The Pilgrimage

The rhythmic pilgrimage cycles back today,
A ritual imprinting itself onto my heart
Not as relief but as duty,
My life as I have known it depends on it.

Surrounded by others settling into the camp,
We will come with our burdens, our expectations,
Our hopes which were spilled out across the grounds,
And love will rise from shattered pieces.

If this is only an autumn occurrence
Somehow I was not told of its ending in the winter,
Nor last spring, nor this summer,
As the place I journey to on this day forgot to stay
Inside its autumn home and wandered with me
Through seasons I’d wish upon not a single soul.
This ritual, this holy event, it haunted all year.

This day, this pilgrimage, hitched a ride back with me
It journeyed with me to come to my holy place,
And never let me alone till I finally said:
“Here is my crushed self,
Here is my true self,
Take it, I hope others will take it too.”

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Change Anyway

One day, an emo girl goes to school wearing a complex layering of autumn clothes she purchased at Urban Outfitters because she likes the way the outfit looks. For one day she has traded in her black band shirt, black skinny jeans, black backpack, and black finger nail polish for orange, red and brown. And layers. Lots of layers.

But she faces ridicule. Peers have no idea who she is trying to be. She shouldn’t wear the outfit according to the hipster kids and the emo kids. They’re all letting her know it.

And she knew this was going to be the reaction from everyone. So she never wears it.

Actually never buys it. She just plays the above scene in her head in the fitting room and leaves.


This scenario is me within every corner of life. If I feel I want to change something, I end up not changing because of the fear of drawing attention. I can’t get past the initial hour of being noticed. Or minute.20161015_130458

Every now and then, miraculously, I get through something new for a month. But that’s only a month. Is this really me?

But once the shock value of a month has worn off with every single person in my life I encounter, a funny thing occurs. They stop noticing. They will start to see me for who I am plus this change.

Outer changes like clothes or a new haircut are the most striking changes and have the greatest initial reaction.

But what if we want to go to the gym more often? This fear is rooted in something that makes no sense at all.

Can’t do something different because I can’t draw attention to doing something new.

Can’t face the hazing that will come from people who just know I won’t follow through and keep going to the gym.

I kid you not, those fears would flood my mind when it came to working out. You know, to do an activity designed to literally change me for the better.


We fear quitting to smoke because we forgot what it’s like not smoking. We fear changing careers because we are known only for what we have worked on up till now. We fear making ourselves better because then we have to explain how we got better.

Those are the lamest forms of fear. The absolute lamest.

You have to value yourself enough in order to make the changes you know you have to make. And yeah, people are going to notice. But as long as you know you are becoming more yourself, keep on changing.

Stop fearing becoming the better version of yourself you know you’ve wanted to become.

Wow. What an absolutely lame form of fear.

Misfit Mission

As I was laying out the concept of this blog I asked myself the following questions: Who am I writing to? Who am I talking to in this vast digital ocean? Whose heart am I really trying to stir with this central message of purpose and love and self worth?

A couple weeks ago I had an aha moment.

I realized I needed to talk with the person I am very familiar with. Someone like me. The person who needed this message of value the most:

The metal-head, the goth, the emo kid, the scene kid, the speech therapy kid, the misunderstood, the mistreated, the reject, the unloved, the ignored, the beaten down, the emotionless, the awkward, the pimple faced kid, the made fun of in church youth group kid.

This space is really for anyone and everyone. But I am hopefully reaching you. The Misfit.

The Misfit? I was going with outcast and baggy pants person from the 90’s.  Who are the Misfits? I mean really, I wasn’t using that term just a week ago.


But then my friend starts bumping this rap group I’ve never heard of called Social Club Misfits. Their mantra jolts me because they are basically talking about how much they are geeks, weird, boring, rejects, misunderstood, etc etc. Stuff rappers shouldn’t be saying out loud. And they are comfortable with this identity.

This short sermon song  pops up. I’m tearing up a bit hearing it. He’s talking to me. I’ve never heard the embracing of being a Misfit as he defines it with such confidence. With such assurance of self.

A Misfit is one who’s uncomfortable with his or her surroundings. Oh yeah, that’s me. Raises my hand slowly out of discomfort.

and is seen to be disturbingly different than others. Always have. And if you’ve experienced this too, you can rest assured you are not different. You’ve got me at least. And all of us Misfits.

And as Misfits one of our greatest discomforts is inconsistency amongst our peers. The dare is to be comfortably, consistently yourself. Be authentic. Be who you are. Wear socks with sandals if that’s your thing. You’re a Misfit.

There is a humble confidence, if I can use that phrasing, throughout this definition of a Misfit. They have put to words and music what my aha moment was trying to grasp at.

Trying, because I was only just beginning to become (finally) as confident as they are about being Misfits. It’s kinda amazing it all happens within a couple weeks of each other.

Social Club Misfits could not clarify any better in my mind what is pressed deeply into my identity and calling:

We are Misfits here if we are taking on Christ daily. And we are further Misfit (rejects, goody-two-shoes, freaks, geeks) if we are the kid who got picked last, the only non-swearing kid at bible camp, the person painting your nails black, the parent who is in prison, or the constantly laughed at.

But. Chin up.

You are loved. You just are.

 

 

As Yourself

I am 21 again.
A decade coma is lifted.
There is life again
Where there was death.
The trick to it trails
Off the tongues of
Even the greatest theologians.
Focus on the last clause,
The sneaky backend of your
Occupation’s mission statement:
“You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
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As yourself.
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As yourself.
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