You, my dear, have a purpose.

I entered the "real world" just over a year ago, "adulthood" as they call it... in many ways, it seems like it has only been a few weeks since I graduated from college, but when I look back over the last year, I am reminded of how far I have come, the things I have lost, the things I have gained, the blessings and joys and hurts... when I think about the last year of my life, I think about how hard things have been, how I cannot possibly recognize the same girl who walked across that stage last May, and I am simply amazed that it has only been a year. 

I have only been a real adult for a little over a year... 

This year, although tremendously difficult, has brought a lot of good things... new job, new car, new house, new friends, new perspectives, new beginnings, new hope. As I sit on the counter of my kitchen and write this, while eating icing straight from the tub, I am reminded of the great words one of my professors said to me before I graduated, in which she said, "Find the things that motivate you and you will be just fine. You, my dear, have a purpose." 

Again, I laugh as I write that, just as I did when I heard the words the first time. How can Tedi Ellis, the girl who has made a mess out of adulthood and failed more than she has succeeded, who has made people who don't even know her shake their heads in wonder, who falls down the stairs more than she doesn't, and who finds herself pretending to make it just to get through the day, who is literally sitting right now on her kitchen table eating a tub of icing with the soundtrack of "Cheetah Girls" playing in the background... how can that Tedi Ellis have a purpose?

I have spent the great majority of my life trying to find that purpose, trying to find that reason to get out of bed and to keep trying... I have tried and I have failed. A year out of college and I still find myself wondering if a purpose even exists out there for that Tedi Ellis... for me. Who am I outside of ridiculous snapchats and witty, funny Facebook statuses? 

At the end of October last year, I accepted a job working with Boone County Children's Division as a caseworker... my first real attempt to find some kind of purpose outside of blowing up bounce houses and entertaining birthday kids. However, in the weeks before I officially started, I found myself terrified of failing, of messing up some kiddo's life and leaving a part of their story forever scarred by my actions. What if what I thought was best was not actually best? Who was I to decide if a child was safe, or cared for, or protected? Who was I, the girl lacking purpose, to tell a parent how to raise their child? 

To put it simply, I was terrified of royally screwing up some kid for life. 

In the last 7-8 months, I have learned a lot. I have felt the immeasurable pain that children in foster care experience. I have held babies as their parents walk out the door knowing that they are not allowed to leave with their child. I have rocked a baby to sleep in a hospital, while machines all around them record every breath. I have gotten on a plane and been handed a child, that was not my own. I have buckled children into carseats, kissed scratches and bumps, braided hair, and tried to comfort little hearts that were breaking. I have reassured foster parents that they are doing everything right and have begged them to keep on trying, to keep on showing love, to keep on giving every piece of their heart to a child that is not their own. I have chased after little legs and have played board games with teenagers. I have watched as every belonging a child has is stuffed into laundry baskets and trash bags and packed into a backseat. I have watched as a little girl stared out the back window knowing she was leaving the only world she knew. I have laughed and learned and cried and watched in wonder as this system, as this child welfare system has unfolded before me. I have prayed and prayed for hours for little faces to have a better life, to get the life they deserve. I have held hands with the littlest, most precious souls out there, and every day, I am reminded that my job is not just a job, but rather a privilege. 

I have seen cruelty... but I have also seen great love. 

In those moments when I can literally feel my heart just breaking away, I struggle to hold onto the purpose of it all. So many times, I am the last person a family wants to work with or a child wants to see... they want their mother or father or grandparents or siblings, and rightfully so, but they do not want me. No child wants a caseworker. At the end of the day, no matter how "normal" we try to make it, there is nothing normal about the process of child welfare or about foster care. That fact alone makes things exhausting. 

Life as a caseworker is exhausting. 

In the beginning of training, we were asked to create posters of our lives and share timelines of things that have happened in the course of our life, both the good and the bad. I remember writing down the big things for me, like graduating college and getting my dog and the death of family members and "normal" things like that, but one thing that stuck out to me as I sat and listened to the other new workers introducing themselves, was a girl who shared her story of being in foster care herself. She shared about feeling "passed around" and "not really wanted, but not really unwanted, either." As she shared her story, I remember thinking and wondering why that was her story... why, of all the things before and after those two years when she was in foster care, would she choose to talk about those two years when she was. I didn't know her story other than from the surface, but as I have continued to work with kids in care, she always comes back to mind. 

Her story was forever changed by foster care... who she is now was altered when she was 8 years old... who she is and will be and could have been was changed... her life, her dreams, her future, forever impacted by the decisions of the adults around her. 

Why does that story, her story, impact me? Why does it stick out to me so much? 

I don't enjoy my job everyday. I don't love my job everyday. There are days when I can't even think about my job, or the kids on my caseload, or the families I work with. To be honest, there are days when I absolutely despise the child welfare system and I dream of the day when I won't have faces of kids in the back of my head to worry about... but child welfare, Children's Division, motivates me.

The girl in the training, now an adult sharing her story and helping kids like her, motivates me. For the first time in my entire life, there is something in front of me that motivates me and drives me to do better, to work harder, to be a better person, to love deeper and to hope in new things. 

To be honest, while the children motivate me daily, I am most driven by that girl in training, who unknowingly forever changed my perspective and impacted the way I work. Her story was changed, forever altered, forever scarred, forever different, by decisions adults made... and while I am more than aware that most of the children by the time I even lay eyes on them or read their names on papers have already seen trauma, I have an obligation to minimize the effect of that. 

While I don't always know my purpose in this world, at Children's Division, that child in front of me is my purpose... when that child meets me, they will have a different story from then on out, it's unavoidable... but as a caseworker, wanted or not, I can impact the moments when their lives change forever, and hopefully, it can be for the better. 

Yesterday, I sat on the floor of a tiny little room with a little girl in my lap, and as we laughed and played and talked about butterflies and how she couldn't wait for her whole family to be together, I caught myself whispering words that changed my life just a little over a year ago, as I said, "You, my dear, have a purpose." These kids have a purpose, every last one of them, and it is a privilege to watch their lives unfold. 

This job is a privilege, a privilege that is not lost on me. 

What if Jesus didn't die for you?

I tend to want things that I can't have, perhaps it's human nature, or perhaps I was just created with this attitude of "I want what I what when I want it," or as most people say, I have a sense of entitlement. That doesn't necessarily mean that I have no good characteristics or that I refuse to roll up my sleeves and work hard, it just means that I have a little bit of privilege engrained into my DNA. 

I'm not above admitting it. 

When it has come to most things in my life, like sports and school and relationships and money, I have never truly had to work for any of it. I was naturally athletic and the passion I had for the game was innate. School didn't come easy, I was never as great as my siblings who were all much more intellectually gifted than myself, but I never once wondered if I would actually graduate or if I would ever make it to college. I just had this sense of entitlement and through everything, I just assumed that it was my right to attend higher education, regardless of how well I performed. When it has come to relationships, people have always just liked me (or tolerated me) because of who my parents were or what my last name was... in school growing up, I don't even remember making friends (or carrying the ability to), I just remember having friends and for many of the people I am close with, they're close with my family so they like me by default. My people came naturally. As far as money, I have never needed anything and to that I thank my parents, who worked tirelessly to give me the best of everything and there's no doubt in my mind, that they would hand me the world if I asked. 

My life has been privileged. 

So when the idea of religion surfaces, I carry the same attitude. I was raised in a Christian home, where we might not have prayed before every meal or sacrificed goats every night, but there was an expectation that whenever the church doors were open, I was also there, sitting in the pews. I knew hymns before I could read, could recite bible stories without ever opening the bible, and understood the expectation that Jesus Christ would be my savior. 

I remember during a mission trip overseas a couple years back when I visited the country of Belize, a small country in Central America, when an older woman approached me and a group from my team and started asking questions that seemed absolutely ludicrous to me saying things like, "Do Christians really drink blood?" and "Do you really think Jesus goes into your heart?" and my personal favorite, "I head they sometimes put poison in your juice and make everyone drink it."

As an American who has always grown up around Christianity, these thoughts were something that I never took literally and it was the first time I understood the sense of entitlement that Americans have, especially myself. In my world, I know that if I ever have a serious question where I truly don't understand something, I can use a fancy thing called Google or can use my fingers to send a message within seconds to anyone wherever I choose... or heaven forbid, I could just open my mouth and ask a number of preachers or spiritual mentors in my life. Daily, I take these luxuries for granted and I always expect that when I close my eyes at night, that I will still wake up in the morning and have them at my finger tips. 

Fast forward from then to now. 

I have some really great friends in my life, who never shy away from asking tough questions or from putting me in my place when I start to let my ego get bigger than it should be. This past week, I woke up to a text from a friend who all she asked said, "What if Jesus didn't die for you?" Normally I would have taken this rather defensively, but knowing my friend is a strong woman of faith, I started to imagine what she was actually asking before replying back, "He died for everyone else except me? or are there's other He didn't die for too?"

She replied back quickly saying, "Does it matter either way? What would you do if He chose to die for everyone else, but specifically said, "Not you, Ted." 

I thought for a minute and all I could respond with was, "Well... that would be lonely. I would definitely have a really big case of FOMO."

[For the older generation, FOMO means the fear of missing out].

What if Jesus died for everyone, but specifically said, "Not you." 

In all honestly, I would feel left out... like that feeling of getting picked last to play dodgeball but on like an eternity scale. I was typically picked quickly because I was always pretty aggressive at dodgeball, in fact, my PE teacher in 7th grade said I was the reason we had to stop playing, since I broke a kid's glasses and heads were always my target... so I can't always relate to that line. However, I do have a large family and I know that feeling where you just don't always know if you belong... while I love my family and I never question their love for me, my brothers and sisters, when were all together, have always had their wives and husbands and kids around. By the time they were the age that I am now, they had already settled down and were married and making me an aunt, so sometimes when I'm sitting on the floor coloring with my niece or chasing my nephews around, this sense of jealousy rises inside of me and I get lost because a lot of the time, I am just another kid to them. I remember a couple years back during the holidays, my family was having a conversation that I was not privy to at the time, so when I walked into the room, I asked what they were talking about only to have my dad say, "This is an adult conversation." I remember feeling so hurt, even though I know in my heart of hearts he was kidding... I still felt small, as if I didn't matter, as if I didn't belong.... so I say all of that to say, I understand wanting to be part of something that you're not. 

As I thought about it more over the last couple days, I started to internalize that question, wondering if I would live my life differently or if I would just simply try to fit in and hope that no one noticed. 

Would it change who I was as a person, would I think differently, act differently, live differently? 

Would I care less about how others saw me? Would I sin publicly, having no shame, as I would already be damned to Hell? Would I sin differently? Would I lie more? Would I be self-serving, being more self-involved than I am now? Would I shy away from even more Christians, justifying my anger and hate towards them? 

Thank you Jesus, that I truly don't need to wonder about such questions as I know the truth, but yesterday, I responded back with, "Honestly, I would just try to fit in and be something I wasn't, as I think in that case, accepting the truth would be much harder than just living that lie." 

Boom. 

After I hit send, I realized the point of that question. I'm not entirely sure she ever meant for that question to be about imagining what life would be like had Jesus not died for me, because we all know (or I hope that everyone knows) that He has died for everyone, but rather to reflect on the differences between knowing the truth and living it. 

What if Jesus did die for you? What if you can accept that Jesus Christ really did come to this Earth, took all of the sins of this world, the painful, ugly, terrible sins, and died on the cross anyways? Then He did exactly what He said He would, and He rose from the dead, destroying the power of death, forever. 

That question was made for me to self-reflect, to remember the ABSOLUTE privilege it is to know the truth, and to be someone who just stops trying to fit in to this world that was not made for me and to be who I was created to be. Sometimes, I think I forget that Jesus made a sacrifice and I get all caught up in my messy chaos, that I actually sometimes get entitled, as if believing in Christ and being a Christian is my right. 

Jesus Christ is a gift, not a right.

If you know all that, would it change who you were as a person, would you think differently, act differently, live differently? 

Would you care less about how others saw you? 

Would you sin differently? 

If you actually took the time to think through the question, "What would life be like if Jesus didn't die for you," would you care more, live differently, lose your sense of entitlement, appreciate the gospel more, if the thought of having it was actually not there? 

 

The day I realized I treated Donald Trump nicer than I did my own friends...

What if I asked a question, one that is rather taboo, that provoked anger rather than thought? What if we stopped caring so much about who is running for the damn election and stopped quoting the ignorance that has flown out of the mouths of the candidates? 

No one is listening. 
No one is even paying attention. 

I ran into an old friend a few weeks ago, one who is a main character in most of the memories I have of high school, who did life with me from third grade to graduation... but for no real reason, a friend that I sadly just stopped making a priority once I moved onto MU. We talked for a minute but to be honest, I don't know a word either one of us said... 

Why?

The whole time we talked, the only thing running through my mind was a Facebook post I had seen before Thanksgiving of last year of an adorable pregnancy announcement with an "... a little turkey coming soon," written as the caption. 

Standing there, next to my old friend who should be close to 7 months pregnant based off something I scrolled across and "liked" on Facebook, I realized how unattached I am from the people around me. Confused as to why she wasn't yet showing and taken back by the fact that she didn't mention it, I went scrolling back through her page, trying to see if I remembered wrong. 

I hadn't. It was there. 

But three weeks later, while I was probably preoccupied with my own chaos and Christmas excitement, I missed a post where she announced that her and her husband had miscarried. 

They lost their child and I didn't know. 

How can I even claim to be her friend when I am too self-absorbed to even know that one of the most exciting times in her life ended shortly after it began? How did six months pass after the tragic situation before I even took a moment to care? 

I have become so unattached from the world around me, from the real people behind those accounts and profile pictures that I don't even know their stories and lives anymore. 

Last week, I read a terrible update about a classmate of mine from high school who passed away. While I have known since I was young that this guy had a lot of demons to fight, I never cared in the six years post high school to even acknowledge his existence until I heard of his death. 

What does that say of me? my character? my values, my beliefs, my life? me? 

Why didn't I care before his death? Why didn't I send a text to my friend who just lost her mother? Why did I ignore the post about the friend with her sick little boy? Why didn't I do more than just comment, "Praying," on an update when someone asked for prayers? 

Can't we do more for the people around us, those people on our friend's lists, than just simply liking a photo or commenting on an update? Can't we do more, as people, to show that we care, that we're here, that we see, that we're invested?

I shouldn't know more about a damn primary or about a candidate's family than I do about the one's I have friended who allow me into their lives that they choose to share. I read more articles and interact more with Siri than with real people... but yet, I claim to have a thousand friends. 

I follow a thousand people... but yet, I have no idea what even a fraction of those are facing... what trials they're enduring or heartbreak they're feeling. However, I could tell you exactly how angry Donald Trump is based off his tweets about a rally that didn't happen... or I could tell you exactly how Hillary feels regarding NASA's habit of discrimination. 

Why is this a problem?

It's a problem because I never claimed to be either one of their friends.

... but I have cared more about their lives than I have about the ones in front of my computer screen. But yet, I keep asking, "What's wrong with these candidates?" when really, I should be asking myself, "What's wrong with you?" 

Driven by hate, fueled by anger. Meet the real, Tedi Ellis.

She looked at me, square in the face, with this look of curiosity in her eyes, not judgement or anything of that sort, but pure curiosity... as if she would pull the truth straight from my heart with her eyes. As she asked me the question that I always feared the most, I stared down at my fingers, as I typically did when things got tougher than I dared to face...

"Tedi, can I ask you something?"

I nodded my head, afraid to even acknowledge her, as if my heart would break right open... right there in the middle of the room. I have never been one to reach deep down and willingly allow vulnerability to flow without abandon. "Ask," I said.

"Tedi," Her words were kind, firm but straight, "Be honest with me and yourself, otherwise you'll walk out this door more confused than when you walked in."

I nodded again.

"At what cost, will you pursue this?"

Defensively, my head snapped up, my tongue angrily searching for the words in my mind to convince her that I was driven... that I was passionate enough to make my dreams come true. "You're just like everyone else now; You're going to try to talk me out of it. I don't care what you think. I know, in my heart, that I am capable of making this successful. I know I can do it." The same words I have spoken over and over and over again throughout the last couple months, trying my hardest to convince the world that I am capable of creating a future that I am proud of.

She looked at me with those eyes again, full of curiosity and wonder, as if she was trying to decide what secret I was holding onto. Pleading with her, I simply whispered, "I know I could do it," hoping with everything inside of me that she would just drop the subject.

"Tedi, the question I want to ask is the last one I would ever want to ask you... but I cannot let you walk away and not ask. BUT, I am terrified that you will walk away from me..." I lifted my head to stare back at her as a little smirk stretched across her face, "or punch me in the face..." she whispered.

"Just say what you want. I'm not going to hit you."

"I love you, I adore you, Tedi... you know that. I would do anything for you and I will still support any choice you make."

I knew that... and I trusted her thoughts, knowing she truly did believe in me and want what was best for me. This woman has fearlessly taken me by the hand, dragging me along on most days than not, encouraging me, teaching me, leading me closer and closer... deeper and deeper into a relationship with Christ. She has loved me when I haven't been very lovable... showed me grace as I have clumsily learned to walk with Christ... investing in me and leading me... However, she did have a habit of asking the questions I didn't want to answer.

"Just ask."

As if she didn't even hesitate, she stared back, locking eyes with me as she fearlessly asked, 

"Who do you love more? [This... ] or Jesus?"

I've never been in a stranger position. It was as if my mind couldn't keep up with my heart, as if the two were in some great battle against the other... while I searched for the answer, the words I knew were right crept up my throat, but died on my tongue. As if in that moment, I finally saw the difference between the things I was always taught and the things I believed.

Do I love Jesus? Obviously. 
... but in this moment, I finally came face to face with my heart.

I have spent hours planning, thinking, considering... I have convinced family and friends to support my dreams... Questions rolled through my mind as I furiously searched for an answer, some kind of meaning, some kind of thought to throw back at her as if that would convince her of my drive to be successful,

Does God even see me? 

Does He hear me? 

Why would He let them do that to me? 

Why won't He let me have what I want most?

Why won't He give [This] to me?

But while I wanted [This] so badly to prove my worth... to create this fancy future... to somehow prove everyone wrong... I realized a simple problem. 

I wanted this for me. I was putting God into a situation, begging for mercy and grace, pleading with him for the answer I so desperately wanted... asking for something I thought I was entitled to, but yet, through the words of my dear friend,  I have come to understand that I did not deserve. I was willing to put [This] before Jesus... and as ashamed as I am to admit, I was more willing to say, "Yes," to [This] than I was to Christ.

I allowed myself to love something more than Him...
What does that say of me... my character... my choices... me? 

Ashamed. Worthless. Greedy. Sinful. Reckless. Hopeless. 
How could he even love me after all this?

I remember the day I was "terminated" as if it was yesterday... that fancy word for fired. I remember the feeling of hopelessness... as if this job that I loved somehow measured my worth and potential. I remember the things they said about me, all of the lies came flooding back and hit me, sitting in the middle of the room.

"It isn't fair," I whispered, choking back tears, "I didn't deserve that." She reached for my hand, but I pulled it back...

"How could they do that to me?"

It's a question I have asked myself on a daily basis, begging for answers, desperately seeking the truth.

Who do I love most? The hesitation told my answer for me... which also gave me the answer I had so long been searching for.

I pulled my boots up and I walked out of the room... with a heavy heart and broken dreams and plans destroyed... my future uncertain.

This is me choosing to walk away from the one thing I thought would give me all the answers... with my eyes focused completely on the one who gave me life. I love Jesus and in the end, it is HIS name I choose... not some fancy future with big houses and big dreams or a business I could only dream of.

I'll take Jesus over any of that any day of the week.
But truthfully, my purpose in this pursuit was not only to fulfill my future and secure it with whatever means necessary... but it was driven by hate for the people who sent my entire world crumbling and fueled by the anger I held inside.

This isn't me giving up on my dreams... or walking away... or throwing in the towel... it is me, simply saying that the timing is wrong and that my faith needs more work right now than my future does. As soon as my heart is in the right place and I have a certain "Yes," then I will pursue [This] again. As painful as this may be, I am confident that this answer is the right one.

With tears streaming down my face, a thousand questions running through my mind, I ended my prayer for guidance with a simple phrase that gave me a completely different meaning this time,

"It isn't fair," I whispered, choking back tears, "I didn't deserve you." 

I am so undeserving of His great love. 

Hello, Life Crisis... We meet again.

I called my sister crying yesterday... and honestly, you could ask us both and even my sister would tell you that I don't think either one of us knew exactly the reason for those tears.

Yesterday was hard. Today was worse. Hello, Life Crisis #1793.

I've decided that since I've consistently had a significant life crisis moment every year since I started college that I needed to start numbering them. This year alone (and it's only February), I think I've had five. Maybe I'll start naming them like the hurricanes, so we know more about the life crisis and the devastation it leaves behind like, "Oh that one... that was a big one, that was Life Crisis Joseph." or "No, no... that was a smaller one, that was when we thought it was going to be Life Crisis Sally but really, it just turned out to be Tropical Storm Fred instead." 

I gave myself a pep talk for over 5 hours today... just to get out of bed to walk to the kitchen to get food. I settled on ice cream and walked back to my bed, watched Netflix, and cried. I crawled out from under the covers two hours later and walked back to the kitchen to eat crackers which I cried over because they weren't salty enough and walked back to bed. I think I am starting to realize the similarities between me and the common five year old, if they were left unattended to raise themselves. 

Sleep. Ice cream. Movies. Cry. 
I don't want anyone to be jealous, but I'm living the life... and I am completely unhappy. 

I have never been --and will never be-- suicidal. I know the pain and cost associated with such a choice... but there are days (like today) when I have to question the purpose and meaning to life. Somewhere, somehow, at sometime... I just want to know that this life, that this thing, that this is worth it. 

Who am I?
What do I want out of life?
What do I believe in?
Where did "Tedi" go?

I used to have this spark-- this zest for life. I was passionate and wild and free... I had a voice and I used it to say anything and everything I wanted... I was so sure of myself and confident and I loved with everything I had. I was weird and crazy and I didn't care what anyone thought. I existed in my own world, where I genuinely believed I could be anything and everything and I had dreams and plans and goals... and then life happened and I stopped believing, I stopped fully living and I just started being and becoming what I thought everyone wanted and then I just started trying to survive and get through... and then somewhere, somehow I just stopped. My world stopped. I just let it pass me by and consume me and overwhelm me and then I got here, where I am now. 

I am burnt out... unbelievably burnt out with the heartache of life. 

Right before I graduated from high school, one of my teachers wrote me a post-it that said, "You are the "tediest" of all the Ellis students I have taught. Please stay that way and conquer the world, Theodore." When did I stop being the "tediest?" Take me back. I still want to conquer the world. I still want to be that person... I still want to find her and be her and live her life. I still have that note... but I can't find that "Tedi" and it is killing me. 

Is this adulthood? Is this what growing up looks like?
... because if it is, I didn't sign up for this. 

It's strange what they teach you in college... ways to cope and relieve stress and function and all about self-care to prevent burn out in your careers, but they don't teach you anything about what to do when it's life that you're burned out with, tired of, stressed out with, overwhelmed. When you're burned out with a job, you quit or you transfer or you change professions, but what do you do when you're burnt out with life?

How do I get back to believing that life will be everything I thought it could be?

Que the dramatics, but life is much harder than I thought it would be. 

I want to go back to being five years old and coloring books and juice boxes and peanut- free signs... and that time, back a long time ago, when I was actually, completely and utterly happy. 

"Are you even Christian anymore?"

In my own opinion, my experience as a christian growing up was that faith was defined by actions… if I acted more "christianly" or "christian enough" than my heart had to be right with God. If I showed up on Sundays and sat through pointless lessons on things I didn't even remotely care about than absolutely I was walking the walk and living out my faith in a real way… excuse my french when I absolutely say if that is the way we are judging the point of christianity and relationship, then it is bull. If anyone would have sat down with me at sixteen years old, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen… and so on, they would have seen how far off and how misaligned my "heart" was with my creator. I knew of God, but I didn't KNOW God. 

I know of Justin Bieber… Adele… Kim Kardashian… Lady Gaga… or my personal favorite, I know of Derek Shepherd. I can tell you that before any surgery, Derek would say, "It's a great day to save lives!" or that Adele must have called a thousand times but you never seem to be home… I know that for whatever reason Kim has the worst luck with pregnancies while her sister Kourtney claims pregnancy was the best experience. I know all of these things about these people that don't have any idea who I am or who even remotely care to know my name… I know OF these people, but they wouldn't have my number saved in their iPhones (or in Kim's case, her blackberry) and they wouldn't pick up if I called. 

The same went for God… I knew of God just like I knew of these people. I knew he apparently created the world in seven days, flooded the world, caught bushes on fire, and created a son with a virgin who would eventually come to save the world. I guess you could say that I knew of Jesus too… the apparently perfect man who would save the world and die on a cross, perform hundreds of miracles, make the blind see and the sick healed… but I didn't KNOW either one of them and I didn't care to. If we want to bring this to a 21st century problem, I didn't have their numbers in my phone and I wouldn't have picked up had they called. 

I don't exactly know at what point this entire thinking shifted for me… I don't know when God became real and this idea of him caring about me settled in and took root in my life, but I know it's there. I know things have changed in the last year and that somehow I can recognize a need for God in my life and how every day I have to choose the relationship aspect of Christianity and to not get caught up in the legalistic side. I know that daily I have to choose to love… 

I say all of that with a warning that what I write next is probably not the most loving example to portray, but sometimes when others want to question my walk and my faith and judge me on things you know nothing about, for lack of a better term, I get my panties in a twist. 

I ran into an old friend that I had met back during my first year or so at Mizzou and while she was more than aware that I was not walking with Christ as an undergrad, she was always supportive, always genuine, and typically respected the views I held. While we chatted about each other's lives since we had last seen (or heard) from each other, we sat on the ledge outside and she asked me questions about, "Are you still going to church?" or "How is your walk going?" or "How is God working in your life?" The typical cheesy questions Christians ask each other with straight faces before replying with a cheesy answer that doesn't even scratch the surface. Honestly, I thought these questions was her way of genuinely caring about me and my relationship with Christ. We talked about things that were going on in both of our lives (while she smoked a cigarette) and before leaving, she asked for my email and said that she had recently read an article that she wanted me to look into. I tend to be a junkie when it comes to popular news articles and journals, so I willingly put it in her phone and we went our separate ways, only half expecting to hear from her again in the next five years. 

Last night, while I was in class, I got an email with the subject, "Are you even Christian anymore?" with an article attached with the main premise claiming that "Christian girls with class should not be prancing around in skin tight pants made for yoga." Reading this article with a straight face has got to be one of the hardest moments of my entire life… As I read, "Your body is the temple…" my mind immediately raced back to watching this friend light up the other end of the cigarette hanging out of her mouth. ARE YOU JOKING ME? I never mentioned it. I didn't care to. I didn't judge her and it never even occurred to me that her own faith may be lacking because she is a smoker. It never even crossed my mind… it absolutely blows my mind and frustrates my soul that she noticed the fact that I was wearing yoga pants while I hardly even noticed (and was certainly not bothered) that she was smoking. So my question to not just my friend but to the world is this:

Why do the clothes I choose to wear effect the way people see me as a Christian?

If we're being honest here, this isn't the first time I read this article and definitely not the first time I have ever had a conversation about yoga pants with church people… this article, which I will admit is very well written and makes valid points (especially around modesty). But if we're looking at my heart and my relationship with Christ, how does wearing yoga pants make me any less of a Christian than the person next to me? I wear yoga pants because I want to… not because it ever crosses my mind that when I put them on and walk around campus or the grocery store that some guy is going to be staring at my ass (Yes, I said ass… and yes, I am a Christian. I refuse to sugar coat this… if you want to insinuate that my walk with Christ is less than it should be because of a pair of pants I chose to wear, then I will say that word we're all thinking). 

I am a Christian and I wear yoga pants… because I don't believe either one affects the other. I mean for goodness sake, last month, Christians were all upset and outraged over a business who chose a red cup for the holiday season. A cup. Why did we become so sensitive and can it stop now? 

In many ways, I am glad that I am strong enough in my faith that the comments others make or don't make really have no impact on my walk with Christ. I know where my heart is… and let's be real, 98% of the time when I choose to slip on a pair of yoga pants, it's after a long night of cramming for an exam with my hair tied in a bun and a sweatshirt. I don't wear yoga pants typically to look cute (I usually look homeless), I wear them because they're pants and I almost don't trust those who oppose them. 

If you want to get mad at me, get mad at me that I answered the door without any pants on last month… at least I got dressed yesterday. All jokes aside, my faith is the most important aspect of my life and I will defend it… but not by tearing a part (and sending passive emails) to anyone who wears an outfit that is not "Christian enough." This isn't biblical… and it isn't okay. 

I don't wear yoga pants to church on Sundays (not that I even think that matters), but had I not known my creator like I do today, that email would have sent a very loud message that the Christian faith doesn't have room for anyone that was less than perfect. It would have told a girl, before any conversation that identified where her heart was, that she was simply not welcome based on their appearance. That will never be okay in my world. We're talking yoga pants, not drugs, not cigarettes, not alcohol… we're talking about pants, people. Jesus Christ made the ultimate sacrifice and it is much too high of a price for you to choose who is worthy enough of that salvation. He gave his life… for you, for me, for the girl wearing yoga pants, for the girl smoking a cigarette… and for that guy who looks at my ass. He gave his life for all of us, regardless of what our sin may be… or the clothes we wear… or the person we have become. 

If you think differently than me, by all means… I will still respect you. Do me a favor and respect me as well (and the choice I will continue to make to wear yoga pants). It's nearly 2016, can we stop being overly sensitive and get back to being human?

Rant over. 

Somedays I am NOT proud to be a MIZZOU tiger...

Sometimes I hear things that make my skin crawl… where I can't even comprehend the lack of human compassion and understanding for social issues. I am more than aware of my privilege by my skin color alone… and I have always acknowledged that fact when given the opportunity to do so. I am not black, but does that really mean I can't care about ending racism and bigotry just as much as those who are?

I will never claim to understand how it feels to feel outcasted and alone based off of the color of my skin. I will never claim to truly understand the impact of the "n-word," or to know exactly the weight of prejudice or racist comments directed at me. I will never know how it feels to be black in a world that is not inclusive and representative of the potential of my race. 

… but I want to listen and understand and try to relate. I want to know how it affects YOU and how I can use my privilege to help YOU feel more inclusive, more empowered, strengthened, and heard. I want to hold your hand, if you will let me, and walk beside YOU as YOU use your voice to change things that should not be acceptable and should not be tolerated any longer. 

Acknowledging this is not any attempt at all to downplay the choices Jonathan Butler has made or the #MizzouHungerStrike or the supporters of #ConcernedStudent1950. I am simply saying this because I do not understand, I just do not understand. I do not have any idea what kind of thought process goes into making a decision like this, a decision that says remove this man from his position or I will starve myself and I am prepared to die. With that being said, I also do not know what goes into the thought process that says, I am okay with calling this black man the n-word or ignoring racism on a campus where it is more than evident.

I think, for me, I also have to acknowledge that I do not know because I was ignorant to the real issues and fell victim to believing that racism was in the past. I knew of racism, but I didn't know racism. I didn't believe it existed in terms of my world or context, but it does. It is real and alive and I know there is a long history of valuing white lives over black… but with the recent events that happened around Mizzou and throughout this hunger strike, it is that much more apparent that unless change comes, our future generation and the future of our university is damned. 

Why do good men have to die for good causes? It's a haunting question. Terrifying, actually. Do good men have to die in order to make any good change? Do good men have to take drastic measures to be heard and understood? Does Jonathan Butler have to be another man on a long list of those who lost their lives trying to do good in a world where so much is wrong? 

I honestly do not know what to think of everything going on at Mizzou right now. I know the actions of many of the students on our campus have not made me proud to be a Tiger… or to call Mizzou my home. I do not know the weight of making such a final decision to end my life for the purpose of advancing awareness around a specific issue… I don't know what that must be like. My heart is sad that this was a choice that had to be made but even more so, that another young black man with a bright future could potentially die. However, I also applaud his determination, strength, and courage to stand up against an entire school system, demand a change, and fight for a better future for Mizzou. 

"One person can't do everything… but everyone can do something." 

I'm conflicted when I say, "I hope it works." While I hope real change happens before his life is lost, I also know that a lot of change happens far too late. Jonathan Butler, I applaud you. I support you. You are inspiring. Your courage is something many, including myself, severely lack. I would stand with you, if you would let me… using our voices to change and end racism not just at Mizzou, but everywhere…

I only wish that together, white and black, that we could find another way that did not include Jonathan Butler losing his life. 

You can do better, Mizzou. 

To read more about #MizzouHungerStrike or #ConcernedStudent1950:

http://mic.com/articles/127914/why-a-black-student-is-going-on-hunger-strike-to-get-a-missouri-college-president-fired

http://blavity.com/mizzouhungerstrike-is-what-happens-when-universities-disregard-black-lives/

http://www.themaneater.com/stories/2015/11/3/students-camp-out-support-mizzouhungerstrike/

http://www.stlamerican.com/news/local_news/article_94ee3724-835c-11e5-b868-170e594b3f4d.html

http://www.columbiamissourian.com/news/higher_education/student-activists-camp-out-to-protest-wolfe-and-support-hunger/article_b204b8b4-81dc-11e5-a4a0-cb305bb09bed.html