I arrived home from the hospital nestled in the comforting cranny of my mother’s arm and passing through the same navy blue doors I pass through after a tedious and tiring weekday as a seventeen year-old. Even now, after seventeen years of passing over the same wood floors and sitting on the same couch, the culture of my home has maintained its uniqueness; every man is for himself and we all go our separate ways to take part in our own leisure activities until reuniting for dinner in our quaint dining room or sitting at the kitchen bar. Even through this satisfying sense of solitude, it is as if love and compassion floats in the air that is between us, connecting us even when we are apart. I come from Bibles on the kitchen counter in the midst of a demanding day ahead, the pages turned to a verse to get us through anything that life may throw our way. I’ve grown up with small letters written on napkins and thrown into my paper lunch sack with a simple, “I love you” or “Have a great day; don’t worry- you’ll do great!” I come from undying love and connection, a compassionate culture that has shaped what I now consider the most distinct characteristics of myself.

I was always the quiet one, okay to be alone and resistant to the fact that I wasn’t the outgoing type I’d wished I was. A raised right hand on my end is not a sight my teachers could ever recall seeing, solely due to the fact that it seemed to me to be an intense act of bravery and courage to even say so much as, “The answer is….” I’d always feared being stuck in solitude, but it was a sticky mindset I could not ever seem to escape. I knew God was present where I could think to look for him; my mother didn’t faithfully preach ideas she wouldn’t lay her life on the line to prove she believed. He resided in my heart and would come out to shine a light every once in awhile, but those around me seemed to have a connection I couldn’t seem to attain- the same connection I’d read about reading the pages of the worn Bible strewn open in the kitchen, the one He’d promised me was present. At all times, I felt present in the world around me, but astonishingly absent from the blessings and adventures it had to offer as well.

Something must have clicked, and I only wish I could say that I distinctly remember the miraculous moment things came together in my mixed-up mind. I wouldn’t describe the sensation as dramatic transformation, but rather as acceptance to unwrap the knots formed in my head, the misconceptions and mindsets that kept me from truly and faithfully living. I found myself in the halls of my high school, reaching outside of thick comfort zones to accomplish feats I’d never before been capable of dreaming about. I found myself in the devotional that resides comfortably in the rear pocket of my driver’s seat, digging deep into the words that seemed to reach out and stop me in my tracks teaching me what it means to trust without second thought, live for adventure as it is placed before me with the sun rise every morning and delight in the little things as they are the parts of my life that make up my most treasured parts of living.

Through the new findings of personal delights and capablities, I still find myself reluctantly getting out of bed to face a day full of struggle and hoping to find a verse on the counter to keep me tied to my faith and to strength as the day carries on. I still open the same brown, crinkled lunch sacks to find sweet notes written in familiar penmanship to wish me good luck on a test, or to serve as a reminder to delight in the blessings my life holds. I still walk through the navy blue door to a shout “Hello” from either one of my parents in the kitchen, and then go my separate way to see what the rest of my evening holds. I grow a year older as each year comes to a close in the cold, winter month of December and experiences change my outlook on life as it continues on, but one thing has consistently remained the same: my roots and the love and uniqueness they’ve installed in me, offering hope for every day and always showing me that no matter what version of myself I am, I am me and nothing I stumble upon will alter that.