Tag Archives: Christ

Major Life Update 

I’ve always been a stubborn person with a “fight through it” attitude and a strong intention to follow through with everything I commit to. I remember when I was little, my parents would put a baby gate in front of the staircase. And I, being the stubborn and determined child I was, would promptly push it out of the way and climb up the stairs. Then, I would sit at the top whining because I couldn’t get down. I’d wait for someone to come get me, and then proceed to do it again, all the while knowing I couldn’t get down by myself, but totally not caring because I just wanted to prove I could get up the stairs. And I was too stubborn to stop crawling up them just because I couldn’t get down them.

My life has been a lot like this. I’ve climbed mountains, gotten to the top, realized that I probably shouldn’t have climbed the mountain, but had no idea how to get down. Except now that I’m older, I’m too stubborn to ask for help getting down. Because if I climbed the mountain alone, I should be able to get down it alone. But sometimes, I know the way down, I just need someone to give me a little push. And recently, I was given a push down my newest mountain.

When I began this semester, I was signed up for 18 class credits, two of which were sciences, and one of which included Organic Chemistry, arguably the most difficult of all the sciences. And, somewhere along the way, I ended up committing to between 12 and 18 hours of work a week. Plus, I coach Bible Quizzing and agreed to be an assistant teacher in the 7th grade girls Sunday School class at my church. And of course, I have various clubs, social activities, chapel requirements, etc, that I must attend to as a college student. (A post about that can be read here.)

This has always been my mountain in life– my desire to do it all. I so badly want to do everything. I want to get a degree in Chemistry, coach Quizzing, work, teach Sunday School, participate in clubs, volunteer around campus, help my friends out, and sleep. But guys, the biggest thing I’m learning in life, is that I just can’t do it all. I have to say no to good things because I need to leave myself free time for the best things. But, because I’m stubborn, I decided to give this 18 credit hours piled on top of 16 hours of work mixed with hours of everything else thing a chance.

It wasn’t terrible for a while. I managed to get most of my work done and still get mostly enough sleep. But, I can only survive on 5 or less hours of sleep a night for so long before I crack. The more I got into the semester, the more miserable I got. I was sitting in the lounge of my dorm one night, alternating between my physics and organic homework, and I was miserable. Really miserable. I had never felt this miserable, and I didn’t even think I ever could feel this miserable doing something I loved. Days later, I cracked. I called my dad at 12:15 in the morning in tears. “I’m dropping out of college, just to let you know,” I said, tears streaming down my face. My dad listened, despite the fact that he himself was exhausted, and he provided support and fatherly love. After he told me not to be ridiculous for trying to drop out of college.

The internal conflict I had been having for a while mixed with all the stress finally built up to an unbearable amount. After some of my gen ed classes last semester, I discovered I had a passion for God’s Word greater than the one I already knew I had, and I knew God was calling me to do something about it. But, I wasn’t going to change my major because I still loved chemistry so much. So, I did what I thought would satisfy the passion I had and the desire I could feel God calling me to: I added a Biblical studies minor. As a result, I added an extra class, bringing me to 18 credits a semester.

And I said, “it’s fine,” everyday, while trying to convince myself it was, in fact, fine. But, in case you haven’t figured out by now, it most certainly was not fine. Which is why I called my dad in tears and told him I was dropping out of college.

One terrible day and dinner visit home later, and I felt so much better. I felt peaceful, like the largest weight in the world had been lifted off my shoulders. Which brings me to the purpose of this post– my major life update. This update is actually two-fold. First, I decided I had to give something up. I can’t do it all, as much as I want to. As much as I love it all and struggle to say no to things, especially things I’ve already committed to, something had to give.

I was talking to my parents about what could go. My dad said, “were you anyone else, I’d tell you to drop Sunday School or Quizzing…”

“NO!” I exclaimed, before he was even able to finish his thought.

He explained how he would have told me to give those up, but he can’t because I have to do those things. I belong there, I’m doing good things, God’s working through me, etc. So, I couldn’t give up on those. And my work schedule had already begun to decrease, and it would continue to decrease. Nonetheless, something else had to go. Which left a class. But here’s the thing– I didn’t want to give one of those up either. Because, first of all, why should my academics be the thing that gets pushed aside? And secondly, dropping a class at this point in the semester seemed useless. Plus, I’d always been a “smart” kid, and dropping a class kind of made me feel like I was a failure. (But guys, dropping a class does not make you a failure. You do what is necessary for your sanity.)

I finally came to the realization that the best way to solve my problem would be to drop Physics. Here’s the thing– Physics is not that difficult of a class. In fact, it may be the easiest of the sciences I’ll ever have to take. But, I don’t have time to put into it, and I was already behind and struggling, and my other classes, particularly Organic, were suffering because of it. So, I set up a meeting with my adviser to get his approval and dropped Physics.

Which leads me to part two of my major life update. While discussing my life with my parents, they asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I froze and realized I have no idea. My friend asked me the other day what I saw myself doing in the future, and I didn’t know how to respond then either. My parents brought up the fact that I like to do it all. I enjoy a lot of things. I love science, math, English, Scripture, history, and most of all, learning. My dad said “I could see you doing a lot of things. I could see you working a job, or being a Pastor (as if being a Pastor isn’t a job).” And the more I thought about it, the more I realized, there are so many things in life I could be happy doing. I’d be happy working in a lab, working at a church, travelling the world doing who knows what, or even teaching. And, to be quite honest, I’m not entirely sure that I’ll know what I want to do until I am doing it.

So, here’s the exciting part of my news– I’m seriously, seriously, considering changing my major. In fact, I’ve done everything but fill out the official paperwork. I’ve told my parents (well, actually, they told me), I’ve told my friends, I’ve mentioned it to my adviser, and now, I’m telling all of you.

Some of you will be disappointed to hear that I’m switching from Chemistry. Because those of you who’ve known me a long time know I love Chemistry. Others will be disappointed to find out that I am not switching to Biblical Studies. Because anyone who’s seen me at Quizzing or talked to me in the past year would know that I have a burning passion for that too. But, instead, I’m still trying to do it all. I’m switching to Cross Disciplinary studies.

I have not yet decided exactly what 3 areas I’ll be exploring. My main area will either be Chemistry or General Science (probably whichever one I’m closer to completing at this point), with one of my other concentrations being Biblical Studies. As far as the third area goes, I’m torn between math and English. Being my sister’s sister and grandfather’s granddaughter, I love English (and math). I love writing and reading various types of literature, but I am also only one class away from completing math (in fact, if I continued with my Chemistry degree, than I could easily get a math minor with one simple 300-level math class).

So, basically, I have no idea what I’m doing. I have no idea what I”m doing with my degree, or my life. But, it’s fine. And I mean it this time, because I’ve got God on my team, and God, being my homeboy and all, knows exactly what He’s doing.

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First Week of Sophomore Year

My first week of classes is done. And it was pretty rough. I’m exhausted already, and it’s only week 1. But, I’m going to share a few thoughts I had this week.

A few nights ago, I did a little math because I was curious to see exactly how much free time I’d have this semester. So, here’s the breakdown:

I’m taking 18 credit hours of classes. Between my two jobs, I have been working anywhere from 16 to 18 hours a week. (Typically, it’s 18, sometimes it’s less).  I’m usually at work or in class from 8 am- 8 pm daily. Two of my classes are labs, which means, although they are only one credit, they take two and a half hours out of my day, plus the write ups usually take 4-8 hours to complete (if done reasonably well. So, we’ll say 6). Then, there is anywhere from 2-10 (ish) hours of homework per class per day (let’s use 3 hours of homework per class a day, 5 days a week. With 3 classes a day excluding labs, that’s nine hours of homework a night). And the minimum amount of sleep I need to still be a semi functioning human being is 4.  Let’s say I eat super fast everyday, so I spend 1 hour a day max eating, and 1 hour a week showering. Plus, 2 hour quiz practice a week and 2 hours of mandatory chapel. So, for those who haven’t been following along at home doing the math, here’s the simple version (excluding weekends):

16 hours of class+ 2.5(2) hours of labs+ 18 hours of work+ 6(2) hours of lab write ups+ 9(5)hours of homework a week+ 4(5) hours of sleep+ 1(5) hours eating+ 1 hour showering+ 2 hour quiz practice+ 2 hours of chapel= 126 hours a week.

Now, for those who didn’t do the math, there are only 120 hours in a five day week. Which means, on a five day week, I have exactly -6 hours of free time.

So, I’ll say that I’ll push some of the homework off until the weekend so I don’t have negative time in a week– since that’s not actually possible. But, weekends are filled with catching up on sleep (since I can only go so long on 4 hours of sleep), church, family events, friend socialization, football watching, and overall de-stressing from my -6 hours of free time a week.

But guys, don’t worry. Because here’s the thing. Practically, some of these numbers are exaggerated. Some are underestimates, some are overestimates. And, my boss at my one job is pretty good about us putting school first, and my other boss is doing everything he can to give me another night off. So, between that, my ability to “power through”, the fact that I enjoy the majority of my classes (since all but 1 are related to either my major or my minor), God, and about a million cups of coffee, I’ll be fine.

With that being said, here are a few things that happened to me this week, or thoughts I had, that kept me entertained during this long, exhausting week.

  1. “Man, I’m drinking 2 cups of coffee a day. That’s like mid-semester amount. I may not be ahead in my assignments, but at least I’m ahead on my daily caffeine intake.”
  2. “Who knew there was such a debate on the first three words of the Bible? I mean, it’s super interesting and all but is it really worth 20 pages? Also, who knew that different ways of translating the first 3 verses grammatically have such intense theological implications? Wait, why am I taking this class again? Oh yeah, I’m a giant nerd, this commentary is actually really fun, and I need to fulfill my minor requirements.”
  3. “I might be insane. But, it’s fine because all the most interesting people are, right?”
  4. Most nights, it was after 9, or just slightly before, when I even got around to starting my homework. But, it’s okay because I’m a night owl. Unfortunately, my roommate is not.
  5. I have spent like $25 on coffee? And it’s only week 1. It’s fine though. Because there are definitely studies which show that moderate caffeine addiction can be good for you. Right?
  6. I have to do like 50+ organic chemistry structure drawings for my assignment. Which is insane, especially when it takes more than 3 times as long to draw them on a computer than it does on paper. Like, I’m all for using technology to help us out, but in some cases it’s just not worth it.
  7. I compared Organic Chemistry to Leviticus. Think about it…
    It’s kind of super dense and filled with a lot of stuff that no one really understands, or enjoys. (unless you, like me, are a super nerd, and enjoy both O Chem and Leviticus.) But, it is super necessary and important to understanding how the world (or the Bible) works and functions as a whole. (I also now have analogies comparing all books of the Bible to different classes, so, if you’re ever curious)
  8. “I don’t need a nap. I can just drown my exhaustion in coffee. Actually, I’d rather just drown in coffee.”
  9. One night, week 1, as my friend and fellow science (Biology) major, and I were leaving the library at 11:30, she exclaimed, “You know, I was just thinking today how I thought I have enough free time to take on another class.” Now, maybe it was the exhaustion, and maybe it was caffeine induced hysteria, but either way, I laughed harder at that than I have ever laughed at anything she has said before. Because seriously, I did the math guys (see above), and there is no free time lying around.
  10. On my way to my 8 am, I asked my classmates to bring in the pine cone they had been kicking around and challenge my professor to create a function whose graph would mimic its’ shape. They did. He didn’t, but he did turn it into a half hour lecture on the Fibonacci sequence. So, that was a half hour less of actual calc I had to do
  11. On Friday, I walked into my calc classroom to find that my class had been moved. But, instead of telling us, someone just took the room numbers outside the doors and swapped them. Then, after class, they moved them back. Super weird.
  12. I looked at my bookshelf and realized you couldn’t look at it and successfully guess my major (unless you know me). I have 2 Organic Chemistry books, an exploration of the Periodic Table book (for some light reading), a guide to Biblical customs and cultures book, a portion of Ruth and Luke (admittedly not for a class), a Bible, 7+ novels, 2 commentaries on Genesis, and one on Exodus.
  13. “This schedule is insane! Who created this? Whose idea was this? Oh, wait, that was me”
  14. Is it too late to change my major? I have no idea what I would change it to, but is it too late anyway? Actually, forget changing my major, can I just drop out of college? Wait, who am I kidding? I love learning too much for that.
  15. This is all review from last year’s class. How am I already lost? What’s this dude saying? Why is that answer not right?
  16. I’m so tired. Just one nap. Please. 5 minutes.
  17. Journal about my thoughts on this Bible passage as I’m reading it? Oh, so you’re basically grading me to do what I already do, except I just actually have to write it down this time? No problem.
  18. I became that person who did homework in chapel. My physics professor said we had a quiz that she’d open after class and close when she left at 4. I looked at my schedule, looked at my work times, and said, “well, I guess I’m doing it during chapel then.” And suddenly, I was that person I hate, coincidentally doing my homework during the chapel when President Porterfield was talking about being present and engaged during chapel.
  19. I also just wrote this blog instead of doing my homework. Which is totally fine because I don’t actually need to do my homework to graduate, right?

Those are some highlights from my first week. And there are so many more I’d like to say, but didn’t, and so many more I forgot about, but that were good. But, this past weekend was filled with great times hanging with friends and relaxing. We went to Friendly’s, Jitters, and watched Bubble Ball. We had a tea party and jam session. So, here’s my first week in photos. And guys– I”m good. I’ve got God on my side. And, I don’t know if you know this or not, but He’s pretty amazing and much greater than anything life could throw at me. He exists outside of time, He knows everything about my future, present, and past, and with Him on my side, I have nothing to fear.

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Hands

Recently, my grandfather had carpal tunnel surgery. Which, as an aspiring scientist and amateur writer, got me thinking a lot about hands. So, naturally, I did two things– I looked up how the procedure was done, and I began writing this post. Once I figured out how the surgery was done and reassured myself that it was a relatively minor procedure, I began to figure out how to write this. But, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I wasn’t completely sure where I wanted this post to go. I could use my fingers to count a million different words I could write. I could use my hand to draw a map of all the different places this post could go, tracing out each path on the veins and creases on my hand. I needed a direct path from my heart to my fingers. (Fun fact, wedding rings are worn on the left ring finger because it was believed to be the only finger with a vein leading directly to the heart.) So, I fiddled with my ring I wear on my left ring finger that’s definitely not a wedding ring, and tried to find a direct path from my heart to the tips of my fingers. But, that proved more difficult than carpal tunnel surgery. My heart was telling me to write about how this surgery was just another example, this time physical, of my grandparents getting older. I wanted to write about how watching Boppa’s body grow weaker hurts, but watching his mind grow weaker has hurt more. For grandma the nurse, her hands are so important, but for Boppa, the college professor and ordained Free Methodist pastor, with two masters’ degrees and a doctorate, his mind is so important. Both of them served with their hands, one literally and one metaphorically, and I wanted to write about how much it hurts to see both of them becoming weaker. But, I decided that story is, mostly, best saved for another post. Instead, I decided, as I reflected on how important hands are, that I would write something else. Somewhere along the path from my heart to my fingertips, I decided to save the pain of that story for another time and instead write a more beautiful story. So, here it is– a different story, written with my own hands, about my own hands.

My hands have been through a lot in my short 19 year life. Throwback to when I was a baby with tiny hands yet undiscovered by me. I flailed my arms, fists clenched, and paid no attention to what, or who, I might hit. After I discovered them, I grabbed things– other people’s fingers mostly. I put them in my mouth, or other people’s mouths, or whatever was nearby. I touched things, simply because I liked how they felt. I used them to pull the baby gate out of my way, then used them for support as I crawled up the mountain-like stairs I was too afraid to crawl back down. They held my blanket and my doll as I ran my fingers across them because I loved the way it made my hand tingle and the sensation I felt in my fingertips. My hands became part of the reason my parents suspected my visual impairment. I used them to hold objects centimeters away from my face because I couldn’t see them any other way. I reached out and touched things just to see how far away they were or what they felt like because I couldn’t use visual cues to interpret the way they might feel. I’d reach down to feel just how big of a jump it was from my grandparent’s garage to their driveway, because my hands were saying it was a centimeter difference, but my eyes were saying it was a canyon. I used them to navigate a world I couldn’t see. And, later, once I had my (adorable) glasses, when I was learning to walk, I held them out in front of me again as I navigated, trying to feel my way around a world I had never seen so clearly before. Once I got used to my new perspective of the world, I used them to point at things I had never noticed before– just to make sure everyone else saw them too.

As I grew, my hands grew with me. With them, I learned to write, carefully copying each stroke and hand position. They traced the words on pages as I learned to read, my finger precisely following each shape as my mouth sounded out the forms. I held the hands of my parents as I crossed roads and parking lots– thinking that staying safe forever was as simple as never letting go. In them was placed my first Bible– a gift whose impact wouldn’t be realized until years later when those same hands held those same Words as I memorized them. They colored outside the lines, cut themselves in an attempt to cut paper, and glued parts of themselves together. They reached up to grab the monkey bars or to hold my baby cousins. I let them be used by my friends to scrawl phone numbers or flowers on. I held them out to shake hands or give high fives. They learned to tickle both the ivories and my dad’s feet. I used them to wipe my nose, put band-aids on my skinned knees, and wash my body. They held my favorite books as I went on adventures with my best friends, and they supported me when I fell down. Sometimes, they were the reason I fell.

As I grew older, my hands did too. They started writing full sentences and typing full essays, carefully drawing each shape as I saw it in my mind. Instead of tracing the words on pages, I often find them tracing the path my blood takes from the tips of my fingers, through my hand, to my wrist, up through my arm, until they arrive at my heart– feeling each beat and reminding me that I am alive. Somewhere along the road, they let go of my parents’ hands, as I reassured myself I’d be okay on my own. And now, they sometimes long to hold another hand– to be reminded that I’ll be safe as long as I don’t let go. With them, I hold my Bible– reaching out to God– knowing that they’re holding my greatest joy and my entire life. They’re still not one for staying in the lines. And I’ve cut them countless times with knives or paper or pins or scissors. They’ve super-glued themselves together more times than I’d care to admit. They reached out to accept my high school diploma, and they reach out to hold the babies and pet the puppies that cross my path. They’ve been my go to notebook as I used them to jot down that homework assignment or date. They’ve clapped and cheered for my competitors, and greatest friends, as they held in their own hands– hands I had shaken so many times– an award mine had longed for so long to hold. With them, I spread encouragement and congratulations to my friends whose hands held Words as they memorized them. They’ve had an itch to tickle the ivories for far too long, and they’ve been reminded that playing the piano is nothing like riding a bike– it can be forgotten. They’ve wiped tears from my eyes, bandaged my wounds, and washed my face.  They’ve gone to Kenya where they clapped and danced with new friends, held babies, and pet elephants. And, they’ve been longing ever since to reach back out and take the hands of the friends I met there, as they search for the piece of my heart I left behind, all the while knowing they’ll never find it– and not wanting to. They’ve supported me when I fell, and were the things that picked me back up. They pieced my broken heart back together as they fought the urge to fight the thing that broke it. 

And now, I’m sitting here, in a coffee shop, examining my hands. As I flex them and study them, all the while feeling completely crazy, I see all the things they’ve done in my life. I see my senior year AP Bio class, where I dissected eyes, brains, frogs, and worms, and where I used them to taxidermy a rat, all without wearing gloves. Because, I’ve always been fascinated with how things feel, and I can’t get the whole experience if I can’t feel. I see my junior year AP Chem class where I spilled silver nitrate on them, because, again, why wear gloves if you don’t have to. I see the incalculable amount of times I washed them, trying to get it off, but having to finally resign myself to just being patient. I see the way they served in Kenya and how I’m still using them to serve in Kenya and elsewhere. I see that time they held a young rookie as she cried, pouring her heart out, and the time they were linked with others in prayer as we cried for each other. The times they were raised in worship and surrender to the One who made them. I see my fingernails that are dirty and sometimes broken. I see the calluses I have from working. I see all the chemicals I’ve spilled on them and the times my professors forced me to wear gloves, even though I prefer the experience without. I see the way they cramp up when I spend four hours a day deleting phone numbers and emails from records, and how, with 4000 records, I still have more to do the next time. I see how I use them to bake and cook. (Seriously though, my scones and my homemade pizza are truly culinary masterpieces.) They are currently dry and a little red, because, no matter how many times I wash them and put lotion on them, the constant exposure to chemicals, from my job and from my Chemistry training, has left them a little rough around the edges.

So, here’s the thing. Here’s the point of all this talk about my hands. I believe that if eyes are the window to the soul, then hands are the mirror to the heart– reflecting the innermost parts of who you are.

I don’t believe all those people who say you can tell your future by looking at the creases on your palm. But, I do believe you can see your past, and your present, by looking at your hands. Hands say a lot about what has happened to you, and they reflect so much of who you are. They show all the experiences you’ve had and they tell a lot about who you are as a person. When I see my dad’s hands, a little rough and probably permanently stained with grease or newsprint or both, I don’t see just that. I see all the hard work he’s done over the years to support us– his three jobs, his late nights and early mornings, and the things he’d sacrifice, including time with us, to give us all he could. When I looked at the brace on my grandfather’s hands as he was waiting for this surgery, and still waits for his other hand’s, I don’t just see a hand that sometimes goes numb. As a scientist, I see a carpal ligament that needs to be cut to relieve pressure on the underlying nerve. But, as a writer, I see his past and present. I see all the people he’s served– the sermons he’s preached, the hearts he’s touched, the Word he’s spread. I see all the papers he’s graded and the students he’s inspired and encouraged. I see in my grandmother’s hands the patients she’s healed, the families she’s reassured, the friends she’s cooked delicious meals for, and the family she’s held so close. I see my sister’s love of piano playing, word writing, and book holding, and the way she used them to try to give up, but how she uses them now to list all the reasons she shouldn’t. I could go on and on about all the stories I see when I look at my family members hands.

And when I look at my own, I see it all too. I see me as a baby, discovering my hands for the first time. I see me as a child of no more than two, using my hands as a navigator for this new clear world. I see them learning to hold a pen and play the piano. I see how they no longer move the baby gate out of my way, but how they now work to move any obstacle out of my way as I face conquerable mountains I am no longer afraid to fall down. I see the bumps and bruises I’ve gotten along the way and the sores and marks they have now. And, admittedly, right now, my hands are exhausted. They’ve worked hard. This year, this life, and this summer, and they’ll work even harder as I grow up. But, I also see the way they reflect my heart. My heart of service and hard work. The way they reflect my personality based on what they do. I see the way they exemplify Colossians 3:23 without the words being scrawled on them in day old faded ink. So, look at your hands. Because they can’t predict your future, but they can reflect your past and explain your present. And they are the true reflection of who you are.

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To You

Dear you,

I know I have no idea who you are. I mean, I may have a picture of you in my mind. An idea of who I wish you are or want you to be. But, that’s all in my mind. In reality, I have no idea who you are. But, I am writing you this letter anyway. Well, actually, I am posting this letter anyway, because, to be perfectly honest, I have notebook pages and Word documents filled with letters to you. That’s because I am an emotional, reflective person, and the way I cope, think, and process is through writing. So, I hope you read this letter, eventually, even if I don’t yet know who you are.

Dear you, I’ve prayed for you. Not that I would find you or that you would like me. Instead, I prayed for you. I prayed you would discover God’s uniquely amazing purpose for your life. I prayed you would prepare your heart and you wouldn’t give into temptation or desire. I prayed you would develop a hunger for His presence. I prayed for myself. I prayed I would prepare my own heart, resist temptation, and discover God’s purpose for me. And then, I prayed for us. I prayed that God would lead us together and prepare us for each other. I prayed that we would build a relationship that strengthens, encourages, and draws us closer to Christ. A relationship that reflects Christ. And then, you appeared.

Okay, well, that’s not really true. You didn’t show up at my door one day dressed all nice with a beautiful bouquet of flowers in your hand, all Prince Charming like. Nor did you magically appear by my bedside one night after I finished praying for you. You didn’t announce your presence with flashing lights or resounding trumpets. In fact, you kind of slipped into my life unnoticed. You crept your way into my mind and heart without me actually realizing how you were making me feel. But, you did eventually turn out to be Prince Charming. It was just when I wasn’t expecting it. It was once I had stopped thinking of us and started leaving us in God’s hands.

And I am so glad I left us in God’s hands. Because we were able to grow together separately before we began growing together with each other. And, because of that, I am able to love you so much more. And I do love you. (I also really like you.)

I love your intelligence. The way your mind works. I love the way you form ideas and opinions and the way you express them. Your intelligence that is both conventional and unconventional at the same time. How you can learn but also create. How you feel. How you relate. How you express yourself. Because intelligence comes in so many forms and each one is beautiful.

I love your passion. Because, to me, there is nothing cuter than a person expressing their passions. And I love the way you express yours’. The way your eyes light up and your smile shines so much brighter. How you could go on about them for hours. I love the way you love them- even if they are a little weird. Because I think that’s beautiful. And I think you are beautiful.

I love the way you laugh. Because nothing is more pleasing to my ears than the sound of happiness. And I love the sound of your happiness. I love the way your eyes are always shining and your smile is always sparkling. And if I were the type of girl who enjoys cliches, I would compare them to the stars or diamonds. But, I’m not, so I won’t. But, I do love the way you light up the room, even though that is a bit cliche. I love the way you attract people to you, not solely because of your beauty but because of your personality. Your character. And oh, do I love your character.

I love the way you love my saltiness and sarcasm. And not only the way you love it, but the way you throw it right back at me. Because I totally deserve it. And you know that I take Colossians 4:6 very seriously.

I love the way you at least pretend to like my friends. Because they mean so much to me. And my best friends were the first to know about you. From the day my feelings for you shifted to the day you let yours be known. I love that you at least make an effort to know them.

I love the way you got to know me. Because I am not easy to get to know, and I am difficult to understand. I have so many weird things about me. So many hidden and often difficult to uncover layers. I love that you put the effort into discovering my mind and my soul.

I love you for opening up to me and for making me feel comfortable opening up to you. Because, despite the fact I often write openly, genuinely opening up to people is not easy for me to do.

I love you for accepting my flaws and insecurities. You know I am not perfect. I love you for loving me anyway.  Because I am often so imperfect I convince myself I don’t deserve you. I know you’re not perfect either. That’s one of the reasons I love you so much. Your flaws not only make you human, they make you, you. You wouldn’t be your adorable, beautiful, hilarious, kind, wonderful self without them.

I love you for accepting me even on those days when my insecurity is drowning me. Because I know everyone has strengths and weaknesses, but there are some days when I feel my weaknesses are too strong. There are days when they overcome me so much I wonder why you chose me and not someone else. Because sometimes I think you could have, and should have, chosen someone else. But, I’m glad you didn’t. And I love you for dealing with my annoying comments, nerdy quirks, social awkwardness, introverted loudness, and wandering mind.

So, dear you, I am writing this to tell you how much I love you. But, I am also writing this to tell you I’m glad you’re not Romeo. Because I don’t want a Romeo. I’m not sure if you ever actually read Romeo and Juliet, but I do not really want that story to be the story of us. Not that that’s a love story anyway. And there is so much more I could say to this, but I am sure you have already heard me say it. So, thank you for not being Romeo. And, thank you for not being “The One” either. Because I never bought into the whole idea of “The One.” With 7 billion people in the world, it seems ridiculously far-fetched and statistically impossible. But, I do thank you for being the one. For being the one who chose to pursue me, and for being the one who stuck around.

Also, I kind of wish we could have skipped the whole awkwardness at the beginning of everything. Because there was a lot of it. I definitely made a fool of myself on multiple occasions, and I definitely looked like an idiot more times than I didn’t. And you probably hated me when you first met me. But, even after we got past that, we dealt with the whole awkwardness that came with both of us denying and ignoring our feelings while trying to figure out the other’s. And, once we got past that awkwardness, there was the whole awkwardness at the beginning of trying to transition from deeply loving friends to friends who love each other deeply but differently. So, there was a lot of awkwardness, and maybe it’s just because I am an awkward person. But, regardless, I wish we could have skipped it.

I hope you understand I don’t need you. I don’t need you to survive. I don’t need you to complete me. I am not broken. I am not half a person. I am complete. I can live without you. But, life is a whole lot better when I live it with you.

From,

Me

 

 

 

 

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