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By Nicki Bergsma
It was the same place yet one that seemed so different from what it had been. The people, the jokes, the laughs—they were all so faintly familiar.
The night prior to the party I paced in my dorm room. During welcome week at Grand Valley, I had reconnected with an old friend who had given me his number; his name was Jared. Jared had texted me earlier in the day and invited me to a worship gathering that was taking place at a church just outside of GV’s campus. I did not think I was going to go. The night hit and I paced. I truly do not know what got me there; was it the boredom? The thought that all of my friends were out partying the floor below me and I needed something to distract me? Maybe.
The time passed like an eclipse: walking in the door, feeling warm. The fear of walking in alone vanished when I was greeted by Autumn, who had been my barista at a local coffee shop. Worship began and I was skeptical, I will not lie—I had believed this “Young Life" middle-school perspective of what serving Jesus was like and to be honest, I never really out grew that cliché thought until I came to this “Met By Love” gathering. A man was on his hands and knees; I had never seen something like it before—it amazed me. Never had I ever seen any man different from the high school, testosterone equipped and out-of-control, jock whether that be in football, basketball, baseball— it didn’t matter. This guy was in the hands of Jesus and there was no shame attached; there was no striving to be someone else; he along with everyone else were just themselves.
There was no doubt my life had changed that night yet there was still a part of me that was scared to let go of the friends I knew, the life I lived, and the things I held so close for so long. I decided I could interconnect Jesus and drinking; Jesus and partying; Jesus and this; Jesus and that. So, I went—I stepped into that party and tried to feel the same things: the satisfaction of the hand sanitizer overcoming my tastebuds, and that is no exaggeration; the boys flocking towards me any time I made eye contact and batted my pretty, jet-black eyelashes their way; the laughs that caused my eyes to flood because of the raunchy joke that I just made—yes, I laugh at my own jokes but I promise I wasn’t the only one laughing—I felt nothing. Just a blandness of confusion fighting in my mind the feelings I wanted to have against the actuality that none of those feelings were present.
I had been deceived for years of my high school life that this party approach was the only way to have fun; I will be honest, I cannot entirely and truthfully say the desire for these things just disappeared. When you live portions of your life in sin that urge to have that type of fun does not just vanish, as much as I wish it would; however, Jesus gave me a reason to fight against what I wanted to do. He lifted a burden I could not bear on my own completely and entirely off my shoulders—in a situation where I was lost and unable to speak, he gave me a voice—that is why I chose, and still choose to fight. He gave me strength, and that means I will fight to stay on the path he has laid out for me because whether my feelings align with the truth of what I know or not, I will always choose truth. Choosing truth is something you could simply not do but I will be the one to tell you, the truth will always win out no matter if you choose it or fight it.
Jesus—this man who paid it all for me—changed my entire perspective on the purpose that my life held and it was beautiful, yet it left me estranged from everything I knew which was a feeling that was difficult and remains a difficulty. Why? Because I am human. It is hard to understand the weight of the sacrifice on that cross, yet I know it was a heavy one—too heavy to fully understand, or express in words, or tears. There is no perfection here; merely a broken person who found something, someone, who mended my brokenness on a cross used to humiliate, and mock. The foundation of who I was had been torn down all at once, and a new one was beginning to form—even though Jesus paid for either foundation. He paid for me when I was far from him, and he paid for me as I am walking close to him. He paid for it all, and it is beautiful.
Let us back up and get into the nitty-gritty of the picture of what this looks like. It looks like a dog that has lost its home and glances up into the eyes of a human with worry and fear; a bird flying hectically to catch up with the flock that left the one behind; a sheep who wandered from home and all the words it has is to “Baaaa!”—hoping someone hears the cry for help that is achingly woven into the expression. These feelings embody perfectly how I felt in a Grand Valley off-campus apartment. The ones that usually have cops patrolling to ensure young kids are being responsible when in reality all that is occurring is those young people learning how to navigate their way with lies, deception, and manipulation. I know this because I had done it all.
The lights were neon and the ping pong balls flew from one end to the other; occasionally, a ball would bounce before it hit a cup and someone would baseball swing it to the other side of the room. All fun and games—or at least that is what it used to be. Now there was a certain weight attached to these types of places; all the people just looking to escape the break-up, the trauma, the school work, the reality of work coming at them at full speed. It was all a way to numb the inevitable, and now I knew it. This “fun” had deceived me for too long, and it makes it easier to care for people when you know exactly how they are feeling and what they are going through. It creates a type of empathetic talent that is only found through experience—they all have a blur above their heads that they would never choose to say out loud, that is, unless they were drunk enough for it to slip.
I took a step outside—overwhelmed by the music that chanted, “I’m depressed!” Do not be mis-led, I have never been depressed. I have never gone through a large amount of the emotional and mental pain that haunts our present-day society; however, I was overcome with a burden for the people around me—my friends—that claimed to be okay with their words yet undoubtably expressed something different. Why did I ever think there wasn’t a real weight attached to my actions? How could I have been so naive as to think that this would enable me to discover my purpose or my calling? These thoughts swamped all ability to think as I stood outside the door of a cultural trap, goosebumps lining my arms as I grasped my brisk skin, arms folded and shoulders shrugged.
“Anything is better than being in there,” I whispered to myself.
I tried everything: justifying my actions and going to the party with “it is okay to have a little fun sometimes,” and, “this is my once-in-awhile party night.” The whole time I was arguing with God. I was arguing with the man who puts breath in my lungs and gives me my identity. The one who is capable of filling the void of loneliness, depression, anxiety, and hopelessness; feelings I know were evident through the white door at 48 West. That used to be me in there, and now it is the people I love.
It truly is hard seeing the people you love fall down a track you know will never satisfy. Taking the route that expresses the lie that you will feel fulfilled when really you are left even emptier than when you came. For the ones who love to party; the ones who like to feel nothing because when they feel it just hurts; the ones who hide who they really are because “that girl will be better”; the ones who do not know who they are or why they are here, on this earth—there is something more.
As I sat outside, now sitting on the deck with both hands buried in the skin of my face, I thought about all these things. I was not the hero that night. I was not the one who came to a drastic realization and ran inside to share the Gospel with them or ask people the question of why they like to smoke, to drink, or to party; I was not the one to do that. Truthfully, until this day I do not know if anyone ever has or ever would do that. I was burdened for the people who, I knew, were all lacking a relationship with their Savior, and what did I do? I walked away. I discouragingly walked away, and left my life behind so that I could take on his. I left my desires behind because he told me that the beer pong, the status, the outfits that flaunted my body, the boys—they were no longer for me.
He told me his plan was better—and I chose to believe it.