Although a relationship with Christ is deeply personal and unique to each individual, I think this crazy spiritual journey is also meant to be shared. We are walking these roads together, learning and growing and pursuing the God we serve. 

We are movers, shakers, dreamers and doers; we are disciples and outcasts, children of the Most High. We are kingdom builders, piecing together palaces brick by brick. We are not our own because we were bought at a price. 

Fellow believers, we are not alone. 

There are so many passionate, godly people out there-- sharing encouragement and passing along wisdom and giving away love. I want to be part of this gospel-centered community, to participate in this marathon of runners toward Jesus. I also want to learn from those surrounding me and invest in Biblical living, being filled up so I can be poured out. 

And this is easier said than done, right? Day to day life tends to drown out the One voice that matters as we get caught up in to-do lists and trivial quests. I know I need all the help I can get to fix my eyes on Jesus, so I've rounded up some of my favorite resources (besides the Bible) that do just that:

1. Deeply Rooted Magazine- Although this magazine has not been around long, it has quickly become my favorite. Visually and spiritually appealing, it has a unique purpose and mission in a content saturated world. Plus it's hard to pass up the digital copy when it only costs $4!
2. Val Marie Paper Prayer Journals- There are journal options made specifically for women, men, children, and for different stages of life. My favorite is the undated prayer journal in blue... I learned so much while praying through this journal and love following along with Val on Instagram. 
3. Women of the Word by Jen Wilkin- This book had been on my reading list for about a year, and I am kicking myself for waiting so long to dig into all of its goodness.  She offers practical and purposeful steps on learning the Bible, while shedding light on popular methods that don't always work. 
4. Scripture Boxes // Scripture Memory Sets- I believe dwelling on and memorizing Scripture is so vital in your walk with Christ, which is why I created both of these products. They are made to sit in your homes or offices to reflect on/memorize daily. 
5. She Reads Truth- Not only is the website beautiful, but it is also filled with beautiful content. They have hundreds of studies, Scripture focused products, and an app. Be sure to sign up for the e-mail list to receive daily readings & truths straight to your inbox!
6. Write the Word Journals- I just discovered these journals by Lara Casey and am dying to make my first purchase. I love the idea of writing down different passages each morning and focusing on gratitude as you start your day.
7. Free (Scripture) Lock Screens- I can't tell you how many people have come up to me and shown me the lock screen on their phones to reveal one of my designs, and it makes my heart leap every time! As long as people are still using them, I will keep making them (I try to add a new one every week, but don't always succeed so check back regularly to see what's new).
8. Illustrated Faith- Art and hand lettering throughout your journaling Bibles? These people speak my love language. 
9. Scarlet & Gold- Check out this awesome company (based out of Auburn!) for lovely, Biblical phone cases and Scripture-filled tees. 
10. Prayer Cards- It has been on my heart for a few months to create these prayer cards, and I think I finally came up with the right design. Simple and lovely, each card contains a different chapter of Psalm to pray through and lines to scribble down your prayers of the week. Keep track of answered prayers and requests by hanging them on your walls & mirrors, storing them in your Bibles & planners, or carrying them in your purse.

Let's do this, shall we? Let's be lovers and learners, an army of believers, a generation of Jesus-followers and proclaimers of that amazing grace which saved our souls. Let's build our war rooms, ladies. 'Til kingdom come.

---

*Disclaimer: By no means are these resources meant to replace or diminish the importance of the Holy Bible. They are neither necessary nor needed to understand God's Word, and what may be helpful for one person could be a distraction for another. Check your heart and notice what's helping or hurting your relationship with Christ. 

**Also, since we're in this together, I would love to hear some of your favorite resources for following Jesus. What has helped or pushed you deeper in your walk of faith? Comment below or shoot me an email with your favorites!

My salvation wasn’t like the ones we constantly hear about-- the ones where there are tears on the bathroom floor and an earthquake-like awakening of an indwelling Spirit. My salvation was quiet and consuming, peaceful and full of grace. It wasn’t like I expected—this surrendering of a heart. It was better and harder and all encompassing. I felt both broken and whole, vulnerable and steady; I was ready to run.

I was around 10 when I asked Jesus into my heart. Then I asked Him again and again because I wanted to be sure He was going to stay there.

I remember my parents sitting me down and asking me if I knew Jesus. I was eating a bowl of chocolate ice cream and kept scraping the bottom with my spoon, the metal clanging against the ceramic bowl, trying to savor every last bit of chocolate that was left. I gave all of the right answers and knew them in my heart to be true.

When the day for my baptism came, I wore one of my dad’s white dress shirts as my family gathered around the pool in our front yard. Familiar faces were looking down at me while my favorite verses were read and my parents wept and my Papa dunked me under the water. There were little tea candles and flowers floating gently in the water while the sun was setting, and I thought it was so beautiful and perfect and wondered if we could always let flowers and candles float in the pool. 

I didn’t realize until much later that this salvation of mine was not a one-stop shop but a continuous surrender and brokenness. I will keep coming to this place over and over, this place of desperation and the receiving of grace. I will keep having the tendency to try earning my way into heaven, like the Pharisee counting his accomplishments, and I will continue realizing that I need to be more like the tax collector, beating my chest and begging, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”  

When we start admitting we need God, it becomes easier to find Him. 

“He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and treated others with contempt: 10 ‘Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 11 The Pharisee, standing by himself, prayed thus: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. 12 I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get.’ 13 But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ 14 I tell you, this man went down to his house justified, rather than the other. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”

— Luke 18:9-14

Sometimes it feels as if I’ve been walking with Jesus all my life, constantly knowing that He was right beside me in the trials and the triumphs, the guts and the glory. And other times it feels as if I am just now getting to know this God I’ve claimed to always serve. As He leads me through different stages of life, as He continues to proclaim His magnificence, God beckons deeper and deeper still and I think about this heavenly, holy Jesus in a new way.

It seems I’m walking with a flashlight and with each step I take, the light shines a bit further, reveals a little more of my surroundings -- and yet there’s still so much the light has not revealed.

But I suppose that's faith. 

“The believing man does not claim to understand. He falls to his knees and whispers, ‘God.’”

— A.W. Tozer

We were on a porch at the rented condo and the breeze was blowing just right. We were sitting around the small balcony table sipping coffee, watching an island that hadn’t quite woken up yet. My mom got on a tangent about the importance of family, and I was half-listening, watching her passion instead of listening to the words because I already knew its importance.

My family is a misfit band of rebels and righteous, of country and city, of tattoos and rednecks, poets and prophets, teachers and leaders and preachers. We are a mix of sweet and sassy and Spirit-filled and radicals bathed in redemption. We get together on holidays and summer vacations and loudly discuss politics and jobs and Jesus. Sometimes we agree and sometimes we don’t. Sometimes there is so much laughter that my face hurts from smiling too long; we look around the room and wipe our watery eyes and try to stop the waves of laughter for the sake of our aching bellies filled with too much food.

I am fortunate enough to still have all of my grandparents, and to know and love each of them uniquely. I got my blue eyes and love of learning and literature from them. They are some of the most encouraging, thoughtful, and strongest people I know. They are stubborn and sincere, teaching mercy and grace with each step. Above all, they are the hands and feet of Jesus, loving and serving and proclaiming the gospel with their lives.

My mom is this crazy, kickboxing, smart-mouthing, small-stature of a woman who knows what she wants and goes and does it. She gave me her freckles, her style, and her sweet tooth. She instilled in me a passion for creating, for loving without borders or agendas, for authenticity in a world of plastic. She taught me that if you play it right, your husband can do all the cooking and that things get better with age.

My dad is usually talking, making jokes full of wit and sarcasm and cleverness. He gave me his big, dark eyebrows and his confident sense of right and wrong. He serves well and works hard and plays racquetball every day. He taught me the importance of putting others before yourself, to never make excuses, and how to shoot a gun.

For seven years I was an only child and then I became a big sister. Isabelle was the baby on both sides and everyone’s favorite, but I didn’t mind so much because she was my favorite too. I thought she was cute and cuddly and mischievous and I didn’t know I could love a little babbling person so much. She would twist her tiny finger around her dark strands of hair until her head was full of knots, hair wild and untamed just like her spirit. Now she is this beautiful, confident girl, with my dad’s sense of humor and stubbornness and my mom’s determination, about to graduate high school and make big, life-changing decisions. Even though in my mind she’s still that little girl with the wild, knotty hair.  

My husband is this loud, loving, kind-hearted person who loves Jesus and me and football, most likely in that order. He wears his emotions on his sleeve and can put me in a better mood just by walking into a room. He sends me photos of adorable puppies on a regular basis and is generally more thoughtful than I will ever be; he challenges me and takes care of me. Plus he’s totally cute. Living life with him is more fun.

When I got married, I gained this whole other family. They are much different than my own, but just as loving. They are kind and sacrificial and they treated me as one of their own from the very start. Now I have all of these families and I complain about splitting time on holidays and vacations and jumping from one Thanksgiving meal to the next, but to be honest I am just blessed with all of these people God has placed in my life and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

These are my people. These crazy people are my home.

When things start to get serious, I imagine us as our own little war tribe painting our faces for battle. And I know that throughout the states we are breaths of prayer rising up, each going to the throne for mercy, for healing, for His glory to be made known through the trials. Across state lines and across streets, we are inextricably linked, forever banding together in our own peculiar ways. And isn’t that all we ever need to ask from our tribe?

I know that I am one of the lucky ones here, that not everyone has a loving, caring family surrounding them, and my heart breaks at the thought. Lord knows that my family isn’t perfect, that we have infinite issues and problems. But I hate that disagreements and mistakes and sin start to chip away at that rock that is family. I hate that the divorce rate goes up every day and families are being torn apart and tossed aside like an old pair of boots you had in the closet but never wore.

In an ever-changing, fast-paced, disposable world, I think there’s something to say about those that stick together. I think there’s something to say about the cultivation and protection of marriage, about forgiveness and the leaving behind of bitterness, about the kindling of relationships amidst the growing and transforming year after year.  

I think we should notice the way our family members love one another or hurt one another or how they just keep showing up despite busy schedules and fighting traffic and fitful toddlers.  I think we should notice the efforts made and efforts ignored, so that we can follow suit or set a precedent for change.

And this is not a call of guilt but of action, not to dwell on the past but to look to the future. May we find restoration, may we find a place of protecting and defending our families, for all of the ones now and all of the generations to come. May we fight for our tribes full of heart, with grit and determination and love.  

I know I could do better, fight harder, love deeper. 

Photo by Rebecca Long Photography

It’s easy to romanticize college. I think I forget the hard parts because so much of my experience has been cloaked in light.

I pulled all nighters studying for finals and talked to friends suffering from depression and made promises I couldn’t keep. I hurt people and people hurt me. I flunked Calculus II and changed my major. I learned not to trust everyone the hard way. For all of the holy and beautiful, there were equal parts evil and heartache.

But it’s the holy and beautiful that stand out.

Although I knew God before, I had been running away from Him, like a treasure-seeker ignoring the pot of gold right in front of her. I always came running back, or rather He came after me. He called me His beloved and gently loved me through the peaks and troughs. He still does. But it was in college when I stopped trying to run away.

I ran toward heaven at full speed, no sign of braking and every sign of crashing into the waves of His grace and mercy. It is painful and perfect-- that quiet beauty that draws you to the cross. I stood at the edge of Ireland, looked out over the cliffs, and felt sheer awe at the creativity of God. I walked the halls of the Louvre in Paris and clapped along to Irish folk music in Dublin and stood in crowded tubes in London, and I saw God everywhere. I hiked in the Cotswalds and walked the halls of castles and took communion in a small Irish church. He was there—in the Cotswalds and castles and communion.

I started waking early because I so craved His words to wash over me. I had this black, circular chair in my room with an old quilt draped across it. I sat there each morning and drank crappy coffee and fell more in love with Jesus. I felt the weight of my ugly sin and I sighed relief when I allowed Him to remove the burden. I did this again and again, approaching the throne of grace with a humility and brokenness. I locked myself in my dorm room and cried, hard and long, over my own regrets and the death of my Savior and the depravity of man.

I told others how much I was in love with Jesus, and they rolled their eyes and laughed and called me cute. I read Keats and the gospel of John, went to church and college parties, loved on Jesus followers and Jesus rebellers. I saw the light of glory everywhere.

We sat in circles in my classes and discussed 18th century British Literature and the history of philosophy and the spread of postmodernism. We read Hemingway and Austen and Hawthorne, studied rhetoric and media and MLK. I fell in love with literature over and over again, found a new appreciation for words and the way they intersect, and learned to write while breaking grammar rules.

I spoke with a little bit more of a twang in my voice and walked with a more confident gait. I didn’t think too much about the future; it seemed so far away. But I thought about heaven.

I fell in love with the art of photography and sipping coffee slowly and a boy. He was loud and overly friendly and wore a backwards hat. He talked about football and Dave Matthews and The Office and it didn’t take us long to fall for each other. He held my hand and brought me sunflowers and we took turns asking questions, wanting to know everything there was to know about the other. We didn’t know then that four years later we would make vows in the middle of an apple orchard in rural Alabama. We didn’t know how much we would grow or laugh or cry together. We didn’t know that meeting one another on the first day of college would change our lives forever, in the best possible way.

During those four years, I was so filled up with love, and so encouraged by believers that I needed to pour some of myself out to others. I went on mission trips where we played soccer on asphalt and sang praise songs in Spanish and shared the gospel to everyone we came across. We ate traditional Guatemalan meals and hiked a volcano and listened to our new friends cry over their disbelief in God. We would listen to their stories and cry with them.

Over spring break we went to a small beach town and knocked on door after door in the houses across the railroad tracks. Sometimes they invited us in, to talk about this Jesus that we loved. And sometimes they didn’t. But we cared for them and we played games with their kids and we would repair their damaged houses. By the end of the trip, everyone in the neighborhood would come to our block party and we would laugh with them over silly things the kids would do and say.

When I came back to campus after these trips, I was a little different. All of us were.  I think when I saw Jesus move mountains, mountains started to shift inside of me, too. Prayers became urgent and conversations intentional and thoughts radical. Sometimes I still see their faces—the people I passionately shared the gospel with and all of the ones I didn’t.

It’s funny, really. How college changes everything.

It was in the cow college in South Alabama where I learned that the gospel is for the broken and the beautiful, for the lowly and the lifted up, for the desperate and the deacons, for the rebels and the righteous. I felt such community in that little town, with the old oaks and the white churches and some of the best people I will ever meet. Jesus met me in that town, over and over again. It was where the tears came while singing Amazing Grace off-key and where my husband got down on one knee and where my voice grew hoarse from cheering too loudly at football games. It was where I got one too many parking tickets and where I stayed up all night memorizing rush songs. It was where I learned how magnificently faithful my God is.

It was where I stopped being little Lucy, lost in the back of a wardrobe, because I heard Aslan calling me home.

But like I said before, it’s easy to romanticize college. 

If you don’t know anything about the Whole30, start here.

So, now that you know just what I got myself into, you’re thinking, “Why the heck would anyone want to do that?” Good Question. Multiple times throughout the last 30 days I have found myself thinking the exact same thing. I’ve also been thinking that the tagline for the Whole 30 should read: For the completely insane people who want to starve themselves of all food that is good for exactly 30 days and look like a sociopath at all restaurants.

Since we’re on the same page, the real reason I wanted to do this (and force my unwilling husband into this adventure also) is because I have a lot of stomachaches- so many that they were interrupting life and sleep and everything in between. Also I am an extremely picky eater and I thought it might force me to eat more vegetables (Spoiler: I still don’t like many green foods).

Overall, the Whole30 was a good experience and I would probably do it again.

Then again, maybe I am only saying that because it’s finally over. Because I’m now looking back over my Whole30 Log and here are some of the entries, just to give you an idea:

I feel WEIRD. Had a dream about eating a chocolate chip cookie. Literally- that was my entire dream. Me eating a cookie.

I am so thirsty. All. The. Time.

Today I saw a commercial about cheese. I teared up a bit.

Already planning my first meal on Day 31.

Feeling so much better. I have energy throughout the whole day. Awesome.

SO.TIRED.OF.COOKING.

Dear Lord, Thank you for salt. Thank you for calling us to be the salt of the earth. And yes, I too would throw it out and trample it if it lost its taste. Amen. 

My dog ate my Larabar and I almost snapped.

Sleeping like a rock- from the time my head hits the pillow to the time I wake up. Except I wake up thinking about how I can’t have any chocolate today and I still have to drink my coffee black.

We took communion at church today. Does that count as cheating?

I got a coupon in the mail for free cheesy bread from Donato’s. *Rolls eyes*

The last few days have been extremely normal. I suppose I am getting used to a life void of cheese and sugar and creamer and chocolate. Makes me kind of feel sorry for me.

So I know what you’re thinking. Now that you see a glimpse into my experience with the Whole30, you’re like “Where do I sign up?”

Right.

Here’s the truth about my experience with the Whole30: It was hard, but worth it. My stomach only hurt once at the beginning of the detox process and I had a migraine from not drinking enough water, but the rest of the time was purely a mental battle against the foods I craved. To be honest, I doubted myself a little at the beginning of the journey; I doubted that I could really commit to the cleanse for the entirety of the process and not cheat even once. Now that it’s completed, I am so satisfied not necessarily in the results—but in the commitment of the journey.

And maybe that’s what it was about for me the whole time.

Either way, the Whole30 has taught me a lot. I have learned to appreciate the process of preparing meals from scratch (and patience it takes to clean the never-ending pile of dirty dishes). I have learned that sugar is in almost everything, I love sweet potatoes with rosemary, and ghee tastes a lot like butter. I learned that people will look at you with crazy eyes when you tell them you are on the Whole30, and they will most likely think you are on a diet despite what you tell them. I have learned more than ever that the food you put into your body has a direct correlation with how you feel.  I have learned that it doesn’t have to be expensive to eat healthy, and there are some restaurants committed to preparing healthy foods (Chipotle wins again).

I have learned that when you say I could never do that, you are wrong.

So when people ask me if I would recommend the Whole30, my answer is absolutely. Especially if you have food allergies or insomnia or you are addicted to soda. Especially if you have regular stomachaches or reflux or you love sweets more than anything in the world. Especially if you think that you could never do it. Because you might just surprise yourself.

“Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.”

— 1 Corinthians 6:19-20

If you have questions or recommendations or want to exchange info about your own experience, I would love to chat. Also I am leaving some of my favorite foods/drinks/seasonings we used during the Whole30 below:

• Sweet Potato Wedges- with coconut oil + rosemary
• Smoked Ribs- rubbed with mustard + butt rub
• Strawberry and Banana Smoothie- with unsweetended coconut/almond milk
• Trader Joe's Plantain Chips- with homemade salsa
• Stuffed Baked Potato- with ground beef, ghee, + Tessemae's Ranch 
• Sausage and Egg Casserole- with chicken sausage (found at Whole Foods) 
• Smoked Chicken Wings- with Frank's buffalo sauce
• Strawberry + Watermelon Lemonade

I recently spent a few days traveling around Texas with my mom and sister. My sister is looking at colleges so we explored the college towns and went on campus tours while I made non-subtle remarks about Auburn's superiority. We shopped like queens and dined like kings and fell a little bit more in love with Texas and its quirkiness each day. 

Here's a short list of the cities and some of the wonderful stops we were able to make...

Fort Worth: TCU, Stockyards // Food: Joe T. Garcia's 

Waco: Baylor, Magnolia Market, Roots Boutique, Spice Village // Food: Common Grounds Coffee, Cafe Homestead, The Olive Branch

College Station: Texas A&M // Food: Grub Burger Bar

Austin: University of Texas, South Congress Street, 2nd Street District, Austin City Limits Live // Food: Magnolia Cafe, Austin Java, Kerbey Lane Cafe

“I have said that Texas is a state of mind, but I think it is more than that. It is a mystique closely approximating a religion. And this is true to the extent that people either passionately love Texas or passionately hate it and, as in other religions, few people dare to inspect it for fear of losing their bearings in mystery or paradox. But I think there will be little quarrel with my feeling that Texas is one thing. For all its enormous range of space, climate, and physical appearance, and for all the internal squabbles, contentions, and strivings, Texas has a tight cohesiveness perhaps stronger than any other section of America. Rich, poor, Panhandle, Gulf, city, country, Texas is the obsession, the proper study, and the passionate possession of all Texans.”

— John Steinbeck