Sarah Anne I Am

So Father here’s my cry In the middle of the night While it’s raining on the city It’s also raining from her eyes And I know I don’t deserve Any sort of granted favors For I’m fallen far from grace Yet You promise that I’m heard So this is what I beg of You Not for myself this time Will Your strength fill all her weaknesses As You renew her life.

  God amazes me. Almost without fail, in the moments when I begin to feel that my efforts are of no consequence or that someone else could easily fill my place, He reminds me that He has given me a position of influence in the lives of those I love for a reason.    It is not senseless; it is with good reason that He has allowed me to be a shoulder to cry on and someone to run to for solace, direction, and unwavering love. I cannot provide any of those things- especially unwavering love- outside of Him. But with Him working in me and through me, I can be an arrow pointing ever upward for people He places in my life for very specific reasons.   It’s incredible, really.

A few months ago I found an alcove in a church and hid beneath a side table, laying down and cradling my head in my arms, hoping no one would find me there. I didn’t cry- I’d been forcing the tears back for too long, and now they refused to fall. So I just lay there, alone except for the only One that I didn’t mind being with me in that moment.   I found myself laying in the middle of an empty living room of an empty house tonight, feeling just the same as I had a few months ago- tears hid themselves, emotions had run around inside my head so many times that they had exhausted themselves into apathy. And I found myself alone, except of course for my Father.   In those moments God rarely gives me profound insight. He doesn’t give me any clear answers to the muddled assortment of questions I have. It’s simply as though He holds me for a while, and comforts me. He sits with me and we are quiet together.   2 Corinthians 3-4 says, “ Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,

20 THINGS I CAN TELL YOU ABOUT HOMESCHOOLING…based on personal experience. 1. Sometimes I DID stay in my pajamas all day. And yes, it was awesome. 2. My grasp of basic algebra is probably about that of a 3rd grader. Being home schooled did not automatically make me a genius, but it did give me opportunities to learn on a broader scale. 3. Almost every person I have ever talked to has asked me one of the two versions of this question upon learning that I was home schooled: “How do you make friends?” or “Do you have any friends?”   Throughout high school it grew increasingly more tempting to look at them very earnestly and answer in a tone of desperation, “No, I don’t…I’ve…I’ve never had a friend before. Will you- maybe, if you feel like it- be my friend?” I never did, but I still think about it. 4. When asked how I got any exercise without a PE class every day, I would answer that dancing with toddlers has proven to be very good exercise. 5. In 18 years I spent more time writing and pai

  I am a remarkable human being in my ability to forget.   Remembering is something that is important to me. It’s something I value. "Thank You…for a life and a mind and a heart and a will to live, and to not forget, and a will to write it all down," I have sung to myself, yet I am so quick to forget the goodness of my God and so quick instead to remember only the things that surround me and threaten to tear me down.   We must be eternity-minded. Focusing only on temporal things will always depress me, it will always cause me to be terrified and make me want to run away or drive until I find the end of all the highways. When I try again and again to be who I am called to be using only my own feeble willpower, it always results in me curling up on the floor of a closet or a bathroom or a copy room to cry and hope I fall asleep and don’t wake up for days.   My boyfriend read me the second and third chapters of Colossians today, and in verse 2 of chapter 3 Paul says, "Set y

  Someday you will meet someone who will love you despite- maybe even in part BECAUSE OF- the strange, ridiculous, and generally weird things about you.   They will love how you arrange all of the dirty dishes into neat stacks before you wash them.   They will love the fact that in order to efficiently clean a room you need to put your hair up, have a beverage on hand, and be listening to Adam Lambert.   They will love the way you dance when there’s no music.   They will love that are mess you are when you first wake up in the morning.   They will love your habit of hearing an indistinct word and replacing it with something ridiculous, causing you to ask people things like, “Did you just say you’re craving Benadryl?”   They will love your total lack of ability to remember street names.   They will love your obscure knowledge about your favorite band.   They will love your feet, even when they’re calloused from going barefoot all summer…and part of the other seasons, too.   They will lo

Step 1: Give them a little taste of something familiar. Perhaps use a scene so reminiscent of the year 1999 that it is practically the cover of the Backstreet Boys “Millenium” album come to life. Be sure to appear out of thin air and have some box fans built into the wall behind you for unneccesary effect. Step 2: Start slow. Begin the song by talking. It really doesn’t matter what you say, as long as your hair is a foot tall while you’re saying it, and it builds into actual singing while you use flashy hand motions at the exact same moment. Step 3: Wear lots of outfits. Make sure you give your audience an opportunity to see you wearing a white space suit, black leather with enough chains and grommets to build a chainsaw out of, and something you think the typical high school student would wear- just to be relatable. Step 4: Feature a nice car. It’s ok if the car has no bearing on the video whatsoever, just step out of it or sit in front of it for a few seconds here and there. Ste

  Too often when I check Facebook or YouTube I see something that makes you think, “You do remember you just put this on the INTERNET, right?”   Just because you practice your sexy face in front of the bathroom mirror doesn’t mean you should take half a dozen photos and then put them on your Facebook in hopes that some cute boy will comment saying that you look good in that t-shirt.    Just because you want to have good dance moves doesn’t mean you should record yourself doing a little pelvis thrusting and little butt shaking and then put it on YouTube so that everyone can see how gangsta you wish you were.   You do remember you just put this on the INTERNET, right?   You do realize it’s not just the hot girl you met over the summer or the cute boy that lives three blocks away that can see this, right?   Your classmates can see it. Your friends, your enemies, your uncle in Colorado- they can all see it. Your potential employers can see it. Your parents can see it. Your teachers can see

  I wish everyone had a Levi in their life.   I wish you and everyone else had a seven-year-old little brother like him. I wish I could share this with you.    Levi is one of the greatest and most remarkable blessings in my life, and he is a constant reminder of limitless joy and limitless love. I wish everyone had such a reminder in their day-to-day lives.   I hope I never take this child for granted. I hope I never forget how much of an impact one person loving others with all of their heart can make- if a little boy can impact so many people in only seven years, surely I can impact others as well.   And surely so can you.

 ”It is a good thing that God doesn’t show us glimpses of our future, otherwise we might not want to move towards them.   At least this is the case with me- I know that if I had seen visions of my future self when I was a child, I would have been both incredulous and incredibly unhappy. I thought this as I walked across camp this morning, looking down at my skinny jeans and my moccasins. The only thing I that I am wearing at the moment that I would have approved of when I was seven is my moccasins and my red nail polish. I would’ve been horrified to know that I would someday wear straight leg pants like my mother does, because as a child I vowed never to wear anything that wasn’t cargo pants or flares, regardless of what may be in fashion.   And if, as a seven-year-old girl, I could’ve seen any other piece of my life right now as well, I think I would have been equally unhappy about that.   I didn’t want a car like this, or a job that doesn’t pay lots and lots of money and require me t

I know you’ve been hurt. You’ve been let down. I know you see other people finding love- or even just things that look like a semblance of love- and you want that for yourself as well. I get that. I understand. I spent years standing in that place. But taking matters into your own hands time after time and getting into a relationship simply because you CAN has proven to do nothing for you. Remember how you’ve been hurt? Remember how you’ve been let down? Remember how it never seems to work out quite how you’d hoped it would, and you end up either pretending it never mattered or angry that it did? Don’t do that again. Don’t keep doing that over and over again. You won’t find any real joy in a relationship until you stop trying to force God’s hand by jumping into things and hoping He’ll work it out. Yes, God can do incredible make-overs on a persons soul. But wait until after He does to date them, please. See, I say all of this because I love you so much that it hurts to watch you t

God keeps taking things I think I’m certain of and surprising me. I am learning to trust Him not only in the trials that I didn’t expect, but also in the blessings I didn’t expect. My plans and expectations for better or worse are laid to waste by the reality that God is, as always, in control. It was about three years ago that I sat beneath a tree by the stream at Berachah, staring up at strong branches and the night sky, as someone over the phone reminded me, “Sarah, you’re not God. YOU’RE NOT GOD.” I know that that friend was simply being an unknowing mouthpiece of the Father Who loves me, and I have never forgotten that moment of realizing just how wholly I needed to surrender my will. I have been reminded of that moment many, many times since then, as I too often seek to take control again. Yet He is always gentle and loving in breaking me and bringing me to my knees again, bringing me back to a place where I am humbled by the greatness of His love and Who He is. And for that, dea

I have been convicted yet again that it is not my job to change people. That task belongs to the Holy Spirit. My part in the matter is simply to be the love of Jesus in their lives, speak truth humbly and fearlessly, and consistantly point them to the God that loves them far more than I ever can. If someone does not change how I had hoped and prayed they would, that does not mean I have failed. If I have been obediant in planting seed, then I have done my part.

  There is a boy who loves me.   His name is Ezra, and he is five years old.   A few months ago he came running to me with a piece of paper and a pen hidden behind his back and asked me, “Sarah, how do you spell ‘Friends forever’?”   Children trying to surprise someone are adorable in the utter clumsiness of their secrecy.   I knew that if I spelled it out for him, as soon as I said the first letter he would run into the other room to write it slyly on the piece of paper before running back and asking me what came next. This process would have taken far more time and effort than it seemed to merit, so I grabbed a receipt out of my purse and wrote ‘Friends forever’ on the back. I handed him the receipt, telling him to copy it, and he scampered off to his bedroom to write it out in secrecy.   As I had expected, about ten minutes later he presented me with a card he’d made. The front proclaimed his expectation that our friendship, gapped in age by nearly fifteen years, would last forever.

  I’ve spent most of my life being really good at being really mean.   The only real trouble with being nice is that being mean just comes so naturally, and I’m so maddeningly GOOD at it! I used to be well-practiced in the art of conjuring up a phrase that could rip you apart in a matter of carefully-punctuated seconds. I could pick the right words, the right tone, and the right facial expression and time it all just-so in order to achieve maximum damage.   But see, being mean never payed off in the long run. Just because I could use my creative cruelty in the form of humor, witticism, and cleverness didn’t redeem my behavior. Sure, in the short-term being mean gave me an advantage, and edge over everyone I came in contact with simply because they knew I could rip them to shreds if I wanted to. It gave me some filthy taste of power, but no one really likes that person who is constantly in a power struggle with them.   No one really likes someone who uses their way with words to be mean

I can’t be or do everything for everyone all of the time- or even part of the time! I can’t come to every event or fulfill every favor asked of me. I can’t always be as flexible with my time or my schedule as you’d like. I can’t stop, drop, and make things work out for you at the cost of me sleeping, eating, or actually walking at a normal pace instead of literally RUNNING to my car in order to only be a FEW minutes late. I can’t do everything you want me to, be everywhere you want me to be, or support everyone in every way all of the time. I can’t, and what’s more, I WON’T. Hello world, I am done trying to please all of your occupants at the exact same time. I will get at least six hours of sleep and refuse to constantly run on caffiene. I will eat three meals a day, and none of them will be out of a vending machine. I will sit in the sun, have real conversations, and take time to be still before the Lord- if I can even remember how to be still. I will try to support you, love you, be

  Levi is a six-year-old, blue-eyed little boy with blonde hair and one of the greatest smiles I have ever seen. I am blessed enough to be his sister, and today he and I went to the grocery store.   For most peoplegrocery shopping is a chore, just another thing on the to-do list. For Levi, it is an adventure. Safeway is a treasure trove for that child, and before we were even through the doors he was affectionately petting a watermelon and saying, “Buy this, Sarah? Please? I LOVE watermelons.” Once I’d gotten him to come inside, he practically skipped to the produce section, pulling me by the hand and exclaiming over the oranges.   “Ooh, oranges! I LOVE oranges!” His voice and his face were both joyous as he moved quickly down the aisles, commenting on things and waving at the other shoppers, evoking smiles and hello’s from perfect strangers. Levi finds joy in the things the rest of us find bothersome- to him, the world is full of excitement and happiness, and everyone he meets is wort

  The familar thump thump thump of rap music came from the car next to mine as I pulled up the red light.   There were two guys in the car, both probably about my age- nineteen or twenty. The guy in the passenger seat sat there looking bored, but the driver- now, he was getting his cool on.   For those of you who HAVEN’T tried to show off your hip-hop dance skills while sitting down, let me tell you, it doesn’t look easy. This young man had to keep his foot firmly on the brake lest he destroy the bumper of the car in front of him, while taking his hands off the wheel and gesturing broadly. Add in the fact that the white sweatshirt he was wearing was about two sizes too big for him, and he had to keep the hood of it placed just-so atop his billcap, and perhaps you can begin to understand the skill level required to dance while sitting at a red light.   It was amusing, let’s just say that.   I had just taken this all in when he turned and saw me watching him. I laughed, not intending to,

  Some people come into your life and stay for what is equal to an afternoon in the grand scheme of things. They are they, they leave an impression and words to remember, and then they go- on to new cities, new countries, leaving only photographs and memories.   And that is alright.     But other people come into your life and stay there.    They may seem to have left once in a while- you lose touch, you pass one another without anything more than a polite hello, and you assume they will- like so many others- slip quietly out of your life like leaves being carried by the wind.   But they don’t. They stay. They remain intact, a part of your life and your little corner of the world. They continue to care about you, stop and catch up with you here and there, give you a hug or familiar smile, and cast a knowing glance at your anger and then soothe it with laughter. They make their presence known in sometimes seemingly little ways, but they are always there for you; always only a phone call

  Hearing someone share even the tiniest bit of their story is refreshing in this world of masks and keeping up appearances.    Watching someone share some tiny bit of themselves with the open air is comforting, because it is good to be reminded I am not the only one with stories to tell and songs to sing.   Thank you, friend, for sharing yourself with us honestly. Honesty is vulnerable, and vulnerability is terrifying, so I appreciate your truth all the more.

  Today I was at Goodwill when an older man came up and struck up a conversation. Indicating the bike helmet I was looking at, he asked, “Do you ride a scooter?”   “No, just a bike. Not a motorcycle or anything, just a regular bike.”   He looked like an innocent man in his fifties or sixties who was lonely for conversation. There were plenty of people around and he didn’t make me feel uncomfortable as our conversation continued.   “I’ve been riding a motorcycle since I was eleven years old,” he said. I told him that was cool. He pulled up the pants leg of his shorts slightly, showing me the twisted, gnarled skin. “I spent four weeks in Harborview when this happened,” he said.   “Ow! Oh my goodness!” I commented, and he- seemingly happy for a captive audience- continued.   “I was riding home one night, and some nice person had lost their dark brown couch in the middle of the freeway. I was lucky enough to hit it, and when I crashed the gasoline spilled on my leg and burned it clear to t

I have sat and watched those trained to move with beauty perform on spot-lit stages, while I am in the darkened audience admiring the way they control their movements to convey emotion. I have stood in line for five hours and then walked on tired feet through an art exhibit, awe-struck by the pure and undefiled brilliance of Picasso’s work merely inches from my eyes as I drank in the masterful talent he placed on canvas. I have sang the lines penned by someone else’s hand in their darkest or brightest hours, I have sang the verses and choruses they composed to show the place where they stood and the melody they heard as they stood there. But it is time that I danced, painted, and sang my own songs. I do not need to be the best at anything I do- I simply must be myself as I do it. Never before has anyone been me, nor will anyone ever be. I am unprecedented, unduplicated, and a remarkable work of art simply because of who I am. Thank You, Father, for making me who I am.

  Almost two years ago my sister and I went on a ten-day Caribbean cruise. We saw a lot of beautiful places, but what I want to talk about for a moment for the places that were not so beautiful. The dirty places, the sad places, the broken places…the places where the bus won’t stop.   Because we were traveling with my grandmother and her then-boyfriend, we didn’t go boogie boarding, scuba dive with sting rays, or go off-roading on four wheelers or anything like that. We went on lots of bus tours, which were air-conditioned, full of information, and relatively interesting most of the time. I always kept my sunglasses on in case I fell asleep, though.   But the day we were in Costa Rica there was something different about the bus tour. As the bus driver wove his way quickly through city streets to get us to the scenic routes where he could point out incredible, enormous bird nests, I watched the streets below us. They were filthy, the sidewalks literally stacked with garbage and filth. A

  Sometimes you have to do one or two little things to make yourself feel special again, to remind yourself that no matter how confused you may feel inside and no matter how thin you may be stretched, this will all fade into the background someday.   Sometimes you need to take a step back and put the moment into perspective. Stress will ease, the questions you hold will become less difficult.   Sometimes you need to remind yourself to value the little things. Sometimes you need to count your blessings, remember the simple things in life that make you happy and help you feel valuable and human.   Today, for me, this looks like wearing my softest sweater, painting my nails a color I really like, and buying two songs that have slipped amongst my favorites. Little things, but things nonetheless that will have me singing happily.   My Father loves me, and my true joy is found in Him. Sometimes I need to run back to my Father’s embrace and thank Him unceasingly, and that above all is what I

I’ve been writing a lot of songs lately. I feel like we all go through different places in our lives where we wrestle with things, and we try to find definition and conclusion and closure. We try to pin down the pieces and make them fall into line and make sense, but often the things that go on in life do not add up. Often how we feel does not add up.   And that’s ok.   For me, writing songs is a way to communicate, but it’s also a way to think through what I’m feeling. It’s my therapy, it’s my sounding board. I will write a line and then think, “No, that isn’t right- I don’t really feel that way,” or “I shouldn’t say that, that’s not what my attitude towards this should be.”   Jamie T. of  To Write Love On Her Arms once said, “I wish I could write her a song, because songs don’t wait to resolve.” I feel like this is true to me- I find resolution through songs, as though in some way I am able to package up how I feel and what I think and present in it verses and a chorus.