Struggles

     So, this blog is supposed to be about being open. I've attempted to be funny, but I would now like to point out something I really struggle with. A lot of people hear me talk about the fact that I look like I'm twelve. Don't attempt to deny it; I really do look like a twelve year old. Over all, I try to be alright with it. But there are lots of things about looking so young that really bother me.
     First, people underestimate me from the get-go. I don't know how many times I've walked in a room and people have given me a skeptical glance. When I lifeguard, parents frequently give me the Why-is-there-a-child-in-charge? glance. When I was a debater, every tall boy we came against saw me and thought "Oh, I hope I get cross examine that girl. She'll be in tears by the time I'm done." The fact that this was a huge mistake is another story entirely. The point remains that people do underestimate me because of how young I look.
    I also hate being called cute. I'm inevitably referred to as cute. Cute is your two year old. Cute is your baby cousin. Not an eighteen year old girl. For once, I would like to be called something different. The problem, though, is that I often am so very ingracious about what's meant to be a compliment. Maybe people use the word "cute" in an entirely different sense than I take it in. Surely, my half-hearted "thank you" is in no way a sufficiently gracious reply. No wonder I come off as rude and abrasive.
   The other problem that arises from this sad fact is jealousy. I'm extremely jealous of my tall friends, my friends who look much older than they are, and basically everyone who looks their age. This is a large category of people, which leads to a large amount of jealousy. It's so far from being good.
   Whatever the above paragraphs have led you to believe about the intentions behind this post, I'm writing this not just to be open, but because I think other people have insecurities like mine. Maybe its not that you are self conscious about how young you look, but there's something that bothers all of us. What we all need to see is that though our particular insecurity might be peculiar, we don't have to feel so isolated. There are two things in particular that God highlights about this subject: 1. He doesn't look down on you because you're young (or look younger than you are). 2. He's given us fellowship to help get over this. So, if your big thing is your nose, or your feet, or your pinkie, remember that you're not the only person who feels that way. Oh, and if you want to talk about it, I usually can be contacted. And yes, even though this "twelve year old" is heading off to college, I still really want to be in touch with all of my friends.

101 Things To Do When Your Siblings Start School Before You

     Today, my siblings started school. Being a college student now (sounds exciting, doesn't it?), I don't start for two more weeks. To celebrate my freedom and my siblings' bondage, Lois and I decided to make their day extra special. To begin, we woke up early, went upstairs, grabbed pots and pans and proceeded to bang them in the vicinity of the groggy students (Because we didn't have school, we had stayed up later the night before and missed the pleasure of awakening them with this cheery greeting). To make the experience more pleasant, we shouted "You have school and we don't, ha."
   This was only the beginning. We also had a running conversation at the breakfast table that went like this.
Lois: "What are you going to do today, Leah?"
Me: "Not school."
Lois: "What are you going to be doing while not doing schoolwork."
Me: "Curl up in a chair, read a book, do some shopping. Basically whatever I want. Isn't it great to not have school?"
  After breakfast (and our walk in the rain--we can do whatever we want, remember), Lois and I proceeded to come up behind the more scholastic Bernhardsons and remark "Whattcha doin'?" in obnoxious voices.
   This behavior, though not exactly mature, is extremely enjoyable. My mother refers to it as a "way to find joy in my transition to college." I wasn't having any trouble finding joy in moving to Michigan, but I guess the explanation works. Perhaps, however, I shall persist  in giving it a different title. Its something I like to call "Revenge of the College Student". I mean, I would never be that cruel. Rather, I am seeking to inspire my siblings to graduate from high school. See, if they stick it out, they too can be extremely obnoxious on the first day of school. Yep, that's what I'm calling it. Older sister duty: complete.

Childhood and Memory Lane

    This past week, I had the wonderful opportunity to visit my best friend Katie on her farm in Minnesota. These trips are some of my favorite times for several reasons. 1) Katie is my best friend and has been since I was eight. Obviously, this is a significant reason for my joy. 2) I always come back from Katie's feeling stronger, tougher, and a little less helpless-city-girl. 

     Laugh if you want. In fact, anyone from the country is encouraged--nay, required--to laugh at my naive joy from playing a "country girl". Over the years, I have useful life skills like horseback riding, break neck sledding, extreme tree climbing, playhouse roof jumping, how to drive the four-wheeler, how to operate the riding lawn mower (the last two did not go particularly well), how to shoot a rifle (no comments, please. Its not my fault I can't aim), basic archery, and how to deal with my fair share of cuts and bruises. All of these I've embraced with a certain amount of pride; especially the cuts and bruises. 

     Believe it or not, I used to be a major tom boy. Until I was forced to attend my homeschool kindergarten all day, I could be found running around the neighborhood playing with my best friend, the neighbor boy Luke. We played everything from Indians to rolling in the mud. I was ALWAYS in charge and had no squeamishness when it came to small creatures and dirt. Naturally, I was always bruised up. For years now, though, I haven't gotten a good scraping. Well, when I was at Katie's house this past week this sad fact was remedied. 

    We were riding in the wagon on the back of the 4 wheeler and the bolt connecting the two broke. I flew forward, landing on my knee, hip, and elbow. The battle scars are a satisfying array of scrapes, bruising, and originally sported a sweet layer of dirt. After disentangling my glasses from my hair, ascertaining that everyone was alright, and making sure that my sore leg worked properly, I couldn't help but smile. There is nothing like a good scrape up to reassure yourself that you're not growing up after all. 

     I'm leaving for college in only a few short weeks, but I can't help but feeling like more of a child than ever. I love it. So, take a moment if you can today and recapture this experience of fully living. Whether it entails staring at the stars, eating tons of ice cream, spinning in circles until you're about to puke, putting a worm down your brother's back (he really needs to get over his fears...I mean, I would never EVER be that cruel), or having a watermelon seed spitting contest, let yourself give in to the simple pleasures of summer and childhood. Remember when your best friends were imaginary, the world was bigger than you could ever even grasp, and your greatest problems included deciding between playing hide-and-go-seek-tag or sardines until the sun went down. 

   What about me? I'm pretty lucky. I got home from the lovely farm today, so I don't quite have the crazy companionship of my best friend. However, I do have two younger brothers who haven't been challenged nearly enough by the Hide-And-Seek Queen. As for those worms, well, the boys better get over their fears fast. Because I seem to remember the best place to dig them up. I also shall endeavor to get plenty of corn-on-the-cob stuck in my teeth at dinner, and will follow it up with a dessert of giggling over my crazier exploits. Curious? Too bad. You'll have to wait for another lazy summer day to hear the further tales of Leah the Childhood Terror. 

When I make it big...

So, since I've wanted to be a famous author since I was about five. In fact, I distinctly remember being about six and hiding my "books" throughout our house so that they could be rediscovered by future generations. Obviously, such early work of such a famous person would be priceless. At least I had the imagination necessary.

Anyway, my definition of famous has changed over time. I no longer save everything I write for posterity. Now, if I save anything, its for future editing or my own amusement. In fact, for me, it would be enough if my books were read by ONE person who truly loved them than by a thousand people who merely breezed through them.

With that in mind, I would like to say something humorous about making it big (I felt the burden of clearing up whether or not I was extremely conceited before mentioning the following). If I ever get my books published, I would like to dedicate them to unique, insignificant objects. For example:

"This book is dedicated to my blue-and-pink polka dot sock. We've been through so much together--I promise to always launder you lovingly. That is, until there is a hole in your toe. Then, you're being thrown out unceremoniously."

(Note: I do truly love my blue-and-pink polka dotted sock. I wore it running the other day--with its match--and it was a great run).

I also want to write an about this book including the following: "This book is not about vampires. Or a post-apocalyptic world where everyone eats each other. In fact, it is what your mother would call a "wholesome" book. However, I've attempted to make this wholesomeness not very obvious by distracting you with things I like to call plot and characterization. So, instead of feeling like you're digesting raw flax seed, I hope this is more like discovering that chocolate zucchini bread contains something more than chocolate chips after you've consumed the entire loaf."

Nationals

So, as some of you may know, I sort of went to Nationals in speech this year. It certainly wasn't the dream I had originally planned on. In fact (as my last post mentions), debate was my big thing. But if you don't believe that God is surprising or that God has a fantastic ability to work beyond your wildest imagination, you're in for a unique journey.

It took a long time, but when I got to Nationals, God granted me a good attitude. Instead of caring about impressing judges and other competitors or having "We are the Champions" playing in the back of my mind, I just wanted to deliver a message. I didn't even know what kind of message I wanted to deliver--I just wanted to speak to people's hearts. Well, I got that chance.

From Day One, God gave me the best impromptu speeches I've ever delivered. They weren't eloquent--but they were passionate. They were honest. And you'd better believe that they scared me to death. You see, I was using impromptu to tell people about the lessons I've learned. Its really hard to admit your mistakes, especially when you're being judged on your delivery. But that's what God wanted--so I did it.

There's so much to say about my journey. There are so many blessings that I learned in those moments. God showed me so much grace throughout the journey. But I want to skip past the breaks (Suffice it to say I went further than I ever imagined or deserved) and focus on my last round. In finals, I've come to realize that I delivered the best speech of my life. It wasn't the most intellectual speech (ask the judges for confirmation--its true), but it was the most important because I was given a chance to apologize for my terrible attitude to some of the competitors I hurt the most. Have you ever had a chance to say you're sorry to people you don't know how to reach out to? Its an incredible feeling.

I was shaking throughout the speech, but there was beauty there. Even as the words left my mouth, I could feel that my message was sinking in somewhere. At first, I thought it was for the judges. It wasn't. That speech was for my friends who sat in that room, their ears straining to hear each broken word. Through that speech, I said I'm sorry and I said goodbye. I talked about what you want written on your epitaph in that speech. But what I was really thinking about was what sort of legacy I would leave on NCFCA. I know now that my legacy is that I did my best to touch the lives of those around me. It might not be a long lasting legacy. But its the best legacy I could ever imagine.

So, goodbye NCFCA! I'll miss you--but its time to go. God's got a big plan for me, and its only just unfolding.

Success

So, this was on facebook. But I figured since it was the reason that my friends told me to get a blog, I would put it on said blog. 

Have you ever wanted something so much you pray for it every night? Faithfully, fervently, and consistently prayed about it? Even inserted the magic words "If it is your will" to ensure you get what you want? Well, even if you haven't, that's what I did for four years. Four of them. And always for the same thing: to make it to Nationals in debate. 

                For four whole years, that was my single-minded obsession. I thought about it every day. I'd research for hours, strategize in every spare moment. And any time I had space for thought, I would imagine myself winning Nationals. My commitment to debate was no secret, but my obsession with it was insane. I still believe that I wanted to succeed more than any other debater I've met. And it was crazy. Don't get me wrong-- commitment is a good thing. But there's a line--and I've crossed it. 

                And now the road is over. I made it to Nationals once, but never again.  This year, at my Senior Regionals, I had one of the worst records of my life. The prayer I fervently prayed wasn’t answered.

                Or was it?

                Debate was my world. I wanted to succeed. But I failed.

                Or did I?

                My plan sounded pretty great. I was going to be top speaker at every tournament. I was going to win every round. And at Nationals? I was going to shock everyone by winning it all.

                But God’s plan was better. Do you know what he gave me? He gave me the best partner in the world, Heidi Kratzer. I’ve never met a more gracious girl. Heidi stood by me even when I terrified her with my obsession with winning. Never once did she complain about my extreme cases of nerves or fits of tears. Instead, she would stay up until two talking to me. She would drop everything to have five hour debate meetings with me. And I know that I can call her anytime and she’ll listen to me.

                God also gave me a crazy supportive family. My parents spent thousands of dollars furnishing my dreams—from tournament fees to my high heels collection. They took me where I wanted to go, supported me every step of the way, tolerated my crazy mood swings, and made sure I had more than enough Reeses Pieces. They’ve never complained. They’ve never pointed out that NCFCA doesn’t count for much in the real world. But they’ve held me when I’ve cried. They’ve talked me out of believing myself a hopeless failure. I am totally indebted to them.

                And God’s brought countless people into my life. Before debate, I didn’t have very many friends at all. Now, I’ve been blessed to meet many astonishingly wonderful people. I’ve never been so touched than this year at Regionals when I saw at least four people in tears for Heidi and me and heard many more praying for us. Before that, I never realized I could mean that much to anyone.

                It’s been a long road. It was a tremendous challenge. But through debate, God has been revealing his huge, magnificent plan for me. It’s been really rocky learning to trust him. I am still struggling so hard to believe there’s something better in store for me. But I know God has used these experiences to change me for the better. He loves me. He loves me so much that he wants to teach me vitally important things. Like how to let go, what to hold on to, and what’s really important. And he’s taught me what success is.

                Success isn’t winning a tournament. Success isn’t getting the biggest, shiniest medal. Success is living for something outside of you. I’m not successful yet. I’m still really far away. But I know that’s where God’s taking me.

                So what does all this mean? I didn’t write this to justify my obsession or to air my feelings. I’m not even a big fan of soul-baring notes. I’m not putting this down to tell you I’ve overcome my mistakes.

                I’m writing this because I don’t want anyone else to make the same mistake. I’ve been there. I know that it’s a hard, horrible road. And I don’t want anyone else to feel that. Maybe telling this story, as hard as it is for me, could help steer you away. Or maybe it’s just the beginning. IN any case, I hope I can help. Your obsession may not be debate, but I’d love to talk to you about it. Or just listen. I’m not the best listener, I warn you. And I still have a hard time not talking about debate. But I think—I hope—God can use even imperfect me.