privileged shiftings

I've been fighting the urge to not share these thoughts. They are hard to articulate, difficult to understand, full of different layers and issues, and maybe even a little embarrassing. But, as is with most things I don't want to address, it won't go away. I apologize now if this is a lot to read. I apparently have a lot I need to say.

I've talked about this with several people, journal-ed, reflected, prayed, and cried. For a while, I could not even articulate what was wrong. It was simply a feeling that something wasn't right; that something had internally shifted and wasn't the same.

From time to time, things like that are easy for me to ignore. I stay busy. I avoid sharing my more personal thoughts with people. I still live and serve, but I don't always process what I've experienced; I've found that it's just easier that way. When you can't explain yourself eloquently, don't waste someone else's time. If you are going to cry for apparently no reason at all, just don't go there. Keep it all nice and neat. Don't show your brokenness, don't let your shit hit the fan. It's easier that way.

I've lived with that mind set for most of my life. Yes, occasionally the Spirit or just pure exhaustion (or both) would overwhelm me, and I would break, letting down my guard temporarily. But then I would apologize, and quickly rebuild my wall. That's been the cycle for as long as I can remember.

And then Gramps' got sick and died. Now, I recognize that I attribute a lot of my growth this year to his death. But that's my reality. My Gramps' suffering and death has marked an unexpected change in me. I still hurt over it; most days I'm still angry. And I couldn't hide that. I shouldn't hide that. I can't hide that.

I still get heartsick when I see the painted clouds on the ceiling at Downtown Pres and think that there should be stars. I see a butterfly and I choke. The sunsets, the stars, rainbows, a certain kind of hat. . . all pull me back to the pain I hold. The pain of not being there, the pain of being away from home when they needed me, and when I needed them. Even now, my eyes are full of tears.

I never expected this to happen this year. I never expected to lose Gramps, to have that as my constant struggle for this year of service. I expected struggles financially (you can only get so far with a few hundred dollars a month), community struggles, works struggles. . . all of which have only been compounded by this death.

I was expecting Guatemala to cause me to see poverty in a new light, instead, I've seen life and death differently. I've begun to see my life of privilege. I've always thought that people who had more than I did were the privileged ones. The nicer cars, the bigger houses, the better clothes. But Guatemala brought to mind my Malawi trip, which brought to my heart that sense of discomfort I described at the beginning of this post. And now, three weeks after being back in the States, I get it. I am privileged. By my experiences, my education, the communities that support me, the gifts I have, the love I share. I am privileged. Even as a middle class, white female, I am privileged. I am privileged to be serving this year in Nashville, to be discovering new passions, to be making new friends and connections, with the support and blessing of those who matter most to me. I am privileged to be growing and changing, to be experiencing God through new ways and through my own gifts. And I'm privileged, as hard as it is to say, to be able to say that I'm broken, that I'm angry, that I still miss my Gramps terribly. And I'm privileged to say that pain associated with losing Gramps has been the threshold for all this other growth and maturing that so many are saying they see in me and I'm starting to feel via that shifting. I am so privileged.