growing pains

honesty hour, guys. i really should be writing out note cards for bio or typing my one page reflection for creative writing or even trying to understand the oh-so-horrendous trigonometry. but here i am, being the irresponsible college (slash high school) kid that i am and writing a blog post in all lowercase letters instead.

no one told me growing up was going to be this hard. hard and monotonous and beautiful all at once.  it's terrifying when you realize eight months from now you won't go to sleep in your own bed or share a bathroom with your parents.  that if you cry in the shower a stranger might hear and think you're depressed when really it's just your way of coping with life.  that you won't know all the backroads anymore or run into people you know at walmart.  that your parents won't be there reminding you to do your checkbook or pick up your messy room.  that your best friend will be miles away in a universe opposite yours.  that you will have to find a new church to be a part of and attend.  that you'll have to study for finals without your mom and buy your own groceries and gas.  it all sounds so unreal, like a dream.

but at the same time, you're ready.  you have been ready your entire life.  since you were a toddler waddling around living room, you have been ready to be on your own.  to taste independence for the first time.

you know you're prepared, yet something's holding you back.  that voice in the back of your mind telling you, "but what if you fail?  what if you screw this up too?"

so this is me saying, "i may fail and fail miserably.  i may screw this up as i have a million things a million times before.  but life is beckoning and it's finally my turn to answer.  no matter what happens, Jesus will always love me.  my parents will always love me.  my dearest friends will always love me.  and in the end, that's all that i need.  my Jesus standing with open arms and the people that care about me more than life itself.  that's why i have to go.  for them, and for me."

like yesterday

i honestly cannot quite grasp that i am a senior in high school.  that i am looking at colleges to attend and will be moving away from home soon.  it's the most bittersweet feeling i have experienced in my 17 -- almost 18 -- years.  tomorrow, i will be 18 in 18 days.  that's another thing i have yet to fully accept.

because of my time at middle college, i'll be one semester away from being a junior in college.  i won't be taking classes with new, awkward freshman.  i'll be with experienced pros, and that kind of freaks me out.  i mean, i've always gotten along better with people a couple years older than me, but it'll be intimidating to be surrounded by them. and i know i'll find my place eventually, but the thought of aimlessly searching for that place is terrifying.

i remember when i was a brace-faced sixth grader, stomach churning as i walked in the doors of the middle school.  i wanted to be a singer/songwriter like taylor swift; i wanted to be fearless.  and i'm sitting here listening to "hey there delilah," not believing it was released eight years ago. oh how desperately i wished for people's approval back then. and how i learned it's only Jesus' opinion that matters in the end.  clifford and dragon tales and zoom and arthur.  aaron carter's one hit single and writing cursive Ls. looking forward to the magic school bus on saturday mornings. singing the books of the Bible in the car with mom. sitting barefoot on the front porch in cutoffs with my goldie girl, sharing bologna sandwiches.

it all seems so vivid. like yesterday.

definitions

You are not a mark on the measuring tape encircling your waist,
Nor the size of your jeans that you are ashamed to reveal.
The flashing digits on the metallic platform beneath your bare feet
Do not define you.

You are not the tag in your shirt or the name that is printed on it,
Nor the sum of the bills that you used to purchase it.
The garments hanging neatly behind your closet door
Do not define you.

You are not the visible pores dotting your face,
Nor the tone of your skin that you are not comfortable in.
The reflections in the clouded mirror on your bathroom wall
Do not define you.

You are the songs you play over and over again
And the album you always go back to when your world is crumbling.
The lyrics written on your heart and the notes floating in your head
Are what define you.

You are the people you have listened to at 2 a.m.
And the fingerprints impressed upon the souls you have touched.
The hugs you give when you cannot find the words they need to hear
Are what define you.

You are the laughter that fills you up completely,
And the shining eyes flickering with dreams on the verge of unfolding.
The beautiful, miniscule details handpicked by your Creator
Are what define you.

I'm all over the place

Christmas lights dangle, twinkling softly,
Even though it’s only mid-September.
A disheveled bed is the centerpiece
Of this lovely catastrophe that is mine.
The sketch of a boy and his elephant
Hangs proudly above my pillow.
Purple Chucks are on display in the floor,
Laces askew and one falling atop the other.
Stacks of books and CDs everywhere,
Tiny towers proclaiming their importance.
Yesterday’s outfit is now a collapsed heap
That Mom will surely complain about. Oh well.
Bits and pieces of memories blanket the wall
To your right, an open scrapbook for all who enter.
Concert tickets, cards, newspaper cut-outs, quotes,
And photographs, each with a story all its own.
Opposite the twin-sized and its poster-headboard
Is a masterpiece, black and dusted with chalky remnants.
Lyrics flow across and around, a maze of thoughts
That comply with my own. I guess
I hoped to read the writing on the wall.

what i was made for

I wasn't made to piece together vibrant outfits that catch the eye,
Or focus cameras to take photographs.  I wasn't made to
Wear thick eyeliner or red lipstick or high heels that click as you walk.
I wasn't made to run miles at a time, or drink fancy coffees of all different flavors.
I don't carry a moleskin, sketch what I see, or enjoy only indie music.  I wasn't made
To read magazines and pose perfectly for pictures or be pretty.  I was made for
Running after little 2nd graders with curly hair named Apollo, and laughing
The good, deep kind of laugh that you feel in your soul.  I was made for dreaming of
Kenya and the people I will meet there and how I will hold them
In my heart.  I was made for 2-hour phone calls with Kathryn rambling on about
Relient K and our college plans that will soon be reality.  I was made for taking
Goofy pictures on Photobooth and schmoozing over Chris Hemsworth with Shan.  I was made for
Talking to Andrew about every topic under the moon just because.  I was made
To write letters to Chelsy and let her know she's not alone.  I was made to sing along
With Matt Thiessen as Life After Death (And Taxes) plays and claim him as my best friend
Even though he doesn't know my name.  I listen, I hug, I wipe tears, I tell stories.
I wasn't made to impress people;
I was made to love them.