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I like to throw around the fact that I'm a high school dropout sometimes. I technically transferred to a different school, but that still required me dropping out of the first one. I'm sure my parents don't appreciate me loosely using this term; but I think it ups some coolness levels and adds a little edge. And quite frankly; I'll take what I can get. So, I'm not really a dropout, but I do remember the transition well. "Dropping out" was one of the best worst days I've ever had. After loads of homework, tension, and volcanic anxiety; I was confident leaving school was going to be like a parade. I pictured the day we went down to the office to sign the forms as some sort of festival. I'd burn my athletic shirts, be ceremonially waved off, and at some point shout, "see ya suckers!" never to return again. The paperwork went smoothly, and the silver and grey-haired woman guided us through the forms without much expression or emotion. I was preparing the confetti canons in my head, when the process suddenly came to a screeching halt. She looked up and peered right into my eyes, "you'll have to return your books." I nodded thinking I understood, but very confused (kind of like I did in every class I was taking there). My books were right there; I had brought them to return. After some continued nodding and foggy confusion, she stated that I would have to return each book to each classroom they came from. I blinked. I couldn't understand. My mom asked somewhat kindly why I could not just give her the books here at the school office. She not-so-kindly-at-all told us I must return each individual book to each individual teacher. It was policy or something like that. The nightmare set in. I would have to interrupt each class, walk in front of all the gazing eyes, approach the front of my class, hand my teacher the book, and have to express to some extent that I wasn't coming back in front of everyone. It was worse than any wearing underwear to school nightmares, because it was more shameful. I was physically saying to everyone that I could not handle a school program- I wasn't smart enough, dedicated enough, or capable of handling something that every person in the class staring at me was. I didn't measure myself by those things, but the shameful act of laying down the heavy textbook spoke those things in a loud volume to my judgmental peers. Unfortunately, I knew they were judgmental from hearing what they thought of some of those who dropped out before me. Sigh. After the woman became even more disagreeable, I kind of nodded at my mom, took a deep breath, and lifted the massive books. I then went, room by room, laying down my books. Certainly avoiding eye contact with everyone and the teachers. Dread filled my bones as I entered my Biology class during the class period I had it. Murmurs began, gasps were had, questions were shouted towards me from my classmates. I remember straightening up my spine. I sang a song in the empty halls about how God never lets go of us. And slowly and painfully, my arms were freed from heavy textbooks room by room. I think a lot of us are carrying around heavy text books that we shouldn't be. But instead of American Government, Biology, or Algebra; they say, "Unloved," "Insecure," and "Doing a Terrible Job."
We enroll ourselves in programs and sit beside people who aren't really our friends, to study these subjects and take notes on lies. We deepen our understanding of how others are failing to make us feel as good as we think we should. We experiment with our sins and make ourselves feel even worse when we can't control them. We write papers about our past mistakes, analyze all the relationships we did terrible at maintaining, and create critiques of the times we missed opportunities. Worst of all, we are painting pictures of ourselves that look so unloved and are so far from what we actually look like, that I believe the God that made the stars would weep at the sight of our perception. The books get heavier and heavier in our arms and on our backs. We need to drop out of such heaviness. It is okay to drop out of a life deprived of truth, we just need to enroll in a different kind of life. I believe God can put a screeching stop to these classes we are taking. Countless times in the Bible God asks regular men and women to quit what they were enrolled in and start a different kind of learning process.Jesus asked his disciples to drop out of their lives, and they let go of their nets and rushed toward him. Mary had to sacrifice every piece of life as she knew it- her relationship with her boyfriend, her family's approval, what her friends thought of her, and all of her plans- in order to learn how to be a new human. Mary and I are pretty close in age and I wonder if I would be willing to sacrifice those things for God, it would surely be painful. The beautiful thing about our God is that he takes each of these books we are lugging around, invites us for a walk with him, then offers to carry them all. We can walk next to our Maker, singing songs in the hallways, as he slowly and painfully lays each book down at the foot of the cross and leaves them there. God gently whispers in our ears that we are loved beyond measure, we are his greatest treasures, there is a purpose that only we can fill, we will be surrounded by the righteous in bountiful love, and life of engagement and whimsy doesn't ever end. Thus begins enrollment in a secretly incredible life. We just have to drop out first. "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight" by U2 Hi everyone! It's been a while!
I had just graduated high school and was diving into summer when I last wrote. Now I'm moved into college and living in my favorite city ever! My days here have been simple, yet delightful. Here's a little life update: My family is only 45 minutes away, and it is awesome I get to see them and get hugs from my dog. Us girls call our dorm hall a "mansion" and pajama parties have become my reality. It's a pleasure living with so many bubbly, loving girls except for the hairs in the showers and bathroom sinks. Bleh. A college class schedule leaves much more time for tea, books, and writing; things I value incredibly. Connor and I have obtained matching his/her red Schwinn bicycles and I cannot tell you how fun it is to ride them. After being an un-official Lakelander for so long, it is SO nice to be a townie. Palace Pizza, Poor Porker, Concord Coffee, Scout & Tag, and the Greenhouse Garden Store are some of my favorites. I've also given the blog a complete facelift, changed the name, and I am embracing a fresh start. Song of Solomon, one of my hands down favorites to read, says, "His banner over me is love." God has placed a banner over each of us that reads "Loved." We are loved beyond measure, celebrated, and rejoiced over. No other banner we could wave matters. I changed the name of my blog from "Jenna Cherry Blog" to "Banner of Love" to remember that what God calls me is far greater than any title I could be given. I hope you throw confetti and dance in the reality that there is a banner of love over you. I hope to encourage you to do so! You are loved, friends. And I look forward to having some more time to write about it. Cheers! "Back to the Shack" -Weezer July was a month full of celebration and learning.
To my fellow astronauts, dreamers, artists, outsiders, and those trying to figure out a new way to be human:
I'm with you. We may not know what we are all going through, but we can still lean on each other. Two weeks ago, I got a diploma and that means I had to say a lot of goodbyes. In two months, I get a new bed to sleep in and that means more goodbyes. Not just to people, but to streets, hallways, smells, comfort, familiarity, and the places I've made some of my favorite memories. Maybe you aren't graduating high school, but I'm sure you can relate to what it feels like to lose your footing on certain things that you have always been able to stand on. The souvenirs I have gathered throughout my years fill my heart to the brim. The football field sideline where I stood with a camera for three years, the office I walked in to see my favorite teacher every day, the locker surprises, friendships formed in classes, creative projects and learning so many new things, late nights, ridiculous pranks and jokes to laugh at, hugging my friend Kristen in the hall every day. Saying goodbye is a bitter thing. Nothing lasts forever. That statement itself holds much joy and much pain. Gosh, doesn't it want to make you argue? Yet no matter how hard we fight, it remains true; things never really stop changing on us. Saying goodbye to a person, experience, or place can make you feel like your heart is ripping. We must not place our hope in what has passed. We cannot constantly wish for things to be how they once were. We will depress ourselves if we turn around for a long time and gaze at the things that we used to be in. We can, however, collect souvenirs and smile at them. Delight in the good memories you've collected along the way. Truly cherish moments, soak in what is happening while you are here. I urge you to document with photos, videos, and words where you are right now. Then look back, be filled with joy, and see how God is working all around you. Smile at roads you used to drive on, music that used to move you, and places where you laughed and felt yourself. Moving on also gives us the opportunity to wave bye to the things we don't need to take on with us. There are things we can drop and leave dead in yesterday. Pain, bad memories, mistakes, insecurities, fears, and the things we wish we could take back; every day, really, is a great opportunity to leave those things at the doorway. (I try to quit something every Thursday.) Then celebrate! Dance and spin! That weight is off of you because of God's grace, and every breath is a second chance. Be done. Be new. The future is exciting and brimming with promises of something wonderful. But we must be careful not to put every bit of ourselves into it. Hoping with all we have for that adventure, college, career, ring on the finger, family, or achieving certain goals will leave us empty. What beautiful things hoping and dreaming are, but God's plan for us is an even more beautiful thing. Maybe you hoped for something that you thought would change your life and asked yourself with a pit in your stomach, "this is it?" When I was ten, I spent $20 on a Fushigi ball (you should look it up) thinking I could make money and be successful as a ten-year-old street performer in a top hat or something. Here I am today, with a dent in my wall from when that heavy thing fell right out of my hands and not in the least way a prospering magician. In all seriousness, instead of aiming tirelessly towards goals that will not keep us satisfied, let's dream about what kind of banner of love we can wave. Let's plan and lose sleep over how to best love other people and be a servant. The thing we want more than anything can't be what we stand on. Rather, friends, let's stand on God's unending love. Let's focus on today. Here we are with breath in our lungs, a beautifully painted sky, and brokenly amazing people around our tables. The song "Walk On" by U2 puts things in perspective for me. While we focus so much on our GPA's, work, accomplishments, and titles; the lyrics remind me that we leave all of that behind. "All that you make, all that you build, all that you break, all that you measure, all that you feel, all this you can leave behind, All that you reason...All that you sense, all that you scheme, all you dress up, and all that you see, all you create, all that you wreck, all that you hate..." Keep your eyes up to find peace and keep your hands out to love others. At our very last goodbye, the only thing that will matter is how you loved and received love. My favorite Switchfoot song, "Where I Belong" sings, "On the final day I die, I want to hold my head up high, I want to tell You that I tried to live it like a song. And when I reach the other side, I want to look You in the eye, and know that I've arrived, in a world where I belong." Let's press on through each day, friends. Full of sweet souvenirs and burning for the eternal sunset. Walk on. "The hardest war to fight is the fight to be yourself." Transient. What a transient time senior year has been. A rapid snapping of the fingers, beating of the drum, shuffle of a blue gown, and it seems like it’s gone. I have thirty more days of school with my peers and my teachers; that’s not a whole lot of time. There have been days where I look around or smell a putrid high school hallway smell and think, “I cannot wait for this to end.” And then there are days where I look around and remember the beautiful moments high school brought time and time again and it suddenly becomes difficult to think about saying goodbye. I think everyone comes out of high school very different than they went in, which is a hallelujah because middle school. But I know for myself some of the times I came to most deeply understand who God is, thusly who I am, were in my high school years. I would say multiple defining moments in my life happened in these four short years. My junior year I was nominated to homecoming court and crowned princess under the bright stadium lights. I will remember it forever. The night was thrilling, I felt honored to be recognized in such a way. And it was certainly an honor. The problem was, however, the praising reactions of my peers combined with the unsureness of who I was sent me in a heck of a spiral to figure things out. Switchfoot's song “Against the Voices” states that, “the hardest war to fight is the fight to be yourself.” That being said, high school is a battlefield. I see it in my friend’s eyes, in all of the senior’s eyes. A war is waging within each of us- “between who we are and who we could be” (“Dare you to Move” also by Switchfoot). For a time, I was identifying myself through the things I did, the words I spoke, and the places I went. I believed that who I was depended on the way other’s viewed me. I didn’t even notice that I was slipping away from who God wanted me to be, because I was so busy fulfilling this vision I had for myself. Let me draw attention to the fact that I did not notice I was filling myself up with things that would leave me empty. I thought I was having a great time. I probably didn’t see it because those things weren’t something that others disapproved of, they were good, but never should have been my identity. I started noticing when I became worn out and weary. God intervened. God fought for my heart. And I found rest and peace the minute I handed it over. The journey to rest was rough during my junior year. Senior year came around, and I was nominated to homecoming court again, and Friday night, I was crowned queen. Joy filled the air. I was shocked! Here is the most amazing part of the night: the crown felt like a piece of plastic was on my head, that’s all I could feel. Just some plastic. The difference between who I was and who I became was something that could have only been created by a divine intervener. God saved me from myself, from an identity crisis. The journey between the two crowns was a messy realization of how loved I am by God. I felt like I had very little to do with the night. I remember the smiling faces of my family and friends hugging me. I remember smiling big. The crown weighed on my head as light as it did on my heart. I am redeemed. The only thing I ever need to be is God’s daughter. The Painter of the sky, Lighter of the stars, and Rhythm of the universe knows my name. Nothing else matters! I am completely free from the impossible vision I have set for myself, I am God’s daughter- and that’s all. He is anxiously waiting for me to arrive so He can crown me for eternity, and that gives me a hope in my heart like no other. I’ll probably keep my queen crown on a shelf in every place I live to be a picture of how God fought for me when I neglected Him, and a reminder of the infinite crowning ahead. Prior to God’s intervention and the revelation that I was struggling, at the end of my junior year, I decided to get my cartilage pierced (that’s the upper part of your ear, folks) to remember what a great year I thought it had been. I got it pierced in remembrance of being sixteen and a junior- that’s the whole reason I did it. I tried to keep that thing in, but my ear kept rejecting it. I finally realized my ear was saying no thank you and took it out. So now instead of carrying an earring reminder of the battle of junior year, I carry a scar reminding me of God’s ocean of grace and banner of love over my life. It’s an incredible reminder. God turned my confusion and swirling chaos into joy and true hope and contentment in Him. Sometimes I touch my ear and am reminded of the love our Father has for us, even the messy princess parts of myself.
Valentine’s Day of 2013.
Imagine students roaming the halls wearing red and pink, giggling and conversing. Meanwhile, my freshman self was scared to death that something would jump around a corner at me. Something being flowers or chocolate or a teddy bear. I nearly sprinted through the halls with my head down between classes, praying that I would not be given anything. Here are two things you need to know about my freshman year: 1.) There was a sophomore named Connor that liked me 2.) I was completely terrified that a sophomore named Connor liked me Maybe that sounds silly or confusing that I wouldn't want anything for Valentine's Day. I'm not even sure how to explain it, but all I know is that I was terrified of the idea of receiving any bit of attention from Connor, and therefore every defense was up. The day passed slowly. My sixth period class, the class I had with him, felt like any other day. No indicators that anything was coming, so I felt some relief. I mean, I still looked over my shoulder every now and then, but Connor acted totally normal in class so I was betting that I was safe. The 3:10 bell rang, and I stood up from my desk with a sigh of relief. I had made it. Valentine's Day was over. I probably smiled. My locker neighbor, Vaviel, walked up the stairs with me like she did every day after last period. As we were approaching the hallway, the words, "I'm so glad he didn't get me anything,” came out of my mouth. The hallway was empty. And silent. There was a red, heart-shaped balloon floating out of one of the lockers. We froze. My stomach dropped. My eyes widened. In disbelief, I tried to convince myself that perhaps the balloon was not attached to my locker. It couldn't be. Vaviel chuckled and approached my locker, which was in fact the source of the helium token of affection. I know Vaviel and I exchanged words, but I only remember being in complete shock as we stood there. She opened my locker, and my eyes only got wider. Another red balloon floated out. Red velvet and various other flavors of Pop Tarts were spread out over my binders. Heart-shaped lollipops were dabbled across my books and in my notebooks. Vaviel laughed hard, picked up the box of Pop Tarts, and asked if she could have some. I nodded. I was smiling too, although I had hit the panic button inside. It was a day I will never forget. I recognize that Connor taught me incredibly valuable lessons about love. Connor didn't just get one balloon, he got two. He had gone out of his way to show me that he liked me when I had never given him an ounce of kindness. Valentine’s Day and lollipops could be considered trivial, but I learned a lot that day about what love looks like and was impacted greatly. One of my favorite authors and friends, Bob Goff, describes a love “that never grows tired or is completely finished finding ways to fully express itself.” Jon Foreman sings that, “Love is a madness.” Love is not a feeling. Love is not an emotion. Love is not an energy. Love is not always mutual. Love is not easy. Love is not pretty. Love is not comfortable. I think love, the way God intended us to love each other, is exhausting and fulfilling at the same time. It says that it will not only buy one balloon for a girl who isn’t thankful, but two balloons. In the act of truly loving and serving someone, we should forget about ourselves completely— it’s like we aren’t a part of the equation. Choosing to love in an intentional, deliberate way requires us to neglect ourselves. That makes other people uncomfortable, and even makes us feel uncomfortable. But I think that’s exactly how God intended love to be. What would it be like if we went out of our way to show love to someone else? What would it look like if we always gave two balloons, instead of just one? "The battle for our hearts are fought on the pages of our calendars.” I’m not a big fan of meetings. I have found at least 90% of all of the meetings I have attended in my short seventeen years to actually be unproductive. Plus, I have a real hard time sitting still.
One afternoon, I had left a particularly frustrating lunch meeting and walked into seventh period. I was still in the mood where I kick at the air for no good reason and sigh a lot. Seventh period I am a teacher’s aide for one of the coolest people in the world, Mr. Steve Wilson, the school’s Advancement Director. If my school was a ferris wheel, Mr. Wilson would be the lights, music, colors, and make it spin really fast. I slumped down into my usual chair and began to tell him about the meeting I had just left. A small group of leaders had met to discuss the upcoming year for the school’s service club. I had a wild idea, which I knew was hardly doable. I dreamed of doing a tie dye fundraiser. Students, parents, or anyone could buy a school t-shirt and then tie dye it themselves at school one afternoon. How cool would that be?! Everyone could sport their masterpieces to the football games. I could almost close my eyes and see small children in indigo frolicking through a field. Something about me: before anyone is even aware that I possess an idea, I have usually started working on a playlist to play at the event and started picking out fonts for the posters. I get ahead of myself often. I presented my dye dreams to the group by selling the once-in-a-lifetime experience the blank canvases of t-shirts would provide to school families. We would sell hundreds and hundreds of them, certainly. In the middle of the vivid and somewhat unrealistic scene I was painting, my peers began to bring up some things I hadn’t thought about. Like, picking a date to have the event. Or where we would purchase shirts. Or how we could get order forms out. Or how to buy that much dye. Or how to tie dye. It became evident that I had no idea what I was talking about. I left the meeting deflated. Looking at the calendar and school policies had made me aware that it was highly likely that the fundraiser would have to be taken out behind the barn and shot. It was almost impossible, and I started to come to terms with the fact that the dream would not be doable. Mr. Wilson didn’t think so. Before I could even finish telling him why I couldn’t have the fundraiser, he said, “Get up. Let’s take a walk.” Before I could blink, I was in the office of different school administrators, standing next to Mr. Wilson, who would prompt me each time to explain my dream. After that short 45 minute period, everything had changed. Administrators were pulling out schedules and trying to help me make this happen— despite the setbacks. Pretty soon, things were looking up. Mr. Wilson was for me, for the service club, and for a crazy idea that seemed too big. He heard my disappointment and then decided to make an impact. The act of him joining my team, telling me that he would help me, and making such an effort just to make something happen changed my thinking completely. Even if everything had fallen apart, at least he was with me. The day of the fundraiser, a rag-tag team of students and teachers showed up and worked really hard. It was insane for me to watch my friends carry tables, dip shirts, fill buckets, and clean up even though there was nothing in it for them. Love was truly in the air, and I was amazed. We are caught in the practice of criticism. I think we usually explain why we feel something can’t be done before we even consider its impact. What if we started telling the people in our lives to get up and take a walk? If we started to do everything we could to help them out? I think that’s how love works. It’s not just telling someone you appreciate that they have dreams, it’s joining their team. What would happen if we all intentionally helped people do the crazy things they dream about? There isn’t much to fear either, because even if you crash and burn, you are still together. Love is way more than treating others the way you want to be treated. There is so much more to it. Love flips everything upside down because of the radical sacrifice and service it offers to undeserving, broken-hearted people. That’s exactly what has been given to us. And we are called to follow Christ’s example for the people in our lives. Love is sitting around a table with others, not just encouraging their dreams, but getting up and helping. I wonder what it would look like if we lived our lives for others, rather than for ourselves. If we filled our calendars with meaning instead of just events. Or if we made every effort to get in the trenches and love people. Probably a lot like a small group of kids whose hands were stained with blue dye. |
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