I Don't Know...

I don't know how to explain it to you- or anybody for that matter.

I don't know how to tell you that I can't go to your party on Thursday night because you have a small apartment and it's going to be crowded...and I just can't do small crowded places.

I don't know how to tell you that I'm sorry I cancelled our plans for Friday night...again...but being out other times this week has left me drained, grumpy, and feeling on edge.

I don't know how to tell you that having anxiety does not make me a self-loathing, worrisome, introvert that won't talk to people. [I can do just about anything if you give me enough of a heads up.]

I don't know how to tell you that I want to sit in the back of the room or to the side because I want to be able to slip out easily if I start to have an anxiety attack.

I don't know how to tell you that when I'm in "freak out" mode there's nothing you can say to fix it. I need you to let me freak out, maybe yell at you if necessary, and then when I calm down let me rationally discuss my fears with you.

I don't know how to tell you that I don't want to give a toast or a talk at your [insert significant occasion here.] I will if I have to, and I will if I spontaneously feel led to, but to talk in front of a large group of people is one of the most terrifying things you can ask me to do.

I don't know how to tell you what it feels like. I don't know how to explain that it feels as though there are about 15 college sized textbooks pressing down on my chest, a hundred needles poking my arms and legs, a pounding in my head that won't let up, my own voice in my head playing the worst case scenario over and over like a horrible late night commercial that just won't stop, and utter fear racing through my veins....for often times no reason.

I don't know how to tell you how embarrassed I get. When I was in high school someone found me hyperventilating in a corner of the church while we were playing a hide and go seek kind of game, and ran to tell my youth pastor that they thought I was dying. When I was at Frosh Camp I went to the bathroom and cried for an hour because I was so overwhelmed. A few months ago I got pulled over for speeding and the police officer kept telling me to stop crying/breathing so hard and sign the ticket before he called an ambulance to come and administer oxygen. Early this last summer I landed in the ER because of a panic attack. In 8th grade I ran off the stage in the middle of the Hallelujah chorus, down the aisle of a church, through the back doors, and into the bathroom. (I know that I briefly considered leaving the building altogether, but then panicked over what my mother would do if I ran out of the building entirely.) Last week, I had to leave a meeting and take a walk because I felt an attack brewing, and when I walked back in everyone was in the middle of something. I don't enjoy it. I don't do it for attention. I don't like talking about it. I don't like what anxiety does to my body, and I don't like what I miss out on in life because of it.

I don't know what to say back when you tell me to pray about it or that I shouldn't be worried about anything. I know that. I have bible verses on a post it note in my car. I have a playlist of worship songs on my iPod that have words to perfectly describe God as our comfort, our rock, and our protector when we feel afraid. And as much as I appreciate you trying to help, I need you to pat me on the shoulder and tell me that it's just going to be okay. I need you to remind me that God is going to take care of me, and that I shouldn't hate myself or beat myself up over it.

I don't know how to tell you that I feel SO much better than I used to. I don't take medication for it anymore. (But I don't think there is anything wrong AT ALL for those who need it.) I don't skip school or classes because I'm afraid of failing. I don't stare down at my feet for the entirety of a choir performance. I don't skip trying new things anymore. I sing solos at church and lead bible studies on occasion. I walk up to people and introduce myself, and I make plans to do things with others. (All of which may seem simple to you, but to someone who struggles with anxiety it can sometimes be a big deal.)

I don't know how to talk about my anxiety, but I know it doesn't define me.

I know when I need to get out of a situation and take a walk, call a friend, take a break, go for a run, or read the bible.

I know that I used to have crippling anxiety attacks every day, and now I only get little ones once in a while.

I know a lot of my triggers now, and I know how to avoid them. If I can't avoid them, then I have learned how to cope with them.

I know that I have amazing brothers and sisters in Christ who encourage me when I need it, and a family that is so supportive and gracious to me- even when we all know I don't deserve it at all.

I know that God has carried me through a lot, and I know that I am thankful for the challenges He has presented in my life that has shaped me into who I am today. I don't know much, but I know that I've learned a lot in my twenty years of life. And I will be forever grateful to the life lessons I've learned throughout the way.

I know that this thing I still struggle with on occasion isn't ever going to hold me back from what God wants me to do in my life. <3

An Open Letter to the Struggling College Student...

Dear Struggling College Student,

Let me begin by saying that I totally understand, and I'm not judging you.

• Last week I had a cup of coffee on my way to school, and then made two trips to Starbucks once I arrived on campus. I would have made a third but I was worried about my barista judging me...so I went and got a large iced latte from Dunkin' Doughnuts instead. I really wish I were kidding, but I'm not.
• I, too, have threatened to drop out of college several times this semester this week today. It's ok. Just breathe. You can do this. And when you don't think you can take a step back, make another cup of coffee if you must, and find a different way of looking at what you're doing. When all else fails look up video clips from old Jimmy Fallon episodes. (Specifically #MyRoomateIsWeird #WorstCollegeParty)
• You are not the only one with an inspirational quotes board on Pinterest that you occasionally look at to remind yourself why you chose this major. (Nurses and Teachers....I'm looking at you.) If you don't have one of these boards, you should make one. I'm pretty sure I have seven....
• I made a playlist on Spotify that has 8 1/2 hours of solid studying music to listen to when I write papers, complete assignments, or study for classes. I have found that the best way to study is to spend ten minutes finding just the right song for my mood, study or write for about four minutes, and then spend another five or ten minutes finding the next study power song  do so quietly. :/
• I use this article as a scientific validation for playing Candy Crush and games like it. http://www.theepochtimes.com/n3/600836-why-do-commuters-crave-candy-crush/ Now you can too. You're Welcome.
• I have an alarm on my phone that says YOU CAN'T HIT SNOOZE AGAIN. YOU MISSED THE FIRST ALARM. and it goes off ten minutes after my first one scheduled in case I miss it.

Like I said, I totally understand. And I'm not judging you. In some way, shape, or form we are all in the same boat. We've all called our mom and asked her what temperature to wash the dark colored clothes in, what the 'eco' button on the dishwasher does, why the dog is running in circles making that weird sound, and how to tell if the chicken for dinner is done boiling. We've all had our fair share of Pinterest fails, and we're all learning from the mistakes we undoubtedly make every day. We are all human, and we're all trying to navigate through real life 101 college. It's hard. Being in school is stressful. Having a job is stressful. Trying to raise a kid is stressful. Trying to become financially independent is stressful. Trying to take care a sick family member is stressful. If you do any of those things combined you're a superhero.
I don't know how 20-something year olds do it but some do. Some do it more gracefully than others, but things get accomplished nonetheless.  And we will continue to do so, and even get better at it, now and every day for the rest of our adult lives. You can do this. We can do this. We're going to make it.

Sincerely,

A Struggling College Student

We All Struggle

So today I came across a story someone on Facebook shared. Truth be told, I ignore shared stories most of the time but this time I stopped to read it. I had to stop once or twice because it honestly sounds like something I would write myself, and it surprised me. If you have time, give it a read. It's a little long, but it's really good I promise.

The story of Genevieve Georget 

OH how I can relate to this story!!!! The 'gold star' references. The things she struggles with. The coffee addictions. When I finished reading it I threw my fist in the air and said YES!! I get you!!!

Here's an example in my own life:

There's a woman at my church that I talk to on Sunday mornings. I really enjoy talking to her, she's a very sweet godly woman. And I sincerely love this woman, but she tells me often that I am her role model. Me. A 20 year old college student who is so far from having her life together that it's not even funny. Me. A young adult who spends more time on figuring out what to wear every morning than I do studying for a big sociology quiz. Me??? As sweet as it is for her to say such a thing, it makes me feel so unbelievably uncomfortable that I don't know what to do. The only thing this woman sees is a 20 year old involved in a church who dresses modestly and doesn't have any tattoos. (yet. If she knew I've ever thought seriously about getting one...lol ) It's super easy to look at me and assume that my life is great and easy and far from being the total wreck that it feels like it is sometimes. If 'gold stars' were passed out on looks alone, I would probably have scrapbooks full of the little jokers. But here's how it really is:

I peel the skin off of my grapes before I eat them.
I care a lot about what people think of me.
I skip classes sometimes.
I don't make straight A's. (Probably because I skip classes sometimes, but that's besides the point)
I feel like a horrible friend and a horrible daughter most of the time.
I have extremely high expectations for myself.
I flip out when I don't meet those expectations.
I unfollow people on Facebook if they get on my nerves.
I really don't have any political opinions at all. Sometimes I try to, but I really just don't care
I can relate to over 90% of the things the lady from the story typed about herself.
I'm afraid of letting others down.
I'm afraid that God will get tired of me making the same mistakes over and over and that he'll get tired of forgiving me. (Even if I know that this isn't true. It's an irrational concern.)
Nothing frustrates me more than not being able to find matching socks, so I usually wear two completely different ones on purpose. (Currently I have a cheetah print one and a hot pink striped one on)
I think that if anyone finds out about the quirky traits, or the scary things from my past, or the things that make me seem 'dark and twisty' that they just straight up will not want anything to do with me. I'll be considered crazy and unlovable.
And there are probably ten thousand more things that I can't even think of.

Here's the truth:
I'm not a good girl who has her life together. And the more I read stories like this, the more I realize that I don't think anybody else is either.

The man with the 9-5 job, a beautiful wife, 3 kids, and a house in the suburbs has struggles.

The woman in the grocery store that you're secretly mad at because she's buying organic fruit snacks that cost $6.85 a box and you're buying the shark gummies that are one sale; she has struggles too.

The student in your biology class who's making As on all the assignments and comes to class dressed to impress every. single. time. has struggles.

The group of ladies in the running club in your town that wake up at the crack of dawn every morning to run 6 miles have struggles.

The men and women in your congregation have struggles.

The pope has struggles.

Your mom has struggles.

Everyone has something that strikes a chord.

I feel like I write things like this all the time, but I just can't help it. I forget all the time. With social media, we can filter what everyone sees. We can even add filters to our pictures to make us look more tan or attractive- distorting reality further. I sincerely forget that the people who take pictures of their salads, vegetables, and paleo-inspired dishes probably don't eat like that all of the time. I forget that the pictures of the sorority sisters who always post selfies with their friends every weekend, still might be lonely sometimes. I forget that the guy who posted he just made an A on an English paper might be struggling in another class. I could go on and on.

Reading stories like this humble me and challenge me to be more authentic. I am encouraged when I read things like this because it reminds me of the frailty and transparency that the human race is capable of showing. If we were all just a little more "real" I wonder how many more people we could encourage every day...

What I think Jesus would say...

With the recent ruling of the Supreme Court to legalize gay marriage across all 50 states today, my social media pages are overflowing with articles, cartoons, pictures, and comments with all types of opinions plastered in large, capital letters. There's no avoiding it, and it's something I've been thinking a lot about. I wasn't really sure what I thought about the topic at all until I read one article called "The 5 things Jesus Would Say to the Gay Community." You can read he article by clicking here.
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For whatever reason, homosexuality seems to be the scarlet letter of today's society. Instead of a giant A that makes people turn away in disgust, it's often christians who sneer and turn away if someone who has a different sexual orientation is coming towards them. I can't tell you how often I see or hear of men and women being ostracized by the church and members of the church families because of his or her sexual orientation. I don't understand how telling someone that because of this one sin in their life they will forever be separated from God because the sin is just "so wrong."

Did you know that there are probably people in your own church who sin? I know. You probably just gasped and spit your espresso all over the computer screen. I'll give you a second to clean that up...
It's true. There are people in your church community who are born again believers that steal, lie, cheat, watch pornography, have substance abuse problems, have affairs, drink underage, sleep around, have addictions, and anything else under the sun. They're human, and humans sin.

Let's say that your pastor just told you a lie. It happens. It wasn't a big lie, but it was a lie nonetheless. Would you start rioting and protesting; screaming at your pastor that he's going to hell because of this one sin? (If you would, then it may be time for you to discuss your anger issues with a professional.)

Let's pretend that your daughter just stole a cookie from the box in the pantry after you specifically told her not to. Do you snatch the cookie from her hand, make a sign that says "THIS sin is inconceivable! You'll never get to heaven if you keep snatching cookies from the pantry!" and tell her she's a filthy excuse for a human?

Now let's look at one more example: Susie Q and John Doe have been married for ten years. They have one kid, two dogs, a turtle named Steve, and a beautiful home in a suburban neighborhood. Susie and John were having problems in their marriage. John had an affair with the lady who checks him out at the Deli in his local grocery store. John confessed his wrongdoing to his wife. They went to counseling, she forgave him, and their marriage survived. They started going to church and on the day that they heard the gospel for the first time, John went up to a friend in the church and said he wanted to become a believer. The friend said "Really?! That's great!" And John said "I have to confess my sins to Jesus and he will forgive me for everything I've done. Lying, stealing, cheating, having an affair-" and the friend jumped up and said "OH NO. No no no no no no NO. Jesus does NOT forgive men who cheated on their wives. Go home. You aren't welcome here."

Do you understand the point I'm trying to make? We're all sinners. Jesus would tell those five things to the gay community. Sure, I agree with that. But I think he would tell those five things, or similar things, to the community of women that gossip in your church family. I think he would tell those things to the community of habitual liars in your church family. I think he would tell those five things to the community of alcoholics that sit throughout the service week in and week out- hungover from the previous night's escapade.

1. I love you.
2. I understand you.
3. I was tempted to do the same things you are doing.
4. I want more for you.
5. I will be here for you.

When I read those 5 things, I consider the sins in my life that I struggle with. Anxiety is a sin and it's something I struggle with all the time. Sometimes I can help it, and sometimes I just can't. If I were sitting in a coffee shop and telling someone for the first time that anxiety is this terrible, soul wrenching sin I deal with and I don't know what to do; I hope and pray that they don't slam their fist on the table and verbally condemn me to hell. I hope they would look at me and say "Jesus loves you.  He understands you. He was tempted to worry. He wants more for you. He will be here for you."

"But Melissa!! You're comparing homosexuality with stealing an Oreo! There's no comparison! This is irrelevant."

To which I reply:

"All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." Romans 3:23
"For whoever keeps the law but stumbles at just one point of it is guilty of breaking all of it." James 2:10
"Why do you see the speck of sawdust in a brother's eye and attempt to criticize it before removing the plank from your own eye?" Matthew 7:3

Sin is sin. If someone who stole a car can be forgiven and accepted into the kingdom of God, then I believe that people who are gay on earth can be accepted too.
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You don't have to complete a five step plan for Jesus to love you. You don't have to vow to never turn on a computer screen again for Jesus to love you. You don't have to pray fifty three times every hour that God will help you stop worrying for Jesus to love you. You don't have to do a certain dance, sing a certain song, or anything else. You just have to accept that Jesus loves you. Period. That's it. It doesn't matter what the sin in your life is- Jesus still loves you. He died for you on the cross and forgave you for whatever sin in your life that you struggle with. He loves you. He understands you. He was tempted to do the things you are doing. He wants more for you. He will be here for you.

Happy 20th Angie :)

Directions: Hit play. Read post as music plays.

This evening I sat down to write a mushy gushy Facebook status about how much I love my mom. As I typed it out, I realized it's her 20th Mother's Day! (Assuming my father celebrated while she was verrrry pregnant with me for that first one) I had to say something special but i just couldn't get it all to fit on one small status update...

My mom tells us she loves us, but shows us in a million others ways:

She shows us she loves us by cooking us dinner every night- and the woman can cook. You haven't lived until you've had bacon wrapped chicken with chile/brown sugar glaze or her parmesan pork chops. I hate cooking. I can bake when I feel like it, but I don't see how I can possibly become one of those people who cook every. single. night. Even on nights we get take-out or something to go I feel like she cooks something that goes with it.

She shows us she loves us by answering panicked texts or phone calls in the middle of the night. TRUST me, there have been hundreds of them. When I'm having a panic attack in the middle of the night she'll shuffle right in, lay down beside me, and rub my head or talk to me until I fall back to sleep. For a season in high school it was multiple times a week. I don't know if the woman has slept through the night in 20 years. I also have a tendency to get hopelessly lost in the city I've lived in for my entire life. I get flustered and freaked out and often times she has to tell me gently that I went East instead of West (or vice versa.) My brother was on a painkiller for his side once and imagined there were spiders crawling on him in the middle of the night. Guess who came in at 2am and killed all the imaginary spiders? My mom.

She shows us she loves us by spending hours upon hours waiting. She waits in the long lines at wal-mart and Kroger to buy us the essentials for the week. She waits for us to answer our phones/texts to make sure we got to where we were going. She spent years waiting in doctor's offices to go with us to be seen about the latest hit on the head or viral infection they couldn't do anything about. She waited patiently and watched with pain as we made our own mistakes, and she waited for us to admit that we needed her help on more than one occasion. She waited in before and after school traffic. She waited for cakes to cool and for icing to set as she slaved over the coolest birthday cakes every year. She waited for us to change our mind six times about what we wanted to be for Halloween before she finally bought or made the costume. She waited for us to clean our rooms....she's still waiting on that one.

She shows us she loves us by spending money on both things we need and things we want. Just today (the day before mother;s day mind you) the woman bought me two bathing suits, a hat, a new shirt, and a pair of shorts. Just because. She'll take me to lunch when I'm having a bad day. She buys me coffee or breakfast in the mornings when she knows I had a bad night the night before. She buys me things for my future classroom. She buys me things for my current classroom at the church. She buys me goofy little happys from the Dollar Tree and Target clearance section all the time. Seriously, I can't tell you how many light up twirly toys, princess crowns, novelty pens, and colorful pencils I have in a box in my room. And no, I won't be getting rid of them anytime soon.

She shows us she loves us by telling us no. No, you can't go to "xyz" because of "abc." No, you can't get your hair dyed blue Melissa. No, you can't wear shorts that barely cover your rear end....I can't tell you how many times I hear the word "No." BUT I can tell you how many times I've been seriously hurt over something stupid I did. And nine times out of ten it's because I didn't ask my mom or did it even though she told me not to. The woman knows what she's talking about usually.

She shows me she loves me by listening. She has heard me yell, cuss, scream, cry, rant, cuss, wail, cry, yell, scream, and rant some more on practically a weekly basis. She has listened to meltdown after meltdown. She has listened to me tell stories for thirty minutes that could've been summed up in three sentences and end with "Well you had to be there." She has listened to every Jesse McCartney song I had on repeat in the fourth grade. She has listened to me talk obnoxiously on the phone in the next room for hours. She listened to me practice dance recital routines as a kid, practice speeches and presentations, practice solos and choir songs....over and over and over again.

She dropped everything she was doing more than once to come when I was yelling her name from the other room to tell her I was ____ (hungry, bored, missing the remote.) She laughed with me when I had a corny joke to say or when she said something funny by mistake. She cried with me when we went to say goodbye to Piper. She stayed up with me to the wee hours of the night finishing science projects and looking over papers that were due the next morning. She loved me- even in the moments where I told her I didn't love her because I was angry or afraid.

Not only does my mother say she loves me, she shows me through the million and one things she does every single day for our family. So, Happy Mothers Day to the most selfless, caring, and all around greatest person I know. I love you too, and wish I could write enough words to tell you how much I appreciate everything you do for me.

Not So Bad...

Today I came home from work and threw my things on my bed. I stomped into the kitchen and made lots of noise getting my macaroni and cheese and sat down with a humph in the living room. After dinner I waltzed back into the kitchen, fixed a heaping serving of ice-cream, and proceeded to take it with me as I sank into a hot, well-deserving bubble bath. After consuming the ice-cream I began to text a handful of friends talking about frustrated I was about this and that. Would you assume from those few sentences that I had a terrible, no good, very bad day? It wasn't until I was beyond pruned and wrinkly that I had this beautiful lightbulb moment...

It wasn't a bad day.

Today I aced an exam, got really good test results at a doctor's appointment, had lunch and coffee with a friend, had a successful meeting with someone, and gave away ice-cream sandwiches to my kids for having such an awesome week last week. What's bad about that? Nothing! Those things are great!! But, I chose for the longest time to focus on the negatives.

The exam was at 8am.
The doctor's appointment took a long time..
Traffic was insane.
I stubbed my toe.
I ran out of time to accomplish what I wanted to accomplish today.
I forgot something really important at work earlier.
My phone is acting up.
Blah. Blah, Blah.

If you look at the little picture, today was the equivalent to a large, smelly diaper on a hot summer day. If you look at the big picture: it wasn't so bad. There were some bad moments, but it wasn't a bad day. That's funny isn't it? I came home in such a funk over such a day, and I complained about it to everyone. Everyone. (Sorry to those who deserve so much more than an apology over my rants and tears.) At no point did I stop and tell someone a positive about this day.

Perspective is an important aspect of life. I wish I took the time more often to sit back and be thankful for the things I do have rather than spend precious time and energy on all of the tiny, meaningless things that are completely irrelevant.

Here's the Truth

Something has been weighing heavily on my heart for quite some time now. I've tried over and over again to find a way to express it, and I just haven't been able to up until this point. I just ask that you bear with me and try to follow my ramblings and antics the best that you can if you're reading this.

I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior the summer before my freshman year of high school. We were on a youth trip and I remember vividly sitting down with my youth pastor and telling him that I knew some stuff about Jesus but I didn't know Him like other people on that trip seemed to know him. I'm pretty sure I cried some a lot. And I guarantee you it wasn't the last time my youth pastor saw me cry. I cry when I'm happy, I cry when I'm mad, I cry when I'm upset or frustrated, I cry when I'm scared- I cry a lot. It's okay, I've accepted that. Moving on...

High school wasn't easy: I feel like looking back there was always something. Be it typical teenage stuff or the more looming medical issues I faced as time went on; I pinky promise I will never be one of those girls that says at her 20th reunion "High School was the best 4 years of my life!"
Today I stumbled upon my old journals I kept in high school. They were prayers I had written down to God mostly. 9th grade through 11th grade were funny to read. I questioned a lot of stuff but I always wrote out, with confidence, that I knew God was going to take care of me and use every trial I faced for something great. I wrote about how my youth group was growing, how I started a middle school girls bible study my junior year, about the youth trips and the goofy things that happened, and about how much I was completely head over heels in love with Jesus. And even though it was hard sometimes, I wrote down everywhere in all of these journals that I loved and adored every single thing about my Savior.

Then I found my journal from 12th grade. It was short. Maybe 15-20 entries at most. It started off with the similar entry about going to Florida once again for yet another Destin youth trip, but it didn't end with me thanking God or writing about anything positive at all actually.

"God, I'm tired. I don't know what to do with you anymore. Sorry, I'm just being honest. I'm tired of having to be reliable and good all the time. I'm tired of staring at a blank page and not knowing what to say. I'm tired of waiting for you to work everything out for my good. And I'm not even excited about this trip. I just want to figure all of this out this week. I still love you, but I don't know what to do right now."

Throughout the course of that week I wrote similar entries over and over again. "God what am I doing here?" "What are you doing with me?" "Please help me just be nice to people." Even on my 17th birthday when my youth group threw a surprise party for me in our conference room at the beach, while I was excited and wrote about every detail of how sweet and thoughtful it was for everyone to do that for me,  I ended it with "Why are you so silent recently God? Aren't you hearing me?"

I wrote an entry once every month or two months after that week on the beach ended. I wrote about having a seizure, and then wrote about all the migraines that followed. I wrote about a family friend struggling with terminal cancer, I wrote about hating how much school I missed, I wrote about being lonely because no one wanted to be friends with the kid who is literally never at school, and I wrote about how church was the only place I felt even semi-normal but even as the course of senior year unfolded it wasn't a place I liked to be. (That last point is a big deal because at many different points in my freshman and sophomore year of high school I wrote that my favorite place on earth would be anywhere my church family was. To say that I was tired of being there breaks my heart a little bit.)
I didn't stop being a christian. I still prayed for answers, I still went to church, I still would ask people for advice, and I still would read my bible at night in hopes that something encouraging would jump out of the pages.

I have now almost completed my second year of college. I've loved college! It's crazy busy all the time but with the medical issues sorted out I finally have time for being involved in activities on campus, being more involved in my church as a whole, working a job, hanging out with friends, etc. I love Jesus. I love him and talk to him and talk about him when I can, but after reading those journals today I would openly admit that I haven't been in love with Him in a long time. 

I haven't been in love with Jesus in a long time.

Do you understand what I'm saying? I'm not saying that I don't love Jesus. I'm saying that it's been a while since I've read my bible because I wanted to soak up everything He ever wanted me to know. I'm saying it's been a while since I've sang or heard a song and cried because I was so moved by the thought of having the privilege to worship my Heavenly Father. I'm saying that it's been a while since I've written out a prayer, or even said one out loud, that had me listing all the things I'm overwhelmingly thankful for and reasons I absolutely adore Jesus. Do you get it? Can you relate to what I'm saying at all, or have I crossed into the rambling lunatic stage? I love going to church. I love learning about the Bible. I love hanging out with my friends and being around my church family. But I can't tell you the last time I was in love with Christ.

Why not? Why haven't I been in love with Jesus? Why did I become numb to what the gospel was all about and why did it make me into this cynical, bitter person that I can more often than not be?

Life got real. Life got hard. Life got messy. And I started to get beat up and worn out. I got over it, but I was bitter because of it. So I would try to counteract my bitterness with perfectionism to prove to everyone that I was fine and not bitter at all. I became mean on my insides, so I would work super super hard to make sure my actions and all the things on the outside didn't show that. Because nobody likes a mean, messy, bitter person. Eventually, I just grew numb. I did what I had to do every day to make it look like I had it all together. If I acted the right way then maybe my passion for Jesus would come back. If I did the right things and said the right things maybe it would be easier for me to fall in love again. I didn't. And I stopped trying up until recently.

Over the last week or so my prayers have been heartfelt, fervent pleas for God to reveal Himself to me and I feel like He has. He also reminded me of what child-like faith really is. Between the ages of 17 and 21 you start making the transition to adulthood. Adulthood is this scary place where you pay bills, get in fights with other grown ups, watch your friends get married, mourn with your friends over miscarriages, watch people get completely wasted over drugs and alcohol, get a job and plan for your future career, watch the news, read nonfiction for fun, and eat Brussels Sprouts because somehow your taste buds have miraculously changed. During this crazy transition to this scary new chapter in life, it's so much easier to doubt and question everything you've ever known. It was easier for me to believe and trust in God as a child because I didn't have any giant decisions to make. I didn't have any reason to doubt Him. I didn't have any reason to question the reality of the gospel. I just purely, wholeheartedly, believed. And that belief grew into a love and adoration until I suddenly was faced with trials to make me ask God what He was doing.

So what do I do? I just admitted to you, whoever you are, that I am a secret cynical perfectionist who has fallen out of love with the One who breathed life into my existence. That's rough.

Preach the gospel to yourself.

I can't help but hear the voice in my head of a pastor who used to say in his sunday school lessons and sermons all the time: Preach the gospel to yourself.

I'll tell other people that there's a perfect God who loves every detail about them...but I never tell myself that the same God I'm talking about loves me just as much.
I haven't believed in a really long time that the same God I teach about in bible studies that I've lead before, or the same God I sing praises to on Sunday mornings, or the same God who gives grace so abundantly to everyone in the congregation on Sunday mornings is the same God who loves every part of me and knows everything about me. Do you get what I'm saying?

I was talking about this entire situation with someone recently. He told me that I had forgotten, or maybe just never really believed, that Jesus made me righteous. I am perfect in the eyes of my Father in Heaven. Not because of anything I do, try to do, aspire to do, want to do, wish to do, pretend to do, or do at all. There isn't anything I can do that will make God love me more tomorrow or in the next five minutes that will make him love me any more or any less than He does right now.

There isn't anything I can do to make Him love me any more or any less than He loves me right now.

That has to be the most freeing sentence I've ever written in my entire life. 

In Christ we are free to struggle. We aren't struggling to be free. 

I've had that quote written down on my mirror for a really long time, and it was just another phrase I had grown immune to. Because if I had really believed it, I wouldn't have been struggling so hard. I wouldn't have tried so hard to be this obnoxiously perfect person. I wouldn't have become so self-righteous and prideful. I wouldn't have become so cynical, bitter, and cold towards God's presence in my life. He's all around me every day, and all I can ever say is "OK God. I see you. I don't know what the heck to do with you, but I see you." What kind of a prayer is that?

I decided today to stop trying so hard. To stop running towards impossible expectations and searching for answers in all the wrong places. I struggle with accepting grace. I struggle with believing that there is no act I can do to make God love me, other than simply accepting the fact that He loves me. I struggle with comparing myself to others, insecurities, and countless other things. But I don't have to struggle to find ways to prove I'm strong enough, good enough, perfect enough, nice enough, spiritual enough, great enough, coordinated enough, happy enough, smart enough, involved enough, or funny enough to be loved by God because I can have confidence in the fact that He loves me for me. Imperfections and all.