a letter to my goddaughter

Dear Emersyn,

The older I get, the more I realize how important it is to have mentorship in our lives. Ideally, we all find and cherish those people who have wisdom to impart in each area: career, relationships, faith—you name it. We hope to surround ourselves with people who know better than we do, so we can do better than we’re currently doing.

This isn’t as easy to find, at times, as it is to express its necessity. We may not realize we’re lacking guidance until we fail at something we thought we could do on our own. We may not see the need for another person’s perspective until we learn (the hard way) that we don’t always know what we’re doing, or what to do.

Since the day your mom asked me to be your godmother, I decided to always commit all of my best efforts to being the mentor you don’t yet know you need.

To me, being a godparent is a spiritual relationship more than anything else. It absolutely has weighty, cardinal implications and responsibilities to accomplish—but for me, its foremost honor is to point you to Jesus.

You could listen to many different voices in your life. They will come from your home, your phone, and those who surround you by choice or circumstance. My intent is not to make you listen to mine (or even your mother’s!)—but my goal is to help teach you how to discern the voice of the Holy Spirit, so that you may always know which way to go.

Whenever you read this, I hope we’ve already crossed several national parks and countries off our bucket list together. I hope we live close enough for me to steal you away after school for a mid-week adventure. I even hope I have little ones of my own for you to call a friend. But above all, I pray you’ve experienced the joy of the Lord, and it becomes your chief pursuit more passionately each year that passes.

No matter how far apart we may find ourselves physically, there will always be room in my home and my heart for all of Emy J. Your Father in heaven has chosen the best two people possible to be your parents, and I’m so thankful they all chose me to be your godmother.

For now, Happy First Birthday. I love you more than you know!

-Auntie Mick

Word of the Year: 2020 to 2021

Processing perspective, forecasting fulfillment.

For the growth-minded individual, 2020 begs to be reflected upon. I would contend that each of us has witnessed the thresholds of our disappointment tolerance rise; then, at times, at least, the capacity of our hopes fall. I am certainly no exception. Nonetheless, in reflection, I choose to delight in the ways God has sustained me and transformed the way I think, even through a year like 2020. I remember that to Him, a year is like an infinitesimal fraction of a day.

The word I dwelled on to guide my year was “perspective.” Perspective is the way we see things, and for me, this particularly meant the way I see the world and interact within it. What a timely word to enter my spirit before I would step into a season where fundamentally, everything I perceived about the year to come would dissolve into incessant unpredictability. In tandem, the desires I had for the trajectory of my life began to unravel, revealing impure and often indeterminate motives. Navel-gazing is a fitting term I’ve learned for the way I spent prior months of planning egocentrically disregarding how there might be more to the desires I had possessed. In my physical isolation in a small town, my perspective began to shift to one which is global and eternal. God was trying to answer a persisting prayer–I only had to pause and listen.

Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect. Romans 12:2

Slightly over three years ago, I went to the beach at sunrise nearly every day, praying the same prayer. Definitively, I didn’t know what I cared about in life. It seemed like everyone around me, especially within the realm of believers I had newly entered, knew exactly what mattered to them–which of the world’s problems they were going to solve and how. Given, in hindsight, I recognize my perception did not accurately reflect reality. Still, I knew I wanted to figure out God’s purpose for my life, disparate from the narrow plans I had left Him out of. So I asked God to give me a dream. Over and over, when I didn’t know what else to pray, a desperate plea of “please give me a dream for my life” became my mantra (often followed by, “because I don’t know what I’m doing!”).

I have gradually but radically changed over the last couple of years. But even after getting involved with organizations and causes of many backgrounds, I did not find one which settled into my spirit the way I trusted a dream would. In those years, I was circumspect in pursuing or even admitting inklings of dreams I’d had out of fear of misperception, lack of support, and failure. I thought my dreams might be lofty and therefore unattainable; so I pulled them back under the covers to sleep, not to be awakened unless by happenstance. Then, it was through forced seasons of rest when I learned that rest was the very thing which would rouse my purpose.

I am burdened by the way the world’s dispositions to time, work and rest have fallen so far from the rhythms God designed and modeled since the Genesis story of creation. I am burdened by the lack of boundaries in a seemingly endless work week. I am burdened by how infrequently I find two or more people who are truly present with one another, free of distractions and ostensible multitasking. In response, I’ve begun to practice a weekly Sabbath. I’m working toward continuously learning what this has looked like biblically and historically, and what that means for today. Although I am wending my way to concrete steps forward, God has expanded my faith to believe there is hope for change, and I can be a part of it should I offer myself freely to Him.

2020 taught me to dream. God answered many of my prayers this year in unexpected ways, as He does so well. My perspective has been entirely renewed and I have a number of dreams I might have laughed at a year ago, that I wholeheartedly believe I will see fulfilled. Rest seems to be a central theme through them all. In 2021, I am choosing to meditate on the word “fulfillment.” There are two definitions I consider here. “The achievement of something desired, promised, or predicted” serves as encouragement to hold onto hope to see dreams come to fruition. I can trust God’s character of grace and generosity to remain. “Satisfaction or happiness as a result of fully developing one’s abilities or character” demonstrates fulfillment as more than achievement, but contentment with progress. I want to find fulfillment in the things I pour my time and energy into regardless of circumstances, because my character has much room to develop through them all.

If I’m being honest, many of the dreams God has put on my heart this year scare me. Unless I put them in perspective and remember who gave them to me, I often feel overwhelmed by and alone in them. In many ways, that is all the confidence I need to know I am headed in the right direction, knowing any plans may only be accomplished through Him.

I don’t mean to say that I have already achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection. But I press on to possess that perfection for which Christ Jesus first possessed me. Philippians 3:12

Peace and blessings to you in the New Year.

airplane poetry

product of solo travel days

as i watch all the little snowflakes fall
the flurry feels familiar
but i don’t know what that feeling means now
i used to find a home in this place—
in the mountains which seemed larger than life,
in the cold that hardened my skin,
in the way i didn’t feel alone for once,
when alone was all i really was
i thought the freedom of a distant land
would provide the one privilege i didn’t have
but i was misguided by the allure of independence
and the perception of strangers who didn’t know a thing about me
as i watch all the little snowflakes fall
i’m apologizing to myself for all the ways i rushed
like the wind, i didn’t stop for anyone
yet everyone felt the cold i brought along
it’s a shame to think i once thought being alone was better
if being alone meant i looked like i had it together—
now i let myself learn from the whirlwind
of all the little snowflakes trying to find their place
they may be racing straight for the ground to dissolve them
but their impression is made when they circle each other,
a messy community of pretty things most striking
when they’re together 
the ways of the world have failed to teach me the principle of consistency:
how to be steadfast in convictions i discerned for myself,
or how to be myself in the first place
even if i had been looking for her, i couldn’t have found her—
instead, i was expected to value who they told me to become
to replicate the tried-and-true sequence of events 
—which they called correct—
then told to identify patterns and continue them
so i began to imitate designs which never really suited me
but fit when i tried them on
and earned me compliments as i showed them off
through this, i was remiss to be unchanging
i laced myself in the latest trends because i didn’t know originality when i saw it
how then could i embody it?
what i want today is to be consistent:
to create my own collection,
to be my own model
marked by steady continuity, not self-contradictory
i want the ways of the world to fall off of me 
because i grew out of them
and i am consistently growing into me
to lose a muse
is to taint the painter’s vibrant palette black 
visions of what could’ve been blend together
a blank canvas sneers behind her back 
the weight of inspiration was almost intolerable
yet the irony is in how it feels now 
oh, what i would do 
to be inspired by you
but with this new paint, 
i won't pretend to know how
i’ve dreamt of an airport date
since i identified my imagination 
as something close to magical
i’ve wanted to make up stories of the lives walking by,
sure to make them more remarkable than mine
and to figure out who’s coming and going
we could watch people hugging and crying
pretend like their loved ones aren’t dying
and laugh with joy when we catch a homecoming
i want to order drinks at the bar like it’s a layover
maybe buy a ticket to take off to nowhere
and fall asleep on his shoulder on the plane
it might be sorely saccharine to say 
i want someone to travel the world with
but if you knew me, 
you’d know to say i only want to love them 
really means the same
real, wild joy
to me, feels like seeing a new color for the first time
it is like the section of a song you want on repeat forever
and looking at the night sky without light pollution
joy is when laughter overtakes your senses
you feel it in your belly and somehow almost taste it
joy is when distance doesn’t fade your friendship
and when her baby grasps your finger for the first time
i especially adore joy in voices,
when you can hear a smile over the phone
or when someone just got their very best news
joy catapults itself into the ocean with pants on
it rolls down hills and gets headaches
and it’s in the storytelling of random memories
joy plants my feet next to my bed when i want to stay asleep
turns even the darkest moment into one i want to keep
it takes my hand on every journey,
preserves its place when i'm unworthy
only because the joy that lives in me 
is otherworldly

re: poetry

I love the time of reflection provided by travel days. I’ve spent a good bit of time flying alone over the past two years and I enjoy the unique opportunity I get to be inspired by new, diverse surroundings in what seems like my own little world. Over the years I’ve made poetry something sacred to me, but mostly under faulty reasoning—so to an extent I’d like that to be upended. Hence, airplane poetry.

Poetry lends itself to mystery and ambiguity and misinterpretation. I remember writing poetry as a young teenager about dark things which could’ve gotten me sent away—it was then when I first learned to keep my poems to myself. In time though, I grew comfortable enough to share them with those I wrote about—expressing love through my favorite medium. I can’t quite remember sharing poetry after those people left. I suppose these are small explanations for why it’s taken me nearly three years to share any poetry on this blog.

The thought of sharing my poetry with others has made me feel insecure, embarrassed, and ashamed. For years I’ve thought of myself as “too much” for people. I have a tendency to overshare while simultaneously leaving out the most cherished parts of myself, out of fear of being misunderstood or met with a chuckle of confusion—or maybe disapproval. I’m slowly but surely learning to lay down those fears. I used to worship my feelings, but their fickleness and desperation have misled me one too many times. For me, writing—especially poetry—is a way to identify my emotions, discern between truth and deception within them, and finally, turn the truth into art. Art as its own end. Not to be understood, or accepted, or appreciated. Just an extension of myself.

I have no idea if and when I’ll share any more of this kind of writing, but for today, it is shameless, and it is its own end.

Charlie Brown’s Wife

Today, joy looked like Charlie Brown’s wife.

Today I met Charlie Brown’s wife. At the grocery store. I was running errands for work which involved filling my cart with 36 loaves of bread. As I was crouched down, lifting empty trays and counting in my head, I hear the voice of an older woman behind me: “You must work at a food pantry!” I smiled behind my mask and told her I simply worked at a restaurant. I continued grabbing and counting loaves. The woman had still been standing only a few steps behind me with her friend when she began to talk about her own experience with a food pantry. I heard her say that she was supposed to start volunteering at one, but they never called her back. She was postured toward me, but I couldn’t tell if she was speaking directly to me, or just to her friend.

“My husband just died so I’ve been trying to stay busy. I thought that would’ve been a nice way to do it,” she announced with surprising equanimity. I agreed that volunteering at a food pantry would be fulfilling, and apologized for her loss. She revealed that her husband had been sick for a long time, and as she began to shift away, added, “But I sure do miss him.”

Through this brief encounter I continued to organize my bread in the cart, trying to stay busy myself. This woman had a spirit of strength that made me want to learn something from her, even if only in the small moments between aisles. The tenacity she exuded compelled me to approach her again. I briefly confessed the current state of my own spirits, an explanation for my puffy eyes. I said that her attitude was more encouraging to me than she could know, that I admired her resilience and hoped to mimic it. Without an initial word of response or second thought, she charged me with a hug. A genuine, healing, empathetic hug from a woman whose hurts have far surpassed mine. She didn’t just tell me, but convinced me, that everything was going to be okay.

We exchanged a bit more conversation, in that moment and a few times more throughout the store. I learned that her steadfastness could only be attributed to her faith in God, and I believed her when she said she’d pray for me. “Don’t you leave me now, I better see you here again,” she teased. I asked for her name before we separated. “Connie Brown–and my husband, his name was Charlie. My husband was Charlie Brown.” I couldn’t help but share a laugh with Connie, a moment that felt like she was reminiscing on a thousand memories.

I share this anecdote to say that divine appointments are everywhere. Connie will likely never read this, but she did say that she would try to coordinate her weekly grocery store visits to Thursdays like mine from now on, and I hope she does. I hope I run into her again, maybe in a few weeks, when she can tell me about a new pastime and I can tell her about my travels. This one encounter served to remind me of God’s great sovereignty and faithfulness. He knew all I needed was to see someone full of joy in spite of their pain to remember that I can have that, too. Today might not feel joyful to me, but true joy from the Lord is everlasting–it is unaffected, persistent, and resolute. If you are struggling to pick up your joy today, I pray for you to meet someone like Charlie Brown’s wife.

The Wonder of Nature

I want to stay myself the way I feel when I am in the wonder of nature – thank you, California.

The fact that I haven’t written a blog in months is a great indication of what I’m about to describe – this pandemic has hit me hard, and I haven’t been doing very well. For the first couple months I was often disappointed about things like everyone else, but even moving back into some normalcy of going outside the house again wasn’t enough to help me get out of the funk I was in. I started to feel symptoms of depression I hadn’t experienced in years; recalling how much it took out of me to overcome that exacerbated the hopelessness. I lost enthusiasm for the things I used to enjoy most and I found it uncharacteristically difficult to maintain a positive outlook about the future. The worst part was that I knew turning to the Lord during this dark season would be the only way to work through it, but my flesh did not want to. Have you ever been there – knowing that God would bring you solace but feeling as though you had no energy to receive it from Him? That’s where I was at: wanting God to help me but holding back from Him without much of any reason. I wasn’t mad at Him, but I wasn’t excited about Him all the time like I used to be – and I resented myself even more for it. A vicious cycle.

Here is where the wonder of nature comes in. I was finally able to take a long-awaited trip, a time away from the mundane and the tediousness of life as I felt I knew it. The anticipation of spending a week with my best friend Jasmine was one of the only things getting me up in the mornings, but being there was more therapeutic than I could have imagined. National Parks are one of the only things in the world that get my heart racing just thinking about them, so visiting two of them together was exactly what I needed. We gained 5,800ft of elevation over 22 miles of hiking and drove 1,020 miles over 26 hours around Northern California. An absolute dream.

Lassen Volcanic NP and Yosemite NP are some of the most idyllic places I’ve ever been. It was impossible to not feel the presence of the Holy Spirit as I stared at the infinite starry sky above me at our campsites, or as we reached the summit of the most challenging hike I’ve done to date, or when the truck would round a bend to reveal a new landscape that took my breath away. The mountains, forests and waterfalls spoke to me in a way that humans simply cannot. All of creation worships the same King I do and this week I was reminded of that. It only took a moment, a week immersed in God’s most magnificent handiwork, for me to feel alive again.

So as I head home to Virginia, less than four months away from a world of opportunity opened to me, I will take this perspective with me. I will relive the exhilaration of the brink of physical exhaustion mixed with zestful exploration until spiritual rejuvenation washes over me like waves all over again. I want to stay myself the way I feel when I am in the wonder of nature, and I am motivated to put the work in to achieve that. The Lord has been unwaveringly sweet and gracious to me for allowing me this time to recenter on who He is and who He is still making me to be.

Picturing the Promised Land

Why do you keep trying to picture the Promised Land?

During a time of such uncertainty where making plans nearly feels painful, I’ve been yearning for something absolute. Each time disappointment and defeat has washed over me in the last two months, I’ve had to choose to remember the Lord’s promises which prevail beyond what I’m able to plan for. Like most people, I have hopes for what my future might look like. I feel settled about certain desires God has placed in my heart, but frustration sets in when I realize that I’m unable to picture them in a palpable way. While on a prayer bike ride yesterday (highly recommended), I felt the title of this blog come over me with the question: “Why do you keep trying to picture the Promised Land?” I’ll use the Abrahamic covenant of the Promised Land to depict my conviction from this. Two thousand years before Jesus was born, through Abraham, God promised the land we know as Israel to His people. Abram (as he was first called) was living a comfortable life in old age before God called him to leave it all behind:

The Lord had said to Abram, “Leave your native country, your relatives, and your father’s family, and go to the land that I will show you. I will make you into a great nation. I will bless you and make you famous, and you will be a blessing to others”… So Abram departed as the Lord had instructed. (Genesis 12:1-2, 4)

When reading the Bible, it’s easy to miss the emotions behind the actions we read about. Abraham trusted the Lord without any other picture of this Promised Land besides knowing it as “The Land of Milk and Honey,” and left his life for the unknown, becoming the father of the Hebrew people. Abraham was a human just like you and me. Although his faith in the Lord was obviously enough to make the decision to obey, I doubt it was without hesitation. If God asked us to do something similar in today’s age, I imagine responses of “But can I bring this?” or “Will I still have that?”. Abraham likely had some questions of his own, but God’s promise was enough of a picture to satisfy his soul.

I think we try to picture the Promised Land because we like to feel in control. Many of us trust God to make good on His promises, but we still worry because we can’t know what it will look like when He does. We know God will make sure we find a job that provides for our needs, but deep down we’re afraid it won’t pay enough to allow for the lifestyle we’re comfortable with. To that I say, we were never meant to live comfortably. We know God has someone out there for us to marry, but we worry it’ll take too long. Yet, we’re foolish to think we’re ready now, if God thinks we’re not. We’re scared we’ll never get to a place of contentment and happiness, but God gently asks if we’ve let Him show us what true joy looks like. God promises us a land of milk and honey in our own lives through intimate relationship with the creator of the universe. He allows the desires of our hearts to come alive when our hearts are aligned with His. Still, we struggle to fully trust in these promises because we do not know what they will look like– or more honestly, if they will look like what we want them to.

Did Abraham try to picture what life in the Promised Land would look like before he left his homeland? Probably. But remembering the Lord’s covenant to him and his descendants (including you and I) allowed him to confidently follow God’s calling. For me personally, this all calls for a ceasing of striving. I am quick to try to make things happen on my own, just because I know God has called me to something generally. This becomes a problem when I stop consulting God for each next step, and try to jump ahead to the Promised Land.

After Abraham and his family spent some time in the Promised Land (then known as Canaan), a famine hit and they were forced to flee to Egypt for food. In time, the Hebrew people were perceived as a threat and enslaved there for over four hundred years. This is what the Bible says during part of the journey of returning to Canaan:

When Pharaoh finally let the people go, God did not lead them along the main road that runs through Philistine territory, even though that was the shortest route to the Promised Land. God said, “If the people are faced with a battle, they might change their minds and return to Egypt.” So God led them in a roundabout way through the wilderness toward the Red Sea. (Exodus 13: 17-18)

How beautiful is it that God ensured His people would receive His promise, even though it may not have been the way they imagined? It wasn’t the quickest way, but it was the way God saw was best fit. If trying to picture the Promised Land is keeping you from wholeheartedly trusting in and following God, remember this…

What’s more, I am with you, and I will protect you wherever you go. One day I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have finished giving you everything I have promised you. (Genesis 28:15)


Easter Everywhere

Our celebration could never be canceled.

Today I drove around my hometown with the windows down, worship music blaring, my voice cracking as I sang as painfully loud as I could.

I passed dozens of families enjoying the sunshine, but their smiles felt warmer than anything else.

Someone on a firetruck stood tall in a bunny suit, entourage vehemently waving back to my honking.

A lively congregation of parked cars in a church lot raised flags & hands in reverence of our risen King, bringing me to tears.

All of this after watching my pastor preach from a laptop at the kitchen table in a tie-dye t-shirt.

Very few things about this Easter came as I would have expected weeks ago. But the story has not changed, and this celebration could never be canceled. Jesus’ death and resurrection is the single greatest act of love this world will ever know. Take today to digest the fact that Jesus was a human man who walked on the same Earth we do. He was crucified: nails hammered into his hands & feet, left hanging there until He died. Priests & passersby mocked Him with the audacity to laugh as he suffered.

Remind yourself of this again tomorrow.

Let us never forget the inconceivable sacrifice Jesus made so we could enter into relationship with Him. Let the story of Easter never lose its shock factor. Let us find joy in this season of uncertainty in the glimpses of His goodness we still get to witness every day, when we widen our perspective enough to look for it. The glory of Easter is everywhere.





What if comfortable has never been what we’re called to, and we fully trusted the chaos to be calmed?

The title of this blog has been sitting in my notes and drafts for months. This word “unhurried” was a whisper from the Lord quite some time ago. After the weight of accelerated schooling and striving for insubstantial goals caught up to me, I knew I needed to slow my pace. I even wanted to, but didn’t really know how, because it wasn’t something I was used to– I’d been go, go, go for too long. I’m always looking for the next adventure around the corner; oftentimes, I dissociate with the present because of this. I have a wild zest for life that I try to tame and preserve, but when I’m moving too fast it’s hard to do so.

What better time than in the middle of a pandemic, restricting us from the hubbub of our daily routines, to pause and consider how hurried we really are? My heart aches as the world collectively suffers sickness, fear, and disappointments. Cancellations have us scrambling to regain control and some semblance of normalcy. Our default mode is to get comfortable again amidst this chaos… but what if comfortable has never been what we’re called to, and we fully trusted the chaos to be calmed?

A month ago, I bought seven plane tickets. I was accepted into and registered for a study abroad experience of a lifetime, with a backpacking excursion to follow with my best friend. She and I stayed up on the phone for hours on end over many nights, meticulously researching and planning for this dream of a trip. As you know the story to go, my study abroad was canceled by the school and it is no longer safe to travel to Europe at all. I prepared myself through prayer as best I could for this outcome, and the Lord truly gave me a sense of peace about it from the moment I got the news. I meditated on Psalm 112:7– even though I’d read it before, its simple grace resonated differently: “They will have no fear of bad news; their hearts are steadfast, trusting in the Lord.” 

But of course (and I’ll say it bluntly), this still sucked. We were devastated, and we’re still trying to sort through the logistics of rescheduling our trip with the same amount of uncertainty of when this will end looming over us. I’m no longer able to graduate according to plan. By God’s grace I’m still able to finish my main program by the end of this year, but part of my coursework has to change and that sucks too. I’m confident anyone reading this could come up with some way their lives have been altered by COVID-19. We will forever remember this time as one that was unprecedented in today’s society, but I challenge you to spend it learning to be okay with “unhurried.”

There is absolutely nothing wrong with rescheduling events and wanting to get things back in order– but we can do all of this without the haste. Before I started to write this, as I sat at my desk this Saturday morning, I felt rushed to get as much work done as I could. Although nothing was urgent (and I’m sure I have plenty of time at home in the coming weeks), my mind is trained to keep up with my obligations any time I have the ability to. I wrote a blog last year called “On Pacing” which serves as a reminder to slow down on the rat race. Today, with our paces being involuntarily slowed and our resources being cataclysmically stripped away, it’s important to rest in our one true provider.

“So do not start worrying: ‘Where will my food come from? Or my drink? Or my clothes? Instead, be concerned above everything else with the Kingdom of God and with what he requires of you, and he will provide you with all these other things. So do not worry about tomorrow; it will have enough worries of its own. There is no need to add to the troubles each day brings.” -Matthew 6:31-34

Childlike Faith

Do you want to be an astronaut veterinarian?

If you ask my seven year old brother what he wants to be when he grows up, he will tell you he’s going to be an astronaut veterinarian. We all know that’s not impossible, but it’s also highly unlikely. In the mind of a child, he will be whatever he wants to be. He’s not worried about how he’ll pay for college and the complexity of achieving both career goals certainly doesn’t faze him; his ingenuous response is full of faith.

I think most busy adults would agree that they’d love to be a kid again. Life is so much simpler when you don’t have to pay the bills, take care of others, or make life-altering decisions. But as it goes, we spend the majority of our lives post-childhood earning credentials and climbing ladders. It starts in school when we’re compared against elusive standards and continues as we enter the workforce– the same evaluations, just adding in a quest to earn money. If not as much as possible, at least enough to take care of obligations. We transition from whimsical aspirations to mundane routines which are dependent upon our own ability to accomplish tasks and achieve goals. What if instead, we lived out of the providence of our Father?

As the Lord has begun to shift my perspective this year, I’m understanding a new side of our relationship than I had been used to: childlike faith. There is a lot to learn from the mindset and position of a child.

Matthew 18:2-4 (TPT) reads:

Jesus called a little one to his side and said to them, “Learn this well: Unless you dramatically change your way of thinking and become teachable, and learn about heaven’s kingdom realm with the wide-eyed wonder of a child, you will never be able to enter in. Whoever continually humbles himself to become like this gentle child is the greatest one in heaven’s kingdom realm.”

I love this translation because there are a few truths I’ve gleaned from it that may not be as easy to recognize otherwise.

  1. Dramatically change your way of thinking. Becoming like a child is not a simple task– it essentially requires us to rewire our brains and begin to see the world differently. There is a drastic difference between the way children think and the way adults think, but we can effectively manifest both when we mesh dependence with wisdom.
  2. Become teachable. Pride is a sin issue many of us struggle with. If it’s not yourself, I’m sure you know someone who is too stubborn to admit they’re wrong, and hesitates to take correction. We must host a humble spirit.
  3. Continually humble yourself. “Continually” is the key word here. Learning to surrender our control to Jesus is a process, and within that there is always grace for ourselves and those around us.

Childlike faith is all about innocent and unrestrained trust in God. In the most practical sense: why should we worry if God’s not worried? I’m no bible scholar and I’ll never claim to be. But for me, what I’ve learned from meditating on this concept is that the Lord has called us to leave behind our busy lives of striving and simply let Him be our Father.

Let Him provide for you. Listen to his instruction.

Believe that He will take care of all your needs AND bring your dreams to fruition.

Live out of that headspace, and become like a child again.