When I was little, a simple thumbs up quickly became a staple form of communication between my dad and me.
 
After I had rolled into the O.R. more than a few times, I realized it was instinct between the two of us.
 
Right before I would be taken away to an Operating Room, he would squint one of his eyes shut and shoot me a thumbs up, looking for me to return the sign.
 
I would sniffle, wipe my fresh tears away, take a shaky breath and shoot one back to him.
 
When he saw my thumbs up, I would watch relief wash over his face right before I was rolled out of Mom and Dad’s sight.
 
When I would wake up in the Recovery Room, 9/10 times, it would be a similar scene.
 
He’d ask me how I was and because I was overwhelmed, in pain, on the verge of tears or all of the above, a thumbs up was my go-to.
 
I knew it would suffice. He would get my message.
 
Without even one word, that simple sign speaks so much between the two of us.
 
In the Recovery Room it either meant “Dad, I’m okay. Help Mom not worry” or “Dad, I’m not okay. But I’m going to get through this. I promise. I’ll give you and this all I’ve got.”
 
Before long, I realized that this happened and still happens, between the two of us in lots of places other than just at my hospital bedside. Early on, I began making a mental note each time it happened.
 
The earliest one I remember noting was in my Miracle Field baseball days. I’d glide onto a base, beaming. I’d then scan the crowd for his familiar smile and give him a “Dad! Look at me!” thumbs up.
 
He’d return a “I saw, Scooter” thumbs up.
 
I remember crutching across the soccer field in high school, on my way to the bench to take stats for the first time ever after my dad had dropped me off.
 
As I walked away, I turned around, faced the track where Dad was standing and gave him a “I’m nervous as all heck, but I’ve got this” thumbs up.
 
I remember my first gait analysis in Delaware. I gave him a weird look, trying not to smile, knowing how funny I looked with all those stickers covering my body.
 
He shot me a goofy look and a “I’m documenting all of this even though they told me not to take pictures” thumbs up.
 
I cracked a small smile and returned a “I know” thumbs up.
 
I remember all the FaceTime calls my freshman year of college that ended in “I’m not okay but going to get through this” thumbs ups.
 
He’d return a “you’re tougher than this, keep going” thumbs up before the call ended.
 
When the thumbs up became my mom’s favorite emoji, it became a source of laughter between the two of us too.
 
Without fail, she always texts back at least two thumbs up emojis when she agrees with a particular text.
 
So, whenever she’s on a roll or whenever we just need a good laugh, we’ll look at each other, smile weirdly and hugely, flashing two back to back thumbs ups.
 
This is the “Lisa, we love you” thumbs up.
 
~
 
I remember when my parents dropped me off at college this year. I gave Dad a “Dad, I’m actually okay this time” thumbs up.
 
He shot back a “don’t lose sight of that, we believe in you” thumbs up.
 
These are just a few instances between the two of us. In actuality, the amount of times the two of us have sent each other the perfect message through this one simple sign is countless.
 
Anyone who knows me knows my parents are my two most favorite people on this planet.
 
In their own way, they’re each my best friend.
 
My mom is my superhero, my sanity and my cheerleader.
 
My dad is my buddy, protector and the one I’ll always run to.
 
With my 20th birthday just a few days away, I realized how special what my dad and I have is.
 
With my 20th birthday just a few days away, I realized that everything in me just wants to be that little girl smiling ear to ear because her dad is next to her.
 
Everything in me just wants to be that little girl on the baseball field, searching for her dad in the crowd.
 
Searching for a returned thumbs up.
 
Even as I grow up, I know some things won’t change. And no matter how old I get, I’ll always be looking for my dad and then throwing him a thumbs up that means more between the two of us than most people realize.
 
Dad, I’m shooting you a “I love you a whole lot” thumbs up right now.
 
You mean the absolute world to me.

Lately, I’ve found myself fighting a very familiar internal battle.
 
The feelings I talked about in a recent blog post, Acceptance: Sore Not Sorry, came back recently fresh, and mixed with even more frustration.
 
Two weeks ago, I remember a night where I came home, hopped off my scooter, annoyingly put my crutches on just to walk two feet to my desk chair, plopped into it, tore my crutches off and cried.
 
I just remember thinking: Lord, everything in me wants to shake this. But I can’t.
 
Why haven’t I just come to terms with this already? Why can’t I just accept my situation, feel good about it and move on with my life?
 
I’ve mastered the art of smiling when I’m around people, when I really just want to cry because I feel like the odd one out and don’t know what to do about it. So, I just get quiet and hope my smile is a good enough disguise.
 
Masking pain is something I’m good at. Asking for help is something I’m terrible at.
 
My biggest fear is slowing people down or being a burden to people. And the tough part is, I let myself believe that I am a burden probably 90% of the time.
 
I get mad at myself for not being super outgoing and for letting my mind worry about things that probably aren’t even true.
 
I get frustrated with myself that I wrote a post about acceptance this summer and felt good about my situation then, yet here we are a few months later and I’m wrestling with God about the same things.
 
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to walking or scooting into class and feeling the stares.
 
I don’t think there will ever be a day where I don’t wish I could run.
 
I don't think there will ever be a morning when I wake up, my bones won't be hurting and as I roll out of bed, I know I won’t be able to totally ignore the pain.
 
I’ve felt stuck in my head the past few weeks. Mad at myself for not being able to just accept my situation for good.
 
Mad at myself for being quiet, shy and way too conscious of my crutches or scooter.
 
Mad at myself for not just focusing on all the good the Lord has placed in my life. Because man, there’s a lot of it.
 
Mad at myself for literally being fearfully of my future, ignoring the fact that God has a plan.
 
So, in short, I’ve found myself playing tug-of-war with myself. Part of me is like, “Jordan, stop it. Fight through this and be okay with where you’re at. You notice CP more than anyone else does. We went through this this summer. You’re made the way God designed you to be and you believe way too many lies about yourself.” But then the other part of me pulls: “But I can’t shake it. I just want to run and play sports instead of sitting in my dorm, wanting the pain to stop.”
 
As I sat in my dorm a few days ago, frustrated with myself, God spun my head on straight with a method he’s used countless times before on me.
 
If you know me, you know my dad and I are Switchfoot fanatics. They recently dropped a new song with Lifehouse to help relief efforts in Houston. I downloaded it when it dropped, but put it on the back burner. But in my frustration the other day, I laid on my bed and just decided to listen to it.
 
I soon was smiling because like I said, God has used Switchfoot on me more times than I can count.
 
Here’s excerpts of some of the lyrics that were screaming through my headphones:
 
Fear in your eyes like you’re looking for a window
For the wide open skies wondering where do I begin though?
If you knew how bright you shine
Do you think it might change your mind?
 The clouds are on fire and they’re telling you some thing that they know
 
You shine like gold
 
….
 
When the dawn broke through the black
We were laughing looking back
No matter how dark the morning comes up relentless
 
….
 
When the thoughts in your mind are like  thieves
And they take you places where love is hard to believe
And the air gets thin and lungs
Find it harder to breathe
 
Remember what you know
 
You shine like gold
 
 
I smiled and cried. And then listened to it probably 20 more times.
 
Because it was a spot on reminder of things my parents have reminded me of every time I’m fighting my own thoughts.
 
If you knew how bright you shine
Do you think it might change your mind?
 
I remember countless times where my dad would look at me and say that he wished I saw what he saw, because if I did, it would change my mind on everything.
 
When the thoughts in your mind are like thieves
And they take you places where love is hard to believe
And the air gets thin and lungs
Find it harder to breathe
 
Remember what you know
 
You shine like gold
 
Whenever I call either one of my parents telling them the thoughts I’m wrestling with, that I feel  like a burden to people and I’m the odd one out, without fail their response is: stop believing the lies.

As I find myself constantly coming back and battling these feelings, I know this is going to be an uphill battle I’ll fight my entire life.
 
Acceptance. Without a doubt the hardest part of all of this for me.
 
This acceptance hurdle might be one I have to jump 100 more times.

But today, I’m smiling. Because reminders like this, make me feel like it’s okay to go through moments of frustration. As long as I come back in the end.
 
But thanks to reminders from Switchfoot and the people I love, faith is something I’ll never lose. 
 
I’m making it my goal to replace frustration with anticipation. Anticipation for all that God has in store.
 
Smiling big today and waving at anyone who gives my scooter a weird look.
 
With a shifted focus, new song and a lot of faith, I think I made it over the hurdle this go-round.
 
~
 
(Shine Like Gold is still on repeat for me. If you want to check it out, click here. Not only is it a great song, but also all the proceeds go to helping Houston recover from Harvey and my home state, Florida, recover from Irma.)

If you've talked to me at all lately about my major, you'd know that the reason I left Journalism and switched my major to Telecommunication, is because I feel like the idea of quantity over quality is taking over the Journalism world.

Online media has changed the game. And the sheer number of articles journalists are required to publish, even daily, bothers me.

I want my words to mean something. If I have less words on my blog than the next person but each word I wrote truly meant something, I'd be okay with that.

I believe in quality of quantity.

With that being said, here's my mission.

I have those sticky notes on my wall. 17 of them, each one with a blog post title written on it.

I turn 20 at the end of this month (that's really weird to type/think about because I really just want to be 10).

So, my mission is to have 20 posts on this thing by the day I turn 20.

But not just any 20 posts. I want 20 posts that really mean something.

My promise to myself and to whoever is reading this… I will never write something to just meet a quota.

I will write something because words are my most powerful tool. And I want to use them to do something right and do something big.

So, this "20 by 20" deal really isn't a number challenge.

It's a challenge to myself to find something meaningful to write about every week, if I can.

It's a reminder to myself that numbers aren't everything. Impact is.

If I can find impactful things to write about everyday and exceed 20 posts by 20, that'd be legit. On the other hand, if I don't meet my goal but I know that every post was impactful from this point on, that'd also be legit.

So, if I don't meet my goal of 20 post by age 20, that's totally okay.

I just thought it would be fun to challenge myself and see if I can really make my writing mean something - especially in this next month.

It still humbles me every time someone comes up to me and says something like: "I read your blog, I loved it."

I smile every time and can barely utter out thank you.

It truly blows me away that people actually read my stuff.

I know that this platform I have is a unique deal. So I want to make sure I use it correctly.

I blog for impact. I blog so people can see what the Lord is capable of. If my words even help one person, I'd be over the moon.

So, with that being said, here goes Mission 20 by 20.

A challenge to myself to make sure my words are being written for the right reasons and a prayer that my words can reach people. 

~

**P.S. I realized that I love to write letters to people that have had an impact on my life. So, this led me to launching the Letters section. Here, you'll find a slideshow of pictures. Click them to be brought to any letter-like blog post I've written. 

To the people that I love, you deserve all the letters in the world. This section is for you.