Circle of Hope

There is a teenager on the swings.
He’s, oh, probably in the 14-16 age range. He’s surrounded by his peers, and he is doing flips and jumps off a swing. Seriously. Back flips off a swing.
I wonder: does he get scared/nervous before each flip? I mean, he could land on his head and that would be it. Or does he just have that much confidence that he knows making it won’t be a problem?

Oh, for that kind of confidence.

Confidence in my faith: the consistent belief and trust that has eluded me ever since I began making my faith my own.

Confidence in my community: that I do belong here, I do fit in somehow—even when I feel overwhelmed and out of place amidst a room full of people whom I mostly know to some degree. Belief that this is where I want to put in and have roots. Trust that this is home.

Confidence in my relationships: belief that I have something to offer, that I can accept what others offer. Trust that I can love and that I am loved.

It seems that it always comes back to love and trust:

Trying to trust that I am loved.

Trying to trust that I have love to give.

Trying to trust that my love will be received by others.

Maybe this is easy for you. Maybe it’s hard.
For me, the truth is, sometimes I don’t feel like I have any love to give. Sometimes I feel drained. That I have nothing more, that I am overwhelmed; my love has drowned. It feels that dramatic sometimes.
The truth is, sometimes my love is not received by others. Sometimes maybe there is miscommunication and my broken attempts at love don’t come across as love. Sometimes the ones I am trying to love are just as broken as I am and they can’t figure out how to receive love either. Sometimes I don’t want to be loved because sometimes it feels like such a hard thing to accept.
I sure don’t do it well.
I sure have a hard time trusting it, whether it’s from my friends, my community, my Creator.

Here is what I am trying to work with: Death and Resurrection and Living in the Spirit.

I am trying this week, this day, this hour, this minute, to live in the Spirit, to live out of this resurrectedness that Jesus invites us to. Years of lies and doubts and death—it is finally time to live resurrectedly. To let myself be loved by my Creator. To let myself be loved by my community. To let myself be loved by my friends. To let myself love me. To acknowledge that yes, I am broken and bent and messed up and insecure, but I am lovable. I am loved. And you are lovable too. And you are loved. When I can be in the Spirit, resting and living out of being loved, I am able to love you, my neighbor, my friend, my community, my Creator more fully and honestly and openly.
There is a confidence in knowing that you are loved.
I see it in people around me:

In my old friend and my roommate who are engaged, confidently walking through the park, holding hands, knowing that they are loved.

In the women in this community leading and sharing with such great wisdom and vulnerability.

Between the husband and wife on the el, sitting with their dozing children on their laps, gazing at each other across the aisle with a smile.

In friendships where the things that hurt us and the things that elate us are shared without fear.

In broken tears sometimes.

In faces of peaceful hope sometimes.

In the hard conversations and learning to trust.

—
The kid on the swing is still doing flips.
He is pumping hard to reach full height—OOUP! He slipped off! Just slipped right out of the swing at the top, when his legs were straight out and his torso was flat back. And that’s how he fell: flat parallel to the ground and straight down on his back from seven feet up.
How painful. How embarrassing.
He is laying there. Is he alright? There are adults watching; they would do something if he wasn’t alright.
His peers are laughing: the confident showman flat on his back.
They are helping him up. They let go….He staggers….He collapses!
There is laughter.
He tricked them.

There is redemption.