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Gather {Five Minute Friday}

Gather {Five Minute Friday}

by Kaitlyn Bouchillon | Mar 5, 2015 | Faith, Five Minute Friday, Haiti, Mission Trips

I feel small. It is the most uncomfortable comfortable. It is unusual and weird and settled inside it feels so right. My eyes aren’t on myself, they’re fixed upward. Whether blue sky or white expanse or the moon shining so bright, I’m stuck on...
Share {Five Minute Friday}

Share {Five Minute Friday}

by Kaitlyn Bouchillon | Jan 22, 2015 | Broken and Raw, Five Minute Friday, Joy

I’ve never been good at math. And I don’t mean “Oh, I’m decent but it’s not my thing. I’ll make good grades and hey, I loved algebra, but I’d rather do A, B, or C.” No. I’m just really straight up terrible at math....
Send {Five Minute Friday}

Send {Five Minute Friday}

by Kaitlyn Bouchillon | Jan 15, 2015 | Five Minute Friday, Haiti, Story, Voice

Every Thursday night the prompt goes up and #fmfparty slows down. We write. We breathe out our hearts, sharing the hurts and the joys and splitting hearts and words wide open. But tonight is a little something extra! I’m visiting at Kate’s place via a...
Welcome {Five Minute Friday}

Welcome {Five Minute Friday}

by Kaitlyn Bouchillon | Jan 8, 2015 | Broken and Raw, Community, Five Minute Friday

So there are these ones beyond the screen, behind the screen, and they’re hurting. Faces are pulled into smiles and they know how to tough it out. Tears slip silently down but you won’t know it because keys are tapping and posts are posting and hearts are...
I’ll Carry You {31 Days :: Day 31}

I’ll Carry You {31 Days :: Day 31}

by Kaitlyn Bouchillon | Oct 31, 2014 | Community, every story matters, Faith, Five Minute Friday, Story

One last time we gather together for Every Story Matters. There have been days I didn’t think it would happen and listen, it’s currently 11:51 PM so we’re sure cutting it close. But it’s been a thing here, this journeying together every day,...
The Story Dare {31 Days :: Day 24}

The Story Dare {31 Days :: Day 24}

by Kaitlyn Bouchillon | Oct 24, 2014 | every story matters, Fear, Five Minute Friday, Story

Every Friday the prompt goes up and #fmfparty slows down. We breathe out our hearts, sharing the hurts and the joys and splitting hearts and words wide open. Come join us? During the month of October, I’ll be doing my darn best to fit the FMF prompt (today’s is...
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RECENT POSTS:

  • For When You’re (Still) Waiting on a Miracle…
  • When Hope Feels a Little Foolish
  • The Storm Is Never The End of the Story
  • For When You’re Stuck in One Long Winter
  • “I’ll Hold It With You”

MY BOOK // Even If Not: Living, Loving, and Learning in the in Between

Even If Not: Living, Loving and Learning in the in Between

kaitlyn_bouch
This. This, please. 💛 Here’s to the #beautifu This. This, please. 💛 Here’s to the #beautifulordinarynow.
"Worrying is carrying tomorrow’s load with today "Worrying is carrying tomorrow’s load with today’s strength—carrying two days at once. It is moving into tomorrow ahead of time. Worrying doesn’t empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength." -Corrie ten Boom⁣ ⁣ What words. And what truth.⁣ ⁣ God, give us eyes to see and hearts that believe You never lead us into the desert to desert us. Keep us from borrowing worry, Lord. Remind us that You’re a God who comes close, stays beside, and walks with. You’re enough for today. You’ll be enough tomorrow, too. Manna, small and sometimes confusing, but consistent. Present in the promise kept, present in the land of loss, faithful all the same. Help us want the Miracle Worker more than the miracle itself… and also, Lord, while we’re here, would You make a way? Would You split the sea and still the storm? Would you soften hearts and open eyes, sustain and mend and bring laughter again? We know You can; we ask that You will. You’re the God of Through, the God of with-ness, the God who remains, and we’ll say You’re good no matter where You lead—desert sand or Promised Land. We believe it: The story might include time in the wilderness, but that’s never where the story ends. You’ll bring us all the way Home. Amen.⁣
For you, if you’ve been praying for the same thi For you, if you’ve been praying for the same thing for a long time. For you, if you’ve been watching and waiting and believing, but nothing seems to be happening.⁣ ⁣ I filmed this on Easter Sunday. It goes alongside an article titled “For When You’re (Still) Waiting on a Miracle…” (posted at kaitlynbouchillon.substack.com).⁣ ⁣ Overnight, the tiniest green shoots began to push through the dirt. Weeks have come and gone now, time has done its thing, and zero flowers have bloomed. But—but—the shoots have grown taller and the roots have sunk deeper and little by little, centimeter by centimeter, life is telling a story.⁣ ⁣ I’m still waiting on the flowers.⁣ I’m still waiting on a miracle.⁣ I’m still waiting on the page to turn.⁣ ⁣ But: The hidden gift of being in the middle, when we can’t see how the story is going to end, is that if we’re in the middle *then we aren’t yet at the end.* There’s more to come and God will prove faithful.⁣ ⁣ And now, God, do it again—bring rains to our drought-stricken lives so those who planted their crops in despair will shout “Yes!” at the harvest, so those who went off with heavy hearts will come home laughing, with armloads of blessing. - Psalm 126:5-6
If you happen to have stock in Kleenex, cough drop If you happen to have stock in Kleenex, cough drops, or cold medicines, I offer you my hearty congratulations because surely I’ve impacted the bottom line. I’m going on week three of a nasty cold that won’t let up + a double ear infection. (I am entirely unwilling to discuss the experience of ear flushing. Zero stars. Except I think it helped after the internal bleeding stopped. So maybe half a star.)⁣ ⁣ From my place here on the couch, it feels like I’ve said a whole bunch of yeses to a whole lot of nothing, but I keep repeating to myself what I’d tell a friend so I’m writing it out here in case you need it too: ⁣ ⁣ This, the (sometimes difficult) work of resting, is not nothing. Hear me: resting ≠ doing nothing and work ≠ worth. Maybe you don’t have much of a choice in the matter. Maybe your body has said “this far and no further.” But even here, bravery. Courage. Wisdom. Because there’s still the choice to say no thanks to shame and ignore the “shoulds”. It comes at a cost, one you’ve likely counted a dozen times throughout the day—a to-do list piling up, financial stress, missing out on gatherings, saying no to what would have been an excited yes, the list goes on and on—but I hope you know that you’re worth it. I hope you speak to yourself like you would a friend. I hope you’re gentle and kind, and that others are too. I hope that soup is plentiful and the Kleenex don’t run out. I hope you know deep in your aching bones that what you do matters, but you are not any less beloved when you do “nothing” at all.⁣ ⁣ I’ve written it a handful of times before and it’s been said by a thousand a thousand different ways: You are not weak for needing time to rest.⁣ ⁣ But the last few weeks, I’ve tweaked it. Reframed it a bit, I guess.⁣ ⁣ Actually: You are wise for choosing rest. (On the regular, regardless of whether you’re under the weather.)⁣ ⁣ And: You don’t need a permission slip from a stranger, but if in some way it helps today, you’ve got one from me. Permission to rest: given.
There are many who say it’s best to wait until y There are many who say it’s best to wait until you’re on the other side before you write the story, before you say the words, before you tell what happened. There’s wisdom in that, but if I'm honest, when I’m in a middle place I don’t only need to hear from those a chapter or two ahead… I need to know I’m not alone on this page.⁣ Here, in a middle place. Here, in the in between, holding both the grief of Good Friday and the joy of Easter morning.⁣ ⁣ Today, the middle is messy and muddy. Easter has passed and I'm still waiting on a miracle. And yet... there’s a miracle hidden in the word itself, in naming something the middle, in the very place where we think “Yes, this feels like one long Saturday.”⁣ ⁣ If we’re in the middle, then it can’t possibly be “The End.”⁣ ⁣ Ours is a story where resurrection is already and always on the way.⁣ ⁣ “And now, God, do it again—bring rains to our drought-stricken lives so those who planted their crops in despair will shout “Yes!” at the harvest, so those who went off with heavy hearts will come home laughing, with armloads of blessing.” (Psalm 126:5-6)⁣ ⁣ (If you’re praying for a miracle today, waiting for the page to turn to the redemption and restoration of Sunday, leave a heart below. 💛 It's already on the way... but I'd love to pray for you in this middle place.)
I’ve been thinking of the gift of desperation an I’ve been thinking of the gift of desperation and the discipline of delight. They seem like magnets that repel, opposite poles pushing against one another, but once upon a time eternity stepped into time . . . and so perhaps delight is hidden in desperation. Maybe it invites us to try another lens, to notice and stay a little longer, to look again (and again). Maybe it sounds like unexpected laughter that shakes the couch just minutes after crying over a difficult change. Maybe it moves like the shadows on the wall, beauty dancing as you find the courage to get up for the day. Maybe it looks like tiny purple flowers in front of a construction site.⁣ ⁣ I don’t know. But I’m thinking about it. Thinking about how an Easter faith hinges on the impossible becoming possible, on death giving way to new life, on desperation and defeat that became delight. Thinking about how the lens might change if I look longer and try ending the what-if’s with “what if it’s wonderful?” Thinking about this quote:⁣ ⁣ “We can trust Jesus with our time because he has a track record of reliability and generosity.” - Shelly Miller⁣ ⁣ With our time.⁣ With our days.⁣ With our dreams.⁣ With our heartbreak.⁣ With our people.⁣ With our hopes.⁣ With our grief.⁣ With our questions.⁣ With our joy.⁣ ⁣ He does not change or waver. No matter how dark the night, how fierce the storm, how overwhelming the waves, His track record remains steady and sure.⁣ ⁣ I don’t have answers. But I’ll raise my hand and scoot over to make room if you’re looking for a familiar face in the desperate but delighted crowd. Eternity stepped into time. So much doesn’t make sense—in that sentence, in our world, in our lives. But His track record is generous. So—here’s to looking again. Here’s to rejoicing here. Here’s to staying until we notice and trusting through the night. #whatifitswonderfulbook
The storm might have something to say, but it does The storm might have something to say, but it doesn’t get the last word.⁣ ⁣ In Hosea 2:15, God says “There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. And she shall sing there.” The Valley of Achor means the valley of trouble or affliction. It’s a low place of weeping and wailing, suffering and severity, death and difficulty.⁣ ⁣ When I find myself becoming resigned, tempted to reach for tent pegs and settle in because I’ve been walking day after day, year after year through the valley, Hosea meet me in the middle of destruction with the assurance that this won’t be where the story ends.⁣ ⁣ For now, there’s mercy like manna in a muddy place… But it won’t be long until heartache is swallowed up by hope.⁣ ⁣ We may not know the how or the when or why the valley seems to be stretching on so long, but we can trust the One who will carry us through, can settle into His arms instead of setting up camp.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ We have a God who fills the valleys to overflowing, who takes places of deep heartache and makes them doorways of hope.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ We have a God who can turn things around, who swallowed death and then spoke resurrection.⁣⁣ ⁣ The valley is never the end, for the valley itself is a door. We’re passing through.⁣ The storm is never the end of the story.
And then there were seven. ✨ Alternately caption And then there were seven. ✨ Alternately captioned: a few snapshots from the weekend because wedding pictures are finally hereeee!
From one garden to another, from Eden to Gethseman From one garden to another, from Eden to Gethsemane to an Easter morning when the man who looked like a Gardener called Mary’s name and suddenly, she could see the One who saw her all along.⁣..⁣ ⁣ He’s the same all the way through, kind and good on every single page. Praise God, the Word gets the final word.⁣ ⁣ What a day. What a sacrifice. What a gift. What a love. What a friend. What a God. Hope, broken and buried like a seed, healed and alive forever so we might be too.⁣ ⁣⁣ Death—died.⁣ Every promise—kept.⁣ A way—made.⁣ ⁣ Everything sad will come untrue.⁣ Even now, all is being made new.⁣ We have a reason to hope.⁣ ⁣ Emmanuel, God with us.⁣ ⁣⁣ Always.
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