What 8,000 miles really feels like

Days abroad: 125

Friends, we are officially over a third of the way through this crazy journey! That blows my mind. This week for the first time I felt the 8,000 miles. I felt what it meant that Daddy can’t be here in a few hours and I can’t lay my head on Mother Bear’s lap and let her play with my curls. My 20 year old body suddenly felt 4; I was once again a little red haired girl standing by a beach in Kaitaia covered in sand completely lost. But that’s a story for another day.

Many of you would have heard about the terrible thing that happened on my campus on Monday; we lost a Longhorn in broad daylight, by the library, due to the infliction of a blade. The whole day was weird. It started off like any other Monday, I had a class project and then came home to have a nap because my meeting was cancelled. I woke up to find texts flooding my phone to stay safe, stay home and not wear any of my Greek letters. I praise God that I was not on campus or having to evacuate anywhere. The rumours were horrendous, reports of more stabbings came left, right, and centre – at one stage there was a man coming door to door in my building after a stabbing in our parking garage.

I stay calm in the face of adversity, it normally takes me a few hours or days to process fear or danger. This time it hit me through a video of a sweet, sweet boy singing. He was a Freshman, who loved his Momma, his beautiful girlfriend, his brother and everyone he knew, and adored his Dad. I looked into his face, listened to the song and my heart broke. I suddenly felt very vulnerable, the events of the day became real and my safety net was on the other side of the world. As anyone who knows me well can attest to, I am a crier. I am more a sobber than a crier, but I cry all the time and for no reason. Movies are a nightmare for me – waterproof mascara is a must. Makeup to Sunday night church never happens because I end up with trails down my cheeks. With my heart in a million pieces on the floor I needed to scream into my mattress, wrap my arms around my massive Teddy and eat my sister’s fondue.

The weight of the 8,000 miles was suddenly very real and very heavy. The extent of the coming seven months seemed too long. I did not feel safe, I still do not feel safe. I suddenly cannot comfortably walk to football at 5:30am, something I previously would have (naively) done without a care in the world. I am constantly scanning crowds when I walk for more than just cute boys and outfit ideas. I panic when someone walks fast or breaths hard behind me. I still have not had a good cry. Austin is home and will always be a home to me, but my heart has not found a safe landing pad. I don’t have a Daddy whose shoulder I can sob into or an Ouma who can bring me tea while I sit and contemplate life.

I still love my life here and am beyond happy to be here, the thought of leaving still terrifies me. But I want my family. I want to stop having to introduce myself to people wherever I go and having to always be polite. I want, just for one day, to be able to look disgusting, eat nothing all day and be rude to someone. Adult life where you have to always be on point is exhausting. I miss being able to be safely unpolished. Unpolished me is ugly, messy and very, very vulnerable. Although I am all for vulnerability and do wear my heart on my sleeve, I do not let many people into the very depth of my heart. The part that needs the most care and a special kind of unconditional love. The people that know and understand that part of me, without me having to explain it to them or voice my problems are so far away and I only now feel it.

Yes, you could summarise this as Petro is just homesick after 5 months abroad, but this is more than just missing New Zealand, or my family and friends. This is missing that safe, familiar place. That walk to Lifegroup, where you know which angle to cut across the rugby field to avoid the worst of the post-scrum mud patches, and where the tea is kept once you get there. It’s knowing that a Rob Roy trip and a serious chat in the park is just a text away. It’s having the beach a block away, to take an early evening walk and clear your head. It’s that feeling of walking downstairs and having a little ball of white fluff jump against your legs because she missed you the five minutes you were out of the room. I miss my family, but most of all my heart misses feeling safe.

I am going to bring this to a happy closing, because I would hate for you to think that I am having the worst time in Austin. On Tuesday, following the death of our Longhorn a bunch of Christians gathered by the Tower to worship and pray for everyone affected by the tragedy and for peace on our campus. I cried (surprise, surprise) as we sang that God is a good, good Father, my heart really questioning that truth; when we prayed for Mrs Brown who will never see her baby again; for our campus to not be divided by hope; but mostly when we prayed for the body with the knife. He is our brother too, also has burnt orange blood in his veins, and Jesus loves him just the same.

Afterwards, I was sitting on the stairs collecting myself before a study group when a group walked past and asked among themselves what the gathering was. The explanation offered was, “Oh, some frat thing.” I chuckled at their mistake, before turning back and being gobsmacked, realising that the majority of the crowd leftover were guys. It was so beautiful to see so many men gathered under Jesus’ name to pray for their campus and our Longhorn family. At the official campus memorial the next day, a similar feeling overwhelmed my heart when in the middle of a song there were suddenly a sea of horns in the air – as if to stand together in love and stand against fear. It was two of the most beautiful moments I have seen in my entire life.

There will be good that comes from this grief; answers from this doubt; laughter from this pain; and pain from this fear. I truly believe that with all my heart.

Pandora’s Box: Technology & Shame

Week 2 of Pandora’s Box! We’re starting off slowly and will gradually get uglier and messier here on the ol’ blog. This week we tag-team to Mima, who wrote about how technology stole our worth and can cause so much shame because it steals the identity for which we were created. How technology is shaping and taking over our lives is often talked about, and the conversation is slowly turning also to how much shame and identity questioning is caused by social media. So, here’s our take on a very important topic that is going to keep getting more important as technology and social media gets bigger.

 

The first identity you and I ever held was child, daughter or son.
We were held in tender arms as we uttered our first cries and were nestled upon our mother’s hearts.
We fastened ourselves upon her bosom in complete trust that she would nourish us and not give us poison.
Our fathers held us, a fragile bundle in hands that could easily engulf but instead swore to protect and love.
Our needs of being seen, being known, being love, being taken care of were all met.
As children our needs were easily met, or is more accurate to say our needs were more readily explained and affirmed?

In an ideal world the above would be normal, it isn’t.
Some of you have never known what pure unconditional love from your mother looks or feels like.
Some of you have never known what pure unconditional love from your father looks or feels like.
Some of you have never known what pure unconditional love from anyone looks or feels like.
When this need to be loved is not met by Someone outside of ourselves, we go looking for that Someone who or whatever they maybe.

(Please note you are completely free to argue with me,)

What if social media is parenting us? What if that has become the place we feel safe, known, loved.
What if we are being coached to connect better with a screen than we are with tangible presence?
What if we have been taught to associate the number of likes with life?
What if we rather take a picture of where we were so that other people know where we were rather than enjoy being in the moment.
Who do we turn to in the midst of a crisis?
When we are bored?
When we want to celebrate?
When we want?
When we need?
Who do we reach out to?

I understand why it’s easier to interact with your screen than it is to talk to flesh and blood.
There is no risk.
Your screen won’t judge you.
You can hide behind it and no one is the wiser.
You can speak to it and it doesn’t speak back.
It can just lie there lifeless in your hands and yet somehow it holds your life.

When you have thought or have been brought up thinking that maybe you are not worth the risk of loving, it’s hard to risk and let others in. I was brought up in a good home and like any good home it has its issues, added to that a sinful nature, a fallen world; the result is a trapped mind.

Trapped in looking for validation any place other than where it is freely given.
Trapped in placing other fallen beings as my judge when there is only one true and just Judge.
Trapped in believing that no one can save me so I have to look out for myself.
So I scroll through the likes, flick through the faces that light up, do a song and dance for my “crowd”.

When did technology when did social media become our Savior, Judge and Lord? The day we forgot to love our God with all our strength, all our heart and with all our soul.

As you grow and learn, you realize that getting into a relationship is not the end goal, its merely the beginning. You find that comparatively getting into a relationship is far easier than maintaining, sustaining and growing said relationship.

You find that to grow a relationship requires risk, opening up your heart fully to another person. What if true life is found within risking it all? What if true life is found in being present in both our relationship with God and our relationship with others?

Jesus modelled that.

He showed that it’s a relationship with the Father, a needy relationship, a submitted relationship that is where true life is found.  A relationship where things get messy, where things are not Pinterest perfect or Instagram worthy. Where the mark of our relationship with God is not that we graduate into self-sufficiency but we graduate into childlikeness dependency.

To be quite honest, the gospel tastes like vinegar to me sometimes I wanna spit it out and run away. Maybe when you have had a lifetime of drinking poison, the antidote actually tastes bitter not because its bad but because its different.

Heaven looks nothing like this planet, there is no orphan mentality, there is no fear of authority, there is no sense of being lost, there is no death, and there are no lies. There is a Heavenly Good Father cares for us, wants the best for us, protects us, loves us and that all of those needs were met in Jesus.

Am I the only one who struggles with this? That the moment I repented and said yes to God (Christianese of accepted God into my heart) instantly the righteousness of Jesus was put on me and I was adopted into the Kingdom of Heaven. God the creator of the heavens is now my Father and He loves me. He wants to be the one I got to when I am bored, when I am needy, when I am tempted to booty call that guy, when I am mess.

To be human, I have realized is to be in a constant state of need. To be a Christian is to consistently bring that need to God my Father and expect Him to meet it. We can’t outgrow our childlikeness, we can try and stuff it down but deep down inside we know we are not that strong, we are not that great. And that’s okay.

God is a good father, who nourishes us more than our mothers can, protects us more than our fathers can and loves us far more than the love of anyone on this planet.

So, let’s stop making idols out of our phones, our sex drive, our parents, our lovers, our kids, our food, our bodies, our thought, our feelings.
Let us return to God, believe in Him and be the much loved child whose needs are always met.

You will always be a child in Your Heavenly Father’s eyes and that is more than okay.