kensyk-blog

[kensyk-blog]

New books!! 👏🏻👍🏻😀 #SideJob #Research #SocialMedia #Networking #Marketing #FUN #WorkIsPlay #LuminaDesign

[kensyk-blog]

She says the things I'm not bold enough to say and I love it! Thankful for you, @sarahisawriter!

weird/dreams

Location: Flying M Coffeehouse, Boise Now Playing: “Dangerous” –Big Data

Being unemployed is weird.

It involves a lot of sitting around at various coffee shops applying for jobs on the computer. All while sipping the most affordable hot drip coffee even when it’s 100 degrees outside and you desperately want cold brew. You do this, because it gets you out of the house, where you would otherwise be sitting in your room doing the same exact thing. Only, you’re in your pajamas without any makeup on and you spontaneously start crying every few hours.

Interviews are also weird.

You show up feeling intimidated by someone who basically wants you to tell them how awesome you are and why they should hire you. I can’t sell myself. I’ve never been able to. Truthfully, there are a billion other people more qualified for [X] job and all I can do is sit there and ask them to give me a chance.

And then they ask you the questions. The questions you’re not sure how to answer.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

I barely know where I’m gonna be in five minutes. I’m sitting here in a coffee shop eating a cranberry chocolate chip cookie the circumference of my body for lunch. I’m hoping my car hasn’t been towed or booted because I’m 500% aware I’m illegally parked. I’m not sure if we have eggs at home. Or milk. I should probably go shopping.

I know where I’d LIKE to be in five years.

That’s the real question though, isn’t it? It’s not about what you will be doing, but about what you want to be doing. What is your biggest dream? What’s the thing that makes your heart pound, your blood pressure jump, and turns your eyes into slivers because it makes you smile so big?

“Oh, I don’t know,” I answer. “I just hope to be doing something where I’m working with people. I really love people.”

I want to be a wife. I want to be a mom. I want to write words and hope people read them. I wanna observe life and live life and try my best to understand life.

But no. “People.” I say. “People.”

I say this, because I’m too scared to say what I really want to say. All of us are to some degree. Because the moment we unleash our dreams on people, we take the risk of having them laughed at, mocked or ridiculed. It’s like taking something we’ve protected, cultivated and loved and releasing it into a world of murderers and rapists and cynics and thieves.

It’s not precious anymore, it’s weird. It’s not safe any longer, it’s spoiled.

Perhaps it’s the insecurity in me, because it doesn’t matter who you are, being a woman in this generation and wanting a family gets funny looks. You’re considered an anti-feminist and looked upon like Michelle Duggar, where you will spend the remainder of your days wearing ankle length skirts and homeschooling your 19 children. It’s not a normal thing anymore because we’re free and liberated and allowed to do other things.

I like that we can do other things. I want to do other things.  But I also know what I want and it’s nobody’s right to tell me that what I aspire to can be any better.

But we don’t do that. We don’t act on that. Nope. We don’t admit that we want to start our own businesses or have our own families or become teachers or firefighters or whatever else because admitting what we want somehow allows other people to have an opinion on it. Dreaming is nice, but we live in reality. A reality with banks accounts, car payments, rent and necessities. We need to work for these things. A reality where dreams sometimes go to die. It scary.

So when they ask ‘where do you see yourself in five years,’ your answer isn’t what you want, but 'whatever impresses you enough to hire me.’ And our dreams continue to sit in our hearts untouched, untarnished. Hoping maybe one day we can achieve them. One day, they won’t be weird.

I told my sister during a phone call last night that there are two types of compromise. The kind you have to suck up and deal with, and the kind that makes you want to kill yourself. You know, the kind where you have to make sacrifices to get to where you need to be, and the kind that suppress and destroy everything you are inside.

I don’t want my dreams to be something I feel ashamed of, not anymore. Life is too short to hate waking up every morning. 

And yeah, sometimes our dreams rest quietly for a little while before we can act on them, but that doesn’t make them stupid. Or unimportant. Or unrealistic. They’re our dreams for a reason. The thing God put inside of us to remind us that we’re meant for more than merely living and dying and getting by inbetween.

When people ask me where I want to be in five years, I want to be straight with them. I want to be me, no matter what it costs.

Life is weird. But maybe it needs us to be that way.

[kensyk-blog]

This is a MUST read!! @sarahisawriter just nailed this!

Was Jesus A Feminist?

I think Jesus was a feminist.

Really. I think He was.

More on this in a minute…

I think modern day feminism has lost the plot. Feminism used to be about women having the same abilities as men and being able to use them freely. It wasn’t about “rights” we had to try and “earn,” but a freedom that was always there and deserved to be implemented.

These days, feminism “earns its rights” by taking them away from men. It’s allowing women to live independently apart from the opposite sex in a we-don’t-need-you-to-be-happy philosophy, and that’s really where the issue begins.

Example: I went out to grab a case of bottled water the other night from Trader Joes. I went in only for the water, so I skipped grabbing a grocery cart and decided to carry the case both to the register and the car. If anything, it gave me an excuse to flex my muscles and burn some extra calories.

Over the course of my five minutes trek through the store, I had two or three male cashiers run and offer me aid, to which I politely declined. Each asked if they could either grab me a cart or carry the water for me. None of them disputed when I said ‘no,’ they respectfully let me on my way and told me to have a nice evening.  

The next day, I told a friend what had happened, and how I thought their willingness to assist was both a sweet and gentlemanly gesture.

“I dunno, I consider myself feminist,” my friend shrugged, “and I would have been upset.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you’re capable of doing it by yourself. They shouldn’t have even asked.”

I thought about that comment through the course of my day, you know, 'cause I tend to overthink things until they wind up here for all the world to read. I came to a striking conclusion: Could it be that the rise we’re seeing in Peter Pan Syndrome is a direct result of the feminist movement?

This isn’t a groundbreaking idea. I’m sure there are 9,000 internet studies out there I don’t have the time or the attention to stop and read. It’s just that I HAVE to wonder if women wanting the responsibility of men has something to do with men not feeling the need to step up anymore. The reason why men are afraid to commit in relationships or live audacious, authentic lives of self-sacrifice and leadership. The women want it so badly, why not let them have it, right?

But IS it right?

I’m all for women’s rights. I like voting, working, and wearing pants. I like knowing that I have the freedom to be able to carry my own water and be able to nicely tell people I can do it myself. It’s a healthy freedom that should belong to ALL people, whether they are men, women, black, white, disabled, or have chicken legs.

The problem, is that the pro-woman figure we once fought for has spawned into this big, ugly Alpha woman. The kind that says we shouldn’t have men asking to hold our water for us because it’s asserting dominance over our sex, when really, all they’re doing is exercising their basic right as men to lead us with kindness, and we consistently decline it for all the wrong reasons.

That’s why I think Jesus was a feminist.

I say that, because I think Jesus was pro-women. He wanted women to follow Him, He allowed them a distinct place in His ministry, and most importantly, they carried a very special place His heart. In a culture that looked down upon, even murdered the harlots and whores, Jesus publicly sat and dined with them. He encouraged them, embraced them, and told them their destinies were greater than their pasts.

While we can go deeper and get into the whole “woman in leadership” debate (another time, another place), there is no denying that God’s heart towards women is huge, and that He ultimately calls women to do things that can and will shape the course of history. Where would many biblical heroines be if it were for their bravery? (Esther? Rahab? Mary? The OTHER Mary?)

The world today is not pro-women. It’s pro-allowing women to do lots of crazy things, but certainly not pro-women. It’s backwards and objectifying. It tells women they have worth, yes, but also how they have the right to step on people to prove it, or that they are fearfully and wonderfully made, and how they ought to flaunt it for the rest of the world to see.

Being pro-women isn’t showing off your buttcrack on Instagram.

I care too deeply about the role of men in society to see it reduced to providing sperm and earning paychecks, and it rattles me to the core knowing that we as women might be playing a part in the steady decline of men and soaring catapult of boys.

I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own water, but you’d best be sure if a guy offers to carry it for me, I’m going to thank him and let him know that his leadership is meaningful. And there are gonna be times when I’m too tired to carry the darn water or my back is hurting, and when he offers to carry it for me, I’m gonna give him the privileged of doing it.

Because that’s what being a man is. It’s not seeing a weak woman and trying to dominate her, but knowing she’s capable of doing it herself and wanting to treat her with tenderness and respect because she’s of value and he recognizes it.

[kensyk-blog]

“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.”

[Leo Buscaglia | Romi Burianova]

[kensyk-blog]

AMEN!! @sarahisawriter

Stop Asking Me What I Do

If I had a dollar for every time somebody has asked me why I moved to Nashville ever since I moved to Nashville… I’d have enough dollars to leave Nashville.

I get it. I do it too. It’s the easiest way to make conversation with someone else. Especially when that someone else is a complete stranger.

“So, do you go to school?”

“Did you come here for a job?”

“What’s your title?”

“What do you do?”

Stop asking me what I do.

Please.

STOP ASKING ME WHAT I DO.

Stop asking EVERYONE what they “do.”

It’s not because the question offends me, or even makes me mad. It’s not because it’s a dumb question or a question that shouldn’t be asked. It’s actually a really valid question.

* I didn’t move here for school. I never went to school. I moved here because I thought it was what I wanted. I thought I had a future in music journalism somehow. I thought it was the only way. Turns out, it wasn’t what I wanted, I don’t want to work in music journalism, and there were plenty of other ways out. *

I want you to know this.

But I don’t want you to ask me what I “do.”

I want you to ask me WHO I AM.

“What are your passions?”

“What makes your heart beat?”

“What do you wanna accomplish in the future?”

“Who are you?”

I want you to know me. The real me. Not the me adorned with accomplishments or titles.

I want you to know the me who likes to cook and writes good sometimes. I want you to know the me who wants to have a family one day. I want you to know the me who is afraid of failure and rejection and desperately wants to leave an impact on this world.

I want you to know me. And I want me to know you.

Please.

Let’s stop asking each other what we “do.”

Let’s start learning who we are.

[kensyk-blog]

Never thought a blog post about snow would make me cry! Thanks, @sarahisawriter!

snowblind

Today was my first ever snow day. Ever.

Our little corner of Nashville gathered well over eight inches of steady snowfall, leaving the city looking breathtakingly beautiful–and cripplingly debilitated–for the day.

I often get teased by northerner friends who don’t understand my love for the cold. Most of them forget that I grew up in Southern California, with the closest thing to a snow day being recess indoors when it rained. I’m not a fan of heat. I don’t fair well in the summertime. Chances are if I ever find myself visiting a tropical climate, I’ll be spending most of my time with a portable fan glued to my side.

To me, snow is magical.

The only real snow experience I’ve had before was a day trip to Big Bear in the middle of April, where the powder was all man-made shaved ice, and while I’ve encountered my fair share of the real stuff during past work/travels, I find something special about the idea of having a day to sit and bask in it. No work, no school, and no pressing responsibilities.

Getting word that work was cancelled for the day, I immediately sat until I couldn’t wait any longer, itching for the heavy dusting to fully accumulate. Suiting up in my warmest clothing (which for a Californian, is basically every item of clothing in her closet + boots), I headed out shortly after lunch to roll around, dig, and toss myself into the still falling snow.

Something took me back as I inched my first several, slippery steps outside, and it wasn’t just that this was the thickest layer of snow I’d seen in some time (Nashville gets a storm of this magnitude about once a decade!)

It was my inability to see.

According to Merriam Webster, snowblindness is “inflammation caused by exposure of the eyes to ultraviolet rays reflected from snow or ice.”

Granted, it was temporary as my eyes adjusted to the blinding white rather quickly, but for a brief moment, my vision was completely impaired. Eyes watering and shooting pains running through the back of my head, the sharp wall of white was a bold contrast from the faded, grey colors of winter I’d become accustomed to seeing.

With my sight coming back, I began to think about Jesus.

We’ve cited scriptures and sung song after song about His blood washing us “white as snow,” but I doubt any of us understand the full effect of what that means for us.

When we first encounter God, I think what we experience is the spiritual equivalent of snowblindness. Over time however, as we begin to form our own idea of who “God” is, the once overwhelming feelings of shock and wonder start to wear off, and our eyes once more adjust to the natural world around us. A world filled with dazzling sights, but nothing like that first moment of utter and glorious devastation–of snowblindness.

I wonder what it would look like to see God in all His glory, if we’d even be able to comprehend His radiant light, in the same way we see a freshly fallen snow. So perfect and without blemish, that you’re hesitant to get your feet in it because you dare not tarnish such a sight with your own impurity.

Yet, like snow, we do. And when we do, we find ourselves dancing in it.

We throw ourselves into the wonder. We laugh, we play, we fall down and get back up, we build things, we smile. We become an alternate version of ourselves, a version that feels free enough to unleash the childlike spirit within us. Joy found amidst wonder so unnatural often wakes us from our flesh-prone foggy, apathetic state and reminds us to go out and live again.

Being washed white as snow isn’t a just matter of being made pure, it holds much more weight than that. 

It’s being desensitized by a God who is so much greater and more capable than our narrow minds make Him. It’s becoming aware of how flawed and human we are, yet brave enough to venture out into the wonder because something about Him makes us feel so unbelievably brave.

Perhaps snowblindedness is the invitation to live as the truest version of ourselves.

[kensyk-blog]

You should definitely read this..just sayin'! @sarahisawriter rocks!!

God's Not Dead (But He Doesn't Need A Lawyer)

“God doesn’t need a lawyer… your job is to be honest.” 

–Jon Foreman

It’s a weird season of life, tbh.

I’m transitioning from a season of "wait” to a season of “GO” and I have no idea what my first steps should look like, let alone where those first steps are taking me.

It’s a confusing season, an impatient season. Frankly, it’s a freaking annoying season.

A season that requires a little extra strength.

I suppose the beauty of these seasons are how they leave us hungry for the voice of Jesus. Positive Pinterest quotes aren’t quite enough to motivate you when you feel the tug of the divine telling you to jump off the cliff and enjoy the dive. We need God in His fullness, we need His presence. So we go searching for it.

This was me last night.

I went to a small church gathering downtown that I’d been to only once before to hear a speaker, but never for the actual event. I’d somehow misread the time online and thought it started at 7:00. It actually started 7:30, and I was 45 minutes early.

‘No worries,’ I thought, 'I can snag a seat and hang for a bit.’

The small room was starting to fill up fast, unfamiliar faces occupying every inch of the cold space. Two young girls who looked no younger than myself came and grabbed the two vacant chairs next to me. We exchanged hello’s and friendly smiles. I inwardly began to pray, asking God to prepare my heart.

Funny thing about talking to God: The enemy often listens in on your conversations.

One of the two young girls abruptly tapped me on the shoulder and cleared her throat.

“Umm, excuse me, but we have a friend coming, so is there any way you can just go sit somewhere else?”

Do you ever have things catch you so off guard, that you’re not properly quipped to respond for at least another seven days?

Basically that.

As I stood up to leave, the girl handed me my coat, which I had just hung from the back of my chair, and shot me a smile.

“I hope service blesses you!”

It probably would’ve had I not walked out.

Granted, leaving was my decision, and in hindsight, essentially handing ten points to hell, but in a room filled with noise and strangers, it was hard for me to come to terms with the fact that I’d basically just been “blessed” right out of my seat to make room for someone else whose presence mattered more in that moment than mine did.

And that hurt.

I sometimes fear we as the Church are getting it all wrong. 

Wrong motives. Wrong priorities. 

It’s like we kick unimportant people out of their seats and then tell them to be blessed as they walk away.

That’s NOT my Jesus.

The current generation is turning faith into loud proclamations, bold anthems, moral positions and fierce debates. And don’t get me wrong, these are all great things! I see men and women beheaded for their Christianity in the Middle East and I’m grateful for my ability to live in a nation where I can practice my beliefs without fear of persecution.

But that’s just it: We’ve made ourselves “the persecuted”, when in reality, we don’t know the first thing about true persecution. We’re so busy trying to defend God and all the ways we’re “attacked” for believing in Him, that we’ve become an army of self-made martyrs who are so busy standing up for our faith, that we’ve forgotten the only thing we’re required to do is live it.

I think about Jesus on His way to Calvary, accused and mocked by the religious leaders of the time… and how He said nothing. He lifted no finger. Raised no argument. There was no bold anthem or loud proclomation. Just a man and His cross.

He did eventually say something though. He spoke to the stranger hanging next to Him–the convicted felon. The kind of person good Christians don’t associate themselves with.

“Can I ever be forgiven?” the man asked.

My Jesus: 

“Tonight, you sit with Me in paradise.”

I have no idea how to love people well. Especially those who see and operate their lives in a different way than I do. Even my best efforts are but specks in light of how frequently my compassion fails.

Still, I have to wonder how differently we would be seen as a Christians if we stopped trying to defend our relationship with God and practiced what it meant to live it out honestly. To be real with our struggles, just as much as we are in our victories. To operate not from tolerance, but from grace.

And yeah, there will be times and places to defend our faith and stand up for what we believe in, but when the day comes for me to stand before God, He isn’t going to ask me “How many people did you convince?”

No.

“How much did you love?”

And just maybe, did I make room for the strangers sitting next to me?

[kensyk-blog]

I just LOVE this @taylorswift cover by for KING & COUNTRY!

Taylor Swift’s favorite cover of her ‘Out of the Woods’

Check out some of their original stuff while you’re there!!

[kensyk-blog]

My hope for the new year... Thank you, @sarahisawriter!

Kingdom Comes

I hate being bored.

Actually, I absolutely abhor it.

It’s the silence. I can only spend so much time alone and sitting down before I’m desperate to stretch my legs and get my mind moving. Sometimes, I’ll hop in the car and drive somewhere just for the heck of it. Target, Publix, thrift stores. I have no intention on buying anything, it’s just something to keep me from going insane in the silence.

Today is the first time in a month I encountered that dreaded silence.

This was the busiest December I can remember. A handful of double shifts at work, multiple holiday parties and events, weddings, birthdays, cards, presents, baking, eating, sleeping (kinda), all topped off by a much needed vacation to Idaho to visit some of my closest friends over the week of Christmas.

Normally around this time of year, I tend to reflect a lot. As of late however, I haven’t had the time to process a single thought, let alone reflect on a couple thousand of them over the course of 12 months.

Honestly, I think part of me has been running from reflection this year.

I’ll admit, it’s for good reason. If you were to compare my first half of 2015 compared to my second half, you’d think you were reading about two entirely different people. Sometimes I feel like Hannah Montana. Only, both her lives were much cooler and far less complicated.

As much as I’ve been avoiding the reflection, I’ve also been dodging the inevitable anticipation.

2016 is dangerously close. It’s a new year, 365 blank pages, and I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m meant to write down on a single one of them.

A busy December offered me the necessary distractions I needed. With enough work and play, I could easily outrun my own mind.

But then the silence happened. 

I got home from my vacation today after a 12 hour series of flights overnight. My roommates, who are still with family for the holiday, left me in change of making sure the apartment doesn’t burn down while they are away. Which is either a brilliant or unfortunate decision depending on the day.

I walked in, and it was quiet. Quiet like it has been so many times when one or more of us are away and we’re left on our own. Heck, I spent an entire week while they were gone baking and watching Christmas movies till I could barely keep my eyes open anymore. 

Happy treats, shiny distraction.

Today was different. The silence was thick, tangible even. Like I could grab it with my fists and hold it until I felt like letting go.

This was an unusual silence. The kind that demanded its presence be felt.

And I began to think.

I thought about how crazy this year was. How many places I had seen and faces I’ve grown to love. I thought about the friendships I gained and lost. I thought about the seasons of depression, and the remarkable comebacks that followed. I thought about job changes and personal disappointments. 

All of it. Everything. 2015, wrapped up in one, big Times Square confetti ball. The highs with the lows, the good with the bad. A work of art about to be completed.

Then I thought about the blank canvas in front of me. The one with “2016” on top and “SARAH” written in the upper left hand corner. I thought about how this new year is like staring at a series of paint cans that don’t tell you which colors are inside, while I anxiously hold different sized brushes and wonder what on earth this thing is going to look like when I’m done with it.

I thought about all these things.

I thought hard.

And after all that thinking, all my heart could muster to pray was:

“May 2016 be the season God tells us to go.”

2015 was a season of waiting. For me, and for a lot of people I love. 

Yeah, some of us moved or got married or had a baby or changed jobs or did something else radical, but something about it still felt… stagnant. Maybe a little… incomplete.

Dare I say, we felt suck.

It’s in those seasons when all we can do is wait that God asks us to plant seeds. Which doesn’t always means He asks us to take roots, but continue to give it all we’ve got until the harvest comes.

I prayed 2016 would be that harvest.

Waiting is a necessary aspect of life. It teaches us patience and keeps us humble, but it’s not the outcome we’re destined for. Eventually, we’re gonna have to get up and move. It’s seeing the light go from red to green–the “stop here” become the “okay, your turn.”

I recently told a friend that it’s like being content, but not satisfied.

I’m okay where I am now in a lot of aspects, but I’d be lying if I said this is where I want to stay, and as much as comfortable Christianity teaches us to overcome that feeling–most of the time, with pure intentions–I don’t think that’s at all the case. We can’t mistake our gratitude for our desire to grow, nor should we be forced to choose one over the other. They’re both essential if we want to live lives of thankfulness and purpose.

And while I don’t think we’ll ever find true “satisfaction” this side of heaven (there was a reason The Beatles couldn’t get none), I have to believe there is a wave of peace that comes with following the leading of the Spirit. Even if it’s messy, awkward peace. It can, after all, be the very best kind.

I pray in this new year, we’d all find our peace. His peace.

The kind that brings us the harvest.

The kind that shows us the hope.

The kind that can, from time to time, slow us down with silence.

“Kingdom comes. And it is big. And I have a part to play, or I wouldn’t be here.” –Amber Haines

[kensyk-blog]

The @taylorswift 1989 World Tour LIVE is epic! Taylor is a musical master. Genius concepts..I can’t wait to see what she comes up with next! Swifties, any ideas on what brand/color Taylor’s glitter nails are in the film? I love them!!

[kensyk-blog]

[kensyk-blog]

Can't wait!!!

Thank you so much for all the birthday wishes! I have a little surprise for you. The 1989 World Tour LIVE 

Directed by Jonas Akerlund

Released on @applemusic December 20, 2015

http://smarturl.it/1989TourLIVE

[kensyk-blog]

Yes and amen!!

I’ve had enough. With all the corruption and sadness on the news, surrounding us and now in our daily lives, I want to challenge you to turn your focus away from it. Focus on life and beauty, focus on love and prosperity but be as wise as serpents and as innocent as doves. Don’t allow yourself to engage in the darkness. Choose light and marvel in the love of our Creator; in a dying, sinful world, He will always overcome it.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

#QOTD: What’s your favourite verse/encouragement?

[kensyk-blog]

I say this every time..but @sarahisawriter has done it again!! BRAVO! 👏🏻

of Sex & Swiping

I recently had a friend download Tinder.

She’s trying to get me to do the same.

I kindly declined.

“Well, you’re so desperate to meet a guy, what’s wrong with trying it out?!”

I shrugged and asked her why she choose to download the app. I mean, she’s good looking enough and gets a fair amount of attention from men. 

“Ehh, I’m just trying to make some new friends.”

::pause::

For those of you who are technologically challenged (like me), or just behind on the latest online dating fads, Tinder is a new-ish relationship app that matches people based on their pictures. Going off location data, it gives you potential matches within your region, and it’s up to you to either swipe left or swipe right on their photo to approve or decline the person.

Swipe right, you find them attractive. Swipe left, you don’t. Moving on. Simple. 

One you’ve swiped right, your picture is then sent to the potential in question. If they like what they see in return, BOOM, you have a match! From there on out, you’re allowed to start communicating with each other.

Yes, it really is as shallow as it sounds.

In Tinder’s defense–did I really just say that?– it doesn’t “have” to be used as some sketchy hook-up app. Just like Snapchat doesn’t “have” to be for vanishing sexts or Twitter “has” to be used for pointless debates (too late.)

I didn’t doubt that my friend was using the app for legitimate reasons to try and connect with a few new faces around town. If her motives were innocent, more power to her.

Then 24 hours went by. 

And she got a match.

His name was Miguel. Or Raoul. Or Steven. Unimportant.

What WAS important, was that my friend had a date with him later that afternoon.

“I thought this was just a friendly experiment,” I asked confused.

“It was, until he thought I was cute!”

But isn’t that the point? Swipe right, hot, swipe left, not?

“Do you know anything about him?“ 

She smiled, “It says in his profile that he plays soccer and that he goes to church!”

Look out world. Match made in heaven coming through.

I shook my head. “Do you know anything other than that?”

“He thinks I’m pretty. What else matters?”

We live in a modern society that’s obsessed with beautiful things. You can sell anything as long as you make it look sexy enough, from sports cars to cheeseburgers. We are stimulated by attraction and confident in our turn-ons. Which is part of why it makes us feel so good when we find out somebody likes our face.

Now, you can’t get me wrong here. Physical attraction IS super important. We’re wired to desire people in a sexual manner. That’s not sin nature, that’s design. It’s a good thing to find your significant other good looking (I’d be concerned if you didn’t), but there is a fine line between allowing attraction to fuel our fire or add to it

And that’s really where the problem lies.

David Beckham was just named People Magazine’s “sexiest man of the year.”

Ironically enough, I was thinking about the whole “sexiest man” thing several weeks ago.

What happens when a new sexy man is crowned? Does that mean last year’s sexiest man isn’t sexy anymore, or is he just less sexy now and a sexier guy came along? Or do they stop being sexy altogether? AND WHY HAS BRAD PITT BEEN GIVEN THE TITLE LIKE EIGHTEEN TIMES?! HOW DOES HE KEEP BRINGING SEXY BACK?!

It’s all too complex for this right brain to understand.

It made me wonder how crazy it is how we can fall so far from sexual grace, so to speak. One minute, we can be the most dazzling creature on the planet, and the next, Mr. Posh Spice is stealing our crown and claiming his victory on a front page cover spread.

Culture instills the fear in us that we need to remain beautiful if we want to remain important. Sex doesn’t just sell anymore. It decides our worth.

Lately, I’ve been praying for a man who loves me when I’m ugly.

We’re talking bedhead, no eyeliner, ‘I just woke up and should probably throw a plastic bag over my face until I’ve had some coffee’ ugly.

I’m like every other single Christian girl who dreams of meeting a guy who thinks I’m gorgeous, but a shift in perspective has me asking for a guy who loves me even when I’m at my least attractive. Both inwardly and outwardly. A man who will still go after me even when we fight and I’m wrong, a man who will see me when I’m hungry and impatient and snap at the car in front of me for not driving faster, a man who will see past the lack of sleep and eyeliner and still be glad to call me his.

I want this, because it’s how Christ wants us.

We’re His bride, and we are a mess. We are divided and envious and prideful and easily angered and narcissistic and worried. We often blame Him more than we trust Him. We ask Him for more without even saying ‘thank you’ for the last thing He did.

There is no reason for Him to keep coming back to us. Yet He does. Because a good Groom doesn’t only love His bride when she’s all dolled up, He loves her even when she’s at her worst, her ugliest, her… un-sexiest.

Attraction in its purest state is the opposite of the swipe left gospel.

It didn’t work out between my friend and Tinder boy.

“There really wasn’t any chemistry,” she explained, “plus, he was late.”

Shocker.

“I met another guy though. He said I have beautiful eyes” she swooned. “I still think you should give it a try, you might find someone who likes you!”

I kindly declined.

[kensyk-blog]

This one was a punch to the gut..hit so close to home! Thank you, @sarahisawriter! 🍂🍁💕

seasons.

Nashville had an anti-climactic Autumn.

My roommates and I were recently reminiscing over photos taken in our neighborhood on Halloween last year. 

Orange and crimson trees lined the streets headed towards historic Belle Meade. Atop the fresh cut grass lie layers of crunchy, gold leaves so thick, you couldn’t see where they started or ended. Two of us had grown up out West and had never seen a proper Fall before. We were mesmerized. We giggled like kids as we hopped around the piles and felt the calm, cool winds breathe on our faces, reminding us that better things were yet to come.

2015 delivered both ice and an unbearably hot summer. By the time Halloween hit this year–on the same stretch of road where we had danced last October–the trees were bare. A thin layer of dead, brown crumbs lay at our feet. Autumn had indeed come. Only, its arrival was fast, early and without any warning.

We drove home in silence, longing for our once golden leaves.

I’ve been contemplating seasons lately.

I think back to where I was this time last year. Feeling frustrated, stuck and extremely confused, working the daily 5:00 am shift at another coffee shop with a boss who carried himself like a dictator, and making peace with the fact that none of my co-workers and I were ever going to click as friends. All I had was Jesus, myself, and my writing.

And somehow, I miss that.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t miss the old coffee shop. I don’t miss my crazy, old boss. I don’t miss unfriendly co-workers. I don’t miss the bitter weight of stagnancy and frustration.

What I miss, is that season of life.

I miss how in the midst of so much that felt wrong, God was behind the scenes working on so many things that were right. Both in me and around me. We spend so much time waiting for certain seasons to end, that we forget to embrace the seasons that we’re in. What they’re teaching us and the things we’re needing to take from them.

Some of those old co-workers walked into the new coffee shop where I work several days ago. People I never connected with, but were happy to see me. It had been almost a whole year since I left to go on tour, promising to come into the shop to visit from time to time but never had.

They don’t work there anymore. Nobody I worked with back then does anymore. They’ve moved on. New jobs, new homes. These two were even dating one another now. Unbelievable.

We caught up quickly before I handed them their pastries and they headed on their way. It felt good to see their faces. It reminded me of back then.

Mostly, it made me appreciate right now.

It’s almost 2016.

Not much has changed, yet everything is different.

If you had told me everything 2015 would hold back in January, I wouldn’t have believed you.

I had three jobs. I moved twice. I hugged my sister. I saw New York. I wrote a lot. I learned how to keep a budget. I was abandoned by close friends. I learned who my true friend were. I changed churches. I went to almost all 50 states. I drove a Sprinter across the country. I endured heartbreak. I battled depression. I got two tattoos.

…and these are only some of the bullet points.

I wrote several months ago about my desire to move on to new things. When I wrote it, those new things looked so set and defined in my mind. There were theories and big, fat six month plans.

Then August happened and everything changed.

I’m still here, I have no plan, I’m utterly clueless as to what comes next, and for the first time in my life… I’m EMBRACING that.

I’ve started helping our kitchen manager at work do some of the weekly baking tasks.  In between whipping egg whites and slicing pumpkin bread, we talk Jesus.

She said something to me I found rather profound recently:

“It’s just a season.”

It wasn’t hyper-spiritual or foreign Christianize.

It was simply fact.

It’s JUST  a season.

“I’m not gonna be a paid baker for the rest of my life. This is where God has me right now. And it’s okay.”

I wholeheartedly agreed.

I’m not gonna be a barista forever. Heck, I have no idea what the future holds. Where I’ll find myself looking back a year from now. Hopefully the future involves a great guy and a lovely wedding and babies and possibly books and mentoring and having deep conversations over strong coffee and hosting my own TV cooking show.

(Okay, so that last one is a stretch.)

Point is, I can be okay where I’m at because it’s not going to be forever. I’m eventually going to look back on today and miss this season, and I don’t wanna regret anything. I can’t cheat myself out of this moment, because it’s rare and precious and one-of-a-kind. 

And yeah, some days are harder than others. Loneliness overtakes or worry clouds my vision and I fear I’ll never end up writing the book or meeting that guy, let alone have a TV show. On those days, I have the choice to be haunted by circumstances around me, or keep moving forward.

It’s JUST a season. For however long it lasts.

Hopefully one day when I’m basking in some golden leaves, I’ll be looking back on the deadness of the 2015 trees and smile.

“Don’t yield to the fortunes you sometimes see as fate / It may have a new perspective on a different date / And if you don’t give up and don’t give in, you may just be okay.”

–Mike & The Mechanics, “The Living Years”

[kensyk-blog]

A absolute must read! "You didn’t wait. You don’t have a certificate. Your body bears the marks. Jesus still offers you purity." - @sarahisawriter

To Those Who Never Got A Purity Certificate...

So I’m processing this:

A daughter, 23, presents her father with a framed certificate on her wedding day. The certificate is signed from her gynecologist, stating that she came into marriage with her virginity intact, honoring a purity commitment she had made when she was 13.

It sounds like a headline ripped straight out of The Onion.

Worse. It was in USA Today.

The young bride hopes the surge will spark conversations about abstinence.

She’s sharing her story using #PurityOnAPedestal.

There’s been media firestorm. There’s been internet backlash. I’m pretty sure DJ Tanner got involved at one point. 

Feminists are fuming and conservatives consider her a hero to the chastity movement. This is everything you’d expect a story like this to be when it comes to the public’s attention. There’s a lot of good, a lot of bad, a lot of opinions, and a lot of wondering if such a drastic measure was fit to be taken.

It has people talking. I’m glad people are talking. We need to be talking.

I’d like to add something to the conversation that hasn’t been said yet. Mainly to the men and women seeing this who never got to give someone a purity certificate…

I’m sorry.

Now, before you get me wrong, let’s pause and make my stance very clear: I’m saving myself for marriage.

I’m doing this because I believe sex was created by God for a husband and a wife to enjoy and connect and crate. I’m doing this because I believe that somebody’s soul is attached to somebody’s body, and you can’t disconnect one thing from everything no matter how hard you try. I’m doing this because I have value, and because whoever choose to wife me, is worth it.

Waiting doesn’t make me any better of a Christian human being than someone who hasn’t waited. It’s not a mandate birthed out of self-righteousness or pious arrogance, it’s a choice I’ve made to honor the awareness of an intimate purpose.

Not everyone was aware of that purpose. Or, maybe they were and didn’t care and took action anyway.They don’t have certificates to give their significant others on their wedding day. No piece of paper that physically states how they waited. Nothing but evidence stacked against them.

And for a lot of us, there is guilt.

We see and hear stories like this and we want to applaud her for her choice, yet part of us dies inside knowing that we failed to meet such a standard.

What will our husbands think?

What will our wives think?

What will our families think?

What will God think?

Personally, I think He’s sorry too.

Sorry that we as His people have mistaken sexual activity for living in purity.

I went to a purity conference when I was 14.

“How Far Is Too Far?”

I was still very unsure about my beliefs, and wasn’t positive how sold I was on this whole ‘God’ thing yet. I went mostly because I was signed up for it and wanted to her what the Pastor had to say.

I liked the idea of saving sex for marriage. It’s what Nick and Jessica did. It’s was the cool thing to do.

While I learned a lot from that conference–things that eventually sparked my desire to learn about purity as the years went on and my faith began to develop–I can’t help but wonder if maybe, we as a body have spent a good portion of our time asking the wrong question.

“How Far Is Too Far?”

I think the fear of going too far can paralyze us into a relationally repressed state. The kind where we fear being alone in a room with the opposite sex because surely our clothes are gonna come off and somebody’s gonna wind up pregnant.

I know these things. I saw it on Maury one time.

I get it. People struggle. Some have additions. Self-control doesn’t come easy to all of us, and I believe it’s 100% healthy to set individual boundaries. 

Those boundaries are gonna look different for everybody. Some may even wait to kiss until marriage. That’s their thing, and it’s okay. Because it’s not about ‘how far can we can go before God gets mad at us’, it’s about how greatly our relationships can honor Him through our course of actions.

Are we mirroring Christ and His church? Are we respecting one another and holding one another to a higher standard?

Purity is about passion. Not a pedestal.

And maybe you did have sex and you didn’t wait. Maybe you’ve been with more than one person. Maybe you were molested or raped and something special was taken from you. Maybe you’ve done things you are too ashamed to admit to God, let alone to someone you love. Maybe there is guilt because you see rings and keys and certificates and you’ll never know what it’s like to be in the elite “I Lost My V-Card On My Wedding Night” club.

Your worth matters more than your history.

Some religious people once found a lady cheating on her husband. IN THE ACT. They dragged her and threw her out into the street. She was mortified, she was naked, she was ashamed.

“HEY JESUS! OUR LAW SAYS WE OUGHT TO KILL HER! WHADDYA SAY?!”

Jesus saw her. He bent down and grabbed some dirt.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I’m not gonna kill her. But you can. Just make sure only people in your group who’ve never made a mistake land the first blow, alright?”

Liars. Cowards. Cheaters. Thieves.

Not one was worthy.

The religious people, in shock but mostly in fear, left the woman to lay on the street, a crowd of people all around watching the scene unfold. She wept uncontrollably as she crawled to Jesus’ feet.

He knelt down, “Did they hurt you?”

She shook her head through her tears. Her voice cracked, “No.”

“And I won’t either. Go on with your life and live like you know what you’re worth.”

You didn’t wait. You don’t have a certificate. Your body bears the marks.

Jesus still offers you purity.

Greater than any act you’ve committed, this is a story of redemption solely because of what has already been done. It’s the ability to move past what you’ve done and onward to what you can be–what you can HAVE.

And He offers it freely.

“Go on with your life and live like you know what you’re worth.”

[kensyk-blog]

I love @sarahisawriter! 😘

Sarah Writes Back: I'm Listening.

Sarah,

I have no one to talk to. I just need someone to listen.

I feel like my friends and I are drifting apart. My school days have been very stressful and lonely. No one talks to me very often, and if they do it’s because we’re in a group together in class or something.

Lately, I have just felt so distant from God. I feel like I’m losing hope of feeling better and knowing God is real. I battle with depression and anxiety, and I often wish I had a counselor, but it is too expensive for my family to afford. When I feel upset, I have been curious about cutting and whether or not it actually helps. I researched about it, and articles always say its bad and dangerous. I’ve started hitting my legs. It distracts me from my problems a bit, but it still hurts a lot.

I feel like a crazy person. I wish I had a friend who can hold my hand and pray with me and help me or something.

–G

Hi.

I’m listening.

I may not be there to hold your hand or pray with you or help you through this… but I’m listening.

You are I aren’t too different from one another, believe it or not.

See, I struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts when I was in my early teens. There were so many nights when hope felt like a fairy tale and all I wanted was to fall asleep and never wake up again. 

The thing with depression, is that it’s not about feeling invisible. It’s about feeling seen, yet devastatingly ignored.

I see you.

I’m listening.

I still struggle with depression from time to time. Seasonally, for sure. In fact, I’m enduring a bout even as I type this.

This was one of the toughest summers of my life, and although things have gotten better, I know the hurt that comes with feeling alone–through both trial and victory. 

In a three month period, I lost almost every close friend I had. People I trusted with my hardest stories and deepest desires–gone. Some of them moved on and moved away, some of them underwent total personality exchanges, and others, I painfully discovered, were never really friends at all.

I know what it feels like to not have anyone.

That’s why I’m listening.

I know Jesus now. I know Him better now than I did when I was 15, or even a year ago. I trust Him more than I ever have.

I think sometimes, He doesn’t allows us anything or anybody because He wants us drawn close to Himself, and we try so hard to fight that. With great determination, we resist and choose to become the God who only longs to be close to us, in order for us to be close to everything else.

I suppose God gets lonely too.

That’s why He’s listening.

And in all fairness, I can’t sit here and say that if you’re close to God that the hurt will just go away forever. I feel like I’m the most spiritually healthy I’ve been in two years, yet my heart still longs for hands to hold and prayers to be shared and faces to be known.

Death still comes. Yet promise lies in this: Jesus removed its sting.

We can be sure that pain isn’t the end of all things, but the pressure it takes to become more of who we’re supposed to be. Hope doesn’t tell us that there won’t be struggles, but that struggles end, and we’ll be better people for it.

That’s what I choose to cling to on my hardest days.

I choose joy. I choose to smile and attempt to love those around me as well as I can. I choose to press into the God who offers me life and allow Him to carry me on the days when I can barely get my head up.

The cross promises the same to you.

The hurt isn’t yours to carry. Jesus’ scars tell the story that ours will never have to.

And here’s what I know to be true: We’re gonna make it.

Seasons will changes and autumn will come and old things will die and the things which were hard to endure will eventually be the shades of gold that light us up and send us onward to better things. I’ve seen it too many times to know that it isn’t true. Take it from someone whose a little older, and hopefully getting wiser as the years go on.

Some days will be hard, and that’s okay. 

Be good to yourself. You’re worth that. 

Because of this one thing, I’m sure…

He’s listening.