Posts Tagged ‘tears’

“STOP IT!” she screamed into the silence. “I know what you’re doing and I feel you enough. JUST GO AWAY!”

“SHUT UP!” the other yelled back, “just stop your ranting for one moment and give me a little peace. You’re making me crazy!”

“Why are you mad? Isn’t this what we wanted? Did we never talk about this?”

“Of course it’s what we wanted…we asked for it. I just didn’t know it would feel this way.”

Back and forth they bickered and yelled all. day. long. But silently. You may have noticed them though not so harshly. Maybe the harshness of the first was reflected in my tone when I spoke. Or maybe you saw their frustration of the second in the tears that welled up in my eyes for seemingly no reason while we were talking. Or that quiver in my voice that I pretended wasn’t there. You might have noticed. But you might not have, but those have been the voices of my head and my heart today. On the inside, they are so very loud.

See, every Wednesday for the past 3 years I have been prepping emotionally to wake up the next day and go into jail. Today I didn’t. Tomorrow I am not going to jail. It’s still jail day. But I’m not going in. My dear friend and coworker has become the answer to my prayers that have been piling up for 3 years now. Prayers to be able to share this work with someone. Prayers for it to become sustainable. So many prayers. And now as I watch them being answered and I rejoice, it hurts a little bit. That’s where my head and heart get mad at each other. One wants to see the logic and say “THIS IS WHAT I WANTED! YAY!” the other says, “I sure am going to miss my friends tomorrow”. One says, “I cannot even believe this is growing to more than just me!” the other questions my identity. “What exactly is my intro now if not, ‘I am the chaplain’?”

As I look to Jesus and quiet my soul I am reminded that I don’t have to know what’s next to trust that it is good. Transition, even when it’s good, is hard. Tears are not bad. Trust takes work. I don’t like that, but it’s true. Trust. Trust. Trust that tomorrow will come and go just like today. Trust that the next steps, no matter how scary, are where I’m supposed to go. Tonight I will choose to trust and rest secured and before I drift off to sleep reread my favorite bedtime psalm. Psalm 4:8 “In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, LORD, make me dwell in safety.”

On Wednesday I cried.
I cried a lot.
My heart felt broken.
I knew there was hope.
I know there still is.
But I had to grieve.
I had to mourn.
Just like one of my favorite movies (Inside Out) shows sometimes we need to feel sad.
I didn’t cry because I was so sad Hillary Clinton didn’t win.
But I did cry because Donald Trump won.
There is so much misunderstanding right now.
I’m still very confused.
I’d love for you to read why I cry.
I hope no one feels attacked by my words.
They are in no particular order.
No matter if you cried or not, I’d love to hear your heart.

I cry because the KKK wants to hold a celebratory parade because of Donald Trump’s victory. He may have denounced them once, but I cry because I don’t see him denounce them daily. I don’t see it publicly. I don’t hear it loudly. He now has a whole lot of power and a whole lot of people watching and I cry because I don’t see him using it to bring equality to the races. I cry because every one of my nieces and nephews will have darker skin than me, and though none have been born yet, they will all be just as valuable as I am.

I cry because I live with and love people who have immigrated to this country both legally and illegally. I know them. I love them. I know why their parents brought them here. I want them to be safe. I want others to be safe too. I do not want them “sent back home” because this is the only home they remember. When you come before kindergarten it isn’t really your choice.

I cry because of shame. I’m afraid I won’t be personally effected. Don’t get confused. I don’t want pain, or to be degraded, or to feel unsafe. I only wish we really were equal. I wish my roommate felt safe walking home in our neighborhood at night, but instead she’s staying with friends in another part of town this week because she has dark skin and feels the people around here are unpredictable right now.

I cry because I am so grateful for my faith and the freedom to worship in my country and I am nervous what could happen. Many Muslims are scared. I am scared for them. And I’m scared for me. I will fight for their freedom to worship. If I will not fight for theirs who will fight for mine? Sure, I’d love it if everyone believed the same things as me, but I most definitely do not want to force people to share my beliefs. Don’t you see…if it’s not a choice it’s not a true belief.

I cry because we have become so divided. Us vs them, left vs right, pro-life vs pro-choice, dems vs reps, him vs her. I don’t always fit into a party or a group. I grew up as a third culture kid. I know what it is to not fit in. I know what it is to have views that people don’t understand because they’ve never heard of them let alone experienced them. I’m willing to be patient while people ask borderline offensive questions if they truly are trying to understand. In my life it’s been “do you speak African?” “Are there tigers in your backyard?” “If you’re from Africa how come your white?”…the list goes on… now there are different questions. Questions that cross party lines. I’m afraid people will be too scared to ask them. I’m afraid people will go on living in the seclusion of their bubble and not try to ask, hear, listen, and learn from the “other side”. Two sides are not enough. So many of us are like third culture kids – caught or bouncing or stuck somewhere in the middle.

I cry because my 2 brothers at black and brown. I’ve had nightmares of one getting shot. I’ve witnessed both of them experience racism. Just one example each is one being referred to in a derogatory way as Mexican (though he is not) the other being questioned for being in a church (when he was 6) because “they do come in sometimes” the lady who was questioning him told my mom. I clearly know that racism has been around long before our president elect, but I am afraid of people thinking now that what was done in secret is ok to do in public. I’m afraid of people feeling confident using the N word, touching women inappropriately, telling a transgender person that he or she is not valuable or worthy, or making fun of someone with a disability. I’m afraid things like the Black Lives Matter movement will be targeted and discredited even more now than they were before.

I cry for my housemates who went to bed Tuesday night wondering what they would do without health insurance. Wondering if there is an insurance group that will cover them if Obamacare gets repealed. Schizophrenia and Crohn’s are not something insurance companies often want to cover.

I cry because I have always been the optimist. I’ve always had hope. I have to believe people can get better. I believe my friends in jail can, I believe my friends without houses can, I believe my friends stuck in addiction can, I believe my friends who have, but don’t understand privilege can… but I didn’t want to believe our president elect could. I just wanted to be angry. I cried because my heart was hard.

I cry because people are misrepresented. As I talked to a white, middle class, evangelical christian man at church today my eyes brimmed with tears again as we discussed what could be next. He, as I, has felt targeted by the media for being the cause, when he didn’t want it either. As we discussed our fear for his gay son and my black brother we were saddened by the fact that media says we chose this simply because some people who share our faith voted for this.

I cried really hard when I read articles making fun of those crying after the election. The tears are real, they are not a show. Please be gracious. Recognize there is a time to mourn. There is a time for fear. We will pick up the broom and keep sweeping the mess after we have mourned, but please, oh please, don’t make fun of the tears. The protests are one of the freedoms of this nation. Give them space. Please don’t think I approve of of violence and vandalism. But a peaceful protest may be someones best way to mourn, to say they are hurting, to share their fears…

I cry as I ask, are we more divided? Or has our division simply been brought to light? My hope and prayer is that we choose to acknowledge the pain. Acknowledge the fear. That Christians would live out what Jesus commands to love like He loves…to the outcast, the hurting, the broken, the most degraded and say that because of Him they are worthy. I hope we will be willing to lay down our comfort for those who need comfort. I hope we will admit our wrongs and apologize for them. I hope that we will be willing to stop trying to hide our nation’s problems and start finding ways to work together to deal with them.

I can’t say that my tears are done.
But I do promise to fight for today.
And tomorrow I will fight for tomorrow.
I will fight for equality.
I will fight for safety.
I will fight for love.
Because love trumps hate.
Because peace is better than war.
Because my God is a God who saves.
I will hold onto hope.
Will you?

I tried to move yesterday. It was pretty successful. I packed all my stuff up, put it into a couple of friends cars, drove it to my new house, carried it up to the third floor, unpacked it and set it all up. Then I went out to get dinner and stopped back at my “old” house to see how the fam’s packing was going and I didn’t want to leave. But I had to…I had just brought all my things over to my “new” house. So they came with me to gather some clothes and my work bag and bring them back home to sleep on the couch cushions on the floor since my bed got packed up to go to Taiwan yesterday (lucky for me the person buying the couch hasn’t gotten it yet). This morning started with lots of tears as we talked about how real it all felt before I ran out the door for work…looking a bit disheveled but making it just on time. Some of the things I can’t get out of my mind include:

  • Conversations early in the morning, middle of the day, and late at night about whatever is going on in our lives.
  • Tripping over toys left on my floor.
  • Being honest and vulnerable…it’s not easy with just anyone. It takes a lot of work and we’ve gotten to that point.
  • Getting dandelions everyday…and always having it be a “surprise”.
  • Going for drives, or brunch or dinner for family adventures.
  • My hand soap being moved to the back of my toilet where it was easier for sweet littles to reach it.
  • Going for walks at 11:50pm because we made a bet to exercise that day and forgot to.
  • Sweet littles tiptoeing down the stairs to see if I was awake in the mornings and climbing into my bed to tell me stories or yelling back up the stairs to report if I was still asleep.
  • Comparing good books.
  • Choosing favorite fairies.
  • Anna initiating spelling out sentences back and forth so Lucy wouldn’t know what we said. ( “I space t-h-i-n-k space t-h-a-t space s-h-e space w-a-n-t-s space t-h-a-t” … “m-e space t-o-o” with a smile and a wink in the rearview mirror.)
  • Regularly coming home to a dinner of delicious food (specifically pork and green beans).
  • Dressing up for tea parties on a regular basis.

It’s not easy to take someone into your life. It’s even harder to share your family. Having a chance to share life with an extra family has been one of the best parts of my life. I’ve always wanted a family of my own, but I feel so much more equipped to know how to love them and raise kids having been “a Shelby” in this home (I’m with the girls on this one and can’t figure out how to describe our relationship – not a nanny, not a sister, just a friend who’s part of the family, I guess). So the best is the worst when you have to say goodbye. I’m good at goodbyes. I say them to my family all the time. I mean, come on, we live on 3 different continents. I always hope it will get easier, but it doesn’t. The best friends are the worst to say goodbye to. It’s just a fact. But I always think of Winnie-the-Pooh’s wisdom when he said, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”