I really like Jesus

For the first time in a very long time, I can say that I really like Jesus.  I really do.  The only problem is I don’t know what to do with everything else that comes with him.  There’s so much debris around my heart concerning him, wrought by my experiences and the religion founded by/in/for ‘his name’, that my chest tightens when I’m around those who are his followers.  But like I said, I really like Jesus.  For now I will leave it at that.  I really, really like Jesus.

I Could Use Somebody

The reason why I like to be alone is because I feel safe. I don’t have to negotiate with others about what to think, how to feel, how I ought to understand things. This whole idea came about in my therapy session when the therapist asked if my having an analytical mind served as a safe place for me, in which I said yes. The more I thought about this, the more I started making connections as to why I like to live alone, why I like to do things by myself, why I never make that much effort to invest in intimate relationships. Being with people means that I have to constantly negotiate between what is actually happening internally and what what I want to project externally. For example, if I stub my toe when I’m alone I feel and express exactly as I feel. If the same thing happens around another person(s), I have to negotiate with myself as to what I’ll make the other person believe about what I just experienced. That’s why it’s so much easier to spend time by myself.

But here comes the contradiction. Even in my desire to be alone, I don’t want to be alone. In the words of Kings of Leon, I could “use somebody”. I could use someone who will be ok with me as i fumble through how to negotiate through the purest forms of my thoughts, feelings and ideas. I could use someone who isn’t volatile or dangerous, who feels safe. I could use somebody who is fully aware that my level of comfortability with them might be really low, and yet chose to still be with me. I could use somebody who is sympathetic to the fact that I have a hard time sharing space and integrating my ’self’ and the ’self’ of another. I could use somebody who is able to ’sit’ with me and ‘wrestle’ with me as I try to become the best human being I could be.

Here’s the truth. As much as I try to make myself seem put together and independent, in actuality,  these have been my mechanisms to hide just how fucked up I am.  They are just a way to hide how much I am afraid of intimate relationships that require me to unveil my feelings and thoughts.  Yet, as much as I am afraid, there’s a part of me that admits this…I could use somebody.

Hitting the Brick Wall

One of my friends just posted a comment on my previous entry, which was written a very long time ago, and a phrase in her comment got me thinking. In her response to my then heated thoughts about sex and sexuality, she noted that she was more prone to “be perpetually sexually frustrated and single, than to date and constantly run into the brick wall when physicality comes in to play .” And that’s when it occurred to me that I’ve recently resorted to that. In not so many words, I’ve found a convenient brick wall and headed towards it full speed and now I’m parked there and a part of me doesn’t want to pry myself off the wall. Why?

Well, if I were to tell the truth, it’s actually a lot easier to force myself on this proverbial brick wall because consciously avoiding it will require that I ask questions I’m too afraid to ask myself. Do I like my body, I mean every inch of it? Do I define my sexuality by having or not having sex? Would I be certain/confident in saying that even at 31 and still a virgin, that I can still define myself as a sexual being?

My fear of trying to dig deeper into the idea of sex/sexuality was brought about by realizing that most of the men I went out with, eventually wanted to have sex, but I have too much baggage on that end, that I often just stiffened up and eventually they would go away. Consequently, I now panic when it comes to men because my insecurity about my sexuality has shot through the roof.  If I’m completely honest with myself, I have pushed myself to this wall because of fear. Fear that there’s much about my sexuality I have avoided because, by society’s standard, I should have it figured out by now. Fear to ask questions that to some might come naturally like the air we all breathe and I somehow…haven’t figured it out. The deeper issue here is that I am more afraid of what ‘others’ will say. Period.

But how do I know I’m forcing myself onto this wall? Because on moments when my heart is unguarded, I hear the faint whispers of longing when I’m walking down the street and see a couple together. When I’m not hard headed about my aloneness, I hear the muffled calling for me take more risks, even when I might appear stupid for not knowing what I think everyone thinks I should know, do or be (whatever that is).

If I put aside my own bullshit, I must confess that it’s easier to have as little hope or expectation about much in life because the pain doesn’t pulsate as loud. But if I’m willing to pry the protective hands off my heart, the pain is much worse when I just stay parked at this brick wall. The sun doesn’t shine much here…there’s little life found here…slowly, my heart forgets how to hope, to have memories of the future, to take risks, to be excited at the thought of something as simple as someone taking note of my existence.

But again, if I’m still honest with myself, to reverse this comfort zone I have uncomfortably afforded myself, well, that will take another _____________ before I could pry myself off this brick wall.

Let’s talk about sex…

Remember that TLC song? Let’s talk about sex baby, let’s talk about you and me, let’s talk about all the good things and the bad things that can be, let’s talk about sex, let’s talk about… I still remember hearing that song, but what’s memorable were the feelings of guilt I experienced just by listening to it. Anyone who grew up in a Christian environment can, for the most part, identify with the idea that sex and sexuality were taboo topics. For me, to make matters worse, I grew up in a continent, and add a family environment, where sex and the body were never celebrated. They were shrouded in secrecy, shame and embarrassment. I can still remember my mother admonishing me for thinking that I was beautiful. As as result, I never knew what to do with my body. Was I supposed to hide it, celebrate it, ignore it by pretending that it didn’t really exist? I had no idea what I was supposed to do, and that’s how I’ve been living for the last 30 some years. Isn’t that so unbelievably sad? Oh, I know too well. Even though I grew up with the idea that I was created in the image of God, I was never able to trace that image in my own body. In my opinion it is one of the saddest realities of being a Christian. Sad that I could never look at my body or my sexuality and be able to celebrate it, explore and discover what it meant to possess either of them.

Lately, I’ve started to ask those uncomfortable questions, which were spurred by a recent encounter. A few weeks ago I went on a date with a guy, and to protect my story, can only reveal that I refused to have sex him. A few days later, we had a conversation about sexuality and to some extent came to the realization that I wasn’t comfortable with my own body, partly because I had never taken the time to accept it. My upbringing taught me that sex/sexuality would somehow make sense when I got married. But what I have discovered is that my desire for sex and my sexuality don’t somehow stay dormant and wait till I find that person I will marry. They continue to live and burn (no pun intended) and can hardly be ignored or turned off at whim. But what then?

[I'm fully aware that for many Christians this topic tends to be very black and white, but I'm thinking otherwise. I'm also fully aware that some will read what I write and feel that they have to tell me convince me otherwise. As much as I respect people's opinions, I also hope that mine can also be respected. I didn't wake up one morning and come up with these ideas...I've spent a lot of time thinking and pondering and would appreciate that benefit of the doubt. I'm also aware that my mother would probably have a heartache if she read this blog...but I'm sure there's much about my life that would give her a heartache anyway.]

What I find interesting about being a Christian is the fact that we defend so much that we believe aligns with God, but what about our bodies or sexuality? Do we not have any responsibility to our bodies if they are created in the image of God? What does that mean anyway? What does sex and sexuality have to do with God? If this was part of his ingenuity, why do we hide it? Why are we uncomfortable talking about these desires that we have probably felt since we were children? Why is there such a shroud over all of this?

I recently bought a book, Becoming Orgasmic, a book that’s meant to help women grow in regards to their sexuality. I’m only on the first chapter and had to spend at least an hr and half reviewing my sexual history. I was so saddened by the fact that as much as I was a highly sexual child (which I now view as a very normal thing), I was also full of guilt and shame and embarrassment for desiring things that, as far as I was told, were only legitimate in marriage. What this created was a tension between desires I had no control over and standards I was meant to uphold, that for the most part, nullified these desires…does that make sense? The result has been a tug of war between these two realities, and unfortunately the latter always won resulting in a very confused, insecure woman about my body and sexuality. Till now.

Purchasing this book has been my first step in trying to reclaim my body and sexuality. I find myself more open now to talk about how my body feels, what my body desires, allowing my body to feel what it needs to feel and not try to divert those feelings or ignore their existence. I can’t even begin to describe how freeing it has been to not feel guilty for possessing this body and exploring it (I know that’s vague, so deal with it). I’m still formulating my ideas of what it means to live out my sexuality, as a single woman, I should add. I have hunches of what I think it will look like. The two major areas I do not want to compromise are:

1. Accepting and celebrating my body

2. Exploring my sexuality

I realize this does not offer any type of solution or conclusion, but like I said, this is a new thing for me and depending on how comfortable I am with sharing with the world my progress, I’ll update on what decisions I make. Once again, here’s to taking ownership of my existence.

Since turning 31

9 months. That’s how long it’s been since I moved to Seattle. It’s significant because it’s the same time it takes for a fetus to grow in a womb and I feel as though something has been growing in me. Changes have taken place in the depths of my soul and I feel like I’m ready to deliver something new (I know, it’s very new agey and vague). At the same time, my first year at Mars Hill is coming to an end, quickly. I still can’t believe that I’ve made it this far. There’s so much to speak to, and I don’t know that I can quite capture what has taken place with mere words. I’m afraid that I will fail to communicate what I feel and what I know has changed in me.
I sat in my last practicum today and as I looked around the room, I couldn’t help but think of where I was last December. I was literally fighting to either stay with the change knocking on my door or continue to live like I always did, and always feel as though something was missing. I looked around the room and saw the stories represented, courageous souls who’ve fought over the last year for their lives and the lives of those in group. I thought how privileged I was to be a part of this process to watch “salvation” take place, to think of the tragic places we were coming from and see redemption unfold right in front of us. God, that’s something we rarely get to witness, but I’ve had that privilege.
At the beginning of the year, I made this promise to myself to take ownership of my life. A battle I’ve engaged in the last 4 months. I’ve felt empowered to find my voice, to allow myself to feel and say what I was feeling and not try to be what I thought other people wanted me to be. But it has also been exhausting to constantly remain aware of places I was falling back to my ‘old way of life’. I’ve come to understand the many areas where I have the option of taking ownership of my existence, and that in itself has been a challenge.
Taking ownership of my life and existence has meant sitting across from my friend Stacy and telling her that I wanted her in my life, no, I actually need her in my life, a challenge for a person who has never needed to need people. Taking ownership has been noting patterns in the type of men I attract and realizing that I’m tired of the pattern and I want to change and even though I don’t know what the change will look like, I’ve made the decision to stop and not blindly follow a man just because he expressed interest in or saw my good qualities. Taking ownership has been admitting times of loneliness and being able to sit in those times and not settle for anything less. It’s humbling to admit that you are lonely, again especially if you’ve tried your whole life to make people think your life is together. Taking ownership has been admitting how much I crave for care from my parents, something I’ve never allowed myself to feel. For the first time in my life, I have this gaping hole in my soul to be in the presence of my parents.
In a nutshell, taking ownership has been ’showing up’ in places I always thought were too difficult to show up, admitting things I did not want to admit, holding on to hope when the easier alternative has been to settle for something lesser than, it’s a constant reminder to myself that I am worth what is good and generative and re-generative. That here and now, the Kingdom of God of taking hold of my life, if only ever slowly. And I’m trying to follow the second Adam.

On Turning 31

I’m 31 and 1 day old. Nothing phenomenal has happened so far, considering that I’ve been in my apartment all day. But like I did when I turned 30, I’m absolutely thrilled to be 31. I think it’s great to grow old and see a progression in my becoming a well rounded human being.

For my birthday, my friend Kevin threw me a breakfast dinner. It was absolutely amazing. The meal consisted of homemade cinnamon rolls made by Kim, muffins, eggs omelet with cheese and red peppers, bacon, sausage and my favorite part….mimosa’s. It was truly the best homemade breakfast I’ve ever had. Best of all I had my good friends who truly celebrated my being alive and I felt unbelievably special, considering that I’ve known most of the people for less than a year.

Here was the surprise for me. All of my gifts came from the men. A first for sure. My friend Kevin and his boyfriend Andy, gave a gift certificate to Anthropologie, which I can’t wait to use. My friend Mike made me a bag made out of a basmati rice sack, which is so cool and uncliched. My friend Tim gave me a soccer ball and a litte bag with goodies form Burt’s Bees Wax…and they came in a box that had the Kenyan flag drawn on it…which made it even more special. And then Jason, who’s friends with Kevin gave me flowers. I was so blown away by how ‘personal’ these gifts were…I’m not much for cliched gifts, and I guess that’s why I so surprised at what these guys gave me. I felt absolutely loved and so special, but more importantly that someone has paid attention to who I am.

My friend Mike asked me what it meant to turn 31 and the one word that came to mind was ‘ownership’. My goal is taking ownership of my life and the choices I make from henceforth. I feel like that will be the theme of the year. It’s so easy to live life and just let it happen for it’s sake, but it’s another thing to know that I own my life, my choices, my dreams, my hopes, my fears, my weaknesses and strengths and knowing what do with them.

All to say, I’m glad to turn 31.

Fight or Flee

So I had this whole blog entry written, or at least had been working on it for the last two days, until I heard Peace Of Mind by Mindy Smith. I could have sworn she knew exactly what I would feel at this point in my life. In a nutshell, I’m at a crossroad…I can either choose to fight for my life or let it steamroll over me and not care as to what happens. I’m still deciding what road I’ll take and hopefully it will be to fight for it. But like Smith so simply put it…

I need peace of mind
and a hopeful heart
to lose this rage
and move out of the dark
I ain’t looking for rainbows
or shooting stars
just some peace of mind
and a hopeful heart

I need a peace of mind
and a lullaby
cause theres an angry voice
in my head tonight
tellin’ me to do things
that can’t be right
I need peace of mind
and a lullaby

and a miracle
for this broken soul
a little miracle
for this broken soul

I need peace of mind
and gentle hand
as I try to change
the way I am
and God forgives me
when I can’t
I need peace of mind
and a gentle hand

or a miracle
for this broken soul
a little miracle
for this broken soul

I need peace of mind
and a hopeful heart

And then there was the End…

So my first tri-semester at Mars Hill has come to an end, but the end hasn’t been easy. The progression can be illustrated as starting with excitement and an idealization of what this new chapter of my life would mean for the future to a slow progression that’s escalated to a place of pain, anger, uncertainty and questions that at this point seem so huge I have no idea how the answers will come about.

I mentioned this in the last blog that my first thoughts when I started Mars Hill was that it would be about being reminded about who God was, in turn I found out that I needed to be reminded of who I was. This last part has been the most surprising experience of being here. But in some sense it makes sense because my whole life I’ve always focused on the ‘other person’ to unhealthy degrees that I have slowly lost myself in the process. The discovery of this loss of my voice, person, whatever you want to call it has made me feel uncertain about the people that I have in my life at this point and as a result I’ve pushed most of them away with two exceptions, but I can’t and/or I’m not willing to process why I’ve done that at this moment.

What I’m more interested in is the idea that in discovering who I am, the fact that I am created in the image of God, not only frees me to live my life fully, but at the same time, it might be a way understand God. Lately I’ve wondered what it means for me, an African, a woman and a singer/songwriter influences how I see God. I’ve been challenged by ideas presented by theologian Jurgen Moltmann about what it means to be created in the image of God, but no one ever told me that being created in the image of God could be seen through the aspects I’ve mentioned above.

What does it mean to be an African and to believe in God even though missionaries made it very clear that we were savages and didn’t have the faintest clue about God? What does it mean for me, a woman, to have faith in a God who’s always come in Male form, when I haven’t felt myself represented in the God-head? What does it mean for me to be a singer/songwriter and to engage in my gifts without feeling like I need to write worship songs in order to show my devotion and commitment to God?

So this only leaves me with more questions than answers. Sometimes I want to go back to being a child and see the world with such innocence and trust, but I guess I can’t. I’ll be 31 in exactly 30 days as of today, something I still can’t believe and if life will turn out like it has so far, I think it will not turn out like the picture I’ve had in my mind. I’m trying to let that go slowly, the idea that life will turn out like I’ve hoped or wanted, but I’m also trying not to lose all hope. I’m trying to walk that balance between not holding on too firmly to my dreams and not letting them all go…and that’s a tricky thing.

Who Will Take Me?

When tectonic plates shift in the core of the earth, depending on how major the shift is, we are able to physically see that through earthquakes, tsunamis etc. It’s the evidence that something beneath the surface is going on. That’s how my life feels at this point, but the shifting that’s taking place hasn’t been major yet, or at least I’m working very hard at making sure there are no catastrophic explosions taking place.

When I first came to Mars Hill, I was coming from a very exhausted lifestyle. I worked in a job I didn’t really care that much about, so any change sounded great. I’d also been warned that Mars Hill would be an intense experience, and I figured I moved to America when I was 19 and have been able to take good care of myself, how hard could it be?

I also remember writing earlier how I thought that the reason why God had brought me to this place was so that I could be reminded of Him, what I didn’t know was that I would first have to be reminded of who I was. I had to be reminded first of the life, through so many seemingly harmless choices, I had chosen to live. But I also had to be reminded of what life could have been if I had dared to be ‘present’ and ‘engaged’ in the choices I made. This has been the most difficult part of my experience so far. So much so, that I have started to slowly shut down because I don’t know what to do with what is taking place in the core of my being.

Surprisingly, I’ve been craving for my parents. Something I’ve never done in my life. I started being independent when I around 10 and have been like that for the past 20 years, so my parents were never a major part of my life unless there was something really huge that only they could accomplish. The irony in all of this is that part of my make up is influenced by how they raised me, how they reacted and responded to me so I would have naturally expected, like so many other students are going through, to experience anger or bitterness towards them, but I’m not. I want them so bad. I want my mom to sit next to me and just hold me. I want just to feel the presence of my dad in the room and know that nothing wrong will happen to me. It’s all I want and need, but they live in a different continent. I want to express this to them, but I’ve never expressed my need for them, so it feels so unnatural and I’m afraid I’ll feel foolish after I’ve told them how I feel. So for now I’m just holding it all in, something that hasn’t really worked well for me, at least that’s what I’m discovering right now.

I’m holding so much, somewhere around 20 years of just shit. I’m afraid that I’m a walking time bomb and any moment now I will go off and then??? I don’t know how to be angry because I never learned how to, I always shoved it down to the bottom of my heart, but I think it’s filling up or it’s already full, hence the fear that I’m a walking time bomb. I’ve always, always, always, taken care of other people, it’s almost second nature to me. But I don’t know how to be taken care of, so when people try to do that right now, I just want to tell them to fuck off, but I’m a coward, so I give them the cold shoulder and hope that they will eventually get it that I don’t want to be bothered. I don’t think people know what to do with me. I’ve always been the pleasant girl, I smile like there’s no tomorrow, I flirt endlessly, I’m a happy person. But now that I’ve turned to this dark person, I can feel it. People are walking around me doing some sort of dance, which I have to say is fucking annoying. Just fucking tell me what you see instead of asking the same cliched ‘how are you? fuck that.

What tomorrow holds? I haven’t the faintest clue. But this is where I am. Who will take me?

My Repentance

Lately, I’ve found my tongue bound by a battle that’s increasingly unsettling my soul.
I want to bleed these words so others can see what to them might be an imaginary wrestle.
Until I have found my true voice, I must borrow what others have written…

The Journey by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.