jump.

She couldn't stop the tears from flowing as she held on for dear life. Though she was harnessed in and  completely secure, she grasped the pole as if it was the only thing in the world that could save her. The confidence she had displayed only fifteen minutes before had completely disappeared and been replaced with a paralyzing fear. No shouts of encouragement from the ground could dispel her uncertainty.

So I climbed.

the Quantum Leap at Windy Gap

Two tall telephone poles sit next to each other, stretching forty feet into the air. The idea seems simple enough: using the evenly-placed metal pegs, you climb to the top and jump off. Wearing a full body harness, a helmet and strapped into a rope and belayer, you feel (and are) completely safe. But with each brave step upward, somehow your mind begins to feed you the lies.

You can't do this. You will fall. You are stuck. It's too high. You just aren't brave enough. You just aren't enough.

I could see the fear in her eyes as I climbed to the top of the second pole - the one adjacent to her. "Just look at me! Don't look down!" I called out. "Look, we'll do it together." Over and over again, I explained to her exactly what to do. At the top of those two forty foot poles, we danced. "Follow me!" I told her, "I know it feels scary but everything will be okay. I promise." One foot here, right hand there, push up on this leg. But each time she got just inches from jumping, she looked down. And shrank back down to the pole, holding it as her life source.

For ten minutes up on that pole, possibly the only ten minutes of the whole week, she was vulnerable. Her fear displayed. Her doubts, her uncertainties, her questions. When we were both up there on those two poles, eyes locked, I got a glimpse of her soul. This hard girl who laughed at my questions and rolled her eyes at my comments and turned her nose at my encouragement - for just one moment, I got to see what was behind the walls.

What if I'm not enough? What if I get hurt? What if I'll never belong? What if I'm rejected? What if Jesus doesn't care as much as you say He does? What if Jesus isn't even real? What if... What if...

In the end, she didn't jump. The fear and the questions and the doubts were too much and the ropes team on the ground had to help her down. And once she hit the ground, the walls were back up and the embarrassment and disappointment ran deep. The ignoring and the back turning and the snide remarks continued.

But I wouldn't trade that experience for the world. Because for those ten minutes, she was brave and she was vulnerable and she was real. And I got to be there for it. I got to look into those eyes of fear and speak His truth over the world's lies.

Yes, you are enough. You aren't alone. You can it. You are brave enough. He is trustworthy. He is real. He really does love you more then you could ever imagine.

And this is why I so deeply believe in Young Life and the way we get to introduce Jesus to our high school friends. This is why I love getting to do what I do.

Because at the end of the day, even the hardest of hearts need the softening grace of Jesus. Even the toughest are dying to hear about the depths of His love. Even the furthest out are thirsty for something more then what the world is offering.

confessions.

It all started when someone told me I reminded them of Blake Lively. I was literally floored, shell shocked, be-fumbled. The picture of Blake Lively I have in my head is elegant, graceful, cultured, classy, polished, super cool.
{ aka the exact opposite of myself }

So it made me wonder - do people think I'm "cooler" then I actually am? Those who know me well surely do not classify me as cool nor anywhere near the realm of Blake Lively. Oh, they know the truth.

But maybe a lot of things in my life bode well for possibly giving off that "cooler", more whimsical lifestyle.

For instance:

-live in a foreign, beautiful, tropical, not-as-well-known country? check.

-have at least seven different picture editing apps downloaded on my phone to find the perfect filtered effect? check.

-a mom who knows the ins and outs of fashion and therefore has picked out around 80% of my closet for me? check.

-decent cursive handwriting { after years of practice } so that the loops and curves actually make it look like I'm artistic without actually trying? check. 

note: anchor earrings.

But the reality is...I'm kind of a dork.

I do things like wear anchor earrings to remind myself that I'm anchored to Jesus.

I normally drink coffee out of a raccoon mug. { not one of the cooler, flowered ones I own }

I consistently make up music videos in my head.

I am Taylor Swift's best { read: worst } back-up singer that she just hasn't met yet.

I write { not-very-good } poems to give as birthday cards.

I spent way too much time taking these incredibly embarrassing selfies for this blog post.

I have completely awkward dance moves that make my friends shake their heads in shame when I pull them on the dance floor.

I really, really, really love the show Glee....and have read the Hunger Games and Divergent series more times then I'd like to admit.

So even though I really do love and enjoy the cool, trendy things right now - pretty flowers, black coffee, cozy flannel, perfectly-placed sunlight, dry shampoo, fruit-infused water, red lips, washi tape, watercolors, flowy dresses, ect ect - my true { read: dorky } colors still show more often then not.

So here ya go: real life confessions from a twenty-six year old nerd who from time to time attempts to give off the impression of natural and effortless coolness. { but who really just wants to post so many cat Instagrams and read poorly written teen fiction }

note: raccoon mug.