a child's cry.

Saturday, August 4, 2007

This has to be, what, my 5th? 6th year at Go-Camp? I have been touched and man-handled by Jesus every time. However, none can possibly compare to the past two days. All week I have been praying earnestly for brokenness; for deliverance from my past mistakes and relationships and self-inflicted guilt and shame, because I know without a doubt that I cannot be healed from that past unless the walls which I so diligently built up have been mercilessly torn down.
I began the week, this year as staff rather than a camper, focused solely on setting an example to the younger kids which surrounded me- mostly in worship. I looked around me, observing some of the other staff far ahead of me in my spiritual walk and praising God with such animation, and naturally did the same. Too bad I didn’t know any of the songs and felt like an idiot the whole time rather than focusing on the words that were coming out of my mouth and what they meant. I was too busy making sure my harmony was on, that I was sucking in my stomach and swaying back and forth on beat. It wasn’t until half way through the week that I realized that this is not how I worship. I am not this animated person who dances, who sings at the top of their lungs. I can’t sing! My worship is looking around me and God breaking my heart for the people- His children- that I see hurting and longing for the same fullness of the Spirit that I do. Prayers surge out of my mouth and tears stream down my face and I beg in desperation for God to acknowledge and bless His kids as they throw themselves at His feet. He meets us as we are, in all our filth and grubbiness.
As Friday rolls around, I get a text message from Whitney saying that we lost our house, the one I was supposed to be moving into the week after Go-Camp, because Danna backed out of the deal. Anger is aroused and the landlord rips me apart when I call for more clarification. I notice bumps in places they shouldn’t be, as I try and prepare myself for the reality that I might have something which will stay with me for the rest of my life, making my housing situation seem miniscule.
Today was our carnival, the outreach we have been practicing for all week and finally are able to perform and minister to people who live right next to the church. We went to Manitou Park. A little after dinner, I found a quiet sunny spot on the grass and just lay down for a couple minutes, and prayed. I prayed for peace, for strength to find joy in my trials and rejoice in my weaknesses and tribulations. Pastor Lance leaned over as I opened my eyes for a second, and simply asked if I was ok. I assured him yes.
The swings seemed to be my main attraction. As the rest of the camp began to tear down the carnival we had been running since 2pm, I took little Rebecca to the kiddy swings and the second I set her in that swing, a little girl who would change my life ran up from out f nowhere, and with a beaming smile, asked for ‘up’ and lifted her arms as I picked her up and set her in the swing right next to Rebecca, and began to push.
First, please let me tell you of my love for children. Children are the one group of people- little people, in their case- who can make a heart such as mine that has been calloused and hardened for ages completely melt in an instant. I have a list of my top ten favorite things: conversation being number one, laughing being second, and children being third. I won’t go into the other seven, but trust me, they’re good. Children were always drawn to me too, latching themselves onto me, claiming me as their best friend. Yasmeen, for example, is my five year old best friend. She is my old assistant basketball coach’s daughter and well, very possessive. She calls me, leaves me voicemails, everything. And I could not ask for a more loyal best friend.
Kayvon and I talked about a lot of things as she swung. She was a smart and absolutely gorgeous 3 year old, who looked exactly like Yasmeen, and her name was Kayvon. Kayvon loved to swing. She always insisted on ‘higher, higher’ as she laughed. The ice cream truck served as a main topic of conversation for a while and she strained to try and see it at each high point of her back-and-forth motion, screaming for joy if she could spot the bright yellow speaker atop a similarly colored roof. We expressed a common love for Spongebob ice cream, and decided that if we both had had any money, that is what we would get. Music started behind me, as the worship team was getting ready to start the second session, and she insisted upon dancing, the only thing that could have possibly gotten her out of that swing. Like I said, the girl loved to swing.
We walked hand in hand over to the little patch of pavement where the worship team was set up and as the music started, we began to, naturally, get our groove on. She mimicked my every move. She clapped when I did, and wherever I clapped. We must have gone through the whole ‘head, shoulders knees and toes’ motions over and over again. She grabbed both of my hand as we danced in a circle of two. Ethan kinda scooted over, returning my smile [which, by the way, hadn’t left my face since I had met her] and asked where she came from. Over there, I rolled my head in the direction of the swings and the playground. He looked around, watching for a searching parent or guardian and, confused, asked me again. This time I stopped dancing, realizing that I hadn’t seen her with anyone really. I led her back over to the playground, asking her who she was here with and where they were. Gramma brought her, with Auntie Denise and her brother Keanon- he was big, she said.
We began to walk around the perimeter of the park, as she made comments which truly disturbed me, comments saying that oh man, she had been left again. I was sure the black woman in the front row was her gramma and Kayvon just must have not seen her. I had seen the woman sitting right by the swing set as I had pushed her before, she even commented in on part of Kayvon’s and my conversation. But the woman denied any relation to my new little friend. This confirmed the sick feeling that was starting to well up in the pit of my stomach.
I set her back in the swings as I told Liane that Kayvon didn’t know where her gramma went. She and Warren watched Kayvon as I went to go do my dance, although I never took my eyes off of Kayvon the whole time. I went immediately back to her after the dance was finished, as she ran to me after being surrounded by strangers for a good 5 minutes. Liane had called the police and said they were on their way. I began to pray. Hard.
People began to surround the little “lost” girl, asking her questions and crowding around us. Her eyes got bigger and stared only at me. I asked for people to clear out, that Kayvon was getting scared. I saw a police car pull up and Liane motioned for me to bring her over as she gave the officer the information I had told her. Her full name was Kayvon Katherine McField, age 3, turning 4 in September. She didn’t know her preschool’s name but her teacher was Miss Tanya. Mommy had broken her leg, when I asked how, she told me flatly that she ran into a car. Turns out that Mommy had been crossing Tacoma Avenue the night before at 11pm with Kayvon in the stroller to get her fix of heroin when she was hit by a car, missing Kayvon by only inches. Custody was transferred to her gramma that night. Only 14 hours later, Gramma didn’t realize she was missing.
When we finally coaxed her out of the swing, Kayvon clung to my neck after hitting her mouth on one of the chain links. Warren came over to take her to the officer and she screamed, her little hands grasping tighter to my shirt and burying her face in my shoulder. I held her for what felt like hours, I don’t know how long it really was. Teresa Atkins brought over some graham crackers for Kayvon to eat. She’d been by herself for hours and was starving. Teresa touched my arm and asked if I was ok. I thought I was. Moms surrounded me, watching this little girl cling to me amidst a whirlwind of confusion, ignorance and fear. I gave the officer my contact information in case CPS were to do an investigation, as vans came to take campers and staff back to PSCC. Eventually, Liane and I stood alone with the officer, the rest of the park deserted except for a few people tearing down amps and sounds equipment, and I gently- as well as reluctantly- handed Kayvon over to the officer to go in the front seat, heading back to Gramma’s. Well, Gramma’s was the last place I wanted that child to be. A 77 year old woman who had just left her in a park where we had found 100 sex offenders lived by did not, by any means, sound like a plan to me. I wanted that girl to never leave my arms again, much less go straight into those of a woman. He said he was going to see the reaction and sense the ‘alarm factor’ when he showed up on her doorstep. Alarm factor? She had enough time between the phone call letting her know he was coming and the time he got there to build up the sufficient ‘alarm’ necessary to be convincing! My heart was breaking for this little girl, so desensitized from the situation that had happened to her less than 24 hours before that she was willing to take love in any form it would come, even if it meant some random chick wearing a seemingly common t-shirt in the park that was willing to push her on the swings.
As Liane and I walked back to the car, she asked me how I was doing and set her hand gently on my back. Tears poured down my face upon contact, as I said anything, they can do anything to anyone, but NOT children. That was the one thing that I cannot tolerate. My heart continued to break, and not only for her, but for God’s children. Just the suffering and wrongs that must be endured that not did they not deserve, but weren’t even self-inflicted. For as long as I can remember, every hardship that I have ever gone through I believed to be self-inflicted- a result of a situation that I had gotten myself into either by choice or due to failure to do the right thing. but this child, this innocent and beautiful little girl who had just been taken from me to be sent back into the hands of someone- and I can say that yes, it could have been anyone’s accident leaving a child somewhere due to miscommunication, but when the stakes were so high is when I get a little flustered. Kids are my soft spot. End of story. And this one just so happen to have had enough time to make a big enough impact to where I saw myself in her. There she had been, wandering aimlessly around in search of some form of love in the midst of extreme danger, completely numb to the complete horrors she witnessed to those who were supposed to play that role in her life, when she has no choice but to succumb to the love of someone who sees her for what she is truly worth.
I can honestly say that if given the chance, I would have taken Kayvon home with me and kept her as my own, showing her what it is liked to be loved for what she is. Her mom, while she’s shooting up in the bedroom while her gorgeous daughter plays alone in front of the TV, has no idea of the beauty and intelligence that she is missing out on. She has absolutely no clue that the child she may see as a burden and a cut from her heroin savings to buy food for, is really an actual human being who is desperate for love.
I will continue to pray for Kayvon Katherine McField. I pray that no matter where she is or who she is with that she will always be reminded and assured that Someone loves her and has His hand on her life, keeping her protected from those who dare to refute the fact that her life is precious, that the daughter of a woman who hurts so much that she needs to remove herself mentally and emotionally from situations that she cannot herself take responsibility for would always be a precious child of God.
I don’t know that I’ll ever see Kayvon again, or if she’ll remember who I am or that Saturday even ever happened. But as Liane and I prayed over that little girl, we planted a seed in her that can only grow, and that I firmly believe will grow, and flourish too. My heart will continue to break for the children of God. This week I was reminded of two different passages which mean a whole lot more to me than they did before. The first is 2 Corinthians 12:7-10.
And lest I should be exalted above measure by the abundance of the revelation, a thorn in the flesh was given to me, a messenger of satan to buffet me lest I be exalted above measure. Concerning this thing I pleaded with the Lord three times that it might depart from me. And He said to me “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in your weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast of my infirmities that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in my infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, He is strong.
The second in 1 Peter 5:10.
But may the God of all grace, who called us to His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after you have suffered for a while, perfect, establish, strengthen and settle you.
I learn to rejoice in my sufferings, because while not only does it strengthen me, is strengthens my testimony, allowing me to relate and minister- even if they don’t know it- to a wider variety of people. This week ends an extremely long spiritual dry spell for me, and begins an ongoing cycle of being completely submerged in the love of God, forcing myself to be dunked continuously underneath the surface of my flesh and in search of something deeper. For there is no greater gift than love, nor a greater weapon to fight a loveless world with.

even flow.

We lay our bodies flat against the concrete floor of the cathedral in the middle of complete silence. Above me loomed old chandeliers and wooden slats that have been there for centuries, crossing over each other amidst the towering white columns, cracking in their old age and bearing the sounds of harmonious voices and countless stories told.

Then they started singing. My eyelids fell as I lay there, and a peace overwhelmed me that had been absent for too long. I’d been avoiding it, for reasons that I wanted to forget- or even dismiss for fear that the moment would pass before I had the chance to fully take it in. The only sounds were of people shuffling in, finding their spots on the same cold ground on which I no longer felt. Now was not the time to become emotional.

In the dim light, my mind began to churn. It’s what happens whenever I lay down, really. My body is finally able to rest from its constant movement and strains as my mental state transitions from its robotic routine that I have somehow forced it to habitually take on, to processing the things it wasn’t allowed to break and focus on before.

As their voices rose, they filled every crack and crevice of the cathedral, as well as my entire body. But they could not penetrate my mind. The peace my body felt, my mind blocked out as if it were the last time I would let it think. I had so carefully trained it to be selective and guarded, and now the one thing I longed for the most, I couldn’t bring myself to let in.

The harmonies and synchronized power of their words flowed throughout my head, yet I did not hear them. I felt the presence, yes, but I had worked too hard to avoid my emotions to let prayer through song penetrate the wall that stood strong- no, unbreakable- to crumble in the span of thirty minutes. Over what? Pent up thoughts and feelings from my past that I had already dealt with? My strength was what kept me going, what allowed me to live the way I so adamantly chose to live and to be the person I had become. Not now, not after this long.

I took a deep breath in as my mind tried to switch from compartmentalized to an expansive state. Old habits die hard, unfortunately, and I brought myself back to the present. The friendships I’d made and helped to grow into what they had become came to mind. My want to be there for them, to love and to invest in their lives firmly tugged on my heart. It is something I will always strive for, succeed and fail to do. It’s a strange concept to think that my heart can hurt so deeply for the people I care so dearly about, yet for myself I couldn’t scratch the surface even if I wanted to.

The cathedral stood over me, filling more and more with this presence- this peace that I felt all around, yet couldn’t bring myself to take in, and I slowly let the air out of my lungs. If only I had told you when I had the chance, when you were still here, when it wasn’t too late, that I had loved you more than any amount of words combined could express. My only wish now is that I won’t make the same mistake twice.

Training wheels. I’m back to stage one, but I’m learning once again how to be human.

farewell to you.

It’s a love hate relationship. It’s the flaky boyfriend that sometimes comes through when you realize that your life suddenly lacks structure, and It seems to be the only logical souse of stability you have to hold onto. Soon dependency turns into emotion, and emotion to complete devotion to this relationship in which you are giving your all but only receive the convenience of it all.

The pain seeps deeper and deeper as you invest more into finding some way to make things work, to be on the receiving end of love and appreciation, to reciprocate some sort of fulfillment to you. After all, it’s been your goal since day one. A commitment to give your whole self until the end, stopping at nothing until it is finally recognized.

But then there comes the moment when you have your goal in sight, where it’s so close you can touch it. Nothing motivates you more to push yourself harder, better, faster, stronger- full force until it’s yours. Excitement fills every crevice of who you are, for this has become your life now. All else aside, this is it. It’s then when they begin to talk about pursuing other goals, higher priorities, a more holistically-centered goal. Your sprint remains stagnant rather than the constant acceleration it was, and the less your counterpart looks at you, the slower you are able to move despite the fact that you’re pushing harder now. Make it look at you, show it you’re still dedicated- still willing to do anything all the same.

You’re starting to become, well, a risk. Ripping at the seams, I might even go as far to say.

I’ve given this everything, sacrificed more, and it was completely invalidated. The disclaimers you give right before the “but”, doesn’t cut it anymore, and all I have left are the things I left behind. I’m not sure if I’m in it just for the sake of being in it, or because I have convinced myself that I will actually be fulfilled someday. I hate the thought of quitting, accepting that I failed. But I’ve been here before, the point where it’s a one-sided relationship and it’s working only at my expense, and I can only go so long giving everything I have to receive nothing in return.

I’ll finish this one out- this one- because I don’t quit. I’ve committed to this season of my life and am held accountable to people other than myself, people who have invested in me and who depend on me. I would never take something unfortunate that happened to me and in turn, screw other people involved before I finished my time. So here’s to a good run, crew, but I’m through being your bitch.

helvetica

it was not until today that i realized that my intended career demanded me to, in a sense, change my persona- my way of going about things. i have never considered myself a very "anal" person, and yet here i am sitting in my art history class, growing progressively more annoyed at that fact that the text on my professor's slides weren't kerned correctly [letter spacing]. i found myself visualizing the words flipped upside down and just being horrified at the immense negative space between the "i" and the "l" in the word "will". completely uneven. karen, my typography professor, would have a heart attack.

in front of me lays the never-ending list of things i have yet to turn in and have yet to even complete. some have been due since the second week, some are due tomorrow. shoot me in the face. nannying once or twice a week doesn't exactly pay the phone bill, for groceries, and art supplies. with matte boards at $2.50 a piece and karen demanding needing at least 12 of them for both my typography and visual communications classes for part of my final project- not including paying for 2 of each composition to be printed, getting a 2-inch think notebook bound with all of my prelim sketches mounted on thick black construction paper, mounting a 2x3' poster on foamcore and writing a research paper on 6-8 design firms i am considering doing my internship for. i may need to start stealing from 7-11 when i end up eating meals there during 8-hour design sessions in the art center.

we watched the movie "helvetica" today in type- yes, the like font. it is literally everywhere. target, arco, american apparel, new york subway signs, adidas, sears, etc.. people rave about this font. true, it's very universal, and when you have no particular message to get across and no tone you want to convey your lack of a message with, then helvetica truly is the perfect font. but "explosion" written in helvetica does not explode, "third date" written in helvetica does not convince me that there is any chemistry to spark even the asking of the second date. it's not until you see the passion of the people before you in a certain field that it forces you to realize what you're getting yourself into.

a sonnet in the sun.

the sound of cars speeding by drown out the music blaring in my ears. i wish the sun would come back.

you were so peaceful when i left you this morning. i wish i cared more for you, that i'd allow myself to feel. i have too many thoughts racing through my mind to make room for the unnecessary things in life. maybe they are necessities, but not right now.

i scribble them down as they come as i wait for the bus to get to my stop. my hair is actually down and curled, and i'm wearing your favorite skirt. i'll be late again.

i just want it to be summer again. i felt in the summer- there was nothing to think about. we can wake up together and just talk, like how it was, and you can kiss me til we've wasted the whole day away. then maybe i'll start to miss you when you leave. maybe. i still don't know how i feel about you.

i'll wait at the lake for you to call, as my feet dangle in the water, and if you don't then that's fine. i'll let the sun dace across my face as my mind will wander elsewhere. i loved you first.

my music gets louder. i'll be deaf before age thirty, probably. and you. well, you won't remember my name.

a brief intermission

I saw you cry today, the pain spread across your face
I saw you smile today, trying so hard to fill the empty space.
Fearing the end with all you are, holding back what you have to give
Let it go, release the hurt and pain so that you may live.
It has to end to begin.

Love for loveless and hope for the hopeless, your false strength is running dry
It hurts to let go, no matter how many times you don’t let yourself cry.
It’s holding back that gets you, it has failed you every time.
You’ve begged for your freedom so many times; well, your troubles are just like mine.
And it has to end to begin.

You forget that love is not measured how it is given, but how it is embraced.
And still you hold back as to not get hurt, keeping what little you have- just in case.
I know you think that no one cares, and I know it’s constantly on your mind.
Your heart is crying out for love, and seemingly no one has the time.
Well, because I saw you smile today and you finally let me in,
So begins the infamous ‘healing process’, because as you know- it has to end to begin.

a little self-evaluation: aka word vomit

it's weird, i'm sitting here watching sex and the city and the only thing i can manage to think about is the emotional wreck that has defined my friendships. i find myself wanting, longing so much for these beautiful friendships to devote myself to and to just pour into, and yet i somehow come up short. i dont know if it's me, questioning myself to no end and becoming the person who i feel is needed, who fulfills the certain need of whatever friend needs me at the time.
is it me? or is it just what happens to people like me? i guess i consider myself a loyal person, pretty mindful of the people around me with a passion for nothing more than to just be that person to depend on. i love conversation. i love just talking and spending time with people, it's my love language. yet i still manage to find the friends which fulfill my want for conversation and time who only fall in the 'fair-weather friend' category. yes, i have fallen in that category before. who hasn't? but i'd like to think that loyalty will eventaully take over and i'll be there for my friends when they need me. maybe that's the problem, i can be the person who loves being there when people need them. i hate it, why is it that we get into these mindsets that unless someone expresses a dire need for a friend that tht is when we step in? friendship is a consistent relationship, one that is necessary at all times. it's the little things that friends fulfill for each other; stopping by on their way to class just to say hey, calling when they're bored and thought of you, making time to hang out and invest time and energy into them, and just paying attention. at least these are the things i notice. back to the whole understanding topic, that is what i truly value in a friendship.
so why is it that while i seem to be so good at critiquing and reasoning the strange behavior of the friends i seem to attract, i cannot seem to understand my own cycle of this attraction. yes it's tedious and frustrating and hurtful, but it's consistently reoccurring. WHY. that is what gets me. is it because i have been exposed or possibly been practicing this kind of behavior for so long, or simply the way i am or have become? usually i know myself, the way i am and why, but now this feeling of being unsure is kind of unsettling. to be suddenly jolted so hard that i question myself is a new phenomenon. maybe it is me, maybe i never knew myself and my idea of logic was completely off. that will be yet something else to get used to, and i'm not sure how i feel about it. change is usually something i'm open-minded to, something i can adjust to pretty smoothly. but to have my whole world asolutely shaken? yea.. about that.