I’m a ridiculously sentimental person.
I cry a lot.
If there’s a field nearby, I will want to frolic in it.
I enjoy stupidity.
I crave adventure, even though my heart is so tender sometimes I can’t handle it.
I think too hard.
I take myself too seriously.
I set ridiculous goals.
And sometimes I’m afraid to celebrate these things. Sometimes my own intensity freaks me out. Sometimes I think I was surely made wrong.
But it’s just how I was made. I was made to be the one that cries so others know it’s ok. I was made to feel deeply, collect my thoughts, and put them on paper. I was made to get things done, to see visions of what things can be but aren’t yet. I was made to be childish and tender hearted, to think way too highly of the world. I was made to be whole-hearted (in every way, in every season). I was made to crave community.
I was made to love people so intensely that my heart breaks when we draw apart. Made to love stories. Made to love music with all that I am.
And I love it. I love how I was made. Hemmed in, behind and before, different from anyone else.