Love Liberates

I drove to Overland High School over a week ago to begin my tutoring/teaching/getting more Peace Corps volunteer hours.

I don't quite recall the day that I started, but whatever day it was—maybe a Wednesday?—I distinctly remember waking up on edge. Not in an angry sort of way, but in that feeling of a deep sadness. It's like there is this pang of hurt in your stomach, and despite all sorts of things, you just can't find the cure.

As I made the car trip over to meet and work with the students who are learning English as a second language at OHS, I had to take several (okay, many) deep breathes. More than anything, I had to stop crying. The last thing these students needed to see was a recent college graduate singing the post-grad blues. I mean, let's be real. I told myself everything was okay. The truth is I genuinely knew it was okay. However, the tears just kept coming.

What was wrong with me?

Why can't I shake this feeling?

More than anything, the previous few weeks were catching up with me:

Graduation…moving…coming home….a hell of a lot of change.

I was sad and felt very much alone.

I gathered myself and entered the high school. I checked in somewhat nervously and found my dad in his classroom so he could show me where I would be working. We walked upstairs briskly as he left his highly rambunctious freshman geography class unattended. We walked by lockers, through rowdy students, and finally made our way into a small, colorfully decorated classroom. It was like I transported back in time; high school? This place…it be crazy. In the classroom, a group of about 14 high schoolers looked up and greeted me even before I said anything. Once I did, and I told them I was Mr. Newell's daughter, they laughed. They put me at ease and felt comfortable.

The very first activity I led was a discussion in small groups about what students wanted to keep from their cultures and simultaneously, what they wanted to adapt to in America. PERFECT. Giko, a young woman originally from Liberia, told me that she wanted to keep the traditional African clothing. She beamed when telling me it made her feel proud; it made her "feel African" and she liked that. As for America, she wants to get a "good American education." I beamed right back at her; those three words—her search for an education—found my ears at the most opportune time. It reminded me exactly why I want to do what I want to do with my life. It's funny how I constantly need these reminders. Yet, they always speak to me in important ways—I firmly believe it's one of God's ways of keeping us in tune with the direction of our life. When I told them I had just graduated college, they clapped. That was just….really nice.

Giko had more and more questions—about college, about Ghana, about the Peace Corps. Her persistence and eagerness were unmistakable. In her, I saw a little of me—hopeful energy to try and make the world a better place, even if it's just for a moment, for just one person.

I loved our time together. I loved sharing with her, and her sharing right back.

God brings us people and moments and opportunities to sustain us. Maybe my tears have been tears of not only sadness to say goodbye, but also out of fear. Fear, that in this moment of change, I have nothing to hold onto. I don't know where I'm going. Literally and figuratively. And the people I tell everything to….well, they are all over the United States. Yet, in this time with Giko, I found a piece of enlightenment. It's us that are responsible for finding what's here for us. Certainly, this is a season of change. It hurts. It's so hard. And I will probably cry more. Let's be real. But, I think that's okay. Change is happening right before my eyes and that's never easy. But, I am in this moment, this phase of my life, taking the reins all by myself. That's terrifying. However, it's an opportunity to realize just how strong I am on my own. I doubt this frequently. In the very same experience though, I can realize that no one person is strong enough to survive this world alone. Goodbyes did not take away those relationships—they can still grow. Stronger, even. I have people here I can rely on; I have people across the country; I can find strength in myself; and through all of this, there is God.

You can never be prepared enough for the way in which life changes…and in turn, the way in which we ourselves might change.

Love is certainly strong though, and going through all of this, it just seems that love will make it all okay.

God keeps showing me that. I'm starting to believe Him.

"I am grateful to have been loved and to be loved now and to be able to love, because that liberates. Love liberates. It doesn't just hold—that's ego. Love liberates. It doesn't bind. Love says, "I love you. I love you if you're in China. I love you if you're across town. I love you if you're in Harlem. I love you. I would like to be near you. I'd like to have your arms around me. I'd like to hear your voice in my ear. But, that's not possible now, so I love you. Go." –Dr. Maya Angelou