We all know it by now ― the headline or social media post that makes your heart sink. It could be a natural disaster, an accident or mass murder. Tragedy visits and leaves hurting people in the wake.

The immediate modern reaction to such catastrophes becomes almost predictable. Amid a flurry of tweets, press releases and public statements, we’re sure to encounter refrains pledging two things: thoughts and prayers.

These intangible offerings are so ubiquitous in the aftermath of heartbreak that they’ve gotten their own Wikipedia page, which notes that critics disparage the words being “offered as substitutes for actions they believe would be corrective.” Each time, it seems, more people are bothered by them.

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Have you ever fled to the wilderness a place where you felt alone, lost everything, desperate for truth? Maybe you did it on purpose, or maybe you didn’t want to be there but circumstances looming in our broken world brought you there? 

Oh, I was there. I was there that night lying in my bed wondering when I would stop feeling the way I felt. At that moment it was as if the words of Elijah were my own, “I have had enough, Lord.” 

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But I don’t cook for myself, I cook for my friends, for [my husband] Jacob, for people. Even just chopping a vegetable is like a little liturgy … where you're just making something for the enjoyment of someone else

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I’m grateful for the doors God has opened for me and allowing my dreams to continue, whether in baby steps or full leaps onto the moon. I believe the trials that I endure build me up to be a better artist. I know pain, I know love, I know struggle. I also know that God is love and His plans are always greater than what we can dream.

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The Monday after we didn't get the Kickstarter I walked around in my monotony thinking about what I was going to say in our staff meeting that night….

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What do I want to say about this? That it was the hardest thing I've ever ever done? Yes. What else? That I held it all together and took it like a champ? No, certainly not. Hiking the Gosaikunda Trail taught me a few things about life and God and myself. It hit me, hard. I fell apart on multiple occasions.

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When we stumbled upon the idea of Sincerely, Kindred I never thought we would be in the place we are now -- in the middle of a Kickstarter to make one of the most amazing issues of a publication (that I have ever worked on in the ten years I've been in the publication industry) more affordable for more millennials.

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I always wanted to be a ballerina, but I never tried because I thought I was too late. I always wanted to be able to do a back-flip, but those gymnasts have been practicing since they were five years old. I could never hold my own in a just-for-fun match of soccer, because I haven't played since I was a kid like everyone else. Skill takes practice and time, and I usually find I'm a little late to the game.

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I see you … running mile after mile on the treadmill of aspiration, earbuds blasting the ballad of an uphill climb. I see you seeking, searching, striving. I see you trying so hard as sweat seeps from your pores.
It isn’t an effort that you make in vain. But it isn’t one that you need to make either.
It just is. You just are. And it is not a bad thing just to be. 

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My church is an introvert’s worst nightmare. 

The parking lot is packed — good luck finding a spot! Trying to sneak through the doors without talking to someone? Nice try. Greeters are stationed at every entrance armed with smiles and “good mornings.” The line at the cafe is perpetually never-ending, it’s a game of musical chairs trying to find a seat to enjoy your drink, and the sound of a hundred different conversations fills the lobby. Kids are playing; kids are screaming. Don’t be surprised if a kid runs between your legs as they are rushed to Sunday school by their parent.

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