Some Necessary Graditude

To Jenny, thank you for being constant. Thank you for being here every day, through the ugliness and the beauty. You’ve seen the parts of my heart that are very ugly, the threads of my inner workings that don’t yet have the glint of truth or redemption in them. You’ve heard some secrets and sins and you know what wakes me up at 2am. You’re the friend I don’t have to be careful around, the friend who is not afraid of my messiness, the friend who runs toward my heart and not away.

I don’t have to worry about what you’ll think of me when you hear my craziness. You’ve heard it all. You’re not afraid. And I want you to know that because of you, I am not afraid either, and I’m facing all my imperfection and messiness with wide eyes. Because of you I believe God is enough for me. Because of you I believe God sits with us through our tears, gives us lots of small notes and gifts, and encourages our new adventures – because He's done it through you.

To Kelsey, thank you for challenging me to believe God’s healing goes that far. Thank you for getting a text message and coming to my apartment 3 seconds later that one day. Thank you for calling me your twin and enjoying laying on the floor with me, listening to Dave Barnes. Thank you for reminding me writing is good and right, for your characteristically quiet passion, for listening more than you speak, and seeing people’s hearts clearly. You’ve reminded me God’s calling on our lives is high, and there are things we must let go of if we hope to grasp the best stuff. You’ve showed me there’s a difference between “better” and “best,” that being girly and glittery is not incompatible with mature Godliness (right?), and that Hebrew is best studied with the Avett Brothers playing.

Your mix cds are the soundtracks of summer, of rainy days, of Nashville drives, of healing in 2013. Those songs have seen me work out a lot of anger, a lot of sadness and loneliness, and they’ve seen me decide to remember God’s grace every day. I’m grateful for how you never get tired of my issues, and how we stay in touch no matter what state we’re in, and I’m especially grateful you’re the friend I can cry with in Chuy’s as we talk about our hearts in the third person. I know a lot of things about God because of you I never would’ve seen another way. Thank you.

To Sarah, thank you for being present in the most memorable moments of bittersweet crisis in my life. One of which was on a hill on the pavement. Thanks for following me that night, for listening to the wind of God with me there, for knowing my heart like you do. Thank you for bringing me flowers and gluten free soup when I have the flu, for living with me that one time, for never giving up on me even when we fight about stupid things like boys. Thank you for understanding Russia even when you can’t understand Russia, and for being the one who helps me come back every fall. Thank you for being my first Belmont friend and for sticking it out with me, even through that time when I said I was going to transfer. I’m glad we had that day in the belltower, that day in the weird hallway between Wright and Maddox, and that day we almost died sledding down Bernard in the middle of the night.

I’m scared of graduating when I think about us, because I know we are meant for great things that will take us around the world at various times, and we won’t always be in Nashville together. I hope before we leave we can get on the roof of Fidelity and reminisce about Dr. Byrd and 8am Greek. Thank you for the memories, and for thinking I’m cooler than I am. Thank you for patiently waiting for my freshman-Jordan theology to improve, and for struggling with me through this thing called religion majoring. I love you.

To Dad, thank you for first teaching me theology in those early days, driving around Spring Hill in the orange truck on Saturdays. My passion for it started back then. Thank you for teaching me to kick a soccer ball better, for coming to T-ball games, for buying me running shoes. Thank you for always telling me my ideas were great, even when they involved being an astrophysicist, getting a puppy, or rescuing a bunch of tadpoles from a drying puddle. Thank you for exposing me to motorcycles, gun safety, driving in snow, and checking my tire pressure. Thank you for encouraging my love of adrenaline and being the kind of dad who runs 13 miles with me at a time. I’m glad you’re my coach in approximately 6 sports, still take care of my childhood pet, and debate current events with me often.

Thanks for keeping me running no matter what’s going on in life. Thanks for fixing my car for me and building me custom road bikes. Thanks for being the reason I started athletics, studying theology, and being famous at the Downtown Y. I’m glad we’re friends.

To Mom, thank you for being wisdom incarnate in my life. You know how to let me be independent and how to reel me back in. You put up with my health food obsessions, low-income career path, and insistence on going to dangerous countries 1.3 times per year on average. Thanks for not being mad at me for getting a kitten impulsively even though you sneeze when you hug me sometimes. Thanks for taking me to Vanderbilt constantly back when I was always sick, for going on college visits with me, and for taking mornings off when I come home so we can go to coffee. Thank you for being the kind of mom who loves Jesus and talks about it. Thanks for making traditions for us, for teaching me every subject in middle school, and for letting me practice piano and violin (loudly) for so many years. Thank you for having four kids so I can have three best friends for life. Thank you for taking us to the beach, staying strong when life is hard, and encouraging our passions every day.

Thanks for making your kids your best adventure in life, and for giving your family your first and best. You reflect the nurturing character of God and speak His wisdom to me in every big decision I make. You know me better than I know myself because you knew me before I was born. Just you and God knew me then, you know. So thank you.