What Sports Taught Me

I don't remember when it happened.  I don't remember when one of the most crucial moments in my life was.

I don't remember when I first played a sport. 

I don't remember if I first chucked a ball (probably to my Pépéré), or teed off on the 8th hole (obviously with Pa), or if I passed a soccer ball (or basketball to my mom). I don't remember when I first played a sport, because for as long as I can remember, they have been a part of me. But, four years ago that all changed. I walked off the volleyball court, hugged my coach (who was my mom so 100% appropriate, relax) and sniffled a little.

A putter in my hand before I could walk... or yell "FORE"

In that moment I realized that I had played in my last organized, competitive sporting event.  Sure there would be college pick up games (those never end well), camp-wide games (where you remember you can't run/bend like a 10-year old anymore), and intramural college sports (where I sustained my first real injury... but anyway that's another story) and of course I could always ski... but that was it. My life as Taylor Hobbs - the athlete came to a close.

No matter how much I ran, jumped, skied, or anything, it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be wouldn't be the athlete anymore. I would be another kid with stories of "the glory days" but not much glory left (if there was ever any to begin with...) 

Wow, Taylor,  a little late to the game here. I hate to point it out, but that was four years ago, why are you just writing this post now? Well, honestly, I was playing a game with Brian, and our two colors were yellow and red - ketchup and mustard. And I remembered the first time I had ever heard someone say that -- it was my first ever ski race and I had gotten second (red) and third (yellow) and someone called it my ketchup and mustard ribbons. (Yeah, I'm easily nostalgic!)

Then I remembered the joy I felt that day - the day I knew I found my sport, the one I wanted to spend every ounce of my piggy bank on, every drop of sweat, and every ice pack and hot shower my parents could afford. I knew that day that I had fallen in love with a sport, ski racing. Maybe I had that moment for all of the other sports, but I don't remember them because I've been doing them for longer than I can remember (as evidenced by the first paragraph).

I thought about my past adventures, and I realized something... sure the final whistle blew and the buzzer sounded long ago, but those hours, years, spent playing and practicing the sports I loved left their mark. So here it is, a quick list of what sports taught me (pictures included for your laughing):

From soccer I learned that you can't just do things with force and might, but that you need to have some precision. After a few trips through thorns to retrieve a ball you rocketed 5 ft off target, you learn your lesson. I also learned that no one likes bad sports, and years after you're done playing they will remember you for an illegal kick more than for that one nice goal. I'll be honest, most people I remember from soccer I remember from their character, the ones who I didn't mind losing to (sorta...) and the ones for whom Jesus' words "love your enemies" aptly apply.  Finally, I learned that if you are the coach's kid, people will expect they are playing favorites, so show them that you work harder to get what you deserve. Don't stoop to their expectations, but rise above them. In life people will assume a lot of things, and you can spend your lifetime telling them that they aren't right, but to save yourself some trouble, just show them.

The only banner I ever hoisted meant something special. 

From basketball ...well I learned that you can't have them all. In the words of my father, "I'm glad you stopped when you did." There is a difference between quitting because something is hard, and stopping when you know its just not the thing you should spend all of your time pursing. I probably also learned about teamwork or something too... I just know I never learned a good jump shot.

From skiing I learned that you will never know your truest potential if you let the fear of failure hold you back. Never confuse caution with cowardice. If it gets your heart-racing its a good thing, if you are seriously concerned about your health... not a good thing. Be bold, be brave, "SKI FAST NOT SLOW" -- if your goal is to be the fastest then ski like you want it. Never think you've arrived. There are always ways to improve and if you want to improve then get out there and practice, practice, practice... and if you fall, just tell people you are "checking the snow conditions" totally believable ;P

Ended my racing career on the steepest hill in the East

From softball I learned that discretion is a good thing. Just because you can do something, doesn't always mean that you should. Throwing out a runner at second may sound like a great stat, but if the ball isn't caught, well an error doesn't sound so great now does it. Going for the home-run when really you just need to get the runner home won't help your team win. Also - helmets are important - WEAR THEM!

From them all  I've played many more sports and learned a million more lessons, but you probably have something to do, and I should be doing something else... so I won't ramble on about T&F (all people who run the 800m are crazy) or golf (why?!?) or any other sport. There was also a stint in karate, which led to A LOT of funny candids, because I CANNOT be serious-faced very often, one of which I included

But I want to leave you with this:

Sports taught me some of the most incredible lessons I've ever learned: teamwork, generosity, kindness, sportsmanship, discipline, patience, but most of all they taught me who I am and who I want to be. They taught me who I am under pressure, how important it is to let logic override emotions sometimes, and what I can achieve when I try my hardest. They taught me how to have fun and let loose, how to unite to focus on a common goal and how to cover weird bruises.

But the greatest thing that sports have done, is given me a lifetime of memories and adventures, and the people that I've been blessed enough to share them with over the years. I met 3 of my 4 bridesmaids through sports, and made more friends than I can count through competition.

Why am I getting married young?

Maybe you've thought it yourself, I know a lot of people have, and have made it quite clear how they feel about it:

Lady in Seat 9C: Who's picking you up at the airport? 

Me: My Fiancé 

Lady in Seat 9C: Oh... aren't you a little young to get married? 

I wish I would have answered her, but before I could utter my reply she had turned to face her daughter and my chance was over. But I still have something to say: 

Yes, I'm getting married young, but I promise I won't regret it.

And Yes, I know it makes some people uncomfortable and many people have expressed their fears. I wanted to write this blog to tell you why I'm doing something so crazy, something so counter-cultural. I wanted to tell you why I'm getting married young.

First off, I know he's the one I want to spend forever with. Your first thought may be: But how? Don't you want to date around first? It's the little things that make me realize that he's the one I want to spend forever with. The fact that in a room full of people he'll find me, make eye contact, shoot that wink that makes me weak in the knees and flash that smirk that gets me every time. Or maybe its the fact that the other day rather than tell me how ridiculous I was being, he just held me while I cried... about ham (Yes, ham okay? Wasn't one of my finer moments...). Maybe its the way that he will listen to literally anything I have to say, or the way he will sing at the top of his lungs anytime a good song comes on the radio. It could be that no one makes me smile like he does, and that no one can make me laugh even when I'd much rather sob. It could also be because I've seen him grow so much in the past year, and I appreciate how his faith guides his life. Maybe its the way that he always challenges me to reach my fullest potential, never letting me settle for mediocre when he knows I have more to give. Oh, it could also be the fact that he is already a pro at dad jokes. Maybe its the way that he listens to all of my nerdy psych rants and can teach other people about why its dangerous to mess with dreams and how I DON'T psychoanalyze people (nor will I ever). I could go on about how he dresses like a champ (when he needs to) and can switch from Southern hick to well-educated (almost) engineer in a second. It could be the way that he loves those that I love the most, and how he goes out of his way to care about so many people. It could be the way that he is literally every single thing that I could have imagined I'd want in a guy, combined into one incredible man that I am blessed enough to call my best friend. I guess it could be a million reasons. I think we just work well together... including the fact that we are both so ridiculous when it comes to taking pictures. 

(P.s. to everyone who said we were adorable, here are the behind the scenes shots)
(P.s.s. I hope our wedding photographer doesn't see this and charge extra in anticipation of our shenanigans)

Most of all, I've prayed about this more than you can imagine, and I still believe he's the right guy for me. Since the first day he told me he liked me we have sought wise counsel and prayer from those around us. I can't say that I haven't had doubts at times (this is forever guys) but I have always come back to the strong feeling that he is the one. Most people probably don't know that I actually made Brian wait 2 weeks after I confessed that I really liked him (even junior-year-finals-week-for-engineers-him), until I would date him so that I could pray about it and seek wise counsel. And I made him wait to ask me in person, because he might be big and tough but the boy was so nervous, 100% worth it. He gave me my space, honestly I think he was just so relieved to know I actually liked him back, and showed up 2 weeks later at a random hotel in Richmond, VA with my FAVORITE flowers and asked me to be his girlfriend. It was pretty perfect :)


Another thought you may have is But you are wasting your years of freedom! Don't you want to live life a little before you settle down? Well, to be honest, I don't know that this "living life" thing you are talking about it, currently my lungs are operating at full capacity and my resting heart rate is normal, so I think I'm living. Here's what I do know, whatever this living life thing is, I want to do it with Brian by my side. Whether its running through Kroger, perusing Walmart, or finding the most odd things at Goodwill, I know that it would be much better with my partner in crime. I've jumped off of cliffs with this guy, flown over lakes, and driven half the length of the country with this guy (Did you know that? He drove 9 hours on roads he had literally never seen to get this sobbing mess home for Christmas with her family!) All I know is that everything (from ERs to chores) are much more fun with this guy around. So YES I want to live life, but I really think that any life I choose will be ten times better with this guy. I know that the longest days of grad school will end with this guy kissing me goodnight and the most exciting days of my life with be even better when he's the one lifting me up in a celebratory hug. I want to sit on the couch eating pizza (obviously homemade because we are a dynamic duo in the kitchen) and talking about the most random nerdy topics like centripetal acceleration and neurological deterioration, all while watching college basketball, and reading a book.

I guess I don't know how else to say it, but I'm getting married young because I found a guy that I couldn't imagine doing life without, and that I know will make whatever life we do together even better. 

Ps. Can I just brag on this guy for helping me study... all... the... time...

How a Hug Changed my Life

I'm socially awkward. If that comes as a surprise to you, we've probably never met in person, in which case how did you find this?... Anyway, that's not my point.
I am socially awkward, but I used to be worse. Why?

Because I hated hugs.

Some people hate asparagus (one of the best vegetables), some people hate flying (hello, my head is in the clouds anyway), and some people hate hugs (and can you blame them?). I grew up in a culture where hugging isn't really emphasized. There were the mandatory hugs at the end of the family function, but if we are being honest those were uncomfortable for both parties.

I shudder just thinking about how much I hated hugs. Someone holding me that close. Our clothes touching. Their germs invading my bubble of personal space. And what do you even do with your arms? And what if I barely knew them? Why did I have to share such a personal moment with a stranger? I literally just met you (or met you 5 years ago but its the same when hugs are concerned), aren't there some boundaries. I always thought hugs were almost equal with kissing as far as PDA. Like ew, don't hug. Ever.

For as long as I can remember I hated hugs. 

I was that camp counselor that cringed when a child threw their filthy little claws around me (I'm being overdramatic on purpose here people, I LOVE KIDS... probably because I am one). I was the kid that dreaded the last day of anything, because last days usually necessitate hugs, and hugs are just TERRIBLE. Do you understand yet how much I hated hugs?

That all changed when I got to college though. Apparently anybody from anywhere other than New England finds it socially acceptable to HUG near strangers. Do you realize how weird that sounds? Guys you are touching someone you don't know. THAT SOUNDS ILLEGAL, THAT SHOULD NOT BE CONSIDERED NICE, IT SHOULD BE CALLED WEIRD. Sorry, freshman year Taylor was just very antsy about the whole constant hugging thing.

I started going to a new church where I made a lot of friends. I don't know if it was in the church mission, but "HUGGING EVERYONE WHETHER OR NOT THEY LIKED IT" seemed to be a requirement for membership. So every week, without fail I was showered in hugs.

I vividly remember releasing someone from a "hug" and hearing for the first time (of many times), "Okay, now give me a real hug." I furrowed my brows and twisted my mouth, "What does that mean?" Apparently I had ben hugging wrong my entire life. Apparently you are not supposed to keep your arms stiff. Apparently your arms are not supposed to awkwardly be in the way. Apparently you can't fake a hug. Apparently I had a lot to learn?

But was a hug the only thing I was really faking? How many people knew me as more than the "stiff" personality, awkward encounters and guarded conversations? How many people had a let "hug" me emotionally?

It wasn't the hug that was the issue, it was my constant refusal to let people in. While I thought I hated hugs, I really just hated people wanting to be close to me, emotionally and physically. It seemed like a better idea to be guarded, to keep your enthusiasm under wraps 90% of the time, and to never let someone get too close. EVER. Period. Weird how my emotions were manifested in my actions (that's psychology folks).

Suffice it to say: hugging lessons followed. And the stinky part was that they would not just hug me, but hold on to me and ask me how I was doing. Ugh, as if the touching briefly wasn't bad enough, now it was sustained, and I actually had to interact with them. A typical encounter went something like this:

*Person hugs*
Them: So Taylor how are you doing?
*Never fully lets go of my arms*
Inside voice: AAAHHHHHHH YOU ARE TOUCHING ME OH MY GOODNESS RETREAT RETREAT RETREAT
Outside voice: *shaking* Good, you?
Them: (Launches into a 15-minute expository essay about their personal state of affairs while still maintaining physical contact).

Slowly though the hugs began to chip away at my hardened heart. I began to actually enjoy the embrace. I began to understand that it showed compassion, a tender-hearted concern, and a genuine interest. I came to trust the huggers, who are apparently real people, after spending nearly two-decades running from them.

And now, looking back I know that hugs changed my life. Do you know why?

A hug is a litmus test for how you are really doing. On the best of days a hug turns into excited jumping, and on the worst of days a hug can turn into sorrowful weeping. I never knew what it meant to cry on someone's shoulder, because to be honest I didn't want to be anywhere near their shoulder.  There is honor in crying as someone holds your rocking shoulders. There is joy in suffering beside someone. And there is beauty in being real.

 Because in order to give someone a "real" hug you have to be there in the moment. You can't be doing something else. You hands can't be full and your mind has to be just as empty. You can't be tense, because the other person can tell. You can't be too wimpy, because they notice that too. But when I learned to let people embrace me and pull me in I began to enjoy it. Because when you hug, all you have to worry about is being real, and being there. ALL there.

Maybe all of this sounds silly to you. But if I'm being honest I really do think that learning how to hug changed my life. It forced me to deal with my own selfishness and pride. It made me realize that I didn't want to be open because that's a dangerous place. What if they don't like the real me? I didn't mind if people don't like the fake me. She has REALLY thick skin (because it's all just a mask).
To hug is to be vulnerable. Something I only did superficially. But to be honest, to be real is the only way to live. All of my other issues began to fade. It suddenly clicked that you can only have real friends if they actually know the real you. And people will only get to know the real you if you actually let them in. 

So all in all.. my whole life was changed when I learned how to hug.

Tropical Transformation

I'm not much of one for sentimental posts... ah who am I kidding? I'm a sap when it comes to anything that has significant meaning. I'll save receipts, brochures, straws... anything. If it has meaning, it means a lot to me. Especially dates.

And December 3rd is one of those days.

On December third in the year twenty-fifteen, my world was forever changed.

That was our first missions trip team meeting. That was the first time I ever formally met most of these smiling faces:

*I still have the event saved in my calendar (judge me if you want by I already confessed to being super nostalgic).*

On that day: 4 complete strangers, 2 co-workers, 1 former boss, and 1 best friend, met for the most "safe" of all meals: spaghetti. Now I'm not much of a math major, but all of those people with random connections, add up to a whole lot of unknown. I mean like going to the basics of where we lived, what we studied, our year, and 3 fun facts. You can imagine this was a little awkward... mostly because you can probably easily imagine me being awkward in a social encounter...

I learned that we had a pilot in the crew, a cat-lover, a rock-studier, a bug-phobic, and a first-time flyer. I could go on, but some things I probably shouldn't have learned so they are best not repeated... Needless to say, we were quite the motley crew. We shared some similar loves, mainly God, and that simple, yet incredible salad that we DEVOURED that night. We had a passion for telling others about God, and this trip would be the outlet for that passion.

December 3rd changed my life because Praise God, my missions trip didn't end then. 

Over the next few months I met weekly with these folks. I mean they took up my Saturday nights, so they basically destroyed my already non-existent social life. Actually, on second thought, they definitely gave me a social life.... I came to really look forward to our giggle-filled meetings, knowing I could always find a heart willing to pray, listen, and love.

Anyway pouring out your hearts before God, discussing your game plan (and actually making it too!) and playing team-building games, EVERY WEEK tends to increase group cohesion. Quickly. We practiced telling our stories, sharing the gospel, and applying truths.

I knew their hurts and their hearts, and by the time I dragged my 80 pounds of luggage (no exaggeration. Peanut butter is very heavy, as are my clothes and I needed a lot.) at 3 am on the morning of March 4 I loved these people. I thought I knew all the reasons, but really I didn't know the half of it.

During those 8 days on the Island of Freedom I learned to love them for a million more reasons: for their willingness to adventure, their boldness to lead, their passion to invest, their ability to teach, their desire to connect, their strength to endure, their commitment to care, their loyalty to love...

Wow, sitting here typing I realize even more reasons why I love these people (I'm also smiling like a fool staring at my screen, but that's another issue...). My point is this, last December 3rd those people in the picture were strangers, friends at best (except you Hannah, you were already sorta important to me :P).

This December 3rd they are family.

These are the people that I spent 10 days laughing with, crying with, adventuring with, teaching with, ministering with, playing with (actually I was non-competitive compared to some folks *cough* *cough*)  but most of all growing with. 

So now I'll address that fleeting thought you had, so you can just kick it out of your mind for once and for all.

Yes, Brian was on my missions trip, but no that is not the reason why I loved my missions trip, he's an added bonus yes, but quite honestly we've talked about it and I'm the best thing that came out of my missions trip.

Okay now pick your jaw up off the ground. I don't mean what you think by that.

I mean that because of the people in that picture, and the God that we serve, the Taylor Elizabeth Hobbs that plopped herself into her Dorm bed at 1 am on March 14 was not the same Taylor that hastily made that same bed on March 3.

I learned how to love even when it wasn't comfortable or natural (I held someone's hand just to have a tangible sign of my love). I learned about God's creation and how He put it together (geology major and Allied Health for the win!). I learned that it's good to be outside of your comfort zone (expectations are not usually reality). I learned what servant leadership looked like (like the thankless task of washing dishes and organizing books). I learned what love with hands and feet looks like, and honestly it didn't look like me. 

And that's why I had to change. Being surrounded by these incredible people made me realize just how much growing I needed to do. These broken people had just as many obstacles to service as I did, yet they were doing an absolutely incredible job.

And I wanted to be just like them. I wanted to have an infectious joy. A brave desire for adventure. A caring heart I wasn't ashamed to show. I wanted to love and live and laugh like them.

So I learned.

I grew.

And it all officially started on December 3rd.

I have a feeling this will be an anniversary that I celebrate for a while. The new me will, because it was the day she first began to take shape.

So Happy December 3 everyone. 

Happy "Day My Life Was Forever Changed."

Happy "Day I Met Strangers and Made Family."

P.S. I started off this post by listening to our trip theme song "My Story" by Big Daddy Weave and ended on "Oceans" by Hillsong United and I couldn't have planned that if I tried. So thank you God for even curating my music :)

Maman

I remember it like it was yesterday.
It was snowy.
My mom had driven out to watch my race.
It was counties.
It was big.
I had a lot on the line.
I was nervous.
I wanted top 10.

I fell.

I remember coming through the finish corral and looking at my skis in shame as I told my mom "I fell... I blew it."
My fall wasn't that spectacular. But my mom's reply was.
"So?"

I was so disappointed in myself. I thought I had disappointed her to.
But she was still so proud of me. 
"It doesn't matter. You still kicked butt in your first run."

Suddenly I believed her. I really, really did. I realized that no result would ever make my mom less proud of me. No number would quantify her love for me. She loved me anyway and she couldn't have been more proud.

It's just a moment, one that might have lasted 5 minutes at most. But the impact shook my world.

That's just one story. One of the millions I could tell about my mom. She was the subject of EVERY SINGLE one of my hero essays as a kid. I mean why wouldn't she be?
She was a single mom going to college as a student athlete (and CRUSHING IT by the way).
She ran around after her little overly-involved handful of a child.
She never skipped a parent teacher conference (much to my dismay).
She coached me in EVERY single sport that I ever did in some way.
She's inspired more people than I can count.
She's pushed me to finish even when I wanted to quit (a million times).
She's nurtured my faith.
She's proofread every important thing I have ever written (and will tell me about my mistakes in here I'm sure :P)
She's someone I'll gladly follow, because I know Who's leading her.

So when I wanted to find a picture of my mom for her birthday I looked and looked. There's a million of her smiling and laughing. There's embarrassing ones from our younger days. There's 1,000 that have to do with me playing some sport and her cheering for me.

But I love this one, because it's how I've always seen her:
the trailblazer guiding me to a brighter future.
My role model. 
My hero. 
My mom. 

What Anxiety Feels Like

This is what it feels like to have anxiety.

Your throat tightens
Your knees buckle
Your temperature skyrockets
Your hands tremble
Your vision blurs
Your heart pounds
Your body sways
Your consciousness blinks

Anxiety 

Its the enemy that constantly lurks
Its the surprise attack you never see coming
You try to run
Hide
Escape from it
But it always finds you
It shows up anywhere
And everywhere
A pew at church
A table at a diner
Work
Home
School
No place is safe
In this war there are no "green zones"

Your mind races
A day's worth of thoughts in mere seconds

           Why do I feel like this?

           Why can't I stop it?
           Why does this keep happening to me 
           Will I survive? 
You fidget in your chair
You play with your buttons
You adjust anything within reach
You firmly grip something anything to hold you up
You shift your position
Again
And again
But you can't simply move it away
It's claws have dug deeply into your heart
It's feet are rooted firmly in your mind
You cannot retreat
You must fight it
And you will
Because you are strong
You are a brave warrior in this battle

You encourage your lungs
           "Breathe" 
You command your muscles
           "Relax"
You straighten your knees
           "Stand Strong" 
You direct your eyes
           "Focus" 
You calm your hands
           "Be still" 
You bow your head
           "Lord, please help me" 
You muster every once of strength within you
That is what it will take
And then some

Like a swimmer caught in a wave
You wonder when it will pass
You know the surface is out there
But it could be inches or feet
The weight of your enemy holding you down
Like an anchor tethering you to your fears
You struggle to the surface
Light
Hope
One breath
Two
Three
You made it
Back to reality
You survey your surroundings
Its only been minutes
It feels like hours
Like a day of battle
Not a single person knows what they witnessed
A battle was won
A life was spared
Yours


I wanted to share this really personal post with you because anxiety is something I've dealt with for several years. At first I suffered with it. But that's not okay. It is not okay to suffer with anxiety, but it is okay to struggle with it. It is not okay to accept it as a fact of life and let it beat you like a pounding wave, crushing your hopes and dreams into the sharp rocks. You must fight in battle with it. You must strive to defeat it. You can struggle with it, because that means you're fighting back. And everyday will bring new challenges. But you can make it. And if you struggle rather than suffer, you will make it. I've seen the enemy try to steal away far too many people I care about. They suffered in silence. The enemy strives on secrecy and darkness. Fight it in the Light.

It's fine

I learned a million things as a high school athlete. Honestly I probably wouldn't be the person I am if I didn't play sports as a kid. But the biggest lesson I ever learned was that when you were hurt you just needed to suck it up.

Broken nose? Play through it.
Sprained ankle? Run it off.
Dislocated joint? Ski until it's back in.
Bleeding? Just don't get it on your uniform.

It seemed that no matter how serious the injury, if there was any chance to play through it (even the absolute slimmest chance) you HAD to go on. So usually we did. You can throw a band-aid on a paper cut and continue reading for days. You can stretch your calf until the pain subsides. Sometimes we really could suffer through the pain.

But not always.

There was always that one injury that everyone assumed was nothing. But it wasn't. The sprain that was really a break. The sore muscle that was really pulled. The bump that was really a concussion. The cut that got severely infected. Sometimes sucking it up doesn't help at all. Sometimes sucking it up just makes it worse. Sometimes if we would have properly taken care of the issue from the beginning we wouldn't have had any complications later on. 

But it starts with acknowledging that there is a problem that needs to be fixed. And that's true for all areas of life. Physical and emotional.

It starts with a question: "How are you today?"
It ends with a lie: "Okay"

The dictionary defines okay as "satisfactory, all right, correct" yet anytime I hear someone use it, I know that none of that is true. It's funny how sometimes we use positive adjectives to describe absolute turmoil. It's the emotional equivalent of "sucking it up" for an injury. But like trying to place a bandaid on a bullet wound, the injury is still visible, and no healing is being done. 

We don't want to say we are not okay because we hope that our shoddy attempts to fix our problems will work. Maybe if I throw myself into my classes the break up won't be so terrible. Maybe if I pick up some extra hours at work I won't have as much time to think about the pain. Maybe if I avoid that part of town I won't miss them so much. We try to fix the problem, but like homeowner that uses a picture to hide a hole in the wall, the problem is still there. It will have to be dealt with eventually. The picture will have to come down one day, and the hole will not fix itself. Fix it now or in 30 years when we sell the house. It might be too late.

When we tell someone we are okay, we are trying to convince someone else that we are doing "satisfactory", "all right" and that our life is "correct". Yet we don't believe it ourselves. We say the words with as much conviction as the playground bully being forced to apologize for his rein of terror.

When we say "I'm okay." we don't mean it. 

Usually we mean the opposite. We mean that we are tired. Stressed. Hurt. Insulted. Confused. Lost. In over our heads. We mean that it was hard to get out of the bed that morning. We mean that our eyes are stinging from holding back tears. We mean that we are in pain. And when we say we are okay we really mean we are not okay.
And that's okay.

It's okay to not be okay. 

Actually it's better to be not okay. Because if you are admitting that, you are already on your way to healing. We need to start treating our emotional more like our physical health. We need to take the time to deal with our minor issues before they become major problems.

So what exactly am I telling you? I'm not saying you have to tell every person that asks how you are all about your emotional well being. But there is one person you have to ALWAYS be honest with, and that person is:

Yourself. 

So if I asked you today how you are doing, and you said to yourself I'm okay, please don't stop reading now.
Take time to take care of whatever is bothering you. Take a nap. Take a bath. Go for a run. Go shopping. Go sit in a tree. Talk to God. Talk to a friend. Talk to yourself. Breathe. Sob. Yell. Scream. Kick.

Do whatever you have to do to tear down the picture that you tried to hang over your emotional hole. Take the time to fix it now. 
Be honest.
Be real.
Be not okay.

Asked and Answered

Today it happened. It's been a long few months and at times I wondered when it would finally give way. Today it did.

My writer's block cleared. It was not unprompted though. Something much bigger happened first:

My bracelet finally fell off. 

My worn and tattered "red rope" bracelet finally slipped off of my wrist. It happened simply enough. I sat down on the couch after supper, and when I got up to go to the gym I noticed that my wrist weighed a fraction less. Crumbled beside me was a faded twist of string. My heart sank. I had been dreading the day.

It was more than red cord.
It was so much more than frayed strings.
It was more than tight knots.
It was a reminder.
It was a symbol.
It was an idea.

The bracelet was neatly braided during my missions trip to the Bahamas. It plunged into the Atlantic with me. It snorkeled through the Caribbean with me. It talked to kids, hugged strangers, and ran through airports. And that was just on the trip. It then traveled to 20 states. It presented at regional and local conferences. Clicked through more grad schools than I can count. It had tough conversations. Shook the hand of my future supervisor. It waved to kind passerbys. Greeted countless of Cedarville guests. It held crying friends. Rocked out at my dream concert. It biked hundreds of miles. Drove across the country in the ultimate best friend road trip. It moved into my very first apartment. The bracelet was with me through one of the most eventful 3 months of my life.

The bracelet represented the incredible friendships that I formed on my trip (It was a friendship bracelet after all). But there was something bigger than just friendship that was embodied by the cord. It was about Trust. It was about true, untouched, incredibly powerful, trust in God. It was about telling God that while I love to plan, I would learn to rely wholly on His plan. The bracelet wasn't just a fashion statement, it was an outward expression of the attitude of my heart.

That bracelet changed my life. 

Not the actual fibers. It wasn't the dye. It was the idea.

On my misson's trip I vowed to keep giving God my future plans. I vowed to give God my heart, so that He could give me the desires of my heart. A heart chasing after Him. A heart in full allegiance to His will for my life. And it started with planning less and giving more. I gave my plans to God before I even allowed myself to mess them up with my mere human scribbles. I lifted up my burdens before my muscles grew weary from trying to carry them on my own.

This semester I hit my knees more times than I can count.
I hit them for research opportunities.
I hit them for wisdom in friendships.
I hit them for internship possibilities.
I hit them for sick loved ones.
I hit them for struggling strangers.
I hit them for myself.
I hit them for a million more reasons than I could ever explain.
And if I had to summarize my semester in one word, I would say quite simply:
Answered.

There is an old children's song that talks about how sometimes God answers "Yes" when we pray, and sometimes He says "No." In either circumstance, God answers according to His love for us. I know that is quite the concept to wrap our heads around: love might say no. But any loving parent, God doesn't give us EVERYTHING that we want (because even though we really want the dog, we probably won't actually care for it, and even though we really want the ipod we probably will lose it [sorry mom and dad]). Luckily God actually knows what's best for us.

So this semester God answered some prayers with a heartbreaking "NO." And there were tears over what I thought were missed opportunities. There were tears over lost loved ones. And you can bet there were tears over poor grades (*** disclaimer you CANNOT pray your way to an "A"... even especially on a Bible exam). There were tears of exhaustion. Tears of confusion.

But there were also tears of joy. There was dancing. Jumping. Leaping. And hugs.
All because sometimes God doesn't just say "Yes." Sometimes He looks a the tiny broken toy that you ask Him to fix, and He answers with a totally new one.
There were unexpected research opportunities.
There was an unexpected meeting.
There were unexpected academic honors.
There were unexpected friends.
There was an unexpected guy (seriously, I had NO idea that was even a request).

They were all answers to prayers I didn't even utter. But my heart knew. And God knew. Fortunately for us God hears the prayer of our heart when our lungs are deflated and our lips are silent. Somehow God continually surpassed my expectations. It's like He knows the actual BEST things for me. But it didn't mean that I always came to Him first. Sometimes the tears came from pride. From trying to do it on my own. Like a child running to their mother for a band-aid, I sometimes fell before God pleading for Him to take over the situation. And rather than ignore me, He'd gently lift me up and set me on a path that I could have never imagined.

So yes today marks the end of a constant physical reminder of God's answers this past semester. But I pray that my heart will forever remember what it represents. It represents giving to God, so He can far surpass our measly expectations. It's about giving it all, and somehow getting more back.
It's about friendship. 
But more importantly, it's about trust. 

I found FREEDOM and I found JOY

Eleuthera.

That's the name of the slim island that I spent my spring break on. It means freedom in Greek. I came back changed, completely. No I didn't change my career plans. No I didn't sell everything I own and move down there. I brought back all of me (except a hat but that's a long story), but I brought back a different me,

I gained so much on the trip that I feel like I robbed the Island of some of its natural resources. On the island of freedom, I found freedom.

I found freedom from plans.
I had a lot of amazing plans for my missions trip, God had better ones. I had scheduled my week, God has scheduled my life. I knew the people I wanted to impact, God had ones I needed to impact. I had expectations that I wanted to meet, God had one: Love and serve Him fully. The things that ended up blessing me the most were things that I would have never thought of: an unexpected seat mate, a bubbly roommate and a funny student.
But I almost missed all of those blessings.
I almost changed seats, I almost switched rooms, and I almost passed the student by.
When we take a second and look up from our plans that we clutch to so tightly we are finally able to see the amazing plans that God has playing out around us.

I found freedom from pride. 
I had to learn that no matter how uncomfortable I was, I didn't have any right to put my comfort above someone else's. Yes, I had to do a ton of things that quite frankly I didn't enjoy. I had to face a few ridiculous fears, had to touch things I would have preferred to never see (let alone touch!) and I had to be in situations that I hated. But each time I survived. Why? Because I was able to look at the face of the person that I was trying to serve, and see them as Christ sees them: someone worth doing anything. I had to realize that I had no special privilege that allowed me to be comfortable while they suffered. If I had the power to ease their pain, I had the obligation to do so, no matter the cost. Constantly serving others makes you realize that your sole purpose in life is not just to make a great name for yourself, but to make His name Greater.

I found a lot of freedom on the island, but I never realized how exactly that freedom would change my life. But is has, because I learned that when freedom moves into your heart, the first thing it does is paint all of the walls bright yellow, changes the doorbell to laughter and lights the entire home all of the time. Freedom decorates with joy.

This joy has been something I've been trying to explain for weeks, but I just couldn't quite seem to put a name to the emotion. It's the toothy, eyes closed grin that stretches across my face. It's the laughter as I let go of all inhibition and truly enjoy life.

I found freedom, and I hope that others see it too. I hope it spills out in my excited waves, corny jokes and tight hugs. I hope that the freedom I found and the joy that it created is something that I can share with everyone. I want my faith to remain unshaken in the midst of trials and I want my hope to be anchored through the storm. I want my smile to remain even in the chaos, because I want to always live, laugh and love freely.

I want Eleuthera to not just be an island in the Bahamas, but the theme of my heart.

The Red Cord

Like any cliché missions team, we had to make matching friendship bracelets, but these bracelets symbolize something deeper. They do not only show our friendship, but also our mutual decision to let God write our story. That is the theme of our trip after all:  My Story: His Story 

If there was one thing that I never thought I would get up in a group of 50 students and say, it was that I could relate to Rahab (Joshua 2), you know the prostitute? 

 But I did, because I can.

While I've never had the same major sin struggle that Rahab did, I was caught in a similar trap. Rahab thought that she had life going for her, she thought she was the one writing the story of her life. Really she was just writing scribbles when the Author of her life was standing by, ready to create a masterpiece.

If there is one thing I love, it’s kids. Recently I was helping a toddler write her name. She tried many times to write it herself, but for some reason her squiggles and lines just didn't look write. Finally I jumped in and came to her aid. While we were both holding on to the crayon, in reality I was the one doing the writing. While she proudly showed everyone how she wrote her name, I smiled knowing that it was really in my penmanship. She thought she had things under her control, but really she didn't. If I wouldn't have been there to help her, she wouldn't have been able to write her name (or at least write it in a way that anyone could understand).

Rahab was like a young child, trying to write her own story of glory, love, respect and honor, but really she was just writing a story of shame, embarrassment and regret. Rahab had a heart change though. She took a step of blind faith and she let down the red rope that would symbolize to the outside world that God was the one in charge of her future. 

Rahab let go of her carefully laid plans, and was caught by the mighty hand of God. I've been like Rahab so many times, clutching tightly to the well drawn out plans for how I want things to go. My sweaty palms wrinkling the paper and running the ink. But my plans don't get me anywhere. Like plane tickets without a plane, I have promises of going somewhere, but no way to get there.

That is why we are all wearing these bracelets. These “red ropes” are a personal reminder of the times in our lives where we had to let go of our plans, in order to cling to God while He wrote something better for us. At times our hands had to be pried off of the plans: unwilling and hesitant to let go. Other times we came in full surrender: sweaty palms outstretched after we realized that we could no longer hold on.

I am proud to say that out of all the bible characters, I feel most connected to Rahab: the prostitute that one day came to her senses and realized that writing wasn’t her strong suit, but that trusting was.

Changing Perspectives: Out of focus

For those of you who may not know, I have glasses for reading. They remove some of the fuzzies, magnify the words and bring stuff into focus. As great as the glasses are, I can only wear them for a short time because once I need to look at something further than 5 feet away, they actually hurt more than help. Although there is a time and a place to focus on the here and near, we can't let that blur our view of the world just beyond our reach. Sometimes we need to change perspectives

Yesterday, my perspective was changed, not by my own doing... but luckily God doesn't mind dragging us kicking and screaming when He has to.

It began when I woke up and checked into my flight yesterday morning. For some reason I felt compelled to change from an aisle seat to a window seat, and since the change was free, I went for it. Later on I found out that I actually gave up my seat near 3 of the girls I was traveling with, so I was a little disappointed, but I was still excited about my window seat. (Side bar: flying from Vegas is actually the most beautiful flight that I have EVER been on).

When I got to my seat, a couple was already sitting in the B and C seats, and after the short and sweet introductions they shared that they were returning from caring for the man's dying mother. Honestly, I groaned on the inside, knowing that this would likely turn into a vent session. Yup, that selfish thought ran through my mind, as it often does, because when people hear that I am a psych major, they often have this COMPULSION to share EVERYTHING with me. The problem was that they didn't know I was a psych major, they were just being real with me.

Anyway, to avoid having to listen to their problems, I plopped my headphones in and did more "important" things, like deleting and editing pictures on my phone. I was tired after all, and it was fine to just want to relax, right? I tried to rationalize away the desire to talk to them that was tugging at my heart. I figured that if I quickly uttered that I would pray for them as we grabbed our carry ons and rushed off of the plane, my "Christian duty" would be done for the day.

If you are still reading this, I hope you are disgusted by my behavior as I am at this point.

This is me with my reading glasses on. I was focusing too much on MYself, worrying about how tired I was, so I decided to try to sleep. Sleep usually comes VERY easily to me on a plane, but for some reason, I could not for the life of me turn my brain off. I begin to wonder if maybe I sat in THAT seat for a purpose. If maybe I COULDN'T sleep for a reason. I decided to lean over to my seat mates and strike up a conversation.

This is where I take my reading glasses off. The world's initially a little fuzzy, and I'm not too keen on my task at hand, but I stick with it.

Once I got them talking, they didn't stop, and that was OKAY. We talked about the man's dying mother, about the woman's dead parents, about my passed loved ones. We talked for 2 hours straight, with barely enough time to breathe. At times they were both talking to me about different things.

It was crazy.
It was overwhelming.
It was raw.
It was real.
It was beautiful.

Here were these complete strangers who were so willing to be honest and real and open in the best possible way. I watched as a grown man cried at the thought of losing his mother and as he winced at the mention of her poor condition. His wife glancing first at him and then at me and whispering, "I worry about him and all of this stress" [He has PTSD from a very traumatic event]. I saw real honest emotion, coming from two of the most real people I now know. We, mostly they, talked and talked and talked.

The most incredible thing though, was that the whole time they talked about their problems, the focus was never about themselves. It was on their children, their community, their family, anything but themselves. Every story has some sort of application for me like, "You keep your nose in those books..." or "You help those who need a hand whenever you can..." They shared wisdom and tips on how to rely on your friends and faith, how to practically love your neighbor, and how to never take for granted every blessing that you have. At one point the woman looked at me as she spoke about the MANY hardships that she has recently endured and remarked quite simply, "When life throws you a curve, you either dodge it or you try to catch it."

As the plane began to descend, I took down their names to pray for them (the mom's name is Betty so please pray for her) and gave them my contact information.

At the end of the flight the man looked at me and said that he knew I was sent by God to sit with them on the flight. The woman added that all they wanted was for someone to be kind to them in their hurt. They thought it was ironic that they sat next to a psychologist,  and I quickly I reminded them that I didn't have a degree. The man's reply is something that will likely stick with me forever, "I think you are more than qualified by God."

They had nothing but encouraging words about my past upbringing ("You hug your mom and tell her she did an amazing job") and my future career (which they only learned about AFTER they shared everything). It seemed like everything they complimented me on was the exact OPPOSITE of my behavior for the first half of the flight for example, "You could have put your headphones in and just ignored us, but instead you chose to be kind." I was glad to be able to help them, but it seemed like each compliment was another blow to my heart, reminding me of just how selfish I had been.

I got off the plane expecting to feel sky high, full of encouragement and praises. Instead I felt torn, on the one hand I was glad that God was able to speak through me to these people, but I also felt incredibly guilty: in my selfishness I almost didn't help them. I was too focused on the here and now to see these people in desperate need of the heart salve that I always carry with me: the Love of Christ.

I praise God that I didn't miss THIS chance to minister to these hurting people, but I cringe at the thought of how many chances I have let pass me by. If I want to help the hurting people of the world I don't need to have a fancy degree or charge $100 an hour. I can start with the people all around me: the ones that just "happen" to cross my path when they need His words the most. After all, I'm qualified by God to do just that.

Today there are a few things that are the subject of most of my prayers:
1) The man and woman
2) Betty
3) This song, that I hope is not only catchy lyrics, but also the deepest desire of my heart.

4) That this blog encourages YOU to have a change of perspective as well.

Dear Younger Me(s)

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to go back in time, and during an hour of desperation and despair, or triumph and joy in my life, quietly whisper into my ear a word or two. I guess this is what I'd say:


Dear Newborn me,

Don't worry, you'll make it. This world is big and scary, but give it a couple minutes and you'll feel right at home. God has big plans for you baby. Who knows how many lives you'll touch; but here's one thing that I know for sure: you'll change the world.                     Love,

Me/You/Us

P.S. Now would be a great time to start breathing
P.S.S. Maybe someday you will be able to tame that hair... but that day hasn't come yet.


                                                                        Dear Toddler me, 

You sure love collecting shells with your Memere and collecting golf balls with your Pa. Start collecting memories with them too! Cherish every moment, because you never know when your time with them will run out. Listen to them both, they know what's best for you. Someday you'll find yourself sitting in your dorm room reciting the life-changing quotes, the ones that had gone over your head at the time, but now go right to your heart. Soak in every possible moment, from sitting on the roof eating skittles to pulling weeds in your garden, enjoy it. NEVER miss a chance to spend time with them. Hear their stories, some day you'll miss the stories about your Pa during the war. Let Memere show you how to bake (you need all the help you can get). When your time with them is cut short, you won't have regrets: Your last words to both of them will be, "I love you." Maybe you don't understand what all of that means, so... just go call your Pa (even if it's 5 AM) he'll love to hear from you.                                             Love, 

Me/You/Us 

P.S. When your Pa says stop running before you slip... 

well we learned the hard way that you should have just

 listened to him.

Dear Elementary me,

School's really not going your way. I'm sorry about that, it might not help much, but can I tell you a secret? Someday you'll be sorta good at it, and things will come more naturally. For now though, you need to figure out what works best for you. As hard as it is, maybe you shouldn't sit near your friends. Also, I know you had a bad experience with being forced to journal, but maybe she was on to something. Journaling will take you through some pretty tough times in life, so why not give it another try? Also stress balls will save you from fidgeting so much. Taylor, I know you hate who you are sometimes, but promise me one thing? Stay true to who you are. Eventually you'll mellow out, and one day in a college class, you'll understand yourself and your struggles a little better. Keep trying in school, stop rushing to be first, and strive to actually learn. Don't give up on yourself, because one day you will be blessed with some amazing teachers who won't give up on you either.                                         Love, 

                                                                  Me/You/Us

P.S. I know what you're wondering... and NO

you won't ever learn how to smile in pictures 

without squinting 

Dear 3rd/4th grade me,

No matter how much crying, kicking and screaming you do, he isn't leaving. He really loves your mom, and he really loves you too. It's hard to believe it now, but this will end up being one of the best ever things to happen to you. You're going to have a family. That's what you've always wanted. He's going to be your dad. So stop running away crying whenever you see him, because one day you'll be running to him crying. I promise, you'll be really thankful for this man. Also he's going to miss you the most when you go to school... so be prepared for the many, many calls and texts!                         Love,

Me/You/Us

P.S. Don't worry that you didn't catch anything this time you went fishing, one day you'll out-fish your Papa and Pepere Bill. 

 

Dear Middle School me,

Oh dear. You act so goofy, and are so loud, but I
know what's on the inside: you're scared, hurt, and lonely. I know you don't think you have any friends now, but someday you'll stop worrying about the quantity of friends, and you'll start focusing on the quality of friends, and trust me: you're going to have some quality friends. Life is getting pretty complicated, and suddenly things aren't quite what they seemed. You just discovered boys don't have cooties, and even though everyone else has a "boyfriend," don't find your value in a guy. Someday you (along with your friends) will look back and laugh on some of the interesting choices you made. Good  news though: your weird "relationships" will be the extent of your teenage rebelling, much to the joy of your parents! Stop worrying about what others think, and start caring about what your Maker thinks. Please, just stop worrying.         Love,
                                                                Me/You/US
P.S. I know you're on your way to "Young Authors."
Believe it or not one day you'll be rooming with a
girl who was in the same book as you.


         

Dear Junior Year me,

You are exhausted. Burnt out beyond belief. You need to learn how to take better care of yourself. No one gets the best part of you when you are so exhausted and short-tempered. I'm proud of you for being motivated to stay ahead in AP and your college class, but at what cost? Just do me a favor now, please, just breathe. Learn to take care of yourself: Take a jog, read a book, pray, spend time with God. You're not healthy. Well, now for the good news: The effects of your exhaustion will last for years, but don't worry, one day you really will no longer struggle with anxiety. More short-term: You're going to have an absolute blast at prom, you'll feel amazing, great: like you've never felt before. Coral is really your color so superb choice. Believe it or not you'll dance the night away... or well do that thing you call dancing, and no, you won't ever learn how to have rhythm (all though a lot of people will try to help you!)                                       Love,

Me/You/Us

P.S. Remember that random school you cut out of a 

magazine in September? Cedarville or whatever? Yeah,

you're going there, and you're going to absolutely love it.

Dear last semester senior me,

Stop being so anxious to leave the school. One day you'll miss the way the light floods through the door and blinds you when you head to English. You'll miss the way the halls ALWAYS smelled. You'll miss your mom being a few steps, rather than a thousand miles, away. You'll miss the kids who are "so annoying" (college fixes that all out). You're excited to get out and see the world, but this will always be home in your heart. You'll miss the views, the food (ah, poutine) and the people. Take time to love it now! Stop counting down the hours until you are "free" because graduating from high school isn't what will make you free: being you will. Don't pretend to be someone you're not. The people that see the "weird you" and still stick around are the only ones you really want to have in your life anyway. So you're a bit strange, it's okay, I'll let you in on a world-wide secret: everyone else is to. Get ready for college, make some friends, have a great last summer at home. Don't lie awake at night fretting about your future, but spend every waking minute being present in the moment. Live YOUR life, the one that God created you to live.                        Love, 
                                                                         Me/You/Us
P.S. One dark night on your way to the hospital, instead
of writing your graduation speech, you'll be planning your
Pepere's eulogy. Quit now... I'll spoil the ending: He makes
it, and I don't think there is anyone more excited to see you
get that diploma than him.
                 
As much as I'd love to say these things to myself (and many... many more) I've also come to realize that some mistakes had to be made (again and again) in order for me to come who I am today. So do I have some regrets? Sure, and people often remind me of them. Do I wish I would have spared myself from some pain? Who wouldn't?! But at the end of the day, my past made me who I am today. So I guess if I were given the opportunity, here's what I'd day: Sir, your time machine is really neat but I'm going to decline your offer. It's tempting but I guess I'd really prefer not to travel back in time just to save myself some mistakes and pain, because in the end, I think I turned out okay.