Can I share a piece of my heart that has lingered and crept in the shadows for a long, long time, yet I know I am not the only one who thinks like I do. I know there are others out there, exactly like me. Maybe they're only a few, maybe there's many, but I want to say something. I don't have answers, and I haven't thought it all the way through, but what I have thought and regretted and wondered is coming from many years in the making.
In short, I grew up pretty rich. Not like millionaire status rich, maybe, I don't really know because my parents did well to teach my sister and I that our money is not our own to use for our personal gains. But in comparison to my friends, I was rich. My bedroom back home was almost as big as my first apartment. I never lacked nice food or fancy clothes (for a teenager). I drove a Mustang with 6 mach speakers as my first car that I got for my 16th birthday, which made my parents upset that I was given something so nice by the same family member who gave my sister a 1989 Chevy Z convertible for hers. (But hey, that Chevy was still awesome, but it was 15 years old when she got it, mine was 1.) I still have that Mustang, and with her having almost 100,000 miles she's still really good to me. I grew up in Christian academies and had an education that led me to be at least two grades ahead of my classmates in high school when I transitioned to public school--except in Math, in which I hated it so I struggled no matter the level. (Except ironically for Probability and Stats honors in which I barely missed an A.) But I didn't realize how "good" I had it, or how much I had, until I became a missionary. I know they didn't mean it, necessarily in a negative light, but many of the people in this particular branch of the organization really stressed leaving everything of the world behind and selling it all for Jesus. I was surrounded by dozens of people who quite literally did exactly that just so they could afford to come to the school segment, and then they believed in Jesus for the rest. Mine was paid in full before I boarded the plane by my parents. My friends and co-workers struggled to pay the $200 a month to pay for rent to stay on the base located in a ghetto neighborhood. I spent $250/month just on gas--some of which my parents helped pay. I remember when I went to India, thinking how many of them I could sit comfortably in my room at home which I thought was good enough for just me and my desk, futon, bookshelf, bed, dresser, and nightstand. (At least 25 was my guestimate.) I saw naked babies clinging to their mothers, starving, begging for one rupee (45 rupees was the equivalent to $1). I lived out of one camping backpack and a small duffel bag for three months.
I may not know what's it's like to be poor, but I know what it's like to struggle and have faith. For the first few months after graduating from CFNI I struggled with money and time. My job wasn't giving me full time and the pay wasn't covering the bills. The only reason I was never late is because my parents blessed me with some money as a graduation gift, I ate three meals a week at the hotel - sometimes more when co-workers blessed me with free food. I was stingent on power and spent the first week using only one small light in my living room and candles with no furniture except a borrowed blow up bed and a few sketches and decoration plaques I picked up along the way of school. I had an amazing relationship with my fiance, but he lived 36 miles away. And when your car gets 12 mpg that wasn't an option to see him but once a week if I was lucky, maybe twice. But I cannot tell you that I was satisfied, in fact, I was miserable.
I sometimes thought about my time in India or my time with the other missionaries, and how I still had it pretty decent overall. But then I would look on Facebook (but only for a few minutes because I couldn't afford wifi), and see my classmates and friends from the mission filed, wondering if I made the right choice. Part of me felt like this was a punishment from God for choosing money over missions. I was so sick of church politics, and the stereotypes and the fake people who would mistake faith as a "fake it til you make it." I didn't want any part of those people anymore. I would skip church some Sundays because I didn't feel like I belonged, I felt like I was just the trophy girl of Rhys in some of their eyes and they wouldn't greet me, even though you couldn't miss me. And please forgive me for saying this, but I have to be honest, but for a little while I hated the Church and I started to dislike Christians. I was mad because I felt like I wasted time at a place I didn't feel like I fit in or studied subject where I would sit in some classes and wonder if I belong. Mind you, I did not hate Jesus, not in the least, I still loved him, and I would continue to trust Him as bills would pile high, and I made sure to tithe to someone because I had to prove to myself that I trust God would pay my way. I would open up to Rhys and cry and ask for him to forgive me, because he was the closest shadow of Jesus' love that I could find for a short time. I would sit in my car and weep because there was such a deep struggle within me. Even now as I type this, tears stroll down my face. I weep for the human race.
We are so torn, we are so divided. We have drawn the lines and cast a line, and now we play a horrible game of tug of war in which the loser will drown while the winner rejoices over the death of the weak.
How did we get so far from the Truth? Why do we let political sidelines decide our religious beliefs? Why do we choose to hate the sinner for the sin? Why do we stereotype and point the finger when we are no better? We may not be firing a physical gun, but we are persecuting and shooting our enemies with fiery darts rather than embracing them with loving arms.
I am guilty.
I am torn.
I am human.
I have made mistakes.
I have judged wrongly.
I have accused horribly.
I have lied.
I am a hypocrite.
I am trying to repent and to make it right within my own heart and life.
And for all of that, I am sorry.
I've been scared, scared of the unknown, scared of misconceptions, and misconstrued notions.
I was scared of who I was supposed to be, because I see now she is different than anything or anyone who has ever and will ever live again.
In the last few months everything was turned upside down.
I got a new job in which I make double the money I did. Some months more.
I am married to my best friend in the whole world, and we have never fought, never argued, never even had a dispute.
I live in a country where I have the freedom to do as I want and what I please.
I found the most amazing Church where I feel at home, and like they not only know me (as me) but they want to be with me. They don't care about where I came from (which says a lot in Church-ese since I hail from Sin City). They want to help me get where God wants me to be.
My parents blessed Rhys and I with a far better wedding than anything we could have ever hoped or dreamt of having.
Rhys and I live in an apartment full of blessings that people gave us to help celebrate our new life together, and it's in a safe neighborhood (no more gunshots, sirens every five seconds, or drunks screaming threatening to kill one another).
My bosses love me and continue to encourage me and tell me I am doing a great job.
I have the whole world in my hands, and yet I still struggle,
I struggle because I go back to India. I go back to verses like Luke 9:58, Romans 12:2, and Mark 10:17-30 where so many have taught that it's best to have nothing but Jesus than to have the world. I struggle because I see some of my friends on Facebook who struggle with finances and purpose and identity. I weep because I see friends who feel they have no purpose and they take their lives, like my friend from high school theatre, Lindsey, did last week. I struggle because while I drown in favor I see others who drown in failure though they strive for faith. I struggle because I don't understand. I struggle because I don't have the right perspective, the bane of my existence and the thorn in my side.
It took a late night drive home in silence, mainly because my radio has been junking out on me and randomly stops, for me to realize that it's all okay. I am okay. Jesus is still in control of my life, and this is His doing. I work in a high rise condo where it's 28 floors and the homeowners are mostly multi-millionaires. One of them is the founder and owner of a gas and oil company. Another is the CEO of a company that builds most ATM machines we use in America. One is an actress who is working on having her own TV show on Bravo. Another is one of the main advertisement providers to huge names like Toyota, Honda, Paul Mitchell, Fox News, Facebook, and Sony Pictures just to name a few. It consists of 60% males, and 85% of them are gay, and married. There is even one possible transgender, but I am never going to dishonor them and ask. Many are divorced and it breaks my heart when their kids are dropped off for the weekend only to be ripped away come Monday morning. One of the divorced couples live in the same building, but are 10 floors apart. They drive Maserati's and Ferrari's and Bentley's and Viper's and BMW's and Range Rovers, but they drink until they pass out and hire call girls to attempt to fill a void that aches and groans for something their millions can't buy. A few of them go to Church, but they don't know Jesus past his name. There are a few who do know Him, and they know Him quite well, but overall this place is dark. I patrol the rec centers and gaze at the beautiful view of Downtown Dallas from the edge of our infinity pool on top of a roof, but it has nothing for me. So I sometimes pray. I'll get a call about how the Fitness Room needs more towels, or someone spilled a beer in the hall, or someone's dog pooped in the hall, or salsa spilled in the elevator. But no matter what it is, I remember what my AGM told me the day he interviewed me, which put simply is this:
"By serving them, we are serving Him."
And in serving Him, by serving them, I am sharing His love which is what they need.
It's taken me many, many years, but I'm finally coming to realize that it's okay to be "rich". It's okay to have nice things. I don't have to be homeless, or struggle to keep a place that isn't home it's just where I lay my head until I can leave and find work to be safer, though not much more peaceful. It's okay to make decent money, good money even, and to drive nice cars and to eat fancier foods. It's okay to be madly in love with another human being and not be so afraid that they will replace Jesus' role in my life. They won't. If anything Rhys just fulfills it by showing me the physical representation in the best way humanly possible forgiving the mistakes I know he will make because he is not perfect reminding me that I still need my Savior. One of the ladies I work for, who directs and organizes special events and parties for the Homeowners is a God-fearing, lovely, praying beast of a woman, once told me when I first met her, "It's okay to have money, how are you going to do missions if you don't have money to get there? The money has to come from somewhere." That's when I remembered that though I grew up rich, as I said earlier, my parents never hoarded our money for us, they blessed others in need. We would have many missionaries from all over the world come and stay with us, and my Mom would always make them feel like Kings and Queens when they arrived while my Dad worked hard to send a check with them on their way to help further the Gospel. They would give to several charities and churches and always attested it to the faithfulness of God as to why and how they could give. And they always were able to give more and more each year, even though my Dad's pay was cut more than half ten years ago after a bad business deal in which he had no control over the situation as he owned 1% less than the one who pulled the trick.
I'm realizing more than just monetary revelations. I'm learning how to love the unlovables. So many people in the Church bash gays but in their condemning the sin I don't think they realize how much they are also condemning the sinners. I love gay people. They are some of the nicest residents in the entire building. And while I am still contemplating how I feel about gay marriage, as I have heard powerful arguments from both sides and it depends on the perspective from which you look. But, I can at least say I understand that they're doing what everyone else is in that they are just trying to fill the void and find what (or who) makes them happy. And I cannot, and I will not, fault them for that. If anything that just drives me to be nicer and to honor them and get to know them better so I can show them the true love of Jesus and the joy my relationship with Him brings, to then hope it will shed some light on their situations. I've only been there 4 months, but so far I have come very far with some of them. Same goes for those who party hard only to wake up the next morning with no clue as to who they met or what they did only hours before and the drunks who try to drown their sorrows and emotions only to remember them with deep regret and a migraine the next morning. Same with the one who hires the prostitutes to come twice a week, and the same goes for the prostitutes themselves. They don't know what's missing, but they recognize they are not whole. But how many Christians do the same? We know Jesus, we have a relationship with Him, yet we still fall for the trick and then into the trap of not being made whole and longing for things of our past convinced that will make us feel better. But when the bottle is empty and the smoke rises, nothing has changed. Either you realize how much more you need Jesus, or you move on searching for the next big thing.
When will we realize there is no difference except for that of opinions and beliefs? We came to this country searching for religious freedom, and now we are condemning people for not following ours without giving them reason to believe. It breaks my heart when I am driving home and I see a billboard saying "Islamic Muslims believe in Women's Rights, Social Justice, and Human Equality." When did we allow the stereotype to go so far as to convince ourselves they are all the same, and the same is that they are nothing but terrorists? What if that's what people did and thought of Christians in the same light after the Crusades? I'm not saying I agree with Islam, though we do have similar beliefs in some areas, but that's for another day.
I realize I have said a lot, much more than 1,000 words, in this post, but here's what I am getting at: I am tired of seeing humanity die out because we are fighting each other over words of hate and stereotypes led by hypocrites who will not humble themselves and say, "I was wrong and I have not reflected the One I profess to love and of Him I claim to be led."
Like I said earlier, I'm a hypocrite, because I too have judged and pointed the finger, and did not reflect the one I love of whom I claim to be led. And for that I am sorry. I hate those people too, and like the gays, the Muslims, the drunks, the prostitutes, the John's, the partiers, the teenagers searching for identity, and the single mothers and fathers, the abused, the shooters, and the forgotten, I want to find the satisfaction that fills that void. But my problem, my struggle which they do not know, is that I know the void and I have the one who gives the fullness of that which I seek, and yet I will not yield to Him. I fight like a mule rather than relent like a horse. And for that I am sorry. I don't fight as much, for with time and over the years, I am gaining understanding. I am learning to trust by faith and not by sight, and not faking it, I am either admitting I cannot do it just yet and asking for the grace to handle the convictions which I sometimes mistake for consequences. Or I am relenting and fighting my flesh to give in to that which I know will be best for me in the end.
I cannot justify signing the usual, for I am the furthest thing from being a "Saint" of Jesus Christ. But regardless of what I have done or said, one thing remains clear, and that is my identity that strives to be the best me that I can be. And so dear ones allow me to sign off using my real name, my real identity, and my reminder that one day, with the love of Christ leading me, I can, I will fill the void.
In short, I grew up pretty rich. Not like millionaire status rich, maybe, I don't really know because my parents did well to teach my sister and I that our money is not our own to use for our personal gains. But in comparison to my friends, I was rich. My bedroom back home was almost as big as my first apartment. I never lacked nice food or fancy clothes (for a teenager). I drove a Mustang with 6 mach speakers as my first car that I got for my 16th birthday, which made my parents upset that I was given something so nice by the same family member who gave my sister a 1989 Chevy Z convertible for hers. (But hey, that Chevy was still awesome, but it was 15 years old when she got it, mine was 1.) I still have that Mustang, and with her having almost 100,000 miles she's still really good to me. I grew up in Christian academies and had an education that led me to be at least two grades ahead of my classmates in high school when I transitioned to public school--except in Math, in which I hated it so I struggled no matter the level. (Except ironically for Probability and Stats honors in which I barely missed an A.) But I didn't realize how "good" I had it, or how much I had, until I became a missionary. I know they didn't mean it, necessarily in a negative light, but many of the people in this particular branch of the organization really stressed leaving everything of the world behind and selling it all for Jesus. I was surrounded by dozens of people who quite literally did exactly that just so they could afford to come to the school segment, and then they believed in Jesus for the rest. Mine was paid in full before I boarded the plane by my parents. My friends and co-workers struggled to pay the $200 a month to pay for rent to stay on the base located in a ghetto neighborhood. I spent $250/month just on gas--some of which my parents helped pay. I remember when I went to India, thinking how many of them I could sit comfortably in my room at home which I thought was good enough for just me and my desk, futon, bookshelf, bed, dresser, and nightstand. (At least 25 was my guestimate.) I saw naked babies clinging to their mothers, starving, begging for one rupee (45 rupees was the equivalent to $1). I lived out of one camping backpack and a small duffel bag for three months.
I may not know what's it's like to be poor, but I know what it's like to struggle and have faith. For the first few months after graduating from CFNI I struggled with money and time. My job wasn't giving me full time and the pay wasn't covering the bills. The only reason I was never late is because my parents blessed me with some money as a graduation gift, I ate three meals a week at the hotel - sometimes more when co-workers blessed me with free food. I was stingent on power and spent the first week using only one small light in my living room and candles with no furniture except a borrowed blow up bed and a few sketches and decoration plaques I picked up along the way of school. I had an amazing relationship with my fiance, but he lived 36 miles away. And when your car gets 12 mpg that wasn't an option to see him but once a week if I was lucky, maybe twice. But I cannot tell you that I was satisfied, in fact, I was miserable.
I sometimes thought about my time in India or my time with the other missionaries, and how I still had it pretty decent overall. But then I would look on Facebook (but only for a few minutes because I couldn't afford wifi), and see my classmates and friends from the mission filed, wondering if I made the right choice. Part of me felt like this was a punishment from God for choosing money over missions. I was so sick of church politics, and the stereotypes and the fake people who would mistake faith as a "fake it til you make it." I didn't want any part of those people anymore. I would skip church some Sundays because I didn't feel like I belonged, I felt like I was just the trophy girl of Rhys in some of their eyes and they wouldn't greet me, even though you couldn't miss me. And please forgive me for saying this, but I have to be honest, but for a little while I hated the Church and I started to dislike Christians. I was mad because I felt like I wasted time at a place I didn't feel like I fit in or studied subject where I would sit in some classes and wonder if I belong. Mind you, I did not hate Jesus, not in the least, I still loved him, and I would continue to trust Him as bills would pile high, and I made sure to tithe to someone because I had to prove to myself that I trust God would pay my way. I would open up to Rhys and cry and ask for him to forgive me, because he was the closest shadow of Jesus' love that I could find for a short time. I would sit in my car and weep because there was such a deep struggle within me. Even now as I type this, tears stroll down my face. I weep for the human race.
We are so torn, we are so divided. We have drawn the lines and cast a line, and now we play a horrible game of tug of war in which the loser will drown while the winner rejoices over the death of the weak.
How did we get so far from the Truth? Why do we let political sidelines decide our religious beliefs? Why do we choose to hate the sinner for the sin? Why do we stereotype and point the finger when we are no better? We may not be firing a physical gun, but we are persecuting and shooting our enemies with fiery darts rather than embracing them with loving arms.
I am guilty.
I am torn.
I am human.
I have made mistakes.
I have judged wrongly.
I have accused horribly.
I have lied.
I am a hypocrite.
I am trying to repent and to make it right within my own heart and life.
And for all of that, I am sorry.
I've been scared, scared of the unknown, scared of misconceptions, and misconstrued notions.
I was scared of who I was supposed to be, because I see now she is different than anything or anyone who has ever and will ever live again.
In the last few months everything was turned upside down.
I got a new job in which I make double the money I did. Some months more.
I am married to my best friend in the whole world, and we have never fought, never argued, never even had a dispute.
I live in a country where I have the freedom to do as I want and what I please.
I found the most amazing Church where I feel at home, and like they not only know me (as me) but they want to be with me. They don't care about where I came from (which says a lot in Church-ese since I hail from Sin City). They want to help me get where God wants me to be.
My parents blessed Rhys and I with a far better wedding than anything we could have ever hoped or dreamt of having.
Rhys and I live in an apartment full of blessings that people gave us to help celebrate our new life together, and it's in a safe neighborhood (no more gunshots, sirens every five seconds, or drunks screaming threatening to kill one another).
My bosses love me and continue to encourage me and tell me I am doing a great job.
I have the whole world in my hands, and yet I still struggle,
I struggle because I go back to India. I go back to verses like Luke 9:58, Romans 12:2, and Mark 10:17-30 where so many have taught that it's best to have nothing but Jesus than to have the world. I struggle because I see some of my friends on Facebook who struggle with finances and purpose and identity. I weep because I see friends who feel they have no purpose and they take their lives, like my friend from high school theatre, Lindsey, did last week. I struggle because while I drown in favor I see others who drown in failure though they strive for faith. I struggle because I don't understand. I struggle because I don't have the right perspective, the bane of my existence and the thorn in my side.
It took a late night drive home in silence, mainly because my radio has been junking out on me and randomly stops, for me to realize that it's all okay. I am okay. Jesus is still in control of my life, and this is His doing. I work in a high rise condo where it's 28 floors and the homeowners are mostly multi-millionaires. One of them is the founder and owner of a gas and oil company. Another is the CEO of a company that builds most ATM machines we use in America. One is an actress who is working on having her own TV show on Bravo. Another is one of the main advertisement providers to huge names like Toyota, Honda, Paul Mitchell, Fox News, Facebook, and Sony Pictures just to name a few. It consists of 60% males, and 85% of them are gay, and married. There is even one possible transgender, but I am never going to dishonor them and ask. Many are divorced and it breaks my heart when their kids are dropped off for the weekend only to be ripped away come Monday morning. One of the divorced couples live in the same building, but are 10 floors apart. They drive Maserati's and Ferrari's and Bentley's and Viper's and BMW's and Range Rovers, but they drink until they pass out and hire call girls to attempt to fill a void that aches and groans for something their millions can't buy. A few of them go to Church, but they don't know Jesus past his name. There are a few who do know Him, and they know Him quite well, but overall this place is dark. I patrol the rec centers and gaze at the beautiful view of Downtown Dallas from the edge of our infinity pool on top of a roof, but it has nothing for me. So I sometimes pray. I'll get a call about how the Fitness Room needs more towels, or someone spilled a beer in the hall, or someone's dog pooped in the hall, or salsa spilled in the elevator. But no matter what it is, I remember what my AGM told me the day he interviewed me, which put simply is this:
"By serving them, we are serving Him."
And in serving Him, by serving them, I am sharing His love which is what they need.
It's taken me many, many years, but I'm finally coming to realize that it's okay to be "rich". It's okay to have nice things. I don't have to be homeless, or struggle to keep a place that isn't home it's just where I lay my head until I can leave and find work to be safer, though not much more peaceful. It's okay to make decent money, good money even, and to drive nice cars and to eat fancier foods. It's okay to be madly in love with another human being and not be so afraid that they will replace Jesus' role in my life. They won't. If anything Rhys just fulfills it by showing me the physical representation in the best way humanly possible forgiving the mistakes I know he will make because he is not perfect reminding me that I still need my Savior. One of the ladies I work for, who directs and organizes special events and parties for the Homeowners is a God-fearing, lovely, praying beast of a woman, once told me when I first met her, "It's okay to have money, how are you going to do missions if you don't have money to get there? The money has to come from somewhere." That's when I remembered that though I grew up rich, as I said earlier, my parents never hoarded our money for us, they blessed others in need. We would have many missionaries from all over the world come and stay with us, and my Mom would always make them feel like Kings and Queens when they arrived while my Dad worked hard to send a check with them on their way to help further the Gospel. They would give to several charities and churches and always attested it to the faithfulness of God as to why and how they could give. And they always were able to give more and more each year, even though my Dad's pay was cut more than half ten years ago after a bad business deal in which he had no control over the situation as he owned 1% less than the one who pulled the trick.
I'm realizing more than just monetary revelations. I'm learning how to love the unlovables. So many people in the Church bash gays but in their condemning the sin I don't think they realize how much they are also condemning the sinners. I love gay people. They are some of the nicest residents in the entire building. And while I am still contemplating how I feel about gay marriage, as I have heard powerful arguments from both sides and it depends on the perspective from which you look. But, I can at least say I understand that they're doing what everyone else is in that they are just trying to fill the void and find what (or who) makes them happy. And I cannot, and I will not, fault them for that. If anything that just drives me to be nicer and to honor them and get to know them better so I can show them the true love of Jesus and the joy my relationship with Him brings, to then hope it will shed some light on their situations. I've only been there 4 months, but so far I have come very far with some of them. Same goes for those who party hard only to wake up the next morning with no clue as to who they met or what they did only hours before and the drunks who try to drown their sorrows and emotions only to remember them with deep regret and a migraine the next morning. Same with the one who hires the prostitutes to come twice a week, and the same goes for the prostitutes themselves. They don't know what's missing, but they recognize they are not whole. But how many Christians do the same? We know Jesus, we have a relationship with Him, yet we still fall for the trick and then into the trap of not being made whole and longing for things of our past convinced that will make us feel better. But when the bottle is empty and the smoke rises, nothing has changed. Either you realize how much more you need Jesus, or you move on searching for the next big thing.
When will we realize there is no difference except for that of opinions and beliefs? We came to this country searching for religious freedom, and now we are condemning people for not following ours without giving them reason to believe. It breaks my heart when I am driving home and I see a billboard saying "Islamic Muslims believe in Women's Rights, Social Justice, and Human Equality." When did we allow the stereotype to go so far as to convince ourselves they are all the same, and the same is that they are nothing but terrorists? What if that's what people did and thought of Christians in the same light after the Crusades? I'm not saying I agree with Islam, though we do have similar beliefs in some areas, but that's for another day.
I realize I have said a lot, much more than 1,000 words, in this post, but here's what I am getting at: I am tired of seeing humanity die out because we are fighting each other over words of hate and stereotypes led by hypocrites who will not humble themselves and say, "I was wrong and I have not reflected the One I profess to love and of Him I claim to be led."
Like I said earlier, I'm a hypocrite, because I too have judged and pointed the finger, and did not reflect the one I love of whom I claim to be led. And for that I am sorry. I hate those people too, and like the gays, the Muslims, the drunks, the prostitutes, the John's, the partiers, the teenagers searching for identity, and the single mothers and fathers, the abused, the shooters, and the forgotten, I want to find the satisfaction that fills that void. But my problem, my struggle which they do not know, is that I know the void and I have the one who gives the fullness of that which I seek, and yet I will not yield to Him. I fight like a mule rather than relent like a horse. And for that I am sorry. I don't fight as much, for with time and over the years, I am gaining understanding. I am learning to trust by faith and not by sight, and not faking it, I am either admitting I cannot do it just yet and asking for the grace to handle the convictions which I sometimes mistake for consequences. Or I am relenting and fighting my flesh to give in to that which I know will be best for me in the end.
I cannot justify signing the usual, for I am the furthest thing from being a "Saint" of Jesus Christ. But regardless of what I have done or said, one thing remains clear, and that is my identity that strives to be the best me that I can be. And so dear ones allow me to sign off using my real name, my real identity, and my reminder that one day, with the love of Christ leading me, I can, I will fill the void.
-Lauren
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