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Words of Love

“Christ would still die for you. Even if you were the only one.”

Yeah, I know. I do. Your reminder is exactly what I need right now. Because sometimes, recently, I have not been able to fully believe that. So thank you. I’m glad you said that—glad you care enough to make sure I know that. But I do know. In fact, I have said those words to anyone and everyone I think needed to hear them. I’ve drilled them into the heads of my Quizzers, my Sunday small group teens, and my friends. And I can quote all of them and then some. I memorized every word Christ ever said as He walked this earth– every word He said as He died for me. I memorized every time Paul or John or whoever else reemphasized this point as they wrote to broken people—some people who, like me, may not always truly and fully believe these words. And I think that may be the problem.

“Thanks,” I replied almost silently, without even moving my mouth. (A fun party trick I learned from my 7 years of Quizzing. Because no one has time to move their mouth when they are trying to quote every word Jesus ever said in 20 seconds or less.)

You probably didn’t even notice that I said thanks. But I did. And I meant it. Because my ability to quote these words means nothing if I don’t believe them. And I don’t know how much I believe them right now. Because right now, at this moment, I’ve been struggling to believe them. Because I know them. I understand them—I always have. To me, the words of Christ, or Paul, or John, or Moses—the words of God– have never been shrouded in mystery and difficult to understand. They’ve always been easy to understand. At least on the surface. I comprehend them. What I haven’t really done, until recently, is really feel them. And that is my problem—I now feel them.

I reached out and gladly accepted the hug. Because actions speak louder than words. And hugs speak louder than, well, just about everything. And I couldn’t say anything because I was afraid that if I did, I’d start to cry. In fact, I almost did. (Which, to be fair, has been happening a lot recently. Between college, whatever feelings I’ve been trying to sort out, and my medicine that’s supposed to help me regulate my emotions but also seems to make them go all over, I have that feeling a lot.) But had that hug lingered even a millisecond longer, I probably would have.

“I don’t want to pry. I just thought you needed to hear that. Give you some encouragement.”

No, pry. Please. Make me talk about it. Because I don’t exactly know what to say. I don’t exactly know how to describe what the heck I’m thinking—what I’m feeling. I can’t put it into words. But you would know. Something tells me you’d understand. Because if there is anything you’d understand, it’s confusion. It’s overwhelming, indescribable emotion. So please pry. Because I think I need someone to. And you—you’re comfortable. You’re safe. You’re someone who’d get me. Maybe because you remind me a lot of me. Or maybe because, low key, I wish I could be like you when I grow up. You’re a friend I never thought I’d actually have, or get to call my friend. And you’d have the words because you know the Word—probably, definitely, better than I do.

“Thanks. And no, it’s ok to pry. It’s just… I…”

It’s just that I don’t know. I’m feeling so much. And it’s hard to sort out what feelings are due to college being college, what are due to my medicine messing with my head, and what’s due to the actual issue. Because the actual issue is that I’m finally feeling all the words I’ve memorized and known throughout my life. And I don’t know what to make of that. Because I don’t know how to handle the fact that “God is love,” and that “He loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.” Because I don’t deserve that, and I don’t know how to feel about that. I don’t know how to deal with the fact that Love loved me enough to die for me despite the fact that I am a sinner who, no matter how hard I try, can never get it right. I don’t know how to cope with Love’s broken heart, with the fact that I broke it, with the fact that He’d do it again—even if I was the only one–and with the fact that He still wants to heal my broken heart. That’s a Love that I honestly can never understand. The more I study Love, the more I know and the less I understand. Which is what makes Love beautiful. But also frustrating. Love can never be fully comprehended—not by my finite human mind. And I’m not sure I know how to handle that.

“College. Life.”

“Yeah, that’s…yeah.”

Yeah. College. The part of life where I am supposed to be figuring out what I’m doing with my life but the part where no one actually knows. And the part of my life where I realize I’m graduating next year and I am further from figuring out my life than I was when I started. Because every time I think I might have an idea, I find something, some reason, I can’t. But, I also can’t because I’m realizing that nothing I could do could compare to what Love did. And Love really just wants me—my love, my life, my all. But that all still feels so inadequate. And so, I live my life in awe that Love would die for me without expecting my perfection. And I live my life in humble admiration that Love died for me just so He could have me—so I could have Love. I live my life reminded that though “for from dust you are and to dust you will return,” Love reaches out His hands that were pierced for me and picks me up from the ashes where I so rightfully belong. I live my life trying so hard to give Love my love, my fear, my reverence, my talents, and my everything. And I finally feel these words I’ve spent years memorizing. Which leaves me feeling humbled, in awe, inadequate, amazed, appreciative, Loved, fearful, and a bit confused.

“I think you’re putting on a brave face. But you’re dealing with something. And He’ll make beauty from the ashes”

Well, yeah. I’m putting on a brave face because, right now, that’s all I can do. All I can do to keep from crying, or pouring my soul and my confusion and my pain out to a random stranger in the library. I’m dealing with something because I’m dealing with something I can’t even explain. And I’m dealing with the fact that He’ll make beauty from my ashes. Because, I hear that all the time– those stories are everywhere. Heck, you want to talk about really making beauty from ashes, talk to my sister. Now that’s a real beauty from ashes story. But really, what I’m dealing with is the fact that I don’t actually know how to walk away from my ashes. Because I don’t deserve that. Which is how Love’s grace works—it can’t be earned, it isn’t ever fully deserved. But that’s how Love is. And I’ve read the Words. I know that it is a story of grace and Love. But I now feel the story. I’ve been feeling how much I am Israel. I constantly ignore Love. I reject Him. I put other things first—I make other things my god. I’m realizing we all do. And I’m suddenly overwhelmed because, despite all that, despite how often I lose faith and start to sink, Love still reaches out to save me again and again. And that’s indescribably amazing and beautiful. And I can’t understand why, so I just accept that it is—that Love is—and try my best to show Love, and to show Love that I do want Love. But some days, it’s harder to accept than others. And sometimes, more often than not, that type of Love is so indescribable that it hurts.

“Love you”

Thank you. Seriously, thank you. For the reminder. For the encouragement. For caring. For noticing that maybe I needed the encouragement. Because I am not even sure I recognized that I needed it until you gave it. And I love you too. I am so thankful to Love that He allowed me the opportunity to meet you. Because I joke about how I want to be you when I grow up. But in all seriousness, I’d love to be like you. I’d love to have your passion, your gift for encouragement, your warm hugs, your sass. And I’d love to have your wisdom. So, thank you for the encouragement, and for being a friend, and for giving me a hug. And right now, I’m going to give you another hug because that’s all I can do. If I say anything, I’ll probably cry. And I can’t do that here, not now.

“So, when are you coming back?”

And okay, I know it’s not actually up to me. And you would if you could. But, also, when are you coming back because I miss your classes. Because they were the places where I first truly discovered the Word come to life—where I first began feeling the Words I’d memorized. They are the places where this all began. When are you coming back because I miss your passion, your smile, your sass, and your light. When are you coming back because this—this moment right here—I wish it could stay like this forever. And I need more of these. When are you coming back because we all need you—or someone like you—in our lives. And so many others’ lives have been impacted by you. Because I, we, love you. And Love loves you. You helped show me, briefly, at a glance, Love. And, I’m sure you know this, but I want to remind you anyway since you reminded me.

“God is. I don’t know what He is, but I know that He is.”

God is a lot of things. He is good (although maybe not what we think “good” is). He is just. He is the beginning, He’s the end. He’s omnipresent, omniscient, and an all-consuming fire. He is I Am. He is the bread of life, the light of the world, the Messiah. He’s indescribable and unchanging. He is life. He is Love.

There were a lot of things I wanted to say but couldn’t and a lot of things I should have said but didn’t. But sometimes, words are hard. And sometimes, the Words of Love can be even harder. And sometimes it takes words of love to help you understand what love is and who Love is. But, man, am I grateful for all kinds of words of love, and for those who love, because sometimes, that’s what I need to truly understand Love. (And sometimes, actually most of the time, the hugs help too.)

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The Christ of the Church

This was not the blog post I wanted to write. It’s not the one I had half finished and was going to post today, but I think that this is the one I had to post. I had to write this because, right now, I have to say some things. This may be risky, and it may ruffle some feathers, but I’m sorry– it’s too important (and I’m too mad about it) not to post.

Actually, you know what? I take that back– I’m not sorry and I don’t apologize. So, here I am, speaking my heart, despite the repercussions. Because we need to talk about the church for a minute.

Recently, I thought about walking away– not from church altogether, just from my church– the place I had grown up. Something was missing, and I didn’t know what it was, but I could tell it was something I wanted. I have since discovered that it was passion, vision, and most importantly, truth. My church has recently undergone changes, and now, I have seen this passion, vision, and truth more than ever.

Recently, my sister wrote a post similar to the one I’m about to write. For those who are unaware, my sister has a powerful testimony. (which you should read about by reading her other posts). It’s filled with tragedy, bumpy roads, thunderstorms, and dark tunnels, but it’s also filled with hope, light, and strength. But throughout all of this, the place she felt the least welcome was the place that she should have felt the most welcome– church. She didn’t feel at home at the place where she met Jesus for the first time.

Because this Jesus she met here, and the Jesus a lot of people meet at church, is not the real Jesus. It is not the Jesus found in the pages of the Bible that our pastors preach on. It’s not the one whose words we read (or memorize). It’s a Jesus that’s sugarcoated, misquoted, and misunderstood.

Because here’s the truth. Here is the thing I commented on my sister’s recent Facebook status about her anxiety and recent struggles and about how thankful she is that God meets her where she is– brokenness and all.

My favorite Bible stories (besides all the other ones) are the ones where Christ, once made human form to meet us, ate with tax collectors, sinners, and broken people. Because that’s who He came for. The Pharisees (or, comparatively the church), thought He was crazy and shouldn’t associate with those people because they weren’t perfect. But, Christ actually wants our brokenness and not our perfection. He doesn’t want the whitewashed walls— He wants the sinful woman pouring perfume on His feet and the criminal hanging next to Him on the cross. He wants the doubter who says “God, are you even real?” Because He wants to say, “Yeah. Here are My hands that were pierced for you,” as He stretches out His hands so you can feel His wrists. And if you still don’t believe Him, He wants to walk on the waves toward you and say “come to me”. And once you do, and you start to sink, He says “Why do you doubt?” as He reaches out His hands to save you– even if you continue to sink over and over and over and over again. Because Christ can calm the storm, but only if you ask Him. He’ll raise His hands, pierced for you, and say “Be still!” But, He never once says “heal yourself,” because those who are already perfect have no need for Him. Let’s be honest, anyone who says “I’m too good for Jesus and I don’t need Him,” is lying. And anyone who says that anyone else is “too broken” for Christ doesn’t understand the true nature of Christ.”

And so, here is my thing, the whole reason I’m even writing this post. Too often, our churches claim to be Jesus’ disciples, and yet act like the Pharisees. We claim to know it all and don’t let the outside world see our brokenness for fear that it will somehow make our Jesus less attractive. But, if we really want to be Jesus’ disciples, we would be doing exactly what Jesus Himself did and associating with the broken, sinful, “messed up” people, while admitting that we ourselves are broken, sinful, and messed up. If we want to make Jesus attractive, we would preach a Jesus who meets us where we’re at– brokenness and all. We would claim that we need Jesus as much as everyone else. Church should be a place where people can show up with their messy lives and find a place where that mess can be embraced and peace can be found.

And here is where I ruffle some feathers (if I haven’t already), and where I also share a little bit of a personal update.

I don’t have any idea what the heck I want to do with my life (as anyone who knows me or has read any of my recent posts could easily tell you). But, recently, I’ve had a lot of people tell me the same thing. I’ve had my parents, my sister, my pastors, my fellow Quiz coaches, and my friends tell me that I’m going to be a youth pastor. And, in all honesty, the idea of that has grown on me, and it is something I have seriously considered. But, the more I think about, the more I’m torn, because the more I don’t think I can do that. I can’t do that.

I’m not saying I can’t do that because I’m not able to, or because I don’t have the gifts or the passion or the desire to. I mean, there are definitely some things I could say to convince myself, and others, that those things are true. But, that’s not the real reason I can’t do it.

I can’t do it because I can’t stand up and teach a generation of people who don’t feel the church accepts, values, or wants to listen to them because they are too young, messed up, broken, confused, doubtful, or whatever. I can’t teach them how much God loves them just to see them struggling but too scared to say it because they feel they are “too broken” to accept God’s love– too broken for Christ to even want them. I can’t watch them be afraid to be honest because they feel that church is not the place for doubts and that if they don’t answer the questions with the “right” answers they are somehow failing at being a Christian. I can’t help them learn that they are not failing, nor are they “too broken” for Christ and help them accept Him and come to Him as they are, just to watch them graduate and get forgotten about. Just to watch them enter a church that is so focused on helping children and teens find Christ and helping adults continue to live like Him, that they forget that college students and young adults need Him too, but they feel too out of place to know where to go to keep finding Him. They aren’t children, but they aren’t really treated like adults, so they are forgotten about in the most critical time of their life simply because the church doesn’t know what to do with them. I can’t watch them enter that church, then walk away because they feel lost and abandoned, like everything they were taught was a lie since they no longer feel that they have a place. I can’t work for a place that acts like we have it all figured out. I can’t stand up and pretend I have my life figured out and nothing is wrong while I know that not a single person leads a life like that. I can’t work for a place that, once I do admit my life is not figured out, has the tendency to say “you can’t be a leader if you have flaws because you’re supposed to have it all together if you want to lead– especially if you want to lead our young, vulnerable members.” I can’t be a youth pastor because so often our youth pastors are not taken seriously enough. Too often, they are viewed as “Junior pastors,” people who took that job so that they could get their foot in the door and hopefully, eventually get a job as a “real,” “adult” pastor. Their ideas are brushed aside and their passions are stepped on, because we trust them to lead our youth, but only if they do it within the system that has been in place for so long but has stopped working years ago. I can’t enter a system like that– a system that, at times, can be so messed up it misses the point of the gospel it preaches. A system that embraces change until it goes against their traditions and then they resist it and allow it to cause drama and tension and awkwardness. I don’t want to continue to encourage that atmosphere and I can’t help young people who love God so much love Him more just to enter a church as an adult and have to deal with all that. Quite honestly, I don’t want to watch them get the same shock I had with all this change going on and discover that there is more tension in the church than love and acceptance. I don’t want them to grow up and find out that the Jesus of the Bible, the Jesus that is preached, is not the Jesus that is practiced.

Today in Sunday school, we asked the teens what Paul would say if he were to write a letter to our church. We were speaking specifically of our one church, but I think the answer works for the entire church body as a whole. Some of the things they said were honest and difficult, but I compiled them, and added a few words of my own:

Dear church,

Can you stop being so stubborn? Stop being so stuck in your own traditions and ideas that you neglect to recognize that not all change is bad, and sometimes, it is necessary. Stop treating kids like they are “too young” to be important, teenagers like they are “not mature enough” to make an impact, young adults and college students that they are “not old enough” or “properly educated” to have any good ideas or wisdom to impart. Don’t forget about your “young” members just because they are young. You don’t like the direction the future generations are going, and yet, you don’t let them find direction in the church. Stop being so judgmental and self-centered. Allow people to bring their brokenness, messiness, and sin inside your doors and be a place where they are free to talk about it without judgement and with love. Go back to the Word and find out what it really says and follow it– even if it doesn’t say what you want it to. You can’t change the gospel to meet your needs and justify your actions. You have to learn what it says so you can better imitate the Christ within its pages. Because the Christ you preach is not the Christ you practice.

And I’m glad that my church has people with a passion. A Pastor who isn’t afraid to share hard truths and call us all, including himself, on our crap. And I’m glad we have a pastor whose passion is for those of us who are “in between.” Who are old enough to make decisions about their own life but not old enough to have others we need to make decisions for. I’m glad we have pastors who are willing to fight for the truth regardless of the tensions or anger it may cause. I’m glad we have pastors who try their hardest to practice the Christ they preach. I’m not sure about the other churches, but I hope they do too. Because look, if you ever even want a chance of me entering into that system then the church as a whole has got to stop being hypocrites and resisting all the hard truths because they are uncomfortable. Because quite honestly, I’m tired of it, and it makes me a little angry. And if we ever want to reach those who are unreached, we have to start preaching, and most importantly, practicing, the Christ of the Bible.

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2017: My Year? 

Another year is over. We’re saying goodbye to 2016 and hello to 2017. And many people have adamantly expressed their desires for 2016 to end because they thought it was a terrible year. There were deaths of loved ones, role models, and mentors, unnecessary acts of violence, crimes, wars, and any other terrible thing you can imagine. But, there was also joy, hope, peace, and beauty. And I’ve had my fair share of all of these this year. But, 2016 was not really my year. And, 2017 won’t be either. 

For me, 2016 was filled with so much. I celebrated 18 years of life. I took huge steps in order to grow my relationship with God. I discovered who I was, who I’m becoming, and who I think I someday may want to be. I found out who my real friends are and held on to them with all I had, while not being afraid to let others go. I graduated from high school. I went to Seattle for my last Bible Quizzing nationals ever as a Quizzer. I found my new favorite book and fell in love with its beauty. I went to Kenya on a life changing missions trip. I met some incredibly amazing new people. I started college, and survived my first semester with few emotional breakdowns. 

I also witnessed pain and loss. I watched my friends lose people important to them. I watched my sister lose a classmate and friend. I watched strangers lose loved ones. I watched the world cry along with the people that dwell in it. I experienced pain and heartbreak of my own. 

In 2016, I laughed, cried, and everything in between. I learned to play new games. I tried new foods. I expanded my knowledge of the things I love. I increased my understanding of the people I love. I memorized a new book of the Bible. I read new literature. I discovered more about myself. But, 2016 was definitely not my year. 

At the beginning of the year, I was a hopeful, wishful, beautiful, independent, struggling, reflective, girl. And now, I’m still all those things. But life has also hit me hard with some truths. And so, I’ve been forced to be all those things, as well as real, strong, and resilient. Because 2016 was a rough year. I watched a 5 year long hope of mine come crashing down around me. I didn’t reach all the goals I had set for myself before I graduated, or turned 18, or left Quizzing. I didn’t follow many of the promises I had made to myself at this time last year. I slept longer than I should have, but also not as long as I needed to. I procrastinated more than I should have. And maybe it’s because I’m a slightly cynical, hopeful, dream filled realist. Or, maybe it’s because the ending to the year was not what I had imagined. Maybe it’s because I spent the better part of the last month in pain, finally thinking I’d gotten over it, just to discover the tears flowing again at the most inopportune and  irrelevant times. Or maybe it’s because I started the year in love with myself and totally confident in who I am, and I’ve ended it fluctuating daily between hating myself and loving myself, and hating myself for hating myself, but never really knowing why I’m feeling either way. But, whatever the reasons are, I know 2016 wasn’t my year. And I guarantee 2017 won’t be either. 

But, that’s not because 2017 will  be terrible. And it wasn’t because 2016 was terrible. It’s just because they’re not really mine. My life, my time, and everything I am and do don’t belong to me. They belong to God. They’re His. And I’m going to live this year, and live my life, like I believe that. Truely believe that. 

Because, this year, as in many years passed, I took parts of my life in my own hands. I made choices for myself and decided that because my life belonged to God, He would follow through with my plans. Instead, I need to let God make the choices and follow what He says because I belong to Him. 

2017 will be filled with heartbreak. It started out with me almost crying at 1 am, so, yeah, it’s going to hurt. But, it’s also going to be filled with so much love and joy. Because 2016 ended with me in a room with those I love most, laughing until there were tears. It’ll be amazing. I’ll do thigs I’d never imagined were possible. I’ll discover new things about myself and others. I’ll spread love and joy. I’ll be a light. I’ll trust God through all of it. I’ll go where He tells me and do what He desires. Because 2017 is not going to be my year. 

As my sister said, “I don’t really understand New Years’. I mean, it’s not like anything special happens, you just wake up and it’s tomorrow. It’s not any different of a day than any other day.” And she’s right: it’s not. But, it is a metaphorical restart. A sort of analogy of becoming a new person. And making 2017 your year is all the rage. But, it is really just tomorrow. It’s just another 365 days, that really could have started and ended at any time. January 1 isn’t some special date. It’s just tomorrow. Another day to act like this year isn’t your year. Because it’s God’s. He’s just waiting for you to recognize that and listen to His wonderful plan for your year, and for your life. 

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Love Struck? Or, Love’s Truck?

Life is a journey. It’s like a road. There are twists and turns, ups and downs, and smooth patches and potholes. And sometimes, you’re standing on the road, happy, energetic, ready to run to the finish. But, sometimes, you’re standing on the road dejected, beaten down, unable to take another step in any direction. Sometimes, a truck hits you out of nowhere. Or, maybe not out of nowhere.

You see, despite my visual impairment, I saw the truck coming. It was coming at me, slowly at first, but gaining more speed with each day. Its lights were shining and its horn was blasting. And, I tried to get out of its way, I did but, I didn’t. Or, at least I didn’t get completely out of its way. I may have mostly jumped out of its way. Or, convinced myself I still had time to move. Or, I may have said I was out of the way in my mind, but my body wasn’t actually listening. Whatever the reason may be, I got hit. Hard. And it hurt.

Because I was semi-prepared (haha get it. Semi-prepared, semi-truck). But, I guess I had always held out a little bit of hope that I wouldn’t have to move out of the way. That the truck would prove not to be a truck, but to be my ride. My vehicle through the next part of my journey. But, surprise, it wasn’t. It was a truck. And it hit me. Crushed me. I had told myself I was braced for impact, but, I didn’t brace myself hard enough, thinking the impact would never actually come.

And now, here I am, in the middle of the road, dejected, beaten down, and unable, unwilling, to move. My physical wounds are not nearly as painful as the emotional ones. Because it hurt. And, ever since the impact, I’ve asked myself so many times how I could be so stupid, how I could have such a false hope, how I could think the truck wasn’t going to hit me. I wondered if I had been more obvious about my presence if the driver would have seen me.

And so, here I am, laying in the middle of the road. Watching my life play out. Watching my hopes and dreams being achieved by another. Watching my life, as if a movie, except I am no longer the main character. This life I had planned for myself, this life I had hoped for myself, happening, but happening to someone else.

Because, I am “actually a pretty great person.” But, maybe, I’m not good enough. Because, apparently my years of trust, of openness, were not what I thought they were. Maybe my openness was scaring him away. Maybe I wasn’t obvious about how it was that I felt. But, whatever, the reason, I now have to learn to get over the impact. And five, no, maybe seven, years of bracing myself for impact while simultaneously hoping it wouldn’t come made me think I would be okay. There were signs along the road. Signs which I read to mean that I wouldn’t have to brace myself for impact. And, eventually the signs changed, and I could tell I was probably misinterpreting them, but I pretended I wasn’t anyway. Because I’d have seen the truck. I’d have been able to see the signs. But, then again, I am blind.

And, so, again, here I am. At a crossroad. Laying here. Slowly but surely getting up. Ready to stand. Unsure how to begin. Unsure how to pull myself up and stand amidst the pain. But, I’m figuring it out. I’m doing what I can. I’m filling up word documents and journal pages with words. With emotions. I’m taking in air; despite how much it might hurt. I’m figuring out how I’ll stand up, crawl around the wreckage I left behind, and move on. And, I’ll figure it out eventually. It may just take a while. Because processing a heartbreak seven years in the making is tough. Watching my five year long dreams, hopes, and wishes come crashing down around me hurts.

So, I am doing what needs to be done. I’m writing. I’m shedding tears. I’m talking. I’m giving myself space. I’m sitting in the bathroom while the DJ plays one of my favorite songs because I just can’t bear to hear it. I’m listening to that one song on repeat. I’m avoiding being the one to initiate contact. And, for a while, I’m avoiding some of the things I used to love because he loves them too. But, I’ll come around eventually. It may just take a few weeks, or months. Hopefully not years. Because I am determined not to let this setback, this heartbreak, set me back.

So, maybe I’ll be less open to people. Maybe I’ll be more open. Maybe I’ll be more cautious about who I tell my deepest intimate secrets to, because maybe I’m worried it’ll scare them away. Maybe I’m worried they’ll think I’m too much to handle. Maybe I won’t change anything. I don’t know. I know that I’ll survive. I know that it’ll take a while to get over it. I know that I am trying my best. I know that I don’t want to let this get to me, even though that is incredibly difficult not to do. I know that there will be tough days, and tough conversations, in the future.

But, I know that God has an amazing plan. And that this heartbreak is just a bump in the road of His amazing plan. And, for now, even though it still hurts, and there are still sores, I’m finding good in the small things. I’m finding things to be thankful for despite the pain. The friend who walks across campus at one in the morning, in the snow, alone, just to sit with you, talk, cry, vent, and throw some pillows. The friends who sit with you in a bathroom stall because you can’t be out there with all the people, not yet. The family who drove to school to pick you up, take you home for dinner, and listened to you share the news. Who were upset with you, and for you, but who also gave you great advice as to how to get up and move on.

The sister who, despite the fact that you weren’t sure if you wanted to tell her, or even how to tell her, allowed you to come to her room and watch a movie. Who didn’t ask to talk about it, but instead just sat and watched a movie, trying to make you laugh. And, who used her million and a half flex dollars to buy you some mozzarella sticks. I’m finding joy in the little things. And being thankful for the small things. And, I’m waiting for the day that I can look back on the wreckage and prove to myself that I can get over it. That I can survive. That I can thrive.

“I remember when we met, I was young and innocent
And they told me you were all a girl could need
So I wrapped my life around you, I felt safe cause I had found you
But security’s become my enemy
You’re the only road I’ve ever known, but it’s time to move on

Cause the truth is I’m finding that it might not go my way
If I hold this life too tightly, my heart would break
And it’s time to say goodbye to everything I’ve ever known
But I choose freedom so this is me letting you go”

– Letting You Go, Jenny Simmons

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