NEW blog coming!

I've been writing for as long as I can remember - from mystery stories to love stories, angsty poetry and songs with lots of "ooooohhhs". Writing has been the means by which I make sense of life, myself, others, or simply is a way to get out all that doesn't make sense about the world around me.

Just over seven years ago I started my first blog. I have not looked at it in a while and really would be quite embarrassed to I'm sure. From that point though my approach to writing changed. No longer was my audience isolated to my teacher and family - there was now a potential reach far beyond my inner circle. The first blog that I read consistently was by Katie Davis who lives in Uganda. I remember reading about her life and falling in love with this far off land that sounded so foreign and fantastic. As I fell for Africa, I also found myself enamored with this method of sharing. This writing on the internet for any eye to come across. I let the thoughts stir in my head as to what it meant for not just Katie in Africa to write, but for Kyleigh in Texas to write. I didn't have my teachers there to hand me writing prompts and essay topics; this was one part exhilarating and one part terrifying. I was dizzied by all the possibility and the freedom of writing whatever came to my mind. Which in the early days probably looked akin to an overly explanatory Facebook post from your grandmother about their holiday weekend.

I spent the first few years dabbling here in there, posting pictures with lengthy explanations about the sugar cookies my friends and I decorated. It was all very intriguing. In this season of my life there was a great amount of change occurring on the landscape of my soul. No longer was I giving the Sunday school answer to my own life, I found myself enraptured by my Savior and wanting nothing less that all of Him. I was overflowing. This spilling over poured on to the pages of my journal and to my blog. I found new meaning in writing. It was not just a means to express and create fictional lands (which are both still so important), now it was a way to declare and encourage. A space to present the Truth I was learning and grasping for the first time.

This fueled my writing for quite a while. As I continued to walk in this fresh faith, my heart leaping and coming alive and spilling over in words on a page. Then when life came strong like a cold gust of wind, I braced myself with the binding of my journal and the words I wrote there. Change came quick and the rain poured down, yet there was solace in ink on sheets and words on a screen. To this day writing remains the place where I feel sheltered from the storms around me. It is a place I can go to rest, and let out all that feels stuck inside. It is also the place I have learned the beautiful gift of sharing with others. A home to settle in to and invite others to join me. A hearth to cozy up to and listen to the stories of others, sharing encouragement and honesty, breathing deep in the communion of "me too" life moments.

That today is why I continue to write, for the "me too". Over the years I have read many words - memoirs, poetry, blog posts, lyrics, and there is this incredible rest that washes over you when you read someone else's story and see yours in it too. This embrace that warms you with the knowledge that you are not alone. I knew there was a new chapter coming in how I blogged, how I wrote, how I shared - and that is why I am starting a new blog kyleidoscopeoflife.com will launch tomorrow, December 28th at 12pm. I cannot begin to express how excited I am to share this new space with you. My desire is for it to be that home and hearth - warm with the familiarity of past and fresh with the hopeful anticipation of life to be lived. I would be completely honored if you would join me tomorrow and in the days to come. I look forward to writing more, to reading more, and to sharing more with you.

In His grace,
Kyleigh

bad at Grace

We sat sipping the foam off the top of our lattes. Sunk in to the outdoor couch with the sounds of the highway behind us. Our conversation ebbed and flowed - recalling events, swapping stories, and catching up on the last year. Yet as we spoke, verbally traversing over the months passed, there was a thread that wound itself through.

Grace.

The more we spoke of it, the more we realized we still didn't grasp it. This idea, concept, word - Grace - was not something understood. You can't read about it, making lists of its attributes to fully grasp it. You cannot be "good" at Grace, learning it's patterns and tendencies. It is not something to be studied and observed.

Grace cannot be taught, it can only be learned. And the learning is the hardest part. Why? Because in order to learn Grace you have to be a bad student. In order to feel the healing touch and experience the removal of shame that is Grace - you have to fail. When there is dirt in your teeth and your knees are bruised; when your heart aches like a body fatigued and eyes burn red. Grace arrives. As circumstances crash down like buildings razed by bombs, and thoughts swirl with dust of debris - Grace enters.

So let out that sigh of relief, because this is a subject it is good to be bad in. Fear of failure only inhibits growth. Out of struggle comes growth. In struggle there is Grace. So go ahead and fall. Embrace the ground for it is your classroom. As you gaze upward you will see and know the touch of Grace.

the good girl

It's the last day of October & I'm not really sure where the last month has gone. Between work, people, life, over-sleeping, stressful situations, late night conversations - it's been a blur. And at the close of this month that I really love, I'm reminded of Grace.

These days have been full of me in the not-so-loveliest of forms. Life got stressful, I got overwhelmed, those around me - well, I'm sorry. These days have made me realize how conditional my love is, how chaotic my feelings can be, and how I'm not very good at this whole life thing. Right in the center of all of it I'm Held by Grace.

I had the opportunity to share my story this week with four people. One dear friend & three girls I care for so very much, sat quietly in the wee hours of the morning. The sun rose outside the window as I spoke. And as I shared, I was reminded. Reminded of the person I have been, but more the Savior He is. I was reminded of the moments where I clung to control in every form, how I micro-managed, strived, worked SO hard. And how at the end of it all, I collapsed. Overcome with the weight of trying to be the good girl. I recalled as I traced over the paths I've walked the last few years the moments that felt like everything I knew was gone. My identity misplaced for so long in so many other things I thought would make me "good enough".

So as I remember this life I've lived and I look at the life I'm living, Hope rises. Because it is not I that Lives, but Christ in me. And as I go through every moment, His grace draws near. When the tears are flowing again, as those hurtful words come from my mouth, when I sit and wonder why & how - it is there that Grace draws near. With gentle eyes and nail-pierced hands He takes my face and turns it back to the Cross, "Remember what I did there. I took it all. Cease your striving. Live life with Me." And we walk on. Every step taken in the Hope of a Resurrected Life, covered in Grace & hand held tight.