Still waiting...

Two days ago after I decided I really am going to quit one of my jobs because well, I just can't do it anymore (2 months of at minimum 60 hr weeks--it works for some people but not this one), I was walking down the streets of Newark with my students, and I had a 'moment'. It took a couple of months for me to have these moments with these students. It's nothing they are aware of. Just a glimpse for me into what I like to call the realness of life, a snapshot of the big picture, a bit of God's view. They are most at peace with life and their surroundings most often when we are walking, moving, creating, playing. That's not to say they are peaceful--but it is in these moments when I can feel myself take a deep breathe and say yes, this is how it should be; this is what I long to give them.
And as I had this particular 'moment' after coming down from the reality of my boss at my other job, I was blessed with a distinct clarity by contradiction. Clarity that I can do kids--I understand them; I reach them; I do it well. That this is where I am supposed to be for right now--not forever, but for now. And most importantly, that I will always desire infinitely more to work and just be with people, specifically children. That a child will always take precedence over anything else in my life.
By contrast, it made me realize that money isn't worth sacrificing my energy I could be spending with them. Money isn't worth having 'the experience' of working in a coffee shop. And money definitely isn't worth my frustrations with my boss and all that that costs my students.
That's not to say that I don't ever want to work in a coffeeshop again--I do. There's something inside of me that still holds onto the hope that I will find one that is actually run well, has good coffee, and isn't entirely wrapped up in pushing profit.
But this one isn't it.
And its costing me too much.
So I'm still waiting. Still waiting to find the job that I can truly take ownership in. Still waiting to have a stable financially viable income. Still waiting for the pieces to fall into place.

jump in my car

Jump in my car.
See what my life looks like.
How fast I ride.
Take in the scenery.
Take a walk in my shoes for a mile or two.

It's simple-and yet so complicated.
It is simple so it must be complicated.

It is culture shock within 4 miles.
To the west lies luxury and safety.
To the east- a desert of desperation, anger, and fear.

The scenery is constantly changing.
From freshly mowed lawns to gutted projects.
From playgrounds in grass to concrete surrounded by chain link fences.
From subdued answers and polite exchanges to angry responses and shoving matches.

My internal universe has no choice but to absorb the constant change.
But nothing is more exhausting than constantly absorbing.
And it feels as if that is all I have been doing.
Absorbing.

Absorbing the ignorance--from both worlds.
Absorbing the unceasing drive for futile progress.
Absorbing the brokeness and rage that follows.

In the west it is hidden, carefully masked with platitudes and "good people".
In the east it rages out of control, daring anyone to challenge.

I am the witness of both.
I am an outsider and an insider.
I am a participant and a recipient.

I have no doubt of the absolute futility of both, though I myself get caught up in them daily.
Neither can I reconcile their mutual existences, within minutes of each other no less.
Finally, I become numb to avoid the overload of trying to reconcile myself being in both worlds.

My frustration, my inability to communicate, my aching heart
slowly eats away at my resolve to remain constant in character and personality between the two.
That anything is accomplished is beyond me.
Literally, anything within myself and those around me that is affected and changed for good cannot be of myself.
It is too complicated. It is out of my control. It must be within His.
That I am here at all must be of Him.
That I survive each day must be of Him.

We must not meant for this world.

A season of questioning

I usually go through these seasons of wrestling with questions about my faith. My senior year it was the validity of faith, whether God is real and the Christian life is worth living. Last year in the fall it was a question of how predetermined my life is--do I really have control over my fate? And there have been many others in between. It's never that I truly answer the questions because they are unanswerable. Rather it is a matter of wrestling with them until I understand the different sides of the arguments and at least feel that God is still in the midst of them, even without answers. I just need to think about things.
The question that seems to be glaring me in the face, daring me to deny it, is the question of homosexuality. And then to take one step back from that, the question of how I portray myself as a Christian in this broken world. I am for the first time feeling the full weight of responsibility to be honest with these people, even if the term Christian carries so much crap with it. By the very nature of who I am as a person, I invite individuals to open up to me, to share themselves and their stories. Yet I hold myself back, primarily in the area of faith. I do not struggle with sharing the love of Christ through action. I can absorb all sorts of evil and malice done to me. But I feel as if I betray their trust when they find out in conversations down the road that I am a Christian. Something so vital to who I am, I don't share because I am afraid it will bring on preconceived notions that I would rather avoid instead of facing head on.

I am not strong enough. I wilt. I back away. I fear.

Because of the times I myself have been scarred by other Christians. Strong individuals who don't recognize the power of their words and judgments. Individuals who are themselves afraid and thus judge. And because I am so darn determined to be different, to be kept out of the box.

But I want to be honest. I want to not care how I am going to offend someone.
I just want to be.
me.
and that means Jesus.
but damn it what does that look like?!

But back to the homosexuality issue. I briefly looked up links on the internet before starting this post to start gathering info. That's what I do when I'm thinking about these things. I gather info from the world I see around me and any source I can find. It sickens me to see what Christians are writing on it-on both sides of the argument. But more than that, it sickens me that it is an argument. It sickens me that we can really justify the naturalness of same sex relations. No, it doesn't sicken me. It breaks me. That's what I can't shake. I used to be fascinated by the concept, wondering if I myself would ever head down that path being in the artistic world and a bitter female. It seemed like a viable option. But now I'm faced with the reality in several different facets on a daily basis. And it is this harsh reality that breaks me. It creates the same feeling of heartache and gut wrenching emptiness that I have when one of my children talks about their drug addicted father or absentee father or how their mom is too lazy to help them with homework or how they'll be beaten when they get home or when the boys fight--definitely when they fight. It makes me want to cry. And double over begging God to explain why we must live in a world that is so broken.

It breaks me.

God why?
Why must we live in a world that is so broken?
My heart is breaking for people who have no idea that life could be any different.

Whatever the costs.

I am sitting this lovely chilly morning in my new apartment with my first cup of OQ Coffee (check out www.oqcoffee.com) which is fantastic-no lie. I can't see outside very well and my world is full of artificial light but it is my own and that is what counts. In 6 months that may not matter as much but right now it does. I have two cuts on two different fingers-one from work and one from play; both from knives-and only one bandaid. I have food in my half fridge, a hot plate that cooks well enough, and a sink that I must stoop to use. Books and art line my dark wooden walls as colors clash and collide. A space heater whirs in the background. This is my life now. I have friends who are married, have steady full time jobs with benefits, kids on the way, and a house. But this is the life I have chosen.

I went with some friends into the city. Correction: I met some friends in the city. I arrived early by train so I could walk around the Lower East Side. As I exit the subway with a sigh of relief, noise hits me in the face. It absolutely fascinates me how much is crammed into so little space. The wind was fiercely blowing trash in mini tornados, only further emphasizing the absolute chaos. People are everywhere. This east coast life still feels very fresh and foreign to me, almost suffocating at times. Walking around taking in the coffee shops, thrift shops, record stores, antiques on the sidewalks, festivals in the street, I can't quite decide if I should feel safe here or not.

No one pays attention to me. It's not like Newark where everyone stares. No, people here are definitely too busy/overwhelmed/distracted to take the time to notice. This is seen the most in their eyes as they take your order for a cappucino or brush past you on the street. It comes from living day in and day out in close proximity with hundreds, possibly thousands of strangers.

And I can't help but feel very out of place. This is not who I am and this is not the kind of life I want to live. I have no interest in knowing/owning the next up and coming thing. I want to slow down my life, not speed it up. It unnerves me considerably that the Starbucks looks like a disaster area when I walk in. If Starbucks can't pull off their calm, collected environment that I have seen even in Shanghai here in the city that never sleeps, that's chaos.

So why am I drawn to this city that makes Chicago look picturesque and Paris a lovers dream? This dirty, filthy, downright ugly city. Yes, it is ugly. Please do not tell me that a city that leaves no space for anything, even air, is pretty. Yet I ache for it. I want to live there not to give into the culture but to fight it. To love people in their broken, chaotic lives.

As I am walking back with two friends to the subway to cross this seemingly God forsaken city by myself, that Nudge is there. And in that simple Nudge much is said. "Though you hate and love this place, you will be here soon enough. And while you will do simple things like bartend and serve coffee, you will change lives. And while this seems unconventional and the opposite direction that you want to take in life, this is where I am calling you. It will not be fun all the time. You will definitely not feel safe and comfortable much of the time. But I will be with you."

And with this I am struck with the absolute need to stop making sense of my life. Because it doesn't make sense. It never will. And the image that keeps coming to mind since that moment walking down the street is the very life of Jesus. When did He ever own a house? When did He ever settle down, get a steady job with full time benefits and a 401k? He lived fully in the chaos of the here and now with people. He didn't make sense, but He had purpose-to do His Father's will. His Father's will is to love people and that is what I will do. Whatever the costs.