Grace for the road


Why would I not trust Him? If my God is the One who splits seas and lays out bread – if that’s the God who has me in His hands – why would I worry? (Follow @gracefortheroadblog on Instagram) ***** “You don’t have to buy … “ That’s all I got out before she cut me off. “What you ordered is $3. You’re a cheap date,” my friend said with a grin…. Read More

You feel vulnerable? That’s the message I got from a friend after “I Don’t Wait Anymore” stopped floating around in non-reality and found itself in the hands of a few friends, family and strangers a few weeks ago. Yes. Yes I do feel vulnerable. I’ve felt uncomfortable. Exposed. Fidgeting on the couch while my biggest failures and most gut-wrenching moments with God float around out there in people’s living rooms and cars and Kindles. All the things. But… Read More

Because sometimes when you’re in that place where the salt rubs, where the ache is real, where numbness seems like a better option, it’ll get better isn’t what you need to hear. Hang in there isn’t what you need to hear. Sometimes more than you need to hear anything you need to see something real. I sat there on the couch in the quiet, picking at the small, threadbare spot in the blue slipcover. Frayed, I thought. I’m frayed. And a… Read More

I thought about it a couple of months ago as I lay in the hammock in the backyard in the dark, shivering but not really caring it was cold. The stars popped out like chill bumps, and my heart grabbed hold again of just how tiny it was. And if we let it … that feeling of littleness can be a very good thing.  For a while now, on a lot of nights, a few… Read More

Want to read the first chapter of “I Don’t Wait Anymore” for free? Click here and scroll to the bottom of the page for a first chapter preview. And while you’re at it, there’s a trailer you can check out here: It’s starting. Thanks for coming with me, guys.

It’s not always easy, this road. In fact, a lot of the time it’s hard. But the deep depths pale in light of the high highs. And my friend was right. You can’t go back.   The sun poured down through the thousands of dead brown leaves clinking together in the trees, our own surround-sound percussion section. The breeze rustled the pages of my journal, and my friend Caitlin dozed with her… Read More