wondering where to start? Grab a coffee, settle in, and read my story at the link below...

In the throes of change, we have a tendency to forget ourselves.

In the self-centric culture of today, we are each expected—née encouraged—to put ourselves first in all things.

Perhaps one of the most recognizable stories in the Gospel is that of the Parable of the Prodigal Son.

As I get older, I take more and more comfort in the fact God never promised life would be easy.

When it comes to staying true to what you believe, nothing seems more daunting, especially in today’s world.

It started with a sickening feeling of being too right too often.

My earliest memories are of the reflection of sunlight through multicolored stain glass.

There’s something about this birthday, this age, that is equal parts frightening and invigorating.

During my sophomore year of college, I was having a soon-to-be argument with a friend while folding laundry when I unintentionally hit a nerve.

Contrary to what popular culture might preach, there’s nothing wrong with feeling alone, or lonely.

As an individual who lives with a hyperactive mind, the effort required to make day-to-day decisions can be overwhelming.

From the earliest reaches of my memory I recall the breathless yearning for things.

I had just finished scrolling through my social media when I came across an article that made me stop in my tracks.

Being alone and being lonely are most often portrayed as being mutually exclusive—they’re not.

So few of us recognize that we have control over how we feel.

When one hears the word “salon” nowadays, lineups of plastic-covered dryer chairs and product-strewn hairdresser stations come to mind.

For two millennia, individuals across the world have observed the sacred holiday known as Christmas.

We arrived in Jacó in a sweltering cocoon of exhaustion, the humidity a mild 83%, considering we’d flown from Houston, and nobody was complaining.

The chill. It snakes up my legs and into my skin and pinks my cheeks in ways my southern blood is not accustomed to.

In all my recollections, not once does the name Marfa come to mind.

Sometimes our belief in the value, and in its value, the beauty, of a created thing shifts throughout the act of building it.

We met at the campus coffee shop reserved primarily for hipster students.

One of the dangers of growing up in today’s world is the frightfully narrow slip-and-slide into a narcissistic frame of mind.

Through reading my writing, one can tell that I have an affinity for romanticizing life.