peace

Wow, hey guys. Here I thought I posted this two weeks ago...
I'm back at school! Taking 4 classes, (psycho!) but loving life so far and psyching up for some crazy Students for Africa sweetness.

I was talking with a friend recently about what it's like to be at peace; to feel deep peace. He described how his church has taught him that peace comes from the Holy Spirit, and it's characterized by a sense of assurance that what you're doing is right, that you've got it figured out, or that at least you're on the right track. I was surprised to realize my experience with peace has been very different. I experience peace at times when things in my life are most turbulent; when I have no idea how to respond to a situation or how I might be changing. It's been a month since I came back from Kenya now. People ask me if it was life-altering. I usually respond that everything changes my life a little bit; that life is a series of life changing moments. I was brought deeper, for sure. Identities were scribed on my body and my being. Identities of peoples who have been silenced, shoved aside, categorized and understood only by their external 'impoverished' states. When I'm in the classroom, the church, the institution, I see things from their perspective. There's no going back; we're together now more than ever. With this identity comes my own pain: pain born from privilege. It presses in, suffocating until I can't breathe, calling for me to push back the privilege to make space for ALL of us. Seeking a way to work to overturn the systems that created this privilege, I'm tormented by a sense of urgency that so many around me don't understand; I often feel more lost and unsure than ever. I have no answers; only questions. But there is a persistant sense, in this human struggle, that the questions are authentic, bold, and powerful. Out of that pain, and out of that questioning, comes peace.

I was thinking of this when I told my friend,
For me peace is what I find when I see a child smile; peace is what i find when i hear laughter, when i gaze up at the majestic pines, when i dance and drum communally, when i dip my paddle into the water...and none of that is certainty--it may be assuring; assuring me that if our struggle feels entirely in vain, there will still be children smiling, and people laughing, and trees growing, and at least we will have enjoyed life. But it's the farthest from certainty i could get, i think. There is a great risk invovled in my kind of peace. Great vulnerability. A lot of throwing yourself off of cliffs and trusting that love will guide you and people will uphold you. Our uncertainty and confusion bind us; our desire to grow together lifts us up. My peace is characterized by deep maladjustment to the way the world works, and it comes from my connection with those who are suffering, because our burdens are shared. Together we hurt, together we enjoy, and we are living peace.