I honestly don't remember what that tale is about, which is fine, because this tale has nothing to do with that one.
When
I lived in Omaha (this isn't one of the "Two Cities", just fyi), I
remember people would leave for a year and come back and comment on how
they just couldn't find another place like our group. Now, places and
churches are as unique as people, and just like no two people are alike,
no two churches or cities are going to be alike. And while that
probably contributed, this seemed to be a little bit more than that. And
of course no place is perfect, and I know my Omaha group wasn't either,
but I've always been very thankful for that community and felt like the
Lord gave me a lot in and through them.
When
I moved to Michigan (where the First of Two Cities is located), I
remember looking for a church and realizing I was looking for 5 things: good
teaching/preaching, good worship, "community", Spirit-filled, and I
think the 5th was outreach. I could NOT find anything that had all five. Most were
removed from the idea of being filled with the Spirit and gifts of the
Spirit. The places that were "Spirit filled" were crazy. Worship was often,
"Let's sing a couple songs", or, "Let's sit back and listen to a couple songs." Teaching and community were hit or miss,
and outreach was largely non-existent.
Let me pause and define
"community", because I find this word is heavily used and has become a
case of, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you
think it means." Community is mutual support and encouragement of each
other, seeing and encouraging individual giftings, wanting the best for
each other. It is not making everyone focused on the same cause so that
everyone gets along because they're all the same and all doing the same
thing (this particular model could also be called "Communism".)
Anyway,
eventually I decided that I'd have to pick two things out of the 5 I
was looking for in a church -- which two did I want most? Definitely not
the kind where you go up to someone after church, asking for prayer, and
they say, "Yeah, sure, I'll pray for you. Gotta go," and pray for you
later. Or where the pastor thinks that saying, "What you said today
really hit a chord," simply giving him a pat on the back.
In
the interim, I was unaccustomed to God being a Sunday thing, and not
giving Him much thought during the rest of the week. I wasn't used to
forced
community and attacking people who were perceived to be a threat. To
caring about doing things right, rather than caring about a person's
heart. There wasn't necessarily anything outright "bad" -- I was just
used to
Christians who actively sought the Lord, and encouraged others
regularly. I was used to addressing matters of the heart, not matters
of the
head. I had a few people say they'd never met another Christian like
me, and I only found it to be heart-breaking. Why had they never felt
heard or cared about before? I struggled in seeking the Lord, and every
relational struggle, I felt
was the Lord "grounding" me and "not letting me play with the other
kids," because, while I wanted to seek Him, I wasn't.
I did end
up making a couple good friends, and the people I met at the end of my
time there were great -- the church met my top two picks (worship and
caring for each other). I was happy and satisfied, but I still wanted
more.
When I moved to Texas (the Second of the Two Cities), I
really just wanted some TLC. I figured, if I just had a couple months
of TLC, I'd be good to go. I was happy and felt "solid", but I was
tired. My heart was broken for the beaten and broken Christians I saw.
I'd felt unable to properly encourage and express God's love for the
people around me so they'd know how valuable they were. I felt like I'd
failed.
But instead of TLC, it was really just a case of "out of the frying pan
and into the
frier." Texas doesn't do TLC. They produce results. In Michigan, I
saw how others weren't valued or went unseen, suffering under the weight
of failing to meet whatever standard or expectations. In Texas, I
experienced it first hand. In Michigan I felt like I failed. In Texas,
in many subtle ways, they said I failed -- "if only you would do more
with evangelism and discipleship. If only I knew how important it was.
If only you'd give more -- those who refresh others will themselves be
refreshed!" I arrived thinking the main thing I had to offer was loving
people and caring about them, and that was important. After a few
years, I thought thought that was all I had, but it was worthless -- it
didn't produce immediate, great results.
I actually think I forgot many my Michigan experiences, because the
Texas experiences were so intense. I didn't realize that I'd always
thought that my entire Michigan experience was a failure. But looking
back, I don't think that's actually the case. There may have been
better choices that I could have made, but not matter what was going on,
my desire to seek the Lord and care for people was always, always
there.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Monday, October 15, 2012
Broken Family
There are certain things that a family is "supposed" to be. Family, it seems, is supposed to support, encourage, see the best, see what no one else can see, always love and accept -- it's where you always belong. And the family of God should excel in this.
But.... we don't. And it seems like it can be one of the hardest things to reconcile within ourselves. Or maybe it's just me? I'd always seen the believers around me as part of my family. Even in difficult situations, I could believe that "the Jesus in them" was still for me and in Heaven everything would be set right and we'd enjoy relationship as one, big, happy family.
Until... well... Texas. It just seemed like acceptance had to be earned. The things most seen in the lives of others were the things that needed to be changed (that were "wrong" or "needs improvement") rather than potential that needed to be given wings. Position and status were to be earned and gained. Relationships were based on duty, obligation, or what you could offer me. (Side note: obviously not all, but this was the general environment.) People were busy, so you basically had to compete for people's time.
One day, I was reading Heaven by Randy Alcorn that I'd started, hoping it would lift my spirits. When I got to the chapter on relationships in Heaven, I made a terrible discovery: I no longer believed that I would be part of that one, big happy family of God in Heaven. Everyone else would be having a good time, continuing relationships they'd had on earth. I've been separated from most of my relationships on earth by no fewer than 1600 miles (at this point). There seemed to be no reason that that separation wouldn't continue. If relationships continue, and mine are characterized by separation, that's what will continue. And what did I have to offer? It hadn't seemed liked I had what people were looking for. And, there's only so much room in people's lives for so many people. That's not really going to change -- we'll always be finite. Sure, people will wave across the room and smile, and God would somehow make me feel okay with my presence being acceptable, but not really belonging or being a part -- I'd belong to Him at least. But I couldn't help still wanting to actually be part of the whole family and wishing there was room for me. For awhile, I couldn't even bare thinking about Heaven because of the isolation I was certain I'd be facing.
I could think I'm crazy and was being overly sensitive. That I wasn't really surrounded by the weirdness, performance, busy-ness that I thought was around me.
But then, there's the time I met Gregg. Of all places, I met him online, and for some reason we started talking in IM one day. And during our conversation... I just cried. The next day we talked again... and I cried. And the next day. Three days in a row, we talked, I cried. Why? I couldn't believe someone was talking to me just for.... me. He wasn't looking to fix me, he wasn't checking on the status of my school loans, he wasn't trying to determine what I had to offer. He was just interested in... me. And he just accepted me as family. It was the beginning of me realizing that maybe something really was wrong, and it wasn't just me.
I still haven't been able to get those thorns completely out of my heart though -- that I'll still be on the outside looking in.
But.... we don't. And it seems like it can be one of the hardest things to reconcile within ourselves. Or maybe it's just me? I'd always seen the believers around me as part of my family. Even in difficult situations, I could believe that "the Jesus in them" was still for me and in Heaven everything would be set right and we'd enjoy relationship as one, big, happy family.
Until... well... Texas. It just seemed like acceptance had to be earned. The things most seen in the lives of others were the things that needed to be changed (that were "wrong" or "needs improvement") rather than potential that needed to be given wings. Position and status were to be earned and gained. Relationships were based on duty, obligation, or what you could offer me. (Side note: obviously not all, but this was the general environment.) People were busy, so you basically had to compete for people's time.
One day, I was reading Heaven by Randy Alcorn that I'd started, hoping it would lift my spirits. When I got to the chapter on relationships in Heaven, I made a terrible discovery: I no longer believed that I would be part of that one, big happy family of God in Heaven. Everyone else would be having a good time, continuing relationships they'd had on earth. I've been separated from most of my relationships on earth by no fewer than 1600 miles (at this point). There seemed to be no reason that that separation wouldn't continue. If relationships continue, and mine are characterized by separation, that's what will continue. And what did I have to offer? It hadn't seemed liked I had what people were looking for. And, there's only so much room in people's lives for so many people. That's not really going to change -- we'll always be finite. Sure, people will wave across the room and smile, and God would somehow make me feel okay with my presence being acceptable, but not really belonging or being a part -- I'd belong to Him at least. But I couldn't help still wanting to actually be part of the whole family and wishing there was room for me. For awhile, I couldn't even bare thinking about Heaven because of the isolation I was certain I'd be facing.
I could think I'm crazy and was being overly sensitive. That I wasn't really surrounded by the weirdness, performance, busy-ness that I thought was around me.
But then, there's the time I met Gregg. Of all places, I met him online, and for some reason we started talking in IM one day. And during our conversation... I just cried. The next day we talked again... and I cried. And the next day. Three days in a row, we talked, I cried. Why? I couldn't believe someone was talking to me just for.... me. He wasn't looking to fix me, he wasn't checking on the status of my school loans, he wasn't trying to determine what I had to offer. He was just interested in... me. And he just accepted me as family. It was the beginning of me realizing that maybe something really was wrong, and it wasn't just me.
I still haven't been able to get those thorns completely out of my heart though -- that I'll still be on the outside looking in.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Busy
So being a linguist, I've started noticing things I never notice before. Like if I hear a crazy, random sentence, I'll think, "That sentence has never before been uttered throughout the history of mankind."
But, this is not the case with the sentence, "I'm busy." Most children probably hear it before they're old enough to say it. The sentence is either said (or implied) often.
I first noticed the "I'm busy" in Texas. Everyone was so.... busy. It's not that people weren't busy in Omaha and Michigan. They were. They just didn't... make a show of it (for lack of better explanation). The whole structure of my church in Texas was built to address "I'm busy". You get involved in a life group (LG) so you can talk to your life group leader instead of the pastor because, hey, the pastor busy. And yeah, he is busy. It is logical. There was even an intermediary layer between the LG leaders and any of the pastors. But you should still only go to your LG leader, and your LG leader would determine if something you're dealing with should be brought up the chain, and they'll probably ask the person "above" them first. However, if you showed that you could "do the stuff" the church wanted (evangelism, discipleship, were just general "leadership" material), then he or other leaders would probably have time for you.
An example of this was with my friends we'll can Brian and Peggy. Most people, if they wanted to talk to the senior pastor, they'd have to wait a good two weeks. But Peggy "did the stuff" and was leadership material -- outgoing, out spoken, and just really done a lot of stuff. She knew she could get in to see the pastor within 2 days. But her husband who was a little more quiet (but complete effective at gathering men together... quietly) would have to wait the standard 2+ weeks.
It was all perfectly logical. I even had a dream to drive all this home -- that people are busy, I need to know my place, and stay in it. In the dream, I was at my youth pastor's house in Omaha while other people were there. But someone decided that I made myself too comfortable. They pointed out that if everyone made themselves comfortable, the pastor and his wife would be totally overrun with people, and they only had room in their lives for about 12 people, and nothing personal, but I just wasn't one of them. You know, they're busy. But the implication was that they would have room for me if I were just "better" or "more".
Sometimes "I'm busy" is just an excuse. We're not busy. Maybe we're overwhelmed, maybe we're depressed, or maybe we're just being lazy. But not necessarily busy. Of course, sometimes we really ARE busy. Working full time, being in grad school, going through a volunteer training course on Tuesdays and Thursdays this month plus other volunteer stuff... Yeah, I'm busy. So how do I organize my time so that I'm not too busy for what's REALLY important: people?
I must confess, the time in Texas around the busy-people rubbed off on me. I used to not mind interruptions when working, but now I'm more irritable. "Can't you see I'm BUSY?!" I hate feeling that way.
I remember often saying, "I'm busy," right after I graduated college. Every time I said it, I knew it was a lie. That's right -- a lie. I wasn't busy. I was depressed. College was over. Friends moved away. I started a new job. I had been around only singles within a few years of my age, now I'm working with married people who are at least 10 years older than me, married, with children. But in our busy culture, "I'm busy," is the perfect excuse to get off the hook without actually saying anything... real.
The woman who mentored me in Omaha, she was (and is) busy, but she never made me feel like she was busy. She found ways to include people into daily life -- she'd have me over every week while she cleaned the house.
Being busy is a big value statement. Of course there's validity to times when we really are busy, but how do we communicate those times while still communicating people are valuable? I know in Texas, the messages was I'm too busy... for you. Or, you're not worth my time. But people do have worth -- and there needs to be a place of affirming a person's worth while being reasonable about the limited number of hours we have in a day.
But, this is not the case with the sentence, "I'm busy." Most children probably hear it before they're old enough to say it. The sentence is either said (or implied) often.
I first noticed the "I'm busy" in Texas. Everyone was so.... busy. It's not that people weren't busy in Omaha and Michigan. They were. They just didn't... make a show of it (for lack of better explanation). The whole structure of my church in Texas was built to address "I'm busy". You get involved in a life group (LG) so you can talk to your life group leader instead of the pastor because, hey, the pastor busy. And yeah, he is busy. It is logical. There was even an intermediary layer between the LG leaders and any of the pastors. But you should still only go to your LG leader, and your LG leader would determine if something you're dealing with should be brought up the chain, and they'll probably ask the person "above" them first. However, if you showed that you could "do the stuff" the church wanted (evangelism, discipleship, were just general "leadership" material), then he or other leaders would probably have time for you.
An example of this was with my friends we'll can Brian and Peggy. Most people, if they wanted to talk to the senior pastor, they'd have to wait a good two weeks. But Peggy "did the stuff" and was leadership material -- outgoing, out spoken, and just really done a lot of stuff. She knew she could get in to see the pastor within 2 days. But her husband who was a little more quiet (but complete effective at gathering men together... quietly) would have to wait the standard 2+ weeks.
It was all perfectly logical. I even had a dream to drive all this home -- that people are busy, I need to know my place, and stay in it. In the dream, I was at my youth pastor's house in Omaha while other people were there. But someone decided that I made myself too comfortable. They pointed out that if everyone made themselves comfortable, the pastor and his wife would be totally overrun with people, and they only had room in their lives for about 12 people, and nothing personal, but I just wasn't one of them. You know, they're busy. But the implication was that they would have room for me if I were just "better" or "more".
Sometimes "I'm busy" is just an excuse. We're not busy. Maybe we're overwhelmed, maybe we're depressed, or maybe we're just being lazy. But not necessarily busy. Of course, sometimes we really ARE busy. Working full time, being in grad school, going through a volunteer training course on Tuesdays and Thursdays this month plus other volunteer stuff... Yeah, I'm busy. So how do I organize my time so that I'm not too busy for what's REALLY important: people?
I must confess, the time in Texas around the busy-people rubbed off on me. I used to not mind interruptions when working, but now I'm more irritable. "Can't you see I'm BUSY?!" I hate feeling that way.
I remember often saying, "I'm busy," right after I graduated college. Every time I said it, I knew it was a lie. That's right -- a lie. I wasn't busy. I was depressed. College was over. Friends moved away. I started a new job. I had been around only singles within a few years of my age, now I'm working with married people who are at least 10 years older than me, married, with children. But in our busy culture, "I'm busy," is the perfect excuse to get off the hook without actually saying anything... real.
The woman who mentored me in Omaha, she was (and is) busy, but she never made me feel like she was busy. She found ways to include people into daily life -- she'd have me over every week while she cleaned the house.
Being busy is a big value statement. Of course there's validity to times when we really are busy, but how do we communicate those times while still communicating people are valuable? I know in Texas, the messages was I'm too busy... for you. Or, you're not worth my time. But people do have worth -- and there needs to be a place of affirming a person's worth while being reasonable about the limited number of hours we have in a day.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Roommates From ...
Over the years, I've lived with many people. Like 40, not counting family. Maybe even 50. Hold on, let me count.
...
...
...
...
...
52. FIFTY TWO. 53 if you count the girl who lived with my parents and us kids for several months.
That's really a lot of people. A lot of habits, a lot of idiosyncrasies, a lot of personalities, a lot of stuff lost/missing/stolen, a lot of...everything.
One roommate in Waco (my first non-temporary roommate), we'll call her Leslie, was... something else. She's actually the one who said, when I was trying to be open and build a relationship with my roommate, that moving across the country wasn't a big deal and her friends moved overseas and that was much harder. So I didn't bother talking to anyone about it, even when they said, "Must be hard leaving your friends and living far away from family!" (Which is another story, but we'll stick with this one.)
But there was more to my deciding not to talk to people.
This poor gal had some major struggles with insecurity. We actually had some of the same struggles, but I'd seen a lot of freedom in that area whereas she hadn't, and the issue continued to grow. For some reason... I became afraid of being like her.
She was pretty needy and draining, honestly. I wanted to be kind and listen -- you know, good roommate, caring about the person I lived with and listening to what was going on with her. So I did. Once for 6 hours. Straight. She would. not. stop. talking. I felt sucked dry, chewed up, and spit out. I can't even fully explain this... Every time I opened my mouth, she cut me off, even mid sentence, until I finally gave up and let her go, out of curiosity to see how long she could carry a conversation by herself. Too long. I literally had tears running down my face toward the end. Any time we talked, she didn't care about ANYTHING that I was thinking and feeling. If I voiced what I was going through, she would either dismiss it or talk about how she was totally good in whatever I was trying to process. Good for you.
For example...
I say: "It's hard moving, making new friends, figuring out who to talk to and share with about what's going on, since my friends from Michigan aren't here."
Leslie: "Well, I have a lot of people I can talk to. I know that if I ever need anything, I can call up Kevin and Stacy [one of the pastors and his wife]. I have their home number and cell number, and I can call any time. They might not answer, but I can leave a message and know they'll call me back..." etc etc and on and on for 10 minutes about everyone she can call and talk to. On multiple occasions.
Good. For. You.
It was really just her trying to cover up her insecurity and convince herself that she was valuable. I know that. Doesn't change the chewing-up and spitting out part of it, though...
Actually, the ultimate example of this was when we parted ways and were both moving out of the apartment. She was planning to move a certain weekend, so I planned to move the weekend prior so we weren't moving at the same time. I started asking people for help. Then she changed her move date to the EXACT AFTERNOON I was moving and asked pretty much all the same people for help, including borrowing the same truck. When she asked one guy, he told her, "I can't. Dina already asked me, and I'm helping her." Her response? In all seriousness. "But you've known me longer, so you should help me." He helped her to avoid backlash. She got first use of the truck as well. I ended up with, oh, almost no help. In fact, at first, Ruben was the only one who helped me... and he had a liver condition!!! That really pissed me off. B****. Oops. Did I think that?
She only got worse after that. The gal she lived with after me,T, found her twice after she tired to commit suicide. I don't even know what else went on, except that T got emotionally walloped herself. It put a strain on T's relationship with her boyfriend, because Leslie kept asking them for money, calling to interrupt dates because of an emotional crisis, even joining them on dates because she just couldn't be alone. My friend asked why no one in the church would help Leslie, so the pastor counted it up -- 22 people had spent significant time trying to help and counsel her. Most of them ended up being chewed up and spit out as well, needing a bit of counseling themselves, at the very least dropping out of any "leadership" role soon after. (Why on earth people in the church gave me the name of THIS girl to me, the NEW girl, to be my roommate is beyond me, other than she needed a roommate and no one else would live with her. It's also another story...)
What does this have to do with me not talking to people? If I talked to people about what was going on with me, I didn't want anyone to ever feel the way I did when she talked to me. I didn't want people to feel sucked dry. I didn't want to chew them up and spit them out. I didn't want to be needy. I didn't want to be draining. So, damn it, I wasn't taking any chances. I wouldn't really talk to people, that way I'd know I wasn't being like her. I would make sure I would NEVER go to people. I don't need people -- I'm supposed to get everything I need from God, not suck people dry, right?
I made a vow. Not the good kind. The kind that bites you back, in more ways than one. I missed one critical difference: I wasn't her and I wanted to listen to and care about people. It's okay to express myself, my heart, and for someone to listen to me as well. Some vows are meant to be broken.
Looking back, so are some apartment leases...
...
...
...
...
...
52. FIFTY TWO. 53 if you count the girl who lived with my parents and us kids for several months.
That's really a lot of people. A lot of habits, a lot of idiosyncrasies, a lot of personalities, a lot of stuff lost/missing/stolen, a lot of...everything.
One roommate in Waco (my first non-temporary roommate), we'll call her Leslie, was... something else. She's actually the one who said, when I was trying to be open and build a relationship with my roommate, that moving across the country wasn't a big deal and her friends moved overseas and that was much harder. So I didn't bother talking to anyone about it, even when they said, "Must be hard leaving your friends and living far away from family!" (Which is another story, but we'll stick with this one.)
But there was more to my deciding not to talk to people.
This poor gal had some major struggles with insecurity. We actually had some of the same struggles, but I'd seen a lot of freedom in that area whereas she hadn't, and the issue continued to grow. For some reason... I became afraid of being like her.
She was pretty needy and draining, honestly. I wanted to be kind and listen -- you know, good roommate, caring about the person I lived with and listening to what was going on with her. So I did. Once for 6 hours. Straight. She would. not. stop. talking. I felt sucked dry, chewed up, and spit out. I can't even fully explain this... Every time I opened my mouth, she cut me off, even mid sentence, until I finally gave up and let her go, out of curiosity to see how long she could carry a conversation by herself. Too long. I literally had tears running down my face toward the end. Any time we talked, she didn't care about ANYTHING that I was thinking and feeling. If I voiced what I was going through, she would either dismiss it or talk about how she was totally good in whatever I was trying to process. Good for you.
For example...
I say: "It's hard moving, making new friends, figuring out who to talk to and share with about what's going on, since my friends from Michigan aren't here."
Leslie: "Well, I have a lot of people I can talk to. I know that if I ever need anything, I can call up Kevin and Stacy [one of the pastors and his wife]. I have their home number and cell number, and I can call any time. They might not answer, but I can leave a message and know they'll call me back..." etc etc and on and on for 10 minutes about everyone she can call and talk to. On multiple occasions.
Good. For. You.
It was really just her trying to cover up her insecurity and convince herself that she was valuable. I know that. Doesn't change the chewing-up and spitting out part of it, though...
Actually, the ultimate example of this was when we parted ways and were both moving out of the apartment. She was planning to move a certain weekend, so I planned to move the weekend prior so we weren't moving at the same time. I started asking people for help. Then she changed her move date to the EXACT AFTERNOON I was moving and asked pretty much all the same people for help, including borrowing the same truck. When she asked one guy, he told her, "I can't. Dina already asked me, and I'm helping her." Her response? In all seriousness. "But you've known me longer, so you should help me." He helped her to avoid backlash. She got first use of the truck as well. I ended up with, oh, almost no help. In fact, at first, Ruben was the only one who helped me... and he had a liver condition!!! That really pissed me off. B****. Oops. Did I think that?
She only got worse after that. The gal she lived with after me,T, found her twice after she tired to commit suicide. I don't even know what else went on, except that T got emotionally walloped herself. It put a strain on T's relationship with her boyfriend, because Leslie kept asking them for money, calling to interrupt dates because of an emotional crisis, even joining them on dates because she just couldn't be alone. My friend asked why no one in the church would help Leslie, so the pastor counted it up -- 22 people had spent significant time trying to help and counsel her. Most of them ended up being chewed up and spit out as well, needing a bit of counseling themselves, at the very least dropping out of any "leadership" role soon after. (Why on earth people in the church gave me the name of THIS girl to me, the NEW girl, to be my roommate is beyond me, other than she needed a roommate and no one else would live with her. It's also another story...)
What does this have to do with me not talking to people? If I talked to people about what was going on with me, I didn't want anyone to ever feel the way I did when she talked to me. I didn't want people to feel sucked dry. I didn't want to chew them up and spit them out. I didn't want to be needy. I didn't want to be draining. So, damn it, I wasn't taking any chances. I wouldn't really talk to people, that way I'd know I wasn't being like her. I would make sure I would NEVER go to people. I don't need people -- I'm supposed to get everything I need from God, not suck people dry, right?
I made a vow. Not the good kind. The kind that bites you back, in more ways than one. I missed one critical difference: I wasn't her and I wanted to listen to and care about people. It's okay to express myself, my heart, and for someone to listen to me as well. Some vows are meant to be broken.
Looking back, so are some apartment leases...
Saturday, October 6, 2012
You Threw Off My Groove!
Remember the movie "The Emperor's New Groove"? Fun movie. Starts off with the emperor dancing and grooving, he bumps into someone and exclaims, "You threw off my groove!"
That's how I feel with writing. I used to journal regularly, but for the last many years, it hasn't happened as much, or in the same way with the same effectiveness. It was always a good way to organize my thoughts or process life events. I suppose if I haven't been doing that, it means that there are many years of unorganized thoughts and unprocessed events.
So, this last week, I've started trying to journal more.
Years ago, when I was about 12, I thought I was so forgiving, because nothing "bothered" me. But really, I was very good at forgetting...stuffing. Even though I "forgot", the impact of whatever circumstances were still there. Once I started journaling, it was all better processed, and not forgotten.
There are a lot of things I've forgotten since I left Omaha. I did some processing in Michigan. I know I cried daily for several months, missing the family and friends I left behind. And I know the Lord was with me, comforting me. Once I moved to Texas, almost all of my "process" journaling ceased. My groove was REALLY thrown off. I really missed my friends in Michigan, just as much as I did in Omaha, but I hardly cried at all. Someone told me that moving across the country wasn't a big deal, because moving overseas was harder. And for some reason I listened and decided I wasn't supposed to be upset about the whole thing.
Really? Leaving ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS and moving to a place where you know NO ONE isn't supposed to be upsetting? What crazy person would say or think that? Oh. But not really feeling it, being upset, crying, all that means that God never had the opportunity to meet me and comfort me in it -- not more than once here and once there.
I recently heard someone say that sometimes you need to rehash the same story and same feelings over and over again for a good long while in order to really process what has happened. In Michigan, the Lord had every day for months to meet me and comfort me. In Texas, every day during that first 12-18 months (when the grief of moving really sinks in) that I pretended to be fine was a day that the Lord didn't have opportunity to meet, comfort, and heal. The ironic thing about it is, when you don't allow yourself to experience what you're really feeling, God often gets the blame for everything that's going on, that you're upset about... and pretending not to be upset about.
That's how I feel with writing. I used to journal regularly, but for the last many years, it hasn't happened as much, or in the same way with the same effectiveness. It was always a good way to organize my thoughts or process life events. I suppose if I haven't been doing that, it means that there are many years of unorganized thoughts and unprocessed events.
So, this last week, I've started trying to journal more.
Years ago, when I was about 12, I thought I was so forgiving, because nothing "bothered" me. But really, I was very good at forgetting...stuffing. Even though I "forgot", the impact of whatever circumstances were still there. Once I started journaling, it was all better processed, and not forgotten.
There are a lot of things I've forgotten since I left Omaha. I did some processing in Michigan. I know I cried daily for several months, missing the family and friends I left behind. And I know the Lord was with me, comforting me. Once I moved to Texas, almost all of my "process" journaling ceased. My groove was REALLY thrown off. I really missed my friends in Michigan, just as much as I did in Omaha, but I hardly cried at all. Someone told me that moving across the country wasn't a big deal, because moving overseas was harder. And for some reason I listened and decided I wasn't supposed to be upset about the whole thing.
Really? Leaving ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS and moving to a place where you know NO ONE isn't supposed to be upsetting? What crazy person would say or think that? Oh. But not really feeling it, being upset, crying, all that means that God never had the opportunity to meet me and comfort me in it -- not more than once here and once there.
I recently heard someone say that sometimes you need to rehash the same story and same feelings over and over again for a good long while in order to really process what has happened. In Michigan, the Lord had every day for months to meet me and comfort me. In Texas, every day during that first 12-18 months (when the grief of moving really sinks in) that I pretended to be fine was a day that the Lord didn't have opportunity to meet, comfort, and heal. The ironic thing about it is, when you don't allow yourself to experience what you're really feeling, God often gets the blame for everything that's going on, that you're upset about... and pretending not to be upset about.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Crossed Signals
Communication can always be a challenge, but when communicating in a 2nd language, the challenges become.... well, extra special.
My thesis topic is second language acquisition of ASL by hearing adults, particularly in the area of phonology. What does that mean? (See, it's English, but most people still don't know.) What it means actually isn't important beyond the ramifications of said topic and my proficiency level in sign language.
I'm not that proficient. I can have a (slow) casual conversation. Sometimes I can understand speeches/sermons given at a regular signing rate. But discussing the details of 2nd language acquisition by hearing adults and examining how they learn phonology and what my procedures are... well, I don't know how to express that in ASL any more than most people understand what I'm talking about. Because this is my thesis, I need someone who's fluent, grew up using sign language, to help validate my study, essentially. I can come up with ideas of things to test, but I may I may miss a sign that's "right" or one that's "wrong".
And can I just say, it is exceedingly difficult to express something so technical and detailed in another language, even after doing it several times. Then it becomes frustrating. Every meeting is a huge undertaking, to plan what I'm going to say and how, and prepare a few documents to help me out in case I get stuck. Every conversation feels like it missed something. Perhaps because I can't fully communicate, or perhaps because I'm used to using speech. Every time I say "GOOD-BYE" in sign, I feel like I haven't really said good-bye -- it was just so silent.
So I've left meetings, wondering how well I was understood. Especially later if I don't get a response. "Did they really agree to help? What was the level of help they were willing to offer? Did they understand what I was saying? Did I understand what they were saying?" And did I miss something culturally? If I need to follow up, how do I do that? In email? Keep showing up at their door? I can't call them.
It's all so complicated!
My thesis topic is second language acquisition of ASL by hearing adults, particularly in the area of phonology. What does that mean? (See, it's English, but most people still don't know.) What it means actually isn't important beyond the ramifications of said topic and my proficiency level in sign language.
I'm not that proficient. I can have a (slow) casual conversation. Sometimes I can understand speeches/sermons given at a regular signing rate. But discussing the details of 2nd language acquisition by hearing adults and examining how they learn phonology and what my procedures are... well, I don't know how to express that in ASL any more than most people understand what I'm talking about. Because this is my thesis, I need someone who's fluent, grew up using sign language, to help validate my study, essentially. I can come up with ideas of things to test, but I may I may miss a sign that's "right" or one that's "wrong".
And can I just say, it is exceedingly difficult to express something so technical and detailed in another language, even after doing it several times. Then it becomes frustrating. Every meeting is a huge undertaking, to plan what I'm going to say and how, and prepare a few documents to help me out in case I get stuck. Every conversation feels like it missed something. Perhaps because I can't fully communicate, or perhaps because I'm used to using speech. Every time I say "GOOD-BYE" in sign, I feel like I haven't really said good-bye -- it was just so silent.
So I've left meetings, wondering how well I was understood. Especially later if I don't get a response. "Did they really agree to help? What was the level of help they were willing to offer? Did they understand what I was saying? Did I understand what they were saying?" And did I miss something culturally? If I need to follow up, how do I do that? In email? Keep showing up at their door? I can't call them.
It's all so complicated!
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Memories of Ruben
It's been almost 9 years since Ruben died. It's not something I've really talked about much. I'm not really sure what to say about it now. He was just a big papa bear.
I remember the first time I met him -- this big, intimidating-looking Mexican guy coming up to me to introduce himself. He was probably about the 100th person I'd met since moving to Texas. Not long after, he and his wife invited me over for lunch with them, their 4 kids, and another gal. I felt so awkward. I didn't know what to say or what to do. I hadn't really been around families like that in years -- rarely around mine, and less around my extended family. I didn't know what to say or do. And I was in such a swirl -- had only lived in Texas for a couple months, missed all my friends in Michigan, missed friends and family in Nebraska, and the Waco atmosphere was already getting to me, plus a slew of other crazy things. I left thinking, "Great, they'll never invite me back." But the next time he saw me, he came right up with a big smile and said, "So, when are you coming over again?" Like I was family, and it was expected.
Silly me... I felt so awkward that I was hesitant and didn't take advantage (in a good way) of his and his family's kindness. He always seemed so happy to see me. He always gave me a big hug. He'd always joke with me about how lousy the Huskers were and how great the Longhorns where. He was always willing to help. I didn't want to impose. Finally, I woke up one day and realized -- he really means it. I'm not going to impose. And that was the last time I saw him conscious. Later that day he went in for tests for his liver, I don't even know what exactly happened, but he ended up unconscious and never woke up again.
I rode up to Dallas, a 2 hour drive one way, with a few other people to visit him in the hospital. They'd known each other for years, me only a year. They spent the whole drive talking about college memories, reminiscing, talking about people and places long gone that I'd never met or seen. I wanted to join the conversation, but just couldn't figure out how. So I sat largely in silence on the drive up and back, seeing Ruben unconscious in the hospital between the awkward legs of the journey. He died not long after that.
For some reason, I felt like it wasn't right for me to cry. I thought I hadn't known him long enough. He wasn't my dad or technically a family member. I did everything in my power not to cry at his funeral. A couple tears did find their way out, but I really wanted to lay on the floor and weep -- sad for his family, sad for myself, kicking myself for being so slow to realize I was welcome, angry at God for taking him away the moment I realized it. But I didn't weep or cry or yell or even express anything that I was feeling. I mentioned to the church counselor that I didn't know how to respond, I wanted to cry, but felt guilty because I wasn't in his family -- wasn't I being selfish? She said I needed support his wife -- which I wanted to do, but it was also confirmation that it wasn't okay for me to be so upset about his death or to cry. (A couple years later I realized this wasn't true.) But because I felt like I needed to be so... unmoved, I felt more awkward and disconnected from the rest of the family.
His son is just like him. Welcoming, big heart. Great kid. Wow. He's probably 22 or 23 now.
Out of everything in Waco, everything with Ruben and his family is my biggest regret. Why was I so dense??! That last day, he gave me a ride to work from church (I didn't have a car at the time), after an early morning prayer meeting during a church-wide fast. I walked into work that day thinking, "Duh, Dina. He was totally happy to give you a ride to work. You don't have to worry." I knew him for 15 months out of 36 years, and 9 years later, I'm still crying that he's not here.
I remember the first time I met him -- this big, intimidating-looking Mexican guy coming up to me to introduce himself. He was probably about the 100th person I'd met since moving to Texas. Not long after, he and his wife invited me over for lunch with them, their 4 kids, and another gal. I felt so awkward. I didn't know what to say or what to do. I hadn't really been around families like that in years -- rarely around mine, and less around my extended family. I didn't know what to say or do. And I was in such a swirl -- had only lived in Texas for a couple months, missed all my friends in Michigan, missed friends and family in Nebraska, and the Waco atmosphere was already getting to me, plus a slew of other crazy things. I left thinking, "Great, they'll never invite me back." But the next time he saw me, he came right up with a big smile and said, "So, when are you coming over again?" Like I was family, and it was expected.
Silly me... I felt so awkward that I was hesitant and didn't take advantage (in a good way) of his and his family's kindness. He always seemed so happy to see me. He always gave me a big hug. He'd always joke with me about how lousy the Huskers were and how great the Longhorns where. He was always willing to help. I didn't want to impose. Finally, I woke up one day and realized -- he really means it. I'm not going to impose. And that was the last time I saw him conscious. Later that day he went in for tests for his liver, I don't even know what exactly happened, but he ended up unconscious and never woke up again.
I rode up to Dallas, a 2 hour drive one way, with a few other people to visit him in the hospital. They'd known each other for years, me only a year. They spent the whole drive talking about college memories, reminiscing, talking about people and places long gone that I'd never met or seen. I wanted to join the conversation, but just couldn't figure out how. So I sat largely in silence on the drive up and back, seeing Ruben unconscious in the hospital between the awkward legs of the journey. He died not long after that.
For some reason, I felt like it wasn't right for me to cry. I thought I hadn't known him long enough. He wasn't my dad or technically a family member. I did everything in my power not to cry at his funeral. A couple tears did find their way out, but I really wanted to lay on the floor and weep -- sad for his family, sad for myself, kicking myself for being so slow to realize I was welcome, angry at God for taking him away the moment I realized it. But I didn't weep or cry or yell or even express anything that I was feeling. I mentioned to the church counselor that I didn't know how to respond, I wanted to cry, but felt guilty because I wasn't in his family -- wasn't I being selfish? She said I needed support his wife -- which I wanted to do, but it was also confirmation that it wasn't okay for me to be so upset about his death or to cry. (A couple years later I realized this wasn't true.) But because I felt like I needed to be so... unmoved, I felt more awkward and disconnected from the rest of the family.
His son is just like him. Welcoming, big heart. Great kid. Wow. He's probably 22 or 23 now.
Out of everything in Waco, everything with Ruben and his family is my biggest regret. Why was I so dense??! That last day, he gave me a ride to work from church (I didn't have a car at the time), after an early morning prayer meeting during a church-wide fast. I walked into work that day thinking, "Duh, Dina. He was totally happy to give you a ride to work. You don't have to worry." I knew him for 15 months out of 36 years, and 9 years later, I'm still crying that he's not here.
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