holy and broken.

write it holy and broken, they say.

what if I am scared that it is too broken?


I don’t know who I am, really. Things are shifting. Adulthood scrawled a new label across my skin, one that sits uneasily.

And this shift, it is monumental. But also, incremental.

It is terror and confusion and excitement and thrill. It is endings and beginnings and hazy middle ground where the ending and beginning collide and you’re not sure what it is, whether you should be celebrating or mourning.

So, there is celebrating and mourning.


I am ready for the change, for the new beginning. I am longing to step into new things, to reshape, restructure. To remake myself. Yearning for new ground beneath my feet.

It feels like something’s in the water, something’s brewing, something’s ready to break free. I feel it burning in my bones but I do not know how to fan the flame to bring it to life. I fear that I might smother the spark instead.


I don’t know what I want. Is that part of knowing who I am? They seem entwined, certainly.

This whole question – who are you – oh, it could have a million answers.

I like my chai tea lattes soy, no-water.

I like eating food out of bowls instead of plates.

I like pretty words but sometimes they get a little tangled up in my head.

Does that answer the question?

I don’t think you can sum people up in icebreaker answers, in a list, in a five-minute conversation. But then there are those people that you just get, you know within minutes of meeting them: this one, they’ve got something special. and they glow with it.

I want to know that about myself. I want to sit down and silence all the noise, and find out what is at the root of me.

I am also terrified to find that it might be something I don’t like.


I haven’t been writing it holy and broken. I’m not sure I know what’s holy and what’s broken and I still have a hard time believing that the broken can be holy.

But this I know: all things are redeemed.

all things.


It’s a life-long journey, it seems.

That is equal parts reassuring and maddening.

(it’s all these contradictions, everywhere. this has been a summer of trying to hold two conflicting things in my hands.)

And so I make my peace one minute and the next I am angry, wanting to throw fists at this journey that is taking too long.

I’ve never really been very patient.


holy and broken and messy and jumbled.

I’m tired of trying to act like I’ve got it all together.

because oh, I don’t. I so don’t.

so what if I just write it messy and jumbled?

there is so much to walk through but I have to believe that on the other end, there is beauty. there is hope.

even a holy and broken hope.


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