It's Official!

I was approved for ordination today. For those of you not in the know regarding the minutia of this process in the UCC, today was the culmination of 2 and a half years of ongoing work - writing, mentoring, gathering with the committee on ministry and my support team, a 6 hour psych evaluation, and a seminary-level course. It has been up and down. My insecurities and imposter syndrome, my defensiveness whenever I feel pressured to “land” theologically, my need for belonging. All of it made an appearance in the last 2 and a half years. Today was the last hurdle before I get an ordainable gig and plan a service to make it official.

What unexpectedly touched me this morning as I was getting ready, was that today was an affirmation of God’s work in my life since I was 14. I’m 42. When I saw the 50+ faces on the Zoom screen today from 20 something churches in my region of the US, gathered to discuss my 21-page (single-spaced!) final paper, the tears just started falling. Because in 28 years, this was the first time where I was standing before a community of people who were there to witness the work of God in me. I am not a threat to the work of God. I am, in fact, a participant. Of course, that has always been true (and is true of many others). When I was a teen, I received covert help over the years when ministers hoped the elders wouldn’t notice. The years in worship ministry, youth ministry, campus ministry, women’s ministry, children’s ministry, overseas mission work, and now chaplaincy just started scrolling behind my eyes. What a time I have had.

I thought about how much a part of my early connection with my former spouse was about ministry. It was something that brought us together. For a time. We made these beautiful daughters. At some point, he no longer shared that vision. The community agreed with him. I felt left behind. Because my access to use my gifts in ministry were tied to his calling before. Much later, we got divorced. But I wasn’t left behind. Our paths diverged. I wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t deconstructed that tidy world I lived in then. Huh.

And now. Somehow. I’m going to be able to feed my little girls with money I make. In ministry. As their mom.

I don’t know if it is quantifiable how much having my gender be a determining factor in my qualifications for ministry has harmed me over a lifetime. The scars are there. I have done the grief work and can remain connected to those roots without having them continue to tell me what’s possible.

The faces of all my CPE colleagues - the people who took the time to call me out, to be with me as a grew and cried and integrated so much for so long, were all there. The supervisors. The educators. The patients. The colleagues. The security officers. My professors. My seminary cohort. The friend who gave me my first opportunity to preach. With all of this in my heart, and a feeling of awe in how many people continue to gather around for prayer and witness of God’s continuing work in me, I stepped into the spotlight today.

Wildly, someone from the church of Christ was there. Someone who also sojourned to the UCC. He private messaged me at the beginning - “do I know you? Are you so and so’s wife?” What a small world, y’all. The irony was not lost on me.

I am no one’s wife. But I am a reverend.

Lyrical Scrapbook

Do you ever listen to music that makes you sad because it takes you back in time? Tonight, Tim put on some old worship songs that were new-ish the last time we consistently worshiped God in a corporate church setting. Think, Chris Tomlin 10 years ago. Songs I forgot I knew. Suddenly, we’re harmonizing in our kitchen, singing songs about a God my children haven’t had hammered into their heads and hearts since birth. I wonder if they thought it was weird we were suddenly singing about Jesus.

I’ve changed so much in the last 10 years. I’m not looking to be Kristy circa 2010. But there’s something in my subconscious that remembers her heart in a visceral way when those lyrics start coming out of my mouth. I miss singing with my husband. I miss feeling so deeply. I miss the certainty I used to feel. The music immediately made me contemplative and sad and ready to write again. It’s been a minute since I’ve given myself space and time to be an artist, the writer that I am. I’ve been busy and overtaxed and working and doing school. Sometimes reflection feels like a luxury.

I feel myself being pulled towards new endeavors. This year has been a time of transition. I became my parents’ business partner and took on a fairly weighty part-time leadership position at the YMCA. I graduate from my grad program in May. I’ve started recording a podcast (you’ll hear all about it when it gets closer to being released)! Both of the girls started new schools this year. We’ve traveled a lot for fun and school and work. In all of this, I’ve been curious to see how things will play out for me. I’ve been interviewing. I’ve been in talks with Tim about what he is or isn’t willing to do for my career (neither of us is looking to move). Though this process has been months long, it took until this afternoon for me to acknowledge that the “not knowing-ness” of all of this is actually pretty hard for me. I can adapt to almost any change, but the waiting for answers part is hard for me. I just want to know what’s coming. I’m in a season where it’s harder to be the planner I instinctively am.

For a few years, I dabbled with becoming a person who thought that God was not involved in the minutia of these things. Why would the Creator care about how I spend my working hours? Why are Americans so obsessed with ourselves? I know the individualistic, self-absorbed narrative is bullshit. And yet. These songs still slip out of my mouth. There is a fractured part of me longing to reemerge - clean, new, different. But no longer severed, no longer cast out. Is there a way to hold the tension of my own ego and the reality that the Spirit of God is among us, moving and working? Not in one cosmic plan obsessed with individual vanity and selfish gain, not one obsessed with consequences of a hell fire I pray doesn’t even exist, but in a dance that draws all of the cosmos to redemption and freedom and grace? Dare I affirm that my life might be part of that? Again, not in a way that makes me special or different, but in the very possible reality that God offers participation in his kingdom now…not one that’s looking to condemn everyone around me but one that is manifesting real, embodied hope? I wonder.

Hospitality is More of a Posture than an Industry

I just got back from my grad school intensive last week in Durham, NC. What a trip! People who have done my program often say that Durham is the best out of the four intensives. It was phenomenal. The class we focused on together is called, Hospitality as Leadership, led by a kick ass female head of the Bible department (first in the churches of Christ…Naomi, you’re a bad ass).

If you’ve spent any time in the Bible, particularly the Jesus stuff, you’ll know that hospitality was something Jesus got in trouble for a lot. Not the hospitality industry where everything is fancy and requires payment, but old school hospitality where whores were washing his feet and terrorists were sharing meals with the religious folk (much to their horror). Jesus was the type of guy who broke a lot of rules. He hung out with people he wasn’t supposed to and he shared food with them, which in the Jewish faith was a major no-no. And while I like rule-breaking to a level I never admired when I was younger, I don’t think this was just because Jesus liked to theologically rumble from time to time (though I think he did) but because he really thought people were more important than laws and rules. He made space for people who society had said didn’t deserve space (uh oh, how can you not think of our border crisis now?!?!) I even think that he didn’t welcome those who weren’t “worthy” by society’s standards in spite of their station socially but because of their status. Having lived a life of a “lower” person, perhaps their perspective was important, irreplaceable, needed in the religious world? When everyone has a seat at the table, the conversation changes.

Part of what we do in the program is develop personal rhythms to sustain us in our spiritual practices and studies. It’s not about learning all the things with books but about experimenting and being open to new ideas and ways of life. But reading all the books and writing all the papers along with trying to make space for those we’ve been told don’t matter requires A LOT of self-care. Hence, the rhythms. It includes intentionality around prayer, hospitality, attentiveness, and simplicity. We write them ourselves so it’s really just a way to create something for us (we have a spiritual formation director who supports us in this…shout out to Natalie). And I am being more intentional with my hosting and being hosted within my family.

And so I had this moment with my oldest this morning…this daughter who I keep thinking won’t need me as much now that she’s in middle school. And yet, this kid shouts good-bye to me in front of all the cool kids at the bus stop and wants me there waiting for her (two blocks from our house) every day after school. She is giving me opportunities to host her and to be hosted by her. I’ve heard this in the context of marriage being described as “love bids.” Partners, and all loved ones, give us opportunities all the time to lean in or to lean out of the relationship. And while part of me thinks “can’t she just walk two blocks alone, I already took my bra off?!?!”, what this class is reminding me is that my daughter wants to host me in her day. The question is, can I make space for her while I host myself? I have a body and my own emotional needs and an incredibly demanding schedule. Those things are involved in just being me in my life right now. I need to make space for me in the midst of my life and that requires a lot of care and balance with my time and energy. Can I also make space, in these little ways, to say yes to hosting and being hosted by my child? And can I see those opportunities for connection as not just part of my motherly duty (does that ever really end?) but as even a way to bring blessings to me? This is not a one way street.

A lot of ideas around hospitality now are about helping guests feel comfortable. And that is really important. But have you ever played the role of host for the evening and at the end of the day, felt refreshed by the company? Have you felt loved and heard even as you poured coffee and served food? We think that hospitality is a top-down, one-direction dynamic. But, if we’re honest and also open, hospitality can be a circle. We can give and receive throughout the evening and the entire relationship. When I was in ministry, I positioned myself as giver and rarely as receiver. What an exhausting and prideful way to live! And how much did I miss out on when I postured myself that way?

I just wrote about seeing myself as a colander creating space for people to share things. That idea is in line with hospitality. It’s not about a physical space (Jesus was not a home owner). It’s about connection. It’s about eye contact. It’s about paying attention. Maybe it’s actually a gift from God to me that my oldest is open and honest about her need for me. And maybe that’s not another thing on my list but the exact thing I need to remind myself that my priority is love, no matter how easy it is to get caught up in everything else.

Energy Levels

I’ve been talking with some trusted friends about what I might do after I’m done with my grad program and one of the things that keeps coming to the forefront of my mind is chaplaincy. I’ve been interested in it since undergrad almost 20 years ago, particularly because that degree is in psych and it seemed like a cool way to connect to other people. And now, as I’ve had more trauma in my own life, I’m inevitably more interested in supporting others in trauma specifically. As a caretaker, I’ve always been drawn to crisis. I never wanted to be the person pulling people out of fires, but I wanted to help those who did that saving work process what they experienced. A supporter of first responders or trauma-touched, so to speak. And as this discernment process came underway, my energy seemed to draw A LOT of opportunities for connection.

I cannot tell you how many people have come up and shared with me really personal stuff in the last few months. I’m totally into it. My experience with it lately has been so different because I’ve postured myself differently than I used to when I was in professional ministry, or even younger when I was in high school. I used to see these types of moments as a burden-transaction. Someone needed to unburden themselves by giving their burdens to me. And I needed to take them and either solve them or carry them. Now I see these moments entirely differently. I see myself as a kitchen colander. A person climbs into my space, a space I create to hold this moment and the energy that moves between us (some might say the Holy Spirit) is like the water washing over. us My part is holding the space. I am not the source of the energy. And when that person climbs out of my space, I am not weighed down. I was honored to have been given the opportunity to hold space and the person in it with me gets to have a moment where they feel seen and heard. The energy and life moving between us isn’t actually coming from either of us. That energy is its own. I like to think it belongs to God. It’s really interesting to experience something that is not your own. I cannot control it and I don’t wield it. But it visits me in these sacred moments.

I’m finding that in my old mindset, where I felt compelled to fix or carry, that I was actually dishonoring the other person. I couldn’t see past myself. And because of that, I took on other people’s work. I can have grace for myself in that because I really didn’t know another way and the churches I’ve been in leadership under have modeled this level of caretaking to me and called it holy. But I don’t think the role of a spiritual leader is to tidy up the pain and vulnerability of other people’s lives. We create a container for people to be open. They open and in vulnerability and safety, they see and do their work. When we step into that space and direct or even take the process from them (often pridefully thinking we know what to do or can do their work better), we are actually crippling the growth of other people. Spiritual direction is not tidying. In fact, spiritual direction embraces the chaos and makes room for it. The wisdom is found in the chaos, not in the tidy space where everything is under the rug. The times that I have seen growth within myself, I have found it while being held up by others, not tidied by them or silenced by judgement. I think the way we hold (or don’t hold) space for others can create or lessen the pain of the people around us.

When The Tables Are Turned

Many of my peeps know that I got a chance to preach at a church of Christ last weekend. While that may seem like a fun little thing to note about someone's life, let me tell you: this was a really big deal. The main reason it was a big deal is simply the fact that I am female. While most of Christendom recognizes at the very least, female spiritual gifting, the churches of Christ go pretty far in excluding women from all leadership. We don't pass communion trays. We don't lead prayers. We don't read Scripture. We don't even make announcements. And for some reason, it seems typical that even in churches who have moved past some of these barriers, the buck often stops at preaching, even for somewhat progressive non-church of Christ churches. So it was a big deal for that reason alone and when this opportunity first presented itself to me, the weight of that was something of which I was very cognizant.

More than that, I was asked not only to preach in a church of Christ, but also to specifically talk about how the churches of Christ have hurt women. WHOA NELLY. I could write and write and speak and speak and never be done telling that story or feel like I represented everyone well. It's an unending story of horror, and I'm not being dramatic. Again and again I am confronted with how this has ruined people's lives and in some cases, trampled on their precious faith to the point of extinction. This obviously harms and inhibits women but I've also been surprised to find that men are harmed by it too. This issue is serious and palpable and ongoing. It keeps knocking on the door of my awareness (even though I've left the churches of Christ) and I keep answering it like, are we seriously still doing this?!?! Yes friends, WE'RE STILL DOING THIS.

Our adult class time was specific to my story (a Q&A with their regular preacher) and the sermon was a Scripture I chose from that week's lectionary. Class time got into the benefits I received and the harm that was created for me growing up in the churches of Christ. And that story includes the major disadvantage I had in having an outspoken, passionate, leadership-gifted spirit. The more I talked about conflict avoidance, the discouragement of female leadership and keeping a tidy narrative at all costs, the more the bobble heads nodded, especially those of the women in the room. It was validating, to say the least. I was moved by the questions that were asked of me. I was healed by the openness in the men's faces, the nods of the elders and the genuine encouragement in their eyes as I spoke. It also served as like a first date before the sermon, which was a fringe benefit since I did not know the church or the people well. It's hard to speak vulnerable truth to strangers. Some people would rather do it that way but I like to at least get a feel for a group before I dive in, in hopes that my content can bring value to where they are. I need my intuition to "read the room" so to speak in order for that to be effective and class served that purpose. 

I don't know what the future holds for me. I will tell you: it felt damn good to preach the word of God. I felt like myself in a way I never have before. I haven't been trained to preach. I'm 36 years old and I got on that stage with no training and thought, "this will be interesting." It was important to me to be open to the process whatever that was going to look like. No amount of preparation was going to give me a peek into how I was going to feel in that moment.

Turns out, I felt exhilarated.

The passage we went through was 1 Corinthians 8 about food sacrificed to idols. I got to talk about community versus freedom. I had often seen that Scripture used to keep people from daring to go outside the tiny parameters of the community box. It was treated like community was more important than freedom and a cursory reading of the text makes that assumption pretty legit. This passage and that idea really triggers me. And that's why I chose it. Amazing how it was one of my four choices that week! The line I ended up saying a few times was that "I've clawed my way to freedom" and I don't want to give it up to be loved or to get approval from others. So what does it look like to hold space for diversity, for differences among the group rather than uniformity? What does it look like to enjoy freedom and be mindful of others? We talked about how women are conditioned to ONLY be mindful of others. How can the community benefit if women are conditioned to not speak their truth? If God has something for the community and gives it to us to share but we are too afraid of conflict or "harming the community" to speak the truth, the community isn't as healthy as it could be and not as effective either. We need to recognize that conflict is not bad! Conflict is critical in a healthy community and we have to be brave enough to speak. We also have to recognize that community is valuable and it's fragility needs to be acknowledged as well. The goal is not to be right. The goal is to have a community that is truly representative of itself and the kingdom of God. That reframes the idea that conflict is a problem and reminds us that it's actually essential.

There were so many little things about the day that I will cherish in my heart forever. I won't share every tiny thing because this is already long, but I do have to tell you one more thing. We were talking a bit about Tim's ministry firing during class and Tim was present. Tim was given the opportunity to chime in, as it's clearly a shared story between us, and he opted not to come up front and speak. When Tim and I went over the Q&A beforehand (I really wanted to make sure he felt safe as a more private person) we discussed the possibility of him speaking up. I left it up to him. And I would not have been upset had he chosen to do so. But he didn't. He stayed in his seat and he watched our kids while I taught and then preached. You guys, I can't tell you how special that was for me. Our relationship has always been pretty egalitarian at home. We don't do weird submission dynamics. We are interchangeable with the kids. We support each other in our work and personal pursuits. But in church, he was the front man and I was in the audience. There really wasn't another way for us in that environment. For him to decide that I was the one who was asked to speak and to not in any way detract from that was possibly the most romantic thing he's ever done for me. And he didn't do it to look humble or because I asked him to. He did it because that's who he is. He's unassuming. He's pro-me. And when it was my turn to shine, he was pleased. So pleased, in fact, that on the way home he said I really needed to find ways to keep preaching as an act of self-care. He said, when he doesn't get to teach enough at work, he feels like he's not utilizing one of his most useful and gratifying gifts. So he makes sure to schedule enough teaching in his work life to feel satisfied. And he suggested I pursue opportunities (at my current church which is run by women) to continue preaching regularly in order to feel a fuller sense of satisfaction in my life. And I hadn't talked about how satisfied I felt or how exhilarated I was at that point. He said that just in response to watching me do it.

And the end of the day, I've already been carved up by my church trauma and I've healed enough to have a pretty decent, whole perspective on them. I've done that by going to therapy and processing my feelings and writing and talking things out with people I know and trust and respect. I've frighteningly put myself back in church, though a very different one than that from which I came. And I've read and read and read. But trauma shapes us. Scar tissue surrounds certain areas of my heart and my soul. And in some ways I'm the better for it and in others, it can be frightening to do anything that looks remotely like the life those scars represent. Going into that building and opening myself up to those familiar knives only to receive the gentle resection of some of that scar tissue (versus new wounds being created) was one of the greatest gifts of my adult life. I will always treasure the peace and the love and the egging on that I saw in the eyes of those men. The male leadership wanting me to speak (not just tolerating me but truly listening to learn) meant everything to me. To be honest, I was surprised by it. I've never ever had men in the church look at me that way before. The women saw themselves in my story and that meant something too. But I live in the world of women and I occupy that shared space daily. What is unusual for me is to witness men in power using their privilege to equip and uphold a woman. AND THAT WOMAN WAS THERE TO CRITICIZE THEM!

It didn't feel like closure. It felt like an invitation. And that scares me a little.

*I've loaded the sermon link here. 

Church and Abuse

I'm part of some great online communities that help people process religious trauma, abuse,  and fundamentalism. I've read a couple of great books based on people's experiences with these things as well. As we experienced trauma both inside and outside of the church, I find the way the brain processes trauma and how communities hold or let go of (repress) it to be fascinating, horrifying and redeeming. It makes you feel less crazy, which I think is something women in our culture need to experience daily as that seems to be the number one way to keep us quiet. 

I had something connect for me that I found really insightful. Someone said the church confuses forgiveness with healing. BOOM. Brain exploded. When anyone ever talks about being abused in church, in particular when it occurred within the church community (not just the remote anecdote unrelated to the group), the reaction often comes down to forgiveness. Like the Christian solution to pain and horror is forgiveness and if we just find a way to forgive, the pain goes away or is made to be okay. And while I find forgiveness, true forgiveness not forced victim-silencing "forgiveness" to be beautiful and liberating and most definitely part of Christian community and faith, it does not equate healing. In fact, if we force forgiveness and skip holding the horror, grieving it, assigning blame, creating accountability (hello jail time), and lots of support and help (therapy, meds, support groups) for those harmed, this is the antithesis of healing. Healing must include some sort of reckoning. You can't skip to the end without doing the painful work. (I find one of the obnoxious things about harming others is that by acting out your own shit instead of facing it, you create shit for someone else to have to work through, thus perpetuating the cycle of shame and violation). Then, after all that work, can you imagine how gorgeous, how empowering, how HEALING forgiveness could be?!?! It could be amazing. But please don't call that shoving everything under the rug stuff forgiveness. You might just piss off the king of forgiveness (yea Jesus!) in the process. Ever think of that?

Abuse is not regular sin. We don't treat it like "well, everyone makes mistakes." It's predatory. It's violating. It's just different. Of course, it's sin. But it's sin on crack and we need to treat it differently. Please let your theology and how you handle abuse as a community reflect that. Because if you don't, you're part of the problem. You have little people in your care. If you don't take that seriously, you're putting a target for abusers on your back. I promise you that. They're looking for you, naive ones. And you've been found again and again. 

There's a cool movement I just discovered on top of the #metoo movement. It's called #churchtoo. It's awesome to hear women sharing their stories. Don't get me wrong: the stories are awful. And I would add plenty of trigger warnings to it and ask that you give yourself a lot of self-care if you choose to dive in, because coupling sexual abuse with religious privilege (like having your youth minister force you to give him oral sex) is abuse on another level. BUT IT HAPPENS. And how the church deals with it matters. So far, our track record is not good. Maybe this is the beginning of hearing those voices cry out in truth and create the reckoning that is long overdue. These victims are brave. These victims have been greatly harmed. And many of their abusers have gone on to have successful ministry careers. Time to cause a ruckus, friends. Dear ones, speak your truth. It's time to clean house. 

Enjoy Abundance

Maybe I'm the only person who needs to hear this, but just in case: if you're experiencing a time of abundance, it's okay to enjoy it. And by enjoy it, I mean, soak it in, embrace the certainty and blessing you feel and do not feel ashamed that you have abundance. I think it's my ministry baggage talking that makes it hard for me to enjoy myself too much. Like, if I have much, much is required of me. And of course, that's true. If you have a shit ton of stuff and you're not willing to share any of it, even the excess, you're an ass and karma's gonna get you. I totally get that. And that is all around us and it's gross, truly. 

But maybe that's not you. Maybe you've had some lean years and this year is actually okay. You have what you need to buy gifts and donate to charity and you're not panicking about the next bill going through and that's something to celebrate! And celebration doesn't mean feel terrible that you're not homeless or give so much and out of shame that you end up having a hard time making your bills after all. It's okay to sit in the warmth and feel good. It's okay to buy people gifts because you enjoy it. It's okay to not be moderate with your giving. Don't rein in your joy!

I've spent some time in my adulthood, hell, my whole life with a niggling feeling in the back of my head. This idea of waiting for the other "shoe to drop." And I've written about that before. Like, if you prepare yourself that shit is coming, it won't hurt so much when it happens. Not only is that fundamentally untrue, I'm realizing that it also diminishes your joy in the moment when things are actually great. I'm taking time this year to savor the splendor that is stability. I feel more stable in my marriage than I've ever been, more confident in the growth projection of my business, more comfortable with my children's safety and development outside of our home (and within it) and more at peace in my spirit than I have in a long time. Isn't that great?!?!

I love holidays. This should come as no surprise to anyone. So I'm going to concerts and I'm exposing my children to beauty and wonder and faith. And I'm giving. I'm finding ways to contribute to my community. And in those moments, I'm acknowledging that it's not hard and in the past, sometimes it has been really hard. When things are lean and you feel compelled to give, sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it means you go without. And that's okay. But this year, I'm going with and I'm not ashamed. I'm grateful and kinda in wonder, to be honest. 

I've tended to be judgemental of wealth and we are by no means wealthy. But in the grand scheme of the world and in the ways that truly matter, my soul is crying out in joy, radiating this sense of abundance. I feel safe. I feel loved. I feel proud and confident. And I'm happy! Maybe you're in a season of deprivation and things are tight and scary and dark. That was us 2 years ago. Know that your light and your deliverance are coming. Hold on tight and live in hope that things will get better. Give how you can, ask for help when you need to and try to find something to be grateful for. Maybe you think your life isn't abundant because you're comparing yourself to everyone else, what they have, how they look, how they perform, how they celebrate or live in their version of abundance that somehow still looks better than yours. Take the comparisons away. Take the guilt and the perfectionism out. Are you safe? Are you loved? Do you have food and shelter? If so, REJOICE! It's okay to give thanks, not out of fear but from a place of solidarity. 

Yes, the shoe can and will drop. Need can be very cyclical. And when we are in abundance, of course, extend a hand to those who are not in that position. But don't squander the gift. Don't feel embarrassed and don't feel ashamed. Savor the gift. Smile. Laugh. Dance. What is the value of a gift if it isn't opened?

Why I Write

There are a few main reasons why I write. It is both personal and communal. The personal part is that writing helps me give words to my experiences, feelings and thoughts. Words are the tools I use to process those things and to engage in the world. There is a life-long love affair being conducted between me and words. It's probably one of the reasons I talk so much! The communal part is that I recognize that not everyone has the words for their experiences but when they read someone else's words, their heart recognizes a friend. And I think that is so incredibly important. Seeing yourself in another person's experience gives you a sense of not being alone and sometimes it helps you feel like you're not crazy, which is something we often tell women when their feelings are big. Sometimes how someone responds to a situation is different than how you tend to respond and that's fascinating and maybe even helpful. The human experience of being isolated is so incredibly damaging to who we are. So, in my vulnerability, if I'm able to give words to another mother, another child, another whomever, I am willing to do that because I think this work deeply matters. Stories are life. And life is best when shared.

I recently shared an old story (if you can call three months ago old) that got a lot of response. I like response! It's kind of a writers nightmare to have no one respond to your work. It makes you feel like maybe your experiences aren't shared and that's sad. Some responses are hard to process, especially because they may hit on things that hadn't occurred to me or make me feel misunderstood or hurt. That's part of this process too. And that's okay. But it doesn't mean it isn't hard. It's really hard for me. And that bad ass in me who puts words to feelings is not always present when words are presented back to me directly. I need to be honest about that. I don't write because I can take a lot of hits. I write in spite of the hits that will come.

If there was any kind of "agenda" (does anyone else hate that word?) in my latest post, it was based in this place. This place that wants to give words and honor experience. This place that wants kids to be safe and adults to be careful with them. I think that's a good place to write from, even when anger pours out of it. Anger can be really, really good and that's something I need to continually affirm as anger was not acceptable for me to display as a child and it's still not okay for me to display as a woman, at least not without suspicion of some kind of intended harm. There was no harmful intent here.

It's funny because after the last writing-related blow up, my husband teased me about being a "pot stirrer." And we laughed, mainly because I stir a lot of pots with a lot of discomfort. I stir pots when I find opportunities to advocate for things more important than my discomfort. And that is true here. I wrote in hopes that other parents would have words for those moments when your heart gives pause and you don't know why. I wrote to inspire conversation with children, to empower others to allow their kids to have a say in what's taught to them and to make space for their process. I wrote to engage on a parenting front. This was a conversation I had between me and my daughter that I chose to make public. Fallout with other adults, teachers, church leaders was not even on my radar and frankly, such a lesser concern to me than what my post was about. I would like to point out that I was intentional about not being specific about who was involved or where we received this teaching. I learned that lesson and it was painful! If it was revealed in response who was part of this, that was not my doing. And I could care-take that I should have anticipated that as a possibility but I'm going to release that. I didn't reveal those things. It's not that I don't care how adults view my writing or my approach to my situation from VBS but it's that it entirely misses the point of my post. Adult feelings take a back seat to how we plant seeds in children's hearts about themselves and about God. That's why I didn't process my feelings about my kid with my kid. I processed my kids feelings with my kid and my feelings with other adults. And I did that when this happened. 

I do want to clarify something that doesn't seem to have been clear in my original post.

I HAVE NO PERSONAL PROBLEM WITH THE TEACHER IN THIS SITUATION.

I have no relationship with this person. I do not know her. And if anything, I'VE BEEN HER. You guys realize that I taught things like this, right?!?! Mostly to teens, which was at least slightly more developmentally appropriate but still regretful (there is a future post here for sure), but I have been this person time and time again. And my heart twinged but I read the script (she followed the curriculum, which was why I was angry about the curriculum, not the person following it). And I did it with good intent. And I did it because I did what I was told. And I did it because I believed it. I meant what I told my daughter that morning. I told her we could extend her teacher grace and for once, thank God, I wasn't just trying to do the right thing and be a good example to my kid. I was actually able to do the right thing in that moment. I knew then as I know now that I was being triggered by a whole lot of baggage, decades of baggage, that had absolutely nothing to do with her as a person. So writing this story three months later came with absolutely no negative feelings towards her. And if for some reason, this stranger has come upon my writing (that could only really happen if someone deliberately shared it with her), I want to say - we're cool. I have no beef with you. And if my pain hurt you, that was not my intent. 

I do want us to be careful with our curriculum selection. That was the only "to do" I was hoping to see in response. That's all :)

I also learned something about myself before things got really stressful in the response. I learned that I have allowed my perfectionism into the space of my theology and how I teach theology to my children. My anger came from a visceral response to anyone violating that sacred space. And that comes from a deep protectiveness that was not honored in my soul or in my husband's soul when he was fired. And having that first seed of dishonor planted in my child triggered me in a real way. This is trauma, friends. I was hurt. My husband was hurt. So anything that looks remotely like that trauma placed upon my innocent child brought out the mama bear claws. And honestly, I'm okay with that. I can validate those feelings with or without the understanding of my peers. Because trauma is a tapestry. When you pull at that thread, which I've been doing for six years, sometimes things unravel. That's how we get to the root of the problem. That's the personal side. The church of Christ side is that we've created a dynamic where we do what we're told, especially women, and we honestly believe it's okay to teach young children about sin. We think that's important. I don't. And that's not mine to hold. I get to decide what to do with my experience. It might look like not participating in VBS. That seems like a tidy, obvious answer. Except my kid might conclude that she's missing out on something she enjoys with her friends because she opened up to her mom. Right? I'm going to tread lightly in what this looks like for me in the future. And that's okay. Because it's October. I don't have to know what I'm going "to do" in this moment. Is it possible that there is nothing to do? Just to hold pain and acknowledge it? For me, yes. Sometimes that's more than enough to do for the day. So that's where I'll be today. Home. Holding my pain. And giving it the validation it needs. Hugs to you, friends. Whether you get it or not, pain is universal. 

Face Your Pain Head On

After all the intensity of last week, with two explosive blog posts and subsequent fallout (I'm trying to let go of care-taking all those who were unfriended by someone else but it's hard), I have been given an opportunity. Because I put myself out there, my story was heard at the right time by the right person who has given me a chance to preach at a church of Christ. Not as a profession! (One of my besties and her husband have been throwing that idea around, ironically, that I could become a preacher in the church of Christ). No, this is a one-time, awesome opportunity. If nothing else, I am most definitely an opportunist, so you better believe I'm doing it. I try to live my life in a way where I don't turn anything I want down, especially if it's scary. I find deep pleasure and satisfaction in the challenge of doing scary things. And because of that, being honest and vulnerable on a public platform usually gives me a thrill not a quaking horror (last week was a bit of a hiccup in that dynamic, but there's a natural ebb and flow to this). I have to tell you guys, I am so excited about this opportunity!

The sermon series he'll be working through is on reconciliation - with self, God and the world. And we'll talk church trauma, finding your voice, speaking your truth amidst others denial, self-kindness and more. I absolutely cannot wait! Beyond the excitement about the material and the challenge of preaching from Scripture (which has triggered me for years and I'm not done processing), this is a big deal on a scale so much larger than me. For almost 2 centuries now (if my church history class at Pepperdine is being recalled properly), women have not had permission to speak in the churches of Christ. Some churches are evolving out of that dynamic but they are rare and none are experiencing that process easily or without baggage. Repression creates a grave so deep, it's very difficult to get to the bodies underneath. And for most of them, it's too late. Their spirit has been crushed and they've fallen in line or they've left churches of Christ or church altogether. The sheer number of bodies having been buried by this theology, a literal reading of a few Scriptures, is overwhelming for me to ponder right now, even as I've lived it. So much talent, so many stories, so much value - left to suffocate because of gender. Gender roles, gender identity, the literalness that is breasts and a vagina. It's crushing, really. 

The shame of ambition. The questioning of your value. The uncertainty of your motives. The denial of your potential to contribute. The fear of self-adulation, the ultimate sin for a woman.

There. Is. So. Much. Pain. Here.

I feel like I'm standing on sacred, holy ground. And underneath me are the souls of all the oppressed women of the past, the generations of silence. The loss is profound. The loss for the women, but also the loss for the church. When I wrote about white privilege not acknowledging the loss of black voices as a negative, I feel the same way about this. I recognize that racial and gender privilege are different. But in the same way that white culture has functioned without the intrinsic value of black voices, the churches of Christ has MISSED OUT on the female voice in such a way that it is warped. White culture is skewed and the churches of Christ are too. We've been so hell-bent on emulating the early Christian church (somehow we've translated that into 1950, not 33 AD but no one seems to talk about that) that we've lost the full contribution of half of our population. That is tragic. 

I had an opportunity this summer to do something scary. I can't tell you how the fear welled up in me. At the Shaklee convention, we had a speaker come talk to us about breakthroughs. His name was Brian Biro and he was lovely. But the whole time, he was talking about how at the end of his talk, all 4,000 of us were going to "break boards" like we were in martial arts. We were going to get into groups of 10 and the previously trained "board holders" were going to hold our boards while we broke them WITH OUR HANDS. I was terrified. Specifically, I was afraid of the shame that would wash over me when I didn't break it the first time. I was afraid to have to try again, to work at something in public, because I was sure I wouldn't be able to break it the first time. Why would I? I've never done this before and I was afraid. I didn't know if I had the power within me to break the board the first time. 

Before we tried to break our boards, Brian had us write what we needed to break through on the board itself. It took me awhile to ascertain exactly what is what I was afraid of, but my teammate Laney (former therapist!) helped me break it down. I was afraid of my own power.

I WAS AFRAID OF MY OWN POWER.

How many women have felt that way? It's always been there, deep within me. Potential. Success. Power. A big 'ole fucking life. I've always known it and I can't tell you how scared to death I've been of fully stepping into my power. That probably seems funny because many of you seem to see me as already doing that in my writing. And I am. I feel like I'm living the life I want to live and have for a long time, if not always. But there's more here. There's always more in that well. And I keep trying to pace myself, as we've always taught women to do - be small, that's good enough, don't get greedy, let's stop here.

On the back of the board, he had us write what we would have if we broke through whatever the board represented. I wrote: "security, joy, hope, empowerment, leader of my daughters, choices and freedom." And I added my children's and Tim's names and the future grandkids we hope to have some day (because I believe in the generational impact of these kinds of breakthroughs). I want to be a powerful woman and I hope that by being her (myself), I will instill power in my daughters and maybe someday, their daughters. 

The reason I share this story with you, in the midst of my excitement about preaching, is that they go together. This formative thing that happened to me in August (grainy but proud video above) paved the path for this moment. I am an ongoing evolving creature, as we all are. But the more I step into my power by being vulnerable and honest and true, believing in my innate worthiness, affirming my value to contribute, the more opportunity is created for me to inspire others to do the same. And what better thing could I possibly be doing?  

Is there something holding you back from living the life you want to live? Is there more potential within you that you fear tapping into? These questions are worthy of reflection. And whatever you find behind that veil, I pray that you break through it, claim your life and live into your potential. Don't let anyone, even yourself, limit what you can do with your talent, your voice, your ideas, your heart. We've only got one shot at this. Take it.

Ministry - Friend or Foe?

As many of my readers know, I fell head over heels in love with ministry in my youth. It gave me a way to use my talents, honor God and give to the community in a way that fueled me. It compelled me to wake up and hop out of bed every morning. It defined me, in a lot of ways. I was addicted to helping others. It sounds weird and maybe unhealthy to you or maybe really cute and inspiring. It was all of those things. I meant everything I said and did in those days but I also had a real pride issue and an inability to receive what I was doling out. I also was not tuned into my voice and therefore, gave too much power to other people in my life. I lived out of a place that was without healthy boundaries.

I had a weird experience last weekend where I got to unpack our firing from professional ministry trauma a little bit more with someone who had an inside perspective. I have had many talks with people from all sides of that trauma over the years and it has been mostly helpful, though always triggering. This particular conversation centered around my ministry abilities and how that may have affected our firing. What was shared was somehow both infuriating and validating. I will not share the specifics of what was shared, but I do want to share how that information further helped me process how I feel about myself in ministry.

Ministry, in some ways, has felt like the beloved pet who got rabies and became very threatening and unstable not unlike Old Yeller. And so for everyone's sake, you put down the beloved pet and you grieved the loss both of what was and what might have been. But here's the thing, what was a burning fire within me has not been fully snuffed out. I'm not going to lie to you; that scares the shit out of me. How much easier would it be if I could stamp out that little flickering light and walk away? Given a choice, that would be the easier option. And I have in no way fanned that flame. What I do have is a shit-ton of church baggage, confusion about what it means as this new person I've become to use my gifts and also to hold space for healthy boundaries and my pain, and a genuine resistance to risk. Church is a very scary place for me. Miraculously, my new church (I've been there over 2 years but I hesitate to put down roots) is very safe, though moments of triggering come up from time to time. Mostly, when anything is ever asked of me. I'm like a guy who can't commit though he's with a marrying-type of girl. I know what I have there is special but my propensity to run is definitely present. I want everything on my terms. And that's not living in community. I am totally proficient at building community outside of church now, which is an incredible byproduct of our traumatic firing. I didn't know who I was outside of church before and I now I have the opposite problem. How do I use my gifts in a church setting without risking further damage to my soul and fueling the fire that is my ego, the anti-thesis of who I want to be in the world? I DON'T KNOW.

And yet, that little flame keeps burning. An easy way around the official church stuff is to recognize that there is a lot of good I do in my personal life and relationships and if you're looking to label things, you could call that ministry. I don't like to because it feels cheap to me, but you could. Calling something in my personal life "ministry" now feels like I'm using that opportunity, need, relationship as a project. That it's not equal relationship, but some sort of gift I'm bestowing upon the receiver. I don't like it and I find the implications of that insulting to the people I've come to know and love. I don't like the above/below dynamic of ministry. I know there are many humble people in ministry, but I was of the mind that I had something to give others and that that was my purpose. To give. The problem with that is that it stems from a dirty place that I have something others don't. And that can turn into thinking I'm better than other people. Here's the thing - none of that is true. Giving has no value if you cannot recognize that at any point, the tables can and will turn and you will need people to give to you. I do not having anything more than anyone else. Yes, we all have different experiences, talents and personalities. And I do live out of a place that there is work to be done in life by me specifically that would benefit the world. But I also believe that's true of every, single human. Also, I don't own Jesus and I don't dispense him at will. I think he's awesome but I also think there are many people in the world doing good things, living loving lives who do not claim him. And I'm ok with that now. In some ways, their motives are more pure because they're not motivated by heaven. Their reward is doing good because they are compelled to do good. That should and has always been more than enough. And I am definitely not better than anyone else. I'm not more deserving, more kind or more gifted. I am not "other", "special", "set apart" or "different." Yes, I know we're all special in our own ways and I don't say these things to degrade myself. What I mean is, if any of these ideas cause me to think I am better than someone who doesn't believe or live in the way I do, I have lost everything. There is no value in work motivated by pride.

I know what you're thinking - why does it matter what you call it? Ministry? Living your values? Being a decent person? It doesn't matter. Not really. But I'm like a dog with a bone; I can't seem to pry that damn idea from my mind. Ministry is like the harpoon that scarred me irrevocably. I survived the injury, but the imprint it made on me won't release me to deny its potential. Who knows where this processing will lead me. I am confident that the flame will not go out and there is a reason for that. Thanks for walking with me as I experience this crazy thing unfold.  

When Trauma Comes to Visit

Don't you hate it when you've done all you can to process a trauma and it still comes to visit from time to time? I wish there was a way to not be shaped by our traumas. I know that's not possible and probably not even good as terrible things often shape us in somewhat positive ways, if you're in a frame of mind to see it. Though I must admit, that's hard to do in the middle of the night when you wake up from a nightmare sobbing. It's been 5 and a half years since we left professional ministry. We've been through other traumas since that time that were even more severe and yet that one still leaves a mark. I think I must admit to myself that it always will. My ultimate goal is to not let my traumas make me a bitter, hardened person. Unfortunately, sometimes in order to get to that place, you gotta work through a lot of pain and anger.  

I am still connected to our old church through a weekly MOMS group I attend. Most of the women there are unaware of my history and the church has been through a major overhaul in both style and leadership since we left. Yet, I'm still walking those halls, seeing many of the people from our "old life" and everyone acts like nothing ever happened. I guess that's the only way to move forward. It's not like I want to spend my 2 hours of weekly free childcare sussing out old pain with people I don't really trust. And I know I've already had the hard conversations I needed to have way back when. The group has been a great source of fun and friendship for me (I feel I need to justify my attendance since being in that environment is clearly still triggering).  

Perhaps it is the perfectionist in me that wants to check "professional church ministry trauma" off the list and move on. And I have moved on in ways I am really proud of and genuinely grateful for. I know if the trauma had not happened, we would not be the people we are today. And I think we are better people. I am so much more humble, gracious and honest than I was before. I was always a nice person but leaving professional ministry helped me embrace my humanity, give myself grace and become an all-around kinder person. I've found my voice, my values and my own footing having had that formerly precious security blanket ripped from me. And yet, it's still hard. It's still sad. And sometimes, that trauma comes to call. Maybe that's how you know something you lost really meant so much. When that pain knocks, perhaps the healthiest thing to do is open the door, embrace the pain and let the tears flow.

To The Beautiful People in Professional Ministry Being Treated Like Shit

I have a lot of friends in professional ministry. I, of course, used to be in professional ministry both paid and unpaid (spouse). And after a traumatic, unwarranted firing from the ministry, we left ministry for our spiritual and emotional well-being. It's been 5 years and there has been a ton of personal growth. That being said, I am often triggered by the stories of my dear friends who remain in professional ministry. The problem with the eldership model in the churches of Christ is that many of our churches on the west coast are small. We have no oversight outside of the local church (something we take pride in) which means that often elderships have no accountability and total control. Sometimes this power falls into the hands of 2-3 men, one of whom is often bordering on senility because for some reason, we don't know when to boot out the old guys. The elder with the biggest swagger is always wealthy. It's rude. But it's true. So I would like to write an open letter to my dear friends in ministry, who give everything they have to the church in often unhealthy, secretly abusive leadership models. 

Dear Friend,

I see you. I see you putting yourself out there. I see you initiating relationship when you'd rather be in bed watching TV. I see you planning events and hoping people come. I see you getting pulled aside at church to listen to someone who doesn't really know you or care about you as a person criticizing the work you do prayerfully and with the utmost care. I see you nodding while tamping down anger and resentment. I see you being unable to defend yourself because that would be considered threatening. I see you trying to decide if you should cater to the bullies or follow your leader gut that's telling you to go in the direction you've been going. I see your exhaustion. I see you tire of pushing so hard. Pushing yourself to keep going. Dragging the dead horse behind you that is everyone's resistance to change. I see you compromising. I see you questioning yourself - your abilities, your calling, your very worth. I see you stagnating in your faith because it's become a function of your work. I see you towing lines of theology you'd love to leave behind but you can't for risk of losing your income. I see you wondering if anyone around you really loves you. You - the person, not the role. I see you proving your worth with activity, calendars, ministry updates. I see you hustling - greeting new people, trying to be friendly all the time. I see you missing your family, missing bedtime routines, missing sex because you're just too tired at the end of the day. I see you wishing you had the energy to be more present in your neighborhood. There's just nothing left when you get home from church. I see you longing for rest, like poor people long for winning the lottery. 

I'm here to say - you are gifted. You are loved. You matter. Not because of how you perform, what you can accomplish, the numbers you can bring in - you matter because. You matter. If you laid down all this today, you would still matter. Your value does not come from your abilities, your performance, your care of others. You matter. Your soul deserves care. Not just from you, not just from God, but from the people around you. Your body deserves care. You are allowed to sleep, eat, relax and breathe. You are allowed to spend time on things that aren't perceived as spiritual. You are allowed to act your age. If you are young, be young. Don't carry the world on your shoulders like it's up to you to save it. It's not. You can't. What you're doing matters and if you intend to stay in it, you may need some therapy. And if you need to leave to shore up your faith, your psyche, your family - you should. You are worthy of emotional health. You are worthy of being poured into not just out of. Do not cast the pearls of your soul before the swines who feel no remorse for stamping it out. Do not let anyone speak into your soul, question your worthiness, make you feel ashamed of who you are. You are beautiful. You are precious. You do not need to live in shame. Do not pay back a debt of shame by giving service to people who don't appreciate it. Do not serve out of some sort of penance. You are loved. You stand in grace. So stand up. Don't let anyone tell you who you are. 

No one's perfect. I get it. Sure, you probably need to work on some stuff. But no one takes the kind of shit people in ministry do. You might not even realize it because you're so entrenched in it right now. Be brave. Don't allow your imperfections to give them a pass. They have imperfections too and you'd never throw it at them like they do with you. Claim your dignity. And be honest with yourself - you'll always be an employee first in the church. So if you are taking more shit than an employee should be taking, know that the ideas of "family" don't really apply to you. That's terrible, but it's honest. So make your peace with that and set your boundaries. Don't delude yourself to thinking you're not expendable. 

I see you. Do you see yourself?