Abnormally, I can't sleep tonight. Not that I tried for long, but I couldn't get comfortable. Something kept tugging at me to get out of bed and write. So here I am, in the hallway with my blanket and iTunes and blog. We've become good friends the past two years.

It's so odd to realize that I've completed half of my undergraduate career. Two years down; two to go. I feel like a completely different person than the scared girl who moved into this dorm two years ago, afraid of what was to come the next year, or even the next day. I would like to say I'm more mature, more friendly, stronger, smarter, and more carefree, but I don't know that I'm best qualified to make that assessment.

My roommate moved most of her things out of the dorm today. We put her top bunk on the floor and moved the furniture to its proper places. When she left, and the door shut behind her, all I could hear was the echo - the slam of the door, the click of the lock - and my anxieties, my girlish fears suddenly swept in with the rush of air from the door.
Alone, packing more of my things, I flashed back to that first day in the room, two years ago. I was suddenly eighteen again, unsure of myself and my future; so overwhelmed that I could only focus on unpacking clothes and books, ignoring the thought that my parents had left me in this strange place, not for merely a week or a two, but for the next nine months.

Two years later, my little sister is graduating from high school, with some of the uncertainties I had and a lot more spunk. I have no doubt she'll go far wherever God leads her.
As for me, two years after graduation I'm still unsure of what I'm going to do with my life. I remember writing my future plans for the senior edition of the high school newspaper - "I will laugh, I will cry, I will sing, and I will glorify God." Without a doubt I have done plenty of these in this past two years, and I wouldn't change that statement at all for the next two. Of course, I hope for laughter and singing more than tears, but God shown me so much this year through the tears, and I wouldn't take back any of those lessons.

Trust. Have faith in the God who knows you. Worry does nothing, but prayer does. It is good to wait for the Lord. Endure discipline. Resist temptation and fight the good fight. Believe that everything happens for the good of those who love God, and act accordingly. 

In a few months, I will be living in an apartment. I will turn 21, and appear to be 76 from the burden that 19 credit hours will bear on me. I hope to be an example, and a leader. No matter what happens, I pray that above it all - the laughter, the tears, the frustrations, and the victories - the glory will go to God alone. Not by anything I have done or anything I am, but by what He has done and who He is, will I find success and satisfaction on the journey. I pray the same for you.

"You are the Savior and You take brokenness aside, and make it beautiful, beautiful."

Strings and Deadbolts

Don't you just love conversations that remind you why you are where you are?
I asked for reminders, and God surely gave it tonight.

We. Don't. Work. Period. I doubt we ever would.
It's hard enough to carry on a normal conversation without misinterpreting each other and ending in an angry argument.

There really is no point in continuing the endless argument that was a futile attempt at friendship.
Even normal conversations end in my emotional "craziness" and your masked fury.
There is no point, there is no reasoning, there is no longer a rhyme for the tune that we used to sing so beautifully.

I am sad that our feeble attempts at friendship ended in shatters. I am sorry for hurting you, if I did, by my words. However, I am not sorry for standing up to you and speaking my mind. Telling you that you insulted me is not "crazy"; it is human. It is a very small attempt to construct a conversation with civility. Obviously, that did not work, and again, I'm not sure that it ever will.

But for tonight, at least, I can say this: I have closure. And when I say closure, I mean deadbolt.

I am who I am. If anyone plans on changing that, it's God. You have no power over that. So don't tell me I'm wrong, don't tell me how you think I am acting or reacting. Because the reality is that you don't know me, and you never really did - you never cared to learn.

And for that, I am partially grateful. I wasted two months on you, and I'm not about to waste any more. While grateful for the lessons I learned, I am also grateful that I no longer have to argue with you, or worry about misinterpreting you, or worry that I'm giving you too much affection.

The past happened for a reason.
The past is in the past for a reason.

Thank you, God, for this sure reminder.