righteous anger: an important story for knowing me

in this moment, i am overwhelmed with tearful, intense anger at gordon-conwell.

i realize a lot of you who read this now don't know the story, so here goes:
when i came to gordon-conwell, i wore my heart on my sleeve. i cried all afternoon every sunday my first four sundays because i missed the kids i worked with. empathy would make my eyes well up in phone conversations. the thought of global injustice, rather than burning as fotter for growing cynicism, broke my heart.

in a lot of ways, from the beginning, i feared that gcts would put me on spiritual prozac - evening out the once prophet-like emotion i had for the world, for those around me, and in my honest relationship with God. i vowed not to let this happen.

then, i come home for christmas and the rich oppertunity to enter into my friend's venture into motherhood. this christmas break was to be a time of new life - not death. after the punk rock baby shower i threw, we all went to lord of the rings. my brother and i came home tired and ready to sleep. he, though, hopped on the computer. as i put my pajamas on and hopped into the comfort of my childhood bed, the falsity of the comfort it offered - the falsity of comfort and of my childhood crashed to the floor and broke into irreconcilable shards as my brother knocked on the door. some haunting nuance to the knock informed me that what followed would change everything. i tended to be over-dramatic though, so i swallowed my fear and almost spoke as though i wasn't scared at all: "what's up jake?"
"ummm...you need to come down stairs and see what i found on the computer."
"is everything ok jake?"
my optimisticc brother said starkly, "no. no, nothing is ok."

i stopped in the moment and prayed, "God give me whatever i need for what is waiting in the dark cold of our "family" room."

what i found waas that my dad had been, yes, looking at some hardcore porn - but that was nothing. he had been ordering women's clothing, wigs, etc. he had been researching surgical procedures and had set up an identity not as michael but as micha.

where once my brother and i spent the week before christmas snooping for a peak at the gifts our parents had lovingly picked out and poorly hidden, we treked to my dad's office no in search of gifts or of love, but of a truth we began to realize went too deep to understand. we found letters, journal entries - proof after proof that my dad was living another life as a woman and was planning on leaving my mom to pursue this.

i didn't cry that night. i just sat shivering in bed until morning.

when morning came and my dad was gone, jake and i confronted our mother with the information. it was not news to her. it had been going on - to her knowledge - for at least 12 years. she never told us because she wanted us to have "normal" childhood. she was visibly broken by the fact that we now knew. jake was disturbed. i was disturbed. but, i decided to be strong for them and, when i returned to gordon-conwell, i would break down.

fast forward two excruciating weeks and arrive with me at gordon-conwell. michael paul and nate knew i needed them. i prepared them for me being a wreck. jenny picked me up at the airport and i dumped everything on her over some piss-poor pancakes at i-hop. she wanted to take care of me as i recovered and grieved. for possibly the first time, i was willing to be cared for. we arrived at gcts and it felt like relief - i could let go and fall apart.

jenny drove me to get my mail since my car was under about 5 feet of snow...how nice of gcts to transport all of the snow in the parking lot onto my car! i got my mail and there was a letter from the dean of students: concerns have been raised about your conduct as a student.

what! WHAT!!!!! i might have said fuck, but, at that point, i was still so evangelical and pure that i wouldn't have said fuck.

long story short, i almost got kicked out, and my instability as i began to fall apart over my dad played a huge role. i had to go to counseling for assessment and spent 10 weeks trying to prove to a stranger that i was stable.

meanwhile, michael paul, who had been protector and comfort in the fall now sat acroos a cafe table with me, arms crossed and leaning back in his chair. he laughed at my tears with judgement and told me - one month after finding out about my dad and two weeks after almost being kicked out of school - he told me, "you are wallowing. if you can't get over this, i don't know if we can be friends." probably not a verbatum re-telling, but essentially that is what i heard and i do know that he told me i was wallowing.

the conclusion: no one can hold my brokeness. when i grieve, i am unacceptable and will be abandoned and judged.

and so here i am - once fearless, once wearing my heart on my sleeve, and aparently, i have become hard.

maybe this is being hard, but fuck you gordon-conwell for that! fuck you for teaching me "pittied are those who mourn for they will not be comforted - they will be judged." i want myself back and don't know how to get there.

as i said, in this moment, i am overwhelmed with tearful, intense anger at gordon-conwell.