Travels with Sojo- Week 1:Time Out

Sometimes when I reflect upon my life, I’m amazed that this is my story. Daughter of an abandoned father, raised by a single mother, high school graduate with high hopes and world traveling under my belt, Mid-west resident, fellowshipping Christian, rape victim, college graduate, brokenhearted partier, painter, aimless wanderer, justice seeker, finder of healing and a new beginning, passionate for adventure and sunshine, a lover, and longing for rest from a weary life of obligations and disappointments. That brings me up to today, where I find myself in the mountains of Kentucky, resting. This is my story. This is my new beginning. This is my Adventure…

In 1962, John Steinbeck wrote Travels with Charley, a book about his journey across the United States with his French poodle, in search of a first hand experience with the country he so famously wrote about for many years. Steinbeck, defenseless against the power of restlessness set out on an adventure to find something he was missing, all the while stirring up intense longing in each person he met who coveted his freedom, his movement, his ability to be anywhere but Here. I imagine that had I met Steinbeck and Charley along their way, I would have most certainly become overwhelmed with a sense of adventure and longing to participate in their discovery of the unknown. He had everything he needed, packed up in his camper, “I had to go alone and I had to be self-contained, a kind of casual turtle carrying his house on his back.” I love this book. I love the way Steinbeck writes. I love the depth with which I relate to his story and I love the adventure that comes alive in me when I read it.

This part particularly spoke to me: “Once a journey is designed, equipped, and put in process, a new factor enters and takes over. A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other journeys. It has personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness. A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.” I found this to be very true as I’ve been planning my adventure for the past six months. The details of the excursion have changed many times, in fact they’re still changing. But the more planning I did, the more the trip meant to me, the more it became an individual, different than any other trip and uniquely mine. I also found that the more planning I did, the more the trip morphed into something different than its original purpose: rest. At this point, I have a half planned adventure which I’m a week into, lots of big ideas but one goal in mind: rest.

The past three years of my life have been nothing short of exhausting. It may not seem that way at first glance but underneath all my jobless wandering has been a lot of restlessness, loneliness, confusion and what seemed like endless transition. I think there were three main catalysts for these changes, a) surviving a violent sexual assault, b) the breakdown of the church I grew up in and c) graduating college. Each has played a unique and significant part in my story and its development. The first, is undoubtedly the single, most influential day of my life. I hope it does not make you uncomfortable to hear me talk about rape so openly and unashamedly. I recognize it is not a topic often talked about publically, but that is exactly why I feel the need to do so. I am not ashamed or embarrassed by what happened to me, any more than I would be if I were injured by a drunk driver or stricken with a deadly disease. It wasn’t my fault. I don’t have to keep a dirty secret that eats away at me from the inside out because I’m consumed with fear or shame. I don’t have to because its not fault, I didn’t do anything wrong. Or shameful. Or dirty. Somebody else did something shameful to me; he’s the one that has to walk around with that dirty secret, not me. He should be ashamed. I live in freedom, healing and confidence. That is true for every rape survivor, regardless of the situation. Rape is NEVER the victim’s fault; it is never acceptable to invade someone else’s body.

I say all of this because I believe it’s important but also because I discovered that the effects of rape last infinitely longer than the time it takes to actually penetrate a person. I thank God I survived the attack but realized quickly that my new life, post-rape, would be drastically different than the life I once knew. For months and into years, my mind was bombarded with memories of the attack on a daily basis, hourly basis, minute by minute even. Over and over again the scene replayed in my mind- walking, man, knife, alone, darkness, alone, anger, pain, struggle, alone, escape, fear, blood, naked, alone, empty, violated, sadness, tears, tears, tears, tears…. Walking, man, should have run, knife, give me all your money, alone, darkness, struggle, help, alone, pain, fear, escape, empty, bruised, sadness, alone, tears, tears, tears….

I could give a crap about school, research projects, making friends, writing papers, making money, paying bills, making decisions. Nothing seemed to matter as much as the violence that consumed me. It felt like in the movies when the main character moves in slow motion through a rapidly moving crowd, all the noise around her is stifled into one non distinguishable sound, everything seems distant and unimportant. That may seem dramatic but that’s how life felt for the first year and a half afterwards. I didn’t fit anywhere, I felt isolated, neglected, overlooked and misunderstood. Long after my friends and family moved past the shock and sadness of the incident, I was left alone still struggling to keep my head above water. The attack still dominated my mind for years yet people always seemed surprised when I expressed that, as if they’d forgotten it happened or just completely misjudged the impact of the event. That was the most frustrating part. Others had moved on (or so it seemed) leaving me to deal and heal on my own without support where I thought I needed it most.

The burdensome obligations of life, school and work (but mostly school) drove me further and further into myself. Professors, advisors, administrators, other students, expected me to care about their assignments, rules, projects, busy work, waste of time bullshit. They had no idea what was going on in my life; all they cared about was that I finish my paper on time and with the correct length requirement met. It didn’t matter how many assignments there were, the expectation was the same- get it done and on time. My resentment grew and grew until I hated college completely. It was all one giant obligation, a prison sentence I was serving for some crime I never committed, with no opportunity for early parole or release for good behavior. I had to serve my time. Not to mention the tens of thousands of dollars I was paying to be tortured in this way. I shutter just thinking about that time in my life. It was only recently that I was able to walk onto a college campus without having a panic attack. Literally.

I realize there are probably a lot of people that hate the bullshit obligations of school. In fact, I hated school long before I was raped and felt misunderstood. Our education system is bullshit to begin with. But for the first time in my life I really felt like I just needed a break, I needed someone to cut me some slack, I needed life to slow down for a while so I could get my feet on the ground again, I needed a Zack Morris Time Out but the only options I had were to stay in school, buckle down and just get it done, or quit and most likely never return. Feeling the pressure to have a piece of paper that somehow makes me legit so the rest of my life will go as planned- good job, lots of money, house, family, happiness, retirement, death- I felt trapped to stay in school. The emotional and psychological turmoil caused by the rape exacerbated every already difficult or stressful situation in life. And there was no Time Out option. I think I just resented life, or the system, or America, whatever it is that makes it so people can’t just rest when they need it most, can’t escape to a place where time doesn’t matter and just heal. It’s possible that had I been raped at another time in my life I would have taken out my anger and frustrations on work, or family or whatever obligations I had at that time, but I do feel (probably because I don’t yet have a family of my own or a job for that matter) that school is especially invasive on a life, providing very little personal time.

What I learned throughout this though, is that it is possible to find healing amidst the chaos and obligations of life. In fact, I’m afraid it might be the only way to find healing because life will never stop happening around us, we have to figure out a way to stay afloat, survive, dare I say, thrive in life despite life itself. So amidst my loathing of school for the 18 months after the rape, there were many people and situations along the way that saved me by providing a little bit of the rest I so longed for in places I never thought to look. I’ll go into more detail about those miracles later.

The second factor necessary for understanding the past three years of my life is the breakdown of my church. This was not the typical church-church, where we gathered early Sunday mornings in our local community, praised Jesus, heard a sermon, chatted with other members, then returned home. It was more like an all- consuming lifestyle. We didn’t go to church, we were a church. Our congregation spread out over the country, even other countries. My youth group didn’t meet every Wednesday night; we came together from across the world for a week every summer and a long weekend every winter, with some extra weekends here and there if you were fortunate. We typically came in clusters- many from Michigan, many from Indiana, North Carolina, Arkansas, Kansas, California, Canada, Florida. I do not regret any time that I spent fellowshipping within this church. In many ways, it has shaped me into who I am today. I am grateful for it. But when things started to fall apart (for reasons I think are unimportant now), it was one of the best things that ever happened in terms of my own personal and spiritual growth. Its been a continual process of understanding exactly how true that is for me as I walk forward in a new, renewed relationship with myself and my God. In saying all this, it is by no means my desire to blame this ministry, its doctrines or any of the people that carried out its messages. Like I said, I cherish that time for what it was and am grateful for the foundation it laid in my life. There was much good that came from its teachings, but probably unavoidably, some negative messages that were planted deep in my heart that I now seek to uproot.

In my home growing up, I was taught to love. Love God first, then love others. This seems like a simple message, maybe it is, I’m not sure yet. But whether its simple or not, it’s the most valuable lesson I’ll ever learn. It’s more important and more powerful than anything else, even gravity. To understand what it means to be loved by God is something I’m still trying to wrap my brain around. How infinite must the possibilities be to be loved by Love. To be loved truly by the one who made love and is love- how transformative must that be. I think I’ve gotten a taste of it, but just a taste. I know there is so much more. I know that I feel more loved by God when I feel deeply loved by people. And I know when I feel deep love for people I also feel more love for God. I think my main issue with God though, is trust. What I know about people and relationships is that it’s difficult to love someone with my whole heart if I do not trust him. If my heart doesn’t feel safe with him, I keep myself at a distance, or care for him to an extent but keep the rest protected so I won’t be hurt, or disappointed. This is where I’m at with God. I’m not quite sure He’s going to show up when I need him most because, as a human with limited knowledge of heavenly things, my experience has taught me He wont show up. He can’t stop me from being raped, He can’t prevent my friend’s parents from getting cancer, He can’t. He can absolutely take those painful events and wring them out so tight all that’s left is healing, blessings, knowledge, understanding and thanksgiving but He can’t prevent free will decisions or disease or tragedy. I believe this time of rest is also a time to begin to understand how God loves me and how I can trust Him in return. I’d like that.

Actually, my point in all of this is to communicate that while apart of this church, I learned a lot of “knowledge” about God; I learned a lot of passionate doctrine, the How-To’s, the What If’s, the “Truth.” What I missed out on was learning to love God and be loved by Him. The heart, not the head. Ultimately, the message drove home to me was that I am not enough for God. I don’t read my Bible enough, I don’t pray enough, I don’t know or understand enough, I don’t witness enough, I don’t follow the rules enough, I haven’t examined by own sin enough. Enough. Turns out I had examined by own sin so much that I hated myself. I felt guilty about everything. I longed for confidence and thought I could find it “in God,” which really meant “in the church.” But I didn’t realize I was stuck in a cycle of never being good enough no matter what I did. That was the freedom that came for me when the ministry fell apart and I stepped away. I stopped caring about every little thing I did or said. I allowed myself to live without the pressure of trying to be good enough. Maybe I went a little overboard, but its what I needed. I drank myself ridiculous, I stopped reading my Bible completely, stopped praying, stop talking about God, stopped striving for something I didn’t even want to be and just Lived. I let myself make mistakes and bad decisions and it was one of the best things I could have done. For the first time, I started to like myself. I’m cool, easy- going, I relate to others, I like people! All different kinds of people, I’m compassionate, adventurous, independent, fun, funny, accepting and I’m enough for God. I started to really appreciate people for who they are instead of picking apart their lives to point out where they could improve. As a result, I made a lot more friends- and they liked me and that increased by confidence. I learned how to make mistakes and grow from them. I felt free and alive. I was loving people, finally. And I loved myself. I believe this was part of God’s plan for my life. I believe God is way more flexible and unconventional then we give Him credit for. He knows my heart and how to reach me; helping me break free from the confines that bound me, although it looked like a step (or fast break!) away from God, has actually brought me to a much deeper, more meaningful relationship with Him. That’s how much God loves me. That’s what I want more of in the years to come.

Lastly, many of my actions over the past few years can be attributed to graduating college. Not the typical actions people take after graduation that your professors and parents tell you about. I have no fancy job to show for myself. I don’t have expensive possessions or vital networking connections. So far, my $54,000 Bachelors degree in Anthropology has only given me freedom, peace of mind and mobility. My prison sentence has been served. From the time that I was five years old, every single year of my life was controlled by a strict schedule where my only hope were those glorious three months in the summer that flew by only to begin all over again. School, school, school, school… Not any more. I am free. Trust me, I realize when I get a “real” job that once again, my time will be owned by someone other than myself, but I welcome that because I can choose my job, my hours, my location, and instead of paying someone else for my time, finally, someone will pay me for all my hard work. And when I leave my job, my work is done. It won’t follow me home and creep into all my personal, private time (at least not the job that I want). A job has immediate benefit, unlike school that is one, forced, and two, all based on the assumption that it will lead to something better.

When I finished school (I still love saying that) I celebrated harder than I’ve ever celebrated anything. For months after, every time my friends and I went out for drinks, in my mind, it was to celebrate my freedom! It was by far one of the best times in my life. I got a job painting houses, which was the perfect job at that time because I could be outside, working hard for long hours with my crazy partner Jim, turning something old into something new, making money and I had plenty of time to hang out with friends. It was everything I believe life should be. And it was simple. There was no stress of impending assignments or upcoming projects, or endless pages of reading to pretend to do. I was happy.

By the time winter came that year things had changed. There was no more painting to be done, good friends had moved away, the sun was hidden behind gloomy, snow filled clouds and I became restless. So I moved. Again and again. I was searching for something and nothing at the same time. Eventually, I moved back to where I started, before college, and waited. I had no money, no direction, no job but I was rich with friends and family so I stayed and enjoyed the company until whatever I was waiting for came along. What I was waiting for did come, in the form of closure, a clean start, with a huge heaping serving of love on top. Far greater than what I even imagined. The rest that I craved so feverously three years ago was finally made available. In as many ways as possible, life has slowed down so I can breathe again. My Time Out. In my rest, I can’t help but be overwhelmed with thankfulness to God. He has always made a way for me. Now instead of grasping for healing, I am humbly bowing. In awe that this is my life story. My adventure has taken me to the mountains of Kentucky, to rest, to give thanks, to be quiet, to know that I am loved, to reflect on my life with deep thanksgiving and satisfaction, to praise God for taking my sorrows and turning them into joy and instead of grieving, rejoicing. This is my adventure...