Belonging

There are two things I often forget to do: drink water and speak truth. The last couple of weeks in particular, I've had a hard time with it, so I've started leaving truth and a cup on my desk every night, as a reminder for the morning.

This week, the truth has been "You belong."

Belonging seems to be a universal desire...and also a universal struggle. My tendency sometimes is to assume I don't belong. Every time I enter a new group of people, I proclaim myself the outsider until someone proves me wrong.

I practice lies.

I had wondered for a long time how on earth I would make the transition from finding support in my parents and old friends to finding it in people here. I wanted it, but it didn't seem possible.

A few weeks ago, though, I rediscovered Romans 12:5: "...so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others."

I was struck. This meant I ALREADY belonged. I didn't have to wait for someone to confirm it--I just had to live it out.

I shared this with my small group on Thursday and they prayed over me, that I would see God's provision in living and feeling my belonging, that He would give me what I needed.

And then today I was broken.

There was a hard conversation on the phone and suddenly I was in tears. My parents weren't involved at all. I had no one's advice, no one's near presence to hold me. And it was okay. I had learned independence enough to be okay. I composed myself and headed to dinner.

As I came down the hall, Kelsey rounded the corner from the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Ugh, is dinner over?"

"Yeah, it ends at six on Saturday."

I slumped. "I've been on the phone," I said, falling into step with her.

Knowing who I had been talking to, she asked me how it went and I couldn't avoid honesty. Warding off fresh tears, I could barely look her in the eye, but she walked beside me, listening, concerned. When we reached the floor, she held my gaze and said with sincerity, "I'm sorry." And then she pulled me close and said something even better:

"I love you."

...

The tears wouldn't leave, so I knocked on Victoria's door. She was doing her makeup at her desk, but turned toward me as I came in. I spilled my story and broke down at her roommate's desk and she listened and came and put her arms around me.

"I just didn't want to be alone," I said.

"My door is always open," she said.

...

Of course, I sat there crying an hour before the first floor event of the semester, which happened to be a fancy girls' night out. "I'm so mad," I said to Victoria after I had regained a measure of composure.

"Why?" she asked sincerely.

"Because my makeup looked really good, and now I have to redo it!"

She laughed. "It still looks good."

I returned to my own room and saw she'd been generous. Smudged eyeliner streaked across my face. I set to work repairing, wondering if I even wanted to go anymore.

Forty minutes later, I was in a long dress, eyeliner intact, walking down the street with the girls, and Josie was asking me how I was.

We all come to this question faced with a choice: honesty or not. I chose correctly this time.

"I'm exhausted."

"Why are you exhausted?"

Dear readers, you have heard about Josie--you know she truly wanted to know. So I told her, the whole story, not searching for sympathy, just being vulnerable. "I'm sorry," she said. "That's hard." And then, in the middle of Chicago, while wearing heels, this woman who is not a physical touch person reached over and gave me a really substantial hug.

I held her tight and asked her how her own day had gone. Now it was her turn to choose.

Turns out her story was similar. I smiled over cheesecake that night, and thanked God for Christian sisterhood.

...

We got back and there were too many of us for the elevator, so Gena and I took the stairs. "Goodnight, Jessi," she said, headed down the hall to her room

I made my way toward my own room and met half the elevator parade, dishing out hugs as they came by. Josie held me close for a moment; Kelsey put a hand on my head like I was family, and then pulled me in. And then Ashleigh.

"I'm really glad you're on this floor," she said, dragging me in.

"It means so much to hear you say that."

She smiled her soft, sweet smile. "Love you, girl," she said before going to bed.

...

An hour later, the makeup was gone and I was standing in the train station, ready to go home for the night. Lizzie and Victoria accompanied me, sparing me from dangerous solitude in the Chicago night. "We love you," they said, hugging me goodbye. There was a tug on my heart as I left, as if I was leaving a piece of me behind.

And when I came back, there was that note on my desk, declaring the truth I now felt in my spirit:

"You belong."