Crying: a reflection of learning to mourne

It's been a week full of moments where I felt like I needed to cry. It has seemed for so long that I am pregnant with emotion, and that the only way to let it out is to cry, to let tears fall, to wail, and to express outwardly in inner turmoil that seems to define my life this year.

The terrifying thing is that I can't seem to cry alone anymore. After a year of processing pain with others around me, of relying on tears to usher in some deeper compassionate response, tears seem to be reserved for the moments of vulnerability that need a defense. Crying ushers in a parental compassion, one of care and concern, and consolation. Processing my struggles, my shortcomings, my pain, my grief: these are all things reserved for the inward process. And for the Counselor's office at one on Wednesday afternoons. 

What I have begun to realize over the past few days is that the roles need to be reversed. I need to cry alone, so that I can feel the comfort of a mothering God surround me with grace and patience. And I need to learn that getting stuck in my head ultimately leads to a lot of isolation. 

Rationalizing every moment has led to a lot of great realizations:

I have learned that God is calling me home, that I am the beloved child who has a place in God's warm, compassionate and caring embrace.

I have learned that saying "no" is not just okay, it's necessary.

I have learned that seeking spiritual direction and reconciliation starts within: by gently bathing my spirit with the presence of God; by gently weening my soul from the clutches of popularity, numbing, and avoidance; and by aggressively pursuing God. 

I have learned that taking walks outside is important, that I don't want a boyfriend, that I'm doing well, and that I am called.

And all of this head knowledge, all of these silent commitments to myself have led me to wanting to just sit in my room, reading books, and communing with God. 

There is nothing wrong with such actions. Choosing to spend a Saturday at the library and in my room wrapped up in a book that speaks deeply to grief, spirituality, and faith while my roommates all watch a Harry Potter movie doesn't mean I'm suffering; it means I'm healing. 

What I have become aware of, after moments of extreme physical weakness and anguish; is that I have not cried with God in a long, long time. And after a week of feeling as though that is all I can do, I am beginning to pray and hope that these tears would come and continue the process of healing in a new way.

An opportunity to support:

Dear blog reader,
           As you may know I sought support last spring to attend the Christ at the Checkpoint Conference in Bethlehem, Palestine. At the conference I felt a strong call on my life to engage in global conflict as a peacemaker, a mentor, and a friend. During the conference, my passion for seeking true justice and holistic peace was increased as I had the opportunity to meet Christians from all around the world who were also making and seeking peace globally and in their home communities. Since returning home, I have been eagerly seeking new opportunities to go back to Palestine, to continue learning, and to further understand God’s call on my life.

            The program I am enrolled in at North Park is taking a trip to Northern Ireland this May. Admittedly, at first I was very frustrated with the decision of the department to travel to Europe. But after good conversation with mentors, prayer, and discernment: I am confident that God is going to use this trip to further my understanding of self, of call, and of reconciliation. While in Northern Ireland my peers and I will have the opportunity to meet with expatriates and peacemakers, Catholics and Protestants, those who are still hurting and those who have been healed, and to experience the rich culture of Northern Ireland as well.

            As you may have already gathered, this letter is more than informative: it is also an invitation. I was hesitant to seek help to pay for this trip, but after a conversation with a friend I began to understand that what I am going to be doing on this trip is bigger than myself; so it is important that I seek support from others in the process.

           Overall, we are each expected to raise about 2,600. My hope is that you would be willing and able to donate $20-$200 towards expenses such as: airfare, hotels and hostels, bus fees, food, and gratuity to tour guides, hotel staff, and organizations.

            If you are able to donate, please make checks out to North Park University with Conflict Transformation Program in the memo line. Donations are tax deductible.

 Please send all checks to:

                        Dr. Robert Hostetter

                        North Park University

                        Conflict Transformation Studies Program

                        3225 W Foster Ave

                        Chicago, Il 60625

If you are unable to donate, please support us in prayer as we prepare and depart for our trip! We will be gone May 10-24. My hope is that you will also pledge a specific day of the trip to hold us in prayer. If you would like to commit to a specific day, or you have questions, please email me at katiecom12@gmail.com or text me at 503-899-7216.

Thank you for allowing me to share this with you, and for being willing to support in whatever way you can!

Katie Comfort

A new year doesn't reset.

Coming back to North Park this semester, I really thought it would be easier.
Easier to wake up
Easier to care about classes
Easier to face the hurts of last semester without wanting to instantly curl up into a ball
Easier to be there for others
Easier to balance everything

It hasn't been.

And at the risk of going into an emotionally destructive rant about why it hasn't been easy: I will cut to the chase.

The next year is plagued with patterns that cant be relived, revived, or restored.
The next year is going to be full of my memories. And that leaves a void.

So far, that means that I feel really empty. Really really really empty.

But being empty means getting to filled.
And so from here on out I want to be more mindful of how I am filling myself with good, instead of bad. We'll see.

It was just nice realizing that while the milestones have passed; the little moments almost hurt more. And that isn't bad, it just means I still have more to mourn. And I have to let myself do that.

One month.

I have learned that God is not a consolation prize, but a promise that will never stop being true.

I have learned that our hearts don’t break, but just get bruised and get better.

I have learned that it is okay to cry

            That being open takes a lot of energy

                    And that sometimes it's okay to say, "not right now"

I have learned that changing habits and changing names in your phone are not the same thing.

I have learned to seek the light

            To praise God for manna

                        And to break jars of identity at His feet.

I have learned that beds are both dungeons and castles

            dead ends and innerstates

                        And laps to cry in

I have learned again what it means to laugh with your belly

And what it means to sing from your heart, saying the words so boldly you are sure they are true

                        And for the first time in a long time,

            They are.

I have learned that follow outshines trumps failure

            That when the focus shifts, your gaze is broadened

                        And that there is no shame in giving yourself time to feel anger, and joy, and remorse, and regret, and pain, and hatred, and love. And it is okay if every single one of those emotions happens three times a day; because dammit, it is hard to learn how to accept that something that was is suddenly just a memory bank full of broken promises. 

And after a month I am learning that I still don’t have answers.
I have good days

And days when I wake up at 5:30 convinced I am as terrible as you made me feel a month ago.

And there are bad days

And days where I am so unbelievably renewed that I wonder why I didn’t do it myself.

Mostly I have learned that tension is a hard pill to swallow.

            Because it makes you starve and feast all at once. 

Put a bow on it and call it a wrap.

One day and one week until my butt is in a seat heading back to Chicago. Praises be.

In the last month, I have begun anxiety counseling. Mostly, I have been reminded of the importance of belly breathing, how to write constructively in columns and on note cards, and how to notice my thinking. It has also made me 300% more aware of every little thing that gives me anxiety. This blog gives me anxiety. Summer gave me anxiety. Waking up and going downstairs on Sunday mornings gives me anxiety. Everything, more or less, contributes to this overriding experience of anxiousness.

In the last week, my family had a yard sale, I saw people for the first time in two years, and I started to say goodbye. These things all suck. Know what else sucks? Packing. I started that too. I am currently on step 1.5: hoard all possessions in a pile in your room without thinking about what you actually need for the next four months. Next comes step 2: feel anxious that it won't fit in the four pieces of luggage you are allowed. and ends with step 4: arrive in Chicago fully ashamed of the sheer number of items you tote around every 16 weeks. Blessings.

Thanks to anxiety counselling, now I no longer need to endure simply being mindful of the packing anxiety that exists, I also get to ride it out. I no longer get to blow up in the final 12 hours of packing (stage 3.7), instead I get to calmly explain how I am feeling, and maybe even make a note card about it.

But mostly, I am much more aware of how possessions have been a crutch. When I begin to feel pressure, anxiety, or tension; my instinct is to consume. (Right now, for example, I really think that I need a new pair of jeans, and some grey and black striped shirts. I do. I promise.). As one may imagine, having a yard sale where we give away items that are full of sentiment may have been one of the dumbest things to do. Especially since I just had this wave of sadness roll over me as I lamented: "why did we sell all the Peru wall hangings, how will I remember my childhood?" I will, I have faces, and memories of smells, and how the wooden benches in adobe churches made great coloring surfaces, and how itchy everything always was, and how good eggs tasted, and salt. I don't need possessions to be compete and to have valid memories.

What is the most interesting about such a revelation, is that belongings have been holding me back from having the memories be the possession. I think our society does the same with pictures. We have all these things that we use to trigger ideas and feelings, without allowing our brains and mental recall to do that for us. I can remember every dress I wore to the dances, and every nasty thrift store dress I bought thinking shoulder pads were cool, and every par of shorts I owned that made me feel like I had fat thighs. I can remember what junk I bought on missions trips and on family vacations, but I have a difficult time remembering faces, names, joys, and sorrows from those times.

I wonder, then, as I wrap up this summer of rest and calm and creation, how I could possibly characterize this summer by something different. How can I begin to undo my mental dependency on physical triggers, and instead live in a healthy mental recall state? And how, on earth, can I make packing a single-step-non-hassle-process?

The end.

feelings

My Junior year of high school, I fell into a depression, and a friend introduced me to the power of slam poetry.
As the words spewed from my computer speakers and called me to realize my worth as a human I began to cry uncontrollably. I had found something that was more powerful than the bible, something that gave life to dead bones, and something that has encouraged and sustained me in hard times since.

recently. I have been processing a lot.
So I am trying to write some poetry to help me through that

Here it is: poem 2 || a work in progress

The stamp on my wrist

From the concert where I saw you for the first time in two years

 Still burns

Of course, in a time such as that I would comment on your hair

I was terrified that you would see right through the kindness and sense the fear

I was terrified that in those thirty seconds

You

Would rush back into my blood stream, through my legs and my arms and into my heart

And that I would let you

And I am not ready to let you

I am not ready to let go of the person I have become at a risk of allowing the doubt that you planted

Revive

I am not ready to again feel like the dark part of the lightning bug—the dim and nasty part that people often want to forget exists

While you paint the sky with dancing lights that keep everyone at bay

And far away

From me

I am not ready to be ready to ask you how you have been, to know the pain that existed in your life the pain that I ran away from and knowingly

Left you alone in

I am not ready to see how you withered away in the dust that I left when I hit the gas as hard as I could and sped away telling myself over and over again "you can't save you both, you have to keep yourself alive"

So I let go.

And when I did I thought, maybe someday I’ll be ready again

Ready again to accept that laughter and that squealing appreciation for everything round and shiny and inhuman

Ready again to love your luster and your glow

Ready to tell you how beautiful your hair is when you notice the simplest things about people

And that when you speak, you shine so brightly that everyone else seems to dull 

and that you are electric.

But tonight, I was not ready, and my skin burns with the reality of such fates.

Today I am fasting.

Today, Friends, I am fasting.

I have been blessed with many opportunities this summer to increase my understanding of what my call is and what it means to be a peacemaker. 

My first encounter with this theme of summer was two months ago in the backyard of a fellow Friend, who shared with me that her call is to midwife to others. Not literally, but in the sense that it is her hope to sit with people and help them work through the tensions, the stress, the angst, and to be able to arrive at a mutual understanding. This image of mediation is one I have held onto dearly this summer, and has shifted my thinking away from this idea that peacemakers carry around clipboards and gavels in order to condemn and accuse, but that peacemakers are gentle, and aid in the difficult and painful process of reconciliation. 

This image seemed to serve just fine, and then a week ago Matthew 10:16 was brought to my attention. In this verse disciples are called to be serpents and doves. Peacemakers are not just called to help through pain and offer comfort, we are also called to be engaged in political discourse, to understand the ways of the world, while simultaneously being a prophetic voice for justice one behalf of others. 

So now my understanding of my role was turning into some strange pokemon character: midserdovwife.

This understanding was furthered by a Friend I had the opportunity of meeting with who spoke with me about her new ideas about the blessing of being an outsider. Now. Anyone who has gone on  a missions trip, taken and international communications class, or encountered any sort of learning trip through University Ministries knows that the emphasis that is put on being an outsider is negative. Adaptation and acceptance are key. Yes, you want to be critical, but in country you want to follow the rules, avoid sidewalks, and never question why things are done the way they are. So, given this educational background, the concept of the outsider being a blessing was strange to me. But here is what was so important about what she had to say. 

The outsider is able to come in and look at what is being done and what has been done and give critical feedback about practices or actions or attitudes which are hindering the entire process. Instead of going in and saying "I understand," outsiders are able to go in and say, "I understand, but..." this opened my eyes to an entirely new arena. 

As a peacemaker I am not only called to advocate and challenge for others, but I am also called to challenge those I work with in the same way.

And finally, the cherry on top. I was reminded of the importance of Christ and His teachings of peace and neighbor love. The past Saturday a couple of friends and I participated in a protest for Gaza in Portland. The entire event was emotionally charged, chaotic, and individual. This was the first Palestinian activism I had done in a non-christ-centered setting. And it was hard. It was hard to utter words like "long live the intefada" and "Palestine will always fight" as a pacifist. It was hard to block sidewalks and see fellow protesters yelling at cars or individuals who gave opposing feedback. It was hard to see signs that read "end zionism" or "no more Israel". Because, friends, these are not Christian testimonies. We are called to love our neighbors regardless of how they hurt or insult us. We are called to welcome the foreigner, no matter their past wrongs to us, and we are called to pray for those who persecute us, not to condemn them. 

Before I end this: a quick note on prayer.
Yes, we should be praying for peace in Gaza and Israel. But perhaps, more effective than praying for peace (what really is peace, anyways?) I encourage all of you to be praying for the political leaders of Gaza and Israel, that they would begin to think about the consequences of their actions. Pray for the families who have lost children, who are fearfully living outside their homes. Pray for mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers. And pray for justice. 

I have been so blessed to have my understanding of who I am called to be shaped in so many ways by so many individuals and experiences, and I am thankful for future opportunities to further hone this understanding. As the way opens, you know what I mean?

Today I am fasting because it is a way to stand with those families in Isreal and Gaza and the West Bank who have lost family and neighbors. As it is Ramadan, and today is also a Jewish Fasting Holiday, many people around the world have found today to be a day where we can all begin to seek peace by meditating on the hunger in our stomachs, understanding that we hunger for peace in the same way.

Blessings,
Katie