Where is my heart?

I was hoping to write a post that wasn't about me, that was about some deeper theological concept. Or perhaps a greater more brilliant hypothetical situation with intelligent analysis. Or I could talk about specific quotes, writing a stirring encouragement to people who fulfill this this and that criteria. I had a couple good conversations today. I talked to Maddie, was silly and hung out with Lindsey, and had dinner with Alicia. But even these come back to something I discovered in counselling yesterday.

I am really good at processing with my brain. With analyzing. With retelling stories, and attempting to find meaning and sort through them. I am good at finding patterns. I am really good at figuring out what (or deciding...) what I did wrong in a specific situation. I can find fault well. I can sit in counselling and describe well, who I am, where I have come from, I can narrate specific events from my past well, and even dig into the emotions attached and appropriately affix them to my face in the retelling. That doesn't mean that I address issues and problems. (or find the solutions either)

But somewhere along the way, the brain started covering for the heart almost completely. In a way, its a defense mechanism. I don't feel Known or Appreciated here, it must be because I haven't been vulnerable enough. If _______ knew my story, or knew my struggles, or understood where I was coming from, surely they'd understand better what I am trying to communicate to them now.

I do think there is tremendous potential for great healing through the power of story. Through sharing the hardest parts of life. I just think I have learned the patterns and have bypassed the actual openness/true vulnerability for blunt honesty. I can tell it like it is really well. That doesn't mean I can tell it like it feels.

In counseling, Pam asks me to use feeling words. I'm not very good at it, which surprised me. I'm really good at saying "I feel like..." but then I finish the sentence with "what I saw was inappropriate" or "this person is wrong". Not so much "I felt abandoned. I felt hurt. I felt angry." I use "I feel" to mean "My perception was this", which leaves open the possibility that I was wrong, I took things the wrong way, which seems to show that I don't place very much validity in my own experiences. I can easily take moral relativism to heart. (Lindsey and Dustin are arguing it for Ethics tomorrow, and think it is the most ridiculous thing to say, their whole defense is somewhat mocking). Is my story just as valid as the other person's? Are my feelings important? Or are they important just so they can be voiced, labeled and put away without any expectation of change in the other person's behavior. Is that one of the things that was so appealing about Stuart? "I do what I want", no apologies, but you should talk to me, you should share your feelings, you should spill your heart, what I do with it is my business? is that an accurate view of our communication?

I don't know what my feelings are. I can do nice, I can do giggly, I can do contemplative, I can be bothered, I can probably most easily access outrage, anger and bitterness, but primarily on behalf of others. I think sometimes I project myself onto the people I try to help. I got really worked up over Nait, and her story, recently. And then I realized that she's doing alright, she has come such a long way, and she is on her way to go even further.

And I? I have come a long ways too.

And I don't know where my heart is. I know a great many things about my Jesus. And I know that I am loved. But does my heart? and what does it need in order to start feeling more Real in the ordinary things? What does healing look like? Does this really go back to Stuart (like Pam says)? Or to my father before him? Or is is this just what growing up looks like, and I just think too much? Too much thinking, not enough actual living, actual experiences?

And if my God is as powerful as he is said to be, in the Word that is Life and Light and Truth, then how then do I behave? (We read Psalm 18 Monday night, and I was somewhat overwhelmed by how strong and overpowering the description was).

Dwelling. Growing. Attempting. Messing up. Questioning. Hoping. Looking elsewhere. Trying. Asking for help.
I am His. (and what does that mean?)

I think it would be okay if I went home. Today in church, Steve talked about our primary identity as the church as being servants, and what that meant. The self-sacrificial love that should be 24/7 and not just for "community service opportunities".
I started thinking about the dichotomy between the idea that "I am called to serve Here" and serving the people around you.
At Whitworth, if my identity (rooted in being God's beloved) is that of a servant, I would stay here for forever, trying to serve those around me. I would love Kaitie slavishly, and I don't know that anything would change about her. But I would pour and pour and pour, and maybe even commit spiritual suicide like i did last semester. I would not be in my "sweet spot", the place where my passions/desires/gifts meet the needs of the world. I would continue to be out of place and disjointed.
I could do that. And I would find fulfillment through the International Students who come and visit our house, through the refugees that I would work with twice a week, the kids I worked with on Sundays. And if I did that, I don't think I would be trying to gain status, or be trying to prove myself to the world. I wouldn't be trying to prove myself to God. I feel almost driven by something, but I don't think its selfishness. I think its Jesus.
In the words of Shusako Endo, "I cannot leave the church, Jesus has me in his grasp".
And I am not perfect. I am not pure, except for the purity of Christ which he claims to cover me. I am so bitter and I am broken and I am overcompensating by being strong, but my strength is beautiful too, I think. I think I am right much more often than I actually am. I get frustrated by people who I judge. But at my core, I am Christ's. I have Christ in me.
I could stay here. I could manage to get through this semester, piecing together what I need to stay sane and emotionally stable. I could do all those aforemention fulfilling things. I could get the credit, go to South Africa, but then what? Am I going to learn better to appreciate what is here? Or will I continue to feel a call outward? Will I continue to be discontent?
I don't know that I was ever a college girl. The whole fun, lighthearted, careless existence while learning all these things that will eventually be useful is a neat concept. And I like doing that sometimes. And I like doing that with people that I trust (and appreciate me, I'll be honest). But I want more. you know?
...
So I could go home.
And I could start going to State. Or maybe FPU, but I dunno that I want to jump from one small Christian school to another. And I could still apply to go to South Africa. And I could study in Port Elizabeth or Durban, instead of Stellenbosch. And I could volunteer with GAYG girls. And maybe help with AcaDec at Roosevelt. And I'd go to Kyle's graduation. And I might get a job, move out. Or stay home, do the dishes. I dunno what friends I'd make. I'd get around on the bus and my bike. If I went home, I'd have to find a way to be moving forward, and not just slide back into high school. And I'd need to stay on track to graduate.
...
impediments to leaving:

1. money already paid for semester.
2. would feel bad leaving the class I'm TAing.
3. wouldn't want to leave Iveth.
4. have made new friends from all over. I like them.
5. housing contract?

If I make it through the semester, then it will be time for Stellenbosch, then it will be time for travel, then I could stay there, but then I would eventually have to come back here. I don't know that I'll want to do that any more then than I do now. What is the likelihood of my motivation being so strong that I will be able to push through and get it all done?
...
lots of questions.
searching. praying. contemplating for answers.
...
I am God's Beloved.
No one else gets to define my identity but Him.

This is another reason why Whitworth sometimes really pisses me off.
Today, in my class on Political Change in the 3rd World, we had a conversation about a good book about poverty in India. Good discussion. Good learning. etc etc.
Until people started talking about how in the US when a crop fails its not that big of a deal. We have enough diversity of resources; we have enough government support, etc. etc.
But I don't think that applies to the Central Valley.
Like when ALL the oranges froze two winters ago. I said in class that people starved. I don't know that that is true. They died. I'm 90% sure of that. It could have been from the cold. lack of heat. lack of work. thus lack of money.

John Yoder said that people in Somalia or Ethiopia would have been jealous of the "starvation" in California.
I don't know though.
in 2001, 12.8% of " Low-Income Immigrant Households With Children" (granted, that is a lot of qualifiers) were Hungry; only about half were considered "stable" or secure in their food sources. Even low income families where the parents were born in the United States had a hunger rate of over 10%. Half of low-income families could not eat "balanced meals"

when crops fail and thus there are no jobs harvesting...
when no one comes into your restaurant or store because almost the entire town works in the fields...
when the food banks run out of food the second day of the week...
when so many kids qualify for free/reduced lunches that certain schools don't even require the paperwork anymore... (including the city high schools that my bro and I attended... not even just the ones in the countryside, which are poorer.)
when illegal immigrants don't qualify for Food Stamps...
when those statistics are over 7 years old, and the economic situation has only worsened since then...

what the hell do you think happens?
they bask in the nutrients of the American air?


http://www.csufresno.edu/ccchhs/documents/childrens_institute/Immigrant_Children_brief.pdf
Hunger and Food Insecurity Among San Joaquin Valley Children in Immigrant Families
Petra Sutton, Virginia Rondero Hernandez, and Kathleen Curtis
A Publication of the Central California Childrens Institute, California State University, Fresno