The Wonders He Has Shown Me: Chlese Jiles

If I'm being honest with you guys, I have a hard time committing. I have a hard time letting myself get attached to new people and places. I get shy and a little insecure; I thrive best when I have the freedom to be myself, but also when there are very clear expectations of what I'm supposed to do in that place. And that's hard to come by in most new places because the expectations that I desire, the boundaries that I like to have as guides always come with time. I have to live in something a little while in order to find where I belong or, more accurately, carve out a little space for myself. This was true for me when I came to the Wesley. 

After being there for six whole years, it's really easy for me to forget how long it took for me to get my stride. To this day, I still have a hard time recalling my first year at the Wesley because I don't actually know how present I was. I was afraid of all the new people who wanted to know me. I remember saying when I got to college, "I have enough friends; I don't need anymore" because I'd already done the hard work of making those friends over years. Even though I deeply desired to attend the Wesley, all I really wanted was to sit down, hear some good preaching, attend some events here and there, and go about my business, all within my one group of friends. This worked fine for a little while, but I could slowly feel myself being drawn, called away from the safe bounds of pre-established friendships into the uncharted waters of these new, kind of zany Wesley folks. Again, I did this with nearly a year's worth of trepidation. I couldn't tell clearly what these people at the Wesley wanted from me (even though they told me pretty clearly all the time: they wanted to get to know me and for me to know Jesus.) But eventually, I believed them, and I accepted their call to friendship and began to find my place. I went to small groups and on hangouts with interns and started to share myself. Most of my original friend group were slowly finding other things to occupy their time, so I began going to more events without them. Eventually, I joined the leadership team, I went on summer missions, I led some small groups, and I became an intern myself for two whole years. By the end of my time as an intern this past July, I became somebody that my freshman self would never have recognized. I became bolder, less afraid, less ashamed, brighter, more alive. It would be impossible (or just unconcise) to talk about all that I've gained as a member of the Wesley, but to put it simply, God brought me to life during my time in that place. He showed me the image of the Body of Christ held together by the power of the Holy Spirit, by the Blood of the Lamb, and by the Word of God. 

I've always told people that I love change. I get really excited about new phases of life because I get really excited about how God is going to do again what He's been doing my entire life; He'll show me His wonders, His power, His love for me. He'll answer my prayers, my family's prayers, and the prayers of my friends. Yet in this human body, I forget every time that with each new part of life, I must begin a new journey. I've been angry a lot lately. Not to mention sad, confused, and frustrated. At first, as I was trying to decide where the blame should go for these feelings, I was angry with God. "I'm doing everything right," I thought. "I'm praying, tithing, smiling, not complaining. Why is He making this so hard?" Now, I've been able to attribute at least a good portion of those emotions to a feeling of displacement.

All journeys come with some displacement. It's like having to put your house in order after a move. You're so excited to be in your new house, to decorate, to invite your friends over, but first you have to unpack all those haphazardly-taped, somewhat organized cardboard boxes. Even if they're extremely organized, you might still find yourself living out of your luggage for a little while, slowly putting things away as you use them. You still have to hang up clothes, look all around for things that nonsensically got lost in the move, see what fits and what doesn't, and find places to store the rest. You have to switch over the utilities, watch some VHSes and DVDs until the Suddenlink guy sets up your internet. You have to wait for the first rain to see if there are leaks and for the cold to see if there are drafts. As you're looking with bright-eyed expectation at the possibilities of the future, you're perhaps not fully prepared for the jarring displacement of the now. There's an ugliness to new places that we forget about. We forget about that ugliness because, in the process of establishing discipline and order in our last phase of life, somewhere along the way, the ugliness gets dealt with, cemented under each layer of foundation that is built as you grow. 

After finishing the internship, I now find myself in that metaphorical new house. Even after three months (which, as I'm typing, I'm realizing that's not a long time!), I'm still unpacking boxes, and I've been angry about that. I've been angry that after spending six years growing deeper in God and as a person, I've had to feel so disheveled. That I did so much hard work to allow God to put my life in order, yet now I often feel like I don't know where anything is. But again, all journeys, all new phases of life, come with the challenge of displacement, which is really a challenge of patience.  

Even as I'm remembering now to be patient during my transition from being fully integrated at the Wesley, it's still hard. As I've been processing feelings in conversations with friends, eventually it was told to me that I'm grieving. Grieving no longer being an intern and grieving not spending the majority of my time with my co-laborers at the Wesley. And I knew when that was said that it was the truth. I'm not only learning how to start a new journey, but I'm also slowly saying goodbye to an old, fantastic, life-changing one. So, I've had to remember to not only be patient with God, but to also be patient with myself and all the complex, unruly feelings that I find emerging day by day. 

I was right when I said I knew that God would do what He always has. He is, in fact, still working His wonders for me, answering my prayers. He literally always has. I have just forgotten that things always take time. I've been thankful to find His many blessings already awaiting me as I'm starting this new journey: a new job, a new small group with people in similar phases of life, the ability to spend more time with family and friends, and the ability to pursue my artwork. But the greatest blessing I've found is that my relationship with God has continued to grow deeper, because even though my Wesley journey is slowly ending, I still get to take the practices of prayer, giving, and attention that I received on my new journey. We as the people of God are not meant to stay in one place forever, but rather to go into all the world and preach the gospel. So, I may feel displaced, but nonetheless I carry with me what the Lord has given me and I go. And then, like the early Christians, I get to come home and rejoice at the wonders He has shown me. 

Our resident “saint”, Chlese Jiles served as a missionary intern for the Wesley Foundation during the 2019-2020 and 2020-2021 school years. She now teaches art at a nearby school, and continues to bless our community here in Ruston with her presence, prayers, and wisdom.