afterlight.jpeg

A siren screeches in faintly in the background and there they sit, toes wiggling out their sandals on the front porch of our inner city Minneapolis home. 

"Now you have to promise me something," dad looks down at his eldest little girl. She looks up at him earnestly, knowing her six year old heart has already promised whatever he may ask. 

"Promise me you'll try everything you're given when we move to Uzbekistan," he peers into brown eyes passed down from himself, set over a freckled nose from his bride. She nods solemnly, a hard ask from a picky eater. But she's promised to be open to the new world at her feet. 

Several months later, she's greeted by a hot, dry blast of night air as she steps off the airplane into the Central Asian desert. In that moment, the world exploded into enormity and possibility. 

It's not hard to cast my mind back that little girl-- I sense that I'm still her every day. It takes courage we don't know we possess to set out into the unknown, to embrace adventure, to let our view of the world expand beyond ourselves. 

I started writing as a way to process all the nuances of those strange and marvelous early years growing up in Central Asia. I knew life terrified me when I stepped off that plane. All I really had was trust in a God I wasn't sure existed and parents who were trying to love and serve their family and the world around them the best way they knew how. 

Now I still write as a way to process the things I can't make sense of in this life. And the God I wasn't sure about became the bedrock. But life hasn't gotten any less terrifyingly beautiful or wildly unpredictable. Now married to a Northern Irish musician and worship leader, we live our lives on the road, in airplanes, guest rooms and tour buses. Every day feels like stepping off that plane, a glorious bound into the unknown.

I hope you find stories of hope, grace and adventure in the pages of this blog. And that they will encourage you to see the blinding beauty in your own life, the stories of grace that have brought you here. 

g. llewellyn