I am short. If you have ever met me, you will know this to be obviously true. Everyone looks down to talk to me and I always have to look up, no matter who you are. Being 4'11", though, is not always a bad thing. It opens up conversations and it now opens up this article. Yes, I am short. But I wasn't always this short. When my life began, I was much, much smaller. And I don't just mean when I was conceived and a single-cell organism, because that is technically when my life began. But when my life began outside of the womb, I was only 15 ounces.

Let that sink in for just a moment. Fif-teen-ounces.

Here's the next shocker for all of you, lovely readers. I was born at a disputed 24 or 25 weeks, and I didn't come out the normal way. Oh, no. I was cut out in a C-section. Try to imagine that for a moment. The doctors make the incision, and they are trying to get this tiny, itty-bitty baby out who is squirming more than anyone can say. This baby's lungs aren't quite ready to breathe the air. She is susceptible to every disease everywhere, more so than the average human being. She is the smallest baby they have seen in a long time. She doesn't have much chance of living. But she's a fighter. She's squirming like nobody's business as those doctors are working to get her out so they can treat her.

Surprisingly, everything went fine -- for a while. I was all set to be going home, still connected to a respirator and a feeding tube, but I was doing okay for a 25-weeker who weighed the amount of a full soda can and was shorter than the average Barbie doll. But then the surprise came. Then, everything went wrong: I got a disease called Necrotizing Enterocolitis. I know, it's a mouthful. Basically, this is a disease that kills the intestines. Not to mention, it's a disease that babies who are born premature are more susceptible to get.

Well, lucky me, I got it.

The surgeons did what they could.

The doctors did their best.

I came through just fine. I was healing, recovering and once again ready to get home. But then, something strange happened. The disease that I had just gotten over, which one is only supposed to get once, came back. To this day, we still don't know why. But the surgeon went at it again. He lost sleep. He made sure, this time, that he cut out every piece of intestine that may have been infected by the deadly disease. This man cut, snipped and worked on me until I had lost a fair amount of my larger and smaller intestines. I had enough to live with, but because of this, I still have lasting problems.

But it was this surgery that he would never take credit for. This doctor, a godly man, a Christian, prayed over me and he will only give God the credit for performing this surgery. And it is only by the grace of God that I am able to write this post, that I am able to do anything. This story is what keeps me going, the story of my harsh beginnings. And it doesn't keep me going because it was traumatic or because it's a good story.

No.

It keeps me going, because it reminds me that God definitely has something for me to do on this earth. It keeps me going because God wanted me to survive that day. A phrase I've been saying lately through my struggles is, "God didn't get me through that traumatic beginning just to see me do something selfish and stupid." I am a testament to faith. I am living proof that God works miracles. By most accounts, I shouldn't be here. God wanted me here. God kept me here. I am living proof that God answers prayer -- though not always with a "yes." I am living proof that God will give you the strength to endure all the trials brought to you.

I am, by nature, a fighter. I have been fighting for my life from the beginning. And it is only by the will, the grace and the mercy of God that I am still continuing to fight.

So, what is life like as a preemie? I began this post by telling the world that I am a very small, vertically-challenged individual. That does cause some complications, but that can be blamed more on genetics than prematurity. I have extremely poor vision and wear glasses so thick that I always get asked questions about them. If I want to see anything clearly without my glasses, I have to get so close to the object that I could lick it if i wanted to. Because of poor vision, I would be a restricted driver, so I decided simply to save the world from a terrible driver and not drive at all. I do still have complications because of the surgeries. I still have scars from the surgeries and IV lines. I still can't handle anyone touching the inside of my arm, because that is where I've had more needles stuck than I care to count.

Not all preemies have the same challenges. Not all preemies have the same story. But speaking as a preemie who does have some lasting challenges, and a case file that is volumes long and so complicated that I'm still under the care of my pediatrician at the age of twenty, life can be difficult. The story isn't always going to be an easy one to get through. But I'm not just going to sit here and say that my life is terrible because I was born a preemie. No, no, that goes against everything that I stand for.

Being a preemie is the best thing that God could have given me. It gives me a spirit to fight and never stop. It gives me compassion for those going through painful situations. It gives me passion for babies that never get to see the light of day. It gives me strength that I know only comes from God.

But it also gives me something else. Life as a preemie is an adventure that you never stop living. It gives me a story to tell, a story to prove God's love and a way to share the gospel with so many people. Being a preemie makes me a story. And God gave me a story that is worth reading and sharing with the world that His love could reach millions.