Dear Lost Friend,
I am praying that you will be found by the God you aren’t looking for. You told me once that you stopped believing in Christ when your name became a number, your person became a project, and getting saved made you a statistic. Fair enough, I replied. It’s all I could think of to say. I wouldn’t want to go to church either if the self-righteous said there wasn’t enough room for my sins on the Sunday pew. As if the virtuous are somehow religiously above having vices too.

Dear Tabor College,
I will be forever indebted to you. Figuratively and literally. I will have never ending student loans but now, because of you, I’ve got never ending love for Christ and his people. Weird how the last place I wanted to go is the very place I needed to be. Weird how the reason why I came isn’t the reason why I stayed. It’s been a great ride and I’m going to miss you dearly. They are telling us that our future is going to come and hunt us down in May. But what if I reveled in the fact that I’ve got stories of bravery that are bookended by sweet memories. A library filled with novels of late nights, pages of good decisions, and words incomprehensible due to teardrops called bad decisions that beautifully decorate chapters of change but give way to lines of laughter. Only to create space for paragraphs of pain, but also to redemptively include a prologue of prayer which will lead me to an epilogue of enjoyment.
Thank you for loving me through my growing pains.