Boldly Approaching.

I well remember the day I stepped off the bus at Woolmarket Elementary School and was (kindly) told by the chuckling driver who overheard some conversation I was having, "Well, you're a feisty one, aren't you?" Having never heard that word, I just shrugged, smiled, and and told her to have a good day.

When I got home that afternoon, I asked my mom what "feisty" meant. She looked concerned, then asked me why I needed to know. Once I told the story and learned the definition, my steel-trap-minded 4th grade self could tell from the smiles my parents were trying to hide that they were proud, but we did have a talk about controlling our feistiness (among other things -- like redheaded tempers, and my tendencies to talk too much, and...etc.).

Those who know me as an adult laugh when I say I need to control my temper, or bite my tongue, or things like that. But anyone who grew up with me or who has ever met my sister understands that my role model was not typical. Kim is so sweet, and precious, and humble, and submissive. In fact, much of my fiestiness on the bus came from taking up for her during her awkward years when she was quiet and occasionally getting picked on (not that I would've known what to do had anyone actually hit me, Heaven forbid).

So that said, controlling my temper, and my tongue, and the unabashed boldness that's always been just below my surface has been something I've tried to keep in check over the years, whether people knew it or not.

Like most things, though, I think I got to a point where those traits became less something I wanted or needed to keep in check, and more something I just subconsciously learned not to do in public. (Which is good, and is why I haven't been arrested for road rage -- or worse.)

In the past year, I have learned a lot of lessons. Like, more than I have in some whole decades.

Throughout 12 months, I have learned that things are not always what they seem, and people are rarely ever what they seem.

I have realized, several times over, that life is entirely too short to always give and never receive.

I have been harshly shown the old adage that I must look out for myself, because everyone else is doing the same for themselves, and sometimes, no one else will be there to offer the hand I've tried to give so many times.

I've literally watched precious friends and family members die.

I've lived through the shattering of corporate and personal promises to me that I never thought would be broken.

I said goodbye to my favorite furry friend.

I've learned that in spite of the song my youth choir beat like a dead horse, friends are not always friends forever.

And I've had to learn that while I'm definitely not perfect, the origin of a lot of these lessons have not been my fault. In fact, nothing has been 100% my fault. This has really taken some learning, and wise counsel, and serious prayer for me to come to grips with. (I'm not sure why. I was never labeled remedial, but, who knows. It was the 80s & 90s.)

The lessons I've learned do include maintaining the kindness and meekness that I constantly need to remember the importance of by nature, but the ones that have dug their ways into my soul have been about reclaiming boldness and courage (for good, not evil -- or mischief).

For 33 years, I have laughed in the face of "me time." I've inwardly shuddered at the thought of "always lookin' out for number one." And I have perceived that my friendships were pure enough, and true enough, and real enough to survive anything.

And I was wrong about all those things.

I need to take care of Rebekah, or no one else will want to be around her.

I have to look out for myself, because Lord knows that a) putting that pressure on people who want to is unrealistic, and b) not everyone follows through.

And somehow, after three decades of being able to comprehend and relate to others, I've just come to realize in the past few months that friends can't be friends forever on their strength and love alone. We're human. We err. We bow up. And we crumble.

Some people (maybe including my family...?) may not like this, but I and several friends have referred to 33 as our "Jesus year."

This stems from having always associating 33 with the year Jesus was crucified, and certainly does not mean I think I'm Jesus. Or perfect. At all.

It just means that about 6 months in, it hit me that this was a really hard one so far. And that I was trying to do the right thing in a lot of areas, and praying that God's will be done, yet the hits just kept on comin.' And when I mentioned it to a couple of friends, they agreed that it had been the same for them during that year, and the same thought had occurred to them, too.

For those reasons, I am happy to bid 33 farewell.

Do I think 34 will be perfect? Um, no. (Have you met me? I still skin my knees. As children are calling me "ma'am." I'm pretty aware that my life will never be a walk down Wisteria Lane.)

But have I felt a new wind blowing in the past few months? Yes. Am I more hopeful about life in general than I was last fall? Definitely. Am I more at home -- in a hundred ways -- than I can ever remember being? Absolutely.

I attribute mental and emotional survival of these very hard last 12ish months to having been broken in a lot of ways, and humbly and meekly crawling back to the Source of all that's good: the Cross.

For more than a year now, when it's come to all decisions, great or small, I've taken the same approach. I've prayed quietly, then more steadily, and now with an amazing confidence, "Thy will be done."

I was reminded in Sunday School this morning that that is the kind of audacity neither earthly nor Heavenly Fathers hide a smile at. We're encouraged to boldly approach the throne of grace! I hadn't forgotten this Scripture, per se, but I definitely hadn't applied it to my situation in a while.

So while I don't expect to be spared the daily grind, or the broken promises, or the humanity of life and death that will surely come with this 34th year of life, I will boldly approach God with my request for it all to be for His honor and glory.

Will I mess it up? Royally. Will you read this, then see or hear or anticipate me acting like I never wrote it? Most assuredly. But is that my goal? No way.

This year, I'm going to take those lessons learned, add a little of that natural-born school bus feistiness, keep sprinkling in the kindness and meekness I so appreciate my parents and sister modeling for me, and build up some arm muscles as I steadily stir it all with a bold approach to my Father's throne of grace.

May His will be done.

And happy birthday to me. :-)

Sticks and Stones.

I've only had one broken bone in my life, but do tend to bruise pretty easily. I don't know if it's the fair skin, or that I'm a klutz, or just that I'm a girl, since a lot of girls say the same thing. At any rate, I can look down any given day and see all kinds of random bruises that I can't remember getting. They don't always hurt, but they're ugly and sometimes they last a long time.

Especially having red hair, I've been ridiculously fortunate not to be the brunt of nasty jokes much throughout the years. Maybe this is because I laugh at my own self a lot. Maybe peeps are considerate enough to save their ugly talk for behind my back. Or maybe -- just maybe -- it's because I try really hard to follow the rare and consistent traits that I grew up watching my parents and sister live daily and seemingly effortlessly, and I try to be kind (though I don't always succeed, especially when I'm stressed out). I'm forever laughing with people about my faults, and often pointing them out to those around me, but am not proud to say that especially in the past, I tend to be pretty sensitive when facets of me that I view as negative are pointed out, even by friends who mean well. But basically, when it comes down to it, I have really, really escaped a lot of life's barbs, and I am utterly grateful for that.

My precious sister got picked on a good bit in elementary and middle school. She is absolutely the sweetest person in the universe, so I think it offended me almost as much as it did her. She was very shy and quiet at the time, so I don't think that helped matters much. Thankfully, she came out of her shell and blossomed into a gorgeous, more outgoing but still very kind young lady, and boom, the jokes stopped. I don't think I ever realized, though, how much those jokes could have hurt her. I mean, I still haven't talked to her about it (I'm typing in a very stream-of-consciousness way right now, so I'm sure we'll discuss it soon), but good grief. It had to hurt. Basically a stick figure of a child, I often took up for her on the bus or wherever, using words as my fight and praying I wouldn't get beat up by the instigators.

Yesterday, I was insulted worse than I can ever remember. I also experienced raw, emotional hurt in a way I can never remember hurting. I don't know if the (not particularly nice in general) person knew she ruined my day, and possibly month, but she did. It was just a thoughtless comment, but absolutely unneccessary, and it made me feel fat and slobby and small (but definitely not in a good way), and like the biggest loser (but also not in a good way).

After crying pretty hard about the rude comments and seeking immediate e-counseling from 10 of my closest friends, including my mom & sister, I realized: there's something to that old saying.

Sticks and stones -- or in my case, being thrown from a horse -- may break my bones, but words won't break me.

(I wouldn't go so far as to say words can never harm us, because the initial bruise is pretty nasty. But thankfully, we have our circle of peeps who take care of us with the effect that rubbing alcohol and antiseptic have on bruises and cuts. And after a little bit, the bruises fade, the cuts stop bleeding, and hopefully later, we can look back at that experience as un-fun, but not life-altering.)

So what lessons did I learn from being school-bus-picked-on at 33 1/2? 
1. Always have a few of your closest friends nearby to stand up for you, even if it's only to you.
2. Remember to be kind to others, because what we think are lighthearted comments may be really hurtful to them.
3. Always have a few of your closest friends nearby to stand up for you, even if it's only to you.
4. Keep your "surmising," as my Nan would say, to yourself.
5. Always have a few of your closest friends nearby to stand up for you, even if it's only to you.
6. Keep Taylor Swift in your iTunes. Always.
7. Always have a few of your closest friends nearby to stand up for you, even if it's only to you.

Because in the end, thank the Lord, bruises really do fade and cuts heal. Especially with the soothing ointment of wonderful friends and family.