In my Writ101 class that I took back in 2012, we had to write about a place that we treasured or "visited" often and go into detail about why it was so important to us. It took courage for me to write something so personal, but more importantly it took courage to tell my story at all.
I have not been back to this place in over 6 months and don't plan to go back there again, but the story and message still applies where ever I go...
My life place essay, “His Doors” is centered on my faith; and even though I have struggled in my life, I've found refuge in my church**. I talk about my rebellion and allowing myself to be exploited by my friends due to not knowing what my purpose in life was. “His Doors” refers to God and how He is constant and always there, just like the doors into my church were for me during my transformation.
The biggest decision regarding my life place essay was whether or not to write about my faith and church. This topic makes me feel vulnerable, and yet I felt the need to write about it. At the same time, I didn't want to come off too preachy; instead I wanted to let my audience know that I am not perfect, and believing in God and being a follower have truly changed my life. Another choice I had to make was where to put my focus. There are so many places here in Missoula, Mt. that are important to me and that I go to often, but I didn't want to write about them all. Keeping church as my central location, I was able to build off what I liked, didn't like and learned from my bioregion.
His Doors
By: Jessica Partain
Written in 2012
It’s crazy to think that a place that is supposed to make you feel
safe, free and welcome can also be the scariest. I have been going here for as
long as I can remember. Walking through the heavy double front doors feels like
the first time every time. There were moments that I felt overwhelmed, like
people were watching my every move. Sometimes slapping a fake smile on my face
and saying “I’m good” would make the few hours here more bearable. Deep inside
I wanted to cry out and let someone know I was not okay. I felt alone and
unsure of what my purpose was. I hadn’t always appreciated this place; but no
matter how hard it was, I showed up every Sunday.
September, 2011 is when I changed my life. It didn’t change in the
way you might think. For some, change means moving to a new place or having a
baby; but for me it was giving up my worldly ways and giving my life to God. I
had been baptized when I was sixteen, but I never really knew what it meant to
walk in faith, until that very moment in September.
For the longest time whenever anything bad would happen to me or
something didn’t go my way, I felt like God was punishing me. It was the little
things, like spending money that I didn’t have on fixing my car or slamming on
my brakes just in time to avoid hitting a deer that made me feel that way.
Silly, I know, but remember I was uncertain of my purpose and I felt
hopeless--until one day in September, when I realized that God hadn’t been
punishing me at all.
Instead, God had been asking me, begging me and showing me I
needed to trust and follow him. I burst into tears. There had been signs
everywhere--like the time a stranger came up to me and noticed I had been
crying, told me he had had a good night playing poker and wanted to share his
winnings with me; he then handed me a twenty dollar bill. As he walked away, he
said, “God bless you”. Or the time I was in my car driving to my parents’
house. I was on a road that I had driven many times and I was making a turn
that if you’re not paying attention could be dangerous. Well, I thought I had
plenty of time to make it, but I was mistaken. It felt like everything went
into slow motion--but my life was spared. And the time I had ditched my
so-called friends at the last minute to hang out with my family. We had planned
to go party and they were mad of course, but nothing made me feel more loved
and wanted than being with my family when I was feeling alone. All those little
things added up to this realization that God was taking care of me--not
punishing me--and that I wasn’t alone.
Now, God hasn’t always been the center of my world. In fact, I led
my life quite the opposite of godliness. Not knowing where I belonged and
feeling useless led me down a dangerous path. It was a vicious cycle of lying,
drinking parties, and getting caught that had surrounded the most rebellious
time in my life. It didn’t matter who I was hurting. Lying to my family and
manipulating the people who cared about me became easier over time because it
meant I was living life my way. Lost and wandering alone didn’t seem so lonely
with my superficial relationships. I hung around people who didn’t care about
my well being, and who used my vulnerability for their own entertainment and
good times. Even though the stairs leading up to these front doors were wide
open to me, I had closed and locked them in my mind.
My belief in God has always been a presence in my life, but my
rebellion had a stronger hold on me than anything else. Even with these strong
feelings that lingered over me, something was telling me I needed to change.
The Holy Spirit? With misplaced trust, I went with the crowd. They became my
standard, my beacon, my source of acceptance. If they wanted me drunk, I would
drink. If they wanted me funny, I would give them a laugh even at my own
expense. I was only hurting myself. This thing tugging at my heart was telling
me I was meant for something better, and there was more to life than being
thrown around like a rag doll.
In the midst of change, my old ways would consume me. Leaving my
old life was what I needed, but the urge to meet up with old friends haunted
me. It seemed like everything I did was wrong. I was constantly getting caught:
mothers have a way of knowing. Mine was holding me accountable for my actions.
Walking through those familiar front doors every week was a constant reminder
that I needed to change. My stomach would be in knots walking to my seat, and
listening to the lesson delivered from the pulpit made me feel like it was
written just for me--telling me I needed to be better. These four walls were
supposed to make me feel free; but because of my actions, I felt ashamed and
embarrassed.
Changing was not at all easy: my reputation preceded me. I had
been dishonest, deceitful, immoral, self-centered, and godless. Forgiveness is
a hard thing for anyone to give, and trust is even harder to regain. Because of
my humility and the grace shown by those closest to me, I had decided to do the
hardest thing of all and face everyone who knew my history. But walking into
the front door of a place that I’ve grown up in and facing my fears may have
been what saved me.
The green stairs can be seen from the roundabout on South Higgins.
Two sets of double doors open to the smell of coffee and the soft buzz of
friendly conversation. On a screen in the auditorium the clock counts down to
the final second, then it all begins. Voices lift in songs, and the
congregation comes together in praise. And the doors are always open to old and
new faces.
Sticking by my decision to go to church no matter how hard it was
eventually became like home. My perspective changed about this building: it’s now
a welcoming place of people who saw me struggle but also saw my refusal to give
up. I made amends and did everything in my power to change. I learned that it wasn't enough to just promise to do better; I had to actually do better. Words
mean nothing if you can’t back them up. Everything I did was designed to serve
and uplift someone other than myself. Humility fell over me and that’s when my
faith changed my life.
It’s a strange feeling when someone says they’re proud of you. I
know all the hard work I had put into changing, but it felt different when
others noticed too. Looking back, I know I had people around me who wanted to
see me succeed; but it wasn't until I found the strength from God inside myself
to finally take this giant leap of faith that I did succeed. Seeing those front
doors from the street every day and walking through them every week kept my
faith constant, never wavering. That place was always there and never left me;
it protected me and guided me through all my ups and downs. This was the one
place I had once resented--and yet now I found it never failed me.
I have a little boy. He is only three years old and he already
loves all the places I love. I take him to creek sides, mountain trails, city
parks, farmer’s market, and homecoming parades. But none of those places will
provide him with the love and safety he will find behind these front doors.
What I try my hardest to teach him is that no matter where he is, he will
always find them and they will always open to him.
