what the what?!?: (anti)intellectualism.

I lost my temper. Last night, I said things I shouldn't have said, in ways that were unloving. And so, as I went to take communion tonight, I first met God in confession.

I think it's far harder to meet people in confession. I've been apologizing to these particular people almost for as long as I've known them, because something about their faith brings out in me the worst. Another week, another apology.

This post isn't about confession, though. It's about anti-intellectualism. I started the post by talking about confession and apology, because the sometimes anti-intellectual milieu of this culture almost always ends in me needing to confess and apologize. So, friends, I may have to end this post in the way I started it.

Until then, a few words on the intellect in conservative evangelicalism.

First things first. The bible is not self-explanatory. If it were, we would all believe the same things, in the same ways. The fact that there are valid debates going on across a variety of its teachings ought to tell us that it requires some interpretation. And that requires some education. Hence, the plethora of seminaries across the country, and world--all helping people to understand this "basic" document.

This might seem simple, but tell me if you've heard or said this: "I really only read the bible."

There's a sort of silent subtext here. It actually means something more like, "I really only read the bible, and I rely on my pastor to color my reading with his interpretations and beliefs." So, though the explicit message is one of "The bible is all I need in order to understand my faith," the reality is that your faith is not predicated solely on scriptures, but also (more so) on the interpretations of scriptures through the eyes of someone who has in fact read books. Your faith is not purely biblical. It's a collection of opinions. You might just as well have first-hand knowledge of those opinions. But even if you don't take that step, please don't think that you're some sort of purist in faith because you eschew the search for Truth, while simultaneously benefiting from those who have presumably embraced that search.

And about that. We are all called to be scholars in faith. God gives wisdom, yes. But before we had wisdom, we had a steady multiplication of cells in our neural tracts, and I think that God expects us to make good on the mechanisms He put in place. We are all called to be discerning thinkers in the quest for Truth.

When I say things like that, invariably someone will counter, "But, I'm not really a smart person--it's not a gift that God gave me, so maybe there are some people who just aren't meant to be scholars of faith." To which I say: Phooey!

And then I say, with a gentle sarcasm, "But I'm not really a nice person--that's just not something that comes easily to me, so maybe I'm just not meant to show God's love to people."

Yes, God gave us strengths. But He also promises us that when we seek Him, He will provide. And I don't think that that applies just to what comes easily. In fact, perhaps it is in those areas of our lives in which we are weakest that God can be the most effective. Because it is in those areas in which the miracles are most clearly and unequivocally displays of His power, and not our own. So let's not pretend as though some of us are called to think, and some are not. We're all called to love. We're all called to think. That is, I believe, one of the mysteries of how Love and Truth intertwine.

If you heard the call, and you said yes, you signed on to be a scholar. You signed on to be a thinker. Maybe it will be hard for you, but how else will you understand faith? I heard the call, and I said yes, and I signed on to be more trusting, and to be more kind. And that is hard for me! Maybe that's why I hide in my books. But, without exploring this part of my call, how else will I understand faith?

The call to intellect in faith is not an option, it's not something set apart for just some of us--it's an imperative. I often imagine meeting God face to face. And He'll ask me "Did you love me with all of your heart?" And I'll say, Yes, Lord, yes I tried. "And did you love me with all of your soul?" Yes, Father. "With all of your strength?" Mmhmm, I did. "And with all of your mind?"

Some of what I've seen and heard down here tends to devalue that last question. One of my first observations of Southern pentecostalism was that it is the heart to the Episcopalian intellect I had come from. But both heart and mind are necessary.

And on that day of reckoning, I want to be able to account for my mind, "Lord, I searched the world for Your truth. I left no stone un-turned, and I stared into the darkness, knowing that Your spirit lives in me to guide me. And I was scared, and I was confused, and I wanted quit, to give up on Truth, but You were good. You were good. Yes, Father, I loved you with all of my mind."

be God, please God.

Two things.

Firstly, I realized sometime last week that, due to a little time drain known as graduate school, What the what?!? Week was going to span more than a week.

Which brings me to a secondly. Too much stuff is happening in that time span to write exclusively on the whats?!? But, I will try to keep the posts loosely related to incredulousness.

Which brings me to tonight. Before I start...

Is God still good? Yes. Is it still true that He brings me unbelievable blessings? Yes. Do I still feel unbelievable gratitude? Yes. Does my heart still desire to spill over with His love into the lives of all who I see? Yes. Ok.

So tonight was a hard night. It almost always is when we start talking about non-Christians. I always realize, at some point in the discussions, that I am not so different from the non-Christians. That I'm in no position to judge their hearts. I remember that though I've been playing house with the conservative Pentecostals, I don't agree with a lot of the doctrine. The others at the table would be appalled to know just how much of it I don't believe. My "saved" status would be in doubt.

I think about these things, choosing my words carefully, then and now.

And I wonder anew, why am I here, God? You know how these people aggravate me. Why am I here? What do you want from me?

Again, the answer comes back. Everything.

My heart breaks after nights like tonight. I feel alone. I worry that all of the progress I've made is gone. And then I remind myself that God is still God. Regardless of what anyone says about Him, and regardless of my own incomplete understandings, He loves me. He loves Truth. And I love Him. And my heart loves Truth. My joy can be indestructible. If I let Him be God.

It's a simple prayer--for God to be God.

what the what?!?: tithing.

Disclaimer: I am nervous. I'm nervous to write honestly about sex, and tithing, and fear-mongering, and swearing, because secretly, I'm afraid. In vanity, I'm afraid of being considered spiritually immature. Though I am. But maybe not always for the content of my beliefs (though definitely sometimes). So, if you read forward, and consider me immature, know that you're right, but also that you may be culturally-bound. That aside, what I'm really afraid of is that broadcasting these conversations with myself will adversely affect my opportunities to engage, and volunteer in my church. So, if you read ahead, and have anything to do with volunteer applicants at James River, have mercy on me. In return, I promise to tell your kids whatever you want them to hear, theologically and culturally. I'll even say it age-appropriately. No filibustering to five-year-olds on differing theories of atonement.

But, onward. Without honesty, there can be no growth. So, tithing. I have problems with tithing.

It's not the money. It's really not. I enjoy giving to my pet charities. It makes me feel instrumental, and agentic, and complicit in global progress. Plus, I have that whole crazy thing about Jesus to heed. Dude gave it all. Like, ALL. Atonement aside, the literal significance of His death should move us to tears. He carried His beliefs to the fullest end. He died to preserve the purity of His message.

That's just literal. That's not including the separation from God, and atonement for sins, and the entire body of significance that we attach to His death and resurrection. But, people, if the literal alone doesn't pump you up, you might be dead. Check your pulse.

All of that to say--I've good reason to be glad to give. Check. But how to give? Where to give? Here, the waters turn dark.

My first line of defense against tithing has been a question of the causes supported by the church. "What if I give, and then later find out that the church somehow significantly contributes to something I strongly disagree with?"

But let's get real. Firstly, most every church in the country is going to give significant support to something I disagree with. Have you read this blog? I have. I know. So, there has be something less than an all-or-nothing criterium in place for me to talk about tithing. On another level, I am less discriminatory with my money in other domains of my life, and that makes my argument inconsistent. I don't know all of the business practices of The GAP, but my closet is rife with yuppie sweaters. I shop at Wal-mart, even after seeing "The high cost of low price." Busted. Ooooohhhhh.

Next: "How can I give regularly to a church, when I don't think that the church looks like what a church ought to look like?" This is trickier, and more valid. If, ultimately, "the church" should be a body of people who go out, and not a body and a building, who invite others in, we've got trouble. Even assuming that the building is cool with God, we have to ask--how much is too much? If we build a structure that encourages frivolous spending (Starbucks, giftshops, etc.), are we really getting it? "It" being the whole part where Christ was like, "Give up all your junk, and live to the point of death" (that's from the "Ashley Paraphrased Revised Standard New English Version Commentary")? If we're not getting "it," we can't possibly be giving "it," and then what we are giving might not be good. Can I support that?

Landmine. Ka-pow. Landmines all over that. On the one hand, I think I'm right. On the other, I think I need to chill out on the "false teachings"-type rhetoric. The fact is that The Church is what it is right now. That might not always be the case. Now might not be the time for massive change. There might never be a time, and if there suddenly is, the change might be massively different from how I envision it. Though this doesn't excuse churches from scrutiny regarding their financial health, I'm not sitting in a fiscally irresponsible church. I am sitting in what appears to be, by all indicators available, a healthy, prudent institution. I might not like all of what they do, but they do a brick ton of good. That should be honored.

Ok, so tithing will sometimes result in my money being used in ways I don't agree that it should be used. Weak.

I don't think the church should be as it is. But I also think there should be hover-craft already. Love, and work forward, baby.

But why tithing? Why ten percent? Why can't I just tithe to my charities, and live happily? This is not an uncommon question. I'm not alone. Unfortunately, it's as nonsensical when other people say it as when I do. Not for the reason you think. Pastors will have you believe that ten-percent tithing is an unalterable tenet of the faith. And, frankly, though this is uncomfortable--it is in their best interest to do so. There are no million-dollar homes without hefty tithes. No private jets, or Nordstrom's sprees, without profiting from God's work. And, in the face of struggling congregations, that's an itchy proposition. How do you encourage tithing from attenders who can barely feed their families, and then go home to a house much nicer than any they've ever even been in?

I don't know. But it's a real question. So, the final issue of supporting the church is not one of what the pastors say--there are plenty of scholars who argue polar opposite accounts of biblical giving (which is why I have left biblical mandates notably absent from this discussion)--but one of practical significance.

I am not unaware of the tension involved in not supporting a church that supports me. Not only spiritually, but physically. Heat, and chairs, and wireless internet are all material gifts given to me by James River. It is easy, as a mere one of thousands, to forget that I am the one that all of this is for. As a logical end, each of us is the "one." Biblical mandates aside, there is a practical purpose for tithing.

Where are we now? Still lost, but better for the journey. Closer to home.

what the what?!? week.

In homage to this complete genius, who recently dedicated an entire month of blog entries to his various doubts, I'm hosting my own sort of exploration. I'm less eloquently christening it "What the what?!?" Week. Firstly, because Tina Fey is brilliant, and 30 Rock deserves my flattery, and secondly, because the things I'll be writing about are parts and practices of the church that always have me asking, "What the what?!?!"

I write most often as a method of working through. And now, I have a lot to work through. Some of it will be in line with conservative evangelicalism. Most of it won't be.

Please, hang with me. Pray for me. Guide me. Your knowledge and wisdom does little good if not shared.

Tomorrow kicks us off.

bring me some of that joy.

Taking the passions, leaving the illogicalities, and sprinting towards God.

I tweeted that last week sometime. And I love it.

This week marked my sixth month at James River. Six months of Sundays. And Wednesdays. And Saturday night bible studies. And Life Group, and DFL, and womens' rallies, and occasional conversations with Tim Keene. Of praying, and fasting, and singing, and justifying, and crying, and shouting, and reading, and thinking, and lovin'.

Six months with the Pentecostals. Six months with God. The most intense six months of my faith I have ever lived. Notably NOT the most I will ever live. I hope.

You know, when people ask me about my time here, about why I'm going to a church with convictions so different from my own, and how I can stand it, and whether I think there's actual Truth here, I think of the people. And I know.

Look, I have a million disagreements. I live my faith in ways that might seem downright sinful to some of my new friends. I have "blasphemous" things to say. I'm a Yankee liberal, goshdamnit.

But I can't turn from these people. Their love is compelling in a way that I always imagine Christ's heart to be. I was having a drink with a friend yesterday, and he told me that he knew "how those people could be," and all I could think was, "You mean filled with grace?" Overflowing with love? Kind, and gracious, and sacrificial, and beaming out God's love as though their lives depend on it (and in fact, they may).

I was in church this morning, as I have been every Sunday with the exception of one, and as we turned to prayer, I said to God, "Lord, you know my needs, today my heart is full of praise. I am standing now, but in my heart I am on my knees before you, shouting your goodness. Your people have brought me joy."

And then I thought, How do I give that to someone? What do I say or do for the person standing next to me, the girl at the restaurant, the guy in my class? What of "my"self, and "my" possessions do I give, to cause people to say "Lord, your people have brought me joy?"

Everything. Everything.

imaginary back-porch.

I was talking with a friend earlier about the issues that plague guy-girl interaction, and ended up sending him this letter of advice. I thought it was kind of cute, and mostly true, so...


This might seem a little awkward, but, perhaps in honor of Valentine's Day, I wanted to give you a little primer on how (most) girls think.

More exactly, how we think when we're smitten.

Smitten-ness is unfortunately something of a blinder for us. I don't know if it works the same way for guys, but when we like a guy, we miss things we might normally catch, and we catch things that weren't thrown. That is, though we analyze endlessly, and say things like, "Yeah, I don't know, I mean...he did compliment Mindy's hair, but not mine. He's probably interested in her," we secretly (usually not so secretly, ten minutes later) think he's into us. And so everything you say, everything you do, becomes a clue. You compliment my shoes--it's a sign. You tell me I'm smart--sign. If you should be bold enough to tell me that you're courting someone else, what I might hear is something more along the lines of "But maybe if that falls through, I'd be interested in you." And, if I like you enough, I will continue to stick around, catching those air balls.

I don't want to make us seem ridiculous or fanciful. It's just that when we're interested in a guy, that sometimes becomes all-consuming. It's not just a casual interest, usually. Or, it starts as a casual interest, but then becomes an epic narrative in our minds, whereby you're the perfect husband, and we're building a beautiful backyard porch together while our two little girls run through the slip'n'slide you put together while I was inside making some amazing homemade kiwi ice cream. This is a high stakes game. We have a vested interest in catching all of your signals, and because of that, we sometimes catch things that, in actuality, only signal a true appreciation for our shoes, or our intelligence. Nothing more.

I'll be honest. I consider myself to be a highly reasonable, and realistic woman. Somewhat unromantic at times. And I still fall hard to these impulses. I have built many an imaginary backporch in my day.

So where does that leave the state of male-female relationships? Particularly in the church, where the women ought to be wise and shrewd in their heart, and the men ought to be chivalrous to all women? Does that mean you can't compliment women? Or be friends with them? Not necessarily. But, I think it does mean that you have to be aware of yourself, and your relationships to women. If she's not dating or married, she could be interested in you. If you think she is, be careful. If you know she is, be honest. If you're not interested, lay it out. Lay it out clearly. And, as much as it kills me to say this, recognize that what you say/do could be taken as a "sign." If that means that you have to hold back on the occasional compliment in service to guarding her heart (I can't believe I'm spewing this conservative noise) that's probably the route I'd go.

Also, there are some things we are especially sensitive to, tread carefully: meeting your family (especially parents), spending time with you during a hard time in your life, seeing you with kids, watching you minister in any way to someone in need (there are more). So, if you are not interested in me, but have an inkling that I am in you, please don't invite me over to your parents' house after you’ve had a rough month. I will be done with the porch, and half-way through the flower beds before you can say, "Mindy."

In case you were wondering, I have validated these theories on a Christian sample. I was uncertain if this stuff holds for evangelical, conservative pentecostals, so I brought it up with a few of them. And yep, it holds. Girls down here are just like my heathen friends back North, with respects to crushing. Except, down here, they can convince themselves that God is on their side. Coincidentally, He might be.

Now, I can tell you with complete honesty that I'm not interested in you, and I know that you're not interested in me. So please, compliment away. My shoes are really cute today.

the great know-er.

The joy of being known.

If I were talking with you, I'd whisper that. In wonder. And then say it. And then say it a little louder, and then look at you incredulously, like, "Don't you get it?!?"

The joy of being known.

You probably get it. I had not, until today.

I was talking with God this morning about how hard it is for me to understand Him, and what He is, and what He does. And I was saying that I feel so alone without my friends and my family, but the reality of course is that no one is absolutely known by another person, because we exist so subjectively, and...

The Great Know-er. Mid-sentence that phrase smacked me upside the head.

It's kind of dramatic, I know. Maybe silly. But totally true. He is "The Great Knower." No one, not even a husband with whom we've been intimate for a half-century, can know us in the way that God does.

I've been so sad here, feeling unknown. "I just want to feel known for awhile," I've tossed off in conversations. Meaning that I want to be around people who are more like me. But even the people I'm closest to stand on the other side of a fault line. They don't understand my faith, or my politics, or my humor, or all of the little secrets of my thoughts and wants. It has been easy to imagine, so far away from home, that if only I were home--I'd feel known.

That's not true. I know me. But even I discover new things about me. God, and God alone, knows me. And, what's wonderful about the situation is that the need to be known is itself a sort of proof for Him. He wants me to want to be known by Him. The Creator of me, of every secret I harbor, of all that I am, created me with a desire to be known that only He can fill.

What beauty.

To understand in heart something I had only known in mind is an incredible gift on a Monday. Or a Tuesday, come to that.

the everything.

I spent Valentine's night at church. Because my liberalism makes me untouchable to the Christian guys, and their lack of faith makes the secular guys untouchable to me. Or it could be because I'm generally somewhat surly and annoying.

Nevertheless, while most of my friends were out romancing, I was taking communion, and thinking about how John Lindell seems to have cut down on holding out the ends of his wordssssss.

As he talked, I realized (again) that I don't believe that God has a plan for me. I know that's mildly blasphemous, and untrue. Intellectually, I understand that I have a purpose. But I don't feel it. I don't believe it. I search my heart, and find only the faint notion that I somehow have to create my own meaning, my own purpose.

People talk a lot down here about being in "the center of God's will." I always think how wondrous it must be to know whether or not one is in such a sweet spot, continuously. I mean, really, to know that there's a target on the ground of your life, and you are standing right at the inner bullseye.

I've only felt that gift a handful of times, spread sporadically through the years. Including once or twice at James River, which is why I stay. I'd probably be more comfortable with the Unitarian Universalists.

Sometimes, I stop, and I shout (silently) to God, "Father what do you want from me?" I imagine His calm response: "Everything. I love you so much. Everything."

Does God love me? I don't understand.

seminary.

The house is quiet.

In the next room, my duplex-mate is on the phone with wedding vendors. There’s someone staying with us right now, a girl from my Life Group. Her stuff is all over the living room.

I had lunch with a friend today—the sarcastic guy of the town square conversation I wrote about last week. We sat in the restaurant, across the table from one another, and face to face, he told me about how he feels that he is more valuable than others because of his intelligence. I still don’t know exactly what that means. He was too busy watching the cooking show behind my head to define “valuable”.

He told me that he felt as though I have multiple personality disorder because sometimes I pretend to be humble, and other times, just come across as narcissistic—who I really am. I suggested that since I strive to be humble, but often miss the mark, maybe what he’s seeing is my attempt to grow in humility. He said he didn’t think that humility was a positive goal. He fell in with a Christian “cult” a few years back, and told me that he was once the “most humble person you’d ever meet.” I replied that if you self-designate such a title, it’s probably not true. He thinks humility means pretending like you don’t have skills or worth. I think it means knowing that your skills and worth don’t make you more or less than others in the love of God.

I was sad when I left the restaurant. I was already up on North Glenstone, so, to cheer myself up, I went to AGTS to peruse the books. I’ll tell you a secret. I’m tired enough not to care what people think. I want to go to seminary. I have for a couple of years. But now, I have less than a year to decide what to do next. Seminary is back on the table.

I can’t go, though. I always feel like seminary is one of those things that should have a definite call. Even on the academic end. I know that I’d never be called into practical ministry. I am way not good enough for that. I was thinking about that last week when a pastor pushed the new believer ministries volunteer opportunities. I imagined myself with a new believer. “Are you sure? I mean, are you really, really sure? Because this is big. Like, really, really big…” Yeah, they don’t want me within 50 feet of a new believer. Unless that person is a skeptic. In which case, my particular skill set (doubt, skepticism, an impressive collection of John Shelby Spong lit) is in order.

But even on the academic end, I feel there’s something hallowed about seminary. Like I need permission. Maybe a sort of second coming, where God comes down and, identifying me by name and social security number, gives me a paper copy of the seminary application. Preferably with a “pre-acceptance” stamp on it. In gold, glitter, star dust.

I felt silly even asking for the AGTS view book. Not only seminary, but an Assemblies of God seminary. I thought I heard Jesus for a second, coughing incredulously and saying, “Excuse me?” Probably not, right? Yeah, no. Jesus doesn’t cough.

Thinking about what happens after Springfield has made me think about what’s happening in Springfield. How God is using this guy to show me the logical end of my own arrogance. How He’s dangling me in loneliness to push me past my prejudices. And how hard it’s going to be, despite my frustrations, to walk out of the sanctuary at JRA for the last time.

I’m thankful when things hurt—it’s then I know I’ve loved.

loving tough.

Charity and accountability. Yum.

Charity is a good word, isn’t it? Safe. Right. Like just talking about it is some sort of insurance against the trials of life. I feel like the minute I throw in accountability, the very second that I suggest we temper charitable impulses with consideration of personal responsibility, my life is going to fall down around me. I’m going to need all the charity I can get. And I’ll suddenly feel an irresistible urge to vote Republican.

That is, I don’t know how to (or even if I’m supposed to) balance charity and accountability. One of the many conundrums of life.

I live in fear that the second I speak against someone who needs my help, I will myself need a boatload of help. Just because. Because who am I to judge whether or not someone’s plea is valid, and deserving? How can I say that given their circumstances, I wouldn’t be in the same leaky boat?

Having said that, I don’t in general have problems judging people. So why now? Why this? Why is it so hard to love tough? Or rather, why is it so confusing to know when to love tough, and how to love tough?

Say that you have a friend who needs your help, but it seems obvious that some of the need for help is necessitated by poor choices. How do you be Christ? Do you go all out to help the person with whatever they say they need, trusting that tough love is God’s job? Or do you have “the talk?” The “accountability talk.”

And if you decide to have the talk, how can you be sure that you’re seeing the situation as it really is? And how do you decide that the person can really be held accountable for his/her poor choices? Sometimes, we don’t know what we don’t know. We need the help.

Granted, these issues are not specific to the Christian faith. All people who consider themselves under the hold of some type of morality have to deal with this. Many of our political choices are tied up in this debate. Many more of our personal choices are. But the Christian community seems to be more of a minefield. There's expectation. We all share an extreme example of sacrifice to live by. You form odd relationships with people that become advanced beyond a normal friendship by virtue of a shared, intense bond. The rules of engagement are different within the Christian community.

As I attempt to step further in, I find myself forced into these questions as an issue of practicality with fellow Christians. And the more I talk about them, the more I hear myself saying phrases I never wanted to say. Phrases like, “speaking in love,” and “accountability in our walk.” While I could hip up the terminology (maybe, “bein’ real in Christ, fo shizzle,” or “keepin’ real in Christ, fo shizzle,” or anything that ends in “…real in Christ, fo shizzle”), the concern remains the same.

I want to be loving. Sometimes, showing love is more than offering reassurances, and a place to sleep. Sometimes, it’s offering hard reality. And some other times, it might not be my place to decide between the two. What’s a Christian to do?

vision Sunday.

I am officially a fan of Vision Sunday. In fact, if I were the kind of person who started Facebook groups, I might start one called, "I am officially a fan of Vision Sunday." Right after I start the group called, "I'm looking for a Christian Democrat to date in Southwest Missouri -- Are you him?"

Out of respect for your time, I won't list all of the things I enjoyed about Vision Sunday. I will, however, list some visions of my own. What can I say? I was inspired. I thought, why not make this my own day of vision? I have doors around. I can see. Let's rock us some vision right here.

Firstly, some of the high points of 2009...

Last February, I applied to graduate school. By April, I had been accepted. And by August, I was starting my Master's degree (fee free, baby!). My brother was married in January of 2009, to a woman I am so proud and ecstatic to call "sister." Early in 2009, I realized that I had created a life I wanted to live--leaving the grittier parts of my college existence behind me, and embracing a new set of values and goals. I moved to Southwest Missouri, and so far, am making it. I joined a southern pentecostal megachurch that my heart warms to, even when my head says no. I accepted Christ in a theologically conservative manner on Halloween of 2009. I was baptized in November. In December, I rekindled a very important friendship. Not bad for 365 days.

And my vision for 2010...

I see a year filled with grace. A year in which I stop being a person who divides the church, and learn to hold my criticism in harmony with love, while always willing to put the strife aside to help the church push forward. Easier said than done. But I also see this as a year in which I learn to rely more heavily on Christ to guide such processes, to make such changes in me. This is a year to learn patience with the Church. My vision is one in which I step out to become more integrated with the Church. I want to volunteer more, to give more, and to be the kind of person I'd like to run into if I were a newcomer. I want to maintain a healthy skepticism, and use that to reach out to people who are where I am now. I want to love more deeply, hope more fully, and to trust in Christ and others in ways that I don't even now understand. My vision is one of reconciliation. That of my own, to the church; and that of the Christians, to the world.

That's my vision. What's yours?

letters from '99

I can't believe I'm going to share this. Honestly, reading it was hard. Typing it is harder. Knowing that others might read it is harder still.

I was going through a box of old cards and letters, and I found an envelope. White, with blue type, "Christ Community Church," stamped on the upper left-hand corner, and "Ashley", underlined in my youth pastor's scrawl, dead-center. Inside were a couple of letters he had written me, and a testimony I wrote then. Insights into the 14-year-old soul. In particular, was a letter containing some words I had written him a couple of months after I was saved in that church:


I'd like to start off by saying that the Missions Trip to St. Louis made a big difference in both the way that I look at things in my life and in my attitude. Oh, and I can't forget about the difference that it made in my relationship with Christ. I got out of the van today, and I looked around at all the people who had gone on the trip, now departing to go home and to continue with their lives. Their regular lives. And I have a few thoughts on what ran through my head while I looked around.

First and foremost, I realized that I had just spent an amazing and hopefully life changing three days with these people, and I would really miss being with them. Maybe all of the people who went on the trip don't feel this way, but I feel a definite bond. There were times on the trip, when I knew that we had all been brought together for a reason. Like when we were singing, I heard the voices, and I saw the faces, and I felt the joy, and I knew that right then, in that room, was the presence, the happiness, and the grace given to us by God that is so often preached about.

My only hope is that maybe, you all felt the same thing. I can't even describe what I'm talking about. The thing that's hitting my brain and heart pretty hard right now is that we need to do more. We need to reach out more and to hold each other accountable...more. Christianity is not easy, and sometimes it can be a battle. But through our faith and love for God, we are equipped to deal with that battle. We don't realize all of the things that we do that the devil is loving. I notice myself doing things that make me cringe when I think of what God is seeing. Every time we cut someone down, or we think a bad thought, or we give someone a nasty look, we are fighting in that battle.

Only, when we do those things, we are fighting on the side of the Devil. The devil has us serving him, and most of the time, we don't even put up a fight. We just quietly walk on, doing things that he has convinced us are okay. BUT THEY ARE NOT OKAY. We must constantly, as Christians, step out of the line of those who do this, and change our lives, so that we are different. We must constantly examine our selves and make sure that our actions are wholly for the glory of God. Yes, we will fall in this walk, and we will occasionally say things that are pleasing for the Devil to hear. But God is there, with all his forgiveness and love, and most importantly, strength to stand again, on His side of the battle.

I don't talk often about these early experiences. Most likely because they don't seem wholly real to me. A few short months before I wrote those words, I couldn't have given you an intelligible account of the Gospel; I didn't understand the distinction between the bible, and the roman mythology I was fond of. About two and a half years after I wrote those words, I had already become disenchanted with the Church, and felt a disconnect between what I felt Truth to be, and what my youth pastor was telling me about it.

In the re-reading, I cringe at the naivete of the thoughts of 14-year-old Ashley. Then again, maybe I should cut her some slack. She was 14.

My story is inextricably bound up in Christianity. Echoes of Christ, and His sacrifice reverberate through the years of my life, and the those of my family. I didn't know Christ until I was 14. But I sensed Him when I was only a child. I can't explain that.

Father, where is this all going?

the list.

At my first ever Wednesday night prayer meeting at JRA, I prayed for some guy named Elmer. I had gotten his prayer card, (I seem to remember thinking it had been written by his wife, if he has one) which explained that he had cancer. He needed prayer.

Sure enough, I saw his name on the cancer list that night. And thus began something of a Wednesday night ritual. Pray in groups, pray for weather, pray over cards, and then the cancer list.

Every week, I've scanned the list until I come to Elmer's name. And I pray, "Father, I don't know Elmer, I don't know what Your plans are for his health, but if You could just be close to him right now. I mean, I don't know, I'm sure You already are close to him. Just be extra close to him, You know? Please."

Some weeks, I've wondered what it would mean if Elmer's name were ever not on the list. I've guessed it'd mean one of two things.

Tonight, his name wasn't on the list.

My heart dropped out of the bottom of my feet. No, we had a thing. Me, and God, and Elmer's name in big, black print up on the screen. Please God, I prayed, don't let it be the other of the two things.

I lean over to the girl next to me and ask if there's any way to find out why someone might have been taken off the list. She asks me who was taken off. Elmer. And this is wonderful, friends. She told me that he had been taken off in a good way. Good news from the doctor.

I don't know what exactly that means. I still don't know who Elmer is.

But tonight, God loved us both.

I sat in the semi-dark of the prayer meeting, tearing up a bit, and thinking that God has known this moment since that first Wednesday way back in August. He has known the sweetness, and the rush of gratitude, and the ways in which the lives of two strangers, unknown to one another, would tangle in the light of His love.

grateful for you.

There is one thing that I'm grateful for.

That's actually a misnomer--there are several things that I'm grateful for.

But one that is particularly relevant, and that I seldom (if ever) write about.

I am grateful for the unbelievable grace I've been shown by people who go to James River. I keep writing these crazy things about them, and their church. And they keep loving me. They keep talking to me. They keep inviting me out for coffee, and welcoming me into their lives, and nodding pleasantly while I say yet more crazy stuff to their faces.

That's something. I mean, that is really something.

I said that to one of my incredibly leftist Christian friends from home, and she told me that it wouldn't really be impressive unless they actually considered and acted on the ideas I was sharing with them. Another friend ("un-churched") told me they were just being nice to "win me over."

I disagree with both of those heathens. Firstly, agreeing with me has nothing to do with love. These people have shown me love, even when they think I'm raving mad (which is exactly what I've thought of them). Secondly, who cares if they're trying to convince me of their beliefs? They care enough to share something they believe is good. Sounds OK to me. I do the same.

So I'm back to the beginning. Their love is remarkable. Whatever I think of their beliefs, or the way in which they hold them, their love is Christ-like.

I thank God for that every day. I should probably thank them as well.

I was thinking about that as I walked into the church on Sunday. After my attempted run-away last week, and the accompanying blogging, I thought, "Can I actually walk back into that building after what I wrote?" I think that a total of two people read this blog, so it's not a practical issue, more of a principal. But still.

I want to get practical for a second. If you read this blog, two people, please know that I appreciate you. I appreciate the way you've been Christ to me. And while I can't promise that I won't say more crazy things (I think there's a value to honest exploration in all its gritty glory), I can promise you that I will continue to thank God for you. That though I suck at loving you, I will try to love you better. And that no matter how wrong I might think you are, I will still try to see your point of view.

For real.

inching.

I was driving down Campbell towards my Life Group last night, and not for the first time, I suddenly thought, "Holy crap... I live in Springfield, MO."

I know these roads. I drive them. I go to school here. There is a place, with all of my stuff in it. People know me, I know people. I was baptized in a pentecostal megachurch! What the what?!?!?

Sometimes, it feels like someone else is living my life. Because this can't possibly be the life that I'm living. Like, me. Ashley. Yeah, no. This is not my life. It can't be.

And yet, I defy logic once again. This is my life.

God, what are You doing?

I don't understand. I don't understand why I'm here. Why I'm continually being dunked, it feels, just to come back up sputtering, and only inches closer to shore.

I don't need to know. But I do need wisdom. I do need to see You, to discern what is You. That's my prayer.