Unclenched fists.

Wow. It's been a minute. Life kinda got wild for a bit.

I'm not one to use overly spiritual verbage when talking about my faith or my daily behavior as it relates to Jesus. It's always made me uncomfortable to be expressive about such things...faith is very private for me unless we're talking about advocating for those who have been pushed aside in the Church. With that being said, I have some words to say that I've been holding close to my heart for a long, long time.

If life events had a waveform, 2018 would be mostly small blips of sound and 2019 would be full of spiking audio.

A couple years ago, I started having regular conversations with Jesus about fear and questions I kept buried deep in my soul. I'm not talking formal prayer conversations, because at the time, that kind of spiritual practice wasn't super easy for me. No, I mean the running dialogue in the back of my mind that kept saying, "Okay, now what? I'm acknowledging what I see in front of me and I don't know what to do with any of it." The small blips of sound in a vast timeline of muted audio were faintly whispered answers that somehow still filled my head with a fully mastered song.

And then the fear began to fade into the background of that running dialogue, and gradually it was replaced by confidence and love. As a person of faith, getting to a place where you have no doubt that you're leaning into an identity that Jesus has led you towards is exhilarating. In 2019, I charged into writing about finding that identity, and the volume of my experiences and feelings mostly drowned out the previous insecurities I harbored. Every time I shouted words of hope onto a virtual page, though, I knew there was still so much I could say, if I only felt comfortable doing so.

I'm not here today to tell you that this has changed. I'm still standing in a place of uncertainty that I could just talk about what that part of my story looked like, even now that I am looking at much of it in the past tense. Parts of the last two years will always remain absent from this space...it just isn't necessary. Still, I let go of some people and some significant trauma near the beginning of this year and that carries a great deal of weight in my story.

I've both widened my circle of trusted friends and narrowed it. A year ago, I began building relationships with my ReNew friends and allowing some other relationships to drop. As summer approached, I continued to take steps back and unclench fists that had been white knuckling some connections for years. And then fall arrived, bringing new Internet friendships at the same time as particular face to face conversations came roaring in to change my life forever. So I leaned into trusting new people as I said goodbye to others, and I have to tell you, friends, it brought a great deal of joy. My palms may have nail marks still, but the ache is fading.

There is no doubt in my mind whatsoever that I am the person Jesus made me to be. The word "identity" gets tossed around a lot (heck, I use it often myself), but truly, friends, I've never been more at peace with who I am than right now. As I lean more and more into advocating for inclusion and kindness, I find my place to be even more obvious within the Church and my own community. I'll shout it from the top of a hill and whisper it in the quietest corner: I love Jesus and I love people. There is room for every person. My place in the world is filled with intentional purpose, and that purpose is to see those who feel invisible.

Jesus' love is so obvious in my life. My desire to love and serve the people around me has never been stronger. I'm embracing what it means to be honest and authentic as I love with that earnest determination and it's beautiful.

Particular people in my life deserve to be acknowledged for their love and support over these past couple of years. Not to mention, I think we could use some encouraging words right now, huh?

To my family at ReNew: your safety and your enthusiasm have often been the main thing that has kept me going. I miss you so much and I'm so thankful we continue to be connected virtually. Specifically, shout out to Emily and Aaron for listening and just being present in my life during a wild ride of a year, and to my small group for believing I'm capable of leadership, even when I get nervous about it. Let's keep being the best kind of church family.

To sib sibs: you know what you've done to protect me and love me. You make me strong. I miss your hugs so much it hurts, Nat. Can't wait for the return of Sunday lunch burgers and fries. I don't have to say much here because you can fill it all in already.

To my college friends who still read my words and check in on me: holy heck, what a journey you have followed, right? You're all wonderful. Thank you.

To the friends I have only recently reconnected with from late childhood: how did we get here? You know who you are. Here's to more snarky messages in the group chat and late night drunken Jackbox games in video chat that turn into theological discussions. I love you all very much.

To my Discord friends: WOW. No one else will probably understand how much you mean to me. You were the first friends I could be entirely my honest self with from the beginning, and that will always be incredibly beautiful and special to me. You're the ones who send me pictures of your angelic pets and laugh at my bad Photoshop projects and stay up until 3 a.m. with me just to listen to my theological rants. Thanks for liking my dumb tweets and DMing me sappy words all the time. Thank you for being the main people who checked in on me during a really significant time in my life. Shout out to Mike and Zoja Falzone, right? I love you all so frickin' much.

Check in on each other, friends. Drink lots of water. Practice social distancing. Value science and empathy over echo chambers. Position your cameras above your nose level. Save up your hugs for post-isolation times. Sing a lot.

Love ya, babes. Talk to you soon.