I keep saying “I’m not that kind of girl”

Truth is, I am more that kind girl than I ever thought I would be.
I drive a jeep and bought camo seat covers for it. I have a hot pink kayak. I have an ever increasing number of tattoos. My nose is pierced as is a part of my ear other than my lobe. I wear a bikini bathing suit to the beach to lay out in the sun. I like to wear dresses and skirts and even high heels. I like to climb trees and walls and sometimes hills and mountains. I break some rules- mostly jaywalking. I lead Bible studies. I watch sermons in my spare time. I read before I go to bed. I brush my teeth first thing in the morning and usually before bed. I always make my bed. I live attached to my phone.  I cook more often than I bake, but I do both and usually from scratch. I spend more money on food than clothes. I love yoga but still find the need for a good run. I cuss sometimes, mostly on purpose. I break promises and hearts. I lose my temper and cause hurt. I am ever learning what grace looks and feels like. And I continue to practice the art of apologizing and humility of asking for help.
So much of who I look like is in line with who I am. However, I still get stuck. I get stuck in that place of anxiety that what my life looks like creates an unrealistic expectation of who I am. I am not always graceful. I am not always overjoyed that I drive a jeep. I sometimes even have a microwavable dinner. I waffle in my indecision of who to trust. I don’t always trust myself. I don’t always trust others. And, more often than I would like, I don’t always trust God. This is the place that scares me the most. This place of waffling and mistrust- this hellhole of anxiety. Want to know why I like to plan? Why I look at every detail? Why I am an avid researcher of the world wide web when I don’t know something? Why I freak out when something is misspelled or I have something in my teeth? Because, I know what it is to live in fear. And if I’m not running from the fear, I become obsessed in trying to figure it out- most people tell me I over-analyze… everything. Once I get fixated on something, I think through it until I try and comprehend the mystery of it, which makes it feel like I am in control. This also makes me appear wise- because people rarely see me freaking out in the midst of this place.
And God has been kind in allowing me to experience the brokenness of such fear- to see the goodness in being broken in that place and broken free from that place. But even in the freedom, in the joy of trusting God and walking out in faith, of just “rolling with it,” I still get stuck sometimes. I get lost and I break down and I cry like a girl.
The point of this is to remind myself: I am that kind of girl. But I get to choose who I am. I don’t think any of this surprised (or surprises) God. But it surprised me one day as I saw my tattooed hand playing with the wind outside the door of my jeep as I drove down the highway after church- that was when it all began to sink in. I am that kind of girl – I am every bit of myself with only the apologies necessary to continue to mold that person to be more in line with who God is, not who I think others or myself think I should be.

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