At the end of every year,  I think back on the things that have happened good and bad over the last 365 days. Every year is unique with its special mix of hills and valleys, but this year was way more eventful in so many ways.

Four months is a short time in the large picture of life, but to me, these past four months have been a growth spurt of sorts. It's like when you're little and you wake up one morning and all your clothes don't fit anymore. Your toes uncomfortably touch the end of your shoes, your pants are short enough to see your rainbow colored socks, and your shirts barely touch the top of your pants. These are the signs that you've physically grown taller, wider, stronger, and older. I feel like this short season I've awoken to something new, new struggles and hurdles, but I've also awakened to find new mental and spiritual growth.

I thought that the Lord was calling me to another state, another school, and another community. I was completely ready to drop everything, pack up the car, and run towards what He had in store. I was nervous but mainly excited to start fresh. I was ready to find a church to call my own, a community, friends, a "big kid" job, and figure out a new college and new professors. I was ready for it all. I was constantly planning my whole life around this huge move. The main reason I was so excited is that I wanted to "make a new life." I wanted to do something that was difficult.



The closer I got to the date of the move the more and more doors slammed shut. None of my college credits would transfer to the other schools I had been applying for, my job situation was iffy, and everything surrounding the move was very uneasy. I was so stressed; why if I was doing what the Lord wanted were all these doors shutting? I knew this was going to be difficult, but it was turning out to be impossible. It wasn't until I broke down crying in my car and hitting the steering wheel that I realized, I never wanted to do the hard thing at all, I wanted the easy way out. It's easy to move away from your family and friends and be forced to find community, a church, and a place of belonging. It's easy to start life with a clean slate. What's hard is starting a new life in a place you're already known. What's hard is branching out to find a new community and new friends when you are comfortable. Comfort is the problem.

Like when I was seven and I hit that growth spurt, I had to shed the old clothes and go buy new ones (or pull out my cousin's hand-me-downs from the top of my closet), I'm shedding and I've never felt better. The Lord has given me such a peace and He has opened so many doors just in this past week that I could've never imagined He would.


I went to visit one of my professors this past week just to catch her up to speed on the whirlwind my life has been lately, she said:

"A friend told me once whenever you're faced with a difficult decision and you are unsure of the Lord's will just follow the peace." 

She went on to tell me about how every time she has had to make a big decision she knows that she has done the right thing if she has an unexplainable peace. I know this to be true, but it was a nice reminder. I do feel a peace about staying in Louisiana for now. I see that there can be so much good that can come out of staying here. I also know that His plans are perfect. This season is growing pains and sometimes it hurts more than the physical ones when I was seven.

It's hard to be in another state away from your family and friends when tragedy strikes back home. You feel as though your hands are tied behind your back with no way possible to help your loved ones when they need you the most.

I screamed at God this past week. I took a day to be alone, by myself, my music, and my car. We drove the Blue Ridge Parkway up and down, pulling off at the most pristine panoramic mountain views. I had a picnic by myself. I sang Taylor Swift a little too loud. And after fighting it, I finally silenced the music and cried out. Countless things have been swirling around my head lately. I'm overwhelmed with it all. So I cried out to my Creator. I was honest about how angry I am, about my fears, my hopes, and with windblown hair and tear-stained eyes, I felt closer to Him than I have in a very long time. Through the silence He whispers, "I'm holding you. Cling to me."

A week has past and honestly no problem or trial in my life has improved; if anything I've gained a couple more or the ones I had have gotten progressively worse. Still He whispers, "I'm holding you. Cling to me."  Knowing Christ doesn't make my problems nonexistent, but He holds me through it all, and that makes all the difference.