The ground was green for it being the day after Christmas. I crawled into the back of the car and raced my older brother to buckle up. He won, but I pretended not to notice. Then my mother turned to hand us something. A tan blanket wrapped warm and something wiggling within. We peeled back the folds to find a precious puppy, no more than three pounds, with the tired eyes of a newborn. I squeezed her tight and buckled her into the middle seat, blanket and all. Sometime that same year, my parents decided to remove the eyesore of a tree that stood in the very middle of our backyard like those you see in country fields. Before it went, I wrapped my arms ‘round it twice, gave it a kiss, and then cried for three days.

I’ve always had a heart for God’s creation; His people, His mountains, His valleys. When I see it die, a part of me goes with it, and I’ve always struggled with that. So I learned to stop and squeeze. By staying back, observing, and listening, I felt I could appreciate and absorb more of the world; more of the blessings God created. I still feel that way.

But this all too often turned into self-scrutinization. I wasn’t quite like “that boy” or “that girl” who seemed to captivate the rest. I wasn’t quite skinny enough, and I certainly wasn’t blemish-free. I stopped going, playing, enjoying, because I no longer wanted to watch others be everything I felt I wasn’t. And I still struggle to fight those feelings.

Still, in all the hiding, I wrote. I wrote and I shared and I sang and I saw everything God created in my journal. I saw the leaves turn yellow and yearned to see them go. I met beautiful souls who saved mine from drowning. I realized I too, was God’s creation. I fell in love. And when my journal filled, I found God again and squeezed Him tight.

Here’s to listening, watching, and reflecting, through all the squeezes of life.

—Cayla