I don’t remember much from elementary school, but I do remember I was in a cult. Which is interesting considering I went to a private Christian school. The monkey warriors, that’s what we called ourselves, would pray to the monkey spirits while balancing atop the highest part of the playground equipment. Our induction rituals included obstacle courses and throwing mini pancakes into the neighbor’s yard. I also happened to be the fastest girl on the playground. And just in case you haven’t been in elementary school in a while; being the fastest = ultimate supremacy. So I took the most logical step and placed myself as the head spiritual leader of the monkey warriors. I was a brutal leader. Few made it into our elite group and often were made to witness my glorious capabilities as the perfect image of physical health.

I remember the first time I got sent to the principal’s office. I climbed on top of the toilet paper dispenser in the bathroom. And waved at my friends, who then immediately pulled up their pants and told my teacher.

The first time I ditched class was in third grade. I went through a Pokemon phase. My friends and I were totally convinced we could see these fellas and would run around showing off our Pokemon proper noun prowess. On this particular day I decided to run up and down the hall catching them instead of getting a drink of water. (I did get him. Just for the record.)

My Christian school had us doing service projects starting as early as kindergarten. We would have a community outreach day every year and always had little projects going on in the classrooms. We would do vitamin drives and bring in pennies and write cards for soldiers or weed some old person’s garden.

One of my favorites was the Linus project. This project was created to provide sick and often traumatized children with handmade blankets. Something of their own to have in the hospital, something soft and familiar. They would bring in pieces of fleece and we’d tie them together in little knots to make double sided blankets.

This of course was my favorite service project. The perfect excuse to sit under a blanket and talk with my friends. We made blankets like these all the way from early elementary school to middle school.

So when the rec therapist asked me if I wanted a Linus blanket I graciously declined. It was my second week inpatient at the Cleveland clinic children’s pain rehab facility. And I was wiped. I woke up every morning at 6:30 and had intensive therapy from 8 until 5 every day. It was exhausting physically, and mentally. I didn’t have the energy or the patience to sit and tie little knots over and over.  

I love making things, especially when other people get to enjoy them. but I wasn’t so keen to add sore fingers to the long list body parts that hurt.

“Are you sure?” she replied, “they made them just for you guys.”

“What?”

So, these blankets have already been made?? I’m the pitiful hospital kid?

“Yeah! Go pick one out. It’s for you. Isn’t that neat?”

Instantly I felt cold and tiny and heavy and humiliated. Unsure of how to react to myself and my feelings I picked out a blanket and headed back to my little hospital room.

Once I closed the door I promptly sat down, wrapped myself in my new shark blanky, and cried.

I was a scared, sick, lonely kid in a big hospital away from the comforts of home. I fit the description. But the blanket made it feel, final. It was decided, I was needy and sad and weak. And I hated it.

And then, because I’m extra, I was furious with myself for not understanding why I was reacting like this; I hated not knowing why I hated the blanket.

“Keira it’s a blanket its fine look the swordfish is smiling at you it’s fine its good.”

It’s the little things that please me in the end. Flowers. Stickers. Rollos. Blue skies and poofy clouds. And apparently smiling swordfish.

I digress.

I thought about me and the blanket for a long time. Like a whole 3 minutes. (ADD life where my peeps at?) I put it out of my mind as best as I could, but it wouldn’t stay away.

I was in the shower when it all came together. My best thinking always happens there for some reason.

I hate sympathy.

It surprised me. Strong feelings aren’t something new to me, but I like to think I know myself pretty well. Obviously I don’t.

It’s a little bit selfish and a little bit habit, but we all have a painted version of ourselves. A projection of the attributes we think best about ourselves. A projection of the ideal.

For me, that ideal woman is strong, smart, independent—these in themselves are desirable qualities, but more often than not we twist the true meaning into something altogether completely different, and in doing so we create opportunity for pride.

Strength becomes isolation as we pull away from support and internalize pain. Independence becomes stubbornness and overwhelming anxiety when we refuse help and drown in overestimation of our abilities. Smart becomes pride when we deny the reality of human nature and the brokenness of opinion.

Pride despises weakness.

I didn’t hate the blanket because of the person responsible, I hated the blanket because of me.

Being sick doesn’t fit my ideal woman. Needing 9 pills and a 2 cups of coffee to get out of bed and being winded after climbing the stairs doesn’t fit my picture of strength. Being an entire year behind my original goals for school absolutely doesn’t line up with smart. Constantly asking for favors and rides and tutoring, for friends and family to provide me food and company when I have crying fits and anxiety attacks is as far from independence as I could imagine.

It’s silliness that we know we will never achieve this perfect ideal; we understand it’s impossible. But it doesn’t stop us from trying to convince everyone that we do.

Sympathy morphs from a heartfelt expression of love, into an attack on our character and our abilities.

I hated the blanket because I knew I needed it.

Not literally, I brought two others with me. Blankets are one of the loves in my life.

I needed the blanket because sympathy is a result of love. A result of closeness. A result of community.

I need the blanket because community is one of the greatest gifts God has given. I need the blanket because community is what we are created for.

Whoa, Keira, slow down. You just said that this fleece blanky represents our purpose in life?

Hmm. Yes. Yes I did.

But in all honesty, it’s really that simple.

^“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.” This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.  Matthew 22:36-40

Is not community the result of love? How crazy is it that Gods commandments always have our best interests in mind??? (That should be rhetorical but we are pretty silly people so just making sure we all remember.)

He reminds us that alone, we can’t achieve diddly squat. It’s together as a body we can grow closer to God. It’s together as a body we can encourage one another and bring healing. It’s together as a body that we can speak the truth of God audibly when our hearts are closed to His touches. It’s together as a body that we can reach across the city, the state, the country, the world and share Gods love to every broken and desperate soul.

But pride keeps us from this community. Our pride keeps us from experiencing God. our pride keeps us from experiencing a glimpse of His heavenly plan on earth.

The blankets I made in elementary school were part of a special community. And the blanket I received was from an entirely different community. But a special community none the less.

Now if we are being honest, it’s not the community I wanted. But it’s the community I needed. If I were surrounded by crazy art and theater people who want to go exploring all the time and are always out late going to concerts and plays I would be exhausted, and I’d be left out. That community is where I would love to be. I won’t lie. I’d love to be taking pictures of everyone I meet and doing art classes in the park and talking about our feelings all night. But that community isn’t beneficial for me at this time.  It doesn’t mean it won’t ever be—God wants us to do the things we love. And I believe that whole heartedly.

But God wants our ultimate success more than our temporary happiness.

Don’t get me wrong He wants us to be happy fo real. He feels everything we feel. (Sorry God I know I’m a roller coaster.) But He wants us to be happy because we are with Him. Not because we are getting what we want.

And in this community, I’m learning to find joy in my pain. I’m learning that vulnerability is the greatest of strengths. I’m learning that empathy and compassion is the strongest form of love.

And most importantly I’m learning that God is freaking amazing.

And what better way to grow in this love than with my friends? With my family? With my community?

Life is about being in love. And community helps us achieve that beautiful calling.

So let’s fall in love guys. With ourselves. With our achy limbs and constantly messy hair from all the acupressure points for headache relief. Let’s fall in love with the God who created the teeny tiny hairs-width nerves that let us experience the mountains and the stars and trees of His design. Let’s fall in love with those in-laws or that boss (you know who I’m talking about) because you have the same favorite book and it turns out they are cranky because they are struggling with anxiety or debt or a broken home.

Let’s share our biggest fears about pain and let’s share our favorite cookie recipes.

We are all on a journey of discovery and of love. And who wants to do that alone?

No matter where you are on that path our prayer is that this can be a place to recharge. A place to be encouraged and a place to be loved and understood.

We can’t wait to get to know you.

And with that,

Welcome to functionalish.

acceptance chrnoic illness chronic pain faith god grief humility loss peace