A Letter To My Daughter

I woke up today thinking about my daughter. The one who doesn’t exist yet. The one who might never exist, though I’ve already written her countless letters and etched her little notes on the corners of my diary pages. 

And like any other day of my life, when I wake up thinking about something, I make a moment out of it. I write it down. I don't forget it. Because I think there's a lot to say about the first thing you wake up in the morning thinking about. It's the thing that drives you out of bed. Or it's the thing that keeps you laying there. It's the first thing your mind drifts to after waking from a deep, deep sleep. Pay attention to what you wake up thinking about... It's more important than you think.

Anyhow. I tried to string some words together to make a letter pretty enough to present to my one day, some day daughter on the days when a mother's hug just won't do. And these are the words that befell my anxious fingertips.

To my One Day, Some Day Daughter:

This is a letter made for the day when you wake up, hair all knotted by the pull of your pillow, and stumble straight into the land of thick, thick heart break. The land where Confusion roams, Lies fall from the sky, but Opportunity waits at every street corner. The days when the missing is thick and the tears are aplenty. There will be them days. 

There will be them days when the rubble from your very own heartbreak will scream at you and try to snatch up your dreams and scarf down your desires and try to fix you up pretty in a box too tiny that God never made you for. 

He made you for dancing—for words too eloquent to say with more than a whispered voice—for tinsel delicately strewn on the branches of baby evergreens—for icing, thick and sugared on the tops of every little thing you touch. 

And while my heart aches to even envisage  you hurting- I would be naive to hope or say that no one will ever hurt you, break you, leave you, or betray you. But still, baby girl, I hope you fall in love. And I hope it hurts so bad. Because as One Republic says, "it's the only way you can know that you gave it all you had". 

And, just like everyone else, you will know the floor. It’s a common place that we all can relate to– the tears, the fetal position, the cold hard wood against your face. It’s like a second language we’ve all learned on our own. You will know the feeling of your hands and knees sunk deep into the carpet and the kind of weeping that makes you feel like your heart might just explode out of your chest.

And I’m only ever going to be able to tell you that love is a rollercoaster that sometimes leaves us on the floor. You will be up. You will down. You will break someone at some point. Someone might leave you in pieces on the floor.

It will be a rush and a ramble to meet someone. Someone decent. Someone kind. Someone good. That’s how the culture will make you feel.

At points, the world will come at you from every angle and try to shake your shoulders like you are standing in the middle of a desperate post-apocalyptic war zone where you must get out there and find one of the last decent human beings alive. And fill out dating profiles. And go out to bars. And put yourself out there. And. Just. Find. That. One. 

I hope I will be able to tell you that the world will make it feel like the search is endless but forced treasure hunts might only ever lead her to spots with no gold. 

Sometimes gold is the kind of thing that tumbles into a room unexpectedly.

So don’t fear so much. Don’t worry so much, girl. Put down the map. Put down the compass. Get yourself a backpack and take yourself on a journey and make constant kinds of vows to your own self first. One day, someday, a person will arrive and they will quickly become your favorite novel. You’ll want to write your notes into all their pages. But for now, you have yourself an encyclopedia. Others might call that massive thing “your heart” but I’m just gonna call it an encyclopedia because it is miles and miles of things you don’t know yet. You don’t need to search. Stop looking around wildly. Just start reading. Knowing yourself will be the biggest gift you ever give to your own great love story.

I like to imagine I’ll get to say these things to you, but then I am forced realize that I probably won’t ever get to speak much at all. If your pretty head is anything like mine then you always, always be consumed with the anthems and the love songs and the poems that are writing themselves in your head. It’ll be me to face the mirror at the end of a longer day and ask myself the harder questions: “Did I show you love today? It doesn’t matter if I talked to you about love, but did you show you love? More than that, did I show you how to love?” Was it evident in my moves? In my actions? In the way I made eye contact with you?”

Because that’s what love comes down to. Not words, but actions. Not a constant debate of who to love and where to love and when to love. I don’t want to waste my time on things I already know the answers to: everyone. everywhere. always.

It will all come down to how. How I show up for you. How I show up for you and show you how to love.

So, for now, I just whisper things that sound poetic like prayers to me. Things like this: May love teach me everything it needs to be teach me so that I can show up and show you how.

May love be evident in all the things that I do. In the way I say hello to you. In the time and attention I give to you. In the things I push aside on my calendar because this… this… well, nothing beats this. And we will never have “this” back so I want to make sure we just stay soaking in it a little while longer.

May I know how to treat myself and others with respect. Because that is the core. That is the secret. That is the golden nugget:

May love be evident in the friendships I make. And the apologies I make. And the time I make. And the messes I make.

May the love in my own story never be tame, but wild and fierce. May it sometimes be unexplainable beyond just these words: This is my heart. And while it's an imperfect mess, it promises to never give less than every ounce of it to you, my dear. 

With love,

YOUR MOMMMMMM (Are the "your mom" jokes still going these days?)

Walking Away From 20

I turn 21 on Monday.

Always with birthdays, I always saddle this great pressure on my shoulders to share what the year has meant to me. To pluck out the pearls of agey wisdom.  Or tell you that the days were worth it. That I think the past 365 slivers of time were really, really wonderful.

And they have been. Of all the teachers in my life, the age of 20 might go down in history as one of the very best ones. She was hard on me. She was good to me. She definitely made sure my head kept spinning, and my feet kept moving, and my heart kept re-scripting its own beat because the slow, slow thud of a normal ticker could never match or mirror the quickened pace I felt all year as dream after dream came true.

20 was the year of leaping.

It was the year of learning that you cannot sit idly and wait for life to work itself out. When you’ve uncovered an issue, when you’ve found the dampened piece of the puzzle that no longer fits in the corner like it used to, you’ve got to cut something completely new out. Reshape it all, baby. You’ve got to point yourself in a new direction. You have to have the courage to go for something you said you always wanted. 

20 was a year of testing faith and finding surrender.

It was a year that would have never been steady without faith bigger than my own body that a God far bigger than this tiny world would show up and push me where I needed to be. It was a year of giving things up for Him. Of letting “self” fall into the background to embrace a new purpose and plan. His plan was greater than mine. His hope for my life was more brilliant than mine.

20 was a year of falling in love.

20 was a year of falling in love and falling into rhythm with my own calling. I learned that anything– a passion, a job, a dream, a vocation, a person– must be courted steadily. It must be tended to. It must be watered. It must be remembered. It will demand longer hours. It will cry to you late at night. It will push you, and make you cancel plans, and scream until it gets it’s way. But it will help you change the world. And it will instill you with a message that is far greater than yourself. 

20 was a year of struggles.

And learning not to just tell myself to “get over it”. If it were that easy, maybe we’d all do it. We’d have no issues. We’d have no internal struggles. We wouldn’t walk this line of good and evil every day. Babe, if you’ve got struggles then let’s start raging. Your tiny fingers were prepped and created for battle.

Struggles are going to make you a fighter. I’ve learned to kiss the dirty ground for struggles. They are going to make your story that much more resilient. You’re not going to survive them, you are going to absolutely obliterate them.

20 was a year of breaking off.

Little by little, breaking off all the parts of me that no longer fit or no longer could serve the world. It was the year of learning that life is too short to stand around and pray that maybe one day you’ll wake up and be the person you’ve always wanted to be. That has to start with you. And in you. And it has to start sooner, rather than later. 20 was chipping away at the exterior with a chisel and refocusing on the the things of the inner: faith. decency. dignity. humility. trust. passion. forgiveness.

20 was a year of learning that things break all the time. And you’ve got to be willing to take a break when your body is spent and your soul is tired and your eyes are glazed over from looking at a computer screen for too long. Breaking is necessary for the refueling of your spirit and centering once again so you can better serve the world. & be a bright light within it.

20 was a year of choices.

Listen, people. You get choices.

Every single day. You don’t get all the answers. But you will get those choices. Some mammoth and massive. Others tiny and seemingly minute. Each one matters though. Every single choice– every task that does or does not meet the to-do list– will ultimately stack up and answer one big question: whether you standing here– with gifted oxygen in your lungs– actually meant something.

Gosh, 20- thank you. The dancing was good. The laughter was thick.

21 will be a year of celebration.

A year of dancing in the aftermath of what 20 gave to me. 21 will be a year of hustling harder than ever before but sucking in the joy deep, like a curly straw stuck in the thick of a cookies & cream milkshake. 21 will be a year of breaking the rules (or at least the rules I’ve still left intact). It will be a year of testing limits. And pushing forward. And seeing more miracles than ever before. 21 will be a year filled with the spirit of relentless and oozing with the potential of greater things yet to come.

21 will be a good, good year. Just you watch and see.

A Toast To The Ones That Fight For One Another. Over And Over Again.

So there's this article. And it went viral. The type of viral where you open up your Facebook and wonder if it's broken or having "technical difficulties" because this article is ALL. YOU. SEE. Post. After post. After post. You get the point.

 So, needless to say, you may have read it. You may have even posted it. It's titled 23 Things To Do Instead Of Getting Engaged Before You're 23.

The article just screams girl power, independence, freedom, and everything else enticing and dazzling that the world tells me I should want and have at this age. So to be quite honest with you, I read it and then felt guilty for wanting to get married someday. I bought into her theory (for a half second) that marriage is a cop-out. A settling. A safety blanket. A thing for the ones that want comfort.

So for awhile a minute I tried acting like I didn't want to get married. And put on a show (for me, myself, and I) like I wanted to be some big bad adventuring world traveler that "don't need no man". But that didn't last for long. It was only a moment later that I was day-dreaming about raising a family, waking up next to the love of my life each morning, and then getting out of our warm cozy bed to go raise a baby that poops on us and drools all day long.

Yes, I'm single. And I love it. I really do. Being single is fabulous. But the dream I've had since I was old enough to dream has been to one day settle down, be a wife, and raise a family. That's it. That's my dream. And I'm done feeling bad or guilty or weird for that being my dream.

Because you know what? I think it's a noble dream to dream.

And if you're anything like me, you're scared to death of vocalizing a dream like that because you think it will somehow "jinx" you and make you end up a lonely cat lady until the day you die. So you play reverse psychology with Cupid and say things like, "I don't wanna get married, anyways" because everyone you see that says that ends up walking down the aisle 2.5 seconds later.

 I'm not married. So I'm confident that I'm absolutely and positively 99% naive about all-things-marriage. So sue me if I'm wrong, but I think marriage is one of the most courageous things you could ever walk into. And one of the most difficult. It's not a dream for the faint of heart. It's not a dream for those seeking comfort. It will be one of the most uncomfortable, difficult, but most rewarding and beautiful things you could ever say yes to.

...

I've had to back out carefully from these boxes of what people think it means to be "single and somehow waiting" because they will suffocate me and I won't remember how to want you any longer. 

I'm caught in a world that tells me to never settle and then double backs to tell me that I shouldn't have too high of expectations. That people aren't perfect. And fairy tales aren't perfect. I know that.

Darling, I'm not looking for some Cinderella story. Jeepers, I will go barefoot if you wanna roll that way. I'm not looking for you to buy me roses every day. I am not going to chastise you for improper grammar (though words spelt out fully in text messages are SO much sexier). I haven't married you in my mind already (don't worry), simply because I don't even know yet if you like cookie dough ice cream and I think I would have to know that first. And let's just be honest, I would be content with a pixie stick and a ring made out of a straw wrapper if it meant we could focus on faithfulness instead of fluff. 

 Because the girl that wrote that article was right about a lot. She's right about the fact that marriage isn't what it used to be. That the divorce rates are out of this world. That selfishness has become a plague within our society that is literally suffocating and slaughtering marriages left and right. Because of all the fluff. Because of all the lies that Hollywood feeds us. Because of our inability to put others before ourselves. But I wanna be on the front lines of this fight- this fight to show the world what sacrificial love looks like, what it acts like, and what it talks like.

But my worry with this dream comes from living in a world where “goodbye” is rarely ever meant because technology has made it easier for us to hold on to old flames just a little longer. And we make movies out of unresolved love stories that leave other girls and guys standing like fools at the altars, left not chosen because their partner’s heart never found the endurance it would take to let an old love die. And so they stopped being honest. And they let it get too far. My worry comes from knowing we still get weak in the knees and we wonder “what if” because it excites us and it gives us adventure. But it breaks our hearts all over again. All at the same time.

Or, on the other hand, we live in a world where people give up too easily, say goodbye too quickly, and demand perfection too frequently. We live in a world that makes movies all about how magical and easy falling in love and staying in love is. When in reality, love is A FIGHT. A brutal one, at that. 

 

So trust me, I’m not asking for a fairy tale. I'm asking for you to fight.

Forget the pumpkin. Forget the dress. But I expect that both of us are going to show up to this thing like gladiators. With shields. And swords. And cool armor. And all the things it would take to fight for one another, over & over & over again.  You, my dear, are already my favorite thing to fight for. Did you know that? I don’t even need to know the color of your eyes or the quirk in your laugh to know I’m going to fight for you like crazy.

And every single day I grow stronger as a woman, and a leader, and future Someone to you someday but everyday until then I am reminded of just how fragile you already are to me.

And so I’d rather wait here, not giving trial runs and free subscriptions to my heart out up until the day you come around. I’d rather stay here and learn the crooks and corners of this heart of mine for myself before I ever think you could attempt to understand it too. I don’t need to know your every footstep. I don’t care all the places you’ve been. I just want a loyalty that this world won’t give us.

That’s worth waiting for. It’s worth sacrificing everything for it.

I might never get the rose from another guy for as long as it takes for you to get here. I. Don’t. Care. Because if and when I find you, that is it.

You get all my human affections. You get all of me. A deal is a deal is a deal. 

I’m yours.

Purity: She's Worth All Of The Hulabaloo

It's a huff and a puff, uphill, sweaty, and downright ruthless uphill battle to keep purity around. She's expensive. So expensive. Like, dang girl, give us all a break! But she's so worth it. Because you know what? There's just something about purity. There's something in her name that sounds like bells, the kind they hook to horses when their hooves patter and pull the carriages through the freshly fallen snow. And there's just nothing more magical than that.

**By now, y'all should already know that "normal" isn't exactly the most fitting word to describe me. By any stretch. I'm not your typical 20-year-old girl. I'm the girl that leaves parties early to go home and write until the wee hours of the night, sculpting stories and breathing life into my characters: Tragedy. Happiness. Envy. Life. Purity. And the leading lady of them all- Love.**

Love is a beautiful girl all dolled up and glowing in an elegant red dress, hair long and flowing ever-so-graciously in the wind, and long fingers curled around a spiced hot cocoa. Love, she always spoke so gracefully, so melodically, and so softly. In a world where we have always wanted things to be neat and orderly, precise and predictable, love has never truly fit in. She's the rebel of the group. She's so different that she's completely and positively irresistible. We get one taste of her, and we can't help but want more. She's in high demand.

And because of that, in my stories she always kept a body guard around. She had a body guard because people were always trying to misuse and abuse her. People were trying to make Lady Love something she was not- something cheap and something easy. So, she hired Purity as her body guard. And DANG, did they make for one dynamic duo! Like, Batman and Robin. Or Bert and Ernie. Or any other heroic pair that you can think of. Except so, so much better.

'Cause, you see, where Tragedy and Envy came and tried blowing us over like little piggies with super power breath, Purity came sweeping in as the quiet fighter, combatting for our hearts as the ever-patient sidekick of Love. I know that one for a fact. After a magical and endearing year-and-a-half of dating one of the most incredible guys on planet earth, Purity, I believe, was one of the leading heroes assisting in holding me together when all I wanted to do was break down. But in a still small voice, Purity reminded me of how I had nothing to regret, and how I was a better person because of that relationship. Because of that relationship I now stand up taller than ever, more whole than ever.

To be able to walk away from a nearly two-year relationship absolutely, positively 100% regret-free because of the constant price that was paid to keep Purity around- geesh. That's a beautiful thing. That's a beautiful thing that I thank God for every day. I thank God for protecting me in that way and I thank God for giving me the privilege and honor of dating someone who loved me so much that he knew that I was worth the high price of Purity.

You're worth it like that. Don't you know you're worth it like that?

Sometimes we as girls think that Purity gets in the way of Love. When really, Purity is protecting Love, guarding Love, growing Love. I think back to those nights where the fight was almost just too much. To those nights where I thought I was going to give up. And then I think back to that boy. And I think back to every time he was strong enough to say no, and every time he was strong enough to stop us from compromising Purity. And I smile. I smile because he knew what Love was about all along. He knew that Purity was there to guard love,  to keep her from becoming anything less than what she really is. And what she really is is the most beautiful, dazzling, treasured thing you could ever gain on this side of eternity. Love. Isn't she something?

So girls, my challenge to you is this: Stop fearing that purity and keeping parts of your body from guys before you are married will withhold Love from you or somehow keep you from Love.  Maybe you need to rethink this whole Love thing and what it's all about. Do it. I dare you. Your eyes might water. And your tongue might get dry. And you might say you got this Love thing wrong the whole time. It was never running out, but always rushing in.

"Don't try to limit me," Love would say. "And don't think I'm leaving tomorrow or the day after Sunday. Don't box me in. Don't worry about me running out. I don't run out. I only rush in. Let me go where I need to go. Unleash me to dance with the ones you so adore. Let me get all wrapped up in them. Let me get tangled in their hair. But above all, don't be afraid to say that you want me- in every area, in every morning, in every hour. Just let me be as I was made to be. Thick. Big. Overwhelming, but understanding. Overflowing, but underrated."

So underrated.

So dig in. You. Just. Dig. In. To what life could look like when love is the ally- not the toxic home wrecker. And keep Purity around. You'll thank her later.

'Cause Life Can Be A Real $&@*% Sometimes

Life is a funny one. She can be so soft spoken. She can be graceful. She can be sweet as a summertime kiss, leaving you breathless and in awe, always wanting more.

But then other times.... other times she's relentless; she's a raging sea; she's painstakingly cruel, gutting you to the core and breaking you down- down as far as you can go. She comes after you in a take-no-prisoners-she's-out-for-blood kind of quest. You wanna run from her. You wanna hide. But, oh sweet pea, how
wild and how alluring it was when I just let it be- when I stopped running from her and just let her waves crash over me and take me away. Let yourself be gutted. Let it open you. Start here.

You see, the cards that life deals you, they're yours. You don't have a right to the cards you believe you should have been dealt with. But you have an obligation to play the hell out of the cards you're holding. Learn to love it all, baby. Learn to play it like a pro. After all, you only get one shot at this thing called life. And I want to love every second of it- every miserable, confusing, black and blue second of it.

No matter what happens though, be a warrior for love. Life can throw you everything she's got at you, but she can't tell you what to do with it. Only you can. Only you can tell life what to do with the broken heart she gave you. Do it no matter what is true. No matter what is hard. Fight. For. Love. FIGHT.

Heck yes, those sweet, precious, and beautiful seasons that life gives you are joyous and wonderful. (Life, if you're reading this, I'll gladly take any and all pretty moments you wanna give me.) But really and truly, you're not really living until you get a good beating from her; until you're face down to the ground and everything you ever thought was true and good has been stolen and destroyed.

When life came and smacked me in the face, something happened within me. It took time, but soon enough I realized that the smack in the face from life actually gave me a new "ummph" for life, if you will. A new zeal for my day-to-day living.

That good ole smackity smack down from life showed me that no one can protect you from suffering. You can't cry it away, eat it away, starve it away, punch it away, or even therapy it away. It's just there, and you have to survive it. You have to endure it. You have to live through it, and love it, and move on and be better for it, and run as far and as fast as you can for your best and happiest dreams that await you amidst it all.

So once I woke up and smelled my new fervor for life that life herself granted me through a good ole fashioned punch to the gut, I stopped resenting her for sending suffering and sorrow my way. I realized that it was never her and I against each other. She's been on my side all along. Both of us, working hand-in-hand through any and every life circumstance available, to learn more about love and fight for it with everything we have within us. Because it was never about me. It was never about life. It's always been and will always be all about love.

Let Go // Throw Blessings

Being real is not for the faint of heart, I'll tell ya that much. Being vulnerable has it's consequences. Publicizing your innermost thoughts and struggles for the world to see is like volunteering yourself for some sort of Hunger Games- except worse. Some people will take advantage of your vulnerability. Some will relentlessly make sport of your honesty. People will criticize you. And then criticize you some more.

But then others will be real right back with you. And that's what makes all the criticism worth it. 

Since publishing my last post, Once Upon A Time, I've had a myriad of individuals ask me the same question in a million different words, "What if I'm not ready to let go? What if I'm not ready to move on?" 

So to all of my readers that are real and honest right back with me, looking to me for some magical word to make it all better, this is what I have to say:

Words fail. 

Being a writer, I really struggled with that after my breakup. Like, really. Words are my solution for everything. But moments after the breakup, I fell into my couch, breathed out a heavy, devastated sigh of I-don't-even-know-what, and gazed at my aunt, completely dumbfounded, waiting for some wise morsel of truth to exit her mouth that would somehow heal me instantaneously. 

That didn't happen. 

She simply kneeled down at my feet, looked up at me, shook her head, and cried with me. There were no words exchanged. Just a room deafened by the sound of tears. The next day I sat in the lobby outside of a work conference and let out a few tears on the city bench when suddenly my best friend peered around the corner, took a seat next to me, and took part in shepherding the mass exodus of tears from my body. Then yet again, two days later, I woke up to my sister sitting next to me on my bed. She didn't have to say anything at all. (I just knew she was begging for an encore of my tears. ;) And my tears surely did not disappoint.) With one look from my sweet sister, they were dancing down my cheeks yet again. And yet again, I looked up into the face of someone that loves me, and found her crying alongside of me as well.

I was expecting all three of those women to join in the anthem with the rest of the world and chant boldly and loudly at me, "Let him go. Let him go. Let him go. He's not worth your tears." But that's not what the response I got from them. Because each one of these women have had their fair share of heartbreak warfare. They know that letting go is not something you can decide immediately, but rather a process that you arrive to, solely on the basis of you and the Lord's own sweet timing. 

So my advice to you: You don't have to let him go. You don't have to let him go until you are ready to, and until you feel the grace to.

I did all of the basics. I got rid of his Facebook. I deleted his number. I got rid of his clothing. But if someone tells you those are the ways to let someone go, don't listen. It's not true. Those are just the introductory steps to an instruction book that doesn't exist. The real work is how you're going to sew a new song out of all the broken music notes inside of you. 

Do what you gotta do to make it through, sweetheart. Be gentle with yourself. Don't rip yourself from it all too quickly. Take your time and soon enough, I promise you that your fists will grow tired from all the clenching and you'll let it go. It will happen naturally. It will happen melodically. 

When I loved him, when I really loved him with my whole frame and being, I wanted the world for him. I wanted laughter. I wanted joy. I wanted success. I wanted everything he wanted since he was a little boy. A heartbreak happened. Two people changing. Life throwing around unfavorable circumstances- but those should never be the things that make us stop wanting goodness for someone we once loved with our whole heart. That's childish. 

Eventually you'll be ready to clear out all the space in your mind that's being used to obsess over this guy. It might take a month, it might take a year. But sooner or later you'll come to a place where you realize that YOU get to decide if you want to be the empty cup that needs refilling or the full pitcher that overflows into all the other cups. People will muster up their best breakup advice, wrap it up, and give it to you nicely. But the real secret in letting go is this: To let things go, really let them go, open up your hands and bless others by the fistful.

"Your fists clenching rocks of what-used-to-be eventually defeats the purpose of two hands that were created to throw blessings in barren places."

I know there is something glittering and dazzling inside of you that wants to kick down the walls that you put up and let others in. I think you should go with that. I think you should go with the God-given dream within you to be a blessing to others in the midst of your pain. Channel your tears to heal others. I believe in a God that uses our tears for a harvest. He lets us use our pain to make a feast for someone else. Don't wait for the sadness to clear to be a blessing to someone else. You'll miss out on today. 

When I finally opened up my hands, it was all there waiting for me. And I pictured that boy- the one I loved with all of my heart- and I pictured him smiling. Because he had a great smile. And I stopped regretting how we broke. Because look at me now. I'm standing taller than ever. I'm more stretched and brilliant, and whole than I ever was before. And because of him, my hands throw blessings in barren places. 

Open up your hands, baby doll. The world is waiting.

Cassandra

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, I had a boyfriend. And once upon a time, it was wonderful, beautiful, magical, pure, and so innocent. I thought our relationship was "breakup proof". I thought we were somehow immune to ever breaking up. I thought this fairytale was one that would certainly pass the test of time.

Well, what I thought could never happen, happened. In a flash. In a blur. In an unreal, "pinch me, I must be dreaming" kind of way. Gone. Done. Game over. It was a surreal moment. I still remember the look on his face, the smell of my freshly cleaned hair, the taste of supreme anxiousness, and the poignant sound of heartbreak. I'm not kidding, people. It was almost as if I could literally hear my heart crack right down the middle. Yet somehow, I held myself together. The breakup didn't take long. Just a simple explanation was sufficient. Almost two years of relationship was ended in the matter of what seemed like two minutes. And then he was gone.

"Breathe, Cassandra."

My sweet friends had to remind me to do that quite a few times for the next several days. It's funny, really, how heartbreak can even physically pain you. I've never gone through a break up, heartbreak, or anything of the sorts, so this is all new territory for me. I was scared to death of losing my once-upon-a-time-boyfriend (I HATE the term "ex-boyfriend" so for now he is deemed my "once-upon-a-time-boyfriend" until someone else comes up with a more endearing term for those previous little lovers of ours). The only thing I knew of breakups is what I had heard from others- which were all horrific, gut-wrenching, sad sob stories. "Great. So this is what I have to look forward to for the next several months. Buckle up, Cass", is what I thought to myself as he uttered the words to me, "So... I think this is over."

I've learned something though.

It doesn't have to be horrific. It doesn't have to be gut-wrenching. It doesn't have to make you sob endlessly for weeks. Ladies, please listen to me. Your breakup has the potential to only make you or break you. There is no middle ground, though. It will either destroy you and obliterate you, or it will empower you and inspire you. And YOU have the power to choose which way you will let it take you- up or down. Up or down, baby. But either way, you're not staying where you are, so make a decision. And make it fast before the decision is made for you and gravity starts violently tugging you down.

I don't know about you, but I thought my breakup would annihilate me. I thought I'd spend the next year of my life sitting on my couch eating chocolates, watching sad love movies, and wondering why the heck I let myself fall in love in the first place. But when push comes to shove, and that moment of heartbreak actually presents itself to you, you find out what you're made of. The cool thing about trials is that they reveal your strength (or lack thereof) in ways that no other circumstance could. It's seasons like this that show you how knit your spirit truly is (or isn't) with Jesus.

The truth of the matter is, if you belong to Jesus and He belongs to you, there is absolutely nothing to fear. No amount of grief is too much to bear if He's there. All questions subside in His presence. All worries die before His face. All injustices are taken care of if laid down at His feet. I remember moments after the breakup, crying aloud to God, "Okay. Here's Your moment to shine. You LITERALLY really are going to have to be more than enough." (As if I thought He didn't follow through on His word...)

And WHOA, did He show up! As sad as heartbreak is, I wouldn't trade this season of my life for anything. It's an oxymoron, really, but walking through this season of heartbreak has been my favorite season of life thus far. I'm learning so much about myself and about The Lord that I don't think I would have learned if He didn't take that relationship from me. I'm learning what it means to be content in every situation; to have joy in the midst of pain; to smile and laugh because life is too short to stay sad; to do things that I've never done before; to love extravagantly because no loss is too much to bear; to make new friends; to enjoy this new intimacy that The Lord offers the brokenhearted; and most of all, to trust with reckless abandon that I have nothing to fear.

So, girls, no more sitting on the couch eating ice cream trying to ease the pain. No more sitting and thinking for hours, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. No more comparing yourself to every other girl your ex ever talks to again. No more timidity or fear of falling in love again. Stand up, beautiful girl, and turn your gaze to Jesus. The promises and life He offers you in this time SO FAR OUTWEIGH any amount of pain you feel right now. Get up. Go dance. Go sing. Go find things to be thankful for, cause they're there. And once you find them, and once you start outwardly giving thanks and training your mind to only think of those things which are "pure, lovely, admirable, and true" (Phil. 4:8), you will find that this breakup may have been the best thing to ever happen to you.