(Adapted from an essay I wrote on failure)
I was that girl. I grew up in church, made straight A's, and was a cheerleader for most of my life. Any club you can name, I attended it in high school. I had an amazing reputation and was so proud of the being the goodie two shoes, all-american girl. Then I went to UT. I met my first boyfriend, and long story short I started making some pretty bad decisions. I ended up alone, broken, and no longer feeling deserving of love- much less the love of my heavenly father. who would want this garbage? For exactly 361 days, I wanted to
die. My hands were trembling, and my breath was cold as it ran over my lips. I
felt all alone on Henley Street Bridge, even though I could see the headlights
and feel the rush of the cars behind me. I can recall countless nights that I
had stayed up, sometimes 24 hours in a row, sobbing and begging God for death. I
could not take the feeling that my insides were ripping apart anymore. I had
lost myself in the midst of depression. The terrible black monster had destroyed
all hope that I would ever be successful, and I was certain that I would never
again feel joy. I looked at my bloody wrists and whispered to myself,” This is
it, just lean over far enough Lindsay, it will all be over once you hit the
water.” I had escaped an emotionally abusive relationship, but I lost all of my
friends because of it. Somehow, because he never hit me, the scars on my
self-esteem and left wrist did not count.
I had failed my chemistry class, ruining my chances at veterinary
school. Being a veterinarian had been my dream since childhood, and I failed
because I could not stop crying long enough to attend class. I had stopped
going to church, stopped being active in any organization, and stopped smiling. I was placing my foot on the ledge, but then
my phone vibrated. I looked down at the screen and there was a face of one of
the four year olds I coached in gymnastics. His name was Michael. His mom had
taken a picture of him holding a page up with hot pink scribbles on it. The
text read, “Michael couldn’t wait for class Monday, he had to show Miss Lindsay
the picture he drew now.” Tears welled up in my eyes and for the first time in
a while, I remembered what it was like to have a purpose. That little boy loved
me and I loved him. That was reason enough to live. My heart fell out of my
chest when I thought about how he would feel if I was not there Monday to get
my picture. What would he think if I never came back? Seeing the image of a
smiling toddler who wanted to give me his best gave me strength. I climbed over
the edge back to safety, and called a friend to come get me. After a lots of
tears, a trip to the ER, and Waffle House, I decided to leave the University of
Tennessee at the end of the semester and go home to receive therapy with the support
of my family. God used that little boy to save my life and inspire me
to continue working with children. God used my pain to lead me to HIS purpose for my life and not MY purpose. I was born to be a teacher.
The moment I was settled into my community college, I changed my
major to early childhood education and I have not looked back. I am back to
attending church, and I am now the pre-school ministry intern. Nothing gives me
more joy than helping children learn about Jesus. Their innocence, uniqueness,
and laughter inspire me daily. There were so many lessons that I
learned from failing. I learned that things never go as planned. The only thing
you can count on is that life is unpredictable, and how exciting is that? I
also learned to always be true to myself. I will keep God first, smile, and be
friend to all in times of need. Perhaps the most important thing that I learned
is to get back up. No matter what harm comes my way, I have to persevere. In Philippians
1:6, the Bible states that, “He who began a good work in you will carry it on
into completion.” God is not done with me yet, and I am not through making an
impact. I believe there is more work to be done through my story. I plan to
write a children’s book that deals with depression in hopes that maybe children
will remember to use effective coping strategies when they feel sad. When I am
a teacher, I will to work as hard as I can to make every child feel celebrated,
cherished, and respected. One child changed my life, and I long to be the
amazing person Michael saw in me.
The name of my blog came from this story. I am FEARLESS in Christ because I know HE goes before me. I am FLAWLESS (not for my lack of cellulite) because HE makes me beautiful and renewed in spirit each day. And most importantly, I am FORGIVEN because Christ chose to die for me. I know God is still molding my heart toward heavenly things and I just wanted to share my story with this campus.
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