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Beware of Community
by Jen Galicinski
I was 12 years old when I developed my first phobia. My brother had passed down his newspaper route to me, and being an eager 12 year old,
desiring independence and a big-kid identity, I embraced the job with enthusiasm. Riding my bike through my partly-rural Canadian neighbourhood and delivering the local newspaper, The Barrie Examiner, made me feel older
and more mature than my 12 years. I often felt like I was watching myself perform the task. There goes that smart young woman, with wind blowing through her hair, tossing those newspapers so effortlessly. What a
care-free girl, cool she must be!
As you can imagine, I found myself making enemies with many of the neighbourhood's Labs, Golden Retrievers, Poodles, and German Shepherds. Territorial by nature, and protective
of their master's turf, I was to them nothing but a persistent intruder. They couldn't understand that I was doing their master a service, and that they should welcome and appreciate my efforts. No, rather, they chased
me. And barked. And bared their razor-sharp teeth. At first it was a game to me; being from a dog-owning family i thought nothing of the creatures - I considered myself a natural dog lover. So I just rode, ran, and
jumped away faster than they could. Until the day I had a western-style stand off with the next door neighbour's German Shepherd named Bud (after the beer). He had me shaking in my boots, tears streaming down my face
while i held my bike in between us, acting as a shield from his slobbering, snarling, angry growl. And then it happened: I took one step away from my bike, turning my back on him to make the run for home. He lunged
forward and sank his teeth into my then-not-so-meaty butt, and didn't let go until my squeal alerted his master who then called him away from me. I limped home, shaking more than ever, tears soaking my quivering lips,
and thus was born my fear of dogs.
It took me many years to get over that incident, and many stages of dog-phobia-rehabilitation by many sources to help me love dogs again. They smell fear! Act brave, even if you
don't feel brave, my dad would say. Dogs need a leader, they need to know your intentions, who the boss is, I would read. If you want to enjoy the benefits of their company, you must be willing to get close, to be
confident, to pretend you love them, and eventually, you will, I would tell myself. Eventually, it worked, and today I am able to walk by any sized barking dog and remain perfectly calm. I'm even proud to be the loving
momma of a darling little Maltese puppy named Bailey. (He's no German Shepherd, I know, but it's a start!) His companionship, playfulness, loyalty, and adoration are worth all the pains it took me to challenge my fear
and overcome it.
I also must confess another phobia that developed in my childhood: community. No really. I have been scared to death of deep, authentic relationships with multiple people at the same time. Once
upon a time, I think around the age of 6, I remember thinking that people were really normal and fun to be around. And then it happened. For about the longest, most painfully lonely and fearful 11 years of my life, I
was bullied, controlled, taunted, and manipulated by my peers. I was the class loner, the class clown, the class target, and the class loser. I was told I wasn't hip enough to be in the all-girls Cool Club, I wasn't
fast enough to play first-basemen in baseball, I wasn't worthy enough to deserve the friendships anyone at school. I was told that I was ugly and nobody liked me, that my parents should have aborted me, that I ruined
people's days by showing up at school. I could go on and on about how Steve Ellors*, the class hunk and eventually valedictorian, would pay first-graders to throw rocks at me, and how Anita Padon*, the coolest girl in
the class, would turn everyone against me and manipulate them to not even look at me. And thus, I developed a dreadful fear of people. I thought they could just see how abnormal I was, how ugly and nerdy I was, how
selfish I was, and I would just hide from them.
It's taken me many years to get over those incidences. At times I didn't think I would ever be able to interact normally with people, as I just didn't know how for
the longest time. My community-phobia-rehabilitation has included therapy, anti-depressants, biblical counselors, prayer, the support of loving family members and friends, and lots and lots of tear-stained self-help
books. And all these things have taught me plenty. I've learned that because God is in community with Himself in the Trinity, and we are created in the image of God, we are created for community. Being in authentic
relationships with others is necessary, literally, for our survival. I've learned that true community is created when we are selfless and seek to meet the needs of others before our own needs, as modeled by the entire
life of Christ. I've learned that community requires risk, the willingness to just get out there and try, even though you might get hurt. But most importantly, and most recently, I've learned that true community, true
relationships, create a mess worth making. Relationships are messy, difficult, hurtful things. They can be full of misunderstandings, judgements, betrayals, and conflict.
So why bother? Well, why did I bother to
get over my fear of dogs? Because I saw that the benefits dogs could bring to my life far outweighed the safety of my fear. Likewise, relationships with others, though painful at times, are capable of enriching our
lives in ways that nothing else can. They drive us closer to our Most Satisfying Relationship by forcing us to cry out to Him for wisdom, strength and the power to forgive. They act as mirrors that show us how we are
not yet like Christ, so we can strive to grow in specific areas. They reveal to us our shortcomings so that we can grow and be the kind of person that we never imagined we could be: more loving, more forgiving, more
gentle, more selfless, more Christ-like than we ever dreamed possible. And in the close, sweet times, they teach us much of love, joy, peace, laughter, trust, and the bliss that only pure intimacy with others can bring.
Community is a dangerous, scary thing, and it is not to be entered into lightly. Many of us have been burned at one time or another by allowing ourselves to be vulnerable with someone who ends up betraying our
trust. But we cannot survive without it. In fact, we will never fully be alive unless we chase it, and when we fail or get hurt, to continue, in God's grace, to get up, dust ourselves off, and chase it again.
May
the Creator and Imitator of Deep Relationships grant us strength, wisdom, and grace to beware of community, and then dive in head first.
Jen Galicinski
*names have been changed to protect the people
involved, who, by the way, i completely forgive and wish the best for
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