It is unfortunate that kids long to be grown-ups and grown-ups wish they were still young.  In eight days, I turn 21.  I was super excited about my birthday until I realized a couple of different things it means.  The main thing: I am a grown up.

I need a new primary care physician because I am still going to my pediatrician.
The one time a year I do get to be a kid is now the time of year I worry most about money.  I love buying gifts for loved ones, but I feel like I should have been saving for Christmas all year, or at least since Halloween.
Childhood traditions that feel like going home for my soul are too juvenile for me now.
I have places to be always, responsibilities that take daily effort, decisions to make.
I have to schedule my own appointments, make things happen for myself, get things done or they won't get done.
My to-do list has items added much more often than crossed off.
Money is no longer this magical thing without meaning that Mommy gives me.  It is the background worry, the dark cloud overhead.
Free time doesn't come free anymore.  It is time I have to choose to turn everything else off.  I don't get free time when everything else is done because I feel like from here on out everything else will never be done.
Difficult decisions come around more often and have a harsher impact on my life.

Next Tuesday, even though I may still, every now and then, make childish decisions or have a toddler/teenager attitude (they are remarkably similar, aren't they?), I will have completed the transition between child and adult.  This makes me think of the time Jesus demands child-like faith from his disciples in Matthew 18.

 ¹ At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?”

 ² He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. ³ And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. ⁴ Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. ⁵ And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.

It is easy to have faith like a child when in many ways we are still children.  I have put immense faith in my parents to take care of me, much of the time without giving it a second thought.  I believe what trustworthy sources tell me about how the world works without having to prove it true on my own accord.  When things go wrong, I want to run to my daddy's arms because his presence in the situation already makes me feel better about it.  

Adults don't do those things.  I look at my list above about adult things that are stressing me out today.  No wonder it is harder for adults to be filled with child-like faith.  But even though today I hate the idea of being an actual adult, it makes me less stressed thinking that I still get to be a spiritual child.  I can look at that list and have faith that God will take care of me through these shifts in life.  God will not change even if everything else does.  I can believe what He says about how the world works.  I can believe that I am who He says I am.  I can run to His arms and cling to the fact that He is present.  I can rest in His peace, knowing that His love remains.  I can lean on Him for strength when the responsibilities weigh heavy and the lists are long and the decisions are difficult.  

God, you are my strength and my song, and in my life I want to dance to that song like a child who doesn't care how many other children or adults are watching.  Replace my worry with peace and my stress with joy.  Help me find the balance between having to be an adult and getting to rest in you like a child.  

Family Fun

The holidays are the stereotypical stressor for families, each family with their own unique problems.  This year, I am faced with the wonderful dilemma of merging families, and that's not sarcastic.  I really think it is a wonderful problem to have.  Because I love somebody, I get to start thinking about what it means to be a part of his family and what it means for him to be a part of mine.  I am also gaining a lot of insight about family and about conflict in general, which is not to say that I have been acting or feeling like I am conducting a case study but simply that I have been realizing how easily one can pick up on subtle details when watching a family that is not their own.  A family is something that seems static to everyone on the inside.  Family is the first community one typically knows and the one that is usually, for the first bit of life, difficult to escape from.  Our families, however quirky or embarrassing or unhealthy, are the groups to which we didn't have a choice but to belong.  Within our families are the things we have just become used to, the things we have always known.

If there is one piece of advice I would wish to give to every family, it is that you are not a random group of people doomed to spend your days attempting to deal with each other.  You are a team.  Fight for each other.  Make the relationships between you and the other members of your family a high priority.  Reconcile after conflict.  Vocalize things you appreciate about each other.  Some families are big enough to make up a baseball team, others a volleyball team, some only a tennis team.  The Duggars could have their own football team!  But think about those teams.  How effective would a sports team be if they undermined each other, criticized each other, rolled their eyes at every direction from the coach?  Would a winning team be full of players who individually want to come across as the star, the MVP?  Would a winning team ever be ashamed, off the field, to be players on that team?

Players on a team:

• look out for one another
• share the number one goal of winning together
• set aside their personal interests for the good of the team
• discuss strategies
• go over plays
• spend time together
• become more than just teammates

Family is a subset of what is, in my mind, one of the most important things: community.  I also believe that family can be the most difficult community to fight for.  Since family is the sole group we belong for so long, the people we can't escape when we're young, the place we are forced to spend most of our time for the first chunk of our lives, family is also the place where we are hurt first and worst.  

I hurt for hurting families.  I hurt in my family sometimes.  I hurt for families all over who act as if they are on opposing teams.  

But I also think that learning to love one's family is sometimes more Christ-like than loving a stranger.  Outside of my family, I can avoid difficult people.  Outside of my family, people are friends if I want them to be.  However, for some families, Love your enemies means love those people across the dinner table from you.  Love those people who sleep in the next room.  Love those people who come to town for the holidays.  We get a choice to love the people in the friend category, but we were never given a choice about those in the family category.  

So, who knows for what reason, you were put on a certain team and called a family.  How can you be like Jesus to those people?  How can you begin to restore community in your family?  How can you make family mean more than stressful holidays?  

Happy holidays.  Play ball!

Terrors

Every once in a while, I'm reminded of how ugly this world really is.

A man in one of my psych classes, Paul, is a father to four children him and his partner adopted.  All four came from some severely unfortunate situations and have the mental, emotional, and physical scars to prove it.  One of his sons was born addicted to 12 different drugs.  He talks about his children in class, and I like listening to how proud he is of them.  It is easy for him to love and care for them even though their short lives have been horrible enough to make each of them a little rough around the edges.  Hearing their plights breaks my heart, but hearing how well he cares for these kids usually mends it.  I am happy he volunteered to be a daddy to these children who greatly needed one.  I am happy there are people in the world who stand up and take on responsibilities like that.  I am impressed by him.

Yesterday, though, one of his stories weighed heavy on my soul.  Is this really the world we are living in?  He was telling a couple people before class about his daughter who was raped when she was only 3 years old.

3 years old.

She was raped by her father, and she needed almost 40 stitches to repair the physical damage done to her small body.

Her 3 year old soul needed a way to deal with this tragedy, so it tried to split in two (and later three) so one piece could take care of the other.  She developed dissociative identity disorder, which allowed her to "be" an assertive man in times of stress and anxiety and a caring woman in times of emotional hardship.  With much therapy, Paul says that they have made her feel secure enough in her new environment and dealt with enough of her emotional baggage that they have gotten her back down to just one personality.

After overhearing Paul talk about the tragedies his young children have already been exposed to, we had a guest speaker in class, a veteran and founder of the U of A Vets office.  He was in class to talk about the various things that plague military families and how the structures of family and marriage tend to function inside the military.  One statistic that stuck out to me from his talk was that we have lost more service members during the Iraq and Afghanistan wars from suicide than from actual combat.

With the technology we have available, men and women can be wounded overseas and then flown to Bethesda for treatment before they regain consciousness.  Thankfully, we are losing fewer and fewer soldiers who are being injured during combat.  There is a student at the U of A who is a triple amputee.  He surely would have died had he been fighting in any other war throughout history.

But our brave men and women are also coming home with emotional injuries that are being ignored and eventually can be fatal.  These emotional fatalities are just as serious and I think just as preventable as those from physical injury.

Needless to say, by the end of class my mind was reeling with how upside down this world is.  My soul was heavy from the troubles in this life.

May I live to fight the terrors.

Day 18

Learned an important lesson this morning: the later I go to sleep, the harder it is to wake up the next day at 6.  

Who knew?

I don't know what happened this morning - I don't remember hearing my alarm at all, even though I know it was set to go off.  I woke up to silence at 7 and skipped the gym again.  Oh well.  I'll go tomorrow :)  

Gains and Losses

Today was technically day 17.  I can't tell you exactly how many days I made it to the gym and how many days I chose the extra hour of sleep over discipline of healthy habits... I can tell you, though, that I feel happier and healthier for even succeeding some of the time.

First of all, I don't feel like a failure when I don't wake up.  Today, I was mad that I missed my favorite Zumba teacher doing the 6am class at my gym because I snoozed my alarm.  I gave myself a minor scolding when I woke up 45 minutes later at 6:30... But even getting out of bed at 6:30 is an improvement.  I had time to sit down at the table for breakfast, read a chapter of my book, finish some homework, and make my lunch.

Second of all, I feel in a better place for just having been at the gym at least 3 times a week for the last two weeks.  My gym isn't calling me anymore making sure I'm okay.  I feel physically healthier.  I feel emotionally healthier.  I feel more comfortable in my body because I am working to take care of it.  I feel like I am fitting into my clothes better.  I bought size 9 jeans for the first time since my freshman year in high school.  And I know that no one else probably notices yet, and it very well might be all in my head, but I am happier with what I see when I look in the mirror.

So, in the past 17 days, I have found sure victory some of the time, but what's even better is that I have not found defeat the rest of the time.

I was at a retreat a couple of years ago during which a life coach taught us about life goals.  One of the central beliefs to his line of work was that it is always better to have goals than to not.  I disagreed with him then, and I disagree with him now.  Simply having goals always made me feel discouraged.  I made New Year's Resolutions that I gave up on long before February.  I set goals for each new semester in college... but they always happened to be the same goals every semester since I continually failed to accomplish them.  I set daily goals of eating better and making it to the gym and then felt terrible about myself at the end of the day when instead of going to the gym, I got the large meal at Chick-fil-A.

No, just having goals doesn't leave me better off.  Working towards goals is always better than not.  Any size step toward that goal is valuable.  The days that I don't wake up in time to work out, I still manage to get out of bed at a decent time and not force myself to rush out the door.  When I hit snooze one day, I don't give up the next.  I keep walking in the direction of health.

Every once in a while I have to compare what I say my priorities are to the way that I am actually living and make sure there is a good amount of overlap.  I did this over the summer with my money.  I would say my financial priorities are giving and saving, in that order, but no one would believe that looking at my bank statements.  According to reality, my priorities seemed to be Chick-fil-A and Target, in that order.

Last week when I looked at my priorities vs. my daily life, I saw definite changes that needed to be made and so began my 21-day journey to waking up on time, working out everyday, practicing disciplines, and packing my lunch.

Today when I looked at my priorities vs. my daily life, I saw minor tweaks that needed to be made to my actions but major problems with my priorities.

I discovered an unhealthy priority and self expectation today: perfection. I was thinking about the person I want to be and about how far I feel from that person.  Somehow the healthy priorities in my head morphed into these monsters.  I will give some examples.

• I want to make better decisions became I want to not make mistakes
• I want to get better grades became I want 100% in every class
• I want to manage my time better became I want more time
• I want to be better became I want to be perfect

These thoughts on the right are so disabling.  When my goals of becoming healthy became goals of being perfect, a nasty grey cloud of discouragement formed over my head.  It is even more than a desire to just give up.  It's an odd feeling, but I just don't feel like being.  I'm really not in the mood for existence.  It is more than wanting to give up on my goals; I want to give up on myself.  

I know these thoughts are straight from the Enemy's tongue, but I can't find the energy to fight them.  Earlier this year, I conquered the lie that I wasn't good enough.  Thankfully, with the help of God and loved ones, I have learned how to continually stand firm on the truth that I have worth.  I am valuable.  I am enough.  

But the Liar hasn't given up on me yet, and I think his fight this time is trying to change my view of "enough".  I am having a hard time today feeling like I am enough, but not because the lie "You are not enough" has once again taken over my heart.  There is a new lie, "Perfect is enough".  

Today, I want to be the girl who never falls.  I want to be the girl who never misses a homework assignment, never gets a C on a test, always speaks up in class with all the correct answers.  I want to be the girl who makes good decisions without fail, never regrets, never makes anyone else upset, never accidentally leaves the important things at home (or my water bottle who knows where).  I want my house to be sparkly clean everyday and my laundry to always be done and put away.  I want to have  enough money and enough time and stop feeling like I am always stretched thin in those areas.  I want to stop wanting, I want to stop needing, I want to be perfect.  

And since I can't, I want to go away.  

These are by far the most unhealthy thoughts I have ever had, but knowing that doesn't make me feel less crippled against them.  This is the first step: giving them a name, calling them out.  That's why I am writing them down.  The next step is kicking them out of the house of my heart, making damn sure they know they are not welcome here.  I have not been able to make that step today since rather than continuing the remodel on my heart house, I feel like just moving out.  The concurrent step to kicking the unhealthy roommates out of my house is inviting healthy ones to move in.  I will let Jesus be the perfect one.  I will tell him that trying to be perfect or even trying to be good enough is too much work for me.  I will remind myself that he has already carried my burden of being good enough on the cross.  He has told me that I don't have to try to be good enough since because of him I simply am.  He doesn't see perfect when he looks at me (which means he doesn't expect it) but doesn't see broken or hopeless or weak or useless either.  Also, I will listen to this song on repeat.  

Matthew 11:28-30

 ²⁸ “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. ²⁹ Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. ³⁰ For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”  

God, your burden is not perfection.  Break the unreasonable expectations I have for myself today.  Fight for me, because I feel like I can't.  Reclaim ownership of my house and kick all the squatters to the curb.  Repair all the windows they broke to get in, and replace all the locks.  

I am Yours.

You make everything glorious.. what does that make me?  

I think today is the 5th day that I have run through my routine and the third day I have done it in the morning.  It was easier today.  I didn't want to get out of bed, but it was easier to do so than to not.  I think the steps have already sunk into my subconscious.  Once I'm out of bed, I'm on autopilot.

I am relearning a lesson I learned at the beginning of this year that decisions are like dominoes.  Healthy decisions lead to more healthy decisions just like poor decisions lead to more of the same, even in small things. My dominoes are falling in a healthy direction, and I like the feel of it.  Getting up earlier leaves me time to make my lunch which is healthier and more costly.  It also makes me more tired by the time evening rolls around, which means I am getting more sleep and it is easier to fall asleep.  I feel like I am getting better sleep, too.  And exercising my will with this discipline helps me to make better decisions in other areas.  I am not spending as much money.  I am saying no to more things that aren't beneficial.  I like that life is built in a way that turns small choices into lifestyle changes.

Content with being content... At least for now.

I have been thinking about contentment a lot this morning.  It is much easier to be content with my body when I am working out every morning.  More than some girls and less than others, I have struggled with body image and being content in my skin.  Today, though, was a minor breakthrough, I think.

First of all, it makes me sad that the more I think about it, the more it makes sense to me that the women's clothing industry is built on the discontentment of women.  Men's sizes, even to men, I think give the impression that one's size is just their size.  A man is this tall, this big around, etc., and that's just how it is.  That's just how he is.  I could be wrong, and I know that it is far from impossible for men to compare themselves to others based on their measurements, but women's sizes are much more easily comparable to others.  For example, the "ideal" size for women is far from the average size of actual women.  Models we see the clothes on wear size 0, size 2, extra small, etc.  Women put way too much emphasis, even just in our own heads, on these numbers and labels.  New York and Co., for example, capitalizes on the weight women put on this arbitrary sizing system.  If a woman is normally a size 8, in NY&Co. clothes she is a size 6.  And that feeling of fitting into even one size smaller is so great that women are more inclined to shop there only because of that boost of self confidence.  If I were taking a survey of women and asking them what size they wish they wore, my guess would be that most women would say a size 2.  Few would say they are content with the size they currently wear.  All would say a size lower than they wear.  In fact, if I took a survey of women and asked what their dress size is, I would guess that half would tell me they wear at least one size lower than they actually do.  Why does this matter to us so much?

My breakthrough came when I was thinking about my goals this morning.  Before giving it too much thought, I said to myself, Wouldn't it be nice to wear a size 2.  I had to shake that thought out of my head and remind myself that I would probably look grotesquely skinny and be unhealthy if I shrunk down to that size.  It is just not in the stars for me to be that skinny.  And the amazing part is that I didn't feel defeated by realizing that I will never make it to a 2.  I didn't feel depressed.  I felt content.  When I said in my head, Actually, my  body was just not built to wear size 2 pants, it felt like something I already knew.  I felt myself saying, Duh.

I have a friend who, since I have known her, has only gotten skinnier.  I think when I met her, she wore a size 4 or a size 6, depending on what store she was shopping in.  Now she wears a size 0, and if they someday come up with negative numbers, she will probably fit into those.  Until today, there have been times when I have badly wanted to have a similar body type.  I have wanted to look like her.  Today, the fact that I have thought that makes me want to cry.  It makes me sad for the time I lost not loving myself, not being content.

This is a picture of my skinny friend's dad on the left... and this is a picture of my dad on the right.  Both of these men are wonderful, godly men with great families and in great physical shape.  But it is easy to see that my genes are built much differently.  Her dad is probably at least six inches shorter than mine and obviously much skinnier.  This is not something I can change, no matter how well I eat or how much I work out.

I am so thankful for this realization.  I already knew these things in my head, but today they became real to me.  I felt contentment in my heart.  This is one area that my new morning routine is helping me (another success this morning, by the way).  No matter how much I try, I will never be anyone but me.  I can change almost every little thing about me nowadays, from my name to my hair color to my facial structure to my bra size, etc.  But my soul is my soul is my soul, and I am who I am who I am.  (I am going crazy trying to remember where I read this quote, but I love it: "We are image bearers of the One who says, 'I am who I am.'")  I will always be me deep down.  My goals cannot be unattainable things like a size 2.

My ultimate goal is to be a better version of myself at the end of each day, a lesson I learned on a first date ;)  And this routine helps me feel that way.  I do feel healthier at the end of the day than when I started. I feel like I made improvements, both on myself and on the world, as little as they may be.  I feel like I accomplished things.  I feel like I woke up for a reason.

And that's something I wouldn't trade for a size 2 pair of pants.

I think I can, I think I can

I guess this was technically Day 1 of completing my routine in the morning.  I would consider it a success.  I set my alarm for 5:45 today since there is a 6am Zumba class at my gym on Wednesdays and Fridays.  The only bad part of my morning was the Zumba instructor.  The one who teaches the Wednesday morning class has absolutely no rhythm and makes terrible routines.  However, it was easier to wake up for a class than to wake up trying to go work out on my own.  We'll see how an unstructured workout goes tomorrow.  Also, I think for at least a while, the quality of the workout matters less than forming the discipline of actually getting to the gym and doing something, anything.

I am reminding myself of all the time I had this morning (and counting that as one of my rewards, Sarah).  I got a lot done, and it was stress-free.  I curled my hair, finished some homework, did the dishes.  It was also nice waking up in time to welcome the day and see the sunrise.  On the other hand, I am thinking waking up so early is going to make my days feel a lot longer. 

I had a short battle this morning with the voice that beckons me to stay in bed.  The voice doesn't take no for an answer so instead of retorting, No, no, no.  Don't get back in bed.  Don't do it, since I'm pretty sure with that mantra I would end up right back in bed, I chanted to myself, Just keep moving.  Bathroom, gym clothes, car.  Bathroom, gym clothes, car.  Just keep moving.  I think getting out the door the first time will be my toughest fight.  

This reminded me of one of my favorite analogies, first explained to me by one of my favorite people.  A car on a hill will only go forward if it is purposefully moving forward.  A car in neutral will slide back down the hill just as easy as a car in reverse.  For a lot of things in life, it doesn't matter that we are simply pointed in the right direction.  Our actions are much more important than our intentions.  If I just keep moving, no matter how slowly, I will get up the hill.  

Day one step forward, Day two steps back

Grr.

My alarm went off this morning at 6am.  I was mad that morning came so early and that it was still dark outside and in my house, but I had the reaction to my alarm that I wanted: I got right out of bed, turned off the alarm, took a deep breath, and stretched.  It took all the will power I could muster not to climb back into bed.

I forgot two important details when planning my morning routine that didn't come up in the practice run yesterday.  First, I usually have to use the bathroom first thing when I wake up.  Should have thought of that.  Second, my mom would be proud, I forgot to write in brushing my teeth.  So I amended my routine, went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and came back into my room for the next step.  Working out, though, is I think the very last thing I am excited to do while still half asleep at 6:00 in the morning.  So, instead of putting my work out clothes on and driving to the gym, I climbed back into bed.

I set my phone alarm for 7:30, snoozed it four times, and finally got up at 8.  Maybe I will get it tomorrow.

I was reminding myself this morning that getting back into bed is more than getting back into bed.  It's taking two steps back on my goal setting.  It's making tomorrow even harder.  It's making day 21 further away.  But grumpy just-let-me-sleep Katelyn is much stronger than strong-willed let's-be-a-better-person Katelyn.  Nothing seems to matter more in the morning than staying tucked between my covers for as long as possible.

I am still trying to keep the bigger picture in mind, though.  Starting my day like it means something and not like I just have to get out of bed because another day came sooner than I would have liked gives purpose to each day and ultimately my life.  Like the header says, I want to be intentional about my existence, and I think that includes waking up for the day.  I want to wake up as if I have important things to wake up for.  I want to wake up as if I can't wait for today to start because God has made it and has great plans for me today.  I want to wake up as if I am anticipating so many opportunities.  So I need to remind myself that sleeping in that extra hour or two means missing opportunities, missing out on being a part of something, missing out on a purposeful day.

Hoping tomorrow I will be less willing to trade all that in for a tiny bit more sleep.