Thoughts on a Bus

I am currently on a bus heading north on I-75.

I’ve been writing my blog posts in advance in effort to develop the habit of regularly posting. So I’m actually writing this two minutes into Monday morning.

I’m on a bus with about 56 middle-school and high-school girls. It’s been a few years since this was my job and it’s a bit weird for me. So many things are the same. And so many are different.

Some of you know that for several years my career trajectory was aimed toward becoming a youth pastor. I worked on a student ministry staff in South Tampa for three years. I learned so much, developed a bunch of weird insecurities, met and experience so many wonderful people and events. I saw lives changed and healing started. They were a good three years.
Then my plot-line changed a little. Then it changed a lot. And I got a little confused about my role, my story.
But this is all old hat stuff. I mean I’ve told this story before. I’m sorry. I’ve just gotten a little nostalgic. Here I am on a bus with several girls who were on my very first student ministry trip. They’re in the midst of their last summer as high-schoolers. I’m lamenting the fact that we’re all six years older and I can’t quite wrap my mind around it.
I’ve come face to face with part of my living history. It’s a bit like those people that walk around the fairgrounds in period dress and remind you of “the way it was”.
I like where my story is now. But it’s interesting for 24 year old me to run a parallel path with 19 year old me. I wonder how many more times in my life I’ll sort of be here again?

Time Travel or Emerging from the Cocoon

As I watched my reflection in the sliding glass door reach actual size an odd thought popped into my head, “I wonder if I owned these flops last time I was here as a student.” A strange thought indeed, how things can anchor us to a certain time. We may not have a DeLorean that we can crank up to a certain speed, dial in a set of numbers, and find ourselves back to the future, but for me something as banal as a CD player will do. Or the smell of sunscreen and chlorine, which Philip swore I smelled of even in late February.

I walked around campus a bit today; for the first time in awhile I wasn’t panic stricken about making everything work. Graduating seems a mere reality on the horizon just a year away. More on my mind was the echoes of the old Noel that wandered around the school in years past. USF’s seen some facelifts but she still seems to lack enough parking spaces for all her students. In contrast, I’ve gained some weight, grown my hair out about 8 inches, driven four cars in the time I’ve been (and not been) a student, and had a boo-koo of experiences. Those flops though, they were there with my that last year.

I bought the flops in question in Daytona the summer of 2007. The second round of Rainbows, over-priced leather flops, that I owned they lived through half of one of the most exciting summers of my life, the last year I was a mass comm student, and the summer I reeled out of the “well-planned” life and started to figure out what I actually wanted to do. Those poor flops, they’ve been through a lot in three summers. And as we head into the fourth they’re missing much of their soles, but we’re still a team. A glance sends me back to Mexico aka the hottest place I’ve ever been, the Lake last summer where they got wet and dried almost folded in half, and bike rides around South Tampa when I was house-sitting.

All the “stuff in between” that Will Schuester referred to in the season finale of Glee. These memories I have of trying to spot a giant green truck in the parking lot of the SunDome, hoping to ride a longboard on campus, the friend I made in physics, of passing the EDT, turning in papers, taking Hebrew (and meeting M. LeBlanc), meeting Pam for lunch dates, earphones in listening to Fort Minor as I walked between classes, two years of hiding in a cocoon, all of that, just stuff in between.

Or the desperate attempts to hide from the future and growing up, being depressed for months on end, feeling worthless, like I was only wasting time, losing my identity, grasping for the ever elusive meaning and purpose I so craved, getting hurt by and hurting people, looking for love in such a misguided manner, just stuff in between.

The cocoon wasn’t the sort that insulated me from pain. In fact I think it was made out of pain, pain that kept me locked in. But I remember something that resonates so truly with me: Jesus screaming alongside me, knowing pain more real and dark than mine. So, this is me faintly emerging from the cocoon I kept myself in. This is me not being afraid. This is me writing the story as we go and not being too worried about the “stuff in between”. This is me writing a very long and rambly entry. And this is me looking forward to another year walking around campus with my busted old flops.

solidarity

Last night I went to my first ever PostSecret event. Frank Warren was part of the lecture series at USF, which provided me with the opportunity to hear him speak for free and share the experience of airing secrets with a large group of people. There were so many things about the night that tugged on my heart, made me feel, brought tears to my eyes, and caused me to do some soul-searching.

The most overwhelming feeling I have leftover from the event is frustration or helplessness. I’m left with this overwhelming desire to love all the hurt people. Which just renews the idea of making sure the people I interact with on a daily basis get the best of me. I’m contemplating further steps, too.

Last week I was getting frustrated with my hair. It’s rather long, so I was contemplating a drastic haircut. I asked my friend Ryan his opinion expecting that he would say, “No, keep it long.” He surprised me with, “hahah i dont understand girls.. why not go do something externally crazy for adventure!” Not entirely sure how to respond I said, “Like what?” To which he responded, “like travel.. take off from work and go some place crazy.. or even pick up a new form of ministry.. Homeless, Orphan, Pregnant Women, etc… we fall into the smaller stories of life way too easily.” You all know how obsessed I am with stories. Anyway, I assured him that it was a practical rather than esoteric question based on the amount of chlorine that will be in my hair in the next few months. But after last night, I’m wondering a little bit. So, two things to ponder: the length of my hair and the ministry I can throw myself into.

On the other side, I wondered, as many people do when encountering PostSecret, what my secrets are. If you asked me in the past couple of weeks to tell you a secret I would respond that I don’t have any. What I’m really saying is I’m not sure if I can trust you with them yet. There’s a plot-line running through my life that I haven’t quite sorted out yet. When you lose someone abruptly from you life, by choice or not, it’s difficult to move forward. I’ve tried the best I could for awhile. But recently this person has been all over my mind. Suffice it to say I’m petrified.

I walked away from USF last night hurting for the people who are hurt and feel as though there is no one close to love them. I also walked away wondering how long I would allow my pain to make me so afraid. At this point it’s almost like I’m choosing to be afraid rather than deal. I’m starting to pull into myself again. Disconnect. It’s coming.

There’s no resolution to this. Except I want to go for a long drive with The Shins and the rain. But I have nowhere to go and not enough gas to get there.