sold out.

Today, I am bowled over by His goodness.

I'm on a roll this week, with the thankfulness, because Sunday marks nine months to the day I first walked into James River. So, more often than usual, I've been thinking about what has happened since last August.

I've been thinking about how I moved to this town in which I'd spent a total of 2 or 3 hours, knowing no one, without expectation, and wondering who I'd become. Thinking about this interesting little faith I had, and how small my god was. About how grateful I am to come to know how big my God is.

Sometimes, throughout the day, I'll be thinking about life, and God, and I'll hear myself saying "Yes, God, You are so good. Thank You." It always reminds me of the gently hissed prayers of those at church, said aloud at times I hadn't been accustomed to hearing prayer aloud.

I realize that this blog has become a little kinder, a little gentler. A lot less...divisive. I struggle with that, because I have strong opinions, and so many of them. I wonder if I've lost my voice, as I've silenced my words.

It has been an interesting journey. At first, I believed strongly that no one should be silent, in or out of the church. Non-Christians need to hear what really happens, so they know it's not an unrealistic faith, and Christians of all stripes need to hash it out so they catch unTruths. Then, I believed that not all things were beneficial to speak or hear--that non-Christians can get hurt in the crossfire, and so much of what is hashed out is inconsequential. Now, I'm a little past that even, as I see Christians getting hurt in disagreements about...nothing, about trash, about the refuse of the church agenda, stuff that doesn't need discussing.

I was thinking about this last night as I spotted across the sanctuary a friend of mine who feels a little burned by church. He disagrees with some things the church does, and feels let down by the faith of those around him, and as I eye-stalked him from a few rows back, I wondered, so what's the answer? Given that there is some validity to his concerns, what should he do?

My answer to that question comes at some discomfort to me. I've been thinking about his problem, and the part that makes me most sad is the behind-the-scenes discussions that are going on around the issues. I wonder if his discontentedness, and the fact that he has gathered a little support for himself around it, are healthy, and of course, I know neither is. I catch myself thinking something shocking. Though he has a fabulous heart, and an incredible faith, his choice to discuss the issue with anyone beside God, a pastor, and a best friend, is a harmful one to the church.

And this is where I find my friction. I think twice about most everything I post now, and in fact, have a number of never-published posts, because I worry that what I say will harm a church and a God I love. But I still see things I don't agree with--not just in the church, but out in the blogosphere, and the twitter hub. And I think, "Someone needs to say something about that. That's just wrong." But then I get nervous. Can I say that? Should I? What's the best way to to deal with my dissension?

And the answer comes back...live. Live the life you think is right. Show grace to what you think is wrong. Do what attracted you to this church to begin with. You can blog, and talk, and rally all you'd like. About that blogger you think is vicious. Or that megapastor who said some weird stuff. You can even do it "in love", and your voice will be out there, joining the din. But no one is changed by words alone, least of all by critical, unknowledgeable words. Love. Love ferociously.

I do have many, and strong, opinions, but it surprises me that that's not as true as it once was. Or maybe it's true in a different way. The love has softened me. Somehow made me less quick to judge (though I'm still pretty quick). And the overwhelming good I've seen done in this church has caused me to still most of my criticism.

In a sense, I am choosing to push imperfectly forward, past the dissent, because I love this church, and I trust the vision. So I wonder if I've lost my voice, if I have become a follower, or sell-out, and I ask, "If you don't speak out on things, who will?" But then, "If no one does, who cares?"

I am refining my focus. Ultimately, it's not "the church" that suffers when I elevate the trash. It's people. People who need a hand towards God. And at one point, I was one of them (in a greater sense, we are all "one" of them, always). I spoke and wrote as one of them, and that was okay. But at some point, I think it stops being okay. We have to choose more carefully our battles, and change the way we fight them.

It's funny how one Truth changes everything.