This, my dear friends, is life.

As my feet pounded against the concrete, the sweat dripped down my face, and my sock slid into my shoe, I was starting to become less aware of what was going on physically, and was starting to be aware of what was going on emotionally and spiritually. I was trying to figure out what in the world had just happened. I felt as though my entire world was shattered, but in the best possible way. There was something different in my relationship with the Lord. I began to count the steps, "1, 2, 3..." and began to breathe rhythmically as a car nearly hit me on this evening run. I couldn't focus. I couldn't be around others. I couldn't do much of anything. I had just completed weekend II of the Intentional Journey, and wow my world was wrecked. I had gone on this run to try and help clear my head and process what had just happened. For those that don't know what the Intentional Journey is, the best way to explain it is 3 weekends of intensive, extensive grou

We gathered together in a mood of nervous excitement on the subconscious level. It was time for yet another "Gathering" (college age/young adult ministry), and we were so excited. Before the night began, we tied a black band around our arms which symbolized mourning. As we entered into a gymnasium with a lit path into a small room that had loud, distracting music playing, media blasting, images of natural disaster surrounding, a small path, among many other things, we realized that this wouldn't be like anything else we had experienced. At this point, I ran my fingers across this black band, and with a deep breath, realized we were living in brokenness, and my heart fell to the floor. We then ventured along another lit path to a small pond, surrounded by fire and lights. With the occasional roar of a car in the background, we reflected on what just happened. All these images we attempted to take in, then just left behind. What did we miss? There had to be more. W

I stare at the keys, trying to think of something profound as the red hot tears are streaming down my face. I glance over at my open bible, wondering why I can't find the answers. I ask of God once again, "Help me to understand why." I weep in the middle of my apartment floor as I read stories of survivors, see pictures of those that didn't survive, and then when I realize that I've seen the name of the shooter much more than the names of those that perished. Friends, I wish I had the answers. I've read every article out there about the profile of the shooter, I've tried to piece things together, I've watched the videos of the shooting starting over, and over, and over again. I've watched the videos of the frantic crowd trying to escape, but not being able to. Folks, I have sat in this sorrow all day, and have burrowed myself into the confusion. I've come to the conclusion, that we don't have a human conclusion with this scenario.

We find ourselves rushing around from one act of temporary fulfillment to the next. Moving through this existence as if this moment only impacts the here and now. The impact of this is continual heartache, necessary numbing of the pain of the nothingness we've made ourselves into, and continually looking into the mirror, utterly confused as to who we're looking at, and how did that person get to this place. Can you resonate? Let's go deeper. Those eyes staring back at you in the mirror peer into your soul and challenge you on the segregated, compartmentalized life you've been dwelling within and have created for yourself. Those eyes staring back at you in the mirror can see who you once were, and who you were created to be. You try to numb and avoid this truth by looking at your phone, but it's an empty notification bar. You've pushed everyone away, because no one knows who you are anymore. You find yourself shrinking. It's only in the moments you&

Back in February, I had the incredible opportunity to attend a training conference led by Dr. Dan Allender. If you haven't read any of Dan's work, do so immediately.  At this conference and through Dan's work, I've learned more about what it means to hold stories with honor.  That being said, I would ask that you hold this story with honor. See the perpetual faithfulness of the Lord throughout it. Keep in mind that this life and this heart is still being created, is still being made new. Growing up with an unchurched childhood was probably one of the greatest blessings I've ever received. With every trial encountered during childhood, I knew, "There's gotta be something more than this." The only way that thought could have entered my mind was through the Lord pursuing me, as I didn't know Him yet. I remember vividly during one of the greatest challenges that tiny Ashton faced, my mother being ill, sitting down in the tub with the shower going

I found myself in yet another place where I wondered, "What am I doing here?" That place just so happened to be at a coffee shop where I didn't know anyone. This coffee shop was a considerable distance away from where I live, the ratings on it were considerably low, and I had never heard of it until I hopped on yelp. "Perfect", I thought to myself. "No one I know will be there." I sought out a place with terrible coffee, just to be away from people. My inner coffee snob was livid. I sat in the corner, journaling with a force that could rip even the strongest paper. Once more, my expectations had been broken. I had started in a job that I loved, that was dangerous, that constantly gave me an adrenaline rush, and where I thought I was making a difference. Through an odd series of events, I left there. In the past year, I had been considerably sick, lived in strangers homes, nearly dropped out of college a couple different times, had multi

"The potential of the body of Christ is so much greater than is being fulfilled right now." Was a phrase I found myself journaling today after an extensive conversation on practical theology with a dear, respected friend. I fear the Church has found itself dwelling within an existence in which the security is found within the programs, overly-packed schedules, and an impressively worn-out pastoral staff. Of course, we would never admit such. We may not even know we do such things, as we do so with the best intentions; to meet everyone we can where they're at. To reach out to our community. To make sure everyone has a seat at the Table. And the list goes on. I can respect this. I do respect this. Genuinely, if it weren't for a "program" at the place I claim as my first church home, I wouldn't be here. However, the program didn't save me. Every Wednesday night at 7 PM with a bunch of other teens didn't save me. The mission trips, church ca

This post was written in two different periods of time. One, in my first week here. The second, as I'm about a month in. It's 4:43 AM and I'm sitting on a minor-aged psychiatric unit, fighting back tears. This is my 3rd night on the job, and 1st night by myself. I'm fighting back tears because a client that was having night terrors just told me pieces of their story. A story that is laced with abuse, neglect, abandonment, betrayal, and [all of this has led to], no longer having the will to live. There are about 1,000 reasons I applied for this job. I wanted to receive further [unconventional] training for youth ministry that a textbook couldn't teach me. I wanted to love those that have never been shown love, haven't had a steady home, etc. (This list goes on and on, and I would love to grab coffee and talk more about it.) Within the first couple of hours shadowing a couple of weeks ago, I realized that I was about to receive training like I could have nev

"Just wait, Sunday's coming." With good intent, many people will say this phrase. They say it with the full hope in the resurrection for reconciliation with the Father. I respect these people immensely, and they are always the ones that remind me of the goodness of the Father. However, I think we as the Church, the body of Christ, have found ourselves struggling with what comes before Easter/resurrection Sunday. We tend to do pretty well with Palm Sunday. We may even have the Good Friday services. However, what happens during the time in between? Do you know? Have you taken the time this week to acknowledge what "Holy Week" encompasses? We have conditioned ourselves to become numb to this week. We have become numb to suffering. As a Western society, especially, we are brought up with the idea that anything can be fixed and that nothing will hurt for too long, so just block it out for a bit. Church, this is hurting the unbelievers. We are to follow the e

It's as if I had climbed a mountain with pure motives and strong intentions Once I arrived at the top, I admired the beauty This beauty that could only be described by the word "awe" Slowly but surely, some of my own struggles began to build up on this mountainside These things began to create some barriers It grew, and grew, and grew. Until one day, the Lord said "Do you still know me? Or do you know me through the lense of yourself?" At which point, we set ablaze everything that was of me to burn and purify. This burning on the mountainside has been painful. How could this ever be anything that reflects the image of God? Well, I'm at ground zero, and the beauty here is magnificent.

Imagine with me, if you will. Imagine walking through the desert in which the land is barren. You have sacrificed everything as an act of faithfulness, and you find yourself questioning if faithfulness was the right choice. Before, you had everything, life could have even been considered as "extravagant." However, this sacrifice put you in a place in which your life is emptied of everything you once held dear to. This sounds rather unpleasant. There are two reactions that people will have in this situation. They will either tap God on the shoulder, asking "Are we there yet?" OR They will embrace this journey that is laced with pain and confusion, and will fully recognize the glory and wholeness that lies ahead as they are emptied of themselves and filled with God. Who will you be in the desert?

Decisions to be made that would alter the course of my future entered my life in rapid fire fashion. Life was rushing by me, and I couldn't get out of bed. I needed only to rest in His presence, but I wanted only to rest in my own. In triage mode in the day-to-day, thinking "survive. Simply, survive." Surviving moved to thriving as I boldly walked out of this metaphorical triage unit, proclaiming victory. I sat at His feet and drank from the cup in His hand. I was no longer bound by the bed as I was embracing every aspect of life that presented itself. The decisions that are made are Spirit-Driven. In the midst of suffering, our phrase of "I hope this gets better" is not a passive act. Rather, hope is expectant of days of greater glory.