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.