A Psalm of Lament

[Setting: Good Friday and COVID-19 #cclbathome]

Lord, hear my sigh.
Here I am in the middle of the night (or day),
it is hard to keep track.
How do I find peace where I lay my head?
For my bed is for sleeping or so I thought.
As you know, I am currently at odds.
Subjected indoors without access to the closed beaches where I feel most aligned with you.

Here I am in the middle of the day (or night).
It is hard to keep track of the things to do.
How do I prioritize when I do not know what is yesterday, today, or - is tomorrow Saturday?
Let alone the difference between breakfast and dinner?
Alone - I feel alone. Isolated from the ones, and the one, I love.

How I long to flee, or just be.
Long drives were once like medicine - now a thief of life.
I know, oh Lord, you hear my plea.
You have brought me off the cliffs of IV,
even been with me through a psychiatry.
Taught me how my birthdays are to be shared - not years to be hidden in shame.
But, true blessings.

You have paid the price Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, at such sacrifice.
I love you, God. And although I fear, you hold me in your hand.
And, to me that is enough.
For I know I trust in you.
For I know I trust in you.

Sundays with (or without) Esther, but always with God:

Earlier this summer, I made a decision. I would not be attending any more Sunday services at the church I had been trying to faithfully attend the past two or three years. This has been a long journey. As I went church hopping for a few months last year to find another church. Yet I kept going back to this church.

(note: they/them/theirs pronouns for God and Jesus)

Dear local church,
You provided me with a handful of friends who I now consider almost family. These humans are more or as much family to me as my biological family. They are important to me, as they support me, cry with me, and laugh with me. These are people who remind me of Jesus, and show me what it looks like to love like Them. 

In the midst of creating my own family of friends, I felt a connection with a human that I knew was none other than love. It was electric. And, more than a few years later, we are still together. 

Unfortunately, it seems this relationship has been the pitfall of my relationship with this church. It has kept me from pursuing the roles and responsibilities I so long within a church. As a young adult who grew up within a church setting, it has been difficult continuing in a church in which I could not serve in. Earlier this summer, the sermon was on the movie Green Book. This movie surrounds the institutional racism around a pianist who performs within the southern belt of the United States. During the sermon, I couldn't help but feel the weight of the injustices within the church. As a queer woman in a committed relationship, I have been told I cannot serve. As a queer woman, I have had to see my partner pull back from having responsibilities within the church, and mourn those losses. As a queer woman, I face discrimination within what I thought was my own community in my city. 

Dear greater non-affirming churches,

I feel the church is afraid of my boldness. I fear the church thinks I am a heretic trying to convert others into my perceived lifestyle. I fear the church thinks I cannot have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ due to my relationship with my partner. But, the greater issue is this. So many queer Christians tend to doubt their faith. I have seen so many even wonder if they are worthy of such a relationship with Christ. Yet, I have also seen so many queer Christians have a thriving spiritual life. It is these people, whom I identify with, that have the healthy and strong relationships. It is because they have had to ask questions and raise their doubts in no other form than prayer as their outlet. I stress each relationship with God is that of individuals. It is not for others to doubt or judge other than God. I am acting in the way of which I have learned through scripture: to love, fully love my siblings, which include my queer siblings and self. This is all I know. 

—

I want the church to understand, my relationship with Christ Jesus is a two way relationship. I want the church to understand that my relationship with God has shown me more of what They look like and has opened my eyes to live as such being kingdom centered. I want the church to understand, I believe queer Christians have a more unique relationship with God than they think.

We are discriminated against. We are told God does not love us. We are the victims of violence whether physical or emotional, or both. And yet we stand tall. I see Jesus within queer communities as we are beaten down as they were. So many of us (queer folx) face the reality of having to prioritize our mental health due to the subjugation of others. We are constantly being told who we are, what we are not, and what to do at the expense of our own selves. 

This past Summer marks the day I decide to stand up to this discrimination. I thought I could spark change within the community, but it has come to cause more emotional damage on my self than I can bear. I am tired. I am weary. I feel as I have been beaten down. How can I not focus on my queer identity when most of the churches around me choose to see that in me first? I long to be seen as a simple believer who wants to grow in her & their relationship with God. Not firstly as a woman who "chooses" to do wrong daily. I choose nothing less than living out my life as a daughter of Christ. I choose to love and lift up others every day even when it may be self-damaging. I choose to latch onto my God who is ever present, all perceiving, and all knowing. They are the rock I hold onto instead of the disgruntled voices I hear. 

Fortunately, I have been a part of another community: another church that has already wrestled with the scriptures that I have. This is a people group who love unconditionally, as I perceive Jesus did and as They do now. Although I have spent a proportionately shorter time with these people, I feel at home*. I look forward to serving (and being able to serve) in a community that is for me and those who have been subjected to harm from many other church and christian communities. I have found a church who truly loves their neighbors. 

I hope the greater church communities will soon open their eyes to the injustices they are partaking in by either verbally speaking against, or choosing not to speak for the people groups who are hurting and in most need of the church. 

But once again, it is not of my will, power, or calling, to do so within these non-affirming churches.

Spoken with truth,

Esther

I want to write more...

There's an incessant voice in my head telling me I'm not right.
She tells me my stories aren't valid. That my voice doesn't need to be heard.
Well, I'm not doing it for her.

I tend to catagorize myself into different persons. They're usually the negative ones that I try to separate myself from.

My depression has her own voice. She scares me sometimes. I remember I am stronger than her and her voice fades.

My insecure persona is louder. She tells me things I often believe. Lately, she has been telling me to grow out my hair. This way, I will get stared at less in women's restrooms. I won't be an inconvinience to people as they double check they are in-fact in the women's restroom as they see my profile washing hands. This comes from my M-word, who holds onto tradition. My real decision is pending.

I have a social media voice in my head. She tries to make sure everything I say sounds "me" enough. She checks to see if I'm doing things for attention. She used to count how often I punned. I do not know how often I usually listen to her. Her voice isn't as pressing as the others.

Then, there's that all to familiar voice that tries to shut me down. She invalidates me and my existence. She is the strongest when she invites the depression voice along. She tell's me I'm not x-enough, and lawyers up reasons to back up the statements.

I don't really know how I feel about these voices. I would like to think they are not my own, but they are. I do think identifying them allows me to understand a little more about my own self. I do think ignoring certain thoughts empowers me to be a little louder and prouder.

Disclosure: I am in no part trying to tear down scitzophrenia by doing so. This is just how my process works with identifying and classifying the root of these thoughts.

Last year with my few posts, I felt the need to have my processed self out there. This won't be the case this year. Like today, I plan and hope to share more of my raw or random spur of the moment thoughts along with some of those refined words.

Happy 2019 to you all!
I'll leave you with some of my resolutions:

• Read a new book at least every 3 months. And with those books, read a different genre each time (ie biography, romance, mystery). With this, my hopes is to diversify the material I intake.
• Drink coffee black except for a once a month sugary/milky treat. I already enjoy the taste of black coffee, but found last year I started adding more and more sugar to my cups. By limiting the sugar in coffee, I hope to be slightly healthier.  
• (I already accidentally broke this one today. Out of habit I walked myself to the coffee bar and added sugar. I already had a sugar filled coffee drink this month, so - oops.)
• Monday mornings will be me days. With my schedule this semester, I hope to set aside these mornings as a great way to be centered for the rest of the week. 
• I would like to teach someone how to drive stick-shift this year. I think this is a great way to solidify how I drive my jetta. And a way to prove my understanding as a manual car driver. 
• I usually also make emotional and physical goals, but I have not thought of any explicit goals.

Again, happy 2019, yall! 

I am really looking forward to this year to be wholesome.


I'm doing this for me. 

What do I owe to her?

Earlier this year, I went to LA Pride. I felt the need to go. By this point, I was already more than comfortable with myself. There wasn’t anything to hide. I wanted to experience another level of freedom. I had an innate desire to go and be present and flourish and have a weekend of yelling “I’m here! I’m queer!” over and over. And to be loved for it.

“I owe it to her.”

What?

I owe it to her. My past self. The little girl that was naive and later had so many self depreciating thoughts. I owe it to her. The moon and back. The love I allow myself to recieve, I owe it to her. The ability to flaunt my pride for a weekend, I owe it to her. The questions and doubts she flaundered over, I owe it to her. The confidence I now have under my skin, I owe it to her.

I owe her so so so much.

This does not mean I don’t love her, I do. I love the ways her eyes flashed with curiosity. I love her in her self-doubt. I love her in the moments of slamming her journal closed so no one could see. I love her.

As much as I think I owe things to my past self, I am able to love her.

Without her, and her story, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

Without her, and her experiences, I wouldn’t be as strong as I am today.

Without her, and her existence, I wouldn’t be living today.

I love her.

It’s National Coming Out Day.

And, I salute those of you that have the courage to allow people in like you do. I salute those of you who choose to only share those intimate details with the great humans closest to you. I salute and love on those of you who are in a space of keeping things to yourself. You’re doing great, all of you.

Don’t feel like you have to be doing a certain thing.

Don’t feel like you have to be a specific person.

Don’t feel like you have to know who you are.

I just hope you are able to love yourself, and be that sweet friend to your own self.

Queer or not. Straight or not. Gender conforming or not.

You are loved.

I just hope you love yourself.

This Is My Story, This Is My Song.

Some time ago, I slowly began letting people in.

Some time ago, I began with people most close to me.

It wasn’t until 12 months ago, I found push-back. And once it began, the ball went rolling.

Here’s a small snippet of  what happened behind the scenes:

I cried. I cried, a lot. A. Lot. And cried even more. There were times I ruminated whether or not I could be both Christian and queer. There were times I thought I had to choose between one or the other. There are times I tried to imagine myself with only one label. What would my life be like if I followed the “gay agenda”? What would it look like if I could choose not to be queer? What would I do? Which friends would I lose if I did? And on top of the ones I already have? What friends did I feel safe enough to invite into my life? What friends did I hide from? Where did I feel safe? What did I call home?

I mourned. I mourned over the losses of the people in my life that decided that I would not be able to walk with them anymore. I mourned over the friends that didn't want to know the full extent of how I was doing. I mourned the friendships I treasured. I mourned the relationships that had previously brought so much light and love into my life now to be tainted with disdain.

I very much so questioned. I questioned the validity of the relationships I held in high regard. I wondered if I would be treated the same if I would have told them sooner. I wondered if they would have invested so much in me. I wondered if these relationships were true to begin with. I questioned my sanity wondering if others spent so much time questioning their own livelihood. I questioned Christianity as a religion if it were to close its doors on me. I questioned my God because of my existence and asked him to take my life away.

I avoided. I avoided people. I avoided eye contact. I avoided pissing people off. I avoided making people uncomfortable. I avoided talking about myself. I didn’t.

I feared. I feared, a lot. I feared saying the “wrong” thing would drive people away. I feared certain people would not accept me so I did not engage in conversation. I feared discrimination. I feared being misjudged and mistreated. I feared new friendships would crumble the moment I talked about my identity. I feared being labelled and misunderstood. I feared being seen as not enough Christian and too queer. I feared being outed, again, and again, without my permission.

I didn't sleep. I stayed up with thoughts racing, question asking, and streaming tears down my face. I went on late night drives. I went on walks alone at night. I thought about texting or calling others but didn’t.


These nights I spent alone.

Well, almost.

These were the days and nights I was the most honest I have ever been.

With God, I stopped filtering myself. I didn’t have to perform anymore.

And, I didn’t have the strength to be my prideful self.

This is my story. This is my experience.

To some, this may sound foreign. To others, slightly familiar.

I share this in hopes of creating paths for empathy.

To be heard. To encourage others to share.

And to be a little bit more understood than yesterday.

This is my song.

Thanks for being here.

More to come in present and future tense.

(Extra points for naming that hymn)

Hey Jude,

Over the years, I have been enjoying unravelling the depths to my emotions.

My new emotion revolves around my new car - Jude.
I haven't had my own car for over six months.
Now, I do again.
And it's a stick-shift.
There is something so much more personal about driving a manual car that I can't explain. It's intimate. The gears are shifting only when I tell them to. (If only it were that easy, there are physical factors involved.) And, this isn't a simple task. It isn't to be perfected in one sitting. Smoothly driving a manual car is to be earned. This means there are literal blood, sweat, and tears to be shed. Every time I drive I have this high anxiety mixed with adrenaline that I can't really do anything about. The first few times I drove, I wasn't strong enough to do anything about it, so I was overridden by these emotions. It showed. I stalled often. With time, I was able to be more in control of my other emotions. I gained confidence and stature. The anxiety and adrenaline still lingers, but it doesn't get my full attention. Driving does.
Sometimes, the anxiety/adrenaline lingers for an hour or two after driving. If it were to show itself physically, I would be heavily shaking often. I don't know how long this will last, or if it will continue to be with me throughout my years with Jude. But, I'm not opposed to it. Heck, it might even be able to replace coffee for me.
What ever it is, I welcome it.
Here's to me joining the fam of manual drivers!
I hope I make yall proud.

An Intro:

Thanks for finding me here!!

My name is Esther Kim. And, I'd like to call this place home. This counts as the tenth and a half place I have lived in within my 23 years of existence. While I have held a numerous amount of personal blogs (and those that don't count as blogs), I have decided that my heart is in a place to share its contents. It won't be easy. But, it is time.

Like any place of residence, let me quickly lay down ground rules.
I am trusting that by being able to publish a public&personal blog that I will be allowed to have opinions, emotions, and thought processes that are my own. I cannot guarantee that I will not offend others that read this at times, but know it is not my intention as I come from places of hurt. I plan to share personal stories here, but I don't plan on using real names, if anything, please keep them confidential as I have.

That being said, I will not tolerate any hatred or negative comments on this blog. This is not for myself, but in the protection of other individuals who may be triggered by the content others may bring. I continue to hope to grow and build safe spaces, and I think this blog should have the ability to be and feel safe for others.

One of the reasons I think it is important to launch this blog is due to the overwhelming amount of minority and underrated cultures I identify with. I am a Korean-American who is stuck between the generational gap of being Korean or American "enough". I struggle with my mental health. I am Christian and I identify as queer. I am queer (she/her) but, I still hold onto the God that knew me before the womb. I am a "super-senior" with a vision of where I see myself in 5 years, as I continue to identify as a broke college student.

This is not an easy process. But, it is one worth experiencing. My life is one worth sharing (as is everyone's). So I choose to do so.

I am no longer holding onto the chains of what others think of me, but have learned so much of myself and my God that I am confident with who I am.

This is my journey, thank you for joining.