Heartsick

I have spent the majority of this week feeling heartsick. My days are interrupted every hour or so by a sudden pang of sorrow. My stomach drops and my chest constrict, and I swallow hard to keep back tears. Earlier this week, a very dear friend of mine shut me out of her life forever. Even now I can’t believe that she meant the things she said… Our friendship hasn’t always been perfect, but I always thought of her a sister. You fight with your sisters sure, but you laugh with them more. It doesn’t matter what paths your lives take, you will always be connected by that unbreakable childhood bond. I guess I was wrong.

I met her when I was 11 years old. We didn’t go to church before that because Dad couldn’t find one that was “Christian” enough. We met a pastor and his family at a home school convention and they invited us to their church. The first day there I was felt so awkward and alone, and then I met her, and we hit it off immediately. She was my first friend really, outside of family.

It wasn’t long before we started begging our parents to let us spend more time together. We wrote stories and made home movies, and played piano together, and mostly we talked, about everything from theology to mythology. We had sleepovers all the time and would stay up till 3am jabbering on and on.

She was the only person who noticed when I started cutting myself. I remember she cried, and begged me not to hurt myself.

 As we got older, I spent a hundred free weekends at her house. We took the dogs out on ridiculously long walks in the country. When I was dealing with depression, she was dealing with a panic disorder. I didn’t judge her and she didn’t judge me, we supported each other no matter what. We were sisters. More than once I fiercely defended her to people who dismissed her as “the holier-than-thou pastor’s daughter.” They didn’t know her like I did. She was sweet and sensitive and misunderstood.

She was third bride’s maid in my wedding, right after my two sisters. And when I lived 900 miles away, I drove all the way home to be there for her bachelorette party. I was the only one there who knew the right size to get. Of course I knew, we had borrowed each other’s pajamas a million times. A few days before her wedding we sat and talked about how fast this day had come. Wasn’t it just yesterday we were 12 years old; fishing with her grandpa and joking about our someday weddings? We walked to the park that night while comparing wedding rings. We talked about having babies, and I promised that my kids would call her “Auntie,” she said hers would do the same.

It wasn’t until I started to question my faith that I saw a change in our relationship. She became a bit distant, almost suspicious. We had periods where she wouldn’t even speak to me because she was offended by a link I’d posted on my Facebook. I wised up pretty quick and stopped posting links to things that didn’t accurately represent my thoughts. After one too many uncomfortable Facebook chats, I called her one day to sort it all out. We talked for a good hour and I explained how I just wasn’t sure of things anymore. “I still believe there is probably a God” I told her, “but I don’t really know for sure, I just need time to heal.”

When she told me she was pregnant, I was overjoyed. We went to dinner and she had twice as much food as I did. I remember smiling and thinking that someday I would tell the baby how mommy forgot her wallet and Aunt Sarah bought enough food to feed Mamma and Baby.

The last time we really talked was in January sometime, and then my life got really busy: school, tax season at work, marathon training, I kind of lost track of her. Last week I heard that she had finally publisher her first novel. I had read a dozen rough drafts of that book and I was VERY excited to see it in print. I bought it on my kindle, and half way through I decided to go write a quick note on her Facebook wall about it. And that’s when I noticed that she and her husband had un-friended me. Confused, I texted her to ask what was up, and the answer I received made me instantly sick to my stomach.

“You become like the people you hang out with. I don’t want to become bitter and anti-Christian like you”

There was more. Much more. She told me she couldn’t have me in her life anymore because I disrespect the things she believes in. Her husband texted me as well, ordering me to cease contact with his wife. What did I do? “I will still look back fondly on the memories of our friendship,” she said. Fond memories? Is that really all that’s left? I thought we were sisters. She could have converted to Hinduism and moved to India and I still would have loved and respected her. I would have gotten up in the middle of the night so I could call her in her time zone.

I am miserable, and I’m trying to find a way to blame myself. But what did I really do wrong? What could I do to make everything okay? Should I apologize for questioning the existence of God? Should I swallow the pain I feel when I walk into church? Do I have to pretend to be someone I’m not in order to keep the people I love in my life? The questions I ask myself are painful enough without the reproach I get for asking them.

She gave birth to a daughter this week; A little baby girl that I will never meet. She will never call me “Aunty” and I will never get to tell her stories of how adventurous and silly her mommy always was. My heart breaks a little more every day. How many more friends will I lose on this journey?

(Because this post received so much traffic, there are a few things I would like to clear up for my readers. I did not write this post out of spite, anger, or impulse. After a year of distant disapproval, my friend and her husband purposefully removed me from their lives. The words they used were clear, forceful, and very familiar. My relationship with my friend had been falling apart piece by piece for almost a year. Since the very first day I started struggling with my faith I noticed a distinct and negative change in our relationship. If there had been a way to salvage our relationship I WOULD HAVE DONE IT. But I was told in no uncertain terms that she was through with me. If I somehow misinterpreted all of this, I wish she would tell me. I have tried to reach out to her many times since this post was published. All I have received in return is anger, and some of the most hurtful language I have ever experienced. I wrote this post with a broken heart. I was certain my friend would never be contacting my again, much less reading my anonymous blog. I am emotionally exhausted from this entire experience, maybe I shouldn’t have tried so hard to get her back when she started shutting me out. Maybe if i had just let her drift away like she wanted, then all of this wouldn't hurt so bad.....)

Value?

Leaning against the door of my bathroom stall, I closed my eyes tight and counted to 60, 3 times. The box said to wait three minutes for the best results. We’d only been married 2 weeks, and here I was in McDonald’s bathroom in Wisconsin taking a pregnancy test.

 A baby right now would ruin everything;

                   all our plans,

 all our possibilities.

                                                             But somehow I was still desperately hopeful.

When I opened my eyes and saw that tiny pink minus sign, I was shocked at the misery that swept over me.

 “I don’t want a baby” I whispered to myself. “I don’t WANT to be pregnant.”

 I quickly wiped away my tears and went outside to my anxious husband. “Crisis averted!” I joked, but I avoided eye contact. I didn’t want him to see the emptiness in my eyes.

That was the first of many negative pregnancy tests. Every time I bought a box at Walgreens I secretly hoped that THIS would be the time. THIS would be the test that would come back positive. And every time I would throw the negative stick in the garbage and cry on the inside if not for real. I didn’t understand why it made me feel so awful. Until recently, I was sure it was my god-given desire to nurture that made me hate myself for being childless.

In a sense, that is true. But it’s not a god-given desire: it’s just my P/QF programming.  

This is not a post about how Quiverfull taught me to want babies.

 This is not even about how Patriarchy taught me that I didn’t deserve to dream big and reach my goals.

                                                      This is about something deeper.

                                                             This is about identity

                                                                     and value.

Most Christian-raised kids are told that they have no inherent value. I was told to find my identity and value in God alone. I internalized that to mean that God was the only thing that made me worth loving. Without him I was I worthless, useless piece of garbage. As a kid I constantly reminded myself how worthless I was. It didn’t take long for that to sink in. I tried and tried to be close to god, but he was always so far away. I knew he didn’t care about me. And I knew it was because of how worthless I was.

Ashamed, I started looking elsewhere for something to bring value to my useless shell.

“I am valuable because I do my chores faster than anyone else”

“I am lovable because I sing in front of the church”

“I am worthy because I punish myself with a razor blade”

“I am respectable because I exercise 25 hours a week”

I have transferred my sense value from one thing to the next for my entire life. When I got married, it was like all of that was suddenly cut out from under me.

Everything in my life was

                   brand new,

       but I was still the same,

                  and now I had nothing left to bring value to my existence.

I have come to realize what was really going on in my heart every time I took a pregnancy test. I was hoping against hope that a tiny pink plus sign would show up in that window and give me a reason to keep on living.

Every day I am learning to love myself for the first time in my life. I am learning to find value in myself. I am slowly discovering that I have an identity apart from god,

                                              or parents,

                                                         or skills,

                                                              or accomplishments.

                                                                              I am valuable because I am human.

 And so are you.

 I don’t want a baby right now. But someday when I have one, I promise you I will tell them everyday how worthy they are. How precious they are. How VALUABLE they are.

 It seems like a simple lesson, but let me tell you: the older you get, the harder that lesson is to learn.

Bound and Gagged by a Lullaby

Lying alone in the dark, I imagined monsters under my bed. They were little devils with bony grey hands, hands with fingers just long enough to wrap around my little ankles and pull me down. I tucked my blanket in tight around my body. Even a smidgen of space would be enough for a serpent to crawl in. I was petrified, and this was a normal night for me. My ten-year-old mind ran frantically down a list of the day’s events. What had I done to deserve this? How had I invited this evil into my bedroom? I thought about the lullaby from my favorite bible-music tape. Maybe if I sang it enough times, it would work like a dream catcher and keep the demons away from my bed.

“I will lie down and sleep, and sleep in peace. I will lie down and sleep in peace. You alone oh Lord make me dwell in safety. I will lie down and sleep in peace”

I chanted the song in my mind, begging God to keep the nightmares away from me. Sometimes I would fall asleep, only to find out that He had not listened.

As I grew older, my fears grew older too. I could push past my irrational terror of the edge of the bed, but nighttime still brought fear. My mind ran relentlessly through the tapes in my head: the tapes that told me how ugly I was, and how fat, and how stupid. I still tucked the blankets tightly around my body in hopes that I could somehow keep the bad feelings out. It never worked. I planned out dozens of ways to kill myself, and wondered who would notice if I did. Whenever things got bad, that same old song would start playing in my head:

“I will lie down and sleep, and sleep in peace. I will lie down and sleep in peace. You alone oh Lord make me dwell in safety. I will lie down and sleep in peace”

I would beg God to let me sleep and keep the nightmares away. Sometimes I would fall asleep, only to find out that He had not listened.

Last night I was lying awake in the middle of the night and my thoughts began to stray. I wondered why my husband hadn’t left me yet. I’m so different now from the woman he married. He must be so disappointed. I thought about how much happier he would be without me. My mind slipped seamlessly into old thought patterns. I realized how disgusting and selfish I am. I started counting the pills in the bathroom cabinet from memory. As my thoughts grew darker, I tucked the blankets around me feet. The corners of the room grew menacing.

“I will lie down and sleep, and sleep in peace. I will lie down and sleep in peace. You alone oh Lord make me dwell in safety. I will lie down and sleep in peace”

I reflexively called out to God, begging him to keep away the nightmares. And then I remembered all the times He had not listened.

Bad dreams and suicidal thoughts are evidence of emotional disturbance. A person experiencing these things needs love, support, understanding, and sometimes even treatment. But I was always taught to ignore myself. Bad dreams happened when Satan was attacking me, suicidal thoughts were just my selfish sin nature shining through. Every time I expressed emotion in my home, my parents shoved God down my throat and silenced me. I picked up on this right away. All those nights lying alone and afraid, I didn’t dare get up or call for help. I took a giant dose of God and shoved it down my own throat.

I silenced my thoughts,

Silenced my fears,

Silenced my emotion.

After 18 years of self-imposed silence, I am finally able to speak. When my thoughts grow dark, I am learning to stand up to them. I acknowledge my emotions. I express my thoughts. I confront my fears. I will not be bound and gagged anymore.

Physical and Spiritual Abuse taught me that I was not worth hearing. It taught me that my heart was not important. It kept me trapped and wasted whole years of my life.

What words are written on the tape over your mouth?

Let my Soul Heal (Spiritual Journey Part 2)

The healing process is not easy. Long suppressed feelings are even more painful when you experience them later in life. There were times I walked out in the middle of conversations with friends or family to avoid shouting or bursting into tears. Long conversations with my older sisters gave me courage to keep pressing on. Blogging has also been Instrumental in my “recovery.” Hearing from other people with similar struggles is incredibly encouraging! 

Husband kept expecting that my rest period would end with some sudden realization or conversion. But I knew that this journey was only just beginning.

I always assumed that Husband’s faith was just the same as mine, stubborn and unfounded. The more disillusioned I became with my faith, the more I started thinking that maybe He was brainwashed too, especially when nothing I could say would sway him. But the more we debated, the more I realized he really did know what he was talking about. At some point before becoming a Christian, he had done his homework. He knew both sides of the creation/evolution argument. He knew the tenants and philosophies of every main world religion. He even had experience with people from almost every walk of life. All I had was what my parents gave me: the ability to reason, and a thorough brainwashing. I had never studied other religions, I knew nothing about the evolution, and I had limited social experience. He could argue circles around me no matter what we were discussing. I was frustrated with some of his conclusions, but also shocked to discover he wasn’t nearly as hard lined as my parents had been. He didn’t believe in female submission, or spiritual headship. He didn’t think Catholics were going hell, in fact, he questioned whether hell was really the burning torture chamber I had learned about. He loved rock music and thought I looked nice in a bikini…

 I realized I could never make an informed decision on religion until I was actually informed.

I started browsing the documentary section at the library and brought home a number of different DVDs on subjects ranging from Ancient Wicka to the Galapagos Islands. Husband watched them with me sometimes and listened to me talk about what I’d learned with patience and interest. I’ll list a few of my favorites here.

I watched a documentary called “in the name of God.” It was made just after 9/11 as a look into various religions and their take on violence, war, and where “god” fits in. It was beautiful and refreshing. I teared up a couple times throughout the film as my heart celebrated the goodness of humanity. It also helped me silence my inner conspiracy theorist. Religion isn’t all bad, it’s not all evil, it’s not a tool used by the government to control the masses. Religion comes from the hearts of people seeking truth, happiness, and greater good; there’s nothing inherently sinister about it.

Another of my favorites was a PBS documentary called “The question of God.” In this film, Harvard Professor Dr. Armand Nicholi examines the questions of faith and belief. He and a panel of prestigious psychologists and philosophers look at the lives and works of C.S. Lewis and Sigmund Freud. "It may be that Freud and Lewis represent conflicting parts of ourselves," Dr. Nicholi notes. "Part of us yearns for a relationship with the source of all joy, hope and happiness, as described by Lewis, and yet, there is another part that raises its fist in defiance and says with Freud, 'I will not surrender.' Whatever part we choose to express will determine our purpose, our identity, and our whole philosophy of life."

I continue to read and research in my spare time. I’m in Psychology 101 in college and I love every minute of it. I feel like a whole new world is opening up before my eyes. Why were my parents so afraid to educate me? As I grow more knowledgeable, my discussions with my husband get less heated and more intellectual. I love being a blank slate. I love not knowing. My healing process is slowly becoming a learning process as well.

 I’ll periodically update my blog with a post about where I am in my spiritual journey. If you’re on the same path, just know that it might take you your entire life. And that’s okay! Lets learn to embrace this journey together!  

   

Let Go of My Soul (Spiritual Journey Part 1)

I think I’ve been avoiding talking about God on my blog. I don’t want to misrepresent myself. My beliefs change almost every day. 5 years ago I was a fundamentalist, yesterday I was an atheist, tomorrow I may be a Buddhist. This journey has been painful, liberating, intriguing, and confusing, and it is far from over. Part of me wants to wait until I know what I believe before I write about it, but it wouldn’t be fair to everyone else who has ever walked this path. So I’m finally going to write about the things that are bursting the seams of my mind, and the events that led me to where I am now.

My brother in law graduated high school in May of this year. Husband and I were at the grad party late into the night sitting around the bon-fire with Brother and his friends. These guys had just graduated “Someplace Christian High School” and their conversation represented everything that upsets me. They were chatting about how they “hated fags,” and “dikes in the military.” They used inappropriate derogatory terms to describe the girls they know. I’ve spent enough time around guys to know how they talk, but some of the things these boys said were just too much. I was angry at their senselessness. The undertone of their conversation was pride. They were great kids and they knew it. They talked about everybody else they were dirt.

Obviously these boys don’t represent the entire Christian community, but their attitude of self- righteousness was all too familiar too me. I started to see it everywhere; pastors, relatives, friends, all these Christians who judged and labeled and ignored. This was when I began to see that religion and personal morality did not go together. I believe it is wrong to hurt or discriminate against people. But if I chose to be a Christian like my friends, I would be forced to ignore my belief and vote against the repeal of "don’t ask don’t tell." 

Why is God so judgmental? Why is he so cruel? It wasn’t long before words like “Holy” and “judgment” “sinner” started making my skin crawl. I was angry with God. For the first time I was able to say it out loud. I would rant at my bewildered Husband about how selfish and vile God was. As my anger died down, I began to hope that maybe he just didn’t exist…

When I first started admitting that I struggled with the concept of God, it was very hard on my husband. God represents everything good in his life, and here I was bashing Him on a regular basis. We fought about it a lot at first. He pressured me a little, sometimes a lot, I think he felt like I was running headfirst off a cliff. It hurt me more than anything to think that my struggles with God were driving a wedge between us. We spent many nights hopelessly holding each other and crying, neither one knowing how to fix all this hurt. Slowly however, I learned to be sensitive to him and not so aggressive. He learned to let go of my soul and just hold on to my heart.

In church one day, the pastor talked about growing up in a home where God is used to hurt. He talked about his own struggles with faith. With tears in his eyes, he promised the congregation that God loved them and wanted to know them. That God was patient and empathetic. I cried through the whole last 20 minutes. I couldn’t stop myself. The tears just kept pouring down my face. Not because I felt particularly close to God, but because another human being had been where I was now, and he was telling me that it was going to be okay. That day I made a deal with God. If he would be patient with me, and love me, and show me who he is, then I would listen, and I would let him teach me.

And so I made peace with my “god” and peace with my husband. And for the first time in years, I was able to rest. I read a little, I blogged a little, and I let my heart rest. I stopped trying to fight my feelings of anger and sadness. I stopped trying to ignore the things that I secretly thought were good. I stopped forcing myself to think, and finally let myself feel. Of course anyone who knows me, knows that I can never rest for long…………

…………To Be Continued

(Next time I’ll talk about where I’m at now and what has helped me get here!)

 

Begging for Spiritual Bread (Part 2)

As the water rushed in around my head, the anticipation was replaced by confusion. There were no God-like voices under this water, just green murk and muddled gravity. God had promised he would meet me here, so where was he? All too soon I felt my body being lifted back up. I wanted to struggle, I needed to stay here! Stop! Wait! Too soon!

And then I was standing up, breathing air again. I heard applause from the shore as I blindly followed my Father out of the water. My skirt weighed me down and my bare feet sunk deep into the mud. I looked up at the sky, as bleak as ever, and saw no rainbow, not even a ray of sunshine that I could call my own. Reality came sweeping back in. I was a fool, and I had done it wrong again. Behind me someone else was being baptized. My moment was over. Deeply ashamed, I trudged back to the van to get myself a towel. I imagined God was looking down at me, shaking his head and giving me the silent treatment. My dripping hair disguised my tears. How could I have been so wrong? Had I imagined the “leading” I felt? Had I fabricated to joy it gave me to believe? Or had I never truly believed at all?

My mother was sitting in the van nursing the baby. Dad didn’t want her doing that in public, even with a blanket. “Sorry I didn’t see it honey” she said to me. “Hurry up and change, that wet shirt is clinging to your chest” I shuffled up to the house with my towel pressed to my chest. I had never been so thoroughly ashamed.

Over time, I came to have faith in my own inadequacy. I was not good enough for God, but that was okay. He is god! Who was I to question his methods? So I continued to obey him. I shared the gospel whenever I had a chance, and prayed fervently for others, especially my married older sister. I idolized my older sister. She had done everything God’s way and he had blessed her with a Godly husband. At 19, she was newly married with a baby on the way. She was a living testament to how God blesses those who please him. I prayed every day for her and for the baby in her womb. I felt that I knew the baby already, I wondered who’s eyes she would have, and longed for the day I would meet her and hold her tiny hand. When the news came that my sister had miscarried, I took it hard. Very hard. For the first time in my life, I was openly angry with God. My sister and her husband had done EVERYTHING right. Why would He do this to them?

Why was I taught that God rewards obedience with blessing? Why do Christians use phrases like ‘the power of prayer” when prayer itself clearly does nothing but comfort the one praying? Why is blind faith so encouraged when it almost always leads to bitter disappointment and confusion? I was raised in home “full of the holy spirit:” My dad talked about his encounters with the Lord all the time. I truly believed that one day, God would leave writing on the wall for me, or send me a miracle. Stuff like that always happened to real Christians, right? For everyday of silence, my heart sank another inch. I spent the first 18 years of my life begging for spiritual bread and getting nothing but disappointment. I have stopped asking God for things. When I pray, I ask him to have patience with me, and show what he’s really like.

I am no longer angry with God. Either he is nothing like I was taught, or he doesn’t exist.

Begging for Spiritual Bread (Part 1)

I was 14 at the time. The pastor of our church was hosting a family BBQ/Baptism at his rural house with a pond. A few of my friends were being baptized, so I mentioned it to my father on the ride home from church. I told him about the event and asked if he would allow me to be baptized. He said no.

I was deeply disappointed. All my fears came flooding back. I was a fake Christian, God expected more of me. Dad was right to say no. Even though I was sure I already knew the answer, I asked him why the answer was no. He explained that it was inappropriate for a woman to be baptized by anyone other than her spiritual head. It was his duty and he would baptize me himself when the opportunity presented itself.  My mother suggested that he speak with the pastor. Maybe he wouldn’t mind letting dad do the dunking. My father agreed to call.

And so with no discussion of my heart or soul, I was scheduled to be baptized. For two weeks leading up to the event, I tried harder than ever to get my heart right with the Lord. I spent hours just praying, begging God to reveal himself to me. I poured over every page in the bible, looking for something that would move me to tears, or at least make me feel like this was real. I started to think that maybe God would show me something after the baptism. Or maybe even during! I dreamed of rainbows and rays of sunshine that God would send especially for me. My dreams turned to faith. I KNEW God would come thru. So I waited.

The day of the baptism was one of the most exciting days of my life. I talked glowingly about the Lord to my friends at church. I listened intently to the sermon, despite the butterflies in my stomach, waiting for a hint from God that he was planning something great. The sermon was about some Old Testament character and did not apply to me in the least, but I shrugged it off in anticipation of the baptism.

Later that day, I watched as, One by one, people waded out into the pond to be dunked by our cheerful pastor. Each one came up smiling. They scurried out of the water to hug their families and be congratulated. Nobody was speaking in tongues, or prophesying, and I knew that God was saving that for me. Finally it was my turn. My dad cuffed up his sleeves and waded out into the pond. I tucked my skirt between my legs and with one last silent prayer, I followed him. I heard the pastor reciting something about the father, son and Holy Spirit.

                                     ............and then down I went.

   

(To Be Continued)

In Which My Husband Writes a Guest Post

I thinks it's time to tell you a little about my Husband. He grew up in a semi-religious family that never went to church. His childhood was punctuated with tragedy caused by alcoholism and infidelity. When he was around 11 years old his mom found Jesus. His little brother jumped on the bandwagon, but my Husband followed much more cautiously. All throughout high school he studied and researched the subject of religion. As he searched and learned and struggled, he watched how the God began to change his family. At some point he finally decided that he believed in God. His family has been healed and He has an incredible and inspiring faith in God that i wish i could share.

Over the last few months, he has been learning about the darker side of Christianity. The side that i was raised in. He has been shocked and horrified but what I've shown him. After reading This Post By Lisa of Broken Daughters, my husband emailed me at work. It is clear by his writing that he is startled and supremely annoyed by the Fundie interpretation of his religion. I liked what he said so much that i decided to re-post it here. He is responding to the three YouTube Videos that Lisa linked to in her post.

These men are the definition of interpreting scripture without historical and cultural context.  Their entire argument is as follows; "there is nowhere in the bible that says anything about dating" and "there are betrothals that take place in the bible."  That is the same painful anti-logic that the Amish follow in order to conclude that pants and electricity are the work of the devil (but girls wearing skirts and riding horses are God's two favorite things).  What's worse is that these genius's then go on to perform a ritual betrothal that they readily ADMIT is found nowhere in scripture (but some historian says its from around the time Jesus was born so its gotta be OK).  

They look so proud of themselves when they point out that their form of "betrothal is not accepted by our current culture" but they fail to realize that there are a hell of a lot of things that are far better about our current culture than the culture that Jesus happened to be born into (see slavery, governmental oppression, racism, and sexism).  

The truth is that these men are worshiping a culture.  They are placing an inordinate amount of emphasis on the culture surrounding the time the bible was written because in areas where the bible doesn't explicitly tell them what to do, they are unwilling to use their own brains.  

There are clearly matters of biblical indifference where the bible is silent (I have yet to read a verse telling me whether or not it is a sin to deep fry a twinkie).  Rational human beings can have disagreements, Paul even addresses some directly (meat sacrificed to idols).  However there can be no gray areas for these people because if there were, then how could they claim to be perfect in EVERY aspect of their anal retentive lives?  If Jesus had come to earth yesterday and these guys were alive in the year 4011, then we would all be treated to a holographic video of perfect dad 1 and 2 telling future you and me how awful our current culture is.  If only we would have our children date like they did in Jesus' day then surely we would truly be following God...

Like i said  in my last post,  Patriarchy promotes a lifestyle that is supposedly Godly only by virtue of being different from everyone else. Of course its all old hat to me. I know all the rhetoric by heart. But it is fascinating for me to watch him hear this stuff for the first time.

His perspective is refreshing don't you think?

I Am Human

In my senior year of High School, I attended a “rebolution” event hosted by Brett and Alex Harris. They are the little brothers of the infamous Joshua Harris (author of “I kissed dating goodbye”) and the sons of Gregg Harris (a well known leader in the Home School community.) The “rebolution” is a movement that challenges young people to rise above the low expectations of the culture and become men and women of honor. At first it sounds like a great idea. The American teenager is often pushed aside and discounted. We are not treated as full members of society. I loved the idea of a movement encouraging kids to fearlessly pursue their dreams and step outside the “irresponsible teenager” box. However, the Harris brothers do not want kids to pursue their dreams. They want them to pursue “God’s” dream. Much like Eric and Leslie Ludy, they teach young people that God has a plan for them bigger than any dream or desire they might have. They talk about our fallen, depraved culture and about life’s struggles, and then proceed to give us the recipe for success. No matter what your situation in life, you can fix it by “selling out” to Jesus. They tell us that it is impossible to engage in the world and still be a real Christian. All our problems are caused by our lack of faith, by our inability to leave the world behind and trust God fully. They challenge kids to stand up in the middle of the seminar and confess their apathy. They demand that we forsake all, take up our cross, and follow Jesus. I saw kids with tears streaming down their faces, convinced that they had finally found the answer. I watched them commit to purity and promise to throw away all their secular music. I saw girls zip up their jackets, ashamed of the clothing that so clearly represented the world. I watched an auditorium full of my generation get swept away.

Christians get all excited about the idea of being set apart. It makes you special, part of something bigger, and definitely on the winning team. I’m not sure when Fundamentalists decided that the highest form of devotion was separation, but somewhere along the line, they decided that our souls were the only important part of our being. The human body, Emotion, Culture, Self expression, and the fruits of the human mind have somehow become the enemies of our souls. We all want to be fulfilled. As humans, this often leads us to make radical decisions and do crazy things. There is nothing more radical than denying our very humanity.

To remove yourself from “the world” is to remove yourself from your humanity. Humans have bodies and minds as well as souls. We create art and music and scientific theories. A lifestyle that demands only spiritual expression will squelch human emotion. A worldview that rejects any knowledge and beauty apart from God will not engage or value the power of the human mind. We cannot pick and choose which parts of our being to keep or throw away.  When you do this, you run the risk of setting yourself above all others. I was taught from an early age to look down on women wearing makeup. I was taught that my emotions were something to hate and my sexuality was something to be ashamed of. I was taught Doctors were liars and the Psychology was the devil’s work. I was taught disdain for fashion and culture. Fundamentalist groups see human nature as evil. They promote a lifestyle that is supposedly Godly only by virtue of being different from everyone else. They have lost site of the enduring and troubled beauty that is humanity. Humans are blessed with a range of emotions and senses as wide as the sky and as deep as the ocean. History and culture are a canvas painted by human hands, minds and hearts. We are an excellent and fascinating creation.

I love knowing that i am no different from the guy sitting next to me on the bus. For the first time in my life I acknowledge my feelings as valid and natural. I am fascinated by psychology and the study of the human mind. I am free at last to engage in my culture without fear of demons or destruction. I LOVE BEING HUMAN. Brett and Alex Harris mean well. They were taught what I was taught. They think they have found the answer and they are passionate about sharing it with their peers. But they are missing out. Humans are so much more than a soul. 

We cannot live fulfilled lives without accepting the fullness of our humanity.

Hopeless?

After the falling-out with my mother, she emailed me and asked me to "agree to disagree." Told me in no uncertain terms that she was not going to change her mind. I began to have nightmares. For three nights in a row i woke up crying. My dreams were filled with terrible, unspeakably graphic horrors. I will spare you the details that still make me shudder, but the underlying theme is important. In every dream, someone i loved was being hurt, and i was powerless to stop it. I screamed and no-one listened. My parents looked away and said it was under control. I woke up every morning overwhelmed by feelings of hopelessness.

Last weekend a dear friend of mine was murdered in the crossfire of a gang war. At the funeral on Wednesday, there was more than just grief. There was palpable anger, and hopelessness. A child in a casket, so wrong, so senseless. A group of noisy young men stalked past the funeral home towards the end of the day with visible markings on their clothes. Gang members. Loose clothes easily concealing the guns they most likely carried. I wanted to scream, shake them, force them to see the damage they had caused. Don't they know there is more to life than these few city blocks? How many people need to die for them to get the point? I left that night, overwhelmed with a feeling of hopelessness.

We all yearn for a better future. Humans constantly seek to better themselves, to make a difference, to right what is wrong. But for every step forward, we fall 2 steps back. As humans we are capable of feeding someone who is hungry, but tomorrow, another person will die of starvation. I could devote my life to helping humanity, but in the end, I will die, and my dreams will die with me.The truth is, that my love is not enough. I am not big enough to hold every broken person in my arms. I am not strong enough to carry every burden and dry every tear. I cannot promise every grieving mother she will see her baby again someday. I cannot stop that boy from pulling the trigger. I cannot heal 6 billion broken hearts.

But God can.

His love is big enough to heal the hurt in every heart. We should never stop striving to make this world a better place. I am not suggesting that we sit back and hope God will feed hungry people. But don't you think a satisfied heart will last much longer than a satisfied stomach? Maybe we should do what Jesus did and share God along with our bread and fish.

"Find rest, oh my soul, in God alone. my hope comes from him. Trust in him at all times, Oh people, pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge. One thing God has spoken, two things have i heard: that you oh God are strong, and that you, Oh Lord, are loving." - Psalms 62.

Do you think that God is enough to heal 6 billion hearts? Do you think that you are enough?

Walking In The Spirit

"Are you walking in the spirit? If you stay close to God, he will show you what he wants you to do."

My mom said this in an email to me last week. As i read it, i was suddenly overcome with anger and guilt. Guilt because i am certainly not "walking in the spirit." I haven't prayed in weeks. Guilt because reading the bible secretly makes me squirm. Guilt because i would rather hear God explain himself to me than beg and plead with him to tell me what HE wants. And Anger. Anger because her admonitions still make me feel small. Anger at God. Because, as usual, He's upset with me. Impatient, threatening to leave me if i don't get back to working on our relationship.

I was raised to believe that only a few were going to heaven. We were disdainful of those who believed they were saved by "works". but we simultaneously judged the state of a persons salvation based on how they lived their lives. We were told that true believers were always full of the spirit. If we were real Christians, all we would ever want to talk about would be God.
I am not exactly displaying the fruits of the spirit these days. I imagine that's why my mother is so concerned. I am not bursting with joy, my heart is often far from peaceful, and talking about God makes me uncomfortable, and sad.

Sometimes i wish i could just toss it all out and forget about religion. But I can't. Somewhere in the midst of the lies my parents told me, I caught a glimpse of God that was strong enough to make me stay. I have been comforted by God. I have seen him change lives, i have felt the joy of trusting him. But most of all, I see my husband.

My husband: The product of a broken family. Tumult and pain color the story of his past. He is analytical, He is a skeptic, and He is a christian. Strong and quietly passionate, He sees the loving God I have always searched for. His God is the calm in the storm. The peace and hope that changed his life. I have brushed shoulders with this God and been blown away by his goodness.

I want to learn about this God. If he's really who i think he is, then He has nothing to hide. I can face my demons, I can rest, and heal, and take my time. And He's not going to threaten me, or leave me, or even disapprove of me. If God is who i think he is, then he knows my heart, he understands my pain, and nothing else matters.

So mom, don't question my salvation. Don't tell me what God wants. Because you don't know and you never have. It's always just been you, attributing your human concerns and emotions to God.

  My husband tells me that God is not a human. He doesn't react like mothers and fathers do: with impatience, disappointment, and threats. I don't have to earn His love. My Husband's God IS love, and He would literally wait forever, just for me.

Giving God A Chance

I go to church. Sit. Listen. See the people around me with need in their eyes.
There's a mom by herself. No ring on her finger, a baby by her side. She looks content.
An elderly couple, holding hands. He is weak; I can see the oxygen tank under his chair. They seem peaceful.
Something draws them all together.
Something gives them comfort.
The pastor rambles on, I know what he will say before he says it. Why does this place no longer inspire me?
I am not challenged.
I am not comforted.
Instead i cringe at words like "Master" "Perfect" "Holy" "Only"
"Father"
I no longer fear fire and brimstone. I am a sceptic. I am teetering on the edge of indifference. My heart is hard. I am afraid to get hurt.
Today I went to another place.
The pastor looked me in the eye from the stage and said: Jesus told us not to let our hearts be hardened.
Like the seeds that fall on the road die, so the Word that falls on a hardened hear will die.
Don't let life make you hard.
Life has walked all over me. Life has packed the dirt of my heart into a hard, smooth, road.
Maybe God is more loving than i remember. Maybe he doesn't hate me. Maybe he wants to be my friend.
But can i really learn that from a book?
Can i explore spiritual things with my spirit closed up tight like a pine cone?
I think I will go back next week.
To this strange place where the man in the blue shirt preaches with tears in his eyes.

Maybe it's time to turn up the soil of my heart and give God a chance.