thankful.

There are a lot of things they tell you before you move away from home, especially to another country: You'll be homesick, you'll cry, you'll miss your mom and sister, it will be hard, you'll have fun, one day you'll snap and everything will make you want to scream, you'll cry when you see a dog that reminds you of one time you had a stuffed animal that looked sort of like that dog.

It's weird.

What they neglect to tell you are how difficult holidays are. I know, poor little American, missing her misguided Thanksgiving holiday as she lives it up in Sydney Australia. I'm terrible. But in all honesty this was a lot more difficult then I expected and the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving have been full of apprehension and anxiety and sadness. Not overwhelming amounts, but the sorts that unexpectedly come up and sort of take your breath away, disorienting you for a few moments. Earlier this week I decided to, for every moment I felt homesick or down and out about being away from home, list things I'm thankful for until my attitude changes. 

Because what they also neglect to tell you is how much more thankful you become when you move away from home, you appreciate stupid things like an additional $5 in your bank account to buy lunch meat instead of ramen (TRUTH DOE) or finding a wrinkled shirt in the bottom of your suitcase you forgot about, but you also have a deeper appreciation for little things like spending an entire chunk of time, whether days or hours, with your family and of course green bean casserole. 

So today I'm choosing to be thankful, because this little life of mine is pretty great and although I miss Washington something fierce, I count myself as one of the luckiest girls in the world.

I'm thankful for Australian friends who are choosing to spend their last night of pre-folio freedom eating a "Thanksgiving" meal with me because they didn't want me to be alone. I'm thankful that I was privileged enough to study abroad for 3.5 months only to spend another 1.5 months with my sister and her family in China and the Philippines. I'm thankful for my roommates, who I can't write about because I'll cry. I'm thankful for a dad who answered my call at 5:30 am (his time) the other day and chatted with me for 45 minutes when I was homesick. (And who gets to play one more week of high school football in the semi-finals game. GO MUSTANGS!) I'm thankful that I was blessed with an experience that was infinitely better then I had imagined or hoped for, one that I was convinced would be a semi-flop but has been, honestly and truly, a testament to the goodness and thoughtfulness of our God and His intentional nature. I'm thankful for teachers who have taken the time to get to know me and encourage me to pursue my talents and giftings and let me do silly assignments on Kanye West. I'm thankful for Sydney and it's sunshine and rain and beaches and accents. I'm thankful for Justin Bieber for fueling my schoolwork the past few weeks with his new album (WHAT HAVE I BECOME?!)(Honorable mentions: Ellie Goulding, Justin Timberlake, Kanye, Sylvan Esso and Troye Sivan). I'm thankful for the past year and how radically different I am. How the other day a classmate said: "You are always so joyful. How are you always full of so much joy?" And I nearly cried because last year I was the furthest thing from joyful and now I can feel the joy of the Lord coursing through me. His love for me and His grace the past year have sustained me and shaped me and I'm so thankful that I serve a God who sees my pain and says: 'I love you enough to not leave you this way.' I'm thankful for dance parties, Mad Mex, ramen, Full House, When Harry Met Sally, Facetime, Shillington College and my friends. I'm thankful for my family, who love me enough to cheer me on even though they're far away, who encourage me and tell me they miss me and still include me in their lives so I don't feel so bad for being gone so long. I'm thankful that two weeks from today Erik will be here and we will be celebrating GRADUATION! (!!!!!!!!) I'm thankful for so much, so much so that my heart is bursting into a million little pieces.

Happy Thanksgiving friends! From all the way Down Unda' I hope that your day is filled with those you love most along with laughter, memories, turkey and a heart that is reminded to be thankful every day, every season and every moment. My challenge to you is the same one I have to really fight towards every day: To find something to be thankful for, ALWAYS. It may be hidden or silly or minuscule, but I promise it's there. Even if it's a new sponge in the sink that your roommate thoughtfully replaced because the other was stinky and a glorified petri dish. (#adultlife)

"Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His love endures forever."

[1 Chronicles 16:34]

for memories sake

I'm a very sentimental person. (I have a theory that because I was carefully named after my Aunt Kelly, I was born for nothing less then obsessive sentimentalism. It's in my name.) I collect bits of memories, clinging to mementos and treating them as invisible strings tied to the fingers of my memory. In my car scattered across my dashboard you'll see a sun-faded homemade minion valentine nestled in the nook near my RPM thingy-mc-bop, a reminder of the first valentine I received from a friend (Hi Kitty!) and one that reminds me how in that moment I felt valued as a friend. Wedged near my gas gauge you'll see a ticket stub, the ferry information smudged and all but legible, a small reminder of a trip to Bainbridge I took with Erik, a reminder of a summer full of trips across Washington state before I moved away for five months. In my room you'll see the same scene, a blanket that legend has it, belonged to my namesake, a piece of washi tape I folded into a bookmark after a Skype conversation with my sister sits in my bible, notes and drawings I collected all last year, often picked from the trash at the preschool because I found them much too precious to part with, are taped on my mirror or carefully stored in my drawers. Small reminders littered throughout my life, valuable to only me, annoying to about everyone else, but anchors to moments in time that I never want to forget.

When I left Washington I never had wistful moments or frantic attempts to soak in memories. I didn't longingly stare out windows and what not whilst romantically reminding myself to "Remember this moment", because I knew I was coming back. Once the excitement of arriving in Australia wore off and I began settling into a routine, I sort of stopped paying attention to little moments. This week as I look at my calendar, the next four weeks seem incredibly drawn out but desperately short. I begin calculating in the annoying way that I do and notice I only have two more Friday's left with my roommates, only three more abrupt Monday's where 5:45 am seems impossible and the week ahead insanely bleak and exhausting (lolz DRAMATIC), two more weeks of learning intense and fast paced lectures and briefs and then a week of all nighters for portfolio night.

Then I'm done. I graduate, spend ten days adventuring and I'm gone. So I begin to panic, because one thing I NEVER expected was this acute ache for Australia, a longing to never leave; this season, these friendships, this experience, these days. I didn't think I would miss it as much as I already do, I expected to love it but also be ready to leave. I never expected that these little moments I've come to associate with this beautiful chapter would begin to tug at my heartstrings reminding me that: This is almost done. This huge, brave, exciting thing you did and dreamt about for 9 months is coming to a close.

That's when my sentimental side kicks in, quieting my emotional tendency to grieve (apparently a month in advance) and begins stitching together memories and moments, tying strings to the fingers of my memories, little reminders and stories I can carry with me when Australia is over.

I hope I never forget the smell of the jasmine blooming on the trellis by the dog park or my friend Hayley that I've befriended on the 5:03 bus home from Wynard Station.

I hope I can recall the distinct excitement I get EVERY TIME the bus crests the hill into Bondi or Coogee or Maroubra and I see the vast, sparkling water.

I hope that I'll never adore a neighborhood as much as I adore Surry Hills, with it's distinct niches and brightly colored doors and friendly stoops. How I marvel at how so many buildings that share the same features can vary from porch to porch, each telling it's own story and carrying it's own mysteries.

I never want to forget the laughter Megan can elicit, her "too far jar" tendencies and bright, caring heart, how she tells the same story a million times and how I miss her a stupid amount when she isn't home.

I want to remember the first time I walked into Circular Quay and saw the Opera House for the first time, only to turn and see the Harbor Bridge, how they stood there, solid reminders that I really and truly had made it to the Promised Land.

Or the first time I stood outside the door of Shillington, simply staring, with tears in my eyes, too afraid to go inside, taking a picture and sending it to my parents. That salty, sweet feeling of excitement and nerves, anticipation and expectation brewing in my heart and coursing into the rest of my body.

The fear of being lonely and isolated silenced by the natural way Emma befriended me, taking me shopping the second day I was here, collecting groceries with me and helping me unpack, unfazed by the underwear I slipped on my head and the gibberish I was surely speaking as I talked through jet lag. How in that moment I knew that I was going to be okay and how she confirms that everyday in her little Emma ways. How I'll always read things and hear them in her distinct Emma tone, branding things as "her Emma way" because it's the only way I can describe her: Bright, unique, caring and personal.

I hope I'll never taste a ramen as satisfying as that which I shared with my friends from school at Condor during lunch break, all the laughs we shared, serious conversations about design and personalities and religion and our lives leading up to college.

I hope I always remember the first time I walked into our flat. How I cautiously walked about, soaking it all in, hesitantly easing myself into the comfort of what was soon to become "home." How I sat in my new room, my bed not yet settled in and called back home, holding back tears as I heard the voices of my mom and dad and Erik, knowing that I really was gone and really doing this on my own.

I hope I never forget the laughter and solace I found in my room with Trisha as we fought off sleep, discussing Jesus and life and journeys and adventure. How she is one of the most thoughtful, giving and caring people I've ever met, making sure everyone feels valued or known.

I hope to never forget the sunsets or the clouds, the dances in the rain on the roof, or how I learned to gas-pedal and channel my inner Beyonce with my friends in the living room.

I want to always remember the rain, sudden and furious, causing me annoying headaches, but an incredible joy at the same time.

The way the building opposite us shines a bright, clean white against the sharp, blue sky, triggering a memory in me that I can't quite place but makes me feel insanely happy.

The subtle way Rachel can insert witty zingers without batting an eyelash, her contagious love for clouds and all things romantic, the way her voice gets LOUD when she's talking about something really, really exciting. How when I come home from school and she says: "Kelly! I've missed you! How was your day?" I know she means it, or her curiosity and interest in what I'm learning and making, her encouragement refreshing and appreciated.

How I learned to be critical of my work and the value of cutting everything out until I've SCAMPER-d and Chanel-d it down to the bare necessities. The way an idea or concept or image is brand new when you leave it alone for a long period of time, giving it time to fade, allowing yourself to come back fresh and sharp.

I hope to never forget Tiffany's voice drifting through the house as she raps, only to walk into her bedroom and see her dancing. How she taught me to gas-pedal and do the bird dance, her fierce love for Beyonce and obscure bands who scream loud, intense, angry lyrics. How she cared for me from the very start, but not just me, but for those around her.

I hope to always vividly remember the memories we collectively made together. Huddled on our couches watching movies, eating dinners and laughing all night, somehow managing to end up in Tiff and Megan's room at night to talk, adding more quotes to "Megan's Wall of Wut". Our beach trips, Cole's trips, church trips, everything done together, always a memory.

I reflect on the past 3 months and I see a lot of things but what stands out the most is this apartment on Lachlan Street where I found a family when I was missing mine. Here, in the midst of a busy city, I found a haven for friendship and sisterhood and within that bond a lifetime full of feeling like I was incapable of making friends was silenced. I see an answer to prayer, the one where I would always whisper: "And please bring me friends and community." How He provided and delivered in ways that I could've never orchestrated more perfectly.

These tiny little things, moments and emotions, are carefully wedged and tucked into the crevices of my heart and mind, a valiant effort to protect and cherish this time for as long as I can. Once I return home to my room back in Washington and I am reunited with my careful little memories littered about my room and car, a little paper trail leading back to me, I'll dust them off and carefully place this chapter beside them. And in those moments when I'm hurting for a place that was only temporarily a home, missing this time and these memories, I'll pull out those stories and seconds that I've so carefully stored, remembering my most favorite chapter. The sweetest one yet.

thankful new beginnings

What a whirlwind of a week. To think that this time last week I was packing my life into two fifty pound(ish) bags to fly across the world in two days time is insane. Let me tell you, the past nearly FIVE (what the heck) days in Sydney have been nothing short of a dream. I had the greatest welcoming committee of all time, my flatmates are seriously DREAM GIRLS, I have encountered and been helped by countless generous, caring, selfless strangers and this is only just the start.

I never would've dreamed this time last year that I would be in this place, both location but also spiritually, emotionally and mentally. I wanted a new beginning so badly; I was waiting and hoping that something would give and change, that my life would suddenly have meaning and purpose and that I would be catapulted forward. This time last year I was recovering from a summer riddled with anxiety attacks that nearly took me out but I was still a few months out from a diagnosis that helped bring clarity and healing to years worth of damage.

A year ago I had no idea what was coming. I had no idea that this was just the beginning.

The past nine months especially have been one big Come-To-Jesus moment. I have never been so reckless but felt so much peace. By that I mean: I am not the person who calmly moves across the world, the one who trusts Jesus in everything, even when it seems impossible. I am timid, I am type-A and a planner if there ever was one, I like my bed, stability and a detailed schedule of the next day, month, year... During this time I have felt myself throw my fears, desires, hopes, dreams and plans at God, hurling my worries and insecurities at His feet. In doing so I have found out so much about myself and in doing so I have healed and felt hope and wholeness. Likewise,  I have never been so in awe of the God I serve, watching as He reveals more and more of who He is to me, while holding me so gently and changing me to the core.

And this is just the beginning.

Today as I wandered the streets of Sydney, my new home, my new beginning I stopped and began reading my bible. The Harbor on my back and the sun glinting off the windows of the Opera House, I stumbled across this verse in Psalms and underneath my sunglasses my eyes began watering. It hit so close to home and I felt like it was the last nine months summarized in Psalm 30. I chose to share the Message version of the verse because it sort of felt like my heart cry from the past few months put into word:

[ 2-3"God, my God, I yelled for help and you put me together. God, you pulled me out of the grave, gave me another chance at life when I was down-and-out... 5 The nights of crying your eyes out give way to days of laugher... 11-12  You did it: you changed wild lament into whirling dance; You ripped off my black mourning band and decked me with wildflowers. I'm about to burst with song; I can't keep quiet about you. God, my God, I can't thank you enough.]

So today I'm thanking God, not just because I'm sitting in a dreamland listening to my flatmate sing Wrecking Ball as she pretends to be Yoda. But because I'm thankful for a God who first rescued me thousands of years ago by dying on a cross, who didn't abandon me a year ago and who continues to rescue me everyday.

Thank you Jesus, I am so thankful for this new beginning. 

return and learn

A few weeks ago I was going through old posts and I came across this one, my 2014 survey, and I wept. I was astounded by the goodness of God, overcome by His lavish love and grace for me that He has shown in the SEVEN (what the heck you guys its JULY!) months since I wrote that post. Even now I can recall the sharp ache that I felt deep within me, this sense that things were getting better, but I had a long ways to go. The past seven months have been brief and fleeting, I feel like I fell asleep in January and woke up in July, but in the same breath, I feel like I've felt every single painstaking minute that took place. Growth does that to you, it's burden is hefty, it's longevity one I can only describe as hypersonic molasses and it's only when you take a step back that you see its incredible work. 

If I could describe 2015 up to this point the words I would choose for myself would be: Happy, healthy and whole. And difficult. Extremely difficult as I've come to terms with who I am, who God says I am, being satisfied in that, moving forward and throwing my fears, insecurities, hurts and worries at the feet of Jesus and saying: "It's Yours."

I have truly tasted and understood the concept of freedom in Christ and friends, let me tell you, it is indescribable and leaves me refreshed and, well; happy, healthy and whole.

So that's where I found myself a week or two ago when I re-read that 2014 survey because God had met EVERY. SINGLE. NEED. Not only did He meet them, He exceeded them, pushing every mediocre definition and idea of what I longed for and was working towards. At times it was as simple as giving up and giving it to God and at other times it was as painful as giving it to God. But it was so incredibly worth it because I got to understand and glimpse the character of the God I so desperately was seeking and pursuing and trusting.

For the most part, these months have been ones of relishing in the aforementioned glimpses and understandings, finally feeling like I was trusting God and getting to know Him on this visceral level. No longer did I feel shame or lose hope that I would never be that type of person who would experience God so candidly because I WAS FINALLY DOING IT DANG IT and I was so, so happy.

Last week was a little bit tougher. I began to doubt and worry that soon, my closeness with God would dissipate. I feared that I would, once again, become lackadaisical, lukewarm and drift away from my faith. That I would begin putting my identity and seeking my satisfaction elsewhere only to become disappointed in God, feeling forgotten or that my time had come and gone and that He had moved on and was fixing the next person. 

The little voice in the back of my head was back and it was bitter: "This won't last for long. This sweet place of retreat. This wholeness, happiness and healthiness your feeling will soon be gone, you always chase it away..."

I was so consumed and worried that I would screw this all up again that I forgot the God I was serving. 

"And I'll give them a heart to know me, God. They'll be My people and I'll be their God, for they'll have returned to me with all their heart." [Jeremiah 24:7]

As I was reading this verse two things stood out to me; one, that I was serving a God who was capable and willing to give me a heart to know Him. He desires me to know Him, He wants to be my God and I need only ask. Two, the word returned struck a chord. It further cemented the goodness and unchanging nature of the one I was RETURNING to. I was coming back to Him with all my heart because He never left.

He never left. He never left. HE NEVER LEFT.

Suddenly this verse wasn't one that summarized the past seven months, but it convicted me of the anxiety I was feeling for the coming ones. I was so wrapped up in MY fear of ME turning away and ME muddying it all up that I forgot the simple fact that it isn't about ME.

It's about God. He would give me all I needed, He was there, constant, unchanging, permanent. Just like He had been for the entire journey.

I was reminded of the word theodidaktoi which means to be taught by God. That word resonated with me to my core because it meant this: I needed to shift not only my focus (from me, to God), not only my heart (asking God to give me a heart to know Him), but I would only shift my heart and my focus if I was being taught by Him and listening to what He said in those moments. Not what my fear said, not what my worries said, not what my theology said, what HE was teaching me.

The past seven months had been ones of constant teaching, sometimes whispers and sometimes shouts, but teaching nonetheless and that was something I could rest in. He was teaching and while doing so, He was letting me be lavished by His love and grace and teaching, and I was resting my weary, anxious soul in His arms, surrendering my fears, inadequacies and hurts at His feet, putting my identity and all in all in Him alone.

I need not fear what's around the bend, whether I'm worried I'll fail and retreat from my faith or nervous that once again I'll get hit with the crippling tsunami like wave of anxiety I once drowned in, for my God is one who I can return to, He is one who will give me a heart to know Him in those moments, to experience Him and cling to Him. He is a God who teaches and I am the one who learns.

So scratch that, yes I am happy and healthy and whole and that's great, but I am those things because I am theodidaktoi, taught by God. 

kelly meets australia (!!!!!!!!)

"Everything you want is on the other side of fear."

A print that says just that sits a top my nightstand and has for the past year. It's followed me to 4 different homes, 4 bedrooms, 4 apartments and 4 walls. It's been a small little guy, a tiny reminder among my cluttered wall of words. Words are my thing, they comfort me and challenge me and this was quote was just another cluster of words that did just that. Often I would look at the words and think about what I feared...

Fear is the root of a lot of my choices and who I am. Fear is the root of my insecurity, fear has inhibited me from being me, unashamedly, it has kept me from sharing my faith, it's paralyzed me, coursed through me and been present in almost every area of my life. 

Fear has been my controller. 

Last year when I graduated I was afraid to move away from home. Afraid to leave the comfort of the roots I had laid down, afraid to leave my friends and family, afraid of so many things but mostly afraid that I couldn't live a happy, joyful life that had adventure and spontaneity. I was so afraid that I told myself that I wasn't "that girl" that could do those sorts of things. So, I went to school online, something I that I loved every second of and that I'm positive was all part of Gods perfect plan. I wrote about my choice in college in this post and I still stand by every word that I wrote. I will forever be grateful for what transpired within that year and the process and repercussions of that choice. I also was able to teach an incredible class of 40 kids ranging in ages of 3-5. I fell in love with life through their eyes and adored my job, one of the best experiences of my life hands down. I saw some pretty incredible things, made new relationships that shattered walls and boundaries I had put up, let go of a few things that were holding me back and fell in love with Jesus all over again. 

Not for one second do I feel any shame or regret in the choices I made, even if they were choices made out of fear instead of faith. I truly believe that each incident, person, failure and triumph since I graduated was God preparing me for right now. He was constantly working in those choices and in those moments and they were collectively preparing, shaping and refining me for right now.

What is right now you ask? Right now I'm planning on doing (easily) the craziest thing I've ever attempted. I'm picking up that little print and moving it to its 5th home, 5th wall and 5th flat in September.  

That home is Sydney Australia. 

It was strange really how this opportunity fell into my lap. It came about after a conversation with a friend of a friend who lived in Australia and I flippantly remarked afterwards: "How fun would it be to go to school there?" At the time I was thinking about becoming a graphic designer, something that I had quickly and passionately fallen in love with, but hadn't given much serious career thought to. After that remark though, I did a quick google search, found an incredible school with a program that I immediately fell in love with and then shut my computer and didn't think much of it. Classic Kelly.

In that few months afterwards it kept creeping up.

I would log into Pinterest and be captivated by every single graphics piece that popped up in my feed. Suddenly, my "Suggested Pins" were tutorials for Illustrator and graphics rather then clothes or home decor. I helped a friend make invitations for her wedding and was giddy with the thought of rushing home and spending the night behind my computer carefully crafting a beautiful piece for her. I would spend my free time signing up for online classes, browsing sites like Creative Market, listening to podcasts by graphic design entrepreneurs, completely immersing myself and falling in love with this outlet where I could express myself. 

However, every time I considered going to school for graphic design it always involved Australia and I quickly pushed it away and hurried it out with an excuse: "I couldn't move away from home to Australia.", "I couldn't go to school for 40 hours a week.", "My parents would never let me do this.", "I would never let myself do that."

January rolled around and I began feeling like I needed to seriously consider going to college. I loved bible school but where I was attending wasn't accredited and I felt my heart going another direction. I applied to the local state school and got accepted with a lovely scholarship and was thrilled. I even got accepted into their graphics program only to find out that it was getting phased out and in 2019 when I would graduate the degree wouldn't exist. 

Honestly, I was angry. I had felt for certain that this was what I wanted and what I was going to do with my life. I had found something that I was passionate about, something that inspired me and motivated me, a task that was creative and an outlet for who I was and what I loved. I had taken the initiative and applied to a school and felt confident with my choice, something that is often difficult for me to do and done with much caution and consideration. Once again, I was suddenly and abruptly back at square one. 

Frustrated, I hesitantly looked back at the school in Sydney and fell in love again. Fear still held me back and the excuses kept running through my mind, so I didn't think much of it. One night at dinner with my dad I casually mentioned something and he was excited. So, in true Kelly form, I became suddenly obsessed.

I was going to Australia come hell or high water.

On February 17th I called my dad and said (crying): "I'm moving to Sydney. I want to go to school there." And he, being the fantastic guy that he is, said: "If that's what you want to do, do it. Let's start praying." 

Internally I kind of went: "Crap. I was sort of just kidding. Is this really happening?" But, nonetheless, I was excited. At this point, I wasn't really even hesitant and I felt sure that this was where I needed to be. I was more worried that it was sort of this HUGE undertaking, you know moving across the world, going to an intensive graphics program and being away from family was kind of what I've been avoiding all this time.

I wasn't worried that God wasn't able or that this wasn't His plan, I was worried I couldn't handle it. 

So I prayed a very candid, very You-just-gave-me-the-craziest-dream-and-desire-I've-ever-had-so-the-balls-in-your-court-home-dawg prayer that went something like this: "God, if this is what you want for my life, if this is Your will, make it happen. All I want is to honor and follow and live a life worthy of the calling that You've placed on it. If this is it, provide me the finances, give me the peace, send me the community, you know my heart, you know my end days, you know what's coming, I want to be honoring of that. Make it clear in my heart and mind that this is what You want from me and I will do it."

I prayed that prayer every day for a few months with not a lot of progress in plans. I had my parents blessing and support, I was excited, I had options I was looking into, but no permanent plans. Since the second I decided to go, not once did I feel anxiety, not once did I feel this need to control or that everything was out of my control, I felt nothing short of peace and confirmation that everything would happen in its own time I just needed to have faith. 

That was enough for me to know that I was right where I needed to be and I was doing just what God had called me to do. For the first time I wasn't living in fear, I was living in faith.

To keep the post short I'll save the crazy stories of Gods provision within that few months for another time but! I will say this: I have no doubt that Gods hand has been in this process even when I graduated last May. He was preparing the greatest faith building experience and blessing of my life thus far in ways that 12 months ago I wasn't even aware of. How good is our God that when we are full of fear, when we are distant from Him and don't have faith, He is still faithful, still good and still working?

Three months ago I committed my plans to the Lord, I asked Him to take away anxiety, give me peace and clarity and He exceeded every prayer or plan I could've said or dreamed up.

There are so many people who have encouraged me, prayed for me and guided me within this process. My parents have been incredible, so loving, caring and supportive, my sister Jessica has offered wisdom, comfort and laughter that has encouraged and relieved me more then she'll know. My church has come alongside me with excitement and additional prayer, my friends have been incredible, equal parts devastated to see me leave (which has been great for bolstering my ego) and excited to see what comes. My boss was so gracious when I told her I wasn't coming back next year and has taught me so much the past year that has shaped me for what's coming down the pipe, my friends in Australia have helped me find roommates, community, church and promised me adventures galore, all while also praying for me and proving to me that the best is yet to come. This list could go on forever but what I'm getting at is this: God has been so gracious in the people He has given me. 

If you're the praying type and think of me, I would be forever indebted to you if you lifted me up. Financially, emotionally, physically as well as making sure I get visas, plane tickets, a flat for my flatmates (!!!!!!!!) and I, my family, my peace of mind and that I would have the time of my freaking life.

Nine months ago I thought I had stumbled across a "random" website, a far off school that only existed in my wildest, most unattainable dreams. Six months ago I applied and got accepted into WSU and thought that was where I was headed for the next four years. Three months ago I found out that the program I applied for was gone and I decided to give my hopes and dreams and plans to God and He did the impossible. And then, five seconds ago I secured my spot at Shillington College of Design in Sydney.

And to think I almost missed this, missed life, missed adventure, because of fear.

To God be the glory. 

along the way

Somewhere along the way I talked myself into the idea I would never have close friends who I would laugh hysterically at, someone to drive around with while having long life talks (and maybe chat about Kylie Jenner's lips somewhere in there too, HATE ME) and someone to watch bad reality TV alongside of. 

I'm not quite sure how I talked myself into this idea, whether it was because I told myself that people were bad and not worth the time and energy or simply that I told myself I wasn't good enough or worthy of such friendships, regardless, I put this distinct line where I cut people off. You could be my friend up until this point, a point of safety and distance that allowed us to be friendly, but not close. I had told myself that this was rational and fair; a caution that needed to be taken, but in all honesty it was hellish. At this place I felt not only isolated but broken. I couldn't trust others, I couldn't even trust myself to make a good choice in friends, I let bitterness and unforgiveness take root and suddenly it consumed me to the point where this "place" wasn't just a place, it became my home.

It wasn't like distrust, bitterness and unforgiveness showed up at my hearts doorstep and I was all: "OH YES I AM SO GLAD YOU ARE HERE! SLEEP ON THE COUCH! DOORS ALWAYS OPEN! RUIN MY LIFE! DISTANCE ME FROM GOD! CAN'T WAIT!" The enemy is tricky like this. His lies and the baggage they drag along behind them don't present themselves as their true forms because they're lies, instead he wraps them up as nice little packages, he convinces you that this is for your benefit while also taunting and tormenting you, he comforts you with the idea that being alone is better then having friends at all. Then he laughs. Because he's also a bully.

And this was where I found myself. 

Somewhere along the way I had built up these walls of protection, strong and steadfast, high above me and all around. They kept people away, danger was at bay and I could sleep soundly knowing I was safe. Except I wasn't safe and I didn't sleep soundly. In fact, I was sad and alone and angry. I was angry at God for not making me "likable" or "trusting" or capable of making and keeping friends, angry at myself for being too much of a freak to keep friends and angry at people for not being there for me. Couldn't they see I was alone? Couldn't God? Suddenly my fortress was a prison, one that I had created subtly over time, gradually chipping away who I was to create the walls that kept me contained.

Isolation is a pretty miserable place to be, but its right where the enemy wants us. Alone and in the quiet corners of heart I was curling up and telling myself that I was a failure. I wasn't good, I would make a horrible friend, I was a freak, a loser, a messy, awful, annoying person who had all these issues. I had anxiety that crippled me and added to this. Good Christian girls didn't have anxiety, they weren't depressed or emotional or feeling the things I was, they fiercely loved Jesus and were buzzing with constant joy and satisfaction in Christ, they were surrounded by friends and probably also didn't get pimples. Somewhere along the way I convinced myself that I was never going to be that and by then I had distanced myself so far away from friends and God and even myself that I was unrecognizable. 

Back in February I found myself at a crossroad. I was faced with a choice: I could continue to quietly whisper these things to myself, not daring to open up and tell a soul and befriend them and share my brokenness with them. I could continue to avoid community and relationship in the realest, most honest, most raw form of itself. I could continue to imprison myself in my own loneliness and isolation and continue listening to my own lies and those of the enemy. 

Or I could face it all head on, stand up and deal. So I did.

And it wasn't easy. It wasn't easy to force myself to be honest and open up to the Holy Spirit and the bits of me that needed healing. It wasn't easy to invite God in and give Him control and ultimate authority in my life. It wasn't easy to repent of my sin and even to forgive and accept an apology I never got years ago. It wasn't easy to trust that God would meet my need in His timing and in His perfect way and that it would all work out. It wasn't easy to go out and make friends and open up and be real. It was excruciating for me to say: "This is me, I'm Kelly, this is what I am."

But you know what? God is good and He met me where I was and He redeemed and He restored and He healed. At this crossroad that I was at, somewhere along the way God stepped in and took control and I let Him, and it was good. So, so good.

When God reached out and extended His hand of grace and forgiveness to me and I reached out and clutched it, I held on tight. I'm still clutching right now because I'm acutely aware of how desperately in need of Him I am and how His hand has quickly restored me. In turn, I was able to offer the same hand of grace and forgiveness to others and most importantly to myself. Where there once was isolation and lies and loneliness, there is now freedom. 

God's mere presence in our lives brings unequivocal freedom and simply inviting Him in allows that freedom to interrupt my daily life. To meet me somewhere along the way and rescue me. That same freedom extended into my friendships and allowed that excruciating: "This is me, I'm Kelly, this is what I am." to turn into a freeing moment. 

Somewhere along the way I convinced myself that isolation and loneliness was going to be something I was "stuck" with for the reset of my life. There wasn't one person, one defining moment or one incident that allowed me to believe that lie, it was one the enemy carefully wove for me over time and that I fell for and entrapped myself in.

Somewhere along the way I believed the lie that God didn't love me enough to bring me friends. The kind that were going to pray for me, encourage me, walk beside me and love me for who I was in my messy imperfection. The kind that would stay up late eating pizza with me and watching E! News and chatting about the benefits of using expensive shampoo. The kind that would point me to the cross when I was hurting and knock me upside the head with truth when I was out of line. The kind that were happy when I was happy and would throat punch anyone who looked cross eyed at me. Along the way I've come to realize that those are the types of friendships God always wanted for me. The kind He blesses me with and the community His presence creates. 

And when those friends fail not because they're jerks but because they're human, He reminded me that He is always able and constant. He doesn't promise me a perfect, carefree, easy life, but He does promise me His son, to walk beside me and guide me, to comfort and satisfy me when even I'm incapable of comforting and satisfying myself.

Somewhere along the way I got it ALL wrong and a little off track. And I'm okay with that because somewhere along the way, I finally got it right.

for moms

My mom, sisters and I, captured by the ever so talented and wonderful Terra Nyce Photography

I never realized how incredibly difficult it was to be a mom until this September when I started teaching preschool. I didn't realize how much you could feel for one little person so deeply and truly and candidly, how you could be so in sync with another being, feeling and hurting and expressing with them as if it was yourself.

But that's simply being a mom and that's mind blowing to me.

Suddenly, mothers day cards became too generic and superficial, they're merely words on a page that only scratch the surface of a true mom. You find yourself thinking: "This would work for a robot mom, but not mine." I don't think you can ever fully capture the true essence who a mom is.

You can't capture the weight of her love for you. A weight so heavy and so real, she feels it's constant joy and at times, it's deep rooted pain. It is with her always, a burden she will bear long after you fly the coop. It is oftentimes the driving force behind her decisions, the words she speaks and the things she does. She feels with you so deeply because that love is a bond that was created the moment you were conceived. Your laughter, your tears, your shame, your joy, your pride, your pain, they are all things that your mother will feel with you, as if it were her own. You'll never be able to truly capture that she feels so much of you in her because you were once a part of her and that love is the connecting piece that constantly draws her to you.

You can't capture the thrill she gets when she sees you in the morning. Your snotty nose and bleary eyes, mouth caked with the filmy residue of dried drool. That flutter in her heart so distinct, so unique that it could only mean one thing: You.

You can't capture the many hours of fighting off sleep trying to nurse you back to health. The hours spent wringing out wet cloths to cool your feverish head, changing sheets soiled because you couldn't to make it to the bathroom in time or the times spent carefully measuring out "cherry" flavored medicines and coaxing you into swallowing the nasty concoction. You can't sufficiently capture other times where she anxiously googled all your late night symptoms on webMD, basking in the glow of her whirring laptop as your weary head rests on her lap watching those horrid cartoons that are only funny at 3 am when you're hopelessly sleepy. But more often then not, more sleepless hours were accumulated not because you were sick, but because she couldn't bear the thought of being away from you. So there she was at 3 am by your bed, stroking your dozing, unaware head, as she welled up with tears and this love for you so big and so real that at times it just crashed over her in relentless tsunami like waves.

You can't capture the joy that floods her when you score your first goal (and every goal after that) or the way her heart breaks when she sees those girls on the playground ignoring your sweet spirit. The way the mama bear she always swore she would never be rears her ugly head the first time that the neighborhood bully kicks you in the shins. You can't capture the meticulous way she researches and attentively listens to every book and resource she can find on childhood development when secretly she wishes she could just take a crash course on Motherhood 101. But then, you won't be able to capture the frustration she feels at herself when she gets the call from your teacher that you poked someone in the eye with a pencil and she thinks: "Where did I go wrong?"

And oh! You can't capture all the times she felt inadequate. There are weeks where her inadequacy is a constant pulse and beat beneath her skin, she's constantly and painfully aware of it, worried that each passing moment her lack of title as "SuperMom" is permanently damaging you for the rest of your life. There are times where she locks herself in the bathroom, curled up alongside the bathtub, water running to quiet the sound of her sobs, her mind racing and questioning why she ever signed up for this. You can't capture that those tears aren't because you're the worst kid to walk earth, but because she genuinely feels like she is the worst mom ever to the most perfect thing ever. (And at times she's acutely aware of your imperfection, but 90% of the time she thinks you're the best thing since sliced bread.)

You can't capture that burning desire she feels at times to talk to someone over the age of 5 and the intense longing she has for you when she finally gets a 10 minute reprieve in the form of grocery shopping. You can't capture all the little moments where she is overwhelmed by her role as mother, the joy and fulfillment that it brings her, a swinging pendulum of emotions.

But then the kids grow up and in that itself there is a new set of challenges and emotions.

Suddenly she's less appealing as her 5 year old turns 15 in the blink of an eye. You can't capture the sound of her shattered heart as you slam the door and scream: "I HATE YOU!' at her for the first time, nor every time that you say it after that. You can't capture the way she breaks a little with the distance that comes with maturity and growing up. That it means that she sees less of you and you're arrival home isn't met with: "Mommy I missed you!" but instead: "What's for dinner?"

You can't capture the welling of pride inside her chest as she sees you spread your wings, nor can you capture the sleepless nights she now spends waiting for you to get home, checking in on you when you're gone and missing you so fiercely when you finally head off to college.

You can't capture the hours spent in prayer for your future, constantly seeking and hoping the very best for you. You can't capture how many times she's battled to keep it together when she gets a glimpse at the fantastic person you're becoming, but inside she's bursting. Once again, she lays down at night and cries silent tears, but this time of happiness. She's a little more relieved at year 18 then she was at year 8 that maybe she hadn't ruined you for good and that you still had a fighting chance.

You can't capture motherhood in a card or a gift or a sweet sentiment. How could you? How could you capture a job that is ever evolving, growing, stretching and constantly a part of you? From the moment she finds out she's pregnant to her last breath she is constantly being and becoming and growing into her title as mother. Not for herself or anyone else but because of you. She wants to be the best so that she can give the best to you. You can't capture that selflessness anywhere else.

There isn't a job out there that requires so much of someone. So much strength, resiliency, patience, care, tolerance, love, emotional capacity, tears, or blood. There isn't enough time in a day or adjectives in the dictionary to encompass and do justice to the task of motherhood. I could spend the rest of my life trying, but I would fail miserably.

Motherhood is difficult. It requires carrying the weight of not only yourself but the ones you're entrusted with. You feel so deeply and love so genuinely it builds you up and breaks you all at the same time. Oftentimes you're exhausted but sustained by the joy of your job and the love you have for these little people that is so deeply engrained in you so quickly.

The more I grow up, the more I realize what a terrifying yet gratifying job mothering is. From the time I was tiny I always wanted to be a mom, but right now I'm perfectly content with being in awe of every single woman who wakes up and champions her role as a mother.

So for this mothers day I'm another year more acutely aware of how inadequate my words are and how futile my actions, but I also am more appreciative and taken aback by the women in my life who have raised me and given me examples of what it means to truly be a mother.

Because, did I forget to mention that sometimes mothering isn't by the same lady who birthed you (although I was lucky enough to have her in the picture too), but oftentimes we are mothered by those around us, even when we don't realize it? We float through life getting shaped and loved and encouraged and nurtured into people who then in turn do it to their own kids and sphere of people. You can't capture that motherhood extends and reaches and influences  a vast number of lives, ones that she never imagined or thought she touched. But she did, because that's what her job entitles.

To my mother in particular: Thank you for raising someone like me. So wild, crazy and outspoken, I'm sure I broke your heart more then I ever encouraged it but I wanted to let you know how thankful I am for you, your influence and your presence in my life. You have loved me, prayed me and pushed me into the semi decent, loud, obnoxious person I am today. I'm thankful that I was given you and not a robot mom because robot moms are only Mother's Day card material and you are so, so much more.

All moms are so much more then anyone or anything could ever capture.

approved.

I don't think it's a big secret that my biggest struggle has been to love myself completely. And not just the person I see in the mirror, but who that person is on the inside. I can vividly remember instances at even a young age feeling this huge weight upon me, at times it was unbearable and simply just THERE. Of course when you're 6 or 7 you don't know why you feel this, you don't know how to pinpoint this boiling emotion inside you, but it churns in your belly and courses through your brain and it's confusing and uncomfortable. As I grew I remember being able to identify what I was feeling like and giving them a name: Kelly was a disappointment, a failure, Kelly was someone who lacked stand up character and what not. I'll preface this by saying as far as kids went, I was pretty lovely. I did well in school, was kind to people, loving and spunky, so I'm not sure where I got the idea I was this awful person (for goodness sakes, my days were filled with piano lessons, basketball practices, books on books on books and homework!) but I constantly felt like I was never enough and I began hating myself. Not just the "hate" that we throw out there flippantly, but I truly hated myself and vehemently tried to change who I was, to no avail.

In retrospect, I think, from the beginning of time, I thrived on making others happy. As a preschool teacher I know that kids will do nice things just to hear you say the token words: "Wow! Thank you! You're great!" (and they will let you know how great they are if you don't catch them in the act, mind you.) I've also learned that we are all a bunch of adult sized 4 year olds in that regard, subconsciously floating around seeking the approval of those around us just to feel good about ourselves, our work and our general personhood. It's human nature to want the approval of those around us, especially those we love or work under; our parents, bosses, friends, boyfriends, teachers, husbands, children, etc. suddenly become those we desire to impress and receive approval from. I took it to a whole new level, I craved that approval constantly from everyone. It didn't extend to my small realm of people who were "important" to me, I wanted to please EVERYONE.

It was a perfect storm: my love language is words of affirmation (go figure!), I'm EXTREMELY empathetic, I can walk into a room, feel the vibe or the emotions and will in turn take those emotions on and try to process them as my own, I don't want to hurt or disappoint others and I'm human. Suddenly all these things were buzzing and fizzing inside me, colliding into one another and clomping around, this constant static of panicky urge to PLEASE ALL THE PEOPLE.

I was exhausted. I was angry. I was anxious. I was depressed. I began to withdraw. I journaled angst-y, angry, amplified teenage woes of how awful I was and how I could never make anyone like me. I would monitor EVERYONE and if I saw the slightest flicker of what I perceived or felt as disappointment or failure I collapsed into a puddle of tears and self hatred. Eventually I learned to reign it in, no one likes a weepy 16 year old (p.s. they called it "sensitive"), but I still hurt. I was heavy, lugging my weight of disapproval and lack of confidence everywhere I went. I put on the smiles and pulled out my jokes, but inside I was desperately pleading: "Please like me so that I can like myself."

At times, it was a dull roar. I would ignore it, paint over it, pretend it was "normal" or that it didn't exist altogether. At other times it would rear it's ugly head in a sudden obsession and desire to be wanted by all the wrong people. It was a toxic place and incredibly disheartening. I would think: "If only I could be a little bit better, this would all go away. If only this person would be happy with me, I'll be alright."

If you're reading this you're probably screaming: "GET IT TOGETHER!" But let me tell you, in the midst of a storm you can convince yourself that even the most blatantly unhealthy situations are "normal" or a "phase" or host of any other excuses to get you out of facing your fear head on. For me, that fear was that I would be unlikable.

A few months ago I was making my 35 minute commute to work, one in which I've devoted to time with God, I'll worship, pray, or wait quietly to hear from Him. This instance I was praying and asking (once again) for God to please allow me to accept myself and move past what others thought of me or were saying. I felt this gentle voice say: "What gives those words the power to define you?"

It was so soft. This gentle, loving nudge, yet it rocked my world. It was like every time my friends reminded me that my approval and identity was in Christ, that the gospel had changed me and that I was accepted as a daughter of Christ finally clicked.

A moment with God changed everything.

I remember audibly fumbling with my words, not because it was an "Ah ha!" moment but more of a: "Duh you idiot!" moment. At this point I was aware that the answer was simple: "Those words don't have power over me." But before I could defend myself, once again, God continued: "Your identity is in me. That messiness you feel, that you're not good enough, it's gone. It died on the cross. When I said: "It is finished!" I meant that you were finished with having to feel like you would never be approved. Your identity isn't in what they say about you, it's about what I say about you. I say that you're good enough. I say that you're forgiven. I say that I love you and I want you." At this point I was crying, not of shame (3 minutes prior that's why I would've cried), but because I felt this weight suddenly lifted, this freedom I had never felt before. As I was crying that gentle voice once again said, "So who's words do you want to give power to?"

That's the power of the gospel. That Jesus would carry my shame, my guilt, my sin, my desire to seek approval and in turn my feelings of failure, that He would feel that, embody it, take the punishment for it, carry the weight of it, die with it and take it to His grave. The same grave He was triumphant over. The same failure I feel, He was triumphant over.

That is what has power in my life.

Why would I give power to the words of those who are just as messy and hurting as me? Why would I give power to those who haven't triumphed death and sin? Why would I give power to the words of those who haven't accepted me, good, bad and ugly, with a perfect love?

I throw myself at the foot of the cross everyday, accepting the grace that says: "You are by nature messy and kind of awful, but I loved you enough to take that, bear it and crush it. You are free, you are a friend of mine, you are a child... You are accepted."

Those are the words I'll give power to. For they are the truest and purest words ever said.

faithful satisfaction

Hi, so let's not even acknowledge that I haven't written a blog post since the beginning of the year (unless you count the one time I copy and pasted an old post, which doesn't count by the way.)

I feel like the past few months have flown by, I have had every intention of sitting down and pounding out what is going on and what God is doing and sharing, but every time I do, I walk away feeling like I don't have the adequate words. 

In October I shared this post where I opened up about my battle with anxiety and depression and the medical war (and dear God did it feel like an all out war) I had been waging over the summer. It was a tough post to write, opening up about my biggest demons was scary and daunting but it was cathartic and healing in the process. I was able to reach out and say: "I love Jesus, but I was hurting and I needed to get help and I want to say that it's okay to ask for help. You aren't broken beyond repair or less of a Christian because of it." 

That being said, since that time, mostly this new year, my life and my faith have been radically changed. (HAHAHAHAHA EVERY BLOG POST I HAVE EVER WRITTEN.) Sometimes in life we are faced with tough challenges and big decisions and they bring you to your knees. 

I've always struggled with my identity and being confident with who I was. I was convinced that this was always going to be a part of me and and a part of my life. I was constantly aware of everyone's disapproval of who I was, I tried so hard to please this person or that person, I was so wrapped up in making myself or others happy that I was miserable. I began believing the lies of isolation that we can so quickly become entrapped in.

"You'll never make friends."

"You'll never be good enough."

"You'll never be happy all the time."

"You'll always be anxious." 

"You'll never be able to go to college."

"You'll never....."

The never's became my best friends. They woke me up in the morning and sang me to sleep every night, they were my constant companion, everything became an insurmountable obstacle that the never's reminded me I couldn't do. I removed myself from friendships, believing they were never going be successful, healthy, thriving places of rest and refreshment. I removed myself from church and community because they would never understand me and they would ultimately hurt me. I removed myself from Jesus because He would never get me or my pain, He would never fully heal me, He would never quench my desires and restore me. The never's backed me into a corner until I was all alone and then they told me that I would never be enough either. 

The world suddenly was this awful, horrible place and I was just another pawn in the game. 

But the funny thing is, is that I had convinced myself that the never's was normal and in fact extremely logical. I was "cautious" when it came to friends, "smart", "careful", "sensitive", whatever adjective that seemed to explain away what was in reality hurt and bitterness. 

In all honesty the root of the problem was a weak faith in God. Sure, I believed that He had died for me, I talked about my faith in Him and I whole heartily believed the stories that I was told, but I didn't have faith that God could completely and fully satisfy me like He could do for others. I would always have a small part of me that would never be enough, never make friends, never not be anxious, never be happy, never be satisfied...

I had spent so long telling myself that Jesus couldn't and that I couldn't and that everyone else couldn't that I had no faith in anyone or anything. That's a horribly lonely, dark place to be. Everything seems so big and scary and impossible and that's because there is no hope therefore it IS big and scary and impossible, but that isn't reality. 

This is the reality of Jesus: He is able. He is big and mighty and the never's are nothing to Him. I was so terrified to give up control and have faith wholly and completely in God that I ultimately was alone and defeated. I think I was scared that I would be trapped. I thought that I was free when I was faithless, but freedom came with faith.

I made conscious efforts to pray and read and rely only on God and His word. Things shifted when I woke up in the morning and committed my day to Him, the moment I woke up, I prayed, invited God in, asked for wisdom and joy, peace and guidance and an awareness of Him. When I was overwhelmed or began doubting I would turn on worship or open my bible, flooding the darkness with light, the lies with truth. When I was nervous or anxious, I prayed. All this time I thought God wasn't meeting me when in reality I wasn't allowing my heart to open up and let Him in.

I gave up my false sense of "freedom" to throw myself at the foot of the cross, embrace grace and rest in Jesus and that is where I was truly free. I was free from the constant presence of the never, I was rid of my anxiety and feelings of inadequacy, I was satisfied and whole when I pursued Christ and only Him.

It had been so long since I had heard God's voice and felt His presence that I had to pull over the first time I felt Him so near to me again, like an old friend, He sidled right up to me and held me as if He had never left. I thought I had lost it. I thought that I was so broken beyond repair that I was never again going to experience being near to God. But, God is faithful to His Word and His promises, even when I am not faithful to Him. He was waiting for me to get my act together and with grace and love He welcomed me back and wiped every tear, healed my heart and refreshed me with a fullness only He can give. 

What I'm getting at is that faith brings freedom and freedom produces satisfaction. When you have faith in God, the good, the bad and the life that you live is suddenly okay again. Your world is complete and there is this supernatural feeling of joy and peace that surpasses anything this world can give you or explain. That is faith and that is Jesus.

My satisfaction is in Christ alone. It is in Him I look for my joy, peace, happiness and it is there that the never's are squelched, my craziness quieted, this anxious little heart of my put to rest and it is there that I am completely and unequivocally satisfied.  

the loudest quiet

Recently I've been talking with lots of people about depression and anxiety, something that I've battled with and struggled with for as long as I can remember. As a Christian, when we have a doctor tell us we're depressed or suffer from an anxiety disorder, we panic. I LOVE JESUS, I AM SINNER IF I'M DEPRESSED OR ANXIOUS.I AM A HORRIBLE CHRISTIAN. I felt that way for a long, long time. I didn't tell a soul that I even suffered from anxiety, even though it caused me to miss school, work, become homeschooled, and it of course affected my relationships, friendships and everyday life. I was ashamed of who I was, and hid that part of my life fiercely. This summer, it all reached a head and by fall I opened up on the blog and shared my story. I'm re-sharing it again tonight, because I found comfort in the truths God laid on my heart October in my current situation right now, and I hope you can as well.

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I have a really tough time opening up to people, I've always journaled, written and expressed myself with pen and paper better then I ever could do in conversation. Sometimes the world sort of closes in on me and my mind is going a million miles an hour and I just grab a piece of paper, my computer, open up the notes on my phone and write. If you ask me to talk to you about an issue and I have to verbalize I tend to to freak, jumbling my words and straying from my original line of thinking. With writing I am clear and concise, I can walk away knowing that I have expressed myself down to the last line, everything inside of me neatly written, my soul empty, my thoughts arranged.

Which is sort of why I blog, because I feel like I have so much to say and share, not because I'm incredibly wise (I'm not), not because I feel like I even have anything worth sharing (I don't, I'm quite un-interesting as far as humans go), but because it's a safe place for me. If I wanted for someone to see the REAL me, I would point them to my writing. Internally I think, process and even relate to others in terms of sentence structures, letters and words. I am constantly searching for synonyms, metaphors or ways to express myself with comparisons while I'm doing busy work, creating stories while I drive. In my own little word I am a type writer constantly moving, going and reworking my thoughts as if I'm writing the next great American Novel. I don't know if that makes me a writer or a freak show, but words and sharing myself in that format, that will forever be my home. Sharing everything I have going on in my mind, to alleviate some of the noise of my own thoughts on the internet, baring my soul to a group of strangers, that's where I am truly comfortable. Gosh, I love the 21st century! 

That being said: The past little while has been hard (I know, you've heard it a million different times on KMW, but I'm, once again, alluding to that vague statement). I have really struggled with a multitude of emotions, fears, medical issues, personal issues and relationships in the past few months that have not only drained me, wiping me out, but also broken me and in all honesty made me hate facing the day. In all honesty: I thought I was going insane. I was controlled completely by my emotions and it made living life incredibly harrowing. I would wake up and know that the day wouldn't be my own, but my emotions. It's easy to tell someone to deal with it and learn to control themselves and their emotions, but when you're completely helpless, drowning in the deep and murky waters of anxiety and depression, you simply can't. I guess you don't know until you're there, tied up and screaming with one of your hands covering your cries for help, the other meddling with the knobs in your brain, cranking your emotions into overdrive while simultaneously paralyzing you. It's crippling and discouraging and exhausting and frustrating and infuriating, and gosh dang, it is hard.

I wish I could tell you some beautiful tale of how I overcame, prayed everyday and relied completely on God and was brave, because I wasn't. I was broken, totally and completely. I was scared and angry, at God for not intervening, at myself for knowing I needed to stop and failing daily, at everyone else for not understanding and at circumstances for remaining stubbornly bleak and painful. It was like standing in quicksand, slowly sinking deeper and deeper, struggling to save myself but entrapping myself more with any sort of effort. Eventually I just stopped and let myself slowly and painstakingly slip further and further under.

That being said, I learned a lot on this journey. I think the biggest takeaway was that God was Lord over it all. I feel like as Christians we assume that this journey will be easy, so when life slaps us in the face and knocks us down we look at God and are ticked. I also think that we are afraid to admit that we are struggling and ask for help when life happens  and we get overwhelmed because we are supposed to have it all together. I think we forget that God is good always, even when life isn't as good and that we are just as susceptible to the side affects of living life as the next person. We will experience joy and pain in extreme amounts and some seasons are full of joy and others swing the opposite direction. Some seasons are short and others seem to drag on and I think we fail to remember that that is OKAY. It is okay to be sad and happy and to deny those harder emotions is incredibly dangerous. 

I have learned to lean on God and know that there is a purpose for pain and for joy and for struggle. That He sees me and knows I am hurting and that it will not be in vain for He is not a God of suffering or punishment, but of purpose and grace. Sometimes the answer to this problem is healing and sometimes it isn't, but just because it doesn't play out how I would like it to doesn't mean it was a complete failure or that we serve a God who is incapable. 

In those moments all I could do was wait quietly. For answers, for healing, for God, for test results and lab work, for answers and phone calls. There were quiet times of crying out to God and not-so-quiet times of yelling, but through it all, every stage of life, I was serving a God who was able and who was faithful. Even when my worship was broken, what He did on that cross and what He is doing is finished. 

This was the loudest "quiet"-ness of my life. I was incessantly bombarded with crippling feelings of despair and hopelessness and restlessness and my brain was a constant cacophony of emotions and noises. But in those moments of silence and in the moments of shouting there was a quiet cry to God to please see me and hear me and change me. I was reminded that sometimes life is beautiful and broken and tough and that's okay. There are blessings and there are trails and that doesn't make God powerless and it doesn't make me a recipient of some kind of sick punishment but merely a liver of life. What this does mean is that I have hope in a greater story, hope that this isn't the end of the finish line, hope that there is a purpose and hope that there are better things coming (hint: it's Heaven.) 

It means that I can do hard things, even if all I can do is wait quietly.

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Update: I still struggle with anxiety and depression, something I'm sure I'll struggle with for the rest of my life. Like I said, I chose to re blog this post because while going through my blog tonight I was reminded of the hope of Jesus, His love for me and His defeating of my anxiety and depression on the day He died on the cross for my sins. I am not perfect. I still feel hopeless at times, paralyzed and anxious. There are days where I come home and I feel my chest tighten up, my heart races and my breath quickens and I brace myself. I cry and call my parents and they speak encouragement over me and pray for me. It isn't easy or beautiful, it's painful and messy at times, but gosh, isn't that the gospel?

One of the great things about being a Christian is that I will always, always have Christ. The Holy Spirit lives in me, the One who defeated death, lives in me. I may feel alone, but I have access to the most beautiful power of peace and comfort. That is what I cling to. Not my fear, not my anxiety, not my feelings of helplessness, but to Jesus. 

He is my hope and stay.