Long Time, No Talk (or...Write)

Wordy Friends!

It has been a while.  While there are always thoughts, ideas, plans, and prayers flowing through my head, there is not always time to commit them all to paper!

This is Bizzy season at our house!  

We have baseball tournaments almost every weekend, practices during the week, homework, awards programs and ceremonies, orientations, parties, and the list goes on!  Not to mention STAAR/EOC testing...

It's also birthday season--one of my favorite times of the year!  My baby boy turned 14 on March 30.  My baby girl turns 15 on Friday!  How did this happen?  They are turning into such interesting,  remarkable individuals with great sensitivity and strength.

I always find myself reflective this time of year, not only because of our two babies--2 miracles I treasure remembering, but because of a very dear friend.  A dear friend who unselfishly hoped my baby came before hers.  A friend who cheered me on as a friend and as a parent.  A friend who became a mother just 4 days after me!  A friend who lived and died with faith, grace, and love.  Every year, around the birthdays of my 2 and her 2, I also feel a twinge, a tear slips quietly down, and many memories are quietly treasured.  I miss her!  I always will!  I also know she will be in my cloud, and I will hear her angel voice again.

Reminiscing on birthdays, 

a treasured friend, 

and the years and tears and laughter 

that have passed are a special story.  

The Story of Who We Are

This is not a story I could have ever written or created--in my wildest dreams or my darkest nightmares.  

Most of all, it is a story of true friendship, unconditional love, resiliency and how God works in all of it.  That is what keeps this mama going. I may not see the light every day, or lose sight of the end of the tunnel, but I know we are not in this alone.

And we have a story to tell.

There are many pieces to this story, just a few of which I have related in my blog.

As we continue in our journey in this life, I continue to see the resiliency and strength that has grown in us.  The last 3 years have been the hardest in our lives collectively and individually.  Yet, here we are.  A strong, loving family.  We do not doubt each other for a second. We don't have to agree, even on matters as big as faith and spirituality, but we know love and we do love, without conditions. 

 Love that does not leave, hide, shame, or condemn. 

A decision.

We have walked together a road no one could really walk with us at the time, nor were some willing to walk it with us.  And that, too, is part of our story and how we know what helps and what hurts.  

We use the pain with the joy to illumine the path for someone else. 

Using our story and allowing our story help others does not include sugar-coating, or over-looking, or ignoring the uglier, messier, hurtful parts.  And now, we have a witness, a track record, and we can walk with others.  Over and over that is being affirmed as we have had many opportunities outside of social media to cry with, hug, hold onto, text, and stand up for--families, individuals, and couples who wouldn't have known who to call or where to go for help. But we have, we will, and we're glad to make the way easier for someone else.

That is my moment of reflection on this day.

And because I know you need to hear encouragement, I want you to know that you need to hang in there.  Life is hard, damn hard. It will not always feel as hard as it does right now.  Life will get better.  And it will get hard again.  Yet, better again after that.  And some of us are going to need to hear your story.

I also want to share an article and a prayer that both ministered to me today, words I did not pen, words someone else needs to hear, too.

First some advice on what to NOT say to someone who has been hurt by a church or church people.  The article uses the term "spiritual abuse."  Don't let that throw you, and don't let it keep you from digging deeper.  It's a hard term to use. It's an even harder reality to live. But hang on.  Keep searching.  There will be a place that will care well for your soul, and I'm thankful to have found mine now after a string of hurtful church experiences.

www.relevantmagazine.com/god/church/what-not-say-someone-who-has-been-hurt-church#SGJpLuVBBY5QpPjs.99


And to close this post and this day, a prayer from Momastery's Glennon Melton:

A Prayer For All Of Us Today

"May God bless us with a restless discomfort about easy answers, half truths and superficial relationships - so that we may seek truth boldly and love deep with our hearts.

May God bless us with holy anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people - so that we may tirelessly work for justice, freedom, and peace among all people.

May God bless us with the gift of tears to shed with those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, or the loss of all that they cherish - so that we may reach out our hand to comfort them and transform that pain to joy.

May God bless us with enough foolishness to believe that we really CAN make a difference in this world - so that we are able, with God's grace, to do what others claim cannot be done."- The Benedictines

YES, PLEASE. Send us discomfort, holy anger, tears and enough foolishness to use it all as fuel to heal the world.

Let us pray for Nepal and Baltimore and all those hurting but while we pray let us also MOVE OUR FEET AND REACH OUT OUR HANDS. After we have learned enough, let us get off the couch, turn off the tv, stop lamenting that we can't heal the whole world and GO OUTSIDE AND HEAL THE WORLD WITHIN OUR REACH.

Let us do for one what we wish we could do for the world. Small things today. Small things with great love.

Amen.

Underdogs

Trigger Warning:  Suicide

I've told you before about our boxes.  Our boxes contain all the things we're dealing with in our life, things that can drain us, sap us, and/or stress us.  When a box is full and can't fit anything else, it's full. It doesn't matter if the things in my box look "worse" than things in your box.  When a box is full, it's full and you just can't deal with anything else.

My box has been pretty full lately.

Trips to hospital emergency rooms add to my box.  Keith's change in employment and changes to our habits and routines add to my box--even though this job is awesome, just what he wanted, and just what we need. It is still an adjustment, and that can be scary depending on how our children are affected by just such a change.

Learning of a family member's suicide this past Tuesday, a young 22 year old active duty Navy man, adds to my box. Suicide in itself is a topic and occurrence that can fill my box quickly.  My heart hurts any time I hear of a suicide, even if I don't know the victim or the victim's family members.  In addition to dealing with our own suicide attempt, I have had 3 students over the years who attempted suicide while they were my students--middle school students, bright kids, full of potential.  Our neighbor of many years committed suicide in his driveway when our children were younger, and I had to shield them from sights and a knowledge they should not and did not have at that time in their lives.  A year or so after our suicide attempt, one of my mom's best friends, whom she'd been in a prayer group with for over 35 years, committed suicide.  She was part of our family.

All suicide losses are HARD losses.  It is a grieving process more complicated than the "typical" death experienced naturally, be it old age, a disease process, or tragic accidents.  The questions, confusion, judgment, what-if's, and shock/surprise of such a death impedes the grief process, often prolonging any healing that may come.

I've titled this blog "underdogs."  I LOVE underdogs.  I'm often the one choosing to root for the underdog if "my team" is not playing in a game.  I thrive on stories about underdogs, because I want to see them beat the odds, prove everyone wrong, and reach beyond the "potential" anyone ever predicted.  I think that may be one of the qualities or character traits in me that lead me to teaching, but specifically teaching middle school students--definitely a misunderstood group.  Let's face it, an often disliked group of kids, too.  Those are hard, hard years.

Many people will not understand this, but teaching gifted students and advocating for them also was often a practice in working with, for, and trying to undo negative educational experiences that made me a champion for this population.  I am a natural born educator, researcher, social worker and advocate.  Some day, maybe, I'm going to put all that to work together.  Right now, I am those things for my children.  Right now I advocate for other families in the mental health system and its inadequacies that fail us and help to feed the stigma.

And sometimes those children 

were "mine" 

in another time and setting.  

This last June, I went to a high school graduation.  One of my "underdogs" was graduating high school, when most teachers tried to hold him back, a kid who spent the majority of his 6th grade year sitting in hallways and in in-school-suspension.  DAILY.  He is a brilliant and creative kid, making it to Destination Imagination Global competition during his junior/senior year of high school.  He actually graduated early from high school as well.  He is a reserve Marine soldier now, providing him money for school, a place to belong, a place that gives structure, and fulfilling a lifelong dream.  This kid loves the military.  And he's the kind of soldier you want on your team--so he's not using his brilliance against you!  I could tell you many lessons learned about this kid. Someday, he will write a book about his life, and teachers will have big roles in his story--both positively and, unfortunately, very negatively.

He will always be one of "mine," 

and I will always be in his corner cheering.

And, listen, a few of us cheered even louder when the person on the stage handed him his diploma and shook his hand.  This educator happens to be on the list of people who looked at this student and told him he wouldn't make it.  THAT is poetic justice at its finest.  Fortunately, there was a high school teacher who saw what we did, taking him under her wing and becoming his guardian.

This student is one of my favorite underdog stories, probably because it's a dramatic tale and a cautionary tale about how much difference teachers can have in a student's life. We even had to fight teachers to get this student into our gifted classes, which meant he was no longer on their class rolls and didn't have to do anything related to him ever again!  A student most had written off long ago as lazy, disobedient and incapable of learning.  This student, who tested as being in the top 1% of gifted individuals, when normed against other gifted individuals.

Brilliance. 

This young man's story is an easy one to tell.

I have another underdog story to tell you.  This particularly story is one that is totally wrecking me right now.  This story begs to be told but it is not an easy one.  I do not even know why yet.  I don't know if there will be any happy endings.  I don't know if it's possible or if I even believe in them.

This tragedy that occurred to a former student has added quite a bit to my box in the last couple of weeks--so much so that I couldn't even commit to writing a blog post. The tragedy occurred years ago, but I only learned of it recently. I have been overwhelmed with the grief for him, a deep compassion and empathy, and an ache that takes my breath away when I contemplate his current life.  This has been the source of the quietness on my blog as of late.

I just. Couldn't write.

This story is about a young man who I was fortunate to get to know back in the late 90's when he was in my 8th grade English class.  We'll call him, "G."  Actually, there are some similarities in these 2 young men separated by more than 10 years.  G was more intelligent than he let on.  G was very misunderstood by adults in his life, including most teachers.  Misunderstandings lead to mistreatment, unfortunately, for G.  I did everything I could do for him at the time.

In my classroom, G was safe.  He was valued.  Suspicion and skepticism were not the lenses through which I viewed G.  I saw him as a kid.  He was a kid trying to navigate life without all the tools or support necessary to do so.  He'd given up on himself along with others in his life long before 8th grade.  The best he was hoping for at the time?  This his younger brother would not follow in his path and would make something better of himself.  This from a jaded 14 year old boy.

I worked hard to open up all G had to offer.  He would work for me, give new things a try, and was always congenial and respectful.  I don't think he always believed the things I told him about himself, but he did know that I believed them and that I believed in him.  He had the chance to show me who he was.  I didn't take the opinions of teachers before me or the warnings about his group of friends.

When he left middle school for high school, G and I managed to stay in touch as I have with other students over the years.  (Something especially easy in recent years with the advent of social media like Facebook.)  For a while I would hear from G.  Occasionally I ran in to his younger brother, who would give me an update and G's latest whereabouts and contact info.  The last time we talked much, in my recollection, was after he'd learned that he was going to be a father--long before it should have been his time.

Life for me became pretty hectic around the same time, as I became a mom--twice in 11 months time!  Then came my broken arms, surgeries, my best friend battling cancer, teaching again, graduate school, etc.  I list these things, because it makes me feel better.  Truthfully, though, nothing can make me feel better about this.  I should have known. I should have been there.  A vigil at a hospital.

I do not know 

how I did not know 

what had happened to G.  

When it happened.

A couple of weeks ago, G was on my heart one evening, out of the blue.  I decided to look him up on Facebook, I don't know why I hadn't done so before.  I did find G on Fb, and

my heart instantly sank.  

A face and smile I recognize, 

but a body I don't.  

A body no longer connected to the the spinal cord, nerves, and brain necessary for it to function in any way.

Wasted away.

What happened was that while he was sleeping in his bed as a young adult years ago, G's father entered his room and shot him.  The 1st bullet entered between his lungs and heart.  He jumped up to run and the 2nd bullet lodged in the spinal cord in his neck.  His father then put the gun to his own body, committing suicide and falling on his gravely injured son.  A month long coma, miraculous awakening, concern for his dad, beating the odds continually and an irreversible condition altering forever the rest of G's life.  His family's, too.  Unfortunately, no family can provide G's extensive care at home.

Sweet, Jesus, I can hardly handle this right now.  And it didn't even happen to me.  This isn't about me.

A 30 year old young man.  

Trapped.  

In a body.  

In a health care facility.  

I had fears for G after he left my middle school world for high school.  This was not one of them.  Never was this one of them.

This tragedy has completely devastated me, all the way around. Like it just happened. To the point that processing it has required putting my current grief boxes back on their shelf, because this one needs my attention.  I need to process this situation, not only because I love its victim, but because this kid needs me.  Maybe he needs cards, packages, calls, or visits.  He definitely needs a cheerleader again.  A cheerleader rooting for his G in a completely different underdog way.  I will be that person again for him.  Once I grieve and accept.

Family members have shared that G has a positive spirit, he hopes to touch the lives of other troubled youth, and is always looking for a medical miracle.  G also possesses a forgiving spirit.  He is a better human than me.  I have yet to forgive his dad.

I remembered tonight, the advice of my friend, Kimberley, who helped me in my own grief after our suicide attempt.  So, I am reminding myself that to be able to move on from this place of devastation, I must let go of hoping for a better yesterday.

For G. 

Trying to find a card to send him, has left me in tears.  Thinking about a gift package to send him, leaves me pondering scenarios that no one should have to ponder. What? How? Who?  I have yet to be able to pick up the phone and call him.  But I will.  Soon.

And I will see him face to face.

And cheer him on.

I do not know the many lessons that may come out of this story. The 1st underdog story above reminds me why I taught and fought for and loved my many underdogs. G reminds me that: Underdogs matter.  

Underdogs are people.  

Underdogs can be written off by both teachers AND their parents.  

Do not do this.  

Do not label an individual, child or not, as incapable, unworthy, not salvageable.  

NEVER.

*As a side note, an important one, if you know of the individuals to whom I am referring, feel free to comment, but please do so without using actual names.  If you wish to speak to me or comment more directly or specifically than is appropriate in an anonymous fashion, please send me a private message.  In G's story, there are individuals who have been protected from the full knowledge of the facts in this story, most of which I left out purposely to respect and honor that.  If you know already what happened, you might inadvertently mention something that could hurt those being protected.

Last Night's Recap

I have a thing now.  For the last 3 years.  

With ambulances.  And Emergency Rooms.  

PTSD is real.  And it sucks.  It is what happens when, for example, I pick Cade up after a track meet and he's dazed, confused, and having trouble expressing himself and using words correctly.  This disorder can rear its head when my daughter is sleeping heavily and doesn't wake up right away. 

Other times, it shows up.  

In the middle of the night.  

For no good reason.  

Robbing my sleep.  

Robbing my breath.

I am immediately in the spot I found myself on the morning of Monday, August 27, 2012.  I can know in my head exactly what is happening logically to my body, but I am unable to change the emotional impact, lack of reserve, tragic thinking--in that moment.  No matter what my head says.

And, NO, PTSD is not about facing or being in physical combat in war, though that is a prevalent situation in and among the military.  PTSD is a stress condition, as a result of emotional and/or physical trauma, that can change the brain when the brain goes through some type of trauma.

So my post on Facebook last night is that.  That post was NOT posted in the worst moment.  Usually, I have enough sense not to do that. I didn't post until we were settled in the ER, and I had already expressed myself.  To my people.  And did exactly what I needed to.  And they did exactly what I needed. Let me be mad.  Let me be.  They did not chastise me, or patronize me, or deny my feelings or their validity. They didn't tell me to clean up my language.  Or to quit worrying.  Or that it's all going to be just fine.  Or that being mad wouldn't actually do anything.  No big deal. These peeps hold space for me.

I shared a post a few days ago on Facebook from a woman I'd never heard of.  The article, How to "Hold Space" for People, plus Eight Tips for Doing it Well, by Heather Plett is the most impactful, on point blog post I have read--probably EVER.  Plett correctly, articulately, and compassionately explains what it means to hold space.

"What does it mean to hold space for someone else? It means that we are willing to walk alongside another person in whatever journey they’re on without judging them, making them feel inadequate, trying to fix them, or trying to impact the outcome. When we hold space for other people, we open our hearts, offer unconditional support, and let go of judgement and control."

Plett's article is so good, so accurate, so helpful.  The traffic with this post and her website completely shut it down for over 24 hours.  Completely.  I implore you to read it.  And then read it again.  Not for me.  For you.  For your family.  For your friends.  For your acquaintances.  For people.  If I never write a sentence again, it will be ok if you just read this.  And try it out.

http://heatherplett.com/2015/03/hold-space/

This is what we humans need of each other, especially in times of crisis.  Everything I have been trying to share, encourage, model, educate others on in the last 3 years is this.  HOLDING SPACE.  

People talk, especially in religious circles in recent years about "doing life" together.  (In several churches I've attended.)  This holding space Plett speaks of?  THIS is doing life in the truest and purest sense.  It is not about seeing each other at church or small group.  Sharing information, your story, this does not cause "doing life" to happen.  It does not include "speaking truth."  Giving advice. Sharing competing stories.  Your own examples.  Showing up for the parties and fun times, this is not "doing life" either.  Not in the sense that truly hurting, struggling, grasping people need.  Really need.

People holding space walk in everything with you, they do it with love, and without judgment or trying to take control or asserting their influence.  In a crisis, in a PTSD moment, we need that space held so that we can express safely what we need to, be validated, heard and understood, SO THAT WE GET IT OUT.  SO THAT WE CAN MOVE FORWARD, BACKWARD, OR SIDEWAYS.  Which way we're heading isn't as important in the moment as that we are truly safe and protected and feel nothing but LOVE with someone.  Holding space isn't a physical activity, though it can be.  You can be present and hold the space by being nearby, listening, supporting without words. That's the hard part for many of us.  Not using words.  Looking straight in the eyes. With nothing but love.  Reflecting, loving, acknowledging.  

Holding Space is about BEING not DOING or PERFORMING.  WHO YOU ARE BEING for someone who needs their space held.  THAT is the POINT.

Even more so, holding space is emotional, relational, and psychological.  Our natural bent is to try to fix people or situations, give our uninvited advice, express our opinions, ask a lot of questions, or share our judgments of decisions. I am guilty as charged. We ALL tend to that.  Not helpful.  Not holding space.  

So, holding space is INTENTIONAL.  I have to make a conscious choice, to chuck my own ego, opinions, judgments, advice, questions, and thoughts out the window.  If someone is holding on to these things while holding space, attitudes communicate it--not just our words communicate if we are truly HOLDING SPACE.  You know it.  I know it.  I can say the right things, I can even attempt to carry the right things out.  But if I am still holding to an opinion, a judgment, what I think is right for someone else, what I want them to do, trying to fix it--I will communicate that in my attitude and body.  Clear as a bell.  Words and actions and attitudes must align to truly hold space for someone.  

Yesterday, Plett posted another blog post as a follow up for Holding Space.  She writes about what it means to hold space for ourselves, and this is the hardest space to hold for most of us.  We need to hold space for others, we need others to hold space for us, but we especially need to hold space for OURSELVES.  Ourselves.  We are part of it.  All the space needs to be held for us, by us for ourselves, so we CAN hold it for others.  

http://heatherplett.com/2015/03/how-to-hold-space-for-yourself-first/

How timely it was, that this article was posted and read by me, not too long before I picked up Cade and began a stressful, scary couple of hours.  I knew in the thinking part of my brain what was happening, and that I didn't have much reserves, and I knew last night in the ER that I do NOT hold space well for myself.  It's crucial.  It's putting on the oxygen mask, taking care of ourselves so that we can take care of others.

We MOMS.  We want to fix, smooth, and take care of everything for everyone.  We put our children first, and we push and pull and trudge through anything and everything for our kids.  Yet, we don't do it for ourselves.  But that is part of holding space for ourselves, putting on our oxygen masks, and being our best selves.  For our families.  So counter-intuitive for most of us!

Not holding space for myself?  It's why I am on my 3rd antibiotic without stopping, my 3rd round of steroids, and have gained weight.  We just can't do it all, especially when life is stressful, as is mine on a regular basis these days.

Today, I have held a little more space for myself, but I'm definitely a work in progress.  I have communicated some with my people.  I crawled in my bed and turned off all the lights and didn't join the dinner table, with no judgment or derision towards myself.  (And I like everyone sitting down to the dinner table together.  We still do this nearly every night in our house.)  But. Tonight. I needed quiet and my bed and sleep.  Tonight, I am going to take a Xanax.  And I'm going to rest fully.  Give my head and stomach a break.  It is an oxygen mask for me.  And one my psychiatrist recommends. With good reason.

In case you are unaware, if you/a friend/family member is dealing with a mental health condition--whether chronic or situational, there is help.  In therapy, in support groups, in education, and in medication.  If sufferers do not get help from these best practices, they overwhelmingly turn to alcohol and/or drugs to self-medicate.  Research backs it up.  Over and over.

So, don't judge.  Just hold space.  Let go of your ideas, suggestions, and advice.  We know it is often shared in love, but we just don't need that kind of love.  Not right now.

We need a love that just envelops.  

That just is.  

That just warms 

and caresses 

and touches our spirits.

From ourselves, to ourselves, from each other and for those around us.

A Song and a Season

Music has always been an outlet for me and a place of worship, praise, release, and strength.  Songs minister to me in a way nothing else does.  Currently, there is 1 song that embodies the exact place my faith lives.  

Exactly.  

I love their sound, 

but the words of this song. 

They are everything.  

A place of doubt and grief, 

yet a place of reassuring truth.

Never Alone by Barlowgirl

You can watch the video here:

Here are the simple, yet perfect-for-me lyrics:

I waited for You today but You didn't show, no, no, no
I needed You today, so where did You go?
You told me to call, said, You'd be there
And though I haven't seen You are You still there?

I cried out with no reply and I can't feel You by my side
So I'll hold tight to what I know, You're here and I'm never alone

And though I cannot see You and I can't explain why
Such a deep, deep reassurance, yeah You've placed in my life
Oh, oh, we cannot separate, You're part of me
And though You're invisible I'll trust the unseen

I cried out with no reply and I can't feel You by my side
So I'll hold tight to what I know, You're here and I'm never alone

Cannot separate, You're part of me
And though You're invisible I trust the unseen, yeah

I cried out with no reply and I can't feel You by my side
So I'll hold tight to what I know, You're here and I'm never alone

_________________________________________________________________________________

We say people come into our lives for different reasons and some just for a season.  If you live very long, you've experienced this.  It is normal.  It can also be sad. And it can always be a learning, growing experience.  

My friend, Blair Lewis, is someone I've known since our Abilene High days, and can I tell some tales!  (Warbirds forever!)  He was the wild son of 2 professors at Abilene Christian University.  There was a time Blair wanted nothing to do with church or God--and he split ways.  At some point about 3 years ago, I saw on Facebook that he was in seminary and interning at a Methodist Church in Arlington.  I first reached out to Blair wanting to hear his story.  I was interested in it.  Stories are important. I wanted to find a story that was hopeful as I was in the early days of Keith's atheism.  I was reeling, and there was no one to talk to who understood.  Blair did, and he is brilliant and funny, and I knew Keith would connect to him. And he did. We heard Blair preach more than once. We shared meals and conversation--all 4 of us. Blair was talking about seasons quite a bit at that time and the people who enter our lives just for a season.  

The morning that I found Jerica near death when I went to wake her, I had no pastor.  We had not found a church home after our move to Cedar Hill several months before, and I was angry and struggling at having to find one on my own for myself and the kids.  At some point in the flurry of those moments that morning, when the paramedics were all in Jerica's room and made us leave, Keith reminded me to put on clothes.  I picked up yesterdays dirties and put them on.  No teeth were brushed, no hair done, no medicine, no water, no breakfast, etc. The paramedics moved quickly, as my child was so sick.  Her limp body was carried down stairs, already all hooked up to monitors and IV to the waiting stretcher.  Things moved very quickly and I found myself speeding in the front passenger seat of the ambulance, full lights and sirens, willing the school traffic to get the bloody hell out of our way.  I had moments then to send a couple of texts.  Blair was one of the people I texted.  He and his wife, Dawn, met us at the 1st ER and stayed until Jerica was stable and we were transferred to Children's ICU by another ambulance.  He brought:  tooth brushes and tooth pastes, encouraging notes, pen and paper, brush, a prayer shawl prayed over by the women who made it, bottled water, snacks, I can't remember it all.  But I  clearly remember immediately brushing my teeth by Jerica's bed, and alongside Blair, Dawn, the medical staff, friends who showed up, my mom and dad.  Blair was my pastor during that time.  He and Dawn drove all the way down to us in Cedar Hill later on, and sat with us, and brought pizza and wine--$4 buck chuck!  He also prayed over the unfortunate situation we found ourselves in with Keith's family in those early days.

That season has passed. PRAISE THE LORD AND PASS THE BISCUITS. I have had another pastor since then for a time.  Now I have a priest, Father Jim.  I miss Blair and Dawn, they are good people.  It's just not our season now, and that is ok.  

The same goes with churches.  Every church I've ever been a part of has served a purpose, has taught and changed me, has opened my eyes to the world, even though some of those situations have had some very, very hard parts. All that serve a purpose.  I am thankful for different things from each of those churches, and there is ALWAYS something to be THANKFUL for.  

I also believe in the idea that Jesus 's church is made of people, not buildings.  Going along in that same vein, we have all probably heard ministers talk about how we can't leave a church.  I know I have!  

But.  I'm here to tell you that you can.  

You can leave Jesus.

Keith has.  

You can also leave the fellowship of any church you attend.  

I've done it.  

More than once.  

I don't see anywhere that God condemns that. I don't know how that idea came to be one of several "catch phrases" we hear from the pulpit.  The cynical side of me believes it's mostly about numbers and growth, which appears to be the goal of most leadership teams in churches from my experiences.  

Just so you know, the following catch phrases are very, very sore spots still:

"Divine Appointment," "Doing Life Together," "You Can't Leave the Church," there are others, but let's move on.

We are fortunate in this country to have choices.  I haven't ever come across a church that had it all together or had everything I've wanted or that I needed or which would use my gifts. That's ok.  I do not expect a perfect church, nor would I fit in to one!  This does not anger me.  I don't see God condemning those churches either.  For right now, I have to find a fellowship that best fits my family's needs and gifts.  We're not leaving over trivial matters or disagreements.  We're not opposed to working things out in relationships with people in churches.  

I also see immense value in experience and learning--actually that is THE VALUE to me.  In education, standards and tests have come to rule in this long, tired season.  Standards and tests focus on outcomes and results.  

This is NOT the most important aspect of learning--by far.  The PROCESS is the important part--no matter the topic. 

Wrestling, struggling, brainstorming, questioning, learning how to ask critical questions, evaluating, synthesizing, applying, having to think inductively and deductively, collaboration and problem solving are what happens in the PROCESS.  

No matter the results, if I, as a teacher, equip my students with the skills, critical thinking and experience to work the PROCESS, they will be successful.  

These are the skills needed in life.  

This is the meat, the maturing, the stuff that makes us.  

It really matters little what the topic or problem or question is.  

The PROCESS.

Learning other denominations or flavors of church has value.  Don't talk or judge what you don't know, haven't researched, or experienced. Seeing the beauty and unity of other traditions, and finding the unity,  the common,  the solidarity in all of us searching for God. These parts of the PROCESS prepares us in our faith journey as well.  God is going to meet me anywhere He is.  And He's not limited by buildings, labels, or signs on buildings, or even my perceptions and misconceptions. He is not restricted by denominations or non-denominations, a denomination all its own.  And neither am I.  I want my children to see the love, the striving and choices of us all. I want them to have every piece, experience, and opportunity to work through the process so that the faith they come out with is wholly theirs and Holy God's.  It is not my job, or the job of a church, to restrict that process or to deny it or judge it.  If we can think critically for ourselves, and we know how to wrestle and work and struggle through, they/we all will have what it is needed to understand, to make decisions, to evaluate the options.  

To own their faith.  

To own their process.  

To own their choices and consequences.

Life-long skills.

Relationships change.  Faith changes.  My faith is an old one, began in childhood--I do not posses a memory or a story without God.  The longer I live, the less I know.  What was once black and white, is now a muddy gray.  I value my faith, I think, more than young, on fire Christians I see regularly. I remember that faith.  There was a time that was mine.  Life changes that, but I see my faith now as much more valuable.  It has ebbed and flowed, affected by struggles and victories.  It's a history winding back many years, a story and testimony of God.  It has stood the test of time.  

It is a rougher faith, 

not so shiny and bright, 

but 

solid, 

scarred, 

resilient.  

Iron.  

Forged and sharpened

Steel velvet.  

Think about how strong and amazing relationships become when you struggle through hard things and hard times with someone.  The relationships that survive this stand the test of time and are prepared for the next trial.  These relationship mature, are seasoned beautifully, and provide rich texture in the the music and story that is our lives.  

I want this same relationship with God.  This relationship that has been seasoned, tested, and scarred--this is a stronger relationship, a lasting faith, having weathered the storms together, not run from the hard questions, faced the daunting doubts.  With my God.

What I once looked for in a church family has changed dramatically.  I wonder now if it is not the answer to a prayer.  As I have sung and prayed the words of the song Ocean by Hillsong for more than a year. 

 

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior

The acoustic verson of Oceans is my favorite.

Now I'm jaded, admittedly, by more than one church experience.  These were not one time events, but each a couple of hard years ending with unexpected and very unfortunate consequences for my family. I know this.  I pray daily to forgive and for no bitter root to take hold, while I am cleaning up the collateral damage still. The wake my family was temporarily pulled under water by. 

I am not interested at this time in emotion or services meant specifically to evoke emotion.  Emotion changes, is much too fickle.  Sometimes, emotions cannot be trusted, nor decisions always made on emotions. My emotion with God is a deep well.  I don't need help evoking it or drawing from it.  I also live enough life with so much emotion.  

I need a straight line to God.  

Pared down.  

Focused, 

Simple.  

Vertical.  

Singular.

In unity with others.  

I'm not interested in programs, production, prodding, or persuasion. 

I want something that has stood the test of time.  

Old faith.  

Tradition.  

Simple.  

A different kind of community.

I have currently found that, for now, in an Episcopal church.  Centuries of practice, art, beauty, music.  A tradition of inviting and encouraging, struggling, wrestling, and accepting doubt and disbelief.  The PROCESS is the important part, and the shared path no matter where we find ourselves on our faith journey is the unifying part.  The rest is between the individual and God.  This is in Saint Anne's for me at this time.  And it is a stretching experience I am treasuring deeply.

I relish the old hymns, the priests' robes, the beauty, the art, the symbolism, Holy Eucharist every time we meet, the Gospel proclaimed in every service, liturgy, on our knees, the Nicene Creed regularly, the Doxolgy.  Every time.  

In an Episcopal church, the PROCESS is celebrated and encouraged. It is not looked down on. The parishioner is not shut down with judgement or proclamations about who is a true Christian or not, because that is with God alone.  The process of doubt, disbelief, questions, experiences, and study are celebrated as the faith journey.  And it is healthy and liberating, and encourages a life-long process that strengthens the participant and equips him/her with the skills to keep going.  To not lose their faith.

For a quick background, from Questions on the Way:  A catechism based on the Book of Common Prayer by Beverly D. Tucker and William H. Swatos, Jr.

"Far from being a church ruled by an autocratic hierarchy" [as Anglicanism began in England] "the Episcopal Church is one of the most democratic institutions in the world, in which at all levels, the laity and clergy have an equal voice and responsibility.  This is not because we distrust our bishops, but because we believe that the Holy Spirit leads the whole church, and that every sincere and faithful Christian can hear the voice of God, is called to be an apostle for Christ, and to share in the priesthood of all believers (1 Peter 2:9)."  page 130

"Q:  Is the search for truth a part of God's will for us?A. Yes.  God is absolute truth and has given us reason and intelligence, so that we alone in this earthly creation, can know and understand ourselves, the world, and even in part, God.  Thinkers, scholars, explorers and scientists have been searching to discover the truths of God's world, and to help all of us to know them too.  Knowledge and love of the truth are of the essence of humanity.  To seek the truth is, in part, to seek God.  Our use of knowledge must always be in the context of love, for love is the highest truth.  Here on earth we see dimly, but in heaven we shall see the full truth in the glorious light of God's love (Job 28, Prov. 8, John 8:31-32; 14:6; 1 Cor 13:8-13, 2 Cor4:6-7; 1 Tim 2:3-4).  page 105

(P.S. The Book of Common Prayer is taken straight from scripture.)

Friends, there's my love theme again.  Over and over.  God says LOVE.

A Song, A Season and Love

I know some of my friends and family have more questions about my faith and where I am worshiping.  There are many misconceptions about the Episcopal church from the Reformation Evangelical types.  I have found much more in common than not in my study, research, and conversations with Father Jim.  I know there are people who have already condemned me.  We was told years ago we were going to hell and taking our children with us when we left a particular church.  I'm ok with that.  I don't need man's approval.  However, I am always willing to participate in the discussions, to share the road with another traveler, to spend a season together, and always, always to educate those around me.

The Crooked Stick

Recently, at a Bible study I attend, the teaching leader talked about a Crooked Stick and how 

GOD can draw a Straight Line 

with a Crooked Stick.  

As a Wordy Girl, I love analogies and word pictures, really any literary device.  This thought and image of God drawing a straight line with a crooked stick has been powerful for me this week.  (We've been studying the life of Moses this year, and, OH, can I identify with Moses in his doubts and sins.)

I am very much the Crooked Stick.  I am a mess, while trying to live a meaningful life despite my crookedness.  My list of hardships and heartbreaks is a long one, as are my doubts and sins.  Yet, I get up each day, hoping still, searching still for the goodness and blessings and impact to come out of this messy life.  Honestly, I am often still searching for God.

I tend to wear my mess.  And I am ok with that. Self-awareness is something developed strongly in me in these recent years and therapy.  I know my strengths and weaknesses and own it all.  God created me to be a passionate person, an advocate, a voice--really it's the passion I wear most on my sleeve. Passion is often born of heartache, hardships, and wanting more and better for those you love.  While there are people who do not appreciate that in me, I am ok with that as I don't need for them to.  I am expecting God to use it--every piece, bit, tear, and healed scar.  I do not live and breathe and serve and engage to fit into any one's idea of the correct mold that some have tried to fit me into in the past.  It's not me, it's not my role, and it's not even right.  

Our faith journey as a family has not been a typical one, and there have definitely been some crooked sticks in our paths.  Some of these pit stops we've made, I wish we had skipped right by, though I don't want to skip any of the blessings that HAVE COME.  Keith and I grew up in Churches of Christ, though VERY, VERY different churches.  I am thankful for this heritage, even though it's not been the place for us for some years.  I can't say that is the same for Keith.  Together, as a couple we chose Churches of Christ at first, but CofC's that were different than most--you know "progressive" and "liberal."  We've been welcomed and enjoyed deep fellowship and joy at a black Baptist Church.  We experienced the most Spirit here.  We tried out a CofC that has dropped that label, because of the changes in worship, women's roles, and the Spirit.  We tried a home-church from a non-denominational background that didn't end up being very healthy.  We've attended non-denominational churches, some with charismatic roots and some Bible churches--often offshoots of Baptist churches. We've visited several Methodist churches.  A lot of what we've searched for as a family was authentic communities, connection, fullness in the Holy Spirit, and churches plugged in to justice and service.  

And diversity--we have always longed for and searched for churches truly integrated.

Recently, I have been visiting an Episcopal church and meeting with the head priest, Father John.  Aaaaaaannnnnd, I am going to just leave that right here for now.

We've been told along the way straight up that we are going to hell.  For things like going to churches where hands were raised, where women had roles in public & in the service, where prayer languages are allowed, where there were instruments, where services were not on Sunday mornings--or on Sundays at all. For not going to the one true church.  People!  This was before Keith was even an agnostic or atheist!  I have sat in services where ministers have declared who is a true Christian and who is not, based on beliefs about creation, evolution, and the Bible--and who do not leave room for doubt or for those trying to figure it all out.  My children have heard in children's classes they have to believe 100% in creationism, and where the discussions were shut off, and they were promptly sat down to view hardcore creationist videos.

I'm reading more and more articles these days about believers' unrest with church.  We want more, different and less all at the same time.  We want less patriarchal & traditional gender roles.  Less showiness, less focus on programs, and less production; less trendiness. More authenticity. More safety for being real, open, upfront, saying doubts aloud, and asking the hard questions.  

The reasons for leaving sometimes vary by the individual.  Many of the articles, posts and blogs repeat reasons that are coming up across the board.  Professional women are leaving because of traditional gender roles that don't fit their lives or their gifts or beliefs.  These women do not wish to serve in the children's classes or the kitchens and for whom crafts and/or decorating are not an interest.  Young adults leave because traditional religions completely shut off and won't discuss science, evidence or doubts.  Intellectuals also tend to leave when doubts, science, and evidence is not open for discussion.  It goes on, these are just frequent, current examples.  Generally, all of the writings and reasons I've read support that most people are looking for a church home that meets them where they are, as they are, and connects deeply--inclusiveness.

I've even read articles about what some are calling the "done-ers."  "Done-ers" believe in God and Jesus and even have avenues of fellowship with other believers, but are DONE with churches and organized religion.  They stay home on Sunday mornings. There are way too many believers who have so much to offer sitting on the fringes looking for something and someone and a place that truly pulls them in--not just the elite, core, leadership or original members.  

And many of these done-ers have been trying to hang in there.  

For YEARS.  

And, then, they are Done.  

DONE.

I get it.  

I've been close to being a "done-er" for some time now.  I am just sitting on the curb, one foot in, one foot out.  I'm weary of church stuff.  I'm disappointed in the church as a whole.  I'm tired of being beaten up by church people, ignored by church, and often see little point in attendance.  Seriously.  And though I am not currently working outside of my home, I still think very much as a professional woman.  I do not want to teach kids' classes, change diapers, or cook or serve food or do crafts.  Yes, I can do those things and have, but they are not MY GIFTS.  I have a WEALTH of skills, expertise, and more than one life full of experiences, all of which have NEVER been tapped into by any church, though I remain open, willing, and ready to use it all for God and God's people.  

Please don't think I am completely alone.  I am not.  I have a couple of people who are mine.  They love me and get me. They speak truth.  They know when not to speak.  They show up in many, many ways. They are not tied to a church for me.  They are my people no matter what.  And I am their people.  Keith is our people, too, regardless of faith.  I have had to face my expectations for and beliefs about community in recent months, let them go, and grieve their loss.  I no longer look for a church to be my community or my place for authenticity or service.  I tried desperately, begged, pleaded and was open about what we needed as a family when questioned, but churches are not a place where community can happen for Keith and I as a couple and with our children.  I have these things, but they are not tied to a church.  Togetherness looks different for us than I would have ever expected, and I am ok with it.  I have forgiven those who are not willing to be together with us.  And I am moving on.

I've also read articles and posts on how we shouldn't talk about any of this.  This is private business.  And we should not be debating, discussing, pointing out flaws, or calling Christians out.  The thing is, it already isn't private.  The world is already watching and knows our strengths and weaknesses.  When we don't or can't own up to these things, we can't work on them.  When we don't or can't own up, we turn many people off.  

Because they already know.  

We all do.  

And in an age, where women, intellectuals, done-ers, and youngsters can access anything and everything, we need to be ready, able, and equipped to meet people where they are.  Publicly.  We can also find a precedent in history, such as Martin Luther's 95 Theses, and in the Bible, in the letters of the apostles, for convicting, encouraging, and training each other as church people publicly.

What I'm not seeing addressed so much in articles, posts, and blogs is that when done-ers just leave church,  they often end up leaving God down the road.  For agnosticism and/or even atheism.  And I remember my husband being there.  Before agnosticism.  Before atheism.  He could really find no good purpose for church after a while.  Attending, volunteering, serving, etc, really had no impact on his life.  We weren't really in community,  though we tried.  Looking back it is always easier to see the progression. And I fully believe, if Keith in his doubts since childhood, could have had a safe place to speak them, feel them, wrestle with them and still be accepted and loved, I believe we would not be where we are now as a family standing together on different foundations.  I'm concerned now if everyone feeling disillusioned with church and who are questioning if churches are truly meeting their purpose,  are headed in the same direction as Keith?  

Are they going to fall away?  

Am I? 

Some have told me not to worry, let it go, it'll all be good, because God's going to be the victor in the end.  While I believe God is and will be the victor, I am not willing to let it go and wait, doing nothing to improve our footprint in the world and hearts of unbelievers and strugglers.  

I am unwilling to let this conversation die.  

Because in my life.  

It's real.  

And true love doesn't sit by and let the person, the receiver of its love, drown in front of them.  Because it will work out 

later.

I've watched my husband struggle and fall away.  I know what that does to a family, a marriage, an individual, to children and even a community. These conversations are dark and light, LIFE and DEATH.  

• How can we be so nonchalant about it all?  
• How can we so easily dismiss those challenging us--whether they're in our fellowship or without?
• How can we use our energy just to put up defenses, quiet doubters, and circle up with those just like us, ignoring who Jesus called us to be and to reach?  
• Are you willing to become another Pharisee? 
• Don't you want to fulfill your beautiful purpose as the Bride of Christ attending to his body? 

For almost 3 years now, love has been the message coming through to me--through multiple Bible studies, messages, & sermons, individual people and words of knowledge, experiences and affirmations. I am done with lots of things, but I am not done with Jesus.  I am not done with love.  Right now, it is scripture, the hope of better, and my kids that keep me going to church--whatever church it is. It is this love and hope that keeps this Crooked Stick believing God will use me, and is using me, to draw a straight line--a line pointing everyone back to Jesus.

And I'm searching.

I'm searching for MORE JESUS and MORE LOVE.

And I'm speaking and acting.

I'm speaking and acting for those on the fringe, those never invited in, and those unable to speak up for themselves and who have never had a place at our tables.

And this Crooked Stick will not go gently in that good night."  

And I will "rage, rage against the dying of the light."

(Borrowed from poet, Dylan Thomas)