Kaitlyn E. Bouchillon's Blog

If you’ve been praying for the same thing for a really long time…

Me too.

And I think these 4:04am words typed in the notes app are meant for you.

For twelve years, l’ve prayed for physical healing.* When the brain tumor was removed, insomnia began. Most nights (days?), I fall asleep around 5am. The day is dawning, the birds already chirping, and I’m still tossing and turning. Deep exhaustion is my normal. The night is long and I don’t mean that as a metaphor—although yes, that too.

What I’m say...

Twelve years ago, I read a blog post titled “Trailblazer”. There aren’t many pieces of writing I can remember in great detail from over a decade ago, but this one struck a chord. Like a small seed planted in the ground and watered over time, its roots have gone out and made themselves at home in the soil of my life.

Seasons have changed and years have passed, but to this day I remember the message and encouragement in Annie’s 2012 (in)courage article.

“You’re blazing a trail with your life for t...

If you prefer audio, this article is also available as a podcast episode.

For ten minutes, I stared at my phone screen in awe as friends across the country shared pictures of the northern lights dancing in the sky. I scrolled, captured by the wonder, until an image from my own town filled the screen and suddenly I couldn’t get outside fast enough. Pulling a sweatshirt over my pajamas, I slipped my feet into sandals and stepped outside, eyes up, eager and expectant.

There was no denying the cryst...

I planted my heels firmly into the ground and, with both my hands and my voice shaking, read a prayer to close my grandfather’s funeral service. With the wind blowing and tears falling and God watching, I held the prayer written weeks in advance in my hands, printed on a folded piece of paper, and gave the words back to the One who always knew the timeline.

By and large, we are a culture that is uncomfortable with grief—our own as well as the grief of others. I get it, grief is messy. But grief ...

If you prefer audio, this article is also available as a podcast episode.

The hunter-green box sat tucked among books in the antique store, a mystery hiding in plain sight. One word on the spine caught my eye: puzzle.

As an author and a voracious reader, I’m naturally drawn to the book section of any store, my neck bent as I peruse the selection. But I’m also a puzzle person. Every Christmas, Mom and I try to beat our personal record of puzzles completed. Movies play in the background while we s...

It’s no exaggeration to say I think of this lesson/challenge/invitation on a weekly basis… Because, well, I light candles on the regular now. (Almost every day.) Last night I finished another and thought “Huh, maybe it’s time to share those words again…” Seeing as that came out of no where when it could have shown up any given week over the last three years, I’m just going with it and hoping that if you read this in 2021, it somehow meets you right where you are today. I’ve tweaked one line, as ...

It’s labeled as “triumphant” but it began in tears.

We’re quick to skip past the weeping to the waving of palm branches, but there’s a church in the shape of a teardrop built on the western slope of the Mount of Olives, like a hand reaching out inviting you to stop, stay a while, and see.

Matthew, the disciple and Gospel writer who intentionally wrote to the Jewish people, again and again showing how Jesus was and is the Messiah who fulfills the prophecies of the Old Testament… he’s careful, one...

Have you ever heard someone say, “I used to hate running, but I just kept going and now I love it!”?

In January of 2022, I drove to my local trail, made sure the running app would sound an alert the very second I hit 1.00 miles, took a few deep breaths, and then . . . I ran.

I ran as fast as I could and I refused to stop, determined to see it through.

But this story goes back further, stretching to a December 2020 decision, the thread weaving through years and eventually fi...

I don’t know what today held for you, but I imagine it was a mix of things.

I mean… Valentine’s Day + Ash Wednesday

A both/and if there ever was one.

Tonight the ashes of last year’s Palm Sunday palm fronds were smudged onto my forehead, the mark of the cross, a reminder of dust, of devastation, of death.

There’s so much that has shifted since this time last year, so much loss, so much to grieve, so much that died. You don’t have to look far to find ruins, to see the smoke billowing, to find so...

On an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, I opened my inbox and gasped. Inside, an email invited me to congratulate my grandma on a milestone number of years in her listed profession: pastor’s wife. Just past the hilarity of “How in the world is she on LinkedIn and who signed her up?” is the gut punch, the sting of tears, the unexpected wave of sadness rolling in.

What LinkedIn doesn’t know is that my grandma passed away.

Within my small circle of close friends, over the last two years we’ve walked thro...