I was recently asked to think about the time or times in my life that I have felt the most known, the most understood.
I can tell you about times I have tried really hard to be understood, and I wasn't. I can tell you about other times that I have hidden from people who genuinely wanted to know me. I can tell you about times that I talked and talked and talked, explaining my life away, desperately trying to be heard and ultimately known. Some of those attempts proved unsuccessful. Some of them seemed successful for a while and then somehow lost their place.
I thought you knew. I thought you understood. Now I'm not so sure. The success stories are still in play. Being known, being understood, feeling like I belong in spite of myself. It's a process. It's seemingly never ending. Partially, because I am always changing and rearranging. Part of the process is me. You can't all-of-the-sudden know me, because I don't all-of-the-way know myself. I am changing and I am learning to embrace that. But this change has implications not only for how I understand and deal with myself, but how I am seen and understood, how I am known by other people, the ones that are willing to walk with me. I am thankful for those people. How precious it is to feel known and loved. But there is so much fear.
I think that I probably don't have that many new fears. Fears are neither created, nor destroyed; that's the theory, right? I've been running from the same things for years. Maybe there are three of them, maybe there are more. I think they travel in packs, my fears. They walk around together, stomping their feet so that they sound bigger than they actually are. And some of them are pretty big to begin with. At least I think they are, but I've never actually seen them. My monsters are not so historic. They are old, but these guys are still here; they're still around. They won't let me go; they won't let go of my hand. These monsters are old, but don't let that fool you, they are not frail. They are strong. I know, because I give them their strength.
They shape just about every aspect of my life. They bend and move to fit whatever scenario I am facing, but they are absolutely the same every time. The same things that hold me back as an artist, as a creator are the very same things that hold me back everywhere else. In school, in relationships, in the way I drive my car and eat my food. They shape the way I dress and write, but they also shape the way I talk, the way I move from one room to the next, the way I sit at the kitchen table.
Please don't look at me. I am afraid of being exposed. Please don't reject me. I am afraid of you not liking me anymore, not loving me anymore, even the smallest piece of me. Please don't laugh or mock or ridicule. Worst of all, please don't misunderstand. I want to be loved and heard and understood, but I want to maintain the right to hide, to be invisible. Sometimes the thought of you knowing is too much. For better or for worse, like it or not, it is out there now. I am afraid of being known. I am afraid of what being known might mean. I said it and now I can't take it back. I can't turn around. I can't change the focus, even though every bone in my body would rather talk about you. I'd rather talk to my monsters, about what they think than show them what I am thinking. Yeah, part of it is about not wanting to be rejected, but part of it is just me wanting that for myself. My independence, my ability to remain anonymous, mysterious, without understanding.
You are my monster. You are my monsters. I don't want to feel exposed, and I can't let you see these things without complete and utter exposure happening. This is my mind, my heart. It feels like it's the essence of who I am, my very being. I don't really mind what you think about it (not really true), but to show it to you means I give you a part of myself. Sometimes I am not sure I have that many more pieces left to give. I want to hoard them, store them up, save them, keep them somewhere safe so that they are that - safe. So that they are not misunderstood, marginalized, rejected, sometimes even so that they are not praised, puffed up.
Maybe they are pretty, but maybe they're not. Maybe they're actually just Cs. Don't tell me they're As, when really they're just Cs. If Cs are what I have, if Cs are what I am, then Cs are beautiful, then Cs are what I was created to be. How dare you tell me that I wasn't. How dare you tell me that I was made for more, or that I was made for less. This is all. This is it. This is what I have. I am terrified to be exposed. What I have is mine. I give it value. I don't want your value. I don't want what you think about it. It just is and that's all. Allow me to exist, and don't try to change me. Don't try to make me more pretty or more relevant. Just let me exist. I'm afraid that if I am exposed you won't let me do that, you won't let me exist. You'll force me into something I'm not, something I don't want to be, a lie. Please let me be.
I'll give you one last chance to try. I'll give you one more shot to do what I am terrified you might actually do.
There is something so profoundly comforting and nurturing about feeling deeply and intimately known. You've taken the time to figure me out. You really see. You understand, or at least you're trying to. Regardless of whether or not you like it all, there is something to be said for being seen and understood.
"It's a sweet, sweet thing: standing here with you & nothing to hide."
There are things to learn there, in that place of true and abundant light. Nothing to hide. That sounds so free. All part of the process. Honesty, commitment, vulnerability, intentionality. Those things all have to be there for this kind of process to play out. The perfect storm of factors coming together so that I can finally show you. Here you go. This is it. This is what I have for you. That process is continual. That process can only occur in the context of safety. Trust is there, but also boldness. This is long term. This doesn't happen over night. How sweet when we get here. How true and beautiful and valuable that we ended up here. Who would have thought?
I love this first kind of being known. I love it because it is something that we choose to do. This is the kind that heals us. I am covered in light. I think there's a second kind. It's equally as valuable, equally as redemptive, but starkly different. This kind takes you off guard. You don't know it's happening until it's over. It blindsides. It knocks the wind out of you. I can't believe that just happened. I didn't give you clearance to go there, to do that, to know what you know.
If you're reading this, and you have at all followed what I am trying to say, then you know me in this way. And that scares me, but it also sets me free. It also heals and legitimizes me. Thank you, but know that I'm a little freaked out.
Shock and relief. I cannot hide anymore, and that is hugely freeing. I can breathe, because the waiting is over. The cat is out of the bag. There's no going back. Am I sure I want to do this? I don't know, but I know it is good.
Two weeks ago I took four midterms in two days. Ew. Then, I had Spring Break. Then, Spring Break was over, and I went back to school. My Lit professor kindly warned us at the beginning of class on Monday that he would be handing our midterms back at the end of the class period.
I had all but forgotten about that midterm. I had taken Spring Break to mean a week of detachment from the reality of my life. I left school and the routine that I do every week behind and I dove head first into the last Spring Break I'll ever have. My teacher, standing at the front of the room talking about midterms sucked me back into the world that I live in, my reality.
It's a Lit class. Studies in Fiction. For the exam we got three prompts to choose from and we wrote one essay. That was it. As my professor continued to talk about themes in our papers and the average grade, I began to remember my own paper. I wrote about a novel by J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey. I wrote about Zooey's desire in the novel to overlook the depravity in himself and others, the desire to focus on the good within each individual. I wrote about the pain and hurt that is in and around Zooey. I wrote about how he lives in the middle of one great big pile of brokenness. He cannot escape it. It comes from within and just fills every second of his days. I argued that Zooey wants people (specifically, his sister, Franny) to focus on the innate beauty that everyone possesses, because that is what we each need reminding of, not the darkness, not the ugliness.
I was writing about this character in the story, things he was wrestling with. But as I wrote, the words poured. I was writing until the very last minute of the class period. It felt like I had just taken a small part of myself and laid it down on the exam. This blue book, a mirror to my soul. I handed my professor this little piece of my heart, and then I began Spring Break, not thinking twice about it.
I created this thing, an essay. Someone might call it art. I am not that person, but I feel comfortable calling it my, "creation." I did make it. It came from me. I gave it life. I gave it meaning and substance. I molded it. I wrote and wrote for an hour and a half and then it was done, the final product. I don't feel this way often, especially with papers I write for school, but I was happy with it. I was confident handing it in, because it mattered. It meant something to me. Ideas always matter, but this time I liked the form that my ideas had taken.
My final product looked familiar. My final product looked a lot like something I had seen before. My final product reflected not only the ideas I had about this particular novel, but it reflected my own desires, my own hopes, my own dreams and ambitions. This was a piece of myself. Never has the creation process seemed so clear to me. All of the sudden, as my teacher was standing up in front of the class, talking about extra credit points, it clicked. I do this, not because I have some obsession with writing, or creation, but because this is who I am. This is not something that I give life to. This has life because it is a part of me. Its life is not separate from my own. We are one. My creation and me. This thing that I wrote is a very real part of me. This is a way for me to be known.
As class came to an end, he began to hand back our exams. Suddenly, I felt afraid. Again, these monsters came stomping around the corner. "Surely he won't remember my essay. He's graded 100s of papers this week," I told myself. "You're safe. You're hidden." All the while, I can feel the vibration from the monsters' stomps.
He called my name. It was my turn to collect my exam, my paper. It was time to take that little piece of myself back. "Finally," I thought. I reached for my exam. We stood there, my professor and I, each with a firm grip on my paper. He engaged eye contact. My stomach hurt. I couldn't think about anything outside of the fact that I might throw up on this man. "This was really very good," he said. "thank you," I said, in what I am sure was the tiniest voice anyone has ever heard (if he even heard it at all). And then I ran away.
That was one of the most intimate moments I have ever had. That eye contact felt like a looking glass into the deepest part of me. Exposure at its finest. This man that I do not know outside of the context of this class now knows more of me than some people that I see every week. It had nothing to do with what he thought of my paper. Was I glad that he liked it? Duh. Especially, because he hands out the grades and I am a fifth year senior hoping to graduate at some point. The praise and encouragement was nice, but the intensity came from being heard, understood, seen, and known.
I wasn't ready for it. It completely blindsided me. But it also somehow made me feel legitimate. It made me feel like a human being. Somehow him seeing that part of me, made me real.
To be known. To be understood. To be seen. I don't think I live my life in hiding, but part of me likes the idea of being able to hide. When that option disappears, it's scary, regardless of whether or not I see it coming, whether or not I welcome it.
Maybe that has to happen if I want people to read the things that I write, and maybe that has to happen if I want to write things that are worth reading.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
LIST TWO: My favorites.
1. Re-watching movies
2. Words
3. Front doors, especially red ones
4. Concerts
5. Green stuff
6. Blankets
7. The 1911 building
8. Creeks
9. The way Home Depot smells
10. Stars
11. Blogs
12. Vests
13. [Buttermilk] pies & most desserts
14. Time with my people
15. Ski lifts
16. (night time) Beaches
17. Coffee, especially Larry's Beans and Cup A Joe
18. (screened in) Porches with comfy chairs
19. Fireworks (slightly less than stars)
20. Clothes, especially Fall/Spring clothes
21. Medium-large sized dogs
22. Frozen vegetables
22. Frozen vegetables
23. The smell of gasoline
24. Time magazine
25. Fancy restaurants like Caffe Luna & Josephine's
26. Roads with really wide lanes
27. Letters (sending & receiving)
28. Sundays
29. Plastic silverware
Friday, December 14, 2012
Spinning like a girl in a brand new dress, we had this big wide city all to ourselves.
I am straight addicted to coffee in a very dependent, I-Need-You-To-Function kind of way. Some days I wish that I could inject it straight into my veins. Is that bad? Too much? Whatever. I've never thought of myself as the addictive personality type, but there are worse things to be addicted to, at least that is what I tell myself. I've always enjoyed coffee, but these days I can drink it black. I prefer a little bit of half and half in there, but if I run out, I'm still drinking it. I definitely don't use any of that sweet, specialty creamer. Hazelnut and peppermint and french vanilla have no place in my coffee. How did I get here? When did I start being capable of drinking my coffee black?
If you would like some answers to what I have been doing for the past four months (clearly I have not been blogging), you can go here, and read about my experience as an intern at Church World Service (CWS). If you want some faces to match the experience I have had as an intern, you can go here, and read about just a few of the beautiful people I got to spend time with this semester. If you want to know a little bit more about what I've been up to, how I've been feeling, and what I've been learning, you can keep reading. My intention is to put words to where exactly I am at this moment in my life, and how exactly I got here. We'll see if that happens. But now you know my intentions.
I started off the semester with hazelnut Coffeemate in my refrigerator. That stuff is non dairy. aka there is no milk in it. aka what is it? I ended the semester with half and half in the fridge, but only because I recently went grocery shopping. This is the tale of how I came to drink my coffee black, how I came to feel more tired than I've ever felt, and how I loved every second of it (except for that one time a client threw up in my car. I actually didn't love that).
I started the semester off nervous and unsure, eager but insecure, anxious and very much aware of the inevitable shift that is happening and in many ways has already happened in my life and the lives of my friends, my peers. We are grown ups. We're not done growing, maturing, and learning. My prayer for us is that we would never stop learning, that we would never close our minds and hearts to new things, that we would hold on to a small part of our youth, our innocence, our desire to become something more, something better, forever. But in the eyes of society, in the eyes of the Law, and in the eyes of our mothers, we are grown ups. We do grown up things like go to bed before midnight and go grocery shopping and buy light bulbs. We do a lot of things now, because they are expected of us, but I think my favorite part about being friends with grown ups is just that - being friends with grown ups.
I have always had people that love me. I have always had good friends. Jesus has never left me feeling unloved (duh), but being friends with grown ups is one of the coolest things I've experienced so far in the game of life. My grown up friends love me so well. When I am sad, they are sad with me. When I am happy, they are happy with me. When I am in crisis, they know without me having to say a word. They know and they care and they respond in a way that demonstrates that they care. They know me. they know my hopes and my fears. They know what I am passionate about and they know what makes me angry. Being friends with grown ups means that I can't always be a hero. I can't always be right. I can't always be blameless. I can't always have the answers, because being friends with grown ups means knowing and being known. Being friends with grown ups means loving and being loved. Being friends with grown ups means facing life in the context of community, in the safety of trustworthiness, and in the beauty of light and all that relationships have to offer. I am afraid of a lot of things, but I am thankful for my grown up friends and the ways that they know me, the ways that they love me, and the ways that they encourage me to be more like I was made to be.
My friends are not perfect, but as we have matured and grown and learned, as we have begun to enter the real world, I have felt a shift in the way that we treat each other and the way that we care for each other. I think we value each other more now that we are grown ups. Things are different than before. We can't spend as much time together as we could in college or high school, but maybe that's the point. We value the time that we do have. We see that there is something there to be valued and protected.
I am shaken to the core each time I think about you guys. I would survive without you, but life would be a lot less full. Thank you for bringing fullness to my life. My heart is so full, so open, and so overjoyed, because of your continual demonstration of love and grace. Grace and love. Love and grace. This semester, I have come to appreciate just how much I need you and just how good it is to need you.
I began the semester feeling small and incompetent, but I was not alone. I was supported and loved like you wouldn't believe. If you clicked on either of those links above, you know that I've spent a lot of time, almost 500 hours, at CWS over the past several months. Refugee Resettlement and Immigration Services. When I tell people that I worked as an intern in an agency that does Refugee Resettlement and Immigration Services most people need more explanation, and most times I am not so good at explaining. But here it goes...
I did a little bit of everything, but most of my time was spent working in the Citizenship Program. My supervisor was over the Citizenship Program at CWS. The purpose of the Citizenship Program is to help clients become citizens of the United States. There are all kinds of reasons that immigrants want to become citizens but it's not an easy process, it's not a short process, and it's rarely a process that occurs without any bumps in the road. I spent time teaching classes that were designed to help people pass the citizenship test. I spent time tutoring clients with test dates approaching. I spent time registering newly naturalized citizens to vote. I drove to the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services office in Charlotte quite a few times with nervous, sleepless clients for test appointments.
I expected to gain good experience, but I had no idea what I was signing up for. I have learned more than I ever could have hoped to learn about the process of Refugee Resettlement and the process of becoming a legal citizen of the United States. I have learned about how grant writing works (a little). I have learned how to communicate [relatively] effectively with an individual that speaks very little English. I have seen the importance of strength based practice and cultural competence. I have learned about many resources in Greensboro that I didn't even know existed before my time at CWS. I have learned so, so much. I now have faces and specific instances to place next to things that I once read in a textbook.
I have also learned about the innate dignity that each of us hold. I have learned about the beauty that can be found in differences and disagreements, if we would just take the time to look. I have learned the value of open ears, of listening without a clock, of meeting someone exactly where they are, even if that is right in the middle of the muck and the mire. I have learned what true joy looks like on the face of someone who has tirelessly worked their ass off for months and months and months to finally be able to call this place home. I have learned that courage doesn't always look like we think it should and strength is not always big and loud. Sometimes, it is quiet, almost invisible, undetectable until you catch a glimpse of it and it takes your breath away; it levels you in a way you didn't know was possible.
I learned that this city (and others, I suspect) is full of people that don't look like me, don't speak like me, and don't know the same things that I know. These people are not all that different from me. I have learned that these people are not to be feared. They are not to be treated like children. They are not to be exploited or ridiculed. They are beautiful, they are precious, and they have given me infinitely more than I have given them.
Hearing their stories has helped me to grow up. They have helped me to become an adult. Being a part of their lives opened my eyes and allowed me to see things I had never seen before. I am humbled and grateful for their trust, their dedication, their words, and their actions. I could write endlessly about any one of my students and all of the beauty that lies within them. They have reminded me of why I am here. They have worn me out, well I guess I have worn myself out, but I wouldn't want to be this tired for any other reason. They have left me forever changed. And they have helped me to enjoy black coffee.
I have been reading Ephesians lately. Of course this is in Ephesians.
Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God's people and also members of his household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit. (Ephesians 2:19-22)
Never has the term, "fellow citizens," meant something so special to me. Never has the gift that Christ died to give me seemed quite so unique. I know what it takes to gain citizenship in the United States. It's hard. How can I even begin to imagine what it took for me to gain citizenship in Heaven. I know the anxiety and stress that my students try to hide as their test dates approach. I know the relief, the joy, the wonder and possibility that they each radiate when the day finally comes for them to stand and pledge their allegiance to the United States. Ear to ear smiles. Security. Home. Freedom. Family. Safety. Sanctuary. That is what they hope citizenship in the United States will promise them.
There are many reasons that people come to this country. It's often not the paradise that was promised or hoped for. There is not an unlimited supply of job opportunities. Creating a life here is by no means easy, but then again, I've come to realize that easy was never what they were after, at least not the people I have met. They want life, not death. They want hope, not hopelessness. They want a chance, a choice, not a paradise, not streets paved with gold or money growing on trees. They don't want to take anything away from anyone. They only want what we all want, the opportunity to have a life worth living, to give their children the things they never had. They would give anything and often times have made incredible sacrifices to be here, to have this chance, to call this country home.
Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God's people and also members of his household...
Never has that sentence filled me with so much gratitude. Never has the gospel touched that nerve in exactly that way. I have it all. I have freedom that no government can give or take away from me. I have citizenship in Heaven. I have a spotless record and abundant life for all eternity. Because he loves me. Only because he loves me. Above everything else, they have shown me that - he loves me and he loves them. He loves us. Watching my students work so hard everyday for this gift that I never had to work for reminds me how much I don't deserve any of it. These people have worked so hard, they have worried so much. For many of them this has consumed their lives for months, even years. I have it all and I can't point to a single thing I did that merits my status. And that is so freeing and beautiful and humbling. How can that bring me to a place of anything other than gratefulness?
These past four months have changed the way I see the world, the way I see injustice, and they way I drink my coffee. These past four months have changed me, I hope for the better, but sometimes it's hard to tell. These past four months have changed me and I'm sure the next four months will continue to do the same. In the midst of all of that I am sure that he loves me. I may have changed. He hasn't. He loves me. He loves me still.
May those of us that are troubled by the trials and chances of this life rest in his eternal changelessness. Amen.
If you would like some answers to what I have been doing for the past four months (clearly I have not been blogging), you can go here, and read about my experience as an intern at Church World Service (CWS). If you want some faces to match the experience I have had as an intern, you can go here, and read about just a few of the beautiful people I got to spend time with this semester. If you want to know a little bit more about what I've been up to, how I've been feeling, and what I've been learning, you can keep reading. My intention is to put words to where exactly I am at this moment in my life, and how exactly I got here. We'll see if that happens. But now you know my intentions.
I started off the semester with hazelnut Coffeemate in my refrigerator. That stuff is non dairy. aka there is no milk in it. aka what is it? I ended the semester with half and half in the fridge, but only because I recently went grocery shopping. This is the tale of how I came to drink my coffee black, how I came to feel more tired than I've ever felt, and how I loved every second of it (except for that one time a client threw up in my car. I actually didn't love that).
I started the semester off nervous and unsure, eager but insecure, anxious and very much aware of the inevitable shift that is happening and in many ways has already happened in my life and the lives of my friends, my peers. We are grown ups. We're not done growing, maturing, and learning. My prayer for us is that we would never stop learning, that we would never close our minds and hearts to new things, that we would hold on to a small part of our youth, our innocence, our desire to become something more, something better, forever. But in the eyes of society, in the eyes of the Law, and in the eyes of our mothers, we are grown ups. We do grown up things like go to bed before midnight and go grocery shopping and buy light bulbs. We do a lot of things now, because they are expected of us, but I think my favorite part about being friends with grown ups is just that - being friends with grown ups.
I have always had people that love me. I have always had good friends. Jesus has never left me feeling unloved (duh), but being friends with grown ups is one of the coolest things I've experienced so far in the game of life. My grown up friends love me so well. When I am sad, they are sad with me. When I am happy, they are happy with me. When I am in crisis, they know without me having to say a word. They know and they care and they respond in a way that demonstrates that they care. They know me. they know my hopes and my fears. They know what I am passionate about and they know what makes me angry. Being friends with grown ups means that I can't always be a hero. I can't always be right. I can't always be blameless. I can't always have the answers, because being friends with grown ups means knowing and being known. Being friends with grown ups means loving and being loved. Being friends with grown ups means facing life in the context of community, in the safety of trustworthiness, and in the beauty of light and all that relationships have to offer. I am afraid of a lot of things, but I am thankful for my grown up friends and the ways that they know me, the ways that they love me, and the ways that they encourage me to be more like I was made to be.
My friends are not perfect, but as we have matured and grown and learned, as we have begun to enter the real world, I have felt a shift in the way that we treat each other and the way that we care for each other. I think we value each other more now that we are grown ups. Things are different than before. We can't spend as much time together as we could in college or high school, but maybe that's the point. We value the time that we do have. We see that there is something there to be valued and protected.
I am shaken to the core each time I think about you guys. I would survive without you, but life would be a lot less full. Thank you for bringing fullness to my life. My heart is so full, so open, and so overjoyed, because of your continual demonstration of love and grace. Grace and love. Love and grace. This semester, I have come to appreciate just how much I need you and just how good it is to need you.
I began the semester feeling small and incompetent, but I was not alone. I was supported and loved like you wouldn't believe. If you clicked on either of those links above, you know that I've spent a lot of time, almost 500 hours, at CWS over the past several months. Refugee Resettlement and Immigration Services. When I tell people that I worked as an intern in an agency that does Refugee Resettlement and Immigration Services most people need more explanation, and most times I am not so good at explaining. But here it goes...
I did a little bit of everything, but most of my time was spent working in the Citizenship Program. My supervisor was over the Citizenship Program at CWS. The purpose of the Citizenship Program is to help clients become citizens of the United States. There are all kinds of reasons that immigrants want to become citizens but it's not an easy process, it's not a short process, and it's rarely a process that occurs without any bumps in the road. I spent time teaching classes that were designed to help people pass the citizenship test. I spent time tutoring clients with test dates approaching. I spent time registering newly naturalized citizens to vote. I drove to the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services office in Charlotte quite a few times with nervous, sleepless clients for test appointments.
I expected to gain good experience, but I had no idea what I was signing up for. I have learned more than I ever could have hoped to learn about the process of Refugee Resettlement and the process of becoming a legal citizen of the United States. I have learned about how grant writing works (a little). I have learned how to communicate [relatively] effectively with an individual that speaks very little English. I have seen the importance of strength based practice and cultural competence. I have learned about many resources in Greensboro that I didn't even know existed before my time at CWS. I have learned so, so much. I now have faces and specific instances to place next to things that I once read in a textbook.
I have also learned about the innate dignity that each of us hold. I have learned about the beauty that can be found in differences and disagreements, if we would just take the time to look. I have learned the value of open ears, of listening without a clock, of meeting someone exactly where they are, even if that is right in the middle of the muck and the mire. I have learned what true joy looks like on the face of someone who has tirelessly worked their ass off for months and months and months to finally be able to call this place home. I have learned that courage doesn't always look like we think it should and strength is not always big and loud. Sometimes, it is quiet, almost invisible, undetectable until you catch a glimpse of it and it takes your breath away; it levels you in a way you didn't know was possible.
I learned that this city (and others, I suspect) is full of people that don't look like me, don't speak like me, and don't know the same things that I know. These people are not all that different from me. I have learned that these people are not to be feared. They are not to be treated like children. They are not to be exploited or ridiculed. They are beautiful, they are precious, and they have given me infinitely more than I have given them.
Hearing their stories has helped me to grow up. They have helped me to become an adult. Being a part of their lives opened my eyes and allowed me to see things I had never seen before. I am humbled and grateful for their trust, their dedication, their words, and their actions. I could write endlessly about any one of my students and all of the beauty that lies within them. They have reminded me of why I am here. They have worn me out, well I guess I have worn myself out, but I wouldn't want to be this tired for any other reason. They have left me forever changed. And they have helped me to enjoy black coffee.
I have been reading Ephesians lately. Of course this is in Ephesians.
Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God's people and also members of his household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit. (Ephesians 2:19-22)
Never has the term, "fellow citizens," meant something so special to me. Never has the gift that Christ died to give me seemed quite so unique. I know what it takes to gain citizenship in the United States. It's hard. How can I even begin to imagine what it took for me to gain citizenship in Heaven. I know the anxiety and stress that my students try to hide as their test dates approach. I know the relief, the joy, the wonder and possibility that they each radiate when the day finally comes for them to stand and pledge their allegiance to the United States. Ear to ear smiles. Security. Home. Freedom. Family. Safety. Sanctuary. That is what they hope citizenship in the United States will promise them.
There are many reasons that people come to this country. It's often not the paradise that was promised or hoped for. There is not an unlimited supply of job opportunities. Creating a life here is by no means easy, but then again, I've come to realize that easy was never what they were after, at least not the people I have met. They want life, not death. They want hope, not hopelessness. They want a chance, a choice, not a paradise, not streets paved with gold or money growing on trees. They don't want to take anything away from anyone. They only want what we all want, the opportunity to have a life worth living, to give their children the things they never had. They would give anything and often times have made incredible sacrifices to be here, to have this chance, to call this country home.
Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God's people and also members of his household...
Never has that sentence filled me with so much gratitude. Never has the gospel touched that nerve in exactly that way. I have it all. I have freedom that no government can give or take away from me. I have citizenship in Heaven. I have a spotless record and abundant life for all eternity. Because he loves me. Only because he loves me. Above everything else, they have shown me that - he loves me and he loves them. He loves us. Watching my students work so hard everyday for this gift that I never had to work for reminds me how much I don't deserve any of it. These people have worked so hard, they have worried so much. For many of them this has consumed their lives for months, even years. I have it all and I can't point to a single thing I did that merits my status. And that is so freeing and beautiful and humbling. How can that bring me to a place of anything other than gratefulness?
These past four months have changed the way I see the world, the way I see injustice, and they way I drink my coffee. These past four months have changed me, I hope for the better, but sometimes it's hard to tell. These past four months have changed me and I'm sure the next four months will continue to do the same. In the midst of all of that I am sure that he loves me. I may have changed. He hasn't. He loves me. He loves me still.
May those of us that are troubled by the trials and chances of this life rest in his eternal changelessness. Amen.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
You better hang on tooth and nail.
Summer slipped away. I know that everyone says that every year, but this is the slipperiest summer yet for me. I had my internship kickoff on Thursday and then my first day of work on Friday and now I am having my first weekend of Fall semester. I cannot imagine a day when I do not measure my life by semesters, but I know it is coming. This semester will be different from others. I live in Greensboro now. I am working 32 hours a week this semester, and I only have 3 hours of class a week. Whatttt??
Summer slipped away. Maybe it feels extra slippery, because it feels like other things are slipping away right now too. College. Raleigh things. Childhood. Familiar. Routine. Comfort. Those things are all slipping away, but there are also things like this: beautiful people, joy, encouragement, and truth. I feel them all slipping away as well. I have those things here, too, but they're in different places, different people.
It's the people. It's always the people, isn't it? The people in my life have and are changing. The actual people are different when you move from one city to another, but I think what scares me the most, what makes me the most sad are the little changes, the growth, the continual rebirth and evolution I won't be as much a part of in the people I left. The actual people changed, but the people are actually changing as well. Everyday changing. I am happy. I am excited. I am eager to find my place here, to be a part of those new people changing here, but another part of me is sad. A little homesick for my favorites and the ways they are growing, changing, becoming more like how they are intended to be. I will miss being a part of that every day kind of change.
Well, once again here I am standing in front of my friend, Change, and equally loving and hating him. Change is a boy, because boys are stupid, but you still love them. I've never wanted and not wanted something, lots of things actually, like I do right now. I want to be able to dive in, but that's not all I want. I also want to drag my feet a little bit. To have more time. But I think we have established that the time is slipping away. My in between time is just about gone, and I am ready to work. I am ready to learn the ins and outs of CWS, of GSO, of everything about this new life, but I am not quite ready to let go of things, people, places, that I count on, that give me life and fuel to move forward. I know that they're not disappearing, only changing. But sometimes changing feels like shifting, and sometimes shifting feels like slipping and sometimes slipping just feels scary. Like I don't have a whole lot of control, like I can't hold on, or like I can't control the way that I hold on.
Lately, I have been thinking about my life in terms of skiing. Bare with me. Skiing is my sport. It is just about the only athletic thing that I love and can do well. I really can't take credit for it. LK had me out there early. When I was old enough to walk, I was old enough to ski. We used to have a little condo at Wintergreen and I conquered Eagle's Swoop and its icy terrain as a small ski bunny in my black and white polka dotted, puffy jacket. I have a lot of good childhood memories in the mountains.
When you learn to ski, if you have a good teacher, you start off without poles. All you have and all you need to worry about are the two panels attached to the two boots on your feet. And one of the first things you've got to get down is the "pizza" maneuver.
Pizza-ing is not the end goal, but you have to walk before you can run. People say that, right? Some call it the pie or the pizza pie. I have always fondly referred to this basic move simply as, "the pizza." It's where you angle the tips of your skis together so that they look like a little slice of pizza.
The pizza allows you to maintain control. The pizza helps you slow down and stop, even turn a little. The pizza is important for beginners, because while skis can feel really foreign and awkward, if you can get a hold of your pizza pose, you can have control, even if it's just enough control to stop yourself and get outta those skis. You have control to rearrange and reevaluate. And you have a foundation on which you can keep improving.
Moving up in the world, we want to get our skis side by side, not angled inward. We want to get to poles and parallel turns. We want to add some speed in there somewhere. We want to keep building and getting better. But we always have our pizza to fall back on.
That is how I have been feeling the past week. I feel like I have been in pizza mode. I am just trying to survive. I am just trying to get down the mountain, or this part of the mountain without killing myself. And it's good. I can get down anything with my pizza, so I am glad that I have it, but it doesn't look especially good, and I don't especially enjoy it. It's hard to appreciate the view, the scenery when all you can do is focus whole heartedly on pizza-ing down the mountain.
Transitions are the worst. I know in a few weeks I will have this down. I will be making parallel turns like it's my job and will have no need for the pizza, but I'm not there yet. Things are slipping away and I am trying to hold onto them while simultaneously attempting to get a grasp on all of these new things that are all starting. I am learning my new job and the way the organization works and how I can best be used there. I am learning how to have normal, non summer life in Greensboro; I haven't done that in a lot of years. I am learning how to be a good friend to my friends here and I am learning how to be a good friend to the people I left in Rals and the ones that left me. I am learning lots of things, and I am unsure of how I feel about it all. I know I am happy and I know I am sad, but I don't know how those two contradictory feelings can exist so strongly alongside of each other.
I am pizza-ing. I am just trying to make it through days one at a time. I am trying to learn and adjust and I am trying to have a good attitude about it all, but that's hard and I don't always do it well. I am excited for the day when that is not the case anymore, when I can appreciate the days instead of just trying to get through them. Maybe that's not the best way to look at things, but it's the best I can do right now, and I think that's okay. I think it's okay that life feels heavy right now. I think it's okay that change still stresses me out like you wouldn't believe, and I think it's okay that I am relying on my pizza a whole, whole lot.
Honestly, I love it here. Honestly, I loved it there. Honestly, I am excited and eager to keep moving forward. Honestly, I never want to let go of the beautiful things of the past. Honestly, those are all truths.
I hope I never forget how incredibly precious it is that I have so much to look forward to and so much to miss. I hope I never forget to be thankful for that, even in the midst of all the pizza.
Summer slipped away. Maybe it feels extra slippery, because it feels like other things are slipping away right now too. College. Raleigh things. Childhood. Familiar. Routine. Comfort. Those things are all slipping away, but there are also things like this: beautiful people, joy, encouragement, and truth. I feel them all slipping away as well. I have those things here, too, but they're in different places, different people.
It's the people. It's always the people, isn't it? The people in my life have and are changing. The actual people are different when you move from one city to another, but I think what scares me the most, what makes me the most sad are the little changes, the growth, the continual rebirth and evolution I won't be as much a part of in the people I left. The actual people changed, but the people are actually changing as well. Everyday changing. I am happy. I am excited. I am eager to find my place here, to be a part of those new people changing here, but another part of me is sad. A little homesick for my favorites and the ways they are growing, changing, becoming more like how they are intended to be. I will miss being a part of that every day kind of change.
Well, once again here I am standing in front of my friend, Change, and equally loving and hating him. Change is a boy, because boys are stupid, but you still love them. I've never wanted and not wanted something, lots of things actually, like I do right now. I want to be able to dive in, but that's not all I want. I also want to drag my feet a little bit. To have more time. But I think we have established that the time is slipping away. My in between time is just about gone, and I am ready to work. I am ready to learn the ins and outs of CWS, of GSO, of everything about this new life, but I am not quite ready to let go of things, people, places, that I count on, that give me life and fuel to move forward. I know that they're not disappearing, only changing. But sometimes changing feels like shifting, and sometimes shifting feels like slipping and sometimes slipping just feels scary. Like I don't have a whole lot of control, like I can't hold on, or like I can't control the way that I hold on.
Lately, I have been thinking about my life in terms of skiing. Bare with me. Skiing is my sport. It is just about the only athletic thing that I love and can do well. I really can't take credit for it. LK had me out there early. When I was old enough to walk, I was old enough to ski. We used to have a little condo at Wintergreen and I conquered Eagle's Swoop and its icy terrain as a small ski bunny in my black and white polka dotted, puffy jacket. I have a lot of good childhood memories in the mountains.
When you learn to ski, if you have a good teacher, you start off without poles. All you have and all you need to worry about are the two panels attached to the two boots on your feet. And one of the first things you've got to get down is the "pizza" maneuver.
Pizza-ing is not the end goal, but you have to walk before you can run. People say that, right? Some call it the pie or the pizza pie. I have always fondly referred to this basic move simply as, "the pizza." It's where you angle the tips of your skis together so that they look like a little slice of pizza.
The pizza allows you to maintain control. The pizza helps you slow down and stop, even turn a little. The pizza is important for beginners, because while skis can feel really foreign and awkward, if you can get a hold of your pizza pose, you can have control, even if it's just enough control to stop yourself and get outta those skis. You have control to rearrange and reevaluate. And you have a foundation on which you can keep improving.
Moving up in the world, we want to get our skis side by side, not angled inward. We want to get to poles and parallel turns. We want to add some speed in there somewhere. We want to keep building and getting better. But we always have our pizza to fall back on.
That is how I have been feeling the past week. I feel like I have been in pizza mode. I am just trying to survive. I am just trying to get down the mountain, or this part of the mountain without killing myself. And it's good. I can get down anything with my pizza, so I am glad that I have it, but it doesn't look especially good, and I don't especially enjoy it. It's hard to appreciate the view, the scenery when all you can do is focus whole heartedly on pizza-ing down the mountain.
Transitions are the worst. I know in a few weeks I will have this down. I will be making parallel turns like it's my job and will have no need for the pizza, but I'm not there yet. Things are slipping away and I am trying to hold onto them while simultaneously attempting to get a grasp on all of these new things that are all starting. I am learning my new job and the way the organization works and how I can best be used there. I am learning how to have normal, non summer life in Greensboro; I haven't done that in a lot of years. I am learning how to be a good friend to my friends here and I am learning how to be a good friend to the people I left in Rals and the ones that left me. I am learning lots of things, and I am unsure of how I feel about it all. I know I am happy and I know I am sad, but I don't know how those two contradictory feelings can exist so strongly alongside of each other.
I am pizza-ing. I am just trying to make it through days one at a time. I am trying to learn and adjust and I am trying to have a good attitude about it all, but that's hard and I don't always do it well. I am excited for the day when that is not the case anymore, when I can appreciate the days instead of just trying to get through them. Maybe that's not the best way to look at things, but it's the best I can do right now, and I think that's okay. I think it's okay that life feels heavy right now. I think it's okay that change still stresses me out like you wouldn't believe, and I think it's okay that I am relying on my pizza a whole, whole lot.
Honestly, I love it here. Honestly, I loved it there. Honestly, I am excited and eager to keep moving forward. Honestly, I never want to let go of the beautiful things of the past. Honestly, those are all truths.
I hope I never forget how incredibly precious it is that I have so much to look forward to and so much to miss. I hope I never forget to be thankful for that, even in the midst of all the pizza.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
We stood, steady as the stars in the wood, so happy hearted & the warmth rang true inside these bones.
Sometimes I write letters. Sometimes I write letters to people just to figure out what it is that I would want to say. Most times, in these letter writing scenarios, when I'm writing to figure out where I am, how I'm feeling, I don't send them. I have a few times, but usually that's totally mine. Usually, I don't let anyone else in on that. Usually, that's something really sacred, and special to me. I like that I have shared them a few times, because those times keep me grounded. Those times keep the process valid. I could at some point, actually want to share this with the name at the top. That keeps me from leaving reality and going off into some alternate universe where everything revolves around me. But the fact that most times these letters never leave my journal makes them real, too. Statistically, it is more likely that I will keep this to myself, than share it with anyone. And so, I'm really not trying to just be nice. I'm really not trying to just be mean. I'm really not interested in making things sound particularly good or well written. I'm really not trying to be anything other than honest.
The more I do this little exercise, the more I realize how seldom all of my energy, all of my effort, or even just the majority of it goes into being honest, being truthful. That freaks me out, because honesty is something that I have to think about and, because I usually don't think about honesty as something that I have to think about.
The process is freeing. The process is enlightening. The process is endless and surprising and sometimes it hurts, sometimes it hurts a lot, but the process is always worth it. It has always given me something valuable, or at least pointed me towards something of worth.
I think I got to this place, where I have to write these letters, because somewhere along the way I stopped being honest about my relationships. Somewhere along the way, I stopped talking honestly, or more likely, I stopped talking altogether about what it means for me to be hurt by someone that I shouldn't have to worry about hurting me. I got really good at answering questions. I developed this skill where I could talk about really painful things without letting anyone (including myself) know that they were actually really painful. I got really good at controlling the way that I talked about things.
Facts. That is the secret. Only facts. If I'm not really careful, if I don't take a second every now and then to remind myself of what honesty actually is, I'll slide back into talking about facts. I can talk to you about something that has impacted my life a whole lot, something that hurt me a whole lot, or even something that has brought me a whole lot of joy, but if I can control the way that I talk about it, if you will let me tell you what happened or is happening without ever actually having to address how it touches me, I can separate the two.
So good. And so, so bad.
And it's usually not as obvious as it sounds like it would be. I'm pretty good at tricking you into thinking that I've talked about myself, my feelings, my heart without ever actually having to do it. I can trick myself too, but that's getting harder to do. Trickery doesn't sound a whole lot like honesty.
The letters help me. They give me opportunities to be honest. And I can write a letter to absolutely anyone, about absolutely anything, absolutely anytime. Anyone. Anything. Anytime. For someone that kind-of-sort-of just discovered honesty, those are really helpful, really great, really incredible things.
The facts are important, but the feelings rule my days. The feelings are so much bigger than the facts. We need them both. I'm not entirely sure how I operated for so long with just one.
It's funny how things that you do to keep yourself strong can actually do the opposite. I thought I was protecting myself, and I was, but it didn't make me strong. Strength is not in facing the facts. Strength comes when we face the things that the facts produce. Strength comes when we face the feelings, the scars, the joys and the sorrows.
So far, 2012 has taught me a lot. I have cried more in 2012 than I have in a long, long time. And I feel stronger than I ever have. I asked God to make me more honest in 2012. He's surprising me. Everyday, he's surprising me.
Tears and strength have gone hand in hand for me this year. He's teaching me about what it means to really be honest. He's teaching me that real honesty is way more than just not lying. He's also teaching me that honesty yields things like tears. And he's showing me that the kind of strong he wants me to be is not cold, it is not fact based, and it is not strong like an impenetrable forcefield.
He's showing me that the strong he wants me to be is alive and it feels things. The strong he wants me to be is tender. The strong he wants me to be isn't afraid of empathy and the strong he wants me to be can cry. The strong he wants me to be can cry a lot, because the strong he wants me to be is rooted in facts and it's rooted in feeling feelings and it's rooted in a whole lot of hope.
And we have so much more of 2012 left.
The more I do this little exercise, the more I realize how seldom all of my energy, all of my effort, or even just the majority of it goes into being honest, being truthful. That freaks me out, because honesty is something that I have to think about and, because I usually don't think about honesty as something that I have to think about.
The process is freeing. The process is enlightening. The process is endless and surprising and sometimes it hurts, sometimes it hurts a lot, but the process is always worth it. It has always given me something valuable, or at least pointed me towards something of worth.
I think I got to this place, where I have to write these letters, because somewhere along the way I stopped being honest about my relationships. Somewhere along the way, I stopped talking honestly, or more likely, I stopped talking altogether about what it means for me to be hurt by someone that I shouldn't have to worry about hurting me. I got really good at answering questions. I developed this skill where I could talk about really painful things without letting anyone (including myself) know that they were actually really painful. I got really good at controlling the way that I talked about things.
Facts. That is the secret. Only facts. If I'm not really careful, if I don't take a second every now and then to remind myself of what honesty actually is, I'll slide back into talking about facts. I can talk to you about something that has impacted my life a whole lot, something that hurt me a whole lot, or even something that has brought me a whole lot of joy, but if I can control the way that I talk about it, if you will let me tell you what happened or is happening without ever actually having to address how it touches me, I can separate the two.
So good. And so, so bad.
And it's usually not as obvious as it sounds like it would be. I'm pretty good at tricking you into thinking that I've talked about myself, my feelings, my heart without ever actually having to do it. I can trick myself too, but that's getting harder to do. Trickery doesn't sound a whole lot like honesty.
The letters help me. They give me opportunities to be honest. And I can write a letter to absolutely anyone, about absolutely anything, absolutely anytime. Anyone. Anything. Anytime. For someone that kind-of-sort-of just discovered honesty, those are really helpful, really great, really incredible things.
The facts are important, but the feelings rule my days. The feelings are so much bigger than the facts. We need them both. I'm not entirely sure how I operated for so long with just one.
It's funny how things that you do to keep yourself strong can actually do the opposite. I thought I was protecting myself, and I was, but it didn't make me strong. Strength is not in facing the facts. Strength comes when we face the things that the facts produce. Strength comes when we face the feelings, the scars, the joys and the sorrows.
So far, 2012 has taught me a lot. I have cried more in 2012 than I have in a long, long time. And I feel stronger than I ever have. I asked God to make me more honest in 2012. He's surprising me. Everyday, he's surprising me.
Tears and strength have gone hand in hand for me this year. He's teaching me about what it means to really be honest. He's teaching me that real honesty is way more than just not lying. He's also teaching me that honesty yields things like tears. And he's showing me that the kind of strong he wants me to be is not cold, it is not fact based, and it is not strong like an impenetrable forcefield.
He's showing me that the strong he wants me to be is alive and it feels things. The strong he wants me to be is tender. The strong he wants me to be isn't afraid of empathy and the strong he wants me to be can cry. The strong he wants me to be can cry a lot, because the strong he wants me to be is rooted in facts and it's rooted in feeling feelings and it's rooted in a whole lot of hope.
And we have so much more of 2012 left.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
I was looking for a breath of life, a little touch of heavenly light, but all the choirs in my head say no.
I did an exercise that a little app on my phone suggested a few days ago. It was trying to teach me about gentleness, and I did learn about gentleness, but I learned something else as well. It asked me to think of my best friend and then to create a list of five words that described that friend. Not too hard. Then it asked me to think of someone that I don't get along with and to create a list of five words that described that person. Also, not too hard.
Next, it asked me to go through all of the words I had come up with and think about how it would make me feel for someone to use each of them to describe me. The good ones would obviously make me feel good. The bad ones would obviously make me feel bad, all but one of the bad ones that is. My words to describe someone that I don't get along with were: loud, argumentative, manipulative, mean, and different.
I have never wanted to be excessively loud. I have never wanted to come across as argumentative. I have never hoped that someone would describe me as manipulative. I have never wanted to seem mean to others. I have, however wanted to be different.
I chose the word different to describe someone that I don't get along with, because sometimes when you have a different perspective than someone else, or differing views on a particular topic, it can cause conflict. Sometimes even differing personality traits can cause tension or confusion. That is what I meant by including, "different," in my list of words to describe someone that I don't get along with. There is potential and value and so much to learn from our differences, but sometimes differences just make things hard.
There have been many times in my 22 years that I have wanted to be like someone else, different than myself. I can't really say that I've ever wanted to actually be someone else. I've always wanted my name to be Jill. I've always wanted to be whatever makes me, me. But often times I want to just borrow traits from others. Sometimes it's as superficial as, "I want your hair or your skin," but sometimes it is more like, "I want your courage, your ability to relate to others, I want your sense of humor, or your ability to captivate an audience."
I want what's not mine. I want to be me, but a better, more capable version of me. I want to be a version of myself that I can tweak a little, sometimes a lot. I talked about this dissatisfaction with myself and who exactly that is a lot last summer. Being on a team every day with people that were all so different from me was great, but it was hard. It stirred up a lot of insecurities, and hidden feelings of disdain that I had for myself and for specific things about myself, or things that I thought/think I was/am lacking.
I can remember an email I got one day last summer after posting what I am sure was a very dramatic blog entry. I got an email in which Ashley very gently reminded me of how counter productive wishing that I was made differently is. It's one thing to want to be better, to want to improve, but it's something entirely different to long to be made differently, to wish to have different strengths, different gifts.
"I watched the Voyage of the Dawn Treader the other night and the line that the little rat [Reepicheep] said keeps sticking with me. He said, 'Aslan gave me this tail, so if you don't let go of it, I will have to fight you (or something like that).' Just got me thinking how Aslan made you the way you are and it is perfect! He created you, Jill Burnette, in his image, and with all of the pieces and parts the way he designed and saw fit..." A.A.D.
She went on to say more kind things to me, and they were and are nice, but that right there is the point. Perfect. In his image. The way he designed and saw fit.
When I got to the last word, different, I didn't hate the thought of someone describing me as different. I knew that I was not supposed to like the way the words describing the person I don't get along with made me feel, but different was hard for me to dislike. What does that say about me?
It would be really easy for me to say that comes from a good place. I want to be different than I am today. I want to be better tomorrow. I want to love better. I want to trust more. I want to live well.
But that's really not what I meant.
Honestly, it is tempting for me to cling to the word different, because time and time again I do covet what other people have. I want their gifts. I want what they are good at. I want what they do well. I do not see the things I do well. I don't appreciate my gifts. I don't see the way that I was made perfect, in his image, the way he designed and saw fit. It's not about wanting to improve on the things that I have been given; it's about wishing that I had entirely different instruments.
And that can't be good.
Perfect. In his image. The way he designed and saw fit. Those words describe me right here and right now. So why would I want to be different? I don't know, but I hope that I can learn to wish for a continual sharpening of my knife, not for a new knife altogether.
Next, it asked me to go through all of the words I had come up with and think about how it would make me feel for someone to use each of them to describe me. The good ones would obviously make me feel good. The bad ones would obviously make me feel bad, all but one of the bad ones that is. My words to describe someone that I don't get along with were: loud, argumentative, manipulative, mean, and different.
I have never wanted to be excessively loud. I have never wanted to come across as argumentative. I have never hoped that someone would describe me as manipulative. I have never wanted to seem mean to others. I have, however wanted to be different.
I chose the word different to describe someone that I don't get along with, because sometimes when you have a different perspective than someone else, or differing views on a particular topic, it can cause conflict. Sometimes even differing personality traits can cause tension or confusion. That is what I meant by including, "different," in my list of words to describe someone that I don't get along with. There is potential and value and so much to learn from our differences, but sometimes differences just make things hard.
There have been many times in my 22 years that I have wanted to be like someone else, different than myself. I can't really say that I've ever wanted to actually be someone else. I've always wanted my name to be Jill. I've always wanted to be whatever makes me, me. But often times I want to just borrow traits from others. Sometimes it's as superficial as, "I want your hair or your skin," but sometimes it is more like, "I want your courage, your ability to relate to others, I want your sense of humor, or your ability to captivate an audience."
I want what's not mine. I want to be me, but a better, more capable version of me. I want to be a version of myself that I can tweak a little, sometimes a lot. I talked about this dissatisfaction with myself and who exactly that is a lot last summer. Being on a team every day with people that were all so different from me was great, but it was hard. It stirred up a lot of insecurities, and hidden feelings of disdain that I had for myself and for specific things about myself, or things that I thought/think I was/am lacking.
I can remember an email I got one day last summer after posting what I am sure was a very dramatic blog entry. I got an email in which Ashley very gently reminded me of how counter productive wishing that I was made differently is. It's one thing to want to be better, to want to improve, but it's something entirely different to long to be made differently, to wish to have different strengths, different gifts.
"I watched the Voyage of the Dawn Treader the other night and the line that the little rat [Reepicheep] said keeps sticking with me. He said, 'Aslan gave me this tail, so if you don't let go of it, I will have to fight you (or something like that).' Just got me thinking how Aslan made you the way you are and it is perfect! He created you, Jill Burnette, in his image, and with all of the pieces and parts the way he designed and saw fit..." A.A.D.
She went on to say more kind things to me, and they were and are nice, but that right there is the point. Perfect. In his image. The way he designed and saw fit.
When I got to the last word, different, I didn't hate the thought of someone describing me as different. I knew that I was not supposed to like the way the words describing the person I don't get along with made me feel, but different was hard for me to dislike. What does that say about me?
It would be really easy for me to say that comes from a good place. I want to be different than I am today. I want to be better tomorrow. I want to love better. I want to trust more. I want to live well.
But that's really not what I meant.
Honestly, it is tempting for me to cling to the word different, because time and time again I do covet what other people have. I want their gifts. I want what they are good at. I want what they do well. I do not see the things I do well. I don't appreciate my gifts. I don't see the way that I was made perfect, in his image, the way he designed and saw fit. It's not about wanting to improve on the things that I have been given; it's about wishing that I had entirely different instruments.
And that can't be good.
Perfect. In his image. The way he designed and saw fit. Those words describe me right here and right now. So why would I want to be different? I don't know, but I hope that I can learn to wish for a continual sharpening of my knife, not for a new knife altogether.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
I was about to give up and that's no lie. Cardinal landed outside my window, threw his head back, & sang a song. So beautiful, it made me cry.
My church is doing a series on work right now. Today, the sermon was about rest. It was about Sabbath time, what that should mean, what that should look like, why it is important, and what the Bible has to say about all of that.
I am not always really great at working, but I think I am pretty good at Sabbath-ing, at least when I get around to doing it, I do it pretty well. I say that, because I love doing it. A lot of people say that they don't know how to rest, they can't rest, it doesn't come easily to them. I am an excellent rester, sometimes. I love these moments. I long for this time.
Stillness. Peace. Rest. Ink. Books. Depths. Intimacy. Wonder. Honesty. Those are the words I think of when I think about the word Sabbath, and what it means to observe Sabbath time. I probably am too good at it. I would fill day, upon day, upon day up with coffee shop time, my Bible, my journal, a little Sara Groves in my headphones, and ink spilling over pages. It feels so good to me. I know there is value in this time, because I can feel it in my bones. I can feel it in my heart. I don't think the quality of my relationship with Jesus depends on anything that I do and so, while I am very appreciative of time like this, time where I sit and write and think and pray and read, I don't think I make anything better in this time. That has to be him. If that is happening, it has got to be him. That has to come from someone else.
The more I see that and think about what that means, the more in awe I am of how good he is to me. Awe. That is equally terrifying and freeing. Does this time that I am rambling on about have anything to do with my faith increasing or my maturity increasing, or my unbelief decreasing? Yeah, I'd say so. If those things are happening, I think this time has something to do with it, but it comes from him, not me. It's his. Maturity and faith are not things that I can produce. Awe. Terrifying. Freeing.
How little control I actually have over any of this. I am sure that he can and is doing an infinitely better job than I ever could, but my heart doesn't always remember that; my heart of hearts doesn't always believe that. I read an article once that talked about this idea. I can't remember who wrote it or where I read it. It might have actually been a sermon I listened to once, but the point was this, "We cannot muster faith. We cannot muster intimacy with God. We cannot muster maturity. We must ask for those things, but we cannot make them ourselves. And when he grants them, when he gives us pieces of those things, the glory is his."
The only thing I am sure of is that the word, "muster," was used, and that always stuck with me. In social work we have the I.M.A.G.I.N.E. model for program development (insert APA citation here). The, "M," stands for, "Mustering Support."
Three things about Mustering Support:
1. We always laugh when we get to the M, because, seriously, who came up with this mnemonic device? Who thought that muster was the word that everyone needed to remember. It just sounds so awkward and random.
2. Aside from muster being a funny/random word to land on, once you get passed the weirdness of it, it's actually really great. Muster Support. Get people on your team. Get people excited about you cause. Make it exciting. Let people know why what you are doing is important. With most things in social work and in life, individual people don't get large scale projects accomplished on their own. To be successful, to make a lasting impact, to touch lives, to move towards social justice, you have to have support. You have to have more than yourself. You have to muster.
3. Mustering support when you are trying to implement a new project or program is great. Mustering faith is impossible. I've tried to do both. I can tell you that at least one of them was unsuccessful, and more than that, it was/is exhausting and lonely.
For a long time in my walk with my father, I told myself that if I did the things that I needed to be doing, I would get the things I needed to get in order to keep moving towards him. I never would have thought that was the message I was telling myself, but in a lot of ways, and in a lot of different circumstances, that was (and sometimes still is) how I operated.
I was upset about missing coffee shop alone time or missing morning quiet time, but not for the right reasons. I was upset, because it was something I needed to be doing, and I wasn't. I was upset, because it was pushing me backwards. I can also, regretfully say that I wasn't upset because I missed sweet, sweet talks with dad. I wasn't upset, because I hurt the only one who has never let me down. I wasn't upset, because I was missing out on quality time. I was upset, because I wasn't moving forward. I was frustrated with myself, because I couldn't just do right. That cycle is tough to get out of.
Frustration with myself (not so surprisingly) never pointed me towards growth. Frustration with myself has never pointed me towards maturity. All frustration with myself has ever done is point me towards more frustration with myself.
I am frustrated with myself --> I don't do better --> I am more frustrated with myself (etc.)
This is the only thing that has pointed me towards something like growth:
I can't do better --> Jesus goes after me anyway --> I can't do better --> Jesus goes after me anyway --> I still can't do better --> Jesus goes after me anyway (etc.)
I have a lot to learn about a lot of things. I am so sure that I have a ton to learn about work, especially as I begin to think about life after college, but I am also sure that I have a lot to learn about rest. I have a lot to learn about Sabbath-ing. God, thank you for the times you have given me. Thank you for the faith and maturity you have granted me. I'm excited to see what else you have to show me through rest. I can't wait to learn more from rest. I cannot wait to see that I'm really not as good at it as I think I am.
It actually isn't about me. I actually cannot do better. Jesus goes after me anyway. And when he grants it, the glory is his.
I am not always really great at working, but I think I am pretty good at Sabbath-ing, at least when I get around to doing it, I do it pretty well. I say that, because I love doing it. A lot of people say that they don't know how to rest, they can't rest, it doesn't come easily to them. I am an excellent rester, sometimes. I love these moments. I long for this time.
Stillness. Peace. Rest. Ink. Books. Depths. Intimacy. Wonder. Honesty. Those are the words I think of when I think about the word Sabbath, and what it means to observe Sabbath time. I probably am too good at it. I would fill day, upon day, upon day up with coffee shop time, my Bible, my journal, a little Sara Groves in my headphones, and ink spilling over pages. It feels so good to me. I know there is value in this time, because I can feel it in my bones. I can feel it in my heart. I don't think the quality of my relationship with Jesus depends on anything that I do and so, while I am very appreciative of time like this, time where I sit and write and think and pray and read, I don't think I make anything better in this time. That has to be him. If that is happening, it has got to be him. That has to come from someone else.
The more I see that and think about what that means, the more in awe I am of how good he is to me. Awe. That is equally terrifying and freeing. Does this time that I am rambling on about have anything to do with my faith increasing or my maturity increasing, or my unbelief decreasing? Yeah, I'd say so. If those things are happening, I think this time has something to do with it, but it comes from him, not me. It's his. Maturity and faith are not things that I can produce. Awe. Terrifying. Freeing.
How little control I actually have over any of this. I am sure that he can and is doing an infinitely better job than I ever could, but my heart doesn't always remember that; my heart of hearts doesn't always believe that. I read an article once that talked about this idea. I can't remember who wrote it or where I read it. It might have actually been a sermon I listened to once, but the point was this, "We cannot muster faith. We cannot muster intimacy with God. We cannot muster maturity. We must ask for those things, but we cannot make them ourselves. And when he grants them, when he gives us pieces of those things, the glory is his."
The only thing I am sure of is that the word, "muster," was used, and that always stuck with me. In social work we have the I.M.A.G.I.N.E. model for program development (insert APA citation here). The, "M," stands for, "Mustering Support."
Three things about Mustering Support:
1. We always laugh when we get to the M, because, seriously, who came up with this mnemonic device? Who thought that muster was the word that everyone needed to remember. It just sounds so awkward and random.
2. Aside from muster being a funny/random word to land on, once you get passed the weirdness of it, it's actually really great. Muster Support. Get people on your team. Get people excited about you cause. Make it exciting. Let people know why what you are doing is important. With most things in social work and in life, individual people don't get large scale projects accomplished on their own. To be successful, to make a lasting impact, to touch lives, to move towards social justice, you have to have support. You have to have more than yourself. You have to muster.
3. Mustering support when you are trying to implement a new project or program is great. Mustering faith is impossible. I've tried to do both. I can tell you that at least one of them was unsuccessful, and more than that, it was/is exhausting and lonely.
For a long time in my walk with my father, I told myself that if I did the things that I needed to be doing, I would get the things I needed to get in order to keep moving towards him. I never would have thought that was the message I was telling myself, but in a lot of ways, and in a lot of different circumstances, that was (and sometimes still is) how I operated.
I was upset about missing coffee shop alone time or missing morning quiet time, but not for the right reasons. I was upset, because it was something I needed to be doing, and I wasn't. I was upset, because it was pushing me backwards. I can also, regretfully say that I wasn't upset because I missed sweet, sweet talks with dad. I wasn't upset, because I hurt the only one who has never let me down. I wasn't upset, because I was missing out on quality time. I was upset, because I wasn't moving forward. I was frustrated with myself, because I couldn't just do right. That cycle is tough to get out of.
Frustration with myself (not so surprisingly) never pointed me towards growth. Frustration with myself has never pointed me towards maturity. All frustration with myself has ever done is point me towards more frustration with myself.
I am frustrated with myself --> I don't do better --> I am more frustrated with myself (etc.)
This is the only thing that has pointed me towards something like growth:
I can't do better --> Jesus goes after me anyway --> I can't do better --> Jesus goes after me anyway --> I still can't do better --> Jesus goes after me anyway (etc.)
I have a lot to learn about a lot of things. I am so sure that I have a ton to learn about work, especially as I begin to think about life after college, but I am also sure that I have a lot to learn about rest. I have a lot to learn about Sabbath-ing. God, thank you for the times you have given me. Thank you for the faith and maturity you have granted me. I'm excited to see what else you have to show me through rest. I can't wait to learn more from rest. I cannot wait to see that I'm really not as good at it as I think I am.
It actually isn't about me. I actually cannot do better. Jesus goes after me anyway. And when he grants it, the glory is his.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
