Dear Keren,
This week, I have been angry. Really angry. Angry to the point that I'm even surprising myself that I have the capacity for this anger. Angry to the point that Michael and Jason are slightly concerned by the amount of physical violence I'm threatening.
(Don't worry, I'm going to try to deal with this healthily. They are going to look for something for me to beat up to take my anger out. Or something.)
I've talked about the "Dark Year" for a while now without ever really getting into it. There really isn't a point in talking about that year anymore, because the part of the family that made that year so dark has fought hard amongst themselves to the point where I think we are starting to make some headway. Sure, it hasn't been easy, but was the fight worth it? I think so. I do wish some of the sacrifices that had to be made never happened, but look at us now. I'm grateful.
Yet on the other hand, there's another part of the family that seems to be taking one baby step at a time to make my life a living hell. Don't get me wrong; they are not bad people. They're very well-intentioned, but sometimes I wonder if they really took the time to think through the implications of what they are deciding to do.
There are times in our life-cycle where we fall and make a boo-boo, and a little bandage with the Hello Kitty or the Smurfs will do fine. There are other times in our life-cycle where it's a matter of internal bleeding, and no amount of Smurf bandages are going to help anymore.
In the years that have passed since that Dark Year, healing has come for that part of the family. But my wounds are only just starting to heal... and not because a doctor with magical powers came to wave their wand over my wounds, but because time, and a significant enough number of people from that family have allowed me to grieve with them over those wounds.
And now this. This is cutting deeper than the wounds left behind from the Dark Year.
Maybe it's because I had naively allowed myself to, even just for a second, think that we're making progress as a family.
Maybe it's because my old wounds have only just started to heal.
Maybe it's because for a second, I thought this family had learnt how to genuinely care for each other, and for relationships.
Maybe it's because I thought it was safe for me to assume I had enough of a relationship with that part of the family to depend on them for just that little bit of support to get me through this ending/beginning season of life.
Maybe, maybe, maybe...
Whatever the reason, the truth is, we're all a bunch of messed-up people. Each with our own baggage bringing our messes to the table. Whatever we decide to do with that, I think the Creator will use to fashion into the beauty that is a part of a bigger tapestry than we can see at the moment.
But the other side of the truth is, it still hurts like hell right now. It's like that same feeling of lying awake at 2am the nights after you went away, wanting to scream but not even sure what words to use.
I've always struggled with being as authentic as I can in my relationships. When I was younger, it meant I didn't say anything to anyone because this is my baggage to carry. As I got older, I thought being authentic meant learning to trust a few with my inner-most thoughts and those relationships always ended abruptly when I least expect. Then when you went away, I wasn't sure I would ever be able to give anything more in my relationships because eventually shit happens, and then we die.
Yet I had to relearn what it means to choose life again, and a part of that meant learning to be authentic in my relationships again instead of simply giving the "Hi, how are you, I'm good." answers and walking away. Because in light of this week, I want to stop feeling. Because my anger toward that part of the family is making me react negatively to other parts of the family. And I have less than three weeks left to pack things up around here. That's not enough time to screw up relationships now and try to reconcile before I leave.
In light of the fact that it is your birthday in a few more minutes, I want to be able to say I will choose life even while my heart is hurting right now. I know this will turn around, and not because I believe in the family. At least, right now, I don't anymore. But I believe in the Creator of Love, that is Love in itself. And I believe eventually this love will overwhelm again to the point where healing can begin.
But right now, this just hurts like hell. And maybe for right now, choosing life is choosing to feel the hurt of the frailty of humanity.
Happy 25th Birthday, KEB.
Miss you so very much,
Me
Showing posts with label Becky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Becky. Show all posts
13 June 2011
Dear Keren #8 - Becky and the Church Part 3
Dear Keren,
I sat in that building again today, as has become routine over the last three years since I left and came back. It's become a habit for me in the last couple months since I've known that the sun was setting on my time here to, every time I get the opportunity, look at all the people that have become family to me over the last three years. Sometimes it happens from up front, sometimes I secretly enjoy sneaking in late just to catch that few extra minutes of sleep--but also so I can sit in the back pews and just let the image of this whole messy, chaotic family find its roots in my heart.
But today was different. I sat at a different corner up front, then moved down to one of the wings halfway through the service. There was a candle-lighting piece in the later half of the service and again, I watched as all these faces--some familiar, some not so much--one by one came forward to light a candle. Some, I've known for a long time, and not just them, but generations in their family before and/or after them. Some I've just gotten to know very recently.
And then I noticed them. Ah yes, Jim and Betty were my landlords some years back--specifically, the year after the dark year ended. Quite frankly, I wasn't sure back then if I should allow myself to develop affection for them. After all, they were a part of that building--the one where the messy, chaotic family was learning then what it meant to live as family. All the murmurings, complaints, hurtful comments and attitudes... The many "care-cards" written to the leadership to inform them of how to do their jobs better. I was only twenty then. I wasn't prepared for my idealistic view of the institution to completely fall apart. The fact that this building was a major part of history and had a long legacy behind it didn't help keep my goody churchkid Becky-ish world from feeling like it was completely spiraling out of control. And then there was the part of the story where most of the people who were a part of this institution were people who had a long track record of ministry. Yet here we were fighting with each other over silly things like when rehearsal times clashed and this diva felt their contributions to the church was more important than that diva's so their rehearsal should take more priority.
And people wonder why I didn't want to go to seminary. If this was what people who have an extensive ministry repertoire end up doing to each other, then hell, no thank you.
But fast forward three years to today and we find Jim and Betty up front having just lit a candle. They proceed to kneel at the altar, and it's barely a minute later that I looked up and found Olive heading over to kneel and pray with them. And then I found tears in my eyes.
You see, Jim, Betty, Olive and her husband Savas are all people that I have come to love dearly in the more recent years since the dark year. They loved the part of Kingdom work that took them outside their own culture where they would spend most of their lives living in the in-betweens. And just for a few moments, I wondered what it was like for them to be a few years younger, living in cross-cultural settings in different parts of the world at the same time. And I wondered what kinds of friendships blossomed in the seasons where their paths would cross even if just briefly. Were they the kind that a "What are you doing? Can I come over now (and sit around and talk, or not talk, or do nothing)?" would not be awkward? Were they the kind that would last for a long, long time, till the day they find themselves back "home" again, worshipping in the same building again? Were they the kind that would still stay strong even after the dark years in a setting similar to the ones that they had just dedicated most of their lives to?
And this is why as much as that dark year redefined so much of who I am today, I hardly talk about it except to the few people. But lately as I have felt the need to validate my experience in ministry, or why I relate to the postmodern post-Christian culture as much as I do, this dark year has come up again.
Yet at the same time, watching Jim and Betty, and Olive, and all the other signs of vibrant family life in the post-dark-year era... Why bring up the past that only hurts and divides, when instead there's life and hope to look forward to?
Miss you,
Me
I sat in that building again today, as has become routine over the last three years since I left and came back. It's become a habit for me in the last couple months since I've known that the sun was setting on my time here to, every time I get the opportunity, look at all the people that have become family to me over the last three years. Sometimes it happens from up front, sometimes I secretly enjoy sneaking in late just to catch that few extra minutes of sleep--but also so I can sit in the back pews and just let the image of this whole messy, chaotic family find its roots in my heart.
But today was different. I sat at a different corner up front, then moved down to one of the wings halfway through the service. There was a candle-lighting piece in the later half of the service and again, I watched as all these faces--some familiar, some not so much--one by one came forward to light a candle. Some, I've known for a long time, and not just them, but generations in their family before and/or after them. Some I've just gotten to know very recently.
And then I noticed them. Ah yes, Jim and Betty were my landlords some years back--specifically, the year after the dark year ended. Quite frankly, I wasn't sure back then if I should allow myself to develop affection for them. After all, they were a part of that building--the one where the messy, chaotic family was learning then what it meant to live as family. All the murmurings, complaints, hurtful comments and attitudes... The many "care-cards" written to the leadership to inform them of how to do their jobs better. I was only twenty then. I wasn't prepared for my idealistic view of the institution to completely fall apart. The fact that this building was a major part of history and had a long legacy behind it didn't help keep my goody churchkid Becky-ish world from feeling like it was completely spiraling out of control. And then there was the part of the story where most of the people who were a part of this institution were people who had a long track record of ministry. Yet here we were fighting with each other over silly things like when rehearsal times clashed and this diva felt their contributions to the church was more important than that diva's so their rehearsal should take more priority.
And people wonder why I didn't want to go to seminary. If this was what people who have an extensive ministry repertoire end up doing to each other, then hell, no thank you.
But fast forward three years to today and we find Jim and Betty up front having just lit a candle. They proceed to kneel at the altar, and it's barely a minute later that I looked up and found Olive heading over to kneel and pray with them. And then I found tears in my eyes.
You see, Jim, Betty, Olive and her husband Savas are all people that I have come to love dearly in the more recent years since the dark year. They loved the part of Kingdom work that took them outside their own culture where they would spend most of their lives living in the in-betweens. And just for a few moments, I wondered what it was like for them to be a few years younger, living in cross-cultural settings in different parts of the world at the same time. And I wondered what kinds of friendships blossomed in the seasons where their paths would cross even if just briefly. Were they the kind that a "What are you doing? Can I come over now (and sit around and talk, or not talk, or do nothing)?" would not be awkward? Were they the kind that would last for a long, long time, till the day they find themselves back "home" again, worshipping in the same building again? Were they the kind that would still stay strong even after the dark years in a setting similar to the ones that they had just dedicated most of their lives to?
And this is why as much as that dark year redefined so much of who I am today, I hardly talk about it except to the few people. But lately as I have felt the need to validate my experience in ministry, or why I relate to the postmodern post-Christian culture as much as I do, this dark year has come up again.
Yet at the same time, watching Jim and Betty, and Olive, and all the other signs of vibrant family life in the post-dark-year era... Why bring up the past that only hurts and divides, when instead there's life and hope to look forward to?
Miss you,
Me
07 May 2011
Dear Keren #3 - Becky and the Church Part 2
Dear Keren,
My first conversation on campus with anyone this week (this being finals week) was with none other than Dr. Robert Nicholson himself. As much as I've rubbed shoulders with all the Church of God giants in my time here, I still get star-struck. This was, after all, Dr. Robert Nicholson, the one who has a building--one of my second homes, nonetheless--named after him. So the conversation went something like that:
Me: Good morning, sir.
Dr. Nicholson: Well, it is Jael! You're about done, aren't you? How does it feel?
Me: (What the ..... he knows my name??) Well, I have one more week... If I get through this week, I'll be ok, I think.
Dr. N: And how many other times have you said that of the weeks that have passed?
Me: Umm... A lot?
Dr. N: And you got through those?
Me: Well, I guess so...
Dr. N: Well, atta girl! You'll be able to get through this one as well. Not that you're a girl, more like a lady, but that's just an expression I use, you know?
Me: (What in the world just happened??)
I guess I should explain that Dr Nicholson is a part of that family/institution that contributed to that dark, dark year of my life. I don't know how much he knows about my story from that year, but the fact that he, Dr. Robert Nicholson, knew my name... That blew me away.
Ok, ok. So I've talked about "that year" for a while now. I guess I should explain what happened in that year huh?
Remember those times when you were unable to get a ride to The Mercy House on Sundays so you would end up showing up in that building because it was within walking distance? And after service was over, a bunch of us will head out to lunch together and it was always fun? Well, that didn't last for too long. Change happened, as always does and always will. A lot was happening within the walls of that building that was causing some amount of disgruntlement, unhappiness and division. Eventually, a big part of that after-lunch group stopped coming. I remembered at one point asking Pastor Randy if I could do my undergrad Church Music internship with him. We both ham-hawed for a bit and neither of us followed up on that so that was kind of dropped.
A year went by, and within that year, he and his wife were gone. It wasn't anyone's fault, really, except that change happens, and growth hurts, I guess. I was pretty upset because he and his wife were after all, amongst the first people to welcome me to Anderson when his son, Ryan, decided to borrow their car to take a bunch of us international kids to Walmart. You remember those days when going to the grocery store was a pain, don't you? We weren't sure who to ask for a ride so a lot of times we'll eventually end up walking to CVS to get the few things we needed. Then eventually one of the international upperclassmen would spot us walking and yell at us for walking and insisted on giving us their phone number so that we could call one of them.
Anyhow, Randy and his wife Rhonda (not to be mixed up with other Rhonda who got me involved in the worship team as I was telling you about in the last episode) and Ryan were amongst the people who made me feel most at home in that building. Granted it didn't really feel like "home" yet because I was still trying to figure out how to get into the traditional style of worship. But between them, and the Rhonda who got me involved with the worship team, I couldn't find enough reason to leave. Especially since, during the summers, Rhonda would always have me over to watch their son Victor so she could get things done around the house. She also got me involved with a bunch of different things that made me work with kids and children.
Now you have to know that it was only a few years ago that I actually started enjoying being around kids. For the most part, I felt like that awkward neither-grown-up-nor-kid person who never really had a childhood so I didn't really know what it meant to talk to kids. And I was still coming out of my "hide-behind-my-mother's-skirt" phase, so I was just REALLY awkward (not that I'm not still awkward now, but compared to a few years ago... oh boy...)
It's funny, you know, thinking about those years. Because those kids that I always felt awkward around, are the same kids that I would consider my BFFs now. A couple months ago when I was still debating about whether or not I should move forward with the New Zealand stuff, these were the kids that surrounded my table and taught me about the book that involved the 39 clues. (I don't remember the title). These were the same kids that, last Sunday at church, when they had prayer for all the graduates, stood behind me and prayed for me. I honestly didn't think I left that much of an impact on them, but perhaps it was me just being me, showing up at the summer musical rehearsals, going to their soccer games and hanging out with their parents that left an impression? And I'll be honest, I didn't show up to all these things so much because of them as much as... Heidi kind of talked me into it. Apparently I let Heidi talk me into a lot of things huh...
I guess I'm just realising that I didn't keep showing up to that building because it was convenient anymore. But people kept me coming and after a while, it didn't seem so bad anymore. I guess this was why the dark year seemed so dark. I know I'm still ham-hawing around that, but that's because I don't really know how to talk about it since that dark year seemed so long ago. At the same time, recent stuff that's been happening has been reminding me again that I should probably share more of my experience from that year than I do now.
But that will have to be for another time. The parentals are here for graduation (hey, as are yours!) and this house needs to be cleaned before I get to the chiropractor tonight.
Hugs,
Jael
My first conversation on campus with anyone this week (this being finals week) was with none other than Dr. Robert Nicholson himself. As much as I've rubbed shoulders with all the Church of God giants in my time here, I still get star-struck. This was, after all, Dr. Robert Nicholson, the one who has a building--one of my second homes, nonetheless--named after him. So the conversation went something like that:
Me: Good morning, sir.
Dr. Nicholson: Well, it is Jael! You're about done, aren't you? How does it feel?
Me: (What the ..... he knows my name??) Well, I have one more week... If I get through this week, I'll be ok, I think.
Dr. N: And how many other times have you said that of the weeks that have passed?
Me: Umm... A lot?
Dr. N: And you got through those?
Me: Well, I guess so...
Dr. N: Well, atta girl! You'll be able to get through this one as well. Not that you're a girl, more like a lady, but that's just an expression I use, you know?
Me: (What in the world just happened??)
I guess I should explain that Dr Nicholson is a part of that family/institution that contributed to that dark, dark year of my life. I don't know how much he knows about my story from that year, but the fact that he, Dr. Robert Nicholson, knew my name... That blew me away.
Ok, ok. So I've talked about "that year" for a while now. I guess I should explain what happened in that year huh?
Remember those times when you were unable to get a ride to The Mercy House on Sundays so you would end up showing up in that building because it was within walking distance? And after service was over, a bunch of us will head out to lunch together and it was always fun? Well, that didn't last for too long. Change happened, as always does and always will. A lot was happening within the walls of that building that was causing some amount of disgruntlement, unhappiness and division. Eventually, a big part of that after-lunch group stopped coming. I remembered at one point asking Pastor Randy if I could do my undergrad Church Music internship with him. We both ham-hawed for a bit and neither of us followed up on that so that was kind of dropped.
A year went by, and within that year, he and his wife were gone. It wasn't anyone's fault, really, except that change happens, and growth hurts, I guess. I was pretty upset because he and his wife were after all, amongst the first people to welcome me to Anderson when his son, Ryan, decided to borrow their car to take a bunch of us international kids to Walmart. You remember those days when going to the grocery store was a pain, don't you? We weren't sure who to ask for a ride so a lot of times we'll eventually end up walking to CVS to get the few things we needed. Then eventually one of the international upperclassmen would spot us walking and yell at us for walking and insisted on giving us their phone number so that we could call one of them.
Anyhow, Randy and his wife Rhonda (not to be mixed up with other Rhonda who got me involved in the worship team as I was telling you about in the last episode) and Ryan were amongst the people who made me feel most at home in that building. Granted it didn't really feel like "home" yet because I was still trying to figure out how to get into the traditional style of worship. But between them, and the Rhonda who got me involved with the worship team, I couldn't find enough reason to leave. Especially since, during the summers, Rhonda would always have me over to watch their son Victor so she could get things done around the house. She also got me involved with a bunch of different things that made me work with kids and children.
Now you have to know that it was only a few years ago that I actually started enjoying being around kids. For the most part, I felt like that awkward neither-grown-up-nor-kid person who never really had a childhood so I didn't really know what it meant to talk to kids. And I was still coming out of my "hide-behind-my-mother's-skirt" phase, so I was just REALLY awkward (not that I'm not still awkward now, but compared to a few years ago... oh boy...)
It's funny, you know, thinking about those years. Because those kids that I always felt awkward around, are the same kids that I would consider my BFFs now. A couple months ago when I was still debating about whether or not I should move forward with the New Zealand stuff, these were the kids that surrounded my table and taught me about the book that involved the 39 clues. (I don't remember the title). These were the same kids that, last Sunday at church, when they had prayer for all the graduates, stood behind me and prayed for me. I honestly didn't think I left that much of an impact on them, but perhaps it was me just being me, showing up at the summer musical rehearsals, going to their soccer games and hanging out with their parents that left an impression? And I'll be honest, I didn't show up to all these things so much because of them as much as... Heidi kind of talked me into it. Apparently I let Heidi talk me into a lot of things huh...
I guess I'm just realising that I didn't keep showing up to that building because it was convenient anymore. But people kept me coming and after a while, it didn't seem so bad anymore. I guess this was why the dark year seemed so dark. I know I'm still ham-hawing around that, but that's because I don't really know how to talk about it since that dark year seemed so long ago. At the same time, recent stuff that's been happening has been reminding me again that I should probably share more of my experience from that year than I do now.
But that will have to be for another time. The parentals are here for graduation (hey, as are yours!) and this house needs to be cleaned before I get to the chiropractor tonight.
Hugs,
Jael
01 May 2011
Dear Keren #2 - Becky and the Church
Dear Keren,
Over dinner tonight, some Seminary friends and I were talking about how we've changed since our high school years and how even though we all still profess to be in relationship with Christ, some of our lifestyle habits have changed and people who have known as from back then may not think that we still believe in God.
Which got me thinking. There was one very, very dark year in the last seven that I've spent in Anderson that I haven't really processed much until more recently. I hardly told anyone until fairly recently how much that hurt, or how much that has changed my perspective of the institution, and how the institution had become the family that I needed a break from to help keep my sanity. And just because I don't talk about it or act too differently on the surface doesn't mean that underneath my attitudes have changed and I'm no longer the Becky in the Chris Rice song that I was seven years ago.
It all began the same weekend that I met you for the first time. Since I didn't know my way around the city of Anderson yet, I didn't know what other church options I had available. So I show up at this big church that I remembered attending a few months back when I was first in Anderson for my equivalent of visit day. The sanctuary itself was almost as big as the entire church building I grew up in. And I show up there again the following week. Right after service was over, I was approached by this spunky lady who introduced herself as Rhonda. She said she heard that I was a musician and that if I was interested, she could start putting me on their worship schedule. I got plugged in right away, and even though the very traditional worship style made me really uncomfortable, I was connected, and the ten-minute walk from my dorm room to the church was much more convenient than trying to find people to take me church-shopping.
Things were great the first couple years. Sunday after Sunday, the international kids who found no other church home would gather together at the back of the sanctuary to head out to lunch together. Sometimes it was Indian, sometimes it was the Chinese buffet place in town. Community came easy, and even though I wasn't exactly looking for it, it was there.
But that was all years ago now. Funny how much can change in seven years huh?
To be continued...
Miss you,
Me
Over dinner tonight, some Seminary friends and I were talking about how we've changed since our high school years and how even though we all still profess to be in relationship with Christ, some of our lifestyle habits have changed and people who have known as from back then may not think that we still believe in God.
Which got me thinking. There was one very, very dark year in the last seven that I've spent in Anderson that I haven't really processed much until more recently. I hardly told anyone until fairly recently how much that hurt, or how much that has changed my perspective of the institution, and how the institution had become the family that I needed a break from to help keep my sanity. And just because I don't talk about it or act too differently on the surface doesn't mean that underneath my attitudes have changed and I'm no longer the Becky in the Chris Rice song that I was seven years ago.
It all began the same weekend that I met you for the first time. Since I didn't know my way around the city of Anderson yet, I didn't know what other church options I had available. So I show up at this big church that I remembered attending a few months back when I was first in Anderson for my equivalent of visit day. The sanctuary itself was almost as big as the entire church building I grew up in. And I show up there again the following week. Right after service was over, I was approached by this spunky lady who introduced herself as Rhonda. She said she heard that I was a musician and that if I was interested, she could start putting me on their worship schedule. I got plugged in right away, and even though the very traditional worship style made me really uncomfortable, I was connected, and the ten-minute walk from my dorm room to the church was much more convenient than trying to find people to take me church-shopping.
Things were great the first couple years. Sunday after Sunday, the international kids who found no other church home would gather together at the back of the sanctuary to head out to lunch together. Sometimes it was Indian, sometimes it was the Chinese buffet place in town. Community came easy, and even though I wasn't exactly looking for it, it was there.
But that was all years ago now. Funny how much can change in seven years huh?
To be continued...
Miss you,
Me
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