“Trust me,” the Holy Spirit whispered, interrupting my thoughts with a gentleness. How could he remain calm while I was losing my mind? He was responding to what I’d cried out moments before—Please, just tell me what to do. I was on treatment for a digestive health issue while also suffering from a few other minor health conditions. Because I lacked a complete understanding of why my body was experiencing such challenges, all I could think about was my discomfort and the dark cave of uncertainty in my chest. Fear had occupied every space in my mind and, falsely believing that I myself played a substantial role in overcoming the trial I was in, I needed to know what to do.

“How am I supposed to do that?” I questioned. I was aware that a number of my symptoms were caused by the medication I’d been on at the time, but truthfully, I feared the medicine wouldn’t work, or that I would never recover from its unbearable side effects, or that my battles with anxiety and self-abuse had worsened my health issues to the point of being incurable. Searching everywhere else for answers had proved to be no good, so I questioned God’s reliability. I was physically weak and beginning to believe that weakness was my portion in every aspect of life. It felt like I was always being blindsided by more suffering, so how could I wholeheartedly put my trust in him?

I pulled out my phone and opened the bible app, desperately wanting God’s Word to drown out my doubts and worries about my life…about Him. The app had been left on 1Peter 4, and I felt God nudging me to scroll to the end of the chapter. I could practically feel the anticipation of God’s relief and rest warring with the perplexity inside me. My tired eyes read the glossy screen marred by thumb prints: “Therefore let those who suffer according to the will of God commit their souls to Him in doing good, as to a faithful Creator” (1 Peter 4:19, NKJV). I thought, I don’t want to suffer anymore, primarily considering the physical suffering I was enduring, but after a minute, I realized what I really wanted was to no longer suffer at the hands of my own rejection of God’s love. I reflected on how I’d turned from it in shame, ran from it in anger, and I’d abused his grace because I didn’t understand it. I knew this absolutely could not go on and my heart yearned in agreement. Whenever I’d find myself experiencing hardship, I would believe it fell on me to thoroughly search out the matter, and as a result, I blindly ushered in years of stress, anxiety, and depression.

I’d wanted to know what to do with myself amidst the trial I was in, and he’d answered me. Keep on doing what is right, and trust your lives to the God who created you, for he will never fail you (1 Peter 4:19, NLT). Instead of resting and receiving what God had spoken, I felt a heap of anger in my chest. I wanted to trust him, but the invitation to relinquish control seemed too good to be true. It felt like the opposite of the right thing to do for someone I believed deserved serious reprimanding. I thought How could I wash my hands of the mess I’ve made of my life? but I was missing the point—that I am called to trust the God who created me and not myself, despite having done so times past. At the time, I couldn’t meditate on the freedom available to me in Christ because I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off myself, and this misdirected focus is what had formerly led to self-abuse, self-loathing, and doubt.

The anger in my chest rose and I nearly choked, feeling it in my throat. I wanted to scream, but I feared drawing attention to myself, so I shut my eyes as tight as I could, grabbed either side of my head, and forced it into my lap. The thoughts in my mind were the loudest they’d ever been, coming to me quicker than I could process. After a few minutes of being positioned like this, I had a vision. With my eyes still shut, I began to see red and then flames all around me. I was standing up, frantically wondering what to do while racking my brain for some sort of explanation as to how I’d gotten here in the first place. I paused, and amid the flames, I saw a glowing silhouette of a man across from me. He appeared to be completely sound and at rest, seated on the ground in the fire. I knew instantly that the man was Jesus, my Lord and Savior, and opening my eyes a few seconds later, I began to sob. How caring of Jesus to acknowledge the pain I was feeling. How kind of him to remind me He was there through it all.

That night, I did not completely allow God’s love and kindness to take hold of me—I went to bed angry with myself—yet in my heart’s unwillingness to soften, I held on to the vision. He truly was with me in my suffering, and I came to realize that my knowing He’s with me would change the trajectory of my response, both in that season and during any period of adversity in the future.

That was a few months ago, and though I am still experiencing symptoms in my body, I understand that faith is not predicated on my understanding of anything. I don’t need a breakdown of what is occurring in my body, or even in my mind, to trust God, and because I can trust him, there is no need to find a way out. My way out is already here, peacefully seated next to me in the presence of adversity. He is not keeping tabs on my shortcomings, so I can rest assured that my sin has not “found me out,” and instead believe it no longer has power over me. This liberating truth is like no other, inviting me to rest even in the fire.

It’s been a while, and like each post I write after some time away, I have newfound wisdom and revelation to share from the overflow of my time with Abba. I apologize if you were expecting something different (not really).

I’ve been through the fire, and this time, I’m revealing my scars and letting you see just where it got really hot.

***

In May of last year
I hated myself, and in
some ways I still do.
I don't want to cry
about it. No need to shed
tears over self-loathing
if the self knows I loathe.
I think I know her, but
this May she leaped,
with fear in her back,
and it was one for the
books. But pages remain
of her own disdain. Do I
rip them out?

***

I know I’m not the first to disclose the raw truth about self-loathing, but I would like to write about God’s Truth along with it. Because I don’t gain anything from sharing the hard in life apart from God’s goodness, and neither does He for that matter.

Last May, I did not like the girl I saw when I looked in the mirror, not because of her looks, but because of who I believed she was—a monster. It hurt realizing just how much I disliked God’s daughter, but I couldn’t imagine things being any other way, so I did what I believed she deserved—I sabotaged everything.

That summer, somewhere in my journal I wrote:

I didn’t want to take my life then, and I don’t desire to now. I just no longer want to be…her.

But I don’t become someone else—the woman God created me to be—by first hating myself. Self-loathing is not what Jesus wills when he says to lose your life for His sake and then you will find it (Matt. 16:25). Doing so doesn’t allow me to see the truth—I’ve already become someone new in Him. Through Christ, I’ve become the righteousness of God.

This anger I sometimes have toward myself doesn’t stem from zeal for God’s creation. Neither is it influenced by his jealousy for me. It is rooted in self. It is a result of growing tired of doing things my way only for me to create a new plan and produce everything but fruit. And when I do see the “fruit” of my labor, I frown in disgust and attempt to kick it as far away as possible. But after bearing bad fruit time and time again, I grow angry and question God’s creation. Surely, there must be something wrong with me, I like to think.

But there’s nothing wrong with me. I am merely trying to produce something of good report without God, who is good, and if there’s anything wrong, it’s my believing that this is possible.

The only way to see real change is to first understand that the flesh, in its entirety, is already dead, and that there is no reviving what is dead without Jesus, yet this is what I was attempting to do—force something good out of me apart from God.

But nothing good dwells in the flesh (death)!

For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out.

‭‭Romans‬ ‭7‬:‭18‬‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I am not to blame for the mortality of the flesh, but I must keep it where it was crucified—on the cross. This revelation removes the blame off of believers, freeing us from sin to raise to righteousness in Christ.

We are free in Christ, and when we see ourselves as such, we find ourselves beneath the fountain of grace that is Christ’s blood, as God intended for us.

For God has not destined us for wrath, but to obtain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ.

‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭5‬:‭9‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God’s wrath is not headed my way. In fact, I have peace with God, having obtained access into the grace I now stand in (Rom. 5:2). All things considered, who am I to put aside the grace of God and allow room for self-hatred to take root in my heart? If the wrath of God himself is not coming for me, how could I let my own get in the way?

I don’t hate myself. I hate the constant pattern of growing in Christ and then failing again and again. But this still is a matter of misdirection. What I hate is sin and death.

The failing and getting back up are part of the race, but it is to be ran with endurance, not perfection (Heb. 12:1). Where sin increases, grace abounds, but a misunderstanding of God’s grace leaves an open door for death to sneak in, and self-loathing is bound to rise within (Rom. 5:20).

The flesh is dead, and it’s alright to shed tears of frustration as I grapple with this truth—they water the soil of the new ground I’m standing on in Christ. As his grace continually flows toward me, there is no room for disdain. I can fall and rise again, hidden in him.

So, I don’t need to rip out any parts of my story, not even those where I questioned my existence. I’m being molded into something new, and that just means I get to see my story, written by God himself, get better and better from here.

I’m praying the same for you.

         When we get to Target, I ask her what kind of formula she wants. 
	“Whatever they have is fine,” she mumbles. I knew what she’d say, but I want to give her a sense of agency. It isn’t fine and it hasn’t been for a while now, but she’s in despair. I back-in park so I don’t have to reverse when we leave. She’s always worried that someone will hit us, that she and the baby will get hit first. 
I go inside and head straight to the familiar aisle. There are various options before me, options that I don’t heavily consider because I don’t know a thing about formula. I’ve failed at trying to send Laila in here. She refuses to be seen grabbing formula, despite me telling her that there is nothing to be ashamed of. “He’s only three weeks old, Jonah,” she’d said. “I should be his milk supply. It’s sad.” 
          I grab the Enfamil we’ve used before off the top shelf and walk to the front of the store. There’s a young girl at an open register. This’ll be easy. I place the formula on the belt and walk up, close to the pinpad, so as not to be heard by anyone. 
	“Are you all hiring?” It comes out sooner than I’d planned it to. The girl is no more than 18 years old, probably working here for spending money. I think I understand how Laila feels now. It takes considerable humility to do something you thought you’d never have to.  
	“I’m not sure. If you check our website, you should be able to see our open positions.” I am trying to read her face for signs of judgement, but I can’t make out anything. These pillars of humility I’ve spent forever building are on the verge of crumbling. What does she think of me, a thirty-two-year-old man, asking for a job at Target? I know they are hiring because I’ve checked the website every night this week. There are only cashier positions available, and I don’t believe I can stand on the opposite side of this register, in this store down the street from our neighborhood, from our friends who’ve known me to be the friend who has it all together. I’d thought I could flush my pride by making conversation with someone here. It only makes things worse. 
         I pay and leave the store.  
         Laila doesn’t know I’ve been contemplating taking on a second job. Her face has been stuck in this downward turn since her milk supply decreased and I don’t want it to harden. 
         He’s crying when I reach the car. I shut the door and Laila looks up at me through the rearview mirror, her eyes red. I turn around to see her trying to get him to latch onto her, but she isn’t successful. She breaks. 
         “I’m a waste of woman,” she says. This is when my tears begin to fall. I start the car and leave the lot. 
	“Don’t say that, Lai. Things’ll work out.” I reach my hand behind the driver’s seat for her to grab. She doesn’t.

Thanks for reading!

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I wrote this poem about two weeks ago, on my twenty-third birthday (12/23), a self-portrait, captured in a mere moment, which illuminates all that I’ve become and who I am becoming in the hands of God. I don’t know what he has for me this year, but I will trust in Him and his strong arm that has never let me go.

“Self-Portrait on my 23rd Birthday”

Grooves on a boulder, evidence
of tribulation, and little paths taken
toward my own truth. 
Are they so prominent now
after love has smoothed me over?
I’ve got courage for a back
and hope on my shoulders,
new eyes of faith too. 
Belief keeps my heart beating
inside a chest of certainty.
I’m certain now, you see? 
A scepter of righteousness
is eternally extended toward me, 
held by a hand heavy with grace. 

Needless to say, this way of living was nothing short of exhausting and demanding, and it made determining a point of success nearly impossible. I found myself always doing and needing whatever I put my hand at to be perfect, and this behavior only worsened when I started college in 2021. All throughout my freshman year, I realized I didn’t know as much about myself as I’d thought, but instead of sitting at God’s side and asking him to show me the truth about my place in this world, in his world, I believed I had to figure it out on my own, and every single day became a day of striving. I’d attempt to prove to myself that I was good enough—at being a student, writing, learning, friendship, relationships, planning, and several other roles I can’t think of at the moment. To do lists and schedules were my entire life, serving as mantras I lived by, and when I failed to achieve what I’d called myself to do, I felt like it was the end of the world.

Little did I know, it was the end of my “world” apart from Christ.

Fast forward to 2025

About two months ago, a good friend of mine held a field day for a few people she knows. I came ready to have fun and run in a relay race, maybe participate in harmless games and one or two small competitions. However, this field day was not at all what I’d thought—or hoped—it would be.

Out on the field I thought “I need more time to learn how to play all these sports,” and “I don’t have to be athletic because this isn’t my ministry,” and while these thoughts may’ve been true, they weren’t serving any purpose at the time, when I stood beneath the afternoon sun on a field, one of four before a volleyball net. I was holding my arms, subconsciously attempting to cradle myself because of how uncomfortable I felt. “Come on, Chiaryn, you got this,” someone would say, but my belief in my own smallness on that large field shielded me from those words.

At one point, the ball, scorched by the sun and controlled by the gazes of the others on the field, seemed to be coming directly at me. I realized that as it fell in my direction, they were expecting me to hit it and keep the game going. Believing I was merely a prop, I watched as the ball hit the ground and then as the men on my side of the net looked at me. Though they were squinching their eyes from the sun, I could still make out what I believed were the expressions of irritation or mere tolerance of me—a placeholder for a better player.

Things aren’t in order here. This isn’t my strong suit, I thought and “Yeah, I’m book smart,” was what I often let out after I failed at something. I realize now that sometimes you just get thrown into the game, or at least into something you aren’t really prepared for, and the call to action is not one of demand, but one of grace. Every time I’d miss the ball or shrink back in fear, one of my teammates would help, saying things like “Hey, if it comes your way and you can’t hit it like this, just try and push it with the tips of your fingers” while demonstrating. They’d even given me six attempts to serve the ball, though not one of them went over the net, and after each game someone would say “Good game” with their hand up waiting for me to meet their high-five.

I didn’t have to be athletic or know how to play volleyball. My invitation to the field day told me I was wanted there, and in light of that I really just needed to try.

Romans 5:3-5 ESV “Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

That weekend, I’d been busy with freelance work, mentoring a young girl, and preparing to start a project for my mom. On top of everything, field day was simply too demanding. I felt like too much was being asked of me. “Who am I, that I should be called to fill all these roles? It’s too much,” I told God. I now realize each task I completed that weekend was something I’d prayed for beforehand.

I want to be clear: My overwhelm was not a result of me trying to work to please God, but rather of me attempting to carry Spirit-led work without the Spirit. I failed to realize that I wasn’t burdened with too much but graced with just enough.

I sometimes struggle with believing my value is tied to my performance, so when I find myself out on a metaphorical field, one where I surely can’t be valued because I’m no good at what is being asked of me or because I haven’t learned everything there is to know about a thing, I have a hard time participating, even in the smallest way. And when there are several tasks at hand, I feel overloaded and I look to the hills—not for help, but to raise a fist at God and question him about the blessings he seems to keep sending my way.

Still, he loves me enough to place me in positions to help others, be helped in doing so, and learn everything I need to as I play the game. I’ve been called for such a time as this and in knowing this, I can now be appreciative of everything and everyone I find myself making connections with, whether it be through work, discipleship, or something as simple and fun as a field day.

I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength—juggle several assignments at once (and thrive at them all), and be a participant in His kingdom in ways I’ve never thought I could.

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

‭‭Galatians‬ ‭6‬:‭2‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I’ve pondered on this for a long time while also being frustrated with myself for my own fear of engaging in community. I’ve tried many times to be vulnerable before those around me, specifically before my family, but I found it to be too hard. Not because I didn’t deem them worthy of knowing the real me, but because I was afraid to relent and appear broken before them.

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I was the problem, and this wasn’t easy to accept for a while—I wanted everything but this to be true. Maybe they’re just not the vulnerable type, I’d thought after realizing it was easier for me to vent and share with others, like friends. They probably don’t like hugs, I’d told myself, believing I could go on without some form of physical touch that shows they see me or that they care. I became tired of this, of myself. I wanted change, and it came at the right time.

A few weeks ago, I asked God to help me and my family dispel the fear of growing closer. I’d woken up with the request on my mind, my body tense and riddled with a subtle rage as a result of built up emotions. Later that day, when I was at the foot of my bed on my knees journaling, I whispered to God about a trying season I found myself in a few years ago. I wanted to know where he was during it all and to see him beside me in some of my lowest moments. As I closed my eyes, he brought specific moments to mind that only he knew were breaking points, revealing his presence in each one. I became so full of love and hope, and I stood to my feet, unable to keep it to myself. Suddenly, I felt as if I’d received new eyes. I began to see my friends and family through the thickest lens of love, growing overwhelmed with compassion for them. This must be how God feels about us, I thought. No, he said. I feel even greater love.

After seeing them in a new light, one allowing love to thoroughly search me, I was overcome with emotion and cried for a few minutes. I didn’t hold back, and I didn’t feel like I once did: that I’m too sensitive, or that I feel too deeply. I went downstairs to hug my parents, attempting to explain how my tears were those of relief.

“I don’t like how we often suffer in silence and allow distance to grow between us when we’re going through something,” I said as I hugged my dad. “I don’t want that to be the norm for us anymore.”

I pictured God smiling and felt him right there in the grip of that hug. What I’ve believed in my heart since I was a child (but tried many times to deny) came to me then: hard times are okay as long as I have my people to go through them with me.

I realize now that my moment of truth shared with my parents on that day happened to be the day before we discovered my dad would need to receive emergency surgery. I’m glad to have let God break yet another yoke of bondage off of me, enabling me to be there and care for my earthly father through a difficult and uncomfortable time in his life.

“I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you. Only let us hold true to what we have attained.”

Philippians 3:14-16 ESV

It’s a struggle to press on toward the goal mentioned in Philippians 3 when we fear or are reluctant to engage with those around us and be vulnerable, but the truth is that community breeds strength and capability, shaping and molding us. Christ pursues us individually, but in carrying one another’s burdens, we can press on toward the goal collectively. I hadn’t known my hindrance to engage was affecting my walk with Christ, but he revealed this to me, just like Paul says he would (Phil. 3:15).

In light of this, I won’t hold myself back from playing my part in my community, even if it feels like I’m the only one aware of the need for the closeness, comfort, and transparency it brings. Those close to me aren’t perfect, but we love one another deeply, and we’re becoming more like Christ as a result.

In my own walk with Christ, this certainty I have about God stems from a deep trust in him…

• I know he is my Father and that I’m loved

• I know he wants (and has) good things for me

• I know he cares about everything that concerns me, maybe even more than myself

• I know I’m the righteousness of God in Christ because I experience the benefits of the righteous every day

Since I’ve began trusting God with my life, I feel and see him in everything, and I want everyone I know to do the same. This trust wasn’t built overnight, but it grew over time, and it’s available to us all. We all, in one way or another, come to the end of ourselves—often more than once—and surrender to God, growing in grace and truth each time we choose to behold him again. Remaining in a state of dependency on him is what calls for watching him as he watches us—locking eyes with him as we are tested, tempted, and tried. “We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed,” Paul writes, and now I know it to be true. As I’m pressed on every side, I know the poking and prodding of the world are not to my demise, but only to tempt me to turn away from God. And though sometimes I do fall short, I always remember who I’ve received and what I’ve received from him: sonship; righteousness; eternal life amongst other riches.

Though right now I see dimly, I meet his gaze as I’m tried, and the pressing, poking, and prodding seem to drive me closer and closer to him.

Two weeks ago my friends hosted a bible study, and we studied the thorn in Paul’s flesh in 2 Corinthians. I thought of the invitation from Christ to suffer in this life and realized that we all wrestle with God in one way or another during hard times, not always working out our salvation with fear and trembling or striving toward the greater santification awaiting us. Sometimes, I wrestle to be left alone, crying in frustration and anger, wishing I could be exempt from pain and suffering.

At some point during the bible study, my friend and I looked each other in the eyes for a second. She’d just shared with us what she was going through and admitted it’s hard to keep hope and a lifted head in the midst of everything. I voiced my agreement, speaking about the long and trialsome walk with Christ, and though we both know it is all the more worth it, we don’t think or feel this way all the time.

Three days ago, as I sulked and scrolled on Instagram for the fifth hour in a row, wishing for sadness, grief, and exhaustion to cave in on itself, I came across Romans 8:18 twice, mentioned by two different believers.

“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”

‭‭Romans‬ ‭8‬:‭18‬ ‭NKJV‬‬

For the first time in a long time, the weight of truth in this verse dawned on me. I know very well my thoughts and feelings change, but truth is unwavering, and the truth is that I am the righteousness of God in Christ. This doesn’t mean I won’t experience hardship, but it means all things will work out for my good, not only in this lifetime, but also in the one to come (Rom. 8:28). I will reap a harvest if I allow God to hold me during my trials—and any other time for that matter—instead of sitting angry and desiring to be released from them all, forgetting that I’ve already been delivered from any and everything that even dares to threaten me because Christ has already died (and cannot and will not die again).

I thank God for reminding me that I am not who I used to be nor am I who the enemy wants me to be. I am only his elect, his daughter. Now, I just have to continue being honest with myself about this identity from here on out, no matter what situation I find myself in, and I can trust he’ll minister to me every time I forget.

With that being said, this is how I continue drawing others to Christ during hardship and struggle: by being honest about life, yet placing emphasis on the reality of any and everything it throws our way. I can share Christ with others even when I’m wavering because I’m still sure of where my help comes from, and it is when I serve another that I realize I myself am being pruned into wholeness.

I hope this read was encouraging and that you continue reigning in Christ.

I’ve referenced several works by James Joyce, a 20th century Irish novelist, including a few of his characters, but you’ll still be able to enjoy reading so don’t worry about getting lost!

Tuesday March 18, 2025

“Lemon Tree” 
This batch went to Dublin
and we made good on
our plans, watering 
our individual purposes
to blossom as a collective.

Two classmates and I were on a scavenger hunt, and as we walked the streets, I felt a growing desire to witness something miraculous at the turn of every corner. After leaving the Garden of Remembrance, we passed the Rotunda Hospital, which a classmate happily pointed out as the building which characters Corley and Lenehan pass in Joyce’s “Two Gallants” in Dubliners. It struck me then: I was standing in a city I had only known through pages. The references in Joyce’s work were no longer just literary—they were physical, and suddenly personal. Though we’d only been on Irish soil for a few hours, Dublin was already offering me comfort. In addition to the revelations sparked by the literature we’d studied, I felt an unexpected sense of ease in this unfamiliar city. The kind faces of locals on the street and the warmth of the bus drivers reassured me. I found myself ready to extend my stay.

Our first stop was visiting the James Joyce statue on North Earl Street, and as we headed there, I realized there was no need to wait for something extraordinary to happen. We’d come to James Joyce’s city not for spectacle, but for the subtle magic of recognition. We were nerds, yes—but we were basking in the fruit of our labor: Dubliners, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, and a slice of Ulysses. That was my “something miraculous.”

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After snapping several images before Christ Church Cathedral and St. Patrick’s Cathedral, we popped into Marsh’s Library, taking a moment to stop and smell the roses during our quest. The three-hundred-year-old interior pulled me deeper and deeper into the library, where I glossed books and manuscripts—some of which I couldn’t read—and I thought about the beauty and significance of the written word, how the pleasure of reading literature is found in the curiosity sparked by mere words on a page. Thick books, like the ones lining those old shelves, were once intimidating to me, but I’ve since shaken my fear, as I’ve found the existence of such literature is a reminder there is always more to learn. I thought about how I’d overcome my fear of attempting to read the bible, a long and old text, compelled by God himself to explore his Word and walk in his Light. I was reminded of the truth in scriptures written before I was conceived. Being in such a historic corner of Dublin fanned the flame of my literary wonder, and descending the winding stairs of the library down to the gift shop, Ulysses came to mind, and I supposed I could one day reapproach the lengthy work. I am confident in James, another writer whose words have moved me in exuberant ways before. In Dublin, reading Ulysses felt less like a daunting task that would await me forever and more like a novel I could pace myself through—just as we were pacing the city.

Wednesday March 19, 2025

I wish to know what it is to love where you’re from, to know every truth about it and not want to pull away but choose to reflect those truths with words.

At the Museum of Literature Ireland, which we toured after the GPO Museum, I do believe my mind as a creative was transformed. While learning about Irish writers, I reflected on the character of the Irish people—specifically their drive, and Joyce’s too. He left such a great impact on the world, I thought, while entering a small room that housed eight shelves of translations of Ulysses. Creative transformation begins with taking a leap of faith, and this is what Joyce did with every work of his. He drew from “a nearly supernatural belief in himself,” our tour guide said. He sought for his writing to transcend the limitations of Dublin, to present new ideas and ways of thinking to both writers and readers. Though he left the city, Joyce had the courage to be the artist, to reflect the truths about Dublin and its constraints through the strategic crafting of his words. Hearing about Joyce, I felt proud to be a writer, having associated myself with a group of creators. I want to share the experience of loving the place you’re from even after learning all about it, myself drawing from a belief in Christ within me. I left the museum with a small Irish poetry collection, hoping to gain more perspective.

Our next stop was the Ha’ penny Bridge Inn, where we attended a Musical Pub Crawl. The pub smelled like an old house someone was taking care of—damp and inviting. I continued thinking about the experience of cherishing and feeling emotionally tied to a place as I listened to the musicians perform traditional Irish music. Toward the close of the crawl—in Flanagan’s Bar and Restaurant—Anthony, one of the two musicians, said “It’s amazing to be a part of something that old and that wonderful.” Like the Ha’penny Bridge Inn, I thought. I admired how they’re proud to be Irish and unapologetically play their roles, dedicating their lives to the art of music. Joyce assumed a similar stance as a writer, dedicating his time to pursuing the calling of the artist. He, like Stephen, was aware of this calling from childhood. Was it his identity as an Irishman or as an artist that allowed him to recognize the desire for intellectual pursuits? I recall a moment from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man when Joyce writes that “The hour when he too would take part in the life of that world seemed drawing near and in secret he began to make ready for the great part which he felt awaited him, the nature of which he only dimly apprehended” (64). Stephen feels a part of something wonderful that has not yet manifested, a feeling all too familiar to the artist, and to me as a child of God. I felt a tugging similar to that of Stephen, having been called to write and to craft literature for the glory of the only one worthy of it. I sat in the corner of Flanagan’s Bar with my pen in my hand and my thin black notebook open before me, waiting to be filled with my personal collection of words.

Thursday March 20, 2025

Not quite situated in a new Dublin,
I live introspectively and walk
in the streets of a well-known novelist.
Did Joyce live similarly, in thought, in action? 
What does the artist know of living?
I don’t “live introspectively,” I frolic inside, 
away from those who wade with the currents 
of doctrine. It is safe here. The artist is not tossed
by those waves, but lives, not with what she knows,
but with what she does not.

We had a walking tour that morning, and it happened to be a bit warmer than the days prior. I waited with the group in front of the restored Georgian townhouse that is now the James Joyce Centre and pondered on what it means to be an artist. Is the meaning fostered during an artist’s life, or do we—readers of a well-known novelist and wanderers of his popular city—contribute to this meaning after the artist is long gone? I desired to share with someone my concerns, but the person I wanted to hear them—Joyce—was not with us. Once we began walking parts of the city I hadn’t yet explored, I realized, though Joyce was not present, his words were among us. We stood across and a few feet up the street from St. George’s Church as someone read aloud a quote from Ulysses. It was from the “Ithaca” episode, when Joyce writes, about both Stephen and Leopold, “Approaching, disparate, at relaxed walking pace they crossed both the circus before George’s church diametrically, the chord in any circle being less than the arc which it subtends” (544). I hadn’t thought that when the words fell on my ears, they would conjure in me a desire to assume the position of a child, ready and willing to sit there on the ground and crack open the text. This is how I feel when reading scripture, so I thought it wonderful to taste the literature of another, fully capable of savoring it; appreciative of what it is to be alive and hear a string of words, as in a song—a wired sculpt of a song in Joyce’s case. As I looked up at the church, hearing the squeal of a seagull flying by overhead, I wanted to hear more about Stephen’s undertaking and read the Joycean way of telling it. I came to understand that an artist earns their title through creation, yet their art endures beyond them. The artist was, is, and always will be—a truth Joyce seemed to grasp then as clearly as I do now.

A few hours later, we visited the National Library of Ireland to view the W.B. Yeats exhibit, and afterward, we spent time at the National Gallery. In both places, I found myself reflecting on the power of art to make things vivid. This brought A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man back to mind, and I realized there was a lasting connection formed as I read the novel—I was drawn to Stephen’s alertness and ability to step outside of himself to view himself as part of a larger whole. Joyce writes the character of Stephen with such clarity, delving into his inner world and making his young artistic mind perceptible to readers.

That evening we stopped by Sweny’s Pharmacy, a shop featured in Ulysses, and had our own Ulysses moment. We spoke with the owner for a while, and he asked us about our family history, wanting to share whatever knowledge he had about our roots. It felt like a random intermission during our journey to dinner. He wanted to know us, and I hadn’t thought about it until then, but I’d desired to be known while in Dublin. I’d come to James Joyce’s Dublin and, in doing so, found the time and space to reflect on my own story. At first, I thought, I don’t have a city I’m proud of that I can write about like Joyce had Dublin, but then I realized—maybe I can write about me: a young woman who loves literature and will travel the world to satisfy the ends of her curiosity and have as much of God’s creation possible be revealed to her while on earth. Even as the old man behind the counter, with his low grey eyes peering at each of us, seemed more amused than the group itself, I appreciated that each of us was called on. As we shared what we knew about our families’ histories, I thought of Dubliners—how everyone, everywhere, has a story worth telling.

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After having dinner at Vice Pizza & Wings Shop—the best I’ve ever visited— we made our way to a literary pub crawl—my first ever, and a great experience for everyone involved. The actors were incredibly talented, seamlessly reenacting literary moments and embodying figures like Oscar Wilde. I remember the elation I felt just being in the room. We began at the Duke Pub and ended at Davy Byrne’s Pub, but my favorite stop during the crawl was Trinity College. As we walked a small part of the campus, I imagined myself as a student there, strolling through the late evening with friends, passing the historic yet timeless buildings, soaking in the serene feel of it all. At the end of the crawl, a few of us chatted with a middle-aged Irishman who had a strong accent and shared his thoughts on how Americans tend to take shortcuts with their enunciation, failing to fully articulate words and letters. I enjoyed our short and funny exchange, especially when we discovered he’d been to Atlanta, Georgia. Hearing him say “Georgia” in his accent made his whole point about language click. He told us he loved the peach state, then surprised us by singing the opening line of “Georgia on My Mind” by Ray Charles. For the first time all week, I thought small world and felt content having connected with yet another native of Ireland.

Friday March 21, 2025

“Whether on the page or the stage, I always warm to things that are of Dublin.” –Bernard Farrell

On Friday morning, we toured the James Joyce Tower & Museum. It was cool to stand in a place Joyce—and Stephen, technically—had once lived, even if just for a week. The climb to the living quarter was a bit harrowing, with a winding staircase that was tight and dimly lit. When we finally reached the top, standing on the edge of the small circular room, I imagined the events of “Telemachus” playing out in slow motion: Haines yelling after a nightmare, Stephen waking at the sound. Outside, at the top of the tower, I felt a rush of gratitude looking out over the beach from up high and the city from afar. The people in the water down below, their skin damp and red, looked like their bodies were blushing. I was stunned to see them swimming in the cold, the sea calling to them no matter the weather. I made it, I thought, gazing across the water, to a place I hadn’t known I needed to see.

That evening, after we were forced off the train due to a wreck and had to find a way back to our mainland, I had some time to explore, so I stopped by as many stores, cafés, and shops as I pleased. One of my favorite places was Hodges Figgis Bookstore, and I made it a point not to leave empty-handed. The store had four levels filled with every kind of literature. Like any other bookstore, yes—but I’d never seen one so vast, with floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with rows and rows of books. The store seemed to me a stage of some kind, showcasing the voices of thousands of authors all over the world. Much like the bookstore, Dublin felt curated yet alive—its long streets a living archive, its people the characters bringing the story to life.

Saturday March 22, 2025

“I have a great reverence for writing. I believe the writer is the genius, or the genesis, at least.”

–Lynne Parker

I had the chance to visit the National Museum of Ireland and the Hugh Lane Art Gallery on our last day. I really enjoyed the art gallery, which we were able to roam free of charge, and where I discovered my love for oil paintings of landscapes—especially the “Fog off the Mediterranean” painting by Henri Joseph Harpignies. I thought This is the way it should be. I should be able to stand before transcendental art for free at home. I wanted to journal about what I saw in Harpignies’s painting, and in the others surrounding it, sitting behind those beautiful frame moldings, but I decided to continue observing. I walked through the gallery like I walked Dublin’s streets, eager to uncover a truth of some sort. I was already starting to miss the architectural buildings and the hum of the busy sidewalks.

Later that afternoon, our group met with Lynne Parker, the artistic director of Ireland’s Rough Magic Theatre Company—an absolute gem who clearly loves her work. I was captivated by her stories about pursuing a career in the arts after college and what it truly means to be an artistic director. She spoke with the passion of someone fully devoted to the creative sector, emphasizing the time, effort, and collaboration required in roles like actor, director, and playwright. Each one, she reminded us, is vital to the life of a production. Hearing her speak rekindled something in me. I made sure to thank her afterward, grateful for the spark of inspiration. Her words reminded me of the labor and heart that go into artistic work and made me reflect on the creative projects I’ve poured myself into during my time as a student. At times, I’ve felt discouraged pursuing creative writing, surrounded by the notion that art is just entertainment, but I know it’s more than that. Art is worth pursuing—it shapes us, challenges us, and connects us. The thought of purpose came to me again, followed by the revelation that what I create is the fruit of God, the production of my writing evidence of him. It is my duty to partner with him in shaping, challenging, and connecting. I thought of Joyce and his commitment to his craft and imagined him sitting beside us, listening intently to Lynne Parker’s words. I think he would’ve been just as pleased by her reverence for writers as I was.

That evening, we attended a new play titled Little One by Hannah Muscovitch. It was unlike anything I’d seen before—beautifully acted, though the plot was at times hard to follow. Still, I was grateful for the discussion that followed, where my fellow travelers and I shared our honest thoughts and listened closely to one another. As I looked around the table, I saw future film directors, writers, artists, actors, journalists, scientists, and critics. I thought, I’m not alone in this pursuit of creative work, even if our paths will each unfold differently. I loved that we could come together through our shared love of literature—it was the perfect way to end the trip.

Sunday March 23, 2025

Do I leave a piece of me in Dublin or bring a piece of Dublin with me?

I’m not sure if there is a proper way to leave a city you’ve connected with on many levels. I chose to leave in a taxi, the first car I’d been in since being in Dublin. It was hard to say goodbye and head to the airport, but I took the time to reflect on my week and all the amazing adventures we’d had. I do believe I will return to Dublin one day—maybe after reading and rereading some of Joyce’s literature, or to live for a while, or with my children to show them a piece of “a nation of the spoken word.” Whenever I come again, I think I’ll be just as excited as I was the first time around. I’d always dreamed of the words in a book coming to life, and in Dublin that dream came true.

Sources

• Joyce, James. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Edited by Seamus Deane, Penguin Classics, 1992.

• Joyce, James. Dubliners. Penguin Classics, 1967.

• Joyce, James. Ulysses. Edited by Hans Walter Gabler, Random House, Inc., 1986.

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Here’s a video to supplement the post I sent out recently. You can find that post here…

A Conversation about The Rich Man and Lazarus: Law meets Grace

Click here for scriptures referenced

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Anecia’s Platforms

Anecia is the minister of He Is Therefore I Am (HITIA) Ministries. Here’s her info so you can check her out. ❤️

• HITIA Ministries YouTube

• She Heard, She Believed, She Prospered Podcast

Don’t forget to read the original post on the rich man and Lazarus if you haven’t already!

Thanks for watching this video, and be on the lookout for more videos and conversations like this one. ♡

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Understanding God’s grace is crucial, so I make it my aim to share it with you, and as you read His word, revelation of truth won’t cease to come to you.

I’ll be praying for you guys. ❤️

The Story

In Luke 16, Jesus shares a story with the Pharisees about a rich man, unnamed, and a poor man named Lazarus. The rich man is “splendidly clothed in purple and fine linen” and “feasts sumptuously on a daily.” At his gate sits Lazarus, poor, desperate, and riddled with sores, humbly willing to accept the bits of food that fall from the rich man’s table. To make matters worse, dogs lick Lazarus’s wounds as he sits hungry and in agony.

Jesus goes on to say that when the rich man and Lazarus die, Lazarus goes to “Abraham’s bosom” and is comforted while the rich man goes to Hades. Now in a state of torment, the rich man wishes for Lazarus to help him, calling out to Father Abraham “Send Lazarus to dip the end of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in anguish in this flame.” Abraham tells the rich man his request isn’t permissible because there is a “fixed chasm” between the rich man and Lazarus.

Having accepted his eternal state of suffering, the rich man asks Abraham to send Lazarus to earth to warn the rich man’s brothers to repent and change their ways, “lest they also come into this place of torment,” but Abraham tells him that Lazarus won’t be raised (from the dead) to move anyone to repentance because Moses and the prophets were already sent by God to do this very thing.

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The Pharisees were arrogant and believed it was important to continue following after the Mosaic Law at this time when Jesus, the son of God sent to fulfill the law, was standing before them. In telling them this story, Jesus highlights the destruction one reaps when believing they are capable of upholding God’s laws. In the Pharisees’ case, they weren’t followers of the law solely because they saw it as the right thing to do in the eyes of God. Rather, they saw God’s law as convenient for their own self-preservation, using it as a means of oppressing poor and spiritually empty individuals. They had no desire to follow the messiah because they ultimately had no true desire to walk with God.

Read the full story of The Rich Man and Lazarus here.

What is Jesus telling us?

• Only Christ can save us from sin, death, wickedness, and evil—from ourselves! We are born into sin, placing us by default on the opposing side of God and His righteousness, but Christ died to reconcile us to God, freeing us from sin, and we played no role in this reconciliation. Rejecting Christ and following laws (God’s laws or our own wills)—what the Pharisees tried to do—keeps us in enmity with God, not in right standing with Him, and trying to please God without Christ (without belief and faith in Christ) stems from pride. Living this way will even have you choosing what laws benefit and don’t benefit you, and doing what is right in God’s eyes (if you so choose to follow Law) will no longer be about Him but solely about self-gain and self-preservation. Jesus’ story told in Luke 16 reveals that pride is the foundation beneath choosing self, and it binds us to our own wills. We are blindly led by the enemy into a life apart from God (who is life himself).

• While on earth, Lazarus greatly suffered (as a result of oppression). The rich man was aware of Lazarus’s predicament but did not acknowledge him nor share anything with him—neither his possessions nor the truth about God. This inability to share with Lazarus was rooted in the man’s seared perspective. He believed it was his obedience in following God’s law that got him to where he is—a place of living comfortably and with riches. This perspective would cause the rich man to think lowly of Lazarus, perceiving his lack as a result of failing to follow God’s Law. The rich man was blind to the truth: that God’s grace is what blessed both him and Lazarus; that true wealth is in knowing Christ.

• The story illustrates the end of operating in pride and boasting in self-effort: death (living apart from God in darkness and destruction), which manifests as relying on our own power, provision, and mindsets to orchestrate our lives. This way of life makes it nearly impossible for someone—like the rich man—to acknowledge God (believing and truly following him). Following our own wills slowly inclines our hearts to disregard the ways of God, and living this way happens consciously (knowing God but choosing self) and unconsciously (being unaware of the destruction caused by choosing self), causing both believers and nonbelivers to fall prey.

• Lazarus, a type and shadow of Christ, was made whole and righteous while the rich man suffered. The rich man did not love his neighbor, robbing himself of the opportunity to live in God’s grace and experience the truth of the abundant life while on Earth. In caring for the least, we care for Christ, but he stored up treasure for himself on earth and in rejecting Lazarus he rejects Christ, the Messiah.

• The rich man and his brothers all had the Prophets minister to them but chose to reject them and live a life absent of God. Though Christ would rise from the dead in due time, He was attempting to show the Pharisees themselves in telling this story. They would not heed the risen Christ if they had no interest in heeding the words of a messenger (also appointed and sent by God)—hence the Pharisees’ rejection of Jesus Christ during His ministry. Pride will hinder a person from receiving God’s word regardless of who is sharing it. Ultimately, the story exposes the rich man’s lack of knowledge of the truth about God’s grace extended to us through Christ, knowledge he forfeited in attempting to follow the law.

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Thank you for reading this post. Here’s a list of scriptures to meditate on…

• Romans 5:20-21 (ESV)“Now the law came in to increase the trespass, but where sin increased, grace abounded all the more, so that, as sin reigned in death, grace also might reign through righteousness leading to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

• Ephesians 2:4-5 AMP “But God, being [so very] rich in mercy, because of His great and wonderful love with which He loved us, even when we were [spiritually] dead and separated from Him because of our sins, He made us [spiritually] alive together with Christ (for by His grace—His undeserved favor and mercy—you have been saved from God’s judgment).”

• Ephesians 2:7 AMP “[and He did this] so that in the ages to come He might [clearly] show the immeasurable and unsurpassed riches of His grace in [His] kindness toward us in Christ Jesus [by providing for our redemption].”

• 2 Corinthians 5:21 AMP “He made Christ who knew no sin to [judicially] be sin on our behalf, so that in Him we would become the righteousness of God [that is, we would be made acceptable to Him and placed in a right relationship with Him by His gracious lovingkindness].”

• Matthew‬ ‭6‬:‭19‬-‭21‬ ‭ESV‬‬ - “‘Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.’”

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  God wants a relationship with you, and with every person, rich or poor. He wants to be your power and provision. He wants to walk with you even into eternity, but he also greatly desires to renew your mind and lead you in everyday life, walking with you on earth. From His love flows a desire for wisdom, for knowledge of the truth, and for yourself to experience more and more of him. From His spirit flows an assurance of hope and confidence. Choose Life (Him) today.

I want to begin sharing any writing that glorifies God, including my creative writing. Here’s a poem I wrote not too long ago, one I hope will ignite the wild wonder God has placed in you.

Enjoy…

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“The Stars”

Amid the stars, light shines
into me.
I admire 
                  but another creation
                  beneath His gaze. Declaring 
His glory
with a smile, 
His marvelous works 
                       with a reach. Make me vessel-like, I say. 

If the stars only are a testament,
then I still believe, 
and standing in faith,
                         those beams seem even brighter now.

Here’s to many more poems (and stories too)!

One day that summer, while I was home alone, I remember asking God to grant me the strength to endure what I was going through—I was so tired of hurting and I wanted to experience anything but physical pain, but I asked him anyway. In the most loving way, he told me I was missing the one important thing that would allow him to move on my behalf: faith. This came as a surprise because it seemed to me that my faith fueled my reliance on God during that time of my life. I thought I’d been believing him for my healing, but once I began to reflect on the previous months, I realized my actions had proved I wasn’t believing him for anything but I’d only been asking him for what he’d already given me through Christ. Day in and day out, I’d worried myself excessively, googling every symptom I had and reading nearly every article or study that popped up. I’d initially had more faith in the doctors than in God, and when they failed me, I turned to the internet. I thought this is all I can do if even the doctors don’t know what’s wrong with me. How could I have had faith in God while simultaneously stressing myself out (which only worsened every symptom)?

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That evening, alone in the living room, the Holy Spirit sat me down to show me how my approach to the situation had been wrong all along.

“You’ve been waiting to get better and for things to change, but you don’t believe I can and will change them. You don’t have faith in me.” His words led me to a place of deep thought as I began to wonder why I relied on my desire to be healed instead of on Christ to heal me, and it became clear I didn’t care so much about him showing up in my situation as I did about being healed and free from pain—not realizing that God showing up is freedom (2 Cor. 3:17). I was not concerned with his ability to change me amid my situation or with him proving himself trustworthy in doing so because I only wanted to be released from what I was experiencing, both mentally and physically.

A few minutes later I grabbed my notebook to record my revelations, and as I started writing, I realized it’s faith that makes room for God to pull through on his promises, not desire. Desire only goes so far because it is limited by boundaries, but faith isn’t limited because there is no limitation to God. He has no end and neither does anything he can or will do for his people. Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen (Heb. 11:1). Even a little bit of faith in God does wonders, and all that time it should’ve stood as the substance of the manifestation of my healing, but I only focused on how badly I wanted to feel normal again.

God can’t work with desire, and this is why we have to trust him to see things change. He wants bigger and better for us, but we first have to learn he’s the bigger and better. The trials of life are inevitable, and so is the pain that those trials may consist of, but Christ died so we wouldn’t have to settle for pain. He overcame death so that believers wouldn’t have to face it. When I received this revelation, not only did I pray for God to help my unbelief, but I also grasped the reality of my healing. I was already healed in Christ, but I’d believed I needed to work (worry) to heal myself. It was only a matter of receiving what had been offered to me as a product of his death and resurrection.

Over time, God’s word began to shift my mindset from a position of defeat to one of victory, and this is what allowed me to believe I would be healed despite what was occurring in my flesh, even after a diagnosis that was scary to hear. Today, I no longer suffer from pelvic, back, knee, or abdominal pain, and my gut health is being restored as I behold my Abba.

God is faithful regardless of your desires. Put your trust in him from a place of victory and watch him show up for you too.

The more I walk with Jesus, the more I desire what he desires for me and those around me. I’ve never wanted to work full-time. Rather, I am so hopeful for the opportunity to become a business owner and spend my days writing, creating, and mothering children—all of which Jesus has purposed me to do.

Though I’ve recently began to embrace my calling and walk in it fully, I recall a time when I tried my hardest to obtain what was already mine. In God’s hands, anything is possible, but several years ago, I found it served me to do things my way. I didn’t examine the fruit of my labor—disappointment over failed relationships, losing myself in trying to be considered a certain type of girl, overthinking every single decision just to avoid making one altogether—because not doing so meant I could keep walking through life with the fuel of my own might and determination.

Surrendering to Christ seemed too good to be true. That he desired to save me from myself and walk with me through everything sounded like a mere fairytale. After much trial and error, I was sure there was no “right” way to life, only a number of ways that lead to a mysterious destiny, but I am glad to write I was wrong.

There is only one way to life that really constitutes living—Jesus. Outside of him, there is no life, only reaching for more and failing to see your reaching is useless. When you aren’t in relationship with God and don’t know his Son, it may seem well to strive for a greater good—to try living for something perceived as good—but, and I write this as the Holy Spirit prompts me to, the greatest good is Christ, who has died, risen, and made you perfect in doing so (Heb. 10:14).

Life happens when you realize the world’s lies hold no promise of it. Your eyes were created to witness God’s outpour of love on you everyday, and your ears were created for you to hear all about it. His call to life is wrapped up in the gift that is Jesus Christ. There is no need to reach for something—or someone—that’s already drawn near to you.

Jesus knocks on the doors of our hearts, hope and peace in hand, grace and truth around his neck. Life begins here, at the end of the world’s greater and the beginning of God’s best.

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I like the idea of illustrating the feeling as one that bubbles inside me because it hasn’t quite been released yet. This semi-new wave of hope is rallying every other point of faith within me, causing me to wonder whether I should bring areas I’ve previously lost hope for to God. The answer is quite simple: yes, I should. But I’ve been struggling with this. If I bring every concern about everything in my life to God, then I really do have to give up trying to figure things out on my own. This is what makes this new hope scary. I have to now walk by faith and not by sight. I have to move from a place of comfort to a frightening place of uncertainty. This move is intimidating, yet the fresh expectation of good I’ve recently obtained keeps nudging me toward taking a leap of faith.

As I approach this leap, I’m finding that I desire to turn back to old ways, ways that have left me feeling so bad about myself in the past, yet are all the more enticing because of the unknown territory I know I will soon cross over into.

“For when you were slaves of sin, you were free in regard to righteousness. What fruit did you have then in the things of which you are now ashamed? For the end of those things is death.” Romans 6:20-21

So, now that my thoughts are sprawled across my screen, and yours, I think what I must do is clear: step into the new territory of uncertainty because I am certain about God, who is my help and provides guidance and truth as I take each daunting step. This revelation does not make the first step less scary, but it does give me a peace about embracing the intimidation.

Pray for me to walk into a new season with my eyes on Jesus, I’ll be praying for you to do the same.

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Being down felt like an absence of pleasure, so I understand why joy seemed nonexistent during that time of my life, but the truth of the matter is that neither joy nor hope was far off, but actually in arms reach because of God’s grace over my entire being.

Learning to be content in any season wasn’t something that happened overnight, but after I began to practice holding fast to God’s promises for my life, being unapologetic in experiencing joy comes easy now.

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As we prance into February, here are a few pieces of January that reminded me of the joys of a simple life…

• I made a bomb crockpot chicken tortilla soup at the beginning of the month and it did not disappoint. I started making slowcooker soups around September of 2024, though I was hesitant, and I fell in love with the convenience! *chefs kiss* (I cook other great non-crockpot meals too y’all. I promise)

• It snowed here in Georgia only ten days into the new year and my family and I had no complaints since we all had a day off from work and school. Here is my completely covered backyard. I made sure to take a picture because we don’t see snow often at all, and, as you can see, it’s giving Winter Wonderland.

• A book I am reading for a class this semester is A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce. I took this picture in the student center on campus one day when I was reflecting on how far I’ve come as a student: from wanting to leave school due to overwhelm and frustration with deciding what to study to enjoying literature because it teaches me new words, ideas, and ways of thinking through storytelling.

• This was also taken in the student center when I wore a new shirt I’ve become obsessed with. I was amazed at how long my hair has grown since I started my locs in July of 2022.

I certainly have more images from January, but I thought just a few would inspire you to reflect on moments that brought you joy and encourage you to lean into every bit of it you come by in February.

I hope this month is fruitful and fun for you!

- Chiaryn

At the end of 2024, I made a vision board, something I haven’t done in years, but I felt led to create one for 2025 because I desired for God to stir within me a new hope for the future. Last year, I experienced mental and physical agony that tried hard to push me to quit my faith, but I knew I could never leave Jesus. Not after his love had carried me through so much. So, I didn’t give up on him. I gave up on myself.

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I figured out, about three quarters into last year, that I had been doing my walk with Christ all…alone. There was no walking, only trying to outrun Him. I believed it was beneficial for me to remain in step with his spirit so long as I knew what came next, and this mentality fueled me for years. I needed to know what was next. I plan everything. I follow a routine. I think with a few minutes ahead in mind. Because if I don’t, who will? I hadn’t realized that God would, and does, keep both me and my future in mind, all of the time, and I suffered so much due to a lack of knowledge.

Around October of 2024, I began to experience a level of anxiety I had never achieved. I’d thought, and sometimes still think, that something is always wrong or that there is something for me to be thinking about, especially regarding postgrad life. I tried to suppress my emotions so that I wouldn’t have to bring them to God. I really just didn’t want to talk about any of it with him. In November, I started having frequent anxiety attacks and, by December, I was hooked on caffiene because I couldn’t sleep, which only made everything worse. I also turned to other bad habits in an attempt to stop worrying and ignore the voice in my head that only the holy spirit could quiet. I became on and off with God. I was sure he was done with me. What else would he do with someone who refused to follow him and rejected his love day by day? I didn’t deem myself worthy of it.

But then, after several conversations with my mom, God revealed to me that only HE can silence any voice that isn’t his own. He also told me that he isn’t done with me because there is no end to his love. Sometime in December, I opened my bible again and was revived. The word refreshed me, in a new way, and I remembered that I am washed clean because of Christ’s death on the cross. I still have to allow the holy spirit to pull me further into truth day by day, but I’ve realized the benefits of walking with Christ and how simple the abundant life is.

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Thanks for reading my little back like I never left post! I hope and pray to be consistent with you guys again.

With love,

Chiaryn

But I am free

There is so much more to life than the parameters of my mind, but fear has crippled me and caused me to sink into some corner within myself.

I want out! Let me out!

I have been forgiven and offered grace. I have been reconciled to God, and this reconciliation entails my freedom.

So, now what?

So, now I can make decisions from a sound mind. I can rise from that corner and allow peace to take its place, and every other place within me. My faith in Christ frees me to do the great works God intends for me to do.

This is the way to life.

My entire being is at ease with you. I don't lie awake in darkness and worry that good won't make it past a gated entry of my spirit. No, I dance all day, through fields of green, next to living water. And when night takes its position in the sky, I am worn out from shuffling feet and twirling arms, so I lie down and sleep. I wait to dance again.

"And We Dance" JUDAH

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I

The early church and the disciples spread the word & most were martyred. If I am willing to die for Christ, am I also willing to suffer? How does one suffer?

II

There is no secret formula to approach levels of darkness. Jesus is enough.

Thursday 10/10/24

I

“Sometimes fighting for faith looks like waiting on God to come through, standing in the strength he has provided for that moment.” - The Jesus Bible commentary on Psalm 27

II

Dear God, I want to write songs and poems about you. I want to play music for you with others. I want to learn the guitar and other instruments for your glory. I’m worried about plans for after school, but I pray you help me. Lead me in the way everlasting.

Sunday 10/13/24

“I’ve already healed you. You just have to receive it. Let [today] be the beginning of the fullness of what I’ve called you to.” - My mom

Saturday 10/19/24

I am a chosen instrument to carry the Lord’s name. Suffering comes with carrying God’s name.

Tuesday 10/22/24

God can be accessed, now that Jesus shed blood for me, with confidence through my faith in him. (Ephesians 3:12)

The Holy Spirit strengthens my inner being so that Christ may dwell in my heart through faith. (Ephesians 3:16-17)'

Wednesday 10/23/24

Make yourself available to God.

***

Thank you for reading and supporting my exercise in creativity.

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I want to wait on Abba, but I sometimes think how do I wait when there is still life to live, work to get done, places to go, and mouths to feed? Verse 5 says “and in his word I hope.” This is how we wait: we hope in the word. We make it our life. We focus on the reality of a life hidden in Christ.

Hoping in the word also manifests as worshipping God, speaking scripture out loud, and even taking communion and paying tithes.

When your flesh begins to question the necessity of such tasks, and it will, redirect it to God by praying to him. This is the simple life, right? Jesus tells us, in John 16:33, that we will have trouble in the world, but we are to take heart because he has overcome the world. So, if I hope in the word, in the face of struggles in a world that has been dominated by Christ, then waiting becomes achieveable. The work, bills, chores, and whatnot can be done because I wait on God. It doesn’t make sense to the human mind and it never will. Just keep singing until it becomes your reality.

My soul waits, and in his word I hope.

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