100 Pieces of the Story

Well. We made it. Blog post number 100.

I've spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to figure out what someone is supposed to write for their 100th blog post.

One hundred lessons? Absolutely not. I do not have 100 lessons worth teaching.

One hundred things I've learned? I turned 30 this year. We've already done enough numbered lists about my personal growth for a minute.

A retrospective of every post I've written? I love you, but neither of us has time for that.

So instead, I decided to celebrate this space the only way that really makes sense.

With pieces of the story. Not necessarily the biggest moments. Not necessarily the most important. Just 100 little pieces of the life behind these words.

Things I believe. Things I'm learning. People I love. Things that make me laugh. Things that have broken my heart. Things God is still teaching me. And things that probably have no business being included in a sentimental 100th blog post but are going to be here anyway. Because that's kind of the point. Life isn't divided neatly into sacred and silly. It's all the story. So here we go.

100 pieces of mine.

1. I believe God is present in far more ordinary moments than we realize.

2. I married my favorite person.

3. Working, worshiping, serving, parenting, and doing life beside the same person means my husband occupies approximately 17 different roles while technically being one human.

4. I wouldn't have it any other way.

5. Motherhood has broken open parts of my heart I didn't know existed.

6. It has also humbled me approximately 6,000 times.

7. The mom I imagined becoming and the mom God is shaping me into aren't exactly the same woman.

8. I'm learning to love her anyway.

9. Coffee is no longer a beverage. It is a supporting character.

10. Specifically, an iced white chocolate mocha with a little raspberry deserves recognition in the acknowledgements.

11. I ask a lot of questions.

12. For a long time, I thought that meant I was bad at faith.

13. Now I think some questions are invitations to go deeper.

14. I still don't like unanswered ones.

15. God and I are working on that.

16. I've learned there's a difference between spiraling and stirring.

17. I am still learning how to tell which one I'm doing.

18. Trusted friends are often better at identifying it than I am.

19. There are people who know versions of me that will never make it onto this blog.

20. I am incredibly grateful for them.

21. I've learned that being known is terrifying.

22. Being loved while being known is holy.

23. Sometimes the best thing someone can say is absolutely nothing.

24. Sometimes you just need someone willing to stay.

25. I am much better at caring for people than letting people care for me.

26. God seems determined to teach me the second one.

27. I'm learning.

28. Slowly.

29. Very slowly.

30. But learning.

31. Church camp will always have a piece of my heart.

32. Apparently church camp also wanted pieces of my knees.

33. TDH: Torri Down the Hill.

34. Yes, that actually happened.

35. Yes, people witnessed it.

36. No, I will probably never live it down.

37. Tumble Oak made it worth it.

38. There is something incredibly sacred about being loved through an inside joke.

39. I learned to crochet at camp.

40. I'm still not entirely sure what that says about my life trajectory.

41. I've been prayed over by someone I thought I was supposed to be leading.

42. That changed something in me.

43. Leadership doesn't always mean being the strongest person in the room.

44. Sometimes leadership looks like letting people see that you're human.

45. Sometimes holy ground looks like a church sanctuary.

46. Sometimes it looks like a camp floor.

47. I've cried in both.

48. God was in both.

49. Music has carried prayers for me when I couldn't find my own words.

50. There are songs I can't hear anymore without remembering exactly who I was when I first needed them.

51. I've sung at Carnegie Hall.

52. I've also fallen down a hill at church camp.

53. Please remember both when assessing my range.

54. Ministry is beautiful.

55. Ministry is weird.

56. Ministry is exhausting.

57. Ministry is sacred.

58. Sometimes it is all four before lunch.

59. I've learned that calling rarely fits neatly onto a business card.

60. I'm still figuring mine out.

61. I think that's okay.

62. I love telling stories.

63. I especially love finding the story underneath the obvious one.

64. Maybe that's why this blog exists.

65. There have been posts I almost didn't publish.

66. Those are often the ones people tell me they needed.

67. Vulnerability is annoying like that.

68. I've learned that you can be grateful and exhausted.

69. Faithful and confused.

70. Joyful and grieving.

71. Hopeful and scared.

72. None of those things cancel the other out.

73. I used to think joy was something you found once things got better.

74. I don't anymore.

75. Joy can sit beside pain.

76. Joy can show up before the answer.

77. Joy can survive questions.

78. Joy can be very quiet.

79. Sometimes joy is simply realizing you aren't alone.

80. I have people who make sure I know that.

81. I hope they know I don't take them for granted.

82. My family has shaped more of these words than they'll probably ever realize.

83. So have my friends.

84. So has my church.

85. So have people who probably have no idea they became part of something I wrote.

86. My life is full of people who have loved me in incredibly ordinary ways.

87. I'm beginning to think ordinary love is one of God's favorite ways to show up.

88. A cup of coffee can be ministry.

89. A text can be ministry.

90. Sitting beside someone can be ministry.

91. Making someone laugh when they desperately need to can absolutely be ministry.

92. Not everything sacred has to be serious.

93. Thank goodness.

94. I don't know what the next 100 posts will hold.

95. I don't know what questions I'll be asking.

96. I don't know what God will ask me to release, pick up, walk toward, or wait for.

97. I don't know who I'll be when I someday look back at this post.

98. But I hope I'm still paying attention.

99. I hope I'm still choosing joy—not the shallow kind that pretends everything is okay, but the stubborn kind that keeps looking for God in the middle of the story.

100. The story isn't finished. Thank God.

One hundred posts. That's a lot of words. A lot of coffee. A lot of questions. A lot of stories I never expected to tell. And a whole lot of grace.

But what I'm celebrating most isn't that I've written 100 posts. It's that somehow, somewhere along the way, these stopped being only my stories.

You've brought your own stories here. You've read something and said, me too. You've sent a post to someone you love. You've messaged me about something that made you laugh, cry, think, pray, or feel a little less alone. You've trusted me with pieces of your stories in return. That is something I will never take lightly.

So thank you for reading. Thank you for staying. Thank you for letting me keep figuring things out in public. And most of all, thank God for every bit of joy He's tucked into this messy, beautiful, unfinished story.

Here's to the next page.