My sister found this in the archives of her tumblr. I remember writing it, and i think it was about the boy who left and came back. I hadn’t been able to rid myself of the emotional entanglement until about a year ago.
It was also about church and its frustrations. It was about me and my sisters and the constant fight to be part of a church ‘family’ that seemed to reject us and have no room for us.
I wanted to leave. and have a different life. Write a different story. Change the entire narrative.
This was birthed out of that.
This time last year i was having almost daily conversations with a guy I grew up with. i may have gotten into my feelings about him, but a year later I can look back and honestly say I’m free of those. He’s a nice guy, very sweet, we just don’t, meet at the most important points.
I realise though that for all those things, he may have been in his feelings for someone else. To be honest throughout our acquaintance, and my having schoolgirl crushes on him, I can’t say he has ever seen me. I don’t think he would ever choose me.
But in the last year, I have been realising that the right person will.
The right person will always see me.
He will always choose me.
Every moment, every day.
The right person will.
I work in a restaurant. Every sunday like clockwork the after church lunch crowd will descend on the restaurant for their weekly lunch fix and every week i serve them thinking, “community is nice.”
I miss it. I miss being part of a group of people, of a community. I haven’t had that in a long time. I realise it’s important to have a community of people, especially in a foreign country.
At the same time I’m also a little afraid.
I’ve grown up in church. Up until three years ago I was an avid pew filler. I had friends although I was not part of the cool crowd. I had always wanted to be part of the cool crowd. It never happened – mostly because I think I outgrew that need to be accepted by them. I say that but maybe it’s not completely true, because rejection by your peers hurts. We lived parallel lives- listened to the same music, lived in the same area, close in age- but somehow we really never clicked. It always felt like our conversations were hit or miss and we weren’t interested in the same things.
That was my community for eight years. An experience that felt like it was slowly chipping away at the wood of my identity and giftings, although to be fair there were times used for good there too.
In retrospect, it was a traumatic experience. One that makes me wary of church as an institution, and weary of being around Christians. My sisters and I often talk about it, and to be honest, it was toxic too. There is still a lot to get out of the system, less than in the beginning, but maybe some residue still exists. The experience robbed us. And turned us upside down and inside out.
It’s only recently that I’ve started to come out of the fire, and Jesus has been drawing me out in the last few months, reminding me of who I am. That he gives beauty for ashes, and he never left, even when the smoke was so dense that I couldn’t see. It’s him that whispers to give community another try, give people a second chance.
And despite my fear, despite my experience, I start to think-
Maybe I will.