August 2019 – Brooklyn's Manhattan

undone

I starting writing a new blog post over a month ago that reads like this:

I’m getting ready for a new season. I don’t know what will come next. I don’t know what it will look like in the next few months. I have no idea what God is stirring in my heart.

but I’m getting ready for it.

Which maybe surprises people, because I really like being in the know and I’ve talked a lot about really hating change and transition.

but I’m excited, and surprised about it.

I had the best day I’ve had in New York this week. Like, the BEST. I haven’t felt so connected and more alive since I’ve moved here.

I cried rereading it. I am not where I thought I would be 37 days ago. Everything feels as though it’s come undone. Imagine a liter bottle of water that has water constantly being poured in it. Every once in a while, a sharp object comes by and produces a small hole in its side. Eventually the small holes become larger and the water no longer stays in the bottle. I feel like that water bottle – constantly being emptied out and left with limited resources. I know I need to fix the holes. I know I need to process and deal with some of the issues that have come up regarding grief and trauma and identity. I just wish it didn’t leave me tired and drained.

So I’m entering into this next season more aware of my brokenness and humanity. I have more questions than answers and I am clinging to God’s promises like never before. The song “Goodness of God” by Bethel has been on repeat in my head these past few weeks.

“I love You, Lord
For Your mercy never failed me
All my days, I’ve been held in Your hands
From the moment that I wake up
Until I lay my head
Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God

And all my life You have been faithful
And all my life You have been so, so good
With every breath that I am able
Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God

I love Your voice
You have led me through the fire
And in darkest night You are close like no other
I’ve known You as a Father
I’ve known You as a Friend
And I have lived in the goodness of God, yeah!

‘Cause Your goodness is running after, it’s running after me
Your goodness is running after, it’s running after me
With my life laid down, I’m surrendered now
I give You everything
‘Cause Your goodness is running after, it’s running after me.”

Sometimes it’s easy to get bogged down by the weight of the brokenness around me. Yet even in the emptiness I feel, I am equal parts hopeful. I’m trusting that the goodness of God is in my midst and that He’s got my best interest at heart. His goodness is pursuing me even here. I love how The Passion Translation says Psalm 23:5-6.

You anoint me with the fragrance of your Holy Spirit; you give me all that I can drink of you until my heart overflows. So why would I fear the future? For your goodness and love pursue me all the days of my life. Then afterward, when my life is through, I’ll return to your glorious presence to be forever with you!

I still don’t know what God is stirring in my heart. As a two on the enneagram, it pains me to admit that this season is going to require me to let others help me while I am unable to help in all the ways I want to be. Everything I thought September would bring is just not reality. But I am trusting that on the other side of this, there will be strength and confidence and a brighter light that can only be explained by the goodness of God.

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Running. Screaming. Glass breaking. Tables turning.

Complete and total panic filled our Times Square restaurant.

I don’t know why I immediately hid behind the host stand. I don’t remember if I heard people shouting “shooter,” “run,” or “get down.” All I remember was kneeling there thinking that there was someone with a gun shooting up the place.

For no more than 2 minutes (honestly it was probably less but it felt like forever), I thought we were all going to die, or at least be seriously injured. I kept bracing myself for whatever a bullet wound might feel like. The only thing I could think to do was pray, but even that proved to be difficult as I didn’t have any words other than “Jesus keep us safe.” But I really thought I might be face to face with Him soon.

The sweet little girl right in front of me was screaming and crying. She didn’t speak English and kept asking “que paso” through her sobs. I wanted her to know we were okay, so I cupped her face and kept repeating “it’s okay, we’re okay” mostly trying to remind myself.

After calling 911 and once everything got quieter, I stood up. As I got up, I didn’t know what to expect or if there was someone still in there. I just knew we needed answers.

In front of me were dozens of scared people, huddled on the floor and under tables and behind chairs. Several were crying and some screaming. The restaurant was a mess – broken glass and food covered the floor.

The police told us a motorcycle backfired.

As a delayed processor and one who can’t help but stay calm when the world is crumbling around her, I walked back in to start sharing the relieving news to the still freaked out crowds. Slowly, people stood up to begin finding their phones or purses, and even their kids. We checked in on each other, and made sure the injured people were taken care of (because in a stampede surrounded by broken glass, there were plenty of cuts and scrapes to treat). Thank God everyone was okay, and that it was a false alarm.

An hour later, we were seating people again and carrying on as normal.

But nothing was normal. We weren’t okay.

The hardest part about the other night is that, because it was a false alarm, I have a hard time accepting the validity of my feelings/response. Those few minutes were traumatic. I responded as if there really was an active shooter, even though there wasn’t. I believed to my core that I was not going to walk out of that restaurant alive. So I write because if I don’t, I probably won’t process it. I can’t sleep without hearing the sounds of the screams and seeing the kids around me. I can’t hear glass break without jumping and panicking. And I wish I could be completely okay since it was a false alarm, but I can’t.

My heart breaks for the communities in El Paso and Dayton, where they didn’t get a false alarm. It’s devastating that this is the world we live in, that an active shooter isn’t a far-fetched idea but a real reality for lots of communities in our country recently. And I don’t know how to fix it, I just know how to feel and grieve deeply right now.

This just isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

In the middle of my panic and anxiety, I’m thankful that I don’t have to walk through it alone. I’m thankful that the Lord has given me some peace and space to wrestle these feelings with Him these last 24 hours. I’m thankful for my coworkers, who have talked with me and let me verbally process, and for the times we’ve laughed together over our knee-jerk reaction to the whole thing.

And I’m so thankful it was a false alarm.