The Vice President of the organization I work for was showing me how to build a PivotTable in Excel. I thought I was proficient in Excel before; now I was learning something I didn't even know I didn't know. I was enthralled. But while I was listening to him explain how to set values and add filters, my brain jumped to a weird place: his small children at home. 

They don't know what their dad does at work, I thought. They don't know any details besides he leaves in the morning, goes to a place called work to do a thing called work, and comes home in the evening. They may be starting to understand that this is a thing some grown-ups do, ideally at least one per family, to make money to buy things, but they don't know that their dad used to work at a famous software company and gave it up to work in ministry. They don't know what a PivotTable is or even what Excel is. They know nothing of this world.

And it clicks in my brain: this is why my idea of adult is so skewed.

I am thoroughly enjoying this book Adulting: How to become a grown-up in 468 easy(ish) steps by Kelly Williams Brown. On the back cover it says, "Adult isn't a noun; it's a verb."

When we are kids, adults are these things that are just around. They're the big people who dress in the crisp clothes and go to jobs to work and feed us and tuck us in. They make food and plan vacations and know how to read chapter books. There is a clear distinction given the fact that, when we are little, we do not know how to cook a meal that involves an actual oven rather than a light-bulb powered one, and we couldn't even begin to organize a vacation. (Once, I tried to "run away". I packed a backpack with my doll in it and a book I liked and went into the backyard until someone noticed. No one noticed, so I came back inside. I was "away" for maybe five minutes.)

We didn't see them become grown-ups, they just were grown-ups because they knew more things and seemed to have stuff pretty well together most of the time. Grown-up seemed like a noun. 

The noun adult idea was reinforced by the most popular question I remember anyone asking me: What do you want to be when you grow up? What do you want to be. Noun.

This idea assumes that when I grow up I will be something. I will have a job presumably, a career hopefully (when I was around 6, I wanted to work four part time jobs: mermaid, dental hygienist for the elephants at the zoo, professional singer, and ballerina). There seemed to be a moment in time I should aspire to, when I grow up. There would be a time before it happened and a time after it happened, and afterwards I would be something.

Fast forward to December 2012. I am graduating from college. I sit through this ceremony and think, Is this it? Is this… grown up?  But I don't have a fancy job or even an idea of what I'd like to be. Is school really over? Is this real life?

My parents are proud, my best friend is excited, but I am lost and sad. Is not-grown-up-ness gone now? Must I start to be something? But what will I be? How will I decide? Does the fact that I haven't decided mean I've already failed?

It took me a year and a half to finally realize what is stated so simply on my new adulthood guidebook. Adult isn't a noun. It's not something I become one day or wake up as, as if the adult fairy will leave a career under my pillow. It's not a place I arrive at or a thing I turn into. It isn't a what or a who, a when or a where. It's a do. It's a happening. It's a verb.

Class of 2014, maybe you are excited this week as you finish classes and accomplish a college degree. You darn well should be excited and proud, too.  You did an amazing thing, you worked hard, and you and your parents just bought the most expensive piece of paper you will ever own. Wear an over-sized robe and a silly hat and show off that piece of paper.

But maybe like me you also have some emotions floating around in there that you didn't expect to feel. Maybe you feel nostalgic and oddly sad that you will never again turn in a paper or sit in those desks with the ridiculously tiny writing spaces. Maybe your time in school since kindergarten flashes in your mind like a movie montage and you think, Is this it? It's really over? Maybe you feel lost and scared and a little like you don't want to be a grown-up after all. No one told me this, but those are okay emotions to feel during this time as well. 

Relax a little, though, because you don't have to worry anymore about getting to some strange land called Adulthood. You will never arrive, you will only journey, and it's only tiring if you don't enjoy the ride.

Saturday Shout-out: Thanks for answering my call

I knew my situation was not unique, but I didn't know many people personally who had been through a broken engagement.  As least not personally enough to call up and essentially say, "I am going through this hard thing that you have also been through.  Help."

I am so thankful that what could have come across as a nuisance - a random phone call digging up a past you were trying to forget - didn't seem bothersome at all.  I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders when I heard the compassion in your voice. 

Compassion: to suffer alongside.  You understood my pain, my confusion, my regret. 

You gave me the advice you wish someone would have given you.  You told me what you would have told yourself if the you now could tell the you then how to deal. 

One thing you said was a major help in processing through my emotional wounds.  You told me to let myself feel what I feel.  Your mom had wanted you to be mad and hateful, but some days you woke up devastated, without the energy to be mad or the motivation to hate.  You said you should have let yourself be sad those days or happy on the days you felt like life was okay enough to be happy about, but you stayed mad.  For a long time.  You told me to process it better, to just feel what I feel. 

It was so freeing to talk to someone who knew what to say in light of many other people in my life saying nice things with good intentions hoping to love and comfort me but really not helping.  It was even more freeing to know that I didn't have to rein in my emotions or try to decide how to feel but that it would help to just feel it all. 

And it did help.  A lot.  I could tell that my mom, too, wanted me to be angrier than I was because of how angry she was on my behalf.  I appreciated her anger and her motherly desire for pain to come to anyone who hurts me (pain that would likely be delivered by my equally angry father and brother).  Some days I was angry and hurt and wanted pain to happen to him, too.  Other days I felt bad being angry.  I felt almost in agreement with his choice not to get married.  And those feelings had their place; they needed to be just as valid.  The best days were the days I woke up feeling strong and content.  I couldn't be angry or sad on those days because that would be a step backwards.  The emotions eventually sorted themselves out as I let them come and go naturally and as God continued to care for my hurting heart. 

Thank you for this wonderful advice, friend.  Thank you for being there for me in my time of need, for being willing to meet me in my hurt and help me find my way out of it, and for being someone I could call for a lifeline.  Thank you for answering my call.  

Jealous of what?

I happen to be standing at church behind a woman I think of as much prettier than me.  She is tall and thin, and I don't know if she has ever considered being a model, but she could be.  She dresses nicely, always looks put together, and is, overall, very beautiful.   

She is one woman of many that I have been jealous of over the years.  One of many who, from my perspective at least, seems to have been born with an effortless beauty.  One of many who I have wished I could look like more than I look like myself.   

But last night at church, something changed.  A sentence happened clearly in my  brain; it was my voice, but it was not something I would say.  It seemed familiar, but it was not something I had ever thought before.  It happened the same way other thoughts normally happen in my brain, but it seemed to come from somewhere else.   

Her beauty reflects the same God as your beauty does.   

I had to sit down.  The thought washed over me, expelling the jealousy. It was oddly sudden, but I wanted to keep experiencing the truth of this thought, the clarity it was offering, so I kept repeating it to myself.  Her beauty comes from the same sources as yours.  Truth happened in my heart, truth I should have realized before but never did, truth that was expelling the shadows of lies and brokenness and imperfection.  I made her, and I made you; your beauty is not a competition, it's a cooperation.  I grabbed my notebook out of my purse and wrote things down.  I didn't want to forget this thing I shouldn't have needed reminding of.   

We are the body of Christ.  When one part is particularly beautiful, we are all beautiful.  When one part succeeds, we all succeed.  Anything good we do, have, or make, came from God, and he calls us to give it back for his glory.  I have no reason to be jealous, ever.   

I have written before about my comparison complex, how I may be content with what I have until I see someone with something better.  I have noticed, though, it doesn't work just in one direction.  I don't compare only when I come out behind; I criticize to feel right, I judge to feel better, I look down on to feel higher than.   

The second case, puffing up and feeling better, is obvious pride.  But the first is pride, too.  When I am jealous, I am still making the world about me.  When I'm jealous, I'm not being a good body member.   

I've memorized Philippians 2:3-4 before, which encourages us to have humility like that of Christ, but I always thought the verses before stuck out a bit.  I never understood how they fit in with the rest of the section until just now, when I read it in new light.   

2 So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, 2 complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. 3 Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. 4 Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. 

My paraphrase to myself: Is it helpful to be part of the body?  Convenient sometimes, even?  Does it bring you joy?  How about fellowship with Christ, ya like that?  Then fellowship the right way.  Be a real team.  Don't join in only when it suits you; don't be a part of this only for what you get out of it.  Be together, really together.  Be for each other, even when it's hard.  Celebrate someone else even though it means you're not being celebrated in that moment.  Because actually, when you're really together, you're being celebrated when someone else is, too, because your King is being honored.  

Saturday Shout-out: Thanks for the ride

I called you late from an airport.  It was you I called because I knew there would be no, "I told you so" comments coming from your end of the line.  I told you that I had just broken up with my lying, cheating boyfriend, the one all my friends had been trying for months to convince me was a liar and a cheater.  I told you that I didn't regret giving him as many chances as I did but that I knew he had used up his last one.  You were patient and kind; you let me talk through my anger and my hurt with you, and you asked questions like you really cared. 

At the end of the conversation, whether you really meant it or were just trying to offer me a bit of friendly comfort, you offered me whatever I needed, even to pick me up from the airport when I flew in the next day.  I was thankful that someone was willing to catch me while I felt like I was falling in the darkness.  I spent the night at the airport and planned to fly home early the next day.  Just wanting to check my bags and get out of that airport, I ended up taking an even earlier flight to somewhere near home. 

You came and got me.  No hesitation, no questions, no taking back your offer of whatever I needed. 

What I needed was a friendly face, a loving hug, and a way home.  You came, on top of all that, with chocolate. 

I just remembered this the other day and felt badly that I had never offered to help pay for the gas to get me home.  I hope I at least thanked you profusely.  I can pay you back now, if you'd like, and I'm sorry I never thought about that before. 

When I was expecting my parents and my friends to welcome me home with proud I told you so's, you welcomed me with the selfless love of true friendship.  Thank you for being there for me when I simply needed to be loved and cared for.  Thank you for coming without judgment and with chocolate.  Thanks, friend, for the ride.  

Saturday Shout-out: You remind us to love

You are a severely under-appreciated holiday.  You are annually rejected and scoffed at as a ploy either to cause us to spend money or to feel lonely.  You just can't win.

But, Valentine's, you do deserve a day.

"We should celebrate our love for each other all year," some say, arguing that you should go away.  But no one is saying about Christmas, "We should celebrate God's love for us and our love for each other everyday, not just on Christmas, so let's cancel Christmas."

We should celebrate love all year, but, like Christmas, having a day makes the mushy feeling of celebrating love and each other just so much more fun.

So, Valentine's, here's to love, and here's to you.

Thanks for giving us a day to celebrate the ones we love.  Thanks for taking full advantage of cheesy cartoon hearts, light up hearts, hearts that hang from the ceiling, hearts that pop up out of cards, hearts of all colors and sizes from all places.  Thanks especially for chalky candy conversation hearts.

Thanks for being flexible and leaving room for the singles to celebrate as well.  Some find you exclusive and say you cater only to couples, but I know better.

Last year, you visited on a Thursday, my favorite day of the week.  You even brought a most wonderful surprise: snow in Tucson!  You encouraged me to begin to love myself, really deep down to the core to appreciate the person God created when he thought me up.  Since then, I have learned to accept who I have been, love who I am, and take positive steps everyday toward who I want to be.

Single or not, I will always love you, Valentine's Day.  I will always look forward to what surprises you bring when you visit.  And I will forever appreciate your reminder to love and to give.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go buy out the last of the clearance conversation hearts.

Saturday Shout-out: Thank you for jumping

After a week at camp, you used to write two songs for our youth group.  The first was a silly, musical scrapbook highlighting all the good times had and the jokes only we would understand.  We laughed at every lyric feeling surprised and so especially loved when we realized how well you had been paying attention to each experience all week.  You must have been taking notes!

The second song you wrote was built of sentences submitted by each small group: a summary of what we had learned that week, what God had done in our hearts, and what we hoped God would continue to do after our trip back home.  You took our sentences, made them rhyme, and set them to music.  You took our week at camp - all God had done to right us as people and strengthen us as a community - and gave it back to us in the form of a song that we might not soon forget all God had done and would do. 

Last week, I got to worship with friends and strangers, singing songs of praise and prayer about and for my city.  You said they were written by worship pastors in Tucson who came together from their different denominations and perspectives to collaborate on this process.  All I could think was, He's at it again.  You've taken our churches and our people, our history and our city and given it all back to us in the form of songs that we might not soon forget all God has done and is doing.

I think about the prayer meetings I got a glimpse into almost two years ago and how many of the same themes those leaders were praying for are present in these songs.  Just like I felt that last night of camp, I think your lyrics are making many Tucsonans and even, I would think, God, feel surprised and so especially loved to realize how well you have been paying attention.  You are so great at noticing the heart at the center of things, and you see what God is doing underneath it all.  You saw downtown as the heart of Tucson before many did, even when it was broken and barely beating.  And, as God does with things broken and forgotten, you paid attention. 

Thank you for City Psalms.  Thank you for your humility, for letting these songs be ours.  Thank you for releasing them to churches to play in their services.  Thank you for how you pay attention.  Thank you for loving Tucson and people how God does.  Gracias por incluir gente de cada raza y denominación. 

So many students were sad to see you leave our youth group, myself included.  But we understood you had to go.  We wanted you to follow the dream God had given you, too.   Though you had little idea what following that dream would look like, you knew absolutely that God had it all worked out.  You went, not without fear, I'm sure, but with much courage and faith. 

Thank you for going.  Thank you for following.  Thank you for jumping. 

And thank you for teaching us that when you jump in faith, you not only survive the fall.  God helps you fly.   

Saturday Shout-out: Thanks for breaking up with me

Though it may seem so, I assure you this post title isn't oozing with sarcasm.  I'm for real.  You did what you had to do, and I'm glad you did.   

I hadn't wanted to admit this before, but it took a lot of courage what you did.  People on TV break up weddings all the time, and they usually wait until the most painstaking moment: right before or even during the ceremony.  THANK THE GOOD LORD you did not wait until then.  You waited longer than I would have liked, but thank you times a million for not waiting until our wedding day.   

Life is harder than it looks on television, and I can now admit that it must have taken a lot to work yourself up to breaking off our engagement when you did.   

You bought a ring.  We put a deposit down on a date and a venue.  We had two different photographers (unpaid family and friend volunteers, thank goodness) take engagement photos.  I bought a dress, we booked a DJ, we designed the flowers.  I had just finished addressing all the invitations and had bought the postage.   

You sat me down in January and told me you had been having doubts about our getting married since September, which was one month before we got engaged.  I was furious that you had waited so long to tell me.  Now, on the other side of hurt and healing, I am thankful that the scariness of telling me then didn't cause you to shut up and tell me even later.   

It's a year after we broke up, but I still don't fully see the purpose of the blip we were in each other's life.  I believe I will one day, when you are a far distant memory.  But I can already begin to appreciate the things I've learned and the person I've become because of the experience of almost marrying you.  

I saw a picture of you the other day.  It felt like a picture of a stranger or maybe someone from a dream.  I knew you well, I thought.  But I will never know you again.  There was a bit of sadness, but strangely there was mostly a feeling of weightlessness, almost like relief.  Funnily enough, it was a lot like a Taylor Swift song. 

I still hate to admit that you were right.  I say instead that you did the right thing at the wrong time.  But you were right that it was wrong for us to be together.  We talked ourselves into the idea that we had found our match, and it was an easy idea to believe when things were easy.   

People think love is about feelings.  But love really happens when the feelings aren't there.  When life is hard and you've run out of reasons to love someone, that's when the choice to do so anyway really means something.   

But at the core of who you were, when you weren't putting effort into it, I didn't really like that person.  It was hard to enjoy you for exactly who you were and even harder to really love you.  I didn't enjoy your raw existence, and I know you didn't enjoy mine.   

I love you now like I love the Constitution.  You are a part of my history and the fact that you exist still plays a part in my life and will forever.  But I spend barely any time thinking of you.  I am thankful for what you taught me and the person I became from knowing you.  I am also thankful, though, that I don't have to spend everyday reading you.  

Thank you for the role you played in my life.  Thank you for loving me well for a short time and challenging me to be the best Katelyn I can be.  Thank you for all the things you taught me through the process of building a relationship together, planning a life together, and then dismantling it all.  Thank you for finally being able to say what you had been afraid to say for so long.  Thank you for breaking up with me.