I almost quit Cru. 

My freshman year, I dragged myself to weekly meeting because I knew it was “good for me” and better than spending another evening watching Netflix in bed. But each week, after the closing announcements, it would happen. 

Like some sort of choreographed dance I had missed the lesson for, the room would shift into circles. People would run to greet friends, embraces and questions were exchanged, laughter filled the room. And I stood on the outside, watching. 

Last weekend, I went to a friend’s wedding, and as a few friends and I were taking our seats at the ceremony, I had this sinking realization: “every single man here is wearing a blazer except for me!” 

Don’t laugh . . . Ok fine, go ahead and laugh. 

But honestly, I felt so self-conscious as I imagined how my other male and female friends dressed to the nines might think judgmental thoughts about my wardrobe deficiency (cuz other people always care just as much as us, right?). The only thing that took my mind off the feelings of inadequacy was seeing that there was one other poor bloke missing this key outergarment. 

The past weekend was a bit strange for me. I came into the weekend with not a lot of plans. In fact, I had no clue what I was going to do. Sure, I had the usual suspects like laundry and miscellaneous work stuff, but my ‘fun’ time.. I didn’t know! Some of you might be thinking, that sounds like a GREAT weekend: no plans, no worries! Some of you, like myself, might have had a slight panic attack. I like having a plan and a schedule; I like being busy. My idle/free time is usually wasted, either going down rabbit holes on social media or just not using my time in refreshing ways.

So behold, I found myself Friday night watching Fuller House. Yes, it was cheesy, but still so good. I grew up watching DJ and Stephanie figure out life and knew all the classic one-liners. The Tanners always put family first and had a policy of saying sorry, I love you and hugging it out.

If you had asked me to choose one word to describe my life at any point in the last few months, I would probably have chosen the word “blah”, at least in my head. This answer may not make sense to you, especially if you’ve paid any attention to my Instagram feed. My life doesn’t really look boring from the outside, and I’ve even had a hard time explaining why my heart has felt so “blah”, but it has felt this way regardless. At different moments I have experienced some combination of feeling intellectually stagnant, distracted, and spiritually unadventurous, learning nothing and feeling unable to teach or counsel others in any capacity.

This past weekend at a church women’s retreat, I pleaded with God to speak to me. It sounds dramatic, but I just wanted to learn something from God and feel excited about living it out.

In anticipation of Cru’s focus on homelessness and poverty, I am reflecting upon my own narrative before entering into the stories of those I encounter on the streets of Berkeley.

My relationship with God initiated with His tender, compassionate grace. On a hot, sultry Arizona night, after wrestling in the mud with randy fraternity guys and drinking Everclear laden with chocolate, I found myself curled beside my toilet. In the midst of this drunken milieu, Marcia, the sorority’s resident Christian popped into the room.

I positively adored Marcia, but in my present state I felt shame. So I told her to get the ‘f’ out of my room. She conceded and left only to return a few moments later with her hairbrush in hand. Without asking, she gently began to brush the mud from my hair, helped me to my bed and lovingly held my hand until the room stopped spinning and I could fall asleep.