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I'm sitting outside the Starbucks in my hometown and it's 65°F out and the sun is glowy on my face and this moment feels like a really good time to reflect on the past year.

2019 was the most monumental year of my life. It held the highest highs and the lowest lows. I loved and I lost more than I ever could've anticipated.

I learned a lot about myself. I learned that I have so much tenderness for people and the world. I learned that I have twice as many emotions as a normal human; and some days I feel like crying because of how golden the trees look when the sun is setting. I learned that I easily give into peer pressure. I am a people-pleaser. I am extremely critical of myself and others, but I hate being criticized or wrong. I am drawn to the underdog. I am equal parts fiery and soft. I listen to my gut instinct always. I am rebellious by nature. I am an optimist.

I learned things like I am much more productive at night. I will fight for what is right and good every time. I am afraid of commitment and vulnerability. I thrive in the summer and I am miserable in the winter. I am introspective and probably spend too many hours considering who I am becoming. I only become an extrovert when I'm in a bad headspace. I'm an introvert when I'm healthy. I care so deeply about people that it hurts. I'll sacrifice anything for love. I'm still growing and stretching and learning about myself, but the mountains and valleys of this year exposed a lot about my character that I hadn't seen before.

I'm thinking about all that 2019 held for me: I started rock climbing, I ate a vegan diet for the whole year, I started writing poetry and making music and painting again (and stopped being afraid of the criticism about it), I explored Colorado and Costa Rica, I considered switching my major at least 10x, I had the privilege of loving someone deeply, I ripped up my 5 year plan and stepped into the beautiful unknown, I lost friends that I thought I'd have forever and I made new ones in unlikely places.

But really I find myself thinking about the smallest moments, like when three of my closest friends and I drove around Bowling Green in November with the windows down and heat on full blast, screaming old Taylor Swift songs. Or sleepovers on air mattresses in our good ol room #232. Or when I slipped and fell into a creek right before class and had to sit in Microbiology lab in wet clothes. Those memories are enough to keep me warm on these dark December days.

I'm filled with gratitude when I think about how much life I lived this year. In so many ways, the universe was kind to me.

But 2019 also held grief. The kind of grief that blindsides you. The kind of grief you know will affect you for a long, long time. This year, I walked through the death of three loved ones, the loss of multiple friendships, and crushing waves of personal trauma. In October, I skipped 9 classes in a row simply because I didn't want to see anyone. I had pneumonia for 3 weeks. I became cynical and overcritical about any church I attended. I became emotionally draining on the people around me. I almost dropped my sorority (again). I went through cycles of binging and starving. I burned my bridges with some really close friends. My seasonal depression spiraled. I wouldn't listen to anyone's advice about anything. More than anything, I felt really, really alone.

I spent most of 2019 wondering who God really is. I believed that he could only be found within the four walls of a church. I believed he was distant and weak. I believed that he was a scam for people who needed some form of moral structure in their lives. I believed he made up all these pointless rules to keep me from real fun. But he isn't who I thought he was.

I don't claim to understand the magnitude of God's manifestation. But a whole year later and all I can say is this:

He was with me in the mess.

He was with me when I abandoned my reputation

in a castle of flashing lights and intoxication.

He sat with me in my car,

when I was free falling into self destruction,

when I blamed him for the chaos.

He wept with me the night I lost everything.

He has been with me every day since.

He walked barefoot in the street with me

when I couldn't see past the blur,

when I left my rebellious heart in the dark

and finally admitted defeat.

And he's with me now, as I begin this painful journey of healing. He didn't leave me when I told him that I hated him. He didn't leave me when I wouldn't claim him. I couldn't run from his grace even if I wanted to. Even if I tried to.

It's not about performance or rules anymore. It's not even about tangible proof. I feel him in the mystery of peace and in the roaring wind and in my friends' arms that hold me when I don't have any more words.

What is he's not who I thought he was? What if he's better?

This year I've felt really human. Really small. Full of mistakes and wrong turns. And it's in deep humility that I say I'm sorry to the people I hurt when I was hurting. I'm still grappling with my losses and gains this year. I'm still discovering who I am and who God is. I have spent most of my time during winter break reconciling. Reconciling with friends that were caught in the crossfire of my destruction, reconciling with God, and with most difficulty—myself.

I'm ready to welcome the new year with tenderness and humility and gratitude.

2019 has proven to me that life will always feel chaotic and messy and beautiful. I wanted it to be perfect, to fit in a box, to be in my control. But I think I like it better this way, all splintered and complex and emotional.

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So today I'll reflect on the highs and lows of 2019.

I will never be the same after the things I did and the things that happened to me this year.

But somehow I know that I will forget the details, like who took me to that fraternity formal and how I spent that one Friday night. I'll leave 2019 with teary eyes, overwhelmed by the simple grace of Jesus. He is light and zest and space and time—and he is with me even when I run from him.

That is what I'll remember about this year.