My Bolivar Story

Moving away from Lincoln in 2013 was quite possibly the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I had just found my true self, had just gotten comfortable with who God made me to be, and with living inside-out, showing my heart on the outside. Moving away from the people who had helped me on that journey almost broke me. I shrunk back into myself, something I'm not proud of at all, and went back to living behind a mask, hiding the unfortunately familiar yet new pains of depression and loneliness again.  By the middle of 2013 I was convinced I would never again be able to live life as I had in Lincoln, because my personality wasn't valued at the church I had been placed at, and it had been stomped out like a barely lit flame. I was certain I would never again be whole, and instead would live broken, pieces of myself missing and discarded along the way. 

That was the hardest part about living in South Dakota for that year: not being able to be true to myself. There were times that I could, obviously. When I was alone in my apartment, or when I was hanging out with just the youth group. There were very few times I was able to let my guard down and show those around me who I was as a child of God, not as a censored, liberal Christian church worker at a very conservative, small town, Lutheran church. 

It's painful, even now, to write about this topic. I had to fight so hard to become the person God made me to be. And for the first time in my life I felt like I was finally being that person. So, to be forced to give that up because it didn't fit exactly with the theological doctrine of the church I was serving in, that I wasn't conservative enough, truly hurt my spirit. It knocked me down, and I honestly wasn't sure if I would ever get back up. I'm not saying that my true self, my personality, is completely separate from the Lutheran theology that I grew up with, not at all. I'm just more free in my thoughts than the Fort Wayne seminary based church I was placed at wanted me to be.   

But God knew what He was doing, even if I didn't. 2013 ended, and my bruised and battered shell of a person moved back to Nebraska to mend at my parents house. How silly that idea sounds now, trying to mend in a house that felt so suffocating. Not that your house isn't wonderful, mom and dad, it just felt like I was shrinking back into who I'd been the last time I'd lived there, which was in high school. To be honest, I didn't much like myself then either. Slowly I got back to Lincoln: weekend trips that didn't last long enough, and random evenings that ended up being two hours in the car for an hour and a half of togetherness. I got back to the people who had done so much healing in my life in previous years, and that's what they were doing now too. They were helping me heal just by being present in my life.

So, what started as a running joke with Madi (i.e. 'How cool would it be if you lived here?' 'If you lived here you'd never have to go home, because you'd be home.'), turned into actuality in July 2014. Deb texted me one morning to see if I was serious about moving to Lincoln, and I told her I was. I felt as though God was calling me back to this place. My story in Lincoln wasn't complete yet, and I wanted to see where He could take me. She told me that the opportunity was in fact there, but it was going to be much sooner than I had planned on, in fact she told me I could move in as early as the next weekend. I didn't have a job in Lincoln yet, and I didn't have too much money in savings, but it felt right, and that's what mattered.

"I'm moving to Lincoln," I told my parents before dinner one night. 

"Well that's a new development," my mom said, pouring a glass of wine. 

"Yeah, I think it'll be good though. And think about it, you'll have your empty nest back. That'll be good too," I took a sip of my beer. I think it's important to note that anytime after 4:45 is considered 'happy hour' at my parents house, not in a drunkard way, in the classiest sense of the phrase. It's just the way it's always been. 

"So, when are you planning on making this move?" my dad asked cautiously.

"Actually, it'll be this month," I was still working on how I would tell them without frightening them, "on July 6th."

Silence encompassed the kitchen. 

"You know that's this week, right?" my dad asked, a slight laughter in his voice.

"I'm aware."

"Have you started looking for a job yet?" my mom tried to keep her cool. I think the wine was helping. My timing was no coincidence.

"I've already applied for a few. I'll commute until I find one." I knew it would all work out, based solely on the fact that the idea of moving felt right. God had His hand in the whole thing, and I was trusting that. 

And it all worked out. Four days later I packed up my belongings, and with the help of my new community, moved into my second apartment. That first night was one of the best I've ever had. All I managed to unpack that day was my bedding, but that corner of the apartment looked perfect. I didn't sleep well, mind you. Sleeping isn't really in the equation when you don't have an air conditioner yet, and it's Nebraska in July. I probably got an hour of sleep tops. But it was my apartment. It was my own space. I couldn't wait to make it truly mine. This was home now, and I couldn't be happier.

The idea of home has always captivated me. It's the place where all of our stories begin; the place where we begin. But is the idea of home really that similar to the actuality of home? I was born into and raised in a beautiful family, a beautiful home. But as we grow up and mature, as we move on, the idea of home changes as well. There is a certain nostalgia and idealism placed upon the childhood home, the idea of the place we grew up. But growing up is messy, it's beautiful and fulfilling, but it is a tough business.

There are so many things tugging at our hearts, so many forces molding and changing us on a daily basis. These are the things that we don't always remember willingly, the things that we neglect to include in our stories. The nitty gritty of growing up is a tough topic. It reaches into the scars and the bruises, the memories that we suppress because we don't want to feel the pain. My childhood home is still my home; it will always be home. But there are places in this world where I feel at peace, where I feel like the person I was meant to be when God formed me. The house has been one of those places since the first day I stepped foot in the door. In my short year and a half at home in Lincoln I have continued to grow up, in the best possible ways. 

I have learned that there are people who love me for the person I am, not the idea of the person I should or could be. There are people who love me not despite my flaws but because of them. There are people who know my heart, know my deepest fears, my greatest struggles, and they love me through them. They open up their hearts to my own and love me with an intensity that can't be matched. It is a feeling that I haven't ever truly experienced until I found people who understood that there is no point in trying to keep up a facade. 

These people, in this place, are my home. This is my here and now. They are the people who show me that no matter what mess I am going through, no matter what I see when I look in the mirror, or what is laying on my heart at any given moment, I am loved, not only by them, but by a God who created me just as I am. I don't have to wrestle with the feelings of inadequacy that I undoubtedly feel on a daily basis, alone, because no matter how I feel about myself, no matter what mess I see in the mirror, I am a child of God and that is enough.

That's what moving into the house meant to me, even if I didn't recognize that yet. It meant finding a place where I could truly be myself, where I could leave my masks in the box I'd put them in to move. Here, I was able to find peace in myself, after years of struggling. It took me more than a year at the house to finally find my way to the person I was meant to be. There were many nights of tears, wondering if I'd made the right decision in leaping into a new life on my own. But that's the thing, I've never been on my own here, and I never will be.