When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut-animal-rescuer-ballerina-chef-president. It seemed perfectly palpable to me at the time. I would start my early mornings with a slow-motion jog along the moon's surface, rocket back down to earth to save a dog from an abusive owner and place him into a loving home with a few kids and perhaps a large yard in which to frolic, sign a few bills from Congress and kiss a few babies while on my way to a dance lesson after which I could plie my way onto the set of Iron Chef and beat the daylights out of Iron Chef Kat Cora. Of course, between all these events I would have the time to maintain a healthy, Christian social life along with ample beauty rest at night. Totally doable. I couldn't wait to be a grownup.

Until I became one. It began in high school when I had to start looking at colleges. My teachers and counselors told me that I needed to know my major off the bat and turn in my five-year plan attached to my spotless resume by Friday. They tell you to relish your high school years when you complain about them, but you never do. I think that's just part of being a teenager. It isn't until you get to college that you look back and think "What was I thinking? Why did I want to grow up so badly?"

I try to imagine telling that to my overtly feminist nine year old self. I imagine Little Me slapping Current Me in the face with her tiny hands that have dirt under the nails. I thought that I would never marry because my dad raised me with the mindset that I could be completely self-reliant without a man (other than him). He taught me that I needed to make something of myself and do it all on my own. To do hard things. To build up a resume and a knowledge base of just about everything to make good small talk with anyone and everyone. To make connections. To have a great resume. And "Dangit, Kayla, no marriage until you have a PhD in front of your name." Basically, everything that Disney told me I should be, my Dad told me the opposite.

No Prince Charming. No fairy-godmother. No castles or carriages or glass slippers. No, just a lot of blood, sweat, tears, sleepless nights, and hard work. Good ole Dad.

In college, everyone is set out to "discover themselves." I never really knew what that meant growing up. It didn't make sense, although now I guess I understand it. (And that's another thing about being "adult" and in college. There's a lot of complacency.) I joined a Christian sorority even though I told myself all through high school that I wasn't the sorority girl type. It seemed different. It caught my attention. I joined a voluntary group at my college that served the Admissions office and looked great on a resume. I also joined two honors societies that, too, looked great on a resume. I took honors classes. I tried a double major, but opted to graduate early instead. Doing hard things. Setting myself apart.

And through all this I was supposed to find happiness. I had trouble finding God in it all at first- even in a Christian sorority. I became worship leader and played guitar- a passion of mine from middle school. But I wasn't happy. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that I was doing all the right things, everything my parents told me to do, everything that was chalked up to being a successful adult and all around human being, and yet I wasn't smiling by the end of the day. I was stressing. Worrying. Frowning when I put my head on my pillow.

Then it occurred to me. That's not life. Life is about smiling and doing things you like. Yeah, doing hard things, but things you don't mind putting in the extra effort to do. I was dragging myself to do worship for a sorority that I didn't really love anymore. I was going to class late because of pure apathy. Most of all, I was straight-up lying to myself.

So I did something that I hadn't ever really done before. I stopped.

And I prayed.

I'm still praying.

I know I'm not going to get my answers immediately. I know that God's plan is the only plan and that his timing is perfect. His plan is perfect and mine is really, really flawed. I feel inspired while praying for guidance. I want to draw and paint. I want to make music and go for a walk and feel the sunshine on my skin. I want to talk to people and make good, heartfelt conversation. I want to eat healthier and stop being so incredibly negative -- especially in my own head.

It's really hard to listen. It's even harder to wait for something to listen to, but hey, that gives you something else to pray about right? I don't know where my next footsteps will be. I don't know if I'll stay in an organization I no longer feel truly passionate about. I don't know if I'll continue my volunteer work with people who are negative towards one another and don't foster a healthy, positive, encouraging environment. Maybe I'm the one who has to feel strongly enough, to feel not so darn apathetic, to turn it all around.

But I don't know. So I'm going to keep praying about it. And waiting. And listening. And at some point in time, it'll be my turn to obey what I hear. And that...well, that's "a whole 'nother ballpark."

What I'm learning, though, is that it's okay. It's okay to be attentive to your feelings. It's okay to be a little unsure. It's okay to not have a single clue as to what you'll do tomorrow, or the week to come, or at the end of the semester.

It isn't our job to know. It's our job to pray. And it's God's job to do.

Let Him do, then. We'll see what happens.


Matthew 6:25- Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?