Tag Archives: church

Nov2

This is Church?

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This is Church?

Church.

I have some pretty strong feelings on the topic but when I go to write about it, for whatever reason, my thoughts tangle together like an uncooperative ball of yarn, and I begin to second guess my own ideas and beliefs. Is it because I haven’t yet come to a conclusion that allows for all of my experiences with the church, both in and out of it, to make sense? Is it because I still cling to the idea that the church, whatever else it may be, is holy and above reproach, above questioning? Is it because I have more questions than answers and to follow any one line long enough inevitably leaves me more confused and embittered than I was to begin with?

I’ve got to resolve this ongoing issue. I have got to be able to work my way to the root of whatever is going on so that I can be at peace. I need to be at whole relationship with God, whether it is again or for the first time.

Traditional church, for me, is the place that you go and pretend that everything is okay, where you share only pieces of who you are. I’ve been doing this inside of the church for many years. As a young teen a minister came to our house and he and I sat and talked for awhile. This, to me, felt like a big deal. Our minister wasn’t the ‘roll his sleeves up and get dirty’ type, the kind to hang with the kids. My mom and step-dad invited him over and so that he and I had could have some time to talk alone. I can’t remember, really, what we talked about, but it was something about how parents make mistakes and it’s important to forgive. My family kept going to church every weekend and pretending everything was fine. I watched my mom pretend that everything was just fine, that her family was just fine, thank you very much, every week for years, for one reason or another.

I always assumed that my own screwed up history so early on must have set a pattern in place. I assumed that I kept feeling like I was experiencing that same demand to pretend that everything was fine in other churches and with other Christians because I was subconsciously searching for it, for validation of that first instance as a child. I became adept at presenting to the church exactly what it wanted to see, and little else, and blamed the ensuing lack of fulfillment on my own inability to move beyond my past.

The thing is, as I’ve gotten older, and a bit braver, and as I’ve entered into real relationships with real people who are Christian, I’ve realized that a lot of people feel this way about church. I have a friend who wrestles very seriously with whether or not to let her church family know that she occasionally has a glass of wine. There’s another who worries about what impact her platonic relationships with the opposite sex will have on her standing within the church. I have a friend who struggles to accept a theological precept of the church but is fearful to talk about it with anyone.

Is this the church where I am supposed to feel safe to confess my sins, to share my struggles?

When I was in rehab, I lived on top of a mountain with an average of 50 other women all fighting their way back to sobriety. All of the staff, right up to the Director, were graduates of the center; survivors of drug addiction and eating disorders, former prostitutes and past jail inmates. Everyone knew who everyone was on that mountain, and who everyone used to be. Everyone knew that none of us were perfect and that everyone was on the same journey to becoming whole, to becoming like Christ.

I’ve never felt so safe in my life. There were guidelines to growth there, clear cut and understood by everyone. The rules were universally applied to all of the women at the center, no one was favored above the rest. If conflicts arose, and they inevitably did, the pattern of Matt 18:15-17 was strictly adhered to; first you go to your sister to confront her on your own. If your sister doesn’t listen to you on your own, then bring a friend or two to help out, and, if the conflict still can’t be resolved, you go to the authority. This was such a serious rule that if you skipped steps one and two and went straight to the authority, you were not heard.

The healthier women took care of the sicker women and everyone worked together to make the things run smoothly. Everyone started out in housekeeping and no one, not even the staff, was considered better than the next. If sin was known of, it was confronted. If character was lacking, it was addressed. Becoming a better person, a whole person, was not a hopeful prayer, it was a daily expectation and active aspiration. We all worked on becoming more like Christ every day, and we all did it together. I felt compelled, while I was there, to share my confessions of sin, in hopes of victory, to share my struggles in search of answers.

Not once, in 10 months, did I ever seem them turn away, or fail to lead, someone who was struggling.

That felt like church.

I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what the church is supposed to look like or feel like, really. Maybe it’s a question of nature vs. nuture, is it the church’s fault or society’s? I don’t have all the answers. I don’t even have all of the questions yet.

But I do know one thing.

I’m not going to pretend anymore.

May23

Biting off more than I can chew

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Biting off more than I can chew

“Restoration doesn’t necessarily mean making things the way they were, sometimes it means making things the way they’re supposed to be.” Jill Lillis

If I haven’t had much to say lately, it’s because I’m pretty soundly confused much of the time and, out of my as-of-yet-to-be conquered fear of a poor public opinion, I’ve made this blog more about essays on revelations I’ve grasped and vague ramblings on the things I haven’t rather than anything at all about an actual journey to wholeness.

The truth of my journey at the moment is that, from all outward appearances, I seem to have entirely lost the path and, from an inward perspective, I still seem to be very much on it.

I warned you I was confused.

I’ve made a series of decisions over the last year that have come with some consequences to be certain. The first was last March, when I began socially drinking. The second was in December when I entered into an intimate relationship with a fantastic guy who happens to not be a Christian.

Have you gasped and moved on yet? This post is not meant to be about me and alcohol so I’ll not make it, but I will say, for those who I imagine are concerned, I am fine and balanced and, for the most part, not “prone to drunkenness” as the Bible warns against. Now that it’s out, I’m sure there will be more on that later.

Now then, I wish I’d been writing truthfully about these things all along, about all of it. The last year has been one of both incredible highs and lows. I’ve failed in some areas deeply and, in that, learned valuable lessons. In other areas I’ve pushed past opinion and bias and broken through legalism in a way that I’d only talked about in theory previously. As an aside from the point here (if indeed I even have one), I’ll offer that the steps one must take in order to truly step outside of religion and legalism are not at all pleasant and tend to be not at all popular.

One of the primary consequences of my decisions is that I am no longer singing in church and with church groups. Again, this is not about that, though I’m sure another post one day will be. The circumstances in which that consequence came about was handled poorly and dealt to me painfully and caused a divide between me and the church I call home.

And, in short, that’s where I am today.

Today in church, during the worship service, I was meditating on how unfulfilled my life feels when God is not the very center of it. (I’m often meditating on missing the wholeness of God during worship services as I still only feel my truest and deepest self with Him in music and I can only feel like I am sharing in His heart fully when I am singing for others to find it.) I stood and sang, quietly, and wondered what if I could go back to the way things were? What if I could undo the decisions that had put me on the outside of a intimate group and take my place once more?

My journal from this moment reads:

“I cannot stand to be this far from God. And yet, here in church, I look around, and I cannot bear the thought of plugging back into this. It is so hollow. Accomplishing nothing. Self-focused. Empty. Is this my choice?! Is this what I should give up a life I love for? I cannot stand the idea of it. I don’t want anything that isn’t true and authentic and effective. What shall I do, God? Where shall I go?!”

And then that services worship leader, Jill Lillis’ words are written there, as if God were answering me without a moments hesitation, “Restoration doesn’t necessarily mean making things the way they were, sometimes it means making things the way they’re supposed to be.”

This evening I called a dear (and wise) friend. My intention in making the call was to tell her about a great sale I’d been to that day and encourage her to go shopping for herself. We ended up discussing this topic instead for an impassioned hour.

While she’s also one of my best friends, she apologized to me, as the ministry leader for more than one of the ministries I was formerly involved in, for not seeing me for who (and where) I actually was, for expecting more out of me than I was mature enough or ready to give and for giving me too much leadership too soon. I don’t hold her responsible, of course, for this separation I feel now, but her words brought some comfort and some confirmation. I’d been feeling, months ago, like I’d made a grievous mistake in not being completely genuine when I first began to attend my church home; feeling like I’d been more interested in portraying the proper image to what I felt was the suspect church eye, than in authenticating who I was to God and He to me. I was so focused on proving to my family (first and foremost) and to my new church family that I wasn’t the same old Seana, that I wasn’t that ‘rehab kid’, that I was committed to God and to my future with Him, that I lost sight of my actual relationship. I began to act the part instead of living the truth and what was true and good (that I am not the ‘same old Seana’ and that I am committed and in love with God) began to become corrupted from within.

And then, when I began to demand of myself that I be genuine before I be well-esteemed my outwardly seeming perfect peace began to crumble. In my dedication to playing a role, I had not paid careful enough attention to my very foundation.

My friend, in her wisdom, also said on the phone tonight that she feels like I’m where God intends me to be right now, that in and through this, I am finding my authenticity with Him.

I’d like to think when all is said is done I’ll not only be alive in Him and Him in me but I’ll have stumbled upon the place where He intends me to be relevant to His as-of-yet unchurched people.

And so, here I am. Lost in the thickets of daily revelations, out of sight from the main path but certain it’s just around every corner. I have a suspicion, however, that by the time I find the main path again, God won’t have me traveling it any longer. I have a sneaking feeling that I’m not going to be walking the popular path for a good long while to come.

After the last couple of months, a big part of me kind of hopes not.

As a final thought, I apologize to my readers for not being more forthcoming prior to this and for not chronicling with better truth the journey I promised to share. I’ll be more mindful (and less afraid) in the future.

Apr12

Chasing Life

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Chasing Life

I guess I’m supposed to feel far from God right now. At least, the worried glances of my concerned church family and the continued reassurance that “no matter what, God loves” me have me wondering if they know something I don’t know.

Because I don’t feel far from God at all. Sitting here, alone, in the quiet of my new middle-of-no-where apartment, with hands a bit dirty from handling wood for the fire, rain boots muddy from stamping down tire ruts, and a steaming plate of kale stir fry, I feel anything but far from God. I feel like I am precisely where God expected me to be in this moment, on this day. I feel like He’s right here with me, in every new and awakening moment of rustic life lived independently, I feel Him in every contented breath.

I feel far from people. Not all people, of course. In every experience of growth and change, or even in the failures and the falls, there are always people who surprise you with their grace and with the authenticity of their love. There are always people, however, who surprise you in another way completely. I feel far from those people. I feel far from the church, not the people who comprise her, but from the mammoth statue of tradition that “church” implies.

I feel adrift somewhat, though by choice and not chance. I feel as though I’ve kayaked out to sea and have turned to gaze back upon where I was. It’s a moment of decision. Is that really where I want to be? Is that girl who was living on that island really who I am meant to be? It’s surprising how ugly the view is from out here, blemishes not easily picked up upon when you’re in the middle of it all. I guess that makes them too large to see up close. I’m grateful for my vantage point.

I don’t feel far from my destiny, but I do feel the disappointment of people who feel like I am. The murmurings of “we had such hope for her”, “she could have done so much”, “such a waste of talent”. At first I was tempted to agree. Surely I was on the right track to accomplishing great things for God. I’d made the right choices, signed on to the right projects, presented in the right way, I was a shoe in. Only problem was, I was the one making the decisions, choosing the projects, tweaking presentation. I was so busy chasing “my destiny” that I forgot to chase God. I forgot how to chase God.

I respect a people who believe in prophesy. I respect a church who invites a prophet to their pulpit. I’ve lost respect, however, for prophesy chasing. It’s too easy to lose sight of what’s important. A huge prophetic word can change a person in the eyes of the church, and suddenly everyone is on board to get this person with the ‘big calling’ where it is they need to be. The battle cry begins, “we are fighting for your destiny!”

It all feels good for a time.

Except that I am a person and not a destiny. Except that while we’re all busy ushering me toward my destiny, my life is suddenly on a different track than it might have been, than it might be supposed to be. “I’m supposed to preach so I’ll work on my public speaking skills.” “You should read this book about prophetic singing, it’ll teach you what you need to know.”

I don’t want to chase my destiny. I don’t want to spend my life following a (or every) prophetic word. It’s not that I’m unwilling or disinterested, it’s just that, well, it’s my destiny, right? I imagine just living life is what’s going to get me there. Chasing destiny burnt me out. Living life brings me peace. Besides, a prophet can be wrong. Even more so, a prophet can be misunderstood.

It was said over me once that I would be famous, and “not known about your town kind of famous but known around the world kind of famous”. Oh, now there’s a prophesy worth chasing, right?

Except Anne Frank is famous. Just a girl, living her life, without any idea she was someday going to change the lives of others. World famous.

I’m so grateful for my peace. At whatever cost it comes.

Dec15

Searching for God

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Searching for God

Tonight my agenda, if you will, consists of only one thing: enjoy the rarely empty house to simply hang out with God. Easy enough, right? Well, no.

I’ve taught in classes about the importance of time alone with God, the need to have a relationship that transcends a two hour Sunday service. I believe completely that it’s possible to have a friendship with the Creator, to know and be known with a familiar intimacy.

It occurs to me tonight, however, that I don’t know how to simply be with God. I don’t know how to simply sit and fellowship with Him, to find Him within and without and be at peace in communion.

I’m sitting in my living room, perfectly prepared for a casual encounter of any kind. I’ve got music at the ready, my favorite book about grace, a Bible, etc., etc. I’m ready to commit to an evening with Him. Except.

Except I find myself doing anything I can to keep from just talking to God. I’m convinced I’ve got nothing to say that He wants to hear, just a list of apologies for things I’ll probably do again; if I can manage to distract myself long enough I might eek out a ‘want list’ for those I love. There’s nothing of substance.

I know how to do for God. I know how to sacrifice for God. I can study and expound upon and deliver the message of God. I can often hear the voice of God, discern the Spirit of Him, sing and pray a word for a waiting ear, but I don’t know what to say to God when we’re alone. I know how to accept God, I don’t know how to give Him me.

I’ve had a lot of revelations lately, about the shallowness of my God experience, and the difficulty it is to be genuine when the role of giant is so easy to play. To be aware of the dichotomy is disquieting, to admit it openly is humbling. I’ll gladly accept the humility if it brings me to authenticity.

I’m not having a crisis of faith, I’m having a crisis of relationship. I am absolutely convinced that there is more to life with God than what I can do for Him and what I can give up for Him. There must be more than this endless cycle of guilt for not being able to do enough, and guilt for not being able to live well enough.

I know without a doubt that there is, that there is authentic relationship and love to be found. I am intent on finding it. I believe, at times, that I’ve been there before, in love with the Creator and without concern to anything else. At other times I am convinced that I’ve never felt that depth, that I was simply parroting a lifetime of experiences cherished by those around me. Mostly, though, I’m convinced that it doesn’t matter if I’ve felt it then or if it was all a lie; the point is that I’m not feeling it now, that I haven’t been for some long amount of time, and that has got to change.

Things might get ugly, but authenticity never comes without a price. Don’t be concerned for me, but you might like to say a prayer. I’m in search of God, and I’m desperate to find him in the way He wants to be found.

Your comments, encouragements and pieces of advice are greatly welcomed as this journey progresses.  PLEASE leave them here though and not on my Facebook wall.  You don’t have to be a member to leave a comment.  Thanks and be blessed.

Dec5

Life Outside The Box (let there be cake!)

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Life Outside The Box (let there be cake!)

  This Christian walk stuff is not easy. Granted, that’s not the most original thought I’ve ever had, I don’t think there’s a whole lot of people who assume that Christianity is easy, but sometimes it strikes me just how difficult of a path this can be. I’m not even talking about the do and don’t lists. In fact, the commandments can be the easy part. If I’m on a strict diet, I don’t eat cake, pretty simple. But if I’m just “watching what I eat”, if it’s a “lifestyle”, do I eat cake? If so, how much? It’s the Christian life compromised that’s impossibly difficult and, as my dieter friends can relate to, once you take that first bite of cake it’s just a little bit harder not to have french fries the next time.

But, really, “Christian life compromised” isn’t the right term, although, when one isn’t careful it does seem to be the end result. I guess what I mean to say is, it’s relatively easy to be a Christian and to walk roads soundly investigated, approved and maintained by the traditional church. It isn’t difficult to live life uncompromised on Sunday morning or at a gathering of like minded friends and family. It isn’t hard to stand your ground when no one is challenging you, or tempting you. On a diet, following a regimented menu laid out for you by a more studied individual isn’t very tough, in the short term. It’s when you decide to rework your very lifestyle to embody health and fitness in a way that’s real and lasting for you that challenges come.

Legalism can be easier to live in than grace. I think it’s why we’re drawn there. We just feel better when someone is telling us what to do, like if we follow all the rules, we know we’re getting it right. Religion based in fear. Pharisees.

I live a lot of my life outside what the church considers comfortable confines. The local pub (a community gathering spot), the homes of non-christian friends, music festivals; many of the places where I most feel at home, and the most free to be myself, are outside of the traditional black and white territory of the church. It can be hard, sometimes, to overcome mindsets taught to me as a child by strict Christian parents, even in myself. I find myself arguing the propriety of my choices, comparing them to those of my other Christian friends, and wondering if I’ve completely lost my way and the Holy Spirit forgot to tell me. Should the topic come up, of my friendships and hangouts, I find myself justifying my beliefs to an inquisitive, concerned or sometimes accusing church family member. Mostly, though, I just sort of keep quiet about it, worried I’ll be thought of as less of a Christian, that, in their concern for me and out of homage to the tradition of rules and clearly defined right and wrong, I’ll be ousted from ministry and deemed among the lost.

Don’t get me wrong, I have lots of friends who are Christians, and I love them and time with them, too. I just haven’t limited myself to only that and only there. There’s a lot of reasons and, to be honest, evangelism wasn’t originally one of them. But, as I’ve prayed through these struggles, what seems clear to me is this: Jesus hung out with some pretty shady characters, and He wasn’t preaching or handing out tracts or condemning choices and lifestyles, sometimes he was just eating dinner. I think repentance is born of relationship. I think it’s unwise to overlook the importance of being an “out-Christian” in a secular world, a position that requires us to actually step foot into the secular world. I believe that I’m laying a foundation for some of the people I meet and interact with, that I’m planting a seed that will one day be harvested.

But sometimes, I wish I didn’t feel so alone while I was doing it. I wish that I could go to my church and share the particular difficulties that come from living for Christ while in relationship with a world who isn’t. We all sin and all sins are equal in God’s eyes but, truth be told, they’re not in the eyes of the church; and in an environment so readily given to judgment, it isn’t easy, or even wise, to share the struggles unique to a life outside of the box.

Which brings me back to my original point. This stuff isn’t easy. There’s a whole lot to figure out, a whole lot of two steps forward and one step back. There is, at the end of the day, a whole lot of growth.

And maybe that’s what makes it all worthwhile. Lonely, perhaps, a little lacking in the usable advice department, but worth it.

Sep6

Epiphany (one): I’ve been judging you.

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  So, if, as mentioned in the previous post, I have a lot to say and I haven’t been saying it, there must be a reason, right? That foundational starting place is, of course, Epiphany 1. Even now, with barely a thought to page and my head clouded with the words to come I’d like to skip this part and go straight on to what it all means to me and to the idea of identity as a whole. Once again I’m reminded, one can’t share the truth without exposing the process.

 Epiphany 1: I’ve been judging you.

 I’ve been locked in a cyclical process: identifying myself-now as myself-then; realizing such; over-correcting the issue; realizing such; and correcting my way full circle through a slow slide all the way back to identifying myself incorrectly. Without fail the process always starts when I am untrue about who I am, when, within any of my circles of reality or spheres of influence, I am not wholly myself. To go further here would be to introduce Epiphany 2 and skip over the rest of Epiphany 1 (tempting) so I’ll say no more about it just now.

 What does any of that have to do with me unfairly judging you?

 I’ve been not saying anything about the struggle of my process, keeping quiet about the fullness of who I am out of fear that I would lose precious friendships if I were unabashedly me. I’ve tiptoed the balance beam over popular opinion and fear of man so long that I find myself with friends who do not know me and at war with my very self.

 I war against judgment and believe in acceptance of a person for humanity’s sake without regard to the how and why of their life and lifestyle. It’s true that change is a beautiful and necessary part of growth and redemption and true liberation, but it would be wrong to allow any perception I may have of how you should or could change affect whether or not I can embrace you for who you are in your today. I have not extended that grace to myself.

 The truth of the matter is, I have as much right to be wholly me as you have to be wholly you. The larger truth is that I have no reason to believe that you don’t agree with me on that. I’ve been so quick to assume that you are judging me that I haven’t given you the chance to prove that you’re not.

 I’ve been judging you by assuming what your reaction would be to me if I let you know all facets of who I am. I’ve been judging myself harshly through your eyes and not giving you the opportunity to prove me wrong. Most regrettably, I’ve been keeping pieces of myself from you because of the assumptions I’ve been living in.

 My irrational fear of your potential judgment has kept a wall between us that was never meant to be there.

 There is, of course, good news – that my eyes have been opened to how I’ve allowed my misconceptions to color my person is a remarkable epiphany and, once realized, not easily ignored. I may not be entirely wrong, as I begin this journey to being wholly me in every circle I travel, I may indeed find myself facing judgment and misinterpretation. I suppose that is a bridge I’ll cross when I come to it.

 If my choice is to be entirely me and, perhaps, lose a few friendships or to keep all of my friendships at the cost of being myself, I’ll choose the former. In the meantime, I’m sorry for judging you, I’m going to work hard to keep it from happening again.

Jul22

Simplicity of choice

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Simplicity of choice

I do not mean to diminish the potential of redemption and restoration when I tell you that my life will never be what it could have been. I do not confuse the reality of consequence with some sort of lacking in the promise of grace and mercy. It is with a new awareness that I face my future and the inevitable scars it carries from my past. My life is told in those scars, in the particular look that sometimes clouds my gaze. I am who I am because of who I chose to be. These words do not stem from a pool of hidden regret and sorrow for what will never be. Still, with a new awareness of all that is, with a hindsight that comes only from experience and with nothing even akin to bitterness, I tell you with confidence – sometimes, this time, it’s just not worth it.

It could have been different. I have a peace in the reality of how and what It Is but when the walls crumble and the truth is exposed in all of it’s devastating solidity, I must look at the remains of life before now and know that I have only myself to blame. As I grow confident in my newness and strong in my identity, as I relearn that which to some seems so very basic, as time is spent to repair and renew and rebuild I have to remind myself, lest I become forgetful…

It didn’t have to be this way.

The choice was mine.

I have partied with people seen on TV, done the drugs curious people are most curious about. I’ve worn clothes that could pay the average rent and ruined them in places and in ways I’ve come too far to mention here. I can tell stories that raise eyebrows, flush cheeks (excitement or embarrassment) and radically alter the mere perception of myself with tales as true as the one I tell now. From the vantage point of onlooker, I may have been those things any number of people would want to, strive to, try to be. Believe this – looking from the outside in is never an honest gaze and nothing is as it seems to be.

What can I possibly say to you that would convince you, those of you lost in the haze of Right Now, that no matter the stories you can tell or the things you’ve seen or even gotten away with that all of it is vanity – meaningless?

You’ll reach a point, and some of you have reached it already – your spirit tells you so whether or not you have yet chosen to acknowledge – where there is no going back, where you will never be again what you were and the road to where you want to be seems an impossible trek. The point where Right Now leaves an indelible thumbprint that you will spend years of your life either flaunting, hiding or double timing to overcome.

When the ride stops and, wobbly-kneed, you get off, looking around naseous and disoriented and you wonder the question that (some of) you should have asked sooner…“is it worth the cost of the ticket?”

The answer is mocking in it’s simplicity.

“No.”

It doesn’t have to be that way.

It doesn’t have to stay this way.

The choice is yours.

Jul22

Letting go (have no fear)

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Letting go (have no fear)

Fear is the great crippler of our generation. Fear that the things that have been promised to us are not real, that the Promised Land is filled with giants too formidable to be slain afterall. There is, in this generation, a pattern of those we have trusted over-promising and under-delivering. Looking around we are convinced that no one is telling us the truth.

It carries into every area of our lives, including our relationship with God. We raise battle fists into the air. “Surrender! Surrender! Let go!” we cry as our fingers close tighter around those things we, ourselves, hide. (how i long for a church where judgement is the greatest of all sins and no one feels too ashamed to taste grace) While the allure of perfect peace and joy are tempting; in this age of free 30 day trials we want a taste before we buy.

God isn’t having any of it. He’s old school that way. From an era where promises meant something and life was all or nothing. And so we damn ourselves to limbo while He watches us perplexed.

With one hand we reach toward God and the idea of the real, lasting fulfillment that we’re told He offers – Sunday morning services and the latest Christian rock CD. We do as much as we can manage without signing any commitments. We take notes to sermons we only half hear and remember to thank God if things go well.

In our other hand we hold those things we call Plan B. A night or two out with the girls or the guys seeking anything but Christ, the relationship we know is poisoning us from the inside out, whatever those things may be that, in Sunday circles (division born of judgement), we don’t talk about or reference. And oh, how we know the illusion of their allure. There is no at-last peace and assurity in these things we cling so stubbornly to – but there is something. There is something that, for the moment or two we are engaged, makes us not alone, not afraid. “It isn’t what I want”, we reason, “but it’s what I’ve got and there’s no point in letting go until I’m sure of this something better.”

I wish I could scream from the mountaintops the truth instead of the lies we are believing; the depth of our illusion and the reality of His promise. All of our self-loathing, insecurity, fear, shame, loneliness – all of it – everything – gone!

There is one moment. One terrifying moment, that seems to steal our very breath, is the cost of living in the middle of the certainty – the peace and joy everyone wants and no one seems to get. There is one fraction of time where, no matter who you are and what your story, your fear will battle you hard and only the purposeful exercise of your will can push you through.

It comes with the letting go.

You have to believe that even if everyone else you’ve ever met is a liar, God is not. Even if no one has ever truly, deeply loved you, God does. If everyone else has eventually left, hurt you and let you down, God has not.

He stands in the exact same place He’s always stood, offering the exact same thing He’s always offered, available in the exact same way it’s always been available. Whatever it is you want out of life – whatever it is you truly desire, without exception – He’s waiting to give it to you.

It comes with the letting go because He’s prepared to fill both hands.

“…the one who doubts is like the surf of the sea, driven and tossed by the wind. For that man ought not to expect that he will receive anything from the Lord, being a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways.” James 1:8 (NAS)

double-minded (adj) – wavering or undecided in mind

*While I don’t often reference my own experience in musings such as these, I feel this time I should. I hurt for our generation and the lies we have believed. I can stand with assurity behind the things I say because I live them. Life is rarely perfect, the cost of a fallen world. Still, I stand today with peace unlike any I have ever known with a joy that defies circumstance. Letting go of all that I held onto made the difference in my life between fitting in and stepping aside. I am always available to share my story as proof of what God can and has done. Please believe me when I tell you that those things you are seeking are so readily available – if only you trust. You don’t have to feel alone or afraid anymore.

(originally written 03/29/09)

Jul22

every story has a beginning

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every story has a beginning

I have not loved every moment of my journey. I don’t, in fact anticipate loving every moment of what is to come. But I do thank God for every step, every turn and every fall. I thank God for allowing each moment that brought me to this very one.

There are certain things I know; things I know with assurance. I know that all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose. (Rom. 8:28) I know that I love God. I know that he called me many years ago with purpose and in promise. I know, rely on and rest in the truth that God is not Man, so he does not lie. That he is not human, so he does not change His mind. God has never spoken and failed to act or promised and not carried it through. (Num. 23:19) 

Nearly two years ago, I completed 10 months in a faith based rehabilitation, Christian discipleship program. It was, and is, a place where God moves mightily and daily. What follows is a story of my life and pieces of my journey. More importantly, it is the telling of God’s grace and power to save. This was written soon after my departure from my place of healing.  It is my introduction to today.

I’m 30 years old (now 32) and, while I was raised in Northern Vermont, I am most recently from Dallas Texas. I’m the second oldest in a family of 6 children. While I was fortunate to be raised in what was, for all intents and purposes, a Christian home my childhood memories are limited and most of those I do have are not fondly recalled.

When I was 7, a local 14 year old boy from a troubled home came to live with my family. Chris would be the first in my memory to rape me, beginning a cycle of sexual abuse that would last for seven years, ending with my father when I was 14.

Growing up, my parents were always involved in one church or another. It wasn’t uncommon during these years of my mothers search for her own answers to switch churches, denominations and sometimes even religions without notice. My mother was generally involved in the ministry, leading womens groups and Sunday School. God was discussed, known and available but, in light of my life at home and the continuing search for what was truth, He seemed vague and disinterested at best. Still, inwardly hurting, angry, and rebellious, and while our home steadily deteriorated – outwardly and in public we all presented as the perfect Christian family, well trained to perform our roles.

At 14 I was still living with two of my abusers and unable to discuss either the abuse or a subsequent suicide attempt with anyone in or outside of my home. With so many younger siblings, sharing what had happened to me with anyone, even a counselor, would be asking the the state to step in and divide our family. I understood the reasons butI grew increasingly resentful toward what I viewed as the decision to sacrifice my well being for the “greater good”.

At the age of 17 I made a personal commitment to Christ and, following in the footsteps of my mother, began involvement in leadership. About this same time I also began experimenting with marijuana. The double minded standards I had perfected as a child flourished in my adult years – with every forward step in Christ followed by a deeper plummet into the world of alcohol and drugs. By the age of 23 I had spent time as a worship leader and a children’s pastor and begun to struggle with bouts of addiction that included marijuana, alcohol and ecstasy.

After a time, the initial fulfillment I had found in church began to wear. Without knowing enough to build my life on a relationship with Jesus and move toward healing, I instead looked for an answer to ending the pain that grew within. In time, I became disillusioned enough to walk away from the church entirely, confused about who it is that I was, nevermind God.

At 23 I moved to Dallas, Texas and by 27 I was fully immersed in addiction and depression. For three years I bounced from bar job to bar job and from relationship to relationship. I was continuing to search for something, anything, to find myself, fulfillment and relief from my hurt. On the surface I seemed well maintained. I was living the single girl dream of life in the big city. I had a closet full of designer labels, a great place, a ton of friends. Everything society told me I needed. The truth was, I was slowly coming undone. I began to use cocaine on a regular, and mostly daily, basis. My alcoholism worsened until I was experiencing nightly black outs and intermittent bursts of violence. I was arrested twice on alcohol and drug related charges. I partied as hard as I could for as many hours and days as I could. It wasn’t about searching for the way up anymore – I was looking for the way out. I gave up on the struggle to find and understand God in the midst of my chaos. I stopped fighting to overcome an eating disorder that was threatening to destroy me. I no longer recognized the girl in the mirror. I craved the finality of death and pressed toward it with a passion that overruled anything else.

Late in March of 2008, I woke up in the middle of the night in the bunk of an 18-wheeler driving through the Texas countryside. I had no idea where I was or where I was headed. I didn’t know who the man driving the truck was or even how I had come to be inside of it. To this day, the last thing I remember from that day was sharing Easter dinner with a friend and his family. Finally I was ready to accept that I needed help. I called my mother back home in Vermont and my family made arrangements for me to go into treatment at a Christian center outside of New York City, the Walter Hoving Home.

For me, this was the first step towards my redemption in Christ and the beginning of my journey toward healing. Looking back over the things I have done and the places I have put myself, the protecting hand of God becomes so clearly evident. For ten enviable months I was able to learn firsthand about the grace God offers freely, His endless faithfulness, mercy and provision. After a lifetime of wounded hurt and confusion, struggling through everything to find love, I have been able to accept – to truly embrace and know – the unconditional love of God that I can do nothing to earn and nothing to lose.
Most importantly, I have been liberated from the confines, tradition and hollow legalism of ‘religion’ and learned the beauty that is my relationship with Jesus Christ. I had a lot to unlearn. Faith is so simple and yet so very hard to give in to. I chose at first to believe and trust and watched as my God came alive in my life. In the last ten months, without income, I have truly wanted or needed for any one thing. I live in a place of trusted commitment with God that I never before thought possible (or even desirable), knowing that only He has the power to affect lasting and real change.

Today I am poised on the brink of rebuilding all that I gave up and allowed to be stolen from me. I have been set free from the addictions that tormented me for so many years. I am winning the fight against an eating disorder. I have learned to allow God’s love to heal wounds that I thought never to be rid of. I have never before been so joy filled, at peace and excited to see the future. I know the girl in the mirror today, I am grateful for everyday that I live and breathe.

I am loved.

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future nor any power, neither height nor depth nor anything else in all creation can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Romans 8:38-39