here I am.

threads.

“Emily, Mom told me that 21 is the peak of your life. After that, you just start to decline. Waaait…how old are you again?” 

Yep. 21, the “peak” of my life.

My brother was referring to my biological peak, but I think for a lot of people (especially in our youth-obsessed culture), twenty-one is considered the best age. You’re young, you can *legally* drink alcohol and get in clubs, you have just enough responsibility to feel adult. But not too adult that it’s boring. 

Best of both worlds. 

And I gotta agree. 21 is awesome. 

But I hate this view of peaks and valleys. Those analogies of mountain-top experiences are tempting, but I don’t think it’s always representative of life.

I’ve only been alive for twenty-one years, which really isn’t that long. But in my experience, life is threaded. 

Threads of despair, threads of boredom, threads of adrenaline. They’re all woven in and out of my life. My thread of adventure will disappear for awhile, and I’ll hate it. Days will trudge on, seemingly meaningless. Instead of color, I start to see muddled browns reflecting my confused, blah state.

Out of boredom sparks a craving for greatness. A craving for vibrancy, for the thrill of stepping onto a plane and settling into a seat next to a stranger. I crave it because adventure helps me feel, think, love, grow. I crave it because it’s easier to see beauty.

I crave easiness.

Then, one day, out of the blue, that adventure thread pops back into the picture. Current-life example: going to Bosnia this summer. It’s a random, crazy thread and I’m terrixited (a whirlwind of terrified and excited). It’s gonna be awesome, painful, heartbreaking, exhausting, exhilarating. All of that. 

And what’s easy is to frame my life with these crazy threads of exhilaration and adrenaline. Because crazy threads make a good story. And I’m all about good stories.

But what I deeply desire (deepdeepdeep down) is to frame my life with the boring threads, the ones that I often disregard. The threads of staying home, of not travelling. The threads of going to a job that makes you doubt your purpose, the threads of getting in fights with sisters, the threads of cleaning your apartment. The threads of fighting for significance in the day-to-day. 

Because that is life for me: the day-to-day. Yeah, I hope my life is filled with adventure but not always through the adventure of going somewhere, doing something, being someone. 

I want it here, now. In Tempe. I want to be joyful always. Especially when I’m biking to work. I want to pray continually. In the shower, in MexiMart, in my office. I want to give thanks in all circumstances. When I’m tired, when I’m irritated, when  I’m pumped about something. 

For this is God’s will for me in Christ Jesus: to be thankful for the threads, even the boring ones, and to trust that He is in every single one of them. 

Every.single.one. 

Every single one. 

Every.

Single.

One. 

sue sawyer.

Jenna once asked my mom the classic “What if I got pregnant” question. 

My mom’s response: night school. 

She didn’t freak or attack Jenna. She didn’t say she’d be disappointed. She didn’t launch into a lecture about safe sex or the effects of being a teen mom.

Night school. That’s how she’d deal with it.  

I’m never afraid to bring people home to my mom. They can be drug addicts, alcoholics, homeless, vulgar. It doesn’t matter. She loves them so well. 

She loves everyone so well. 

She buys my roommates gluten-free snacks. She writes my friends letters and sends them texts. She used to bake creme brulee specifically for my friend Yasin in high school because she knew it was his favorite. She asks questions and actually listens. And she sits with families as their loved ones die. 

I remember this one time I overheard her talking on the phone. 

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. How long ago did she die?” 

When she hung up, I asked who she was talking to. 

“A woman at the Walgreens pharmacy.” 

Apparently this woman sobbed to my mom, who had originally just called for a prescription. 

She’s incredible. 

She’s the one who hears a patient’s last breath, last wishes, and last goodbyes. The one I’d call when I had panic attacks during class. The one who taught me how to ski and how to make foil dinners in the wilderness. The one who inspired my love of Mexico and Spanish and the world. 

She’s done an incredible job. 

I wanna be like her every day. 

in the lion’s den.

I have a lot of fears. Most of these fears are rooted in my fear of change.

I hate change.

My mom told me that for the first month of kindergarten, I would cry on the way to school every day because I was afraid I was growing up too fast.

In kindergarten. At 5 years old. I was afraid of growing up.

Yeah.

And now, I’m in the lion’s den of my fears. Fears of relationships, of dating, of my family moving, of my insane summer plans, of cranking out school in time.

Fear fear fear.

I’m in the den of what I’m most afraid of, and for some reason, I’m not afraid.

Every time I feel my heart beat to a faster rhythm of panic, I breathe in deep the Spirit of The Most Holy, and I am ok.

The king threw Daniel in a pit of potential death.

“May your God, whom you serve continually, rescue you.” 

And He did.

A lot of people are shocked by my lack of fear, my lack of tears, my lack of drama.

It shouldn’t be shocking, really.

The God who sealed the mouths of hungry lions is my God.

Mine.

The God of Daniel has and will continue to rescue those who run to Him.

And I’m running. Because I know myself. I’m not strong. I would rather fear than trust. The fetal position is more appealing than facing the monsters that roar and clamber to bring me down.

I’m running to The Lion Tamer of My Life so that I won’t be overpowered and crushed.

I’m running so that when I am lifted from this den, no wound will be found on me. Because I’m trusting in my God. 

And so is this new Daniel in my life.