The following was written on the train from Lancaster to NYC, on what I like to call Felicity Day 1, Meg finds her inner-self on the streets of New York City, particularly the West Village.
I’m always amazed that my mom is still my mom every time that I come home. Sure, she may become frazzled and upset when I don’t act my now almost twenty-five year old self, but she’s still the same mom that loved and supported me throughout my infancy, elementary, middle, high school, and college years.
The more that I work with kids the more I realize the sacrifice involved on the part of the parents. I see my mom do it everyday, she puts my brother and I before herself, even though she is now at the point where she can easily put herself first. We aren’t dependent on her anymore, but she is willing to take us to the train station, help remove stains from our clothes, and find the last remaining Orla Kiely placemat at the York, Pennsylvania, Target.
Along with her unconditional support comes the assumption that I will eat dinner with my family when I’m home, that I will complete my homework of cover letters while she and my brother play golf, that I will make my bed everyday.
I think that my parents are in my life to show me just a portion of God’s love for me. Who else would drop everything to show their daughter just how special she is to turn 13 by throwing her a talent show birthday party? Which, by the way, was hilarious, I couldn’t help but relating to the middle schoolers that I work with at City Church after watching the actual footage of me dressed up as “Baby Spice” with my seventh-grade posse as the other Spice Girls.
She’s the same person that feels my friend losing her job, wants to look at pictures on facebook of me with my friends, and help me create my evite for my upcoming birthday party. It’s amazing to me how involved and how much she cares about the minor details of my life. I like to think of God as way far away, but it’s comforting for me to think that He’s just as omnipresent as my mom. I think that He also cares about me enough to call me out when I’ve done something wrong, hurt another person or myself, just like my mom did this morning.
Sometimes it takes going home to give you perspective on your life 2,500 miles away. Getting caught up in the moment, what my social life looks like, what boy does or does not show interest, how I feel appreciated at work- I allow all of these things in San Francisco to dictate what my life looks like. I chase my identity in running from one activity to another, appeasing everyone and not allowing myself to disappoint anyone. I’m learning that I need to do what’s best for me, that the world will keep spinning on its axis without me, that sometimes I need to just give up control of feeling like I have my relationships within my grasp.
I’m listening to Phoenix, one of my favorite French pop groups. The beat brings me back to the Eurockeennes festival that I traveled to and camped out at, by myself, without a tent to speak of. I made friends with locals from Nancy, France, whose parents I worked with in the public schools. They were barely eighteen, just finished their baccaleureat, and intent on staying up all night. I found my own equilibrium between these high schoolers and my own expectations. I saw the artists I wanted to see, I found my newfound friends when I needed company or I felt lonely. I dropped my camera in the portapotty there, I got smashed during the mosh pit of Justice, I befriended people so that I could share a corner of their tent, and I talked to the bandmembers of I’m From Barcelona just to earn the privilege of buying a t-shirt. It was one of those experiences that I felt cared for, even though I was by myself, the God of the universe cared enough to look after me those three days in June of 2007.
I try sometimes to recreate the same highs that I’ve felt previously, but most of the time I’m disappointed by the expectations that I’ve placed on myself and others. I don’t know how to function without them, without thinking that person X should act a certain way in situation Y. I sense this frustration working with kids everyday, they usually don’t act the way that you expect them to. You have to give them grace daily to express who they are as individuals and coping with situations according to their worldview.
I’m trying to give myself that same grace with my life. Yes, life is disappointing, it’s not working out the way that I want it to, and sometimes I find myself angry with God. The thing is, it’s more about being content with my circumstances just the way that they are. I seem to hit this point in March of every year where I doubt everything: my job, my relationships, my next move. It’s that point in the school year where kids are restless and eager for spring break and the repose of summer vacation.
I too am restless for what God has for me next. But right now, I’m thankful for spring break and for my family, for my friends on the West and East Coasts, in Canada, in Europe, for turning 25 soon.
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