It was almost three years ago. I think that's when it started to happen. I could feel my pursuit for the written word shift and morph into something different, something not necessarily of holy intention. I had been fifteen weeks pregnant with my second baby and with all the encouragement from my husband, I took off to a women's conference in Indianapolis. Not only was I going to be meeting my future best friend, but I was also getting three straight days to rub elbows with some of the most creative women in the blogging/writing/entrepreneur world. I walked into our first initial meeting together nervous and energetic. I loved writing. I loved sitting down with God and combining my experiences with His truth. I loved seeing my testimony woven into words and sentences - permanently residing on a brightly lit screen. Every time I wrote, I felt as if I was erecting an Ebenezer. I felt as if I was declaring His goodness from the mountaintops. If not for anyone else; at least for me. It didn't matter if anyone saw, or even if anyone cared. I wrote for the love of it. I wrote for the love of Him. 

I was thrilled that I would be meeting other women who did what they did for the love of it, too. For the love of Him, too. 

The shift in my heart and my words didn't begin immediately after that conference, but it was there that something definitely came undone in me. 


I don't talk about it often in the public arena, but a few years ago I had a major breakup with the church and the Christian machine. It wasn't as if there was one incident that led me to feel betrayed by the Body of Christ- but rather a litany of tiny beliefs, circumstances, and actions that began to push me away. I was rather confused at incongruences with what I saw JESUS DO versus what I saw the Church do. Eventually, the confusion led to bitterness, and the bitterness turned to both resentment and anger. 


I don’t fly much. But, I’ve learned that when I do - what I bring, and how much, makes all the difference. At least in my opinion, the less baggage the better. Right? I believe the same is true when traveling from one year to the next. Less is absolutely, and always, better. 

Sometimes, our baggage is tangible; often circumstantial. Perhaps we left a job, ended a friendship, or suffered through a long illness. There's just no way around it, life is unpredictable and some seasons are just plain hard. Other times, our baggage is spiritual. Our struggles live deep in the heart. We're paralyzed by insecurities or distraught over disappointment. The pendulum can swing wide here; there's just so much we can carry. In both cases though, we practically carry this baggage with us wherever we go. And without realizing it, we're impacted. Our shoulders slump. Our arms ache. We walk differently than we normally do. We become restricted by unnecessary and unhealthy perspectives or beliefs that profoundly disturb the way we live out our daily lives.