Author: Jess Boctor

I spent the day playing in the garden with some friends and a few tubes of paint. These are the results.

“How does it feel to be home?”

This is the question I have been asked the most since arriving back in Southern California. I don’t really know how to answer it. This is mostly because the question makes a very basic assumption.

It assumes I am home. 

Now, I know my address. I know where I am living. Since I have the benefit of living in a place where I know the area and I’m familiar with my surroundings, it is easy to navigate. 

But what does it mean to be home? Where is it?

I made the comment today that I would always be homeless. I then threathed to punch my friend in the face if he challenged me with the old addage, “Home is where the heart is.”

I know, not the best example of Jesus.

You see, my heart is always looking to the horizons. It feels a breeze and hears it’s name. When my heart finds a kindred soul, part of it stays behind. My heart is never in one place.

I know what people mean when they ask about home. They want to know how it feels to be among the familiar. They want to know how it is to understand everything again. They want to know if I am comforted.

I am blessed. 

Comfort may come in time.

Then again, I’m not sure if I want it to.

Continuing the adventure, 

Jess

 

Last night as I started to drift off to sleep one thought seemed to be on replay through my mind.

It was this: self belittling, shame and guilt for my failures and sins will never break the cycle. My only hope is to chase after Jesus, to love Him more. By loving Jesus, I love myself.

There is a lot to unpack in that statement, I know. I don’t know why this is what has been whispered to me in the warmth of a sumner evening. However, as someone who has a history of been overly self critical and who burns her own good intentions at the stake, I desperately need it to be true.

So, I think I will rest here for awhile. I’ll let God whisper to me in the dark of night. I’ll chase after Jesus. I’ll learn to love him.

I’ll learn to love myself.

Continuing the adventure,

Jess

I wrote this on our flight from Düsseldorf to Los Angeles. Fittingly, it is written on an airsickness bag because, well, I was feeling rather sick at the time.

I am sorry I didn’t cry

When it was time to say goodbye

I disdain pages unread

I hate words left unsaid

 

The mask I’ve been wearing

Can be mistaken as uncaring

So long I’ve been behind this wall

It is difficult now to let tears fall

 

This tide of emotion

Could sweep me into a salty ocean

So I try to hide my distresses

And tuck it all under neatly braided tresses

 

But, somewhere in Greenland’s skies

I realized the price of luke warm goodbyes

The perservation of myself

Cost you the love which I felt

 

I’ve once lived through the fright

Of living with a heart locked tight

But to correct my mistake, these words will have to do

I love you. I love you. I love you.

 

To the friends we had to leave

Please trust me and believe

A cross would have been easier to bear

Than to leave you standing there.

 

Much love to those in Düsseldorf who were our family and loved us for the time we were with you. Thank you for everything you did for us.

This is not what I planned.

Yet it is happening anyways.

After nine months here in Düsseldorf, Paul and I are returning to the States.

I wish I could express what is going through my mind right now. I wish I had words for it. 

But I don’t.

So this is just to let you know. If you’re in Düsseldorf, get ready to say farewell. If you’re in Riverside, get ready to say hello. 

Continuing the adventure, 

Jessica

In the end, you were my antithesis.

Yet a strong possibility of what I could be.

Each day indistinguishable as you retreated inward.

Waiting, it seemed, for the end of the road to come to you.

Rather than venturing out to journey its length.

 

Admitaly, it hurt, the invitations you spurned.

The feeling that in order to meet you, it always had to be on your terms.

I feared the gravity of your nest would entrap me too.

And I never could tell if you saw your prison bars closing in.

 

The entrapment which I feared has survived you.

Now that you’re gone, I realize I could never be where I am without you, 

Though I never want to be you.

So guilt surrounds me, pointing fingers of ingratitude.

 

Instead of mentorship, you offered sponsorship.

You gave gifts, but would not receive.

You paid for my adventures, but refused any of your own.

This was something I could not comprehend.

And lack of understanding led to frustration.

 

Even so, it hurts, not to have been there in the end.

Though I’m not sure of what I would have done.

I don’t know how to save a life limited to four feet of space.

The only thing I can do is to continue your legacy, learning from your generosity.

Hoping one day to offer someone else the jubilee you so often gave to me.

 

Continuing the adventure, 

Jess

Not always, but sometimes, I speak to God in poetry. This is what has been on my heart lately.

Dear God of the Universe

Who knows every part of me

I surrender to You

Because this road before me 

Is not the one I would choose

But I promise to go bravely

If You promise You’ll go too.

 

My greatest fear 

Is I am only a being of whimsy

The smashing of atoms and anonymity

There is no end to this quest

No purpose to the journey

And the road I travel

Is the result of cosmic lottery

 

So please reach down from the heavens

And assure me it isn’t true

Remind me of Your design

And show Your fingerprints

Spanning across my story

Because I promise to go bravely

If You promise You’ll go too.

 

Continuing the adventure, 

Jess