I Don't Want to Write About This Pt. 1

I was that kid in the youth group mosh pit, dancing, singing out loud, crying, moved by the music, the presence, the ambience. I later become that girl on stage doing that exact same thing in front of that kid. For years that was all I wanted to do and all I wanted to become. I've sung in front of thousands of people on a big stage with lights and LED screens and smoke machines. Today singing and praying in front of a crowd feels so performative and I can't explain that even though I really do miss it, I cannot bring myself to doing it. 

Maybe the goal is to get back to it someday. I am getting old. My voice does not sound the same as it used to. It gets tired a lot quicker than when I was practicing everyday. I would be lying if I said I wasn't afraid of completely losing my ability to sing. It's become such a big part of my identity, my calling, my purpose, and a big part of that feels lost now. If I do get back to it, it might look a lot different. 

When I was younger I wanted to be a singer, I wanted to be a full time artist. To make a living out of music was my dream. I started writing songs and performing them for tips at local coffee shops and bars. I got some attention and lots of offers from independent and local producers to make records that never fully came to fruition. I wanted to be the Filipino Ingrid Michaelson/Zooey Deschanel with my piano and my ukulele. I wanted to make cute songs about life and love. Eventually that dream changed and I started work for my small local church as the worship coordinator and then that's what I wanted to do. I moved to Colorado Springs to work at a mega church and learn how to be the best worship leader. And I served my ass off, I worked my mind, body, and spirit to the bone for "The Lord's Work" and I was happy to be living on a $500 monthly stipend (only on my third year). I was happy to be living on $2 McDonald's Hot n Spicy sandwiches and day old bread that the local Panera donated to the church or the leftover food from the Sunday potluck. If we were really lucky, we'd get a pizza party for waking up early and cleaning the church or something.

I traveled around the US in a bus with my bandmates and fellow interns and led worship at different churches to promote our summer conference. We slept on church gym floors, church preschool classrooms, 6 chairs arranged like a bed. We got paid jack squat but I was happy for the experience and the exposure. In fact, I paid to be there. Conference season was hell week of free manual labor. I was in the band so we had to practice on top of creating signs, decor, cold calling pastors, and cleaning the church. We shared the stage with more famous worship bands who got paid to be there, they got special goodie bags and hotel stays. We had the HONOR and PRIVILEGE to be there. I remember feeling so cool when they asked me what kind of snacks the band wanted for the green room. White Cheddar Cheeto Puffs are my crack and I threw a diva tantrum when I found that the PLASTIC BAG that held our snacks had been ransacked and my Cheetos were nowhere to be found. The other bands got leather bags for their swag. But it was a PRIVILEGE to be there.

I gave so much of my life to this one place and I believed I was doing what the Lord wanted me to do. I lived on campus. I cleaned the toilets and vacuumed the floors for $0. When I asked for toilet paper for my room one time, they laughed at me because I guess I needed to provide for that myself - or sneak in the janitor's closet when no one was looking and steal a couple rolls for our dorm room. We spent weeks renovating a room to turn into a Prayer Room when they had closed the original one to turn into office space in a building that is literally called "The World Prayer Center" that parishioners funded to build. We filled the halls with worship and intercession. We prayed for our pastors and leaders. I gave so much of my life to this one place and when it was time for me to leave I was still a stranger. Of the 12,000 people who attended this church maybe 5 people knew me and said hi to me in the halls. Nobody sat with me during services, nobody asked me to go out to lunch after church, I ate by myself in my car. 

I couldn't have said it before because saying it out loud meant that I was stupid enough to put myself through that. But I was used there. I was used for my free labor. I was used to wrangle thousands of students who fund raised to attend this 3 day concert for Jesus. I was taken advantage of and was barely given gas money to compensate. I was put on the stage to entertain, and then when there was no more need for my labor I sat ate by myself in my car on Sunday afternoons. I gave so much of my life there but I was never taken care of. When I decided it was no longer time for me to give myself, I was forgotten and nobody even realized I moved away. 

I was exploited there and I gladly complied. I was a cog in a giant machine and when I started to rust I was replaced.