Monday, August 1, 2022

my soul knows it.

Look, I will love worship music forever. Like, FOREVER. No matter what happens to my faith, my spirituality, whatever. If I die an atheist, you would STILL have to pry my Maverick City album from my cold, dead, heathen hands. 

Of all of the things that have been difficult in the deconstruction of my Christian faith, grappling with the music -- how much I love it, but how problematic the support of the evangelical empire can be -- has been one of the hardest things.

But damnnnn, go to Mav City, Volume 1, My Soul Sings, around minute 9, and you start to hear someone pushing a melody through the worship. Suddenly, it catches, and the room is aflame in harmony. "I've got this joy, and it won't let go. Looked in his eyes, and he freed my soul. I've got this joy and it won't let go, and my soul knows it." 

It just hits, okay? Whoever you are, whatever you are dealing with, the joy, the abandon, the musicality, it's all there, and it sweeps me into the best place. And I know that those Pentecostals stole my soul, because I cannot hear it without lifting my arms, and going. to. church. 

Worship music. It's the thing I cannot give up, no matter how problematic. And the Gospel. I can't let that go either, but it is completely unproblematic. 

I have, I'm fairly certain, the world's best therapist. And with her help, I've realized recently that I get to claim my own faith. The evangelicals will sell you certainty, and I don't have to buy. Nor do I have to throw it all away. In fact, I don't have to do or believe any single thing that is pushed on me by any church or community or influencer or author. For once, I get to decide what faith means to me. I get to pick through the traditions, and the churches, the books, and songs, and the wisdom, and make the call. Just for me. You test your own stuff. 

But, that all means the worship music gets to stay. And the Gospel, the one that puts sacrifice for others above all else -- all worldly divides, all judgment. And kindness. Kindness stays. And boldness, boldness should get a place. 

For His gifts, and His call, are irrevocable. 




Friday, July 8, 2022

a little lost.

Well, it has been two and a half years since I last wrote here, or even visited these thoughts. And holy shit was I religious. R-E-L-I-G-I-O-U-S. Fucking yikes. As JVN might say, I don't even know her. 

Then again, I'm not confident that I know me anymore either. Who's who? Who knows. 

But...once many years ago, these pages, this writing, lead me to some really beautiful things. Yeah, some things that aren't that familiar to me anymore, some things I no longer endorse, but there was beauty all the same. I'm hoping it can happen again. 

There's a song with which I've been completely in love recently -- the lyrics say, "I moved to California in the summertime. I changed my name thinking that it would change my mind. I thought that all my problems they would stay behind. I was a stick of dynamite, and it just was a matter of time... Oh dang, oh my, now I can't hide; said I knew myself, but I guess I lied. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay, if you're lost, we're all a little lost, and it's alright...it's alright to be lost sometimes."

I'm a little lost. I'm too old to be lost. Too entrenched in a steady career with a great company. Too married. Too settled. But lost all the same. 

But maybe it's okay, maybe it's alright to be lost sometimes.

Monday, October 21, 2019

a kind house.

Once a year, I go back to what I consider to be my home church, the church where I came up, spiritually. Sometimes, the trip is nostalgic and lovely and fun. Sometimes, it's hard and painful. It is always deeply good. 

I was in worship the first night I returned last week, and God hit me with this: I have so thoroughly categorized people, so meticulously put up dividers and labels, and decided what each means, how much I value them, and what is required of me with each group, that I am no longer loving people. 

I've known this, in a way. Life in the church has been so hard over the last 2-3 years, I have found myself too exhausted by it all to want to be in church, or small group, or even honestly, Christian friendship. And if discussing it with my husband, I've said, "I don't like people. I don't want to talk to people." 

The problem is -- I do like people. I like them a lot. I love them. I am a chatterbox in any line I find myself in. I want to know your story. I want to know where you came from, and why you are the way you are, and I want to see good things happen to you. I want to hug you, and hold your hand, and bring you a fancy coffee drink. My exhaustion has stolen those impulses, but THAT is the true me. 

So what happened? My categories happened. My valuations. My pain. My exhaustion. My confusion. All of it happened, and slowly over time, instead of seeing people, I started to see... beliefs I don't agree with. Political parties. Opinions. Others. And my love for people turned into ridicule. A constant stream of judgment and negativity, and invulnerability. Maybe I didn't put it out into the world, but I poisoned myself with it. 

I realized this, and I thought... but Jesus, what is the way forward? I'm still exhausted, I am still hurting. I can't just flip a switch. 

And then God hit me with the second thing. I have thought my faith is fine because I have such a deep sense of who he is. I feel so firm on Jesus as my resurrected savior, and the meaning of it all -- the incarnation, the death, the resurrection. It's mind-blowing and awesome. But having my mind blown by the idea of a God in flesh is not the same as being in relationship with him. It's not the same as experiencing his grace, and giving it. Man, I can't remember the last time I did that, really.

The way forward is through the grace of Jesus. It's not a path of force. It's a path of surrender. It's one of falling in love with God again, and letting his love spill to others. 

Our world is so polarized. One mistake, and you're gone forever. One errant belief, and you're branded. No mercy. No grace. It's us, and them. But I can't live like that anymore. Not that I am condoning unloving attitudes, or policies that I believe are harming people, but... I can't believe that the answer is hatred. 

Charles Fox Parham (a dude with a few errant beliefs of his own), wrote that we oughtn't go knocking down other peoples' houses -- the better way is to come alongside of them, build up a better house, and invite them over. 

So that's what this next season is, ya'll. I'm gonna build a house. Well, I'm gonna ask Jesus to build a house. And God willing, it will be a house of love. A patient house. An understanding house. An inquisitive house. A house that is slow to anger, and quick to listen. A house where everyone is welcome, even as there are things that are just plain true in the house, and other things that are false. But it will be a house of compassion. A house of healing. A house of laughter. A sturdy house. A house that doesn't live in offense. A kind house. A house of wisdom. An unshakable house. 

You are all invited. 

Sunday, June 30, 2019

here for that.

I was talking to someone yesterday, a young woman in our church who is facing some discouragement in her professional life, and is in general just trying to figure out what God has for her.

She told me about all of these jobs she had applied to, and finished by telling me somewhat dejectedly that the real problem is that she just doesn't want any of them. She's not excited by any of these opportunities, and being offered any of them would not feel to her like a good thing. Some combination of the city she'd have to move to, the church, the role itself, or other factors had her feeling pretty sour about each of them.

There was one opportunity, though, that seemed perfect. She said she loved the church, the location was desirable, and she'd feel very confident stepping into the role. But, frustratingly, she didn't feel she was really in the running for that job.

I paused, and gently, slowly, asked her... "But if you were to get the perfect job in the place that you'd love to be, doing work that you feel wouldn't be too much of a stretch for you--work you say you'd feel completely confident doing--in a church you are enthusiastic about -- where is the space for God to grow you? What about that situation would stretch your reliance on God?"

She didn't understand the question, and I can't blame her because it was poorly asked.

So I took another pass. "Look, you've got all of these options over here that you tell me aren't so great -- you don't love the locations, or the churches, or the roles aren't quite right. And then you'e got this PERFECT job over here that you'd feel 100% comfortable doing. It seems to me that you could fit into the perfect job, and it might be enjoyable, but if it's perfect for you, and you'd feel so confident doing it -- you wouldn't need God, you wouldn't need to rely on him, you wouldn't need to grow, and you wouldn't need him to stretch your ability to trust him. But those jobs over there -- the imperfect ones -- those are really the gold. Get one of those, and you'd have to trust God, you'd have to rely on him to grow your love for the church, and the city. You'd have to believe that he will give you what you need to do the job well."

And then I found myself telling her about my cancer. About how on the surface, it might have been better to have never gotten sick, but there are things I learned in my illness that couldn't have been learned in health. Things about myself, about God, about his love for me, and what it is to be with him when you are thinking you're really about to go be with him. There are things that my family learned, and ways in which their faith was transformed that would not have happened if my cancer had not happened. So health is great, but sickness -- it is so much better. If your goal is to gain wisdom and depth with God.

I have no idea if she understood any of this, or if it had any impact on her at all, but as I heard the words coming out of my mouth, I knew they were from the spirit, and I knew that they were for me as much as for her.

We spend so much time trying to pray away the hard things, but the hard things are where the good stuff is, y'all.

I don't know whether we will find the perfect church, or the perfect jobs, or whether we will get to adopt, or become a part of a tighter community, or experience any part of our own promised land, but here's what I am damn sure about -- the harder the road, the harder I will be pressing in to his presence, and I am here for that, Jesus.

Wednesday, June 26, 2019

hands wide open.

God is doing this revival thing in my life. It's pretty dope.

For the first time in a very, exceptionally long time, I'm in prayer every night. Not like, quiet, polite  listicles of prayers and praises. I'm not working any acronyms here.

But like raw and real, rocking out, arms up, tears and snot, and "I will not leave this place until you give me a word, G" kinda prayer.

One of my favorite sweet jams in this mood is Will Reagan's live cut of "Nothing I hold on to." There's an extended chorus with a bunch of people in a room shout-singing to Jesus, a couple of drums, and a guitar, and a mess of grace. And in the middle, they sing the line "I will climb this mountain with my hands wide open," over and over until Heaven hears them.

I don't know what he meant when he wrote it, but what I mean when I sing it is this...

God, I will walk through this season, whether it is the very best, or absolute desolation, with my hands wide open -- I'm not going to hold too tight to the blessings, nor sink too far into defeat. Lord, I'm not wrapping my fists around the status quo, not around the pride, not around money nor stuff, not around comfort. I'm not not grabbing onto insecurity, or fear, or pain. There is nothing I hold on to, Lord, because everything I need is you.

It has taken me a long time to realize that I am in the wilderness. Really that we are, both my husband and I. But now that the scales are gone, and I see the woods, the panic has drained away. I'm not lost. God is here just as surely as the mountaintop, and this place has a kick-ass worship band, y'all.

I don't know the answers to any of my most desperate questions. Will my husband find the right job? Will we be planted into the right church for us? Will I find meaningful work? Will we have a family? Will I finally get the pergola I've always dreamed of? How long will these things take? Will I write things that inspire people? Will I ever learn how to properly use a curling iron?

I don't know. But he found me. And there is nothing I hold on to. I will climb this mountain with my hands wide open.

Tuesday, June 25, 2019

the shot.

I don't always understand God.

Not like, the decisions he makes to answer some prayers and not others, but, literally... who he is. I don't always understand who or what God is.

We talk a blue streak about praying to him, and spending time with him, and having a relationship with him, but sometimes that is so abstract.

Just being honest.

Is God that warm feeling I get when I'm grooving to Bethel? Is he that sense that I get that I should do that one thing, but not the other?

I was talking to him about this tonight -- whatever that actually means -- and he (whoever he actually is) pressed on me... "Tell me about Jesus."

So I started listing out the things I think about Jesus...

Jesus didn't give a fig about rules when they interfered with love.
Jesus was moved by peoples' pain.
Jesus was impervious to appearance.
Jesus spent time with real people, he wasn't too good for anyone.
Jesus didn't discriminate based on race, or gender, or status.
Jesus gave his life that we might have even just a chance at life with God.

The last one got me. Not just that he sacrificed his life. What jumped at me in this moment with God, was that as Jesus died on the cross, there was no guarantee for him that it was worth it.

He gave his life not knowing that I would accept and live eternally with him, but just so that I would have the shot.

I won't even give a dollar if I think there's a chance it won't be spent 100% appropriately.

But Jesus isn't like that -- he gave it all, just on a flier. Just in case. Just in the off chance that I would hear, and respond, and understand, and want to be eternally in relationship with him. That's how generous he is. That's how important I am to him.

And that's God. That's the God to whom I pray. That's the one with whom I am in relationship.

Doesn't that just make you rethink everything you know about generosity?


Sunday, June 23, 2019

unanswered prayers.

I made a list tonight of my favorite unanswered prayers. Just to remind myself that I have been desperate before. And that thankfully, so mercifully, my desperation does not bend the heart of God.

Sometimes, we hope it does. And many of those times, it seems so cruel that in fact, it doesn't.

But in the clearer moments, like tonight, with my list -- I couldn't be more grateful.

And in the remembering, I find encouragement that God will deal as deftly with the desperate prayers of today as he has with yesterdays'.

I'm not exactly desperate right now in a material sense -- life is mostly good. We have good jobs. We want for nothing, really. Yet, it just feels like there is more. Just out of our reach. More life to live with God. Bigger dreams, bolder visions, for what it is to follow him. To pour ourselves out for him. To be more generous, more daring, more invested in his Love.

I am so desperate for that.

And so far from having any idea of what to do.

So I have a few prayers. They're desperate. I don't know whether God will answer them. But I do know, thanks to my list, that he has a perfect track record so far of knowing which to go all in on, and which to just leave where I put them.

He spoke to me tonight. Well, his spirit pressed on me tonight, that the sweetest part of desperate prayers is the resting with him after they've been prayed. He heard me. He heard me.

He's finding me.