as i continue to see these tragedies happen day in and day out, as i see and hear people damning, condemning, and speaking only evil on the internet and in real life, i am grieved. i am grieved for the lives cut short, for the people who are being wounded, for the people who are so filled with hate that they have no room for humility to see where they may be wrong.

and i am grieved in my own spirit that i have spoken angry words, that i have spoken things that were mean-spirited. i’m grieved that i have been part of the problem in my words and deeds.

this is my heart breaking for my actions. this is my heart breaking as i realize that i am the rich young ruler, and i no longer want to be. this is my heart breaking for the all the beings of the earth, human and non-human animal, who suffer and are mistreated.

and i want to say that i’m repenting of consumerism. i’m repenting of speaking hate (death). i’m repenting of talking more than listening.

from now on, i’m going to listen more than talk. i’m going to ask more questions. i’m going to give more than i get. i’m going to speak only life. i’m going to speak honestly and with integrity. i’m going to let Jesus be more and myself be less.

american gothic [attempt].

it’s been two years. the media crews are long gone. the tweets and hashtags buried under new atrocities and awkward selfies. the debris has been removed and the damages repaired. the building stands upright once more, waiting for the new owners to start painting it with their vision. it’s going to be a bookshop. it’s going to be a place for conversation, for art. it’s going to be a place where all are welcome to sit among the stacks of books and escape. it’s going to be a place where all are welcome and none are judged. a place to listen and share around the stage talking about life. but as construction gets underway and the shop opens, people start noticing that wherever you go, you hear the faint echo of a hundred cellphones ringing. they never stop ringing.

my first attempt at the “american gothic” style of writing. it was inspired by a line a read about the Orlando tragedy where first responders reported being overwhelmed by the sound of so many cellphones continuously ringing.

beautiful things.

“i’m not who you think i am”,  (what i really want to say),  11:11 hopes and wishes, a symphony of sound, abandoned buildings, accents, acoustic guitars, adventures&roadtrips, anthropology, apple blossoms, apple cider, aries, art, art journaling, autumn nights, awkwardness, baking, ballet flats, bedroom floors, being completely free, being silent, blood, blowing bubbles, books, broken people, bubbles, butterflies, calligraphy, cats, chai, cheesecake, chopsticks, christianity, coffee in the evenings, collar bones, coloured pencils, coloured sound, colouring books, comfort, compliments, control, correcting grammatical mistakes/spelling errors, crayons, creative writing, creativity, crisp autumn mornings, cupcakes, daisies&daffodils, daydreaming, digital photography, disposable cameras, dreamcatchers, dreams, ducks, extra large mugs, fairy lights, feathers, feeling dizzy, figuring things out, film photography, fingers stained with ink, flowering trees, fluffy clouds, foreign languages, foreign places, forests filled with magic, fresh smoothies, getting lost in novels, god, grass stains, gratitude, green tea, grey, gypsies, handwriting, hazy summer evenings, hip bones, hyacinths, icicles, imaginary friends, imagination, inspiration, instrumental music, introverted souls, jesus, journals, la langue française, lace, laughing, laying in the grass, listening to other people tell their story, lomography, long car rides, long walks, love, lowercase letters, luna lovegood, marvelous things, matcha, mental disorders, meringue, mist, mix tapes, music, new york city, old diaries, old photos, ophelia, organising, paper birds, passenger seats, penpals, perusing bookstores for hours, philosophical discussions, philosophy, photobooths, photography, piano playing, picking fresh fruit and eating it right off the plant, piles of books, play-doh, playing with cameras, playlists, poetry, polaroids, post-it notes, procrastination, prose, psychology, purple, quotes, rain, rainy days, random words, reading, reading by candle light, reading strangers’ blogs, riding bicycles, riding bicycles in skirts, rose red, rose white, sarcasm, scars, secrets, self-improvement, shameless self expression, shapes in clouds, sharpies, sheep, sitting on pavement under street lamps, spirituality, stained glass, starbucks, stars, starry nights, stationary, stepping on crunchy leaves, stickers, stuffed animals, sunrises, sunsets, sushi, swimming at night, swings, talking to myself, tea, tears, tetris, texting, the endless sea, the food network, the smell of a campfire, the smell of new books, the smell of used bookstores, the sound of typing, the sound of wind chimes, thrift stores, thunderstorms, train tracks, typography, unsent letters, vanilla, vintage bicycles, vintage dresses, walking alone in the morning, warm baths, watching people, wildflowers, wonder, words, words from the heart, writing, ★, ♪, ♫ = ♥


2015 was a year of ups and downs, discoveries and questions, recovery and relapse. It was a year that went so quick and so slow at the same time. It was a year that saw me working several different jobs. It was a year for re-kindling relationships and letting go of others.

I learned about myself, about money, about life. I went back to my hometown for the first time in three years and I realised just how much of my heart is still there. I took risks and I stayed quiet. I lived in the fog of deep depression and in the whirling vortex of white-hot mania. I started therapy again. I remembered how to write and how to make art. I worked on starting my own business venture.

I made progress and I failed. I sinned and I fell short. But I learned. I lost my faith and I started slowly working to find it again.

2015 was a year of thinking over doing, of existing over living.

It was a year of loss. But unlike years past, it was a year of growing in the loss and the sin. It was a year of dissociation, viewing my life and loss from above, from which I could gain metacognitive insight into my self. It was a year of new diagnoses and learning more about my various parts and personalities. It was a year of fragmentation and, finally, being able to put into words and voice that disconnection.

2016 will be the year of the heart. It will be a year of practice, of making the abstract concrete. It will be a year of doing.

2016 will be the year where I take the 18-inch journey and mend the broken strings connecting my head and heart. It will be a year of synthesis, bringing together the fractured parts of me, of undoing the compartmentalisation of self and wearing the same face with everyone.

2016 will be a year of honesty. It will be a year spent learning to be honest with myself, with others, and with God.

2016 will be a year of faith. It will be a year of finding faith again, of asking questions and learning to sit and meditate in the Truth. It will be a year of learning to love and be loved. It will be a year of seeking that childlike faith where I can sitting on the lap of Abba and just be.

2016 will be a year of letting go of perfectionism, of letting go of pain and lies. 2016 will be a year spend learning about the full weight and meaning of grace.

unexpected lessons and… my little pony?

As I was doing some housecleaning today I set up a documentary on Netflix. I browsed the documentary channel until I came to one called “Bronies.” Now I had seen the term being thrown around online and knew a little bit of this strange subculture – teenage and adult men who enjoy the latest version of My Little Pony. 

I started watching and after a few minutes I was actually engrossed in the show. I originally thought that this documentary would be good for a few laughs, but as I watched the men talk about what My Little Pony meant to them and what they were now doing as a result of this passion for the show I really learned something.

One, I learned just how ignorant cultural stereotypes really are and how detrimental they are to people. We can judge and make fun of these men, but in the end they have a passion and they are doing something with that passion. One young man used it to pursue his passion of remixing music and composing music, one young woman started designing and painting My Little Pony figurines, another young man found something that he could connect with – a hard feat for this young man with Aspergers Syndrome. 

Watching this documentary really taught me a lesson in judging others – namely don’t do it! It doesn’t matter what your passion is, whether is be Star Trek, football, Pinterest, Ryan Gosling, or, yes, evening My Little Pony. This is something that this person is passionate about and they are doing something with that passion – something good. Why mock that?

Another thing I learned is the male/female gender roles and the fear of homosexuality needs to end. I believe that there is something very wrong with our society that a man who isn’t chauvinistic, who isn’t into “manly” things is regarded as feminine and therefore someone to be bullied or someone less than. People are wired differently and just because someone doesn’t fit into one small box doesn’t make them less than. 

In a culture that diminishes the arts we need to reclaim anything that supports the arts. Creativity is a key to a happy, healthy life. It is what is behind a person who makes their dreams a reality. Without creativity we become mindless automatons. Encouraging creativity and independent thought is something I personally support because it allows changes to be made and people to flourish. 

So, whatever your passion may be: pursue it. Support creativity. Don’t judge someone because they aren’t passionate about what you’re passionate about. Don’t judge someone because their passion may seem strange to you. Love changes the world, not hate, suspicion, violence, and separation.

relationships are hard.

A we each sipped our drinks and the conversation turned to the heart level. Isn’t that always the way? There must be something about a coffee shop and friends that leads to a more intimate conversation.  

She started talking about relationships and boys and dating and I tried to keep my head from spinning away. But relationships are hard. From the idea of them to the actual down and dirty of boy-girl pairings, relationships are hard. They are messy, confusing and difficult, and I felt the years slipping away from me and suddenly I was in an entirely different place and time.

I remember my first relationship like it was yesterday. I was a freshman in college and he was a friend of a friend.. We dated for two months from Christmas to Valentines Day and I think I am still reeling from when my status was “taken.” 

He never pursued me. I don’t even think he liked me. I think I was just there and he was there and he felt sorry for me. I will be the first one to admit I made a lot of mistakes while I was dating that boy, but I don’t think they should still haunt me to this day.

 My models for relationships haven’t been the best and I am afraid I don’t know what a happy couple is supposed to look like. My own life has been fraught with me making bad choices when the choice involves men and sex. 

I can still remember the moments of each encounter and I can remember everything I have done and I am so filled with shame. 

What would be your advice to a young woman about relationships and guys?

learning how to love.

I don’t know if I want to be a graduate student anymore.

There I said it. I don’t know if I want to be studying for my MA in counselling. I don’t know if it is what the Lord is calling me to. I don’t know what the Lord is calling me to.

I guess this is what happens when you try to do life on your own terms for so long.

Lately (well, who are we kidding… a bit more than just “lately”), everything has been about Emmy. It’s been my way or the highway and well… that’s not how I want to live anymore. I just finished reading Jennie Allen’s book “Anything” and it really touched me in a deep place.

What if I were to give God everything, to tell God that He could do anything with my life? The idea of it sounds like what I am supposed to do as a Christian, but the actual speaking the words and letting it happen absolutely terrifies me.

Another stumbling block is that verse in 1 Corinthians about being nothing but a noise machine if you don’t have love (my paraphrase). I feel like I don’t have love. Like there are still too many walls wrapped around my heart to give true Christ-like love, to receive Christ’s love.

Lord, how do I break down these walls? Okay, how do I let you break them down? Or is it something we do together? Either way… how does it happen? Where do I start?

Jesus, help to me allow love into my life. Help me to give you everything. But mostly, help me to surrender my Pharisaical lifestyle and live with reckless abandon to you. Help me get to know our Father. Help me to redefine what father means and to let love heal me still bleeding wounds. 

How did you come to give God your everything? What was discovering God like for you?