I could use a road trip and a quiet glimpse of the ocean.

It’s been four years already.

And lately I have wanted to live in this song:

It does all the right things; just long enough to keep on repeat. I have no idea what he’s talking about and yet, I know exactly what he means. So I added it to my hodge-podged BIG CITY COFFEE BREAK playlist. And I keep going. No longer running on what used to power me through. Everything is changing and I’m not the same person on the inside.

I have seen an ocean within the past four years, but not the one I most came to admire. Not the one that comforted me through everything and sea-stoned my soul.

I have half written lyrics and half a dozen opening lines. Like, this is the tenth September since my mother died. Except I never called her ‘mother’. And so it feels awkward. Overly ivy-league. English-majored. Neither of which am I.

I am, today, just tired. ha. But strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. Full of two plain white-corn arepas that I hope I won’t regret in the morning. Sipping on Topo Chico. All unsponsored.

everyone knows, you’re just a silver lining.

my favorite line in the song. a whole entire vibe.

Yall, can I just say that life has come at me fast in the past 6 months worth of moments. 2020 was a rich and cozy year for me, thoroughly savored and slowly enjoyed. And this is a good year, too. Good things are happening now. Things that I always in some way suspected would come to pass; but I’m not the woman I thought would be living through them.

I think I know what’s the catalyst of all of this. I just wrapped up a really intense interview process for a position that I – praise God from whom all blessings flow – was offered and accepted. And they asked about my history. Which, before these past four years, was California. Folkbird.Co. Jobs I’ve Had. The {ongoing} Choreography of Birds.

So this is will be the tenth September since my mom died. Which makes this the tenth summer since I was a North American Mission Board intern. That one time I was an international church-planting missionary . . . the life I get to lead.

This summer we are planting again. And by we, I mean me among a new group of {not via NAMB} saints to scatter seeds with. It’s becoming just as fun as the first time.

The song starts again and it feels like something that could carry a whole soul off into the ether. I’d love to know what we’re made of . . . that I hear so many of my memories in Jordan Beckett’s breathing.

I think what I like is his honesty. Everything he sings sounds as plain as he could possibly sing it. Like this is just the raw, unfiltered truth of what he’s lived through. Even in metaphors and made up stories. A Haywire Revel. Forty-Five Sleeping Giants.

everything floats. Miss Dead Sea, I swim free.

So I could use a roadtrip and a glimpse of the ocean. The wild coast. The cold, pacific west one. With thirty-two year old eyes this November and an even more glorified spirit behind them.
So pruned. Still holy.

oh me, oh my. oh

It’s so hard to be an artist sometimes.

. . . & &


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