Welcome to Hope That Soars, where together, with my husband Ryan, we navigate the messiness of life by pointing people to the HOPE found in a relationship with Jesus.
Our journey is filled with heartache and the daily struggle of chronic illness, scripted by a loving Creator.
It is through Him we find LOVE, JOY, and STRENGTH to press forward.
I pray you will join us as we share life lessons gained through mishap, adventures, and everything in between. Perhaps somewhere along the way, you too will find, a HOPE that SOARS!
Whether we are wrestling with grief, anxious thoughts, or simply praising God’s goodness; the Bible is a love letter, written to aid in the fulfillment of our Christian journey.
The concept of discipleship points to the need for Christ-followers to comprehend the various attributes and characteristics of the author, God, spelled out within the text.
I’ve noticed that many of us treat our relationship with Christ in the manner described above. We tidy the areas visible to others, while our closets remain cluttered.
Our actions say, “Lord, you are welcome here but this part of my life is off limits.
Don’t open the secret places of my mind that are overflowing with anxiety or impure motives.
Please steer clear of my hypocrisy and judgment.
I’ll tidy up for you in my Sunday best, but the other six days of the week are mine to fill.”
Not even twenty-four hours after placing my identified sin before Christ, I stood spouting off my capabilities to my husband. Ryan’s words of caution elicited anger; and prideful self-reliance was once again held tightly in my grasp.
“There is nothing wrong with me, I can do it myself…” I argued, like a stubborn toddler.
One of my first jobs out of high school was at a jewelry kiosk at the mall.
Every weekend I walked down the corridor with my clear purse slung over my shoulder ready to assist customers in their jewelry needs.
I will never forget the face of the man that would frequently stop by on his break to visit my manager.
He would excitedly share about his escapades at clubs and often tried to include me in the conversation.
“What is your deal?” he asked one Sunday afternoon, “Are you afraid to hang out with someone like me?”
He stood, palms pressed against the glass ,shooting daggers-as if daring me to look away or squirm in disgust.
