The Bride Belongs

I want to belong.

I suppose that's integral to experiencing my humanity. I want a place to feel at home, safe. I guess my heart is one that's never been satisfied if that feeling of at-homeness is only experienced when I'm alone. I want to feel at home, safe with other people. I want to belong with other people.

And you know, if I'm going to be completely honest here, that is the most recurring struggle of my life. My biggest fear is that I will always be alone, and not even physically alone, but emotionally, spiritually. I'm deeply terrified that my destiny for life is to be stuck in a state of perpetual non-belonging.

I've experienced some broken relationships lately. To cry my own sob story...it's felt especially sad because it's all stemmed from disagreements within a church. The rose-colored glasses I occasionally choose to view this life through would like to believe that church relationships are the most protected and stable of all. The current reality, however, has me sobered on the thought. As a friend helped me understand, I feel as though I'm just coming out of a really serious relationship, and I presently have no desire nor intention of getting into another one. I'm in the "protect your heart" stage of the break-up, where I don't want to let anyone in. And that, for me, is an incredibly strange and foreign thing to feel towards church. It's always been such a huge part of my life. I believe in the church, with its flaws and imperfections. I believe that Jesus loves the Church, so much so He would even call it His Bride. But right now, I don't want to trust it with myself. I want to be there; that is unchanged. But while there, I experience this overwhelming sense of mistrust and detachment.

Tonight at a church I've only recently started attending on a regular basis, the pastor announced his wife had the baby this morning (why he was preaching the evening of his wife delivering a baby, I do not know). Without my will in any way directing it, a HUGE smile came onto my face. I hardly know this man; I'm not even certain of his first name. But I felt a genuine surge of joy for him as he and his family of three other ladies celebrate the arrival of Joey, Pastor's first son.

Tonight at church I felt edified as I spoke the familiar words of confession, a practice not common at most of the non-traditional churches I've chosen to attend the past few years. Jesus saves us from so much, even myself. It's good for my soul to speak that truth.

Tonight at church I was reminded of the beauty and depth of the words of those hymns. "Death and grave must soon release us." It's only seven words! But there's so much in that short sentence. I can't unpack it and do it justice; I can't add words to that and make it worth more. Death doesn't own me. Joy.

Tonight at church, as confession ended, I looked up to see an elderly man struggling to pull himself up from the kneeling position. Many a time I've heard criticisms, and have maybe even been party to such criticisms myself, of the lack of genuine and active faith in more traditional churches such as the one I attended tonight. To see this man humbling himself in that way, to consciously acknowledge his depth of need, I was left empty of criticism and full of encouragement.

Tonight at church, I felt that joy and contentment where tears are pressing hard against your ducts, ready and willing to spill out to announce their pure flow to all who care to see. But tonight it was enough to feel that just for me; there was no need to share it with another (I write here only to be accountable to record the moments I do feel inspired in such a way, for I know it will be brief). Tonight belonging didn't mean being emotionally and spiritually affirmed. Tonight belonging was seeing God's goodness to those I don't even know. Belonging was being touched by His goodness amidst strangers who hardly know me. Tonight, belonging was receiving the Groom's unshakable love as the Bride.

Feel

Tonight a friend's Facebook status concerned me something tragic had happened in my home state. Sadly, a Google search quickly confirmed that two administrators were shot and one killed in a school shooting today in a suburb of Omaha, NE.

It will always be alarming news when murder occurs under the same roof as the education of children. And well it should be. This is a horrifying reality.

It doesn't matter that I no longer live in Nebraska, and it doesn't matter that Omaha is over 2 hours away from where I grew up. That is still my community. That is still my home. I willingly choose to bear the weight of acknowledging and feeling the injustice and horror of such an event. I think any of us would.

After I watched the news report, I realized the shooting occurred at the same high school a good friend of mine attended, the administrator killed today most likely known by him. I realized the church directly beside the school, where parents waited for several hours for their children to be released to them from the school in lock down, is the same church my good friend currently serves, his day most likely filled with emotion and exhaustion from caring for anxious parents. I sent him a couple texts, to let him know that he and the community are in my thoughts and prayers.

Though miles removed, I feel very connected to what happened in Millard, NE today. My heart feels for all those affected.

Today at school a co-worker read me a nola.com headline and we discussed it for no more than 4 minutes. I wouldn't have remembered the conversation if not for this news report from Nebraska tonight. This afternoon in New Orleans a man was shot and killed less than two miles from my school.

Ironically, the two shootings happened within minutes of each other.

Tonight I'm embarrassed at the difference in feeling I had in response to these two events. As I first realized the dichotomy, I caught myself justifying my response, "But this happens here all the time."

May I never think of a life so flippantly.

I guess certain backdrops make murder more striking. It is a most unfitting event to have happen within the supposedly safe confines of a school. But the urban setting of one of the most dangerous cities in the country? I guess murder is a little more camouflaged here.

I acknowledge the differences in these two situations, but at the end of the day a life was taken as the result of violence. That's probably something I should feel regardless of the setting.

Because no matter who or where, it matters.

From nola.com:

"Word apparently spread about (his) death after a friend coincidentally drove by the scene and recognized the car. A short time later, (his) family began to show up, including his father, who slowly collapsed on the road near the car and began to weep."

Father, I apologize to you tonight, for so flippantly considering the loss of your son. But I also tell you that I now willingly choose to bear the weight of acknowledging and feeling the injustice and horror of what happened today. Because you are my community. This is my home.

Poolside Poetry

This morning my roommate and I rushed out the door, late for school yet still hopeful to enjoy the early morning rays of sunshine that only those who leave for work before 7:00 A.M. get to enjoy. Our hopes of enjoying a peaceful late summer morning were shattered when a garbage truck barreled around the corner, splitting us onto opposite sides of the street, and leaving in its wake seriously one of the most rank smells I've ever encountered. As I took in the aroma, I cursed the city, realizing full well that such disturbances to the enjoyment of morning beauty don't happen where I come from.

But tonight, as the sun sets over the Big Easy and the city prepares to rest itself before another day begins, the unnatural sounds of screeching brakes, accelerating engines, and police car sirens subside long enough to hear the gently trickling waves of water caused by 20-some feet in a backyard pool in the Garden District of New Orleans.

Young men and women discourse on who they are; rather, who God's been in their lives. Some I've known since I moved here; some I've known just a short time. Collectively they comprise my closest friends in this city. Despite the closeness I've shared with some, I'm still surprised by experiences my friends have had, the struggles they have faced, the journeys they have traveled. For spending so much time together, I realize I know so little of the hearts we tend to keep so hidden. But on this Tuesday night, we share, a little more than we have before, each story revealing there's more beyond the brazen exterior, each resilient wayfarer echoing, "I'm not so strong. I'm not so perfect. I'm fragile."

And I'm overwhelmed by feelings of gratitute and endearment, and I'm confident it's true that loving is a matter of knowing and being known.

An Unleashed Dog and Navigation

In January of this year I was bit by a dog. While out on a run I became the innocent victim of a very large German Shepherd who, ironically enough, used to be a rescue dog. He bit me on the left hip/butt, drew blood, and forced me to spend five hours in urgent care waiting for a tetanus shot and antibiotic prescription. All the while I had the joy of being graced by the dutiful presence of the dog's owners, an elderly couple (surely millionaires based on the house they invited me into before taking me to the hospital) who live about three blocks from me, he appropriately curious and conversational, she demonstrating the classic symptoms of full-fledged Alzheimer's.

Before being attacked by this dog, I had what I would have called a healthy appreciation for canine. For about six months prior to the incident, I had been contemplating getting a dog of my own. I know I was afraid of dogs as a little girl, but since about 5 years old I don't remember ever feeling that again.

Since the bite I have really struggled to be around dogs. Initially it was any dog, big or small. Now it's mostly just medium to large dogs that elicit a fear-laden response from me. When I have to pass or meet a large dog on the sidewalk, my entire body tenses up and I hold my breath. On a couple occasions I've even pushed a friend between me and a scary-looking dog as a complete act of reflex, selfishly not even considering my friend's well-being as I throw him/her to a creature I'm in that moment perceiving as savage.

I know many have incurred dog bites and moved on from them mostly unscathed. For whatever reason, this has not been the case for me. I could retell the specifics of this incident in vivid detail. I remember every part of it, and it was nothing short of traumatic for me. I can't forget the feeling I had as that dog was coming after me and I had no control to stop it.

I still see the dog from time to time, as he and his owners live in my neighborhood. The first time I saw him after the bite, his owners had him muzzled. When he saw me, though, he started barking and growling and pulling on the leash trying to get to me. Since then, every time I've seen demon-dog, I've darted to the other side of the street or in the opposite direction to avoid him. I'm terrified of him.

Finishing a run last Friday I was just a few blocks from home when I saw him. I immediately crossed the street so we'd be on opposite sides. At the intersection, from the opposite corner, he saw me and started barking and growling and pulling on his leash trying to get across the street in my direction. The owner, Alzheimer's woman, looked very confused and disoriented. She appeared to have no control of the dog, and it was clear to me the dog was going to have his way.

As the dog headed to my side of the street, I darted back across. Thankfully, he got distracted by a man walking two small dogs, and started barking and pawing in their direction instead of mine. Once across the street, he and the owner turned to head in the direction I was going, the direction of my house. Since we were now on opposite sides of the street, I figured I was safe and continued on my way.

Two blocks later a medium-sized wolf-dog walked around a stone wall to appear on the sidewalk right in front of me.

He was unleashed. There was no owner in sight.

This is the most literally I've ever felt paralyzed by fear.

**I would like to interject for a moment that I am well aware of the fact that in my lifetime I have passed thousands of dogs. Of all those interactions with canine, only once has it gone poorly (only once I specifically remember, anyway). Logically, I know that the statistics were in my favor that day. I probably could have run by that dog and I would have been fine. But perhaps we can allow the response I'm about to describe to instill a deeper respect inside of us for the human heart, resilient beyond belief, yet no experience leaves it the same as it was before. You can be loved well a thousand times over; it only takes one cut to wound and teach in an irreversible way that pain is real.**

As soon as I was able to move again, I turned around and started running in the opposite direction, the direction away from my home. Tears simultaneously started streaming down my face, and the distinct words came to the forefront of my mind, "It's a horrible thing to be controlled by your fear." With each step I took further and further away from my house, I knew what it was like to have fear pushing forward posing as strength.

Hebrews 10:39 But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved.

Last Friday was a day of shrinking back.

Friday's run had been preceded by a whole string of events that had me defeated and fleeing long before I even put my running shoes on.

The dogs were a very literal catalyst which forced me to deal with myself. As I prayed through my slough of piled up emotions, I was the recipient of a grace far beyond my deserving, a grace to understand from dogs the anatomy of relationship-debilitating fears in my life. God's working through everything in our lives for our good, to teach us about what His love is. It's situations like this that strengthen my faith in that promise (Romans 8:28).

Shrinking back...that's pretty interesting to me because when I react to something by pulling back (whether it be from a hot flame or avoiding something that's about to hit me), I do so because a natural instinct tells me that by pulling back I'll be safe. But I guess Scripture says that when it comes to addressing that which I fear, shrinking back is exactly what gets me destroyed. It's moving forward, going through the fear, where belief is strengthened, and salvation delivers.

The recipient of such a grace, I have to ask myself honestly, "Kelsey, what are you avoiding?"

"What do you come up against and then turn away from, shrink back from, go to great lengths to avoid? It's not ingenuity that enables you to dodge; you're not back-tracking and zig-zagging because you're some master navigator. You're at the disposal of your fear."

Shrink back; be destroyed.

Believe; be saved.

A simple line that will always stick with me: "The best way out is through."

Shrinking back isn't all that safe; why not run home?

Words

Words.

I own a box full of words.

I keep it under my bed. It contains nearly every card, letter, note I've received over the last 5 years. Whenever I'm given meaningful words from another, I keep them. If they are spoken, I try my hardest to write them down, because for me, there's something different that happens in my ability to remember words when I see them compared to when I just hear them.

I'm an avid notetaker. It takes me far too long to finish books because I write down every quote I don't want to forget. I write striking song lyrics down in my journal. And I've asked friends on several occasions to send me copies of songs, poems, essays they have written. When words create a stirring in me, I want to have them in tangible possession so I can mull over them. So I can see them; so I can keep them; so I can remember them.

Tonight I attended a slam poetry performance in New Orleans. In two hours' time, my ears heard thousands of words strung together by incomprehensible talent. Thirty seconds in to the first performance, I could feel the ache for a copy of the work. I knew my mind wouldn't be able to process the powerful delivery quickly enough to remember the poignant lines. Appreciating the depth and power of the work, I felt deeply convicted that to forget these words would be a terrible shame. "If I could own these words," I thought to myself, "I wouldn't forget the stirring they produced in me."

But even if I could mull over a document of those poems, or copy them down into my journal, could that recreate the emotion with which a young man likened his city to a woman shamelessly raped by "fucking tourists"? Could it produce again the chilling effect of knocks on the door of a flood-ravaged home, its children returning more hopeful to see mama's face where she once lived than at her grave where her dead body lies?

I wish I could have a copy of all those words. But perhaps that would be as useless as the box under my bed, a collection of words which I selfishly hoard, not wanting to forget the stirring they produced at their first reading.

What good is stirring, if it doesn't lead to action?

I offer to myself tonight that perhaps those tangible words are a crutch which inhibits action. Because when I'm no longer able to cling to another's words, I'm forced to find my own.

Opening Remarks - Hitting the Ground with Empty Hands

I've been putting off writing this, the first blog entry. It seems like there's a lot of pressure to make it great.

I'm first compelled to explain a little bit about this blog.

I feel kind of like a d-bag even having a blog. I'm not so sure I have the right to assume any of my thoughts/words are worthy of your spending any time whatsoever reading them. But, here I am, writing anyway. One thing I've learned this past year: part of maturing is accepting responsibility. I guess this blog is an act of responsibility for me, comitting myself to putting words to tension I usually allow to go unaddressed inside and around me. This is a classroom for me; journey with me if you will. I would love the company.

Okay, let's get down to business...

Opening remarks. I've been waiting for weeks for just the perfect inspiration to hit me to start this blog off right. I've been reading a lot, hoping another's words will invoke enough passion to produce the perfect first entry. Today I realized the irony that I'm looking for someone else's thoughts to be a catalyst for my own. Tonight I'm taking responsibility to put my own thoughts to written word.

This blog is supposed to be about "glimpes of beauty" (read the About Me section). But, truth is, this week has seemed far from beautiful. My life is riddled with uncertainty right now (not meant to be cryptic...call me if you want to talk about it; I'll tell you what's going on), as are the lives of some people very dear to me. This has been a week of confusion, pain, frustration, saddness. I feel like I'm in a freefall right now. Maybe to some that sounds good, even fun. But in freefall there's nothing stable to grasp, and there's a knowledge that hitting the ground is inevitable.

In freefall, what beauty is there to see?

With nothing stable to grasp in mid-air, my hands are empty. I can't grasp any tools to try to control or change my situation, and I can't pick up any weapons in an attempt to fight against others, or God. I'm at His disposal right now, and frightenly aware of it. And more than being empty, they're open, which means God can put whatever He wants in them once I come down. I hope that once I hit the ground, open is the way they'll stay. God's pushed me off a ledge, and maybe that sounds mean, but He knew I needed it. It's beautiful the way He empties us.

I'm confident this freefall will end and I will land somewhere. On the way down I'm allowed a perspective above it before I'm in it. And that's really beautiful, too, because there's a clarity on things that get a lot more confusing once on the ground. Love. It seems so simple from up here, that showing love to people is never a bad thing to do with time and energy. In the past I've been far too picky in choosing whom I will love, usually discriminating according to who I enjoy loving the most. Moving to a new and completely foreign place this year, I've experienced a good amount of confusion as to who I'm supposed to love in this city and how I'm supposed to love them. I've missed my friends and family back home, and the familiarity of knowing how to love them well. I've longed for that sense of stability and purpose. Call me a liar, but I hear it clear as day. There's a soundtrack to this freefall, and it's definitely Stephen Stills' "Love the One You're With." I won't provide you an exegetical tonight to prove it, but the Bible's clear that we are where we are for a reason, and there are people here to love. And with all the mess - pain, fights, games, confusion, annoyance, break-ups, break-downs - that loving someone is, it's a beautiful miracle that it's possible inside us. Wherever this freefall takes me, I hope the clarity remains to love whoever else happens to be there.

Open hands and solid ground are good things. If you find you have the first, be thankful for them as you wait for the second. Thanks for reading.