We had seen each other in Church before, but we met again on the way to lunch. It turned out that we had a lot in common, and that included a burning desire to go and explore the West Coast of North America. At lunch we found each other again and continued the conversation where we had let off. I noticed that he was wearing both a Star of David and a Hand of Fatima around his neck. I liked this. He showed me a third medal around his wrist. Then I noticed. His forearm was covered with scars. “Wow” I said, hoping to mean “man this is hardcore!”. “Yeah wow” he said, meaning “this is where I’ve been”. Shit.
We were having lunch at one of elder’s home who was in charge of the students and who had consequently invited them round to his place. There were quite a few 18-years-olds whose parents had phoned our church to make sure that they would be cared for. Most students were here for the first time. The weather was brilliant and the conversation was lighthearted. Most kids were fresh out of youth group and actually knew each other from yearly gatherings and camps.
So um, well. Conversation. There was definitely a blank, but not an awkward one. Rather a weird sense of fellowship. Though I’ve never actually self-harmed, I’ve been quite tempted to. On some days I could not verbalize the pain and I wished there was something else to take my mind off it, to escape from it. Also, it seemed like a way of expressing that I felt guilty somehow, guilty for not knowing better, guilty for not being better. I’d been quite close to that point. So in this silent fellowship we laughed. Wholeheartedly we laughed. There were two of us and we had found each other. Life is shit isn’t it? We were happy.
Anyway the scars looked very old (several years I’d say). They were white by now. And hell they must have been deep too. I still wonder whether it’s rather good or rather bad that I am always able to de-escalate things. Some days I think it’s bad because I’ve got no heart. On other days I think that’s good because I do have a radically democratic heart that refuses to construe others as pathological while it gets to feel smug and “functional”. So I de-escalate homelessness and I de-escalate self-harm. We’re in this together. You’re not that fucked up. You’re great.
I’m sure that it all sounds a bit reflexive on a screen. I.e. there goes Dany feeling all nice and warm inside because she was able to be supportive to some social charity case. This is not what happened. I was not reflexive at all. If anything, I was surprised that such a great guy had had such a rough background.
I thought his guy was awesome. I was so proud to have met him. I wanted to congratulate him: Well done! Well done for turning into such an engaging, soulful young man! Well done for making it to this University! Well done for thriving in it, despite a suicidal mother and non-existent father! Well done for caring so efficiently for her! Well done for joining this church and finding support in it! Well done for the all-out loveliness with which you simply enjoyed church and the company of normal church-going kids before university! Well done for the way in which you single-heartedly love them! I mean, you’re not just normal, you’re beautiful. I noticed that well before I noticed your arms.
I’m not sure our lousy church deserves to mumble its litanies next to someone who cries when he prays, but it is an honour to worship God next to someone like you.
We were having lunch at one of elder’s home who was in charge of the students and who had consequently invited them round to his place. There were quite a few 18-years-olds whose parents had phoned our church to make sure that they would be cared for. Most students were here for the first time. The weather was brilliant and the conversation was lighthearted. Most kids were fresh out of youth group and actually knew each other from yearly gatherings and camps.
So um, well. Conversation. There was definitely a blank, but not an awkward one. Rather a weird sense of fellowship. Though I’ve never actually self-harmed, I’ve been quite tempted to. On some days I could not verbalize the pain and I wished there was something else to take my mind off it, to escape from it. Also, it seemed like a way of expressing that I felt guilty somehow, guilty for not knowing better, guilty for not being better. I’d been quite close to that point. So in this silent fellowship we laughed. Wholeheartedly we laughed. There were two of us and we had found each other. Life is shit isn’t it? We were happy.
Anyway the scars looked very old (several years I’d say). They were white by now. And hell they must have been deep too. I still wonder whether it’s rather good or rather bad that I am always able to de-escalate things. Some days I think it’s bad because I’ve got no heart. On other days I think that’s good because I do have a radically democratic heart that refuses to construe others as pathological while it gets to feel smug and “functional”. So I de-escalate homelessness and I de-escalate self-harm. We’re in this together. You’re not that fucked up. You’re great.
I’m sure that it all sounds a bit reflexive on a screen. I.e. there goes Dany feeling all nice and warm inside because she was able to be supportive to some social charity case. This is not what happened. I was not reflexive at all. If anything, I was surprised that such a great guy had had such a rough background.
I thought his guy was awesome. I was so proud to have met him. I wanted to congratulate him: Well done! Well done for turning into such an engaging, soulful young man! Well done for making it to this University! Well done for thriving in it, despite a suicidal mother and non-existent father! Well done for caring so efficiently for her! Well done for joining this church and finding support in it! Well done for the all-out loveliness with which you simply enjoyed church and the company of normal church-going kids before university! Well done for the way in which you single-heartedly love them! I mean, you’re not just normal, you’re beautiful. I noticed that well before I noticed your arms.
I’m not sure our lousy church deserves to mumble its litanies next to someone who cries when he prays, but it is an honour to worship God next to someone like you.
(Absence of) picture credit: I really can't remember where I nicked that one from.
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