ready to go and all my most-comfortable blankets and pillows were fluffed all around me.

But nothing visited that night.

And I came out in the morning, head drooping and heart saddened. My grandmother took me onto her lap and told me that I shouldn’t be sad. Did I really want to face a scary monster anyways?

But I did. I wanted the beast to come save me from the boring world of people. Nine years old and I was already falling in love with the unsung and misunderstood hero.The cursed prince that kept himself holed up in his castle.

Yet, he never came and I stopped believing in true love and fairytales.

I stopped looking for people to fix. Stopped worrying about fixing myself. I just remained hidden in shadows and the corners of rooms filled with crowds.

I let Beauty after Beauty walk out of my life. I let them woo away until they gave up. But I wasn’t going to fall for a good guy when a beast still lurked in the darkness of my soul.

and then…

I finally found my beast.

I found my beast in the form of a boy that played with hearts like they were fire.

and man, did we burn. Trace the scars left on my skin from the heat of us and you’ll see. They’re still hot. They’re still pain-filled, still raw from the time his hands first caressed my flesh and caused the damage.

I had always heard the first cut was the deepest, but until my beasts’ claws dug themselves into my heart and left me broken and bleeding in the middle of the street… I was clueless as to what the pain of the cut would be. I hadn’t realized that 3 a.m. would become a time of tears and silent sobs that won’t wake up my roommate. I hadn’t actually known what I was getting into when I first whispered back “i love you” and your eyes light up in the moonlight, carnal and intense.

Beasts only love until they catch the scent of something new to prey on.

and Beauty fades away as time goes on.

The monsters were never under your bed, my dear.

               they’ve always lurked inside our souls.

               have always laid dormant, awaiting the need to awaken. 

               awaiting the time to go forth and gain control.

Beasts aren’t worth the pain. Beasts aren’t worth the loss. Beasts demand a Beauty they can’t ever truly have…

Lock the closet doors if it makes you sleep better, check under your bed if helps you close your eyes.

You’re safe tonight, babycakes. Grandmother was always right.

A Pep Talk For The Ballers, The Shakers, The Movers, and The Dancers.


(don’t act like you ain’t part of that list.)

So maybe we’ve never met. Maybe we’ve never sat down over coffee and laughed boisterously over books and boys and dreams that keep you awake at night and what the future holds. Maybe we’ve never driven around your hometown at 4 a.m. screaming Taylor Swift and crying over lost loves and giggling at the people who we find ourselves hidden in. Maybe we won’t get to. Maybe we will. I’ve learned to never put trust in our own planning because ultimately there is a God who writes a bigger book, has bigger plans, and has bigger dreams for us.

And you better hold on tight to those dreams. Hold on tight to the childhood fantasies you thought were too big, the ones people told you couldn’t happen. Because you know what, babycakes? Those dreams will haunt you at night when you’re stuck working a job that you don’t have any passion about. They will crawl under the covers next to you and sing sickly sweet lullabies to you so that you can’t sleep. Those dreams will follow you around. They will plaster themselves to your shadow and stay perched in the iris of your eye. Let me tell you what to do on the nights when the singing becomes too much and the shadows start playing tricks on you. When that happens: hold out your hands. Look at them. And I mean really look. Memorize the creases and folds. Those are the hands of someone who could shake the world if they just believed that they had the heart for it.

The world needs people like you. The world is aching for people to come along and stand in its path and shake it up. Grab this globe with your little fingers and just shake it. Shake it until you see the pain & hurt & loneliness fall from its blue and green hues. Shake it until you can’t stand to shake it anymore. Then, live. Live freely. Live relentlessly. Live boldly. Live bravely. Live in all shades of Red. And White. And Blue. Be a song that you would listen to on repeat and repeat and repeat. This world is full of pied pipers that will try to summon you with a tune that they created but darling, be your own melody. Don’t settle to being a harmony to someone else. Be the lead role in this crazy play called life… or make it a musical. Make it a musical where you sing and dance in the rain & sun & snow & wind & clouds.

Really, that the best advice I can give you: just dance. Make time your partner and show the world one heck of a tango. Make people who scorned dancing get up and move. Make them shake and boogie and bust a pose. That’s the real goal in life. Not to move mountains, or change as many people’s lives, or help as many people as you can, or to become famous and rich. None of that matters. Of course, it’s perfectly good to do all those things… but our real goal in life is to love people. The rest will come after that. Just love people, sweet child. Love people with a jealous frenzy that lights up your heart as much as theirs. That’s all this world really needs: love & a dash of hope & a sprinkle of faith.

There are people that will tell you that you can’t. That you won’t. That you shouldn’t. Avoid the n’t verbs. They will hang up your dreams on this clothesline known as life faster than you can say that you were halfway there. Because if you believe in a dream babes, you are already halfway there. So do not quit. (That is the only time you listen to an n’t verb. When it’s pushing you forward… because it only goes forward and up and outta this world from here.)

So dream bigger than anyone could fathom. Take life head on like a baller. Dance through it like the most gracious of ballerinas.  Shake this world so that it is never the same. That’s the word for the rest of 2014 you guys: Change.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

That post was going to end there. But I thought that you should have a love letter too. The world is dying for more of them.

Dear you,

This time of year things go cold. I know. It’s the inevitable sweater weather and snow and couples falling together during the first chilly blow of air. And you? You might be alone at night when the temperature drops. You might have a good book & a cup of tea & your favorite baggy sweater. I promise that is all you need. Don’t let the season get to you. The cold will seep in through the cracks in your building and bleed into your bones. It will lie dormant during the day, but honey the loneliness strikes. It strikes with steel & flint & iron & spit.  Don’t give in. Don’t give up. You can make it through the cold. I believe in you.

You may not see it right now. The loneliness might have leaked into your heart and is pumping through your body. But that word darling, Change, it’s so powerful… it’s so powerful because it’s a choice. We choose to change. We choose to go. We choose to stay. We choose to morph. We choose to mend. You have to choose it. And I want you to want that. I want to reach through this screen and hold you while you cry and laugh and just let you know I would hold your hand through this messy thing called life if there was a way for me to be there for you. Because you matter. You’ve always mattered.

It may seem like you have the entire world on those shoulders of yours. Your back probably is weary and cramped and tired. The world isn’t yours to carry. It was never yours to carry. So place it down gently, say a bittersweet goodbye, and walk away. Free yourself of the things that are weighing you down.

You. Are. Worth. So. Much. More. Than. The. Lies.

You. Whisper. To. Yourself.

Did you get that? I promise you that you are. I pinky promise and swear on my lucky rock and “cross my heart and hope to die.” You are worth so much more. More than anything.

Things may be a bit lonely right now, you my be bogged down with things… push on. Please. Push on. And in the spring, we’ll have a dance party. And celebrate the fact that you made it. Because you, living your life how you want to & actively choosing to be happy and content, that is worth celebrating.

I’ll be keeping you tucked in my pocket, babycakes. You rock!

–      Court.

He May Have Been Your Soulmate, But He’s Not Your Forever (Truths Based Off Queen Elizabeth Gilbert)


With permission I have posted a portion of  the following email:


I knew love once upon a time (…) He was my soul mate (…) I couldn’t keep him here, knuckles clenching white (….) But with him gone, I had gotten to thinking: soul mates are supposed to be forever. Aren’t they?



Dearest M,

I don’t have all the answers, I sometimes wish I did… but I am not all- powerful and all-knowing. I know that people draw connections. And soul mates? Well, that’s been a concept I myself have been struggling with. But I’m going to share something with you… it’s the quote that changed the way I viewed life, love, and happiness. I’m going to quote the queen here, Elizabeth Gilbert.

“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so that you can change your life.”

M, he may have been your soul mate. He may have shook you like crazy and moved the mountains in your life around. But people aren’t meant to stay. We aren’t meant to hold onto them longer than their allotted time.

Because how selfish is that? How can you tell someone to stay with you because you are too afraid of change, too afraid to let them go? That’s the real message here that you’re looking for. How to let go. Because soul mates are meant for forever and sometimes they aren’t. Maybe he was your soul mate, but he’s not your forever.

That was hard for me to write, M. I wish I could have told you some poetic line that made the pain be wiped away like chalk on a chalkboard. But I’m going to say it again, because you need to hear it: He may have been your soul mate, but he wasn’t your forever.

You see, we’re meant to fall together just to fall apart. Our hearts are meant to beat against the current of life just to sink below the surface and disappear into the inky depths. It’s not our place to hold people in places where they must remain constant. Let him go sweet child, let him go. Let him change and morph and grow into the person you want him to be, but let him go. He isn’t yours anymore. And you aren’t his. Be thankful. Be courageous. Be brave & heartfelt & all shades of relentless in this quest to find yourself.

Soul mates are meant to pass into your life, tear you to shreds, and show you who you are meant to be then leave. It’s too painful to live with a soul mate. It’s too painful to be devastated everyday by the ways they push you and open you and unclench you. So let your hands go, M. let your knuckles gain back their color. You are far too precious to be hung up on the past. It’s hard to burn the suitcases and let the ones who hold your heart pass on to their future, but let him go.

I dated this guy once and I fell for him hard. He was my soul mate, I believe that now. I wanted to be better and look better and change people for the better because he saw that in me. He saw something in me, something good, that I couldn’t fathom. Then he left. And I was broken and damaged and held on to his pieces tighter than I held on to the edge of the cliff I was slipping off of.

He was my soul mate, but he wasn’t my forever.

I’m going to say that again, because it’s worth repeating M:

Someone may be your soul mate, but they aren’t your forever.

God Came In Like A Wrecking Ball…


I’m sorry I haven’t written. I’m sorry I haven’t been faithful to you. But I’ve been on quite the personal journey this past month. I’ve learned the ups and downs of my ribcage and the dark and light crannies that rest inside my heart.

You see, babycakes, I had hit a bit of a dry spell in my faith and really, it was never my intention to talk this much about my faith. But it’s a part of my identity and it’s a thing you’ll notice about me right away— I love God and Jesus and am so thankful for his salvation. But, I’ve kind of been lacking in that department lately. Pushing Him away. Drawing inward, away from community with other people. I had slowly, brick by sinful brick, built a wall around my heart and letting the devil lay siege to my soul. I had been turning my eyes away from the piles of dynamite God had been providing me with to wreck the wall. I had built that wall. Yeah, me. My two dainty shoulders and thin musician hands had consciously made the choice to lay down the stones and create this barrier between my Savior and I.

And it’s not because I didn’t feel Him, and it’s not because of anything anyone did.

I had fallen so far into a pit of despair & self-loathing & hatred that the thought of His love scared me. And I don’t mean like Freddy Krouger, pee your pants scary. But the scary that keeps you up until all hours of the night contemplating every decision that you’ve made in your life and how those have affected your self-worth.

I was pushing God away for the same reasons it had taken me so long to accept His son and salvation; I was afraid of His love, of His commitment, of His faithfulness.

I’m about to get real with you, sweetheart. Like, open up my soul and spill out all my blood real. Because my journey to God and His love hasn’t been pretty. My testimony isn’t something I’ve ever spoken to anyone outside of a closed practice room at 9:24 at night. And I’m not ready to put it on here. I’ll never be that open to the public… unless He want and needs me to be.

But, sweetcheeks, if you haven’t picked this up sub-contextually in all my posts, let me point it out and paint it in monochromatic colors because this can’t be fluffed up with poetry and metaphors: I have daddy issues…. More specifically relating to abandonment. And trying to prove my worth through and to people because I don’t want them to leave. It’s been a series of realizations and breakdowns and build-ups. But maybe that’s the process of life. It’s not my fault my biological father left, I’m coming to terms with that. I couldn’t help that distance separated me and Love, I’m accepting that. I can’t blame myself for her hanging that rope and climbed it all the way to heaven. But, that God loves me? That He’ll never leave or forsake me? That His love is unending and unfailing? That’s a bit hard. Especially after a lifetime of swallowed goodbyes and loved ones leaving without even providing space to let go and untangle them from my heart.

So yeah, I’ve built quite the fortress around myself. Thought I was in control. Thought it’d be enough to get though life, this halfway walked across runway. But life had different plans. Life hit me with a 2 by 4 this past month, pulled the IV from my arm and I have been going through some twisted withdrawal from melancholy. I slid below the surface of the pit of destruction. Demons I had fought so hard to shake suddenly were tucking me back into bed at night and brushing knots from my hair in the morning. I would watch, wide-eyed, as Depression and Anorexia/Bulimia would bicker over breakfast and Anxiety would gently pull me to the shower. Self-harm would greet me in the hallway with a robe. I was sinking and the silver linings that were once harbored in my eyes were getting lost at sea.

Finally, it became too much.

I broke.

I bent.

I snapped.

I changed.

I apologized for the wall. For the stupid, selfish ways. For being a pusher. For my fear. For my self-hatred. And God? He came in like a wrecking ball, breaking down block after sinful block and chased my demons away. Now, I’m resting in His embrace and Hope & Joy exchange gleeful banter over coffee as Faith braids patience & strength & love into my hair. It’s still a battle, but I’ve come to realize that playing small is something of my past… and I’m never looking back to then. I’m going to soar on eagle’s wings and rest in the shadow of His glory.

So babycakes, I was in a bit of a dry spell in my faith… but now I’m drenched in His love. It took work & a desire & a plea & a genuine need and it’s going to take work & ugly crying & self-realization. But if I can get there then so, dear, can you.

I’m cheering fiercely for you and I’ll be keeping you tucked in my pocket babes.

Let Him break down your walls.

Make Me Your Gold, Lord.

Lately, my faith has been a bit shaky. And I don’t mean to talk about my problems… But its been eating at me lately, so here goes.

 Lately, my faith’s been a bit shaky. And it’s not because I don’t think He loves me. And it’s not because I’m feeling unworthy. Although, both of those things would be valid excuses for this feeling. But lately?


It’s like my faith is a game show and I know all the right answers but never win the grand prize.


I know He’s ever -present. I know He’s always there. But sometimes– it’d be great to feel Him like that day at Camp when He saved me. That day He embraced me & let me know I was loved & encouraged me to keep living.


Yesterday, I sat in a room in the basement of a chapel for 40 minutes. I didn’t speak for awhile. I didn’t move. I just tried to grasp some proof that God was around. But His head never peeked around a corner and He never snuck up behind me. I started to feel antsy I the silence. I couldn’t stand it anymore, the silence… the emptiness. I finally spoke up:


“Hey Dad, I’m just wondering where you’ve been… I’ve missed you so much…”


But He stayed silent. So I sat. I thought. I submerged myself in that silence. And I realized something babycakes, I was still harboring a lot of burdens and brokenness in the docks of my heart. So I sat there and I started to untie the boats one by one. Swish, Swish. One after the other.


Swish, Swish.


“I’m sorry for pushing You away and others when I should have been pulling them close. These arms are only so wide, Father… help me embrace as many people as I can.”


Swish, Swish.


“I’m going to work harder to seek You out. I’m going to work harder & look deeper & search longer. I know You’re there… I’m going to find Your heart.”


Swish, Swish.


“I’m going to put in the effort to stop falling back into my old habits & toxic attitudes & brokenness.”


With every admittance, with every apology, I released space for a silver lining or hope or joy or trust or love to harbor themselves. With each sentence I uttered, each boat I sent off to sea… my closed heart opened up. I could physically feel my heart unclench itself and start to let in the love. And in that moment, in that silence, He spoke so loud:


“Little One, you are so precious to me. Keep this big heart of yours open. Keep your hands spread to catch the pain of the world. You are a gem just beginning to see your worth, just starting to notice your shine. My child, keep allowing yourself to be molded. Keep being my relentless one.”


And all I have to ask, Lord: Make me Your gold. If you do nothing else with me today Father– just make me Your gold.

Grandma Once Told Me “Don’t Leave Your Dreams Out To Dry.”


Ever since I was young, I remember wanting to be with people. Big, small, wide, thin. People were my driving force. You see… People have stories. And I live for stories. They are my nourishment. People have stories. About love, about life, about the good stuff, about the hard stuff.

I wish I could sew my heart onto the sleeves of everyone I meet. The boy in the bread aisle, the girl in the shoe department. And by that, I mean I wish I could swap hearts and share roots with everyone I brush against in my day to day life.

But I have people here that are shutting me down, and telling me that this dream to touch people is too big and to have this dream makes me have some kind of God-complex.

How could a dream rooted in the essence of love and the gift of listening that God has so graciously given me make me a bad person?

Perhaps they’re right. It might be too big. And too widespread. And taxing on my health. It might be too hard for me to do. But, I don’t think thats possible… You see, we had a Faith and Justice symposium here at my college. I got to here first hand, stories from women who had survived the Rwandan Genocide. I got to hear stories of mothers and fathers who had endured the holocaust. And my heart aches for those that are a victim of war, war crimes, human trafficking, and just violence in general. Yet, hearing their stories; Knowing that I could pray for them, with them, and others… That made me feel so complete. I could hear God in it. It was as if He had placed a hand on my shoulder and said “Okay, Little One. I know you want to be a writer,  I know your heart aches with words. But you need this too. You need the stories of pain & hope & suffering & freedom. It’s my plan for you, my dear.”

And do you want to know something babycakes? I’m part of the problem too. I shut myself down too. Its not just them. I cannot fathom a dream of mine that I wouldn’t leave out to dry. I hang them up next to my insecurities and doubts, dripping with a sort of self-hatred of mine.

This world is big & dark & mean & cruel.

And I’m still trying to find the courage to claim my dreams despite others and listen to the path God is calling me on

Oh baby, I hope you do the same. Let’s go take our laundry down from the line.

Love. Love. Love. (You, Me, & Others)


I walked through the front corridor of my dorm building the first week of school to notice a big bulletin plastered to the wall with a marker hanging down. I stopped in my tracks to read through the list of things “You are most excited about Houghton College”. Things like classes and new friedships and all you can eat ice cream painted themselves across the white paper. But one stood out “Ring before Spring.”

“Is this seriously a thing?” I asked my RA in a hushed tone.

“What’s it mean?” the girl with auburn hair and blue eyes asked almost immediately after.

“Oh.” our RA answered. “It’s just thing where freshman get engaged before the spring of their sophmore year, sometimes their freshman year. Houghton’s known for it.”

I looked at the girl with auburn hair and blue eyes, our gazes locking and a feeling of sympathy settled into my heart for the girl who was bursting with excitement for this.

You see, I was in love once upon a time. With a boy who read me poetry and danced in the rain. But it’s been years since I’ve laid eyes on him. It’s been years since I’ve heard his voice sprinkle earthy tones and mellow whispers onto prose. And I used to look for love like he was a person I could just KNOW. Like I would bump into him in the bread aisle, our eyes would lock, and it’d just be him. Only him.

I used to look for love in un-pretty places too. At the bottom of rainbow colored drinks and darkened rooms with names of boys I don’t remember. And Love? He would just laugh a hearty chuckle and tuck me into my bed at each night when I felt empty and used and lonely. Love understood. Love understands. Sometimes you just have to go searching for love even when it’s sitting right in front of you, even when it isn’t available to you.

It’s been a hard battle, coming to this place inside myself where looking for love wasn’t my top priority. I’m not a realist, nor am I a complete cynic. I am merely a die-hard romantic that has this unsattiable thirst for passionate adoration. But I’ve come to learn something over the past few months…

You can’t go looking for love.
And babycakes, in all honesty, I don’t want to find love anymore. I just want to find myself. I want to know every nook and cranny of my heart so that if a stanger asked me who I was, I could reply with hellfire confidnece:

“Well, I’m just a girl who used to think that playing small and looking for love was the only answer to this crazy thing called life. But now, I know that being small isn’t so bad when you have a big God on your side and as for love? I’ll wait patiently for love to fall into my lap with wind-blown hair. Because his journey has been rough, and he’s questioned Love a few times, and he knows that God brought us together for a reason. So I’ll wait. And be comfortbale in myself. And no longer look for love in stray places.”

Strawberry Pop Tarts, Promises, and Grape Soda


When you have no one else to go to, your heart returns to the last one it had its grasp on. My heart, it returned to the boy caught between manhood and childhood with the wide eyes and wild smile. It returned to him like a messenger pigeon coming home… it had done its duty: made me binge on the sweetness of his love for a second and then had me purging to get the sickly taste of him from my insides. I couldn’t help but feast on everything that was him like it was thanksgiving… and I was thankful he would even acknowledge me today.

But most days, I’m left alone with his picture plastered to the front of my mind and a flannel that doesn’t smell like him anymore… but I still manage to find traces lingering. Most days, its a battle to get out of my house without seeing him in the curve of a tree branch (he used to climb trees to get closer to the stars– they were always constant you see. He used to promise me consistancy. But that was before Goodbye was a thing of our future). Most days, I still see him in the aisles of the grocery store. He loved strawberry poptarts and grape soda… but who doesn’t, right? Who doesn’t…

Things had gotten better for awhile. I took off his flannel and didn’t wear it again for 3 months… I went outside and laughed with friends. Everything regarding him went into a lockbox and I threw out the key. I promised myself I wouldn’t ever open that box again.

I was never good at keeping promises. Especially not to myself.

As soon as his messenger pigeon pecked on my window with a simple “hey, I was just wondering how you’re doing” and I saw the key tied to the birds leg, the box was opened.

It was like our push-pull relationship was a bunch of stepping stones over a river. I always managed to fall again and again, and he hopped across perfectly everytime.

I was always suppose to be the one to fall harder, to fall too quickly. I understand that now. I understand now that he’s always been better at keeping promises… even if they’re the kind that are made with sharpest of knives and unwilling participants. But you see, I don’t know how to not want his heart when I have no one else to go to. My heart still has his name tagged on its address book, but I’m tired of getting his bills. I’m tired of paying the price for him leaving and returning whenever he feels like it… but I don’t know how to stop staying put. He promised consistancy. There’s a kind of concistancy in pain. I understand that now. I just wish he had promised me something else. Something that didn’t hurt when you grasp it.


I don’t mean to sound pessimistic. Or melancholy. Or like I’m holding onto the past… but you see babycakes, we all have those people. The ones that come traipsing back into your life whenever they think they can. They don’t realize they have caused any damage… they don’t realize that you were their unwilling victim of 2 am promises from tree tops over strawberry poptarts and grape soda.. But you know it. I know it. Its our cycle to break.

I’m not good at promises, but I promise that if you have no one else to go to, heart can come to me. It can drop off its heavy load in my inbox. I promise that I’ll answer. That I’ll read all of your words like they’re my favorite novel.

I’m not good at making and keeping promises. Espicially to myself.

But I can keep this one, I promise.

Sweetheart, I don’t have any wise words for you. I don’t have a list of steps for you to follow to get rid of these people. But I do have something to say and by gosh, I hope you clean your ears and listen to this one. If you haven’t taken any of my words to heart, I hope you take these babe:

Even if you have someone your heart grasps onto, you can force your fingers to unclench and let go and learn to live again. You can live this life with your fingers spread, your palms ready to grasp the world.

I’m not good at keeping promises, babycakes. But I can promise you that. You can live with arms wide open and a heart full of love for the whole world. I can promise you that.

You can get across the stepping stones and send that messenger pigeon home. You can go down those grocery aisles again and stop wearing his flannel. You can stop seeing him in trees and stars and shadows.

You don’t have to live your life haunted by those people any longer… you may think you’re heart has no one to turn to, but babycakes I’ll always be hear to wipe your

Sorry That I Can’t Be Sorry


“I’m sorry.”


I’ve wore that word like it’s a nice pair of size 5 jeans. Pulling them up around my calves and buttoning them to my waist whenever I feel uncomfortable in the outfit I’m wearing for that day: cluztiness, dreamer, lover, life-shaker. And in a world that preaches to the younger generations that the very essence of what they are isn’t enough, why wouldn’t the first word to bubble to our lips during a moment of smallness be sorry? It’s how we’re wired. I’m not a mechanic. But like you, I wish I could go through this world with my little tool box (kind of like a Bob the Builder- I’d be Courtney the Changer. I’d change how you see that word.) and I’d fix that bug. I’d take those 5 letters and fix the way

you veiw them.

You see. I wear that word like its my favorite sweater. Wrapping it around my scars and torso. Wrapping it around myself to hold everything together… when it just needs to fall apart. That’s a frightening realization to have at 5:37 am on a Monday. That I need chaos & muddiness & falling apart. That I need those things– and someone should never apologize for needing. I’m slowly learning that. An email I recieved this morning was a kind of butt-kicking into pushing things along.

So here’s to unapologizing. I’m sorry I’m not sorry that I’ve overcame battles people don’t even know about. That makes me who I am. I need to not apologize for the quirkiness & strength & gentleness & fierceness that God bundled into my skin and wrapped up in a shiny silver bow.

I’m sorry I’m not sorry babycakes, that writing & travelling & experiencing has kept me alive & loving people & trusting way too much & loving way too hard. I am so not sorry for that.

I’m sorry I’m not sorry for burning a suitcase full of all my past me’s. Yeah, they’ve gotten me to this point… but I really need to live in the now. The present tense Courtney is pretty stellar if I just give her a shot.

I’m sorry I’m not sorry for singing loudly and dancing in parking lots during rain storms. I think things like that make life beautiful and worth living. I shouldn’t apologize for that.

I’m sorry I’m not sorry for loving you when you think you don’t deserve love. You always deserve love & hope & dreams.

So that’s my tiny list. I’ll probably keep writing it in my notebook. But I think I’m going to be stopping by a Salvation Army later to donate a pair of jeans and a sweater. I don’t think I’ll be wearing them anymore, do you?