In the end, your story isn’t an epic of personal glory. You aren’t the hero. Your Savior Jesus is.
Whether a Christian enjoys high church, low church, or something in between, aesthetics in the Church are not about any one individual person and their particular tastes. Aesthetics are, fundamentally, not a matter of legalism, but of edification—that the Gospel of Christ might be preached and taught to all peoples, unhindered by its medium.
Let us live by walking with Jesus, so that our Neo-Pagan neighbors, the witch, and frankly a lot of us Christians, can put down our crystals, our superstitions, our vision boards, and our bound sage in order to live out a liturgy of life, with rituals, practices, and behaviors that reflect who we are as followers of Christ.

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God’s will is not sparkly, flashy, exciting, extraordinary plans for your life—at least not in the Old Adam’s eyes. So, what is the will of God?
Jesus does not come to see how we will welcome Him. He does not come to make a list of who is bad or good because there is no list. Only a book of life. And He has come to write our names in that book.
God will not repent. He will not repent of His promises. He will not change His mind regarding His selfless, self-sacrificing, inconceivable love for sinners.
The devil knows our name and labels us by our sin. The devil breathes out death as he names us for what we are, sinners.
When we run deep into the darkness, Jesus runs deeper and deeper after us. Where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more.
Regardless of what our eyes, senses, and circumstances tell us, we belong to Christ, and He is with us.
Christmas comes in the dead of winter. In a season when the earth is cold, dark, and bare, songs on the radio belt out a chorus which names this season, "the most wonderful time of the year."
He was a beggar on the streets. And, he was as good as dead if he didn't receive a blessing. The words, "you're cursed" haunted his mind.
The wound on my hand would not let me forget what happened. The crackled and blistered strip of skin was a memento of the searing pain I felt that day. For the remainder of that year, I was constantly reminded of what I had done.
The sight of indulgences being bought and sold is just not something I witness on a regular basis.
An orphan girl lives a monotonous life filled with loneliness serving as a slave to her stepmother and stepsisters.
Show me. If I’m going to believe, I need to be convinced—on my terms.