Skip to main content

Constantly Invited, Jerika Perthuis


We are constantly invited to be Who We Are. Henry David Thoreau, years ago, would of never guessed how many times I would be able to side step this invitation. Only now, as every pretense or self-made assumption about my innateness, has evaporated out of my body, do I remain now, as I have always been. 

Lost.  

Pushing against this current, the constant overflow of chaos, dysfunction, and loss has defined my past. Working against the drip of this said current no longer wraps around my vision for myself, seeping into themes of unwanted definitions. Who I Am is not out of the ordinary, my brokenness continues to be my greatest asset. This brokenness only correlates to my greatest power, Who Christ Is. My choice, even my greatest responsibility, is to choose Him, humbly. Outside of this, there is little to discern. 

Or control. 

Even so, I am constantly invited to be as I have been called, constantly given a choice to extend grace, to forgive, to love with the greatest abundance. My constant invitation reads painfully clear; I am not defined by myself or by others, by my achievements or contributions, my missteps or an incredible ability to be tough. I am innately defined by His actions through me, my loss of control, and a conscious effort to put others before myself. Let this be a call to all of us, in our own individual wilderness, to let go of what we have never really had a handle over, knowing on the other end of lost, is hope.


Follow Me on Instagram

Follow Me on Twitter

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Run Home, Havilah Capshaw Bagnaro

I am so brave as I sit in front of the camera crew; about to describe a sexual assault that happened to me, at the hands of Grant Pankratz, almost twenty years ago.  Leaning on my years of dance and theater training I feel no shyness as the cameraman adjusts my microphone and when the journalist asks me how I feel, I can honestly answer that I feel just fine. How bizarre it is to finally be speaking about something that is still so visceral. I can take my mind back, easily, to the exact moment it happened and replay it like a favorite television show and yet is so secret I have never even told my husband. I get through the interview easily with little emotion and do not feel at all overwhelmed; even after everyone at the filming tells me I absolutely must file a police report, before the story airs the next evening on the ten o’ clock news.                      As I drive away from the filming location I realize what ...

Euphemisms, by Jerika Perthuis

At some point, amongst the crushing waves of pain and hard hitting despair, Kevin calls me, saying he has something to tell me, wanting to make sure I am home. This cold intro causes an intense reaction from my body. Historically, Kevin had always delivered the worst news, out of nowhere, a feeling, even now, percolates even when he opens his mouth to start speaking to me. Before this Kevin had been given a sexual integrity test, which flagged him as addicted to sex. I was floored, feeling naive, and further betrayed. But Kevin has a seemingly laissez-faire attitude when telling me, I am confused as to what this all really means, and in reality, am in no way prepared for what this addiction really means.  As I waited for Kevin to come home, I went over hypotheticals, I had demanded he tell me what was going on, but he would not purge any sort of narrative. I completely thought the other person involved with him had killed themself or had tried to. This did n...

Not Really Going Anywhere, by Jerika Perthuis

Kevin and I have known each other since my late teens, we dated, casually, I was so intimidated by him I eventually stopped returning his phone calls. My first memory of Kevin is inside of a common area of a church; we are both volunteers for an after-school program for under-resourced students. Kevin is standing around with a basketball cupped by his side. Exuding inspirational, coach-like leadership, in a nearly commercial like quality, I notice him, but I don't recall what our very first conversation was about. Forcing Kevin to go on romantic picnics on the lake and dinners downtown did not yield much of anything meaningful back from me. Kevin will say we were formally boyfriend and girlfriend, but my memory does not recall that formality either.  Mutual friendships kept us in onesie, twosie, every now and then contact. This contact was usually him rebuffing my inquiries and changing his attention toward another person. I didn’t blame him. Yet, my feeling for him stayed with me,...