A healing journal can be whatever you need it to be.
For me, I need a place to share some of my soul.
This journal takes place in Lansing and Kalamazoo, MI.
I am not afraid to heal.
In September 2012, I began an awesome adventure. I decided that I had received a divinely orchestrated opportunity to study under the worship team/ministry/group at Mt. Hope Church in Lansing, MI. As a young girl, I had visited this church because I had some family who attended, and we would go to Christmas, Easter, and Halloween/luia events there. I particularly remembered being a young girl walking down the hall of that building, feeling the something that was there; it was a feeling of something mysterious and unseen, a strong presence that lifted my spirit. I had never felt that feeling at my own church or anywhere else. I had seen other people who seemed like maybe they felt it, but I didn't. I knew that church was a special place.
Fast forward many years later to adulthood, and there I was accepting the offer of an internship at the church I had secretly desired to attend as a young girl. It was weird. Impossible, even. But I gathered as much support as I could, found a place to stay, found people to help out with my 3-month-old son while I worked at the church, and moved most of my belongings down to Lansing. We decided my husband and oldest two would stay behind and keep house.
I was born in Lansing, and when I settled in Kalamazoo after college with my boyfriend and first son, I had resolved I would probably never go back to Lansing. Lansing held many hurts; estranged relationships with my adoptive parents, the place where I was born and then given to another family, the place where my birth parents still lived at the time and I never knew. It wasn't always, but had become a place where I felt misplaced, where I didn't belong. It wasn't a place of bright positive opportunity for me. It was a place of death and loss. I was determined to stay away, and told myself I would never go back.
I also told God that I would go where He sent me. I knew Kalamazoo wasn't my "ending-up" place. I was dissatisfied with the smallness of the city, the belt that was wrapped around my dreams and opportunities and visions and squeezed into the last hole, making it hard to breathe. I was feeling trapped by the perceived mediocrity of my life, the repetition of teaching, playing, and parenting that filled my life for 2 years after graduating from graduate school. As a musician, you take what jobs come to you. Although I always enjoyed teaching and playing for churches, my favorite being instrumental/vocal accompanying, I knew there was so much more out there I had yet to accomplish. I talked with my husband often about moving, even out of the country, for inspiration and a fresh start.
Yet here I was heading back down the highway to a place I had purposely decided to forget. I didn't know how to get anywhere in Lansing without a GPS, and even streets my mom would spout off I'd cut her short with a "I don't remember where that is." I was determined to live in Lansing only on the condition that I'd never re-open my soul to Her and allow Her to reclaim the freedom I'd fought for and the health I'd built up. My health bar was at least near full, and my belt was full of weapons; namely books, journals, etc for me to turn to when my strength got low.
And it did. Being back home was still hurtful. I ended up moving out of the place I was staying a month and a half or so into it, and the help I had set up for me and my newborn soon wasn't able to remain a constant. So here I was, back in the place I swore I'd never go, with a baby on my hip and in need of a stable place to sleep for the night. I often didn't know where I'd eat or what, and calls home to my husband were resentful, bitter, angry, sad, whiny, and in a depressing tone. I thought for sure I was going to need to abandon my internship and return home to nurse my wounds. I knew I wanted to turn my back on Her, Lansing, just like I felt she spit me out long ago.
For me, I need a place to share some of my soul.
This journal takes place in Lansing and Kalamazoo, MI.
I am not afraid to heal.
In September 2012, I began an awesome adventure. I decided that I had received a divinely orchestrated opportunity to study under the worship team/ministry/group at Mt. Hope Church in Lansing, MI. As a young girl, I had visited this church because I had some family who attended, and we would go to Christmas, Easter, and Halloween/luia events there. I particularly remembered being a young girl walking down the hall of that building, feeling the something that was there; it was a feeling of something mysterious and unseen, a strong presence that lifted my spirit. I had never felt that feeling at my own church or anywhere else. I had seen other people who seemed like maybe they felt it, but I didn't. I knew that church was a special place.
Fast forward many years later to adulthood, and there I was accepting the offer of an internship at the church I had secretly desired to attend as a young girl. It was weird. Impossible, even. But I gathered as much support as I could, found a place to stay, found people to help out with my 3-month-old son while I worked at the church, and moved most of my belongings down to Lansing. We decided my husband and oldest two would stay behind and keep house.
I was born in Lansing, and when I settled in Kalamazoo after college with my boyfriend and first son, I had resolved I would probably never go back to Lansing. Lansing held many hurts; estranged relationships with my adoptive parents, the place where I was born and then given to another family, the place where my birth parents still lived at the time and I never knew. It wasn't always, but had become a place where I felt misplaced, where I didn't belong. It wasn't a place of bright positive opportunity for me. It was a place of death and loss. I was determined to stay away, and told myself I would never go back.
I also told God that I would go where He sent me. I knew Kalamazoo wasn't my "ending-up" place. I was dissatisfied with the smallness of the city, the belt that was wrapped around my dreams and opportunities and visions and squeezed into the last hole, making it hard to breathe. I was feeling trapped by the perceived mediocrity of my life, the repetition of teaching, playing, and parenting that filled my life for 2 years after graduating from graduate school. As a musician, you take what jobs come to you. Although I always enjoyed teaching and playing for churches, my favorite being instrumental/vocal accompanying, I knew there was so much more out there I had yet to accomplish. I talked with my husband often about moving, even out of the country, for inspiration and a fresh start.
Yet here I was heading back down the highway to a place I had purposely decided to forget. I didn't know how to get anywhere in Lansing without a GPS, and even streets my mom would spout off I'd cut her short with a "I don't remember where that is." I was determined to live in Lansing only on the condition that I'd never re-open my soul to Her and allow Her to reclaim the freedom I'd fought for and the health I'd built up. My health bar was at least near full, and my belt was full of weapons; namely books, journals, etc for me to turn to when my strength got low.
And it did. Being back home was still hurtful. I ended up moving out of the place I was staying a month and a half or so into it, and the help I had set up for me and my newborn soon wasn't able to remain a constant. So here I was, back in the place I swore I'd never go, with a baby on my hip and in need of a stable place to sleep for the night. I often didn't know where I'd eat or what, and calls home to my husband were resentful, bitter, angry, sad, whiny, and in a depressing tone. I thought for sure I was going to need to abandon my internship and return home to nurse my wounds. I knew I wanted to turn my back on Her, Lansing, just like I felt she spit me out long ago.
Comments
Post a Comment