The way of the grasshopper

I love when life throws you unexpected lessons or reminders when you need them the most.

Even if they have to come from some grasshoppers.

I was at a wedding this weekend (yes, another one), and it was outside at a peaceful ranch beyond the metroplex. The ceremony was outside, so obviously one can expect that there might be a few bugs in the area, but I don't think everyone was anticipating the incredible amount of grasshoppers that were present on this particular evening. I'm talking plague numbers here. To be honest, they weren't bothering me too much, but there was a collective paranoia in the air from most of the guests that the grasshoppers were going to land in unwanted places, and some people were even asking those around them to watch their backs (literally) in case any of the over-hyper insects went for the sneak attack.

As far as I know—though I have not done extensive research on this topic—grasshoppers aren't actually directly harmful to humans. Sure, they can ruin people's crops and can cost people a great deal of money by ruining the grazing lands, but I didn't see any farmers at the wedding, so I'm fairly certain that was not the concern the attendees had on their minds as we waited for the wedding to get started. I think it's mainly because the creatures are so gross-looking and can unpredictably hop anywhere at a moment's notice. (Interesting side note: I read that if humans could jump like grasshoppers, it would be the equivalent of leaping the length of a football field. For those of you who don't know, that's a rather significant distance.) Simply put, the grasshoppers were scoffed at and unwanted.

But the thing I found most admirable is that the grasshoppers just didn't care—they wanted to be at that wedding and with those people, and they were not going to let a few hand swats scare them away.

There are many times in life when we let the way people perceive us determine our actions. I remember when I was in the sixth grade, I purposely got multiple detentions, because I had a crush on a guy who spent pretty much every afternoon in the detention room. First of all, I am not a troublemaker and was probably considered more of a goody-goody, so it was silly of me to change who I was all so I could try to impress a guy. Secondly, I honestly have no explanation as to why I was so interested in someone who was always in trouble. Obviously that one didn't work out, and I can't say I'm sad about it.

I was not a grasshopper in those days, but over the years I became more comfortable being me, even if it means people will think I am weird.

I'd rather be strange than a stranger.

As most people who know me know, I've never dated anyone, so that leads many experts to give me advice whenever they see fit. I've had people suggest to me that I should wear makeup or set aside some of my quirks when I'm in public. I always carry Wheat Thins in my purse and eat them with my food at restaurants, and I can't tell you how many times people have told me, "You know you can't do that on a first date, right?" False. I can, and I will. If I didn't, I would be acting like someone who would try to get a detention to impress a guy. It's just not who I am.

Each person in this world is uniquely made. God made you the way you are for a special reason, and there's no reason you shouldn't be able to act like you in any given situation. If you want to go groove to the music when the dance floor is empty, go and get the party started; if you need to go to the grocery store but look like you don't own a brush because you've been cleaning all day, walk through those doors with confidence like you are the queen of produce; if you trip in the parking lot and fall flat on your face, stand up and keep walking, because everyone is going to fall at some point in life; if you want to order a Shirley Temple and a bowl of cherries at a nice restaurant, don't hesitate; if you feel the need to sport an outfit with "clashing" colors, well, anything matches if you wear it with confidence; if you want to apply for a job or school you think would never accept you, give it a try—sometimes rejection happens, but sometimes it doesn't; if you fall in love, tell that person—I have to quote Michelle Branch here: "It's all so overrated not saying how you feel, so you end up watching chances fade and wondering what's real"; if you want to be anyone in this world, you are your best option.

You will never know how many football fields you can leap if you don't first boldly launch yourself into the air.

Go for it, young grasshopper.

A very belated thank you

Sometimes certain individuals influence our lives in ways we never imagined.

And sometimes we don't thank those people when we should.

When I was in high school, one of my friends talked me into joining the cross country team. I wasn't an exceptional runner by any means, and I'm honestly not sure I would have stuck with it all four years—and I definitely wouldn't have done track—if it weren't for the people on the team. Throughout those years, they became a second family to me, and I wouldn't even want to think about what high school would have been like without them. Especially my coach.

Coach Dittmar had been coaching for years before I became a part of her program, so she'd led many kids before me, but she has a way of making each person feel so significant—as if you are the only person she is coaching. It didn't take long for me to realize that I could count on her whenever I needed. When I was having a minor anxiety attack before my first time to step on the starting line, she was there to give me a pep talk to calm me down. Then she popped up in random spots along the course and started shouting numbers at me (as if I really knew what splits were). And she appeared again after I crossed the finish line, breathing harder than I had expected, where she gave me a hug and said, "See, aren't you glad you joined the team?"

Dittmar, you have no idea how glad.

Looking back, I don't know how she tolerated me sometimes. Or any of us, for that matter. After being a teacher and coach myself, I've learned just how challenging it can be to go to work every day and try to lead a bunch of teenagers on the right paths in life. It can be pretty daunting, but I think a lot of the knowledge I have comes from learning from her. She didn't just meet us at practice every morning because she enjoyed seeing the sunrise while torturing a bunch of high schoolers with hill repeats—she came because she actually cared.

One thing I've learned about working with teenagers is that things are often blown out of proportion. I know it's hard to believe, but high school students can be a bit dramatic about even the smallest things. I was guilty of it, too. Sadly, though, when we get so wrapped up in our own worlds, we often forget to thank the people who deserve it the most, because we overlook just how much they do for us. Coach Dittmar retired from coaching recently, and I want to thank her for so many things she did for me.

Dittmar, thank you for never letting me quit—even when I tried to get a schedule change out of track, you didn't let me. Thank you for standing out in the pouring rain and calling out each lap split in the 3200 at that one track meet that got canceled after my race. Thank you for locking the girls varsity team in your office when we were fighting and not letting us out until we settled our differences--it was one of the most uncomfortable times for us all, but you were teaching us valuable life lessons, and I appreciate you caring so much about that. Thank you for riding your bike alongside us during our long runs and making sure everyone from the lead runner to the back of the pack knew where to go. Thank you for being fair, even when I claimed you weren't—and thank you for not slapping me across the face when I deserved it for insisting you weren't being fair. Thank you for giving me the best pre-race pep talks and letting me know you really did believe I could accomplish even more. Thank you for letting us call you Ditty.com sometimes, even though we knew you really didn't like that name. Thank you for always listening—truly listening—to me when I came to you with worries or problems that likely weren't that big of a deal but that I acted like were the end of the world. Thank you for not stripping us our captain roles when we decided to play football at the park near the school when we were supposed to be on our easy run the week of the district meet. Thank you for attending the Top 5 Percent banquet with me and then surprising me by bringing Coach Herrema (the best Assistant Coach Water Boy) with you. Thank you for enduring multiple road trips to Regionals, State, and Texas Relays and more Dumb & Dumber and 10 Things I Hate About You quotes than I'm sure you would have preferred. Thank you for making me do 16 400s in a row and saying, "Get on the line," as I tried to open my mouth to complain—you were building my character that day. Thank you for telling me I was going to be a teacher someday (turns out you were right). Thank you for always driving the bus for us and keeping us safe on the way. Thank you for letting Sabina and me sing on the bus rides home and for not throwing us out the windows, because we weren't very good. Thank you for loving a bunch of fun-loving kids trying to find their places in this world.

I know there are a million other things for which I could thank you, but that might turn into a novel. And I'm sorry I didn't thank you more when you actually did these things. You dedicated so much of your own time and energy to us when you easily could have been doing many other things for yourself. But if you were ever tired or frustrated, it never showed. After we graduated and then you moved to coach at another school, I know you continued to impact a countless amount of other people. Selfishly, I like to think we were your favorites, but I also know that you have a way with making every single person—from the fastest to the slowest—feel like your favorite.

Because you always knew that running was really about so much more than running.

Many of us have our own Coach Dittmars in this world, and they are people who help us learn not only how to fight though tough times but also how to be better people regardless of the outcomes. These individuals are in their own special category, because they possess a unique kind of selflessness that we should all hope to attain. These are the people who often change the world but never get the recognition—though they likely wouldn't want the attention, anyway.

These are the ones about whom Bette Midler sings, and they are the ones who deserve more thanks than we could ever give.

A missing shoe isn't so bad

True happiness doesn't come from things we pile up in our lives.

Even if you think you've found the perfect shoes.

I was running a bit early to church yesterday morning, so I decided to stop at Kohl's. I had a coupon and bonus discount code that both expired after the weekend, and I really wanted some Keds. No, it's not the 1990s anymore. Judge all you want.

I found a pair that called my name: they were pink with sea foam green (the best color ever) designs all over them, and some of those designs happened to be cats. Win. Plus, they were on the uber-clearance wall and were the last pair of that kind. I was pretty disappointed when I saw they were size 10 until I noticed another shoe buried underneath some of the other marked down ones. It was an 8—perfect! I sifted through the surrounding shoes but couldn't find the other one. I called one of the employees over to help me, and we checked basically every box in the area with no success. Who takes just one shoe?

I was running out of time and told the sweet lady helping me that I could stop by after service. She took down my name and number and said she would call and leave me a message if she found the other shoe. Sadly, I didn't have a voicemail when I checked my phone after church, so I called just to check. She had found another shoe in size 8, but they were both two left shoes, so she said someone must have accidentally bought two right shoes. (I certainly can't endure that again.) She checked the database to see if any other stores in the area had the shoes, but it came back unsuccessful. Drat.

Later in the day, I ended up stopping at another Kohl's that was on my way home (well, sort of), because I still needed to use my discounts, and I was hopeful that the database had been incorrect. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. Rather, I had to settle for a pretty plain pair of Keds. Granted, they're solid black, so they are pretty darn awesome, but they don't have the sea foam green pineapples and cats, which is more than slightly disappointing. It's possible that it once crossed my mind that I could buy both left shoes and try to mold one to my right foot. I don't think it's as ridiculous as it sounds.

Then it hit me how silly I was being. Because, at the end of the day, shoes are not going to determine my happiness.

I started thinking about how many times I had let such trivial things help decide my mood—whether it's materialistic purchases, my performance in a race, how much money is in my bank account, or how awful humid weather makes my hair look (I know, shallow)—and I reminded myself that true joy can't be found in those things. It just can't.

I believe we were put on this earth for one reason: to know Jesus and make Him known to others—and we do this by loving people. And that's the foundation for real happiness.

If I don't get a pair of shoes I really want, it's really not that big of a deal--I can rock another pair just as well; if I don't run as fast as I want, I can shake it off and use it as motivation for the next race; if I don't score as high as I want on FreeCell, I'm pretty sure I will get over it pretty quickly; if I get a broken heart from someone I really wanted to love me, perhaps it will lead me to write a book that will impact others; if Lindsay Lohan didn't win queen at the Spring Fling in Mean Girls, it would not be the end of the world—as she proved, a crown is nothing but something that breaks as easily as plastic; if you don't get what you want, the result doesn't have to be utter despair.

If I somehow become rich and could actually afford to buy whatever I wanted from Anthropologie, it wouldn't make me happy—I can't take those things with me; if you're crowned Homecoming Queen or Prom Queen in high school, no one really cares about that in the real world; if you were a really good football player back in the day, it won't make you truly happy simply living in the glory days (cue Uncle Rico); if the man of your dreams finally asks you out on a date, it won't make all of your other problems go away and make life instantly perfect; if your team wins the World Series, you can scream for joy in the moment, but eventually that moment will end, and you will once again have to face everything in your own world; if you get everything you want, the result won't be eternal happiness.

That emotion can only be found in love—the love from the One who wants to see you genuinely happy.

Had I found that other size 8 shoe for the right foot, I'm sure it would have made me happy, at least temporarily. But it's a happiness that doesn't last. It's as fleeting as a shoe separated from its counterpart.

But once you find joy, real joy, you won't have to search for a missing part—it's something so full and complete that your heart will instantly know you have all you need in the love that has filled it.

You don't belong with me

Every once in a while, realizations hit you when you least expect them.

Like when you're in the middle of a karaoke performance.

Yesterday was Pentecost Sunday, and my church goes all out for this. I mean, we throw a kick-tail party. There were food trucks, face paintings, and a live karaoke band. While my go-to Taylor Swift song is obviously "Love Story," it wasn't on the list, but "You Belong With Me" was. Done deal.

If you've ever seen the music video for this song (if you haven't, you're really missing out, because it's flipping awesome), you know that Taylor Swift is this nerdish girl who is in love with her neighbor, but he's clearly with some girl who is not so nice, it seems. At the end of the video, Taylor arrives at a dance, stealing the show and the young man's heart, and it's basically a fairy tale ending.

It's everything my life has not been.

As I was singing this song in front of a bunch of people who might not have realized the Grammy caliber this performance held, I couldn't help but realize that I had thought these lyrics in my own words before they even existed. When I was in high school, I had a crush on a guy who was captivated by a girl who was not me. He was one of my friends, but I always felt like screaming, "Why can't you see you belong with me?!"

But he did not belong with me.

When I was in college, I found myself in a similar situation. I was really good friends with a guy for a few years, and we hung out all the time, but we were only friends. I was always "dreaming about the day when [he'd] wake up to find that what [he was] looking for had been here the whole time." But that never happened.

He did not belong with me, either.

Then there was most recently when a guy I thought might actually be different wasn't. He spent a lot of time leading me to believe he was, and I kept singing in my head, "think I know where you belong, think I know it's with me." Unfortunately, sometimes we so caught up in creating these ideals in our minds of what our lives should look like that we sometimes overlook reality. He turned out to be someone I wish I could forget.

He certainly did not belong with me.

I have had crushes on many guys throughout my life, but not one of them belonged with me. I never got the center-of-the-dance-floor-seal-it-with-a-kiss ending like in the music video, and that's OK. It may happen some day. But it also may not. I'm fine with either way. I will always still believe in fairy tales, regardless of if I ever live one myself.

The important thing I realized in this moment is how incredibly thankful I am that none of those individuals belonged with me. For whatever the reason—maybe my heart simply wasn't (or still isn't) ready yet—I haven't met my Prince Charming. They were all meant to be with other girls, and, though it did cause me at least one broken heart, I'm grateful things happened as they did.

I know it sounds weird to say all of these thoughts raced through my head while I was in the middle of a karaoke performance, but I have no explanation as to why epiphanies hit us when they do. (Thankfully I listen to Taylor Swift enough to know all of her songs by heart, so I didn't have to focus on the lyrics much.)

I do know one thing, though: I don't want to be a girl standing by and waiting at someone's back door saying, "All this time, how could you not know, baby, you belong with me?" I think that's one reason "Love Story" is my favorite song of all time—the guy just knows.

"This love is difficult, but it's real. Don't be afraid—we'll make it out of this mess. It's a love story, baby, just say, 'yes.'"

Perhaps some day I will be able to sing those lyrics. Or maybe I will just jam out to Beyoncé's "Single Ladies." But I'm not going to worry about it like I did in the past. My sufficiency isn't found in those guys, anyway—it's found in Someone much greater.

And He is someone who certainly lets me know I belong with Him.

Sunny rain

So many times in life, we focus on even the tiniest bad things when they are amidst so much greatness.

Like a bit of rain during sunshine.

Last Thursday evening, it started raining as I left dinner and was on my way home. The sun was still out, though, and I normally don't like the combination of rain without dark skies accompanying it, but for some reason I was really enjoying it. I began thinking about how there have been a lot of times in life where I have let seemingly negative things overshadow all of the good things around me. But, as I drove through the neighborhoods, I couldn't help but notice how beautiful the whole picture was. And it wasn't some huge storm sweeping through that wreaked havoc or had flashes of lightning and clashes of thunder—it was simply fairly weak rain that couldn't put a damper on that peaceful night sky.

It was such a short, small moment, but it really gave me a perspective I needed at the time.

I usually get tired of hearing trite expressions, but one of them—which is actually a quality quote—popped into my head, and I let it stay there for a while: "Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain." I know a lot of the time when it rains, my first thought is that I don't want to get my hair wet. Shallow? Yes. But true, nonetheless. There are so many more significant things in life than dry, unfrizzy hair, though.

Can't even see the rain

Like living.

As I was driving yesterday, I noticed that my car was almost to 100,000 miles. I guess I thought that was sort of a big deal, and I wanted to see it turn that number just for the sake of seeing it happen. But I got caught up in my own car concert as I was belting out some T-Swizzle, and I completely missed it. When I looked down to see it was already in the six-figure range, I was briefly disappointed. Then, I thought to myself, "Who the crap cares?" I mean, why should it matter if I see that number? I don't even like numbers in increments of five. I had wasted a few seconds of my life getting upset about an unimportant event that has no lasting value in my life. You know what was more important? Singing "All Too Well" as if I were performing for the attendees at the Grammys.

Life brings with it a lot of things that are really difficult to handle. There are some things that seem so much bigger than we are, and they are, which makes it even more challenging to try to find the sunshine in the middle of all of the rain. It's not always easy to be dealt an unwanted hand—whether it's illness, losing someone you love, having your heart broken, or any other number of events in life that leave us questioning why we are standing under such huge clouds of storms that just won't let up. They seem so huge and daunting that it makes it hard to think we will ever make it through with any ounce of hope.

But, there is Someone who is bigger than all of it, and He can take away pain when it seems like it won't go away.

When I was a sophomore at Texas A&M, I was supposed to go to a concert with a guy, and he bailed on me the day of the show. I was definitely not happy about that—I had really been looking forward to the concert, which was on a school night in Dallas. Thankfully, my brother said he would go with me after I called and practically begged him. But I spent way too much of the three-hour car ride thinking about how upset I was over some guy who didn't even care. I ended up having a great time with my brother, and I should have been more thankful of the quality memory I was getting to have with my childhood hero. He had cared enough to sacrifice whatever he would have been doing that night and gone with his younger sister to see a band he had never even heard of play live.

He was my sunshine that drowned out the rain.

As I made the trek back to College Station and got home a little before 3 a.m. so I could make it to my 8 a.m. class that morning, I have to admit that I hadn't forgotten about being upset. Looking back now, it was so silly. I was making something out to be more important than it really was. In the big picture, the fact that one guy didn't go to a concert with me really wasn't such a bad thing after all. I got to hang out and catch up with my brother, and I felt so honored that he was there for me.

I know my life isn't going to be perfect, and I am certainly going to have more storms come my way. But I don't want to stress out about what troubles may come because of some rain or lightning or thunder; rather, I want to face those adversities head on and, as Taylor Swift wisely says, "dance in a storm in my best dress, fearless."

Because even when I am dancing by myself I know I will never be dancing alone.