I was 8 years old when my parents sat me down to explain the test results. I was 8 years old when they told me I would have to work harder and be tougher than the other kids in my class. I was 8 years old when I realized I was going to have to rely on more than just grades to get me through. Hi, my name is Lily Nease, and I have an IEP. Otherwise known as an Individual Education Plan. Which is really just a fancy way of saying I learn differently than other kids. When people ask me what exactly an IEP is I tell them all the same thing, "I'm 18 and couldn't tell you 5 plus 6 without using my fingers, I don't know any of the elements on the periodic table even though I have had to memorize it twice, I don't know when to use a comma, and if I want to spell something correctly I go to a friend." But all of that hides inside a girl who's afraid that if she stops smiling, someone will see the weight she carries every day. I was 8 when I decided my grades and progress in school wouldn't define who I was, because if they did, all you would see is a Senior in high school who has the reading level of a 5th grader and the math skills of a 2nd grader when I am so much more than that. So that same confused little girl resorted to being the kindest girl she could be. There's a quote by an unknown author that says, "You don't have to understand people's experiences to be kind. Kindness doesn't require logic, it requires grace." Grace is something that only certain people have and something only truly special people can see. To me, grace and kindness go hand in hand. Grace is the unspoken, unseen light that shimmers around someone unafraid to be kind. I had a friend once who walked with grace like it was an old friend. She taught me how to be the special type of kind, the kind that seeks nothing in return, that kind that silently changes people's lives without them even realizing it, and that kind of kindness where you can tell they have nothing left to give but they choose to give it to a stranger anyway. That same friend taught me an important lesson when I was growing up. She taught me to see past the rough edges of people and look at their hearts. She taught me to be kind, no matter the circumstances, because you never know what someone is going through. My friend always looked past people's backgrounds and looked to their futures, so now I do the same. I get the opportunity to be kind every day, but since I joined 4-H, that opportunity has tripled. I started a program where I teach underprivileged kids yoga, which teaches them how to deal with their anger and stress by taking deep breaths. I also teach kids in our county school's after-school programs how to paint, and this past year, I got to teach a blind girl how to paint. That moment changed my life because while I was teaching her to paint, you would have never known she was blind. Her smile lit up the whole room, and her laughter was the music we painted to. And I think we all have a lesson to learn from her. Did she have to tell me she was blind? No. Did she have to announce to the class that she couldn't see? Also no. Because we all already knew before she got there, but the important lesson here is that you never would have known. That doesn't mean she was trying to hide who she was, but she was proving to us that her disability doesn't define her. And it doesn't define who I am either. "The most beautiful people I've met offer kindness as freely as the sun offers light."-Unknown. The point is that kindness can look like anything. It can look like teaching kids or complimenting a stranger, maybe it looks like buying a bracelet from a homeless woman in OKC, kindness can even look like a simple smile when it's needed most. I think a question we can all ask ourselves is what does kindness look like to me? And how can I be a little kinder than I was yesterday? Because that's what Andrea would ask. So I will too.

I was a 5th grader when my best friend asked me if I wanted to run in this sport called cross country. It sounded simple enough, run, breath, don't pass out. I came home from my first day of practice knowing this was going to be my sport. Little did I know that sport was forever going to change my life. My first few years of running I was a winner! Every meet me and my team were first and second, I was getting medals left and right. Then my 8th grade year the worst thing that can happen to an athlete happened to me. I was running in a meet that I had good odds of placing when I fell. All I could think was "no, no, please Lord, not me." Girls were dodging me left and right while I lay in the dirt watching my future slip out of my hands. I knew I couldn't stay on the ground for long because I had a race to finish. After what seemed like the longest two mile time on earth I crawled across the finish line. I had blew my knee out. Everything torn. I thought I would never build up what I once had. My recover was long and took out most of my freshman and sophomore year. Then my junior year things began to change. We got a new coach who truly changed the sport of cross country in our town forever. All of a sudden there weren't just two runners, there were five. We started running every morning at 6am no matter the weather. He had goals set from the beginning. We would all run 100 miles by the end of the season, and his most drastic goal was the state cross country meet. I thought this guy was crazy. I was still on my mental and physical recovery route and our best runner had not had a new PR since she was a freshmen. But never the less we humored him. The season started just how I expected, me in the middle of the pack and our team without a chance at state. Then one day things began to change. We had been getting up at 6am every morning for about three months when I realized I was running faster than before my injury. I finished not thinking much of it, only thinking about our regional meet the next day. We were balls of anxiety come race time. The gun rang out, and we were off. I crossed the finish line with a new person best and hope for the future. Oklahoma takes the top 5 teams to the state meet in the city, and we stood 5th. That moment forever changed our sport, and me. They say running cross country changes the way you see the world. Not everyone is running the same race. You could be first or last and the crowd will cheer you on the same. I've been running for eight years now, I have more than 100 miles and have helped my team win many meets. What I've learned this that my biggest competition is a girl with bright red hair, scars on her right knee, and determination to fight the voice in her head that says she can't. I look my competition in the mirror every morning. And I will beat her every time.