A Little Bit Brave

Dear Competitor, You don’t know me, but I know you. I know the debate boxes you pull across this windy campus. I know the heels that rub blisters into your pinkie toes and the speeches you deliver to the wall. I know the nerves and joy and community. It’s been two years since I was you. I competed at my last tournament in March of 2017, my hands shaking and heart ready to leave behind the sport. I know that’s hard to hear when it’s something you love so much. I hope you won’t lose that love. This sport you participate in is fantastic. But be careful. Though I’m only a bit older than you, I hope you hear this advice. Be grateful. Thank first your parents, who gladly take you around the state and country to do what you love because they love you. Thank your coaches, who take the incredible potential within you and refine it into skills that you’ll always use. Thank your friends. This is such a special, strange place to make friends. Your similarities have brought you ...

Perfectionist is not a word I would have used to describe myself. Maybe that’s what should’ve told me that was exactly what I was. You see, I knew that I wasn’t called or supposed or able to be perfect. So, I denied that that was what I was striving for. I wanted excellence in everything, I wanted to make the most of my college education, I wanted to have it all in its exact place. Perfection is easy when you can hide, when you can locate the nearest exit. If you say just the right thing, you can lie while telling the truth. At the very least, you can talk about hard parts, the weak spots, and the pain in a way that makes it seem like you’re walking out of it and don’t need any help. I didn’t want to be weak . I spent this semester feeling weaker than ever. I kept writing fiction and poetry because it’s easier to hide behind the words of a character, easier to hide behind metaphor than actually say concrete words for myself. In real life, I mumbled because I couldn’t believe...

A few weeks ago, I climbed up a mountain. Okay, so it wasn't a technical "mountain," and it wasn't exactly "climbing," but it felt close enough. We hiked up a hill. It was the last day of our mission trip to Ireland. For the previous five days, we had spent our time and energy playing with and loving kids who desperately needed it. I got weird looks from people when I told them I was going to Ireland for a mission trip--isn't Ireland already a mostly Christian country? According to statistics and the teaching in the schools, yes. Ireland is mostly Catholic/Christian. But going there, I saw people, especially the children I spent time with, dry and in need of Jesus' real grace and truth. On Saturday night, after the "Big Day Out" put on by the church we partnered with, our trip leader Matthew told us he, and anyone else who wanted to come, was going to get up and walk up this hill we had seen on the beach. To hike up the m...

This is my last semester of high school. Last year, I was desperate to get out of high school. My junior year was, in a word, terrible. There were good moments. It got better towards the end. But I was miserable for a significant portion of my 11th grade year. My sophomore year, I saw my high school career ending a whole lot differently. I imaged a graduation ceremony with my friends, staying in touch and even as close friends with several of my current high school friends. Now, I'm not good friends with most of the people I was friends with that year. Six months ago looks much different than right now. I had no idea what the semester would look like. I didn't know who my friends would be, what dual credit classes I would take, or when I would get my license. I didn't know I would get a smart phone, a job, and a two hour drive to debate club. I had no vision for the rest of the year or the next. I spent the fall semester figuring things out. I found myse...

We've all heard it said that "home is where the heart is." In my loneliest moments, crying on my bathroom floor, the cry of my heart has been I want to go home.  It didn't matter where I was. It didn't have much to do with who was with me. I wanted to feel home. There's more to home than where our heart is. Our heart can be anywhere. I know my heart has been with the wrong people before. It's been focused on the wrong things before. My heart has been wrong before. My heart is wrong a lot. Our hearts are fickle. They change so often, especially as teenagers. We think we know what we're doing, we think we know what we want. But things change and suddenly what we thought we knew is gone; what we wanted is broken. In the last year I feel like I've watched person after person get exactly what I wanted. It's broken my heart again and again. If our home is where our heart is, our home is on fragile ground. When I started writing this, I wa...

Sixteen was waking up feeling like I could take on the world. Sixteen was dreaming about the future that I was sure would happen. Sixteen was loosing that future and finding a better one. Sixteen was taking one step forward. Sixteen was watching Youtube videos and thinking "I could do that." Sixteen was listening to Tori Kelly. Sixteen was living my dream of seeing Tori Kelly live. Sixteen was loosing friends. Sixteen was finding better friends. Sixteen was falling on my knees because I had nowhere else to go. Sixteen was crying and hurt. And laughter and mercy. Sixteen was finding genuine confidence. Sixteen was skater skirts and flower crowns. Sixteen was heartbreak. Sixteen was joy anyway. Sixteen was a little bit brave. Seventeen is a mystery. I can't wait to see what it holds.

We laughed until our sides hurt and tears came to our eyes. At this point, we weren't even laughing about the original joke. After ten minutes, it was a miracle we even had breath left. And yet we kept going. And that was just ten minutes out of a six day trip. I almost didn't go to that tournament. My heart was burning from a deep rejection. I was going through the motions, wishing for winter's months to come to an end. Spring felt decades away. I wished I were graduating this year instead of next. I wished I could start over with an entirely new group of people. I wished for the hurt to go away. But things hardly ever go as I wish them to. My fragile glass heart was broken, and the shards cut my soul. I held onto hope, but that hope was just a thread that I clutched as I walked in the dark, looking for a way out. When I deal with things, I deal with things on my own. Much of the time, this is stupid. Closing yourself off to Youtube videos and books isn't actuall...

I denied it at the beginning of this year. I didn't want to believe it. But now that it's April, I can't get away from it. You're graduating. You're done. You're going off to college and leaving behind the ridiculousness of high school. Remember when we thought this day would never come? The days of saying, "psh, I don't need to worry about college because that is literally forever away," were replaced with days of saying "omigosh college applications essays SAT ACT why didn't I do this when I was a sophomore???" Suddenly you had to worry about senior pictures and graduation parties and senior trips and senior prom and being old and all that other senior stuff. And you didn't even get cheaper pancakes at IHOP. When I think back four years, to when you were a freshman and I was in 8th grade (the difference didn't matter because we were homeschooled), it's such a different picture from the one I see when I open my eyes. ...

Whenever the subject of broken families is brought up at my youth group, I get overwhelmed. I go to two youth groups, and within both of those I know that there are students there my age whose parents are divorced or split up. I can't imagine the way that feels, the hurt that brings. But I know that too many people are in the same situation. Whenever I think too long about the hurts the people in my life are experiencing on a daily basis, I get overwhelmed. At church, at youth, at speech and debate. We walk around, acting like we're 'all right.' We carry shields so others don't see the struggle. No matter what's going on. No matter how bad it hurts. It seems safer to hold up the shields than face rejection and judgement. Sometimes I start researching. I start researching the crappy things in the world that are accepted in the mainstream. Abortion. Pornography. Sometimes I just come across crap. Objectification. Hatred. There's so much crap in the wor...

When, on popular TV, they show an abortion, saying "here, try this out, it'll make your life better." When they say to us that we can be as promiscuous as can be because that will give us freedom When, in every clothing store, the skirts get higher and the shirts get lower. When, with magazines and blockbuster movies, they tell me what I'm worth. When they say it doesn't matter what I wear, because I'm not the one responsible for wandering eyes. When they tell me dressing modestly means I'm shaming someone else. When, with catchy slogans and campaign promises, they fight against the 'war on women.' When those who flaunt their bodies and shout their abortions are lauded across social media... I am not a feminist. There's no escaping the propaganda that speaks to women, telling them to defy the limits that have been put on us. Wear whatever you want, demand equal pay, equal rights, equal jobs, have sex whenever you want with who...

Here we are, on the last day of the year. We'll pull apart party poppers (say that three times fast), drink sparkling grape juice, make resolutions we sort of intend to keep, and make a big deal out of everything because "it's the first of this year!" And then there are those people who are always like, "remember last year, when..." and then go on to describe something that happened five minutes ago (okay I confess that person is me). I hope you had a good year, even if was a hard one. In some ways, I think the hard years are the best years. They're the ones that help us grow, that make us better.  For me, this has been a long year. On the outside, they don't look too different. but everything feels so different than they did twelve months ago. I'm ready for this year to be over. It's kind of like Christmas. It's great and wonderful, but only for a limited amount of time. If Christmas lasted any longer than it does, it w...

|| "Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring." Proverbs 27:1 || Nothing this year went how I expected it to. For instance, I did not expect "man buns" to become a big thing (unfortunately they did). Or for people to demand that I watch them do a stupid dance move (I'm proud to say that I have never whipped or "nae naed"). Or for people to demand to know what my shoes are (that was probably the most annoying thing). Or any of the other weird things that have happened this year. But more seriously, there was a lot of disappointment. In different ways, with different things. That's not to say there weren't great things that happened, because great things did happen. Like, I got a cat and went to NITOC. But not so great things happened too. Maybe it's just me, but I always have these unspoken expectations at the beginning of each year. At New Years, at my birthday, at the beginning of the school year. I exp...

|| "'For we are God's masterpiece, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.'(Ephesians 2:10) Our English word poem  comes from the same Greek word (for masterpiece)." -Emily Freeman,  A Million Little Ways  || Getting shot in the thumb is not a fun experience. Not even if it's just paintball. When I went to the paintball place with my friends from speech and debate, not prepared to play. But when I got there, after a little bit of convincing and the gathering of funds, I ended up playing. And I discovered that paintball is not my thing. The fields were incredibly muddy, and I was wearing my good converse and jeans (remember, I did not come prepared to play). I walked through the mud (and by 'walk' I mean tried not to sink down into the pit), my breath fogging my mask, trying not to accidentally shoot myself in the foot, and wishing someone had put me on camera duty instead. First round I got s...

For the one who desires to be honest, but are afraid others won't accept your brokenness For the one who has heard the word grace a thousand times, but don't know what it really means For the one who wishes she were confident, but can't figure out how For the guy raised learning Sunday School answers, but feels like he doesn't know anything For the girl who wants to make a difference, but feels too small to be noticed For the "cool kid" who knows how to be liked, but is crushed when they aren't For the teenager who has something to say, but fears no one will listen For the good girl who is breaking inside, and the good boy who won't show his struggles For anyone who wants to be brave, but doesn't know where to start I'm writing for you. I'm afraid of honesty, but I know the risk is worth the reward. The only reason I know what grace is, is because I need it every day. I try to be confident, but I...

Ah, July. The month of Independence Day parties, illegal fireworks, swimming, speech and debate camps, and wishing I had my license. This month went by really fast, but I did learn (or re-learn) a few things in its 31 days. 1. Calendars are more fun when they're pretty I got a new weekly/monthly planner the other day, and if it weren't for the lovely green and blue cover, I probably wouldn't ever use it. But since it does have a lovely green and blue cover (and interior), planning things months ahead may become a little more common. 2. Journaling actually helps No, I don't write in meticulous detail about everything I did that day. That would be boring. But I do write how I feel about things, which keeps me from imploding. When you write, it doesn't have to be extensively descriptive. Just get your thoughts down and you'll feel better. 3. Panic doesn't help But I still panic. And it doesn't help. Don't panic. It just str...

||"Believe in yourself!" -The lamest confidence quote that is supposed to make all your insecurities go away. (how???)|| My debate partner got me socks for Christmas and I love them. They're not normal, solid colors. They aren't no-shows. They are knee-high, purple and green/black and purple striped glories. And I wear them with my suits. Don't freak out. I don't wear them into speech or debate rounds. That would be a little far. But I do walk into tournaments, totally professional from hair to knees. Pencil skirt, hairspray, blazer, blouse. And, of course, knee-high bright green socks. I don't wear the socks to get compliments or attention. I wear them because they're awesome, and wearing them with my professional tournament attire is a beautiful summation of my personality. When we talk about confidence, the conversation is all too frequently reduced to positive self-talk and smiling more often. But saying "I am beautiful,...

||"I'm a mess and so are you; we've built walls nobody can get through. Yeah, it may be hard but the best thing we could ever do ... Ever do ..."|| (If We're Honest by Francesca Battistelli) I sit across the table from him while the others listen to another generic pop song. We started out discussing a debate ballot, but the conversation has gradually reached a different point. Though my friend already knew some of the story, even more than most people, I knew I needed to share the whole story. For the past seven months, I'd been keeping my friends at an arms length away. After losing a friendship the summer before, I didn't want to get hurt like that again. But that night, in mid February in a hotel in Missouri, I chose to trust again. *** Honest is one of the bravest things we can be. We have this instinct that tells us we have to be perfect and happy all the time, or at least look that way. So we build a wall to keep our friends ou...

Normally when people think about being brave, images of sky diving and roller coasters are what appear. Or maybe you think of people going on missions trips to third world countries. We think of big, bold choices and actions. But bravery isn't always big. The seed of starting a blog was planted in my head when I was twelve. I told my youth leader Sarah that I wanted to be a writer, and she mentioned blogging to me. A couple of years later, I started Kitkats and Impromptu , which focused primarily on speech and debate life. It was a small decision, one that I second guessed more than I should have. I started the blog for fun, mostly so I could ramble about speech and debate to people who would relate.  It's still really fun. I get to draw stick figures on paint and write about something I love. Occasionally, I would write about more serious stuff.  Those posts rarely got as many views as my funny posts or my parodies.  But I still wrote them. However, th...

When I was thinking about what I learned this month, I realized just how many things have happened to me in the last four or so weeks. I've grown a lot, and been in situations I've never experienced before. Here's what I learned in one of longest months I've been through. 1. Swing dancing is seriously amazing My friend had her 16th birthday party at a dance hall in a sketchy part of Fort Worth, and when I saw the place for the first time I was like "what the heck did Kat get me into?" But once I got inside and started learning how to actually swing dance, I learned I'd been missing out on something amazing for years. If you get the chance, you should grab a few friends and go out dancing! 2. I am ridiculously sentimental I cleaned out from under my bed this month, and I realized that I keep way too many things. I honestly don't care about the crafts I made in VBS when I was ten, but I still had all the little cardboard baskets and pi...

For the last few months, I've felt God calling me to start a blog. But I was afraid. Up until a couple of months ago, I didn't see any girls close to my age doing things like starting blogs about living for God. I knew teenagers with writing blogs, and I saw a lot of blogs written by women in their twenties, but in my heart I knew that I needed to write to other teenagers about living from a love for God. Yesterday, I got to reading some of  Annie Downs'  writing. Her book  Let's All Be Brave  is technically supposed to be for adults, but I still read the free excerpt because I love Annie's writing. That little excerpt is all I've read of the book, but even that touched that space in my heart that keeps trying to push me forward, into unknown, uncertain places. And I listened. Sunday morning at church, the sermon was given by a woman, something I was super excited about. Then she, Holly Wagner, started  preaching about bravery.  Again, that space ...