Living in the Tension

So, two weeks into Living all by my Lonesome. Verdict? What the hell was I worried about. This. Is. Awesome. For real, I should have done this long ago. My house rocks (yes, even the purpley-grey on the walls).

In my Embrace It post, I alluded to the fact that I have been questioning aspects of my faith - a statement which has garnered some questions from family and friends. Fair enough. This is a public blog, so the purpose is for it to be read, and that is bound to include (possibly exclusively) my family and friends. Therefore, if I'm going to reveal some of what I'm working through, I should be ready to talk about it, in theory. Problem is, I have very few answers at this point and struggle to not just get defensive right away or else just downplay the situation to avoid having to provide answers I don't have. But the truth is, I'm living in the tension of being immersed in an extremely Christian context and questioning whether that Christianity is really something that I want to be associated with.

I think I've come to the conclusion that it's not actually my faith that I am questioning - that being my belief in Jesus and my security in His love. Rather, it's my theology that I'm essentially deconstructing, because over the past few years I've become increasingly uncomfortable with the dissonance between the intolerance shown by Christianity and the love that Jesus lived.

Simply put, it's not Jesus I have a problem with, it's the religion of Christianity.

And the church.

Did I just say that? That's a risky admission, given the context of my profession and the family I belong to, but I'm determined to embrace this time in my life, this deconstructing of my theology, and that includes being honest about the fact that I'm a little bit angry at the church. I'm angry at its narrow-mindedness, at its habit of showing non-love to people who believe differently, at its destructive ability to profoundly hurt people who desperately need to know that they are loved and valued just as they are. On the grand scale of things, I have not been hurt by the church nearly as deeply as others; but that's not to say that I haven't been hurt. I'm a woman and churches tell me that it means I can't be a leader. And that hurts me. Which manifests itself by me being pissed off, quite frankly.

It's difficult for me right now to separate "Christianity" and "the church." "The church" is the living extension of "Christianity," and I see both doing a lot of harm in our world, all in the name of Jesus.

Does this mean I will never return to church? I don't think so. In fact, I think I'll probably return to it quite soon enough, but at the moment I'm taking a little breather (but, hey, at least I'm using my Sunday mornings to think about what my faith means to me, right?) I'm using this time to do some reading about theology and Jesus' ministry and progressive Christianity (which is sometimes really overwhelming for the conservative Christian girl that I was raised as). And when the tension gets too thick, I walk away for a little bit, just to give it a chance to ease off to a bearable level, and then I return. Because I'm embracing it, this tension. I don't think it's a bad thing to deconstruct what we believe every once in awhile. And that's what really tells me that I'm no longer that conservative Christian girl I once was -in my experience, conservative Christians are typically quite threatened by questions to the fundamentals of their theology (I certainly was).

I'm embracing it, people. Join me.

A house, a home

Embracing It wasn't easy this week. I melted down on Tuesday and was convinced I couldn't live with the purple on the walls...and there may have been a moment where I desperately wished that I could call this whole thing off. But an hour and a half chat/cry with my sister on the phone, a little bit of sleep and the support of my friends diverted the crisis and here I am. In my new house. In my home.

I'm on my couch, in my new living room, drinking a beer and eating celebratory chips, listening to the sounds of a new building, and relishing the fact that this place is all mine.

I can't wait to go to bed.

Embrace It: 2012

My friend was telling me about his buddy who declares a motto each year. Last year was "Why Not?"; this year's is "Don't Die" (you know, the whole Mayan calendar/end of the world thing). I don't make New Year's Resolutions, because they are just one more thing to fail at, but the idea of a Motto for the Year intrigued me and I decided I could get on board with that.

While "Don't Die" is a good motto for everyone, mine sprang out of the flurry of change happening in my life at the moment. Change can be very hard for most people, especially me, so my anxiety level has been somewhere between "high" and "overdrive" for going on a month now. I'm moving into an apartment on my own next weekend and we've spent the last couple weeks getting the new place ready. This weekend was painting weekend and we were going for a really awesome shade of grey on the walls, which turns out is pretty purple in some (most?) lighting. The friend that was painting with me was just like "you know what? embrace the purple" (really, we were pretty committed at this point). So that's when my Motto for the Year struck me:

Embrace It.

My walls are kinda purple (when that's the very color I said I didn't want)? Embrace it.

I'm a little terrified to live on my own? Embrace it.

My new fridge makes gurgling noises that sound a little bit like an alien talking? Embrace it. (And name him "Alex")

I'm questioning many aspects of my faith, theology, ideology and practice? Embrace it.

You don't want to date me? Embrace it.

Pinterest has captured me in its obsessive grip? Embrace it. (AND PIN ALL THE THINGS!!)

So, no resolution for me. But I am going to Embrace It this year, as best I can. Which sometimes might not be very well at all. But...failing at Embrace It? Well, I'll probably embrace that too.

On connection, belonging and friendship

Lately I have realized (or perhaps re-realized) how lonely I am for significant relationships in my life. My decision to leave Winnipeg for Abbotsford has been overwhelmingly positive. And yet. And yet, I cannot deny the sacrifice I made in leaving my community there. I use the word community intentionally; I'm not speaking of the city or neighborhood I lived in, rather the community of people I belonged to. And belong is the key word.

I miss belonging to a group of people.

I miss the peace that comes with spending time with people you know want to spend time with you.

I miss knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am accepted, flaws and all.

I miss never having to wonder if I will sit home alone on Friday night (unless I've chosen to do so).

I miss community.

My job came with an instant community, but I have an urge to call it "faux community." There are definite instances of true connections, true communities being formed, but in reality, work community is different from life community. I miss life community - literally, those people you just do life with.

A good friend of mine has this type of community and this has become his "church." It's not church in the same way we normally think of, but I cannot deny that this group of people is truly a church community. And I desperately want to be a part of it. My eyes fill with tears and my heart fills with longing when I observe the community shared between these people.

It's shocking how the lack of belonging, and the subsequent longing that comes from observing others who have what you want, quickly throws you into a strange, scary and sad state of discomfort. Insecurities I thought I had long since dealt with have resurfaced with surprising force.

Am I cool enough to be friends with these people?

Do they really want to spend time with me or are they simply taking pity on me?

Am I pretty enough?

Am I skinny enough?

Am I smart enough?

Am I enough?

I'm not used to being on the outside. I'm not used to worrying about finding acceptance from people anymore. I'm thrown back to early college days when I was so eager to find the "lifelong friends" that we are promised as a result of Bible School that I alienated people with my neediness. Am I still that needy? Have I really not changed in the past 10 years?

I have, of course. I now understand that deep friendships take time. I understand that deep friendships have ups and downs, but the downs aren't usually the end of the road. I understand that deep friendships create, and perhaps need, space for silence.I understand that deep friendship does not mean you have to agree on everything, rather that you are able to have honest, open conversations about life, love, faith, and everything in between. Deep friendship is about walking through life together.

Life without deep, significant friendships is hard. And lonely. It's where I am right now (although perhaps it's changing?). And while it's uncomfortable and painful at times, I'm ok with it (for a short period of time), because it reminds me that I am real, that I am human, that there is meaning to the life I am living, that I have worth, that I have needs and that those needs are ok, and that there are probably others who are in this place too.

Reflections on another year gone

It is way past my bedtime. Seriously, I should be in bed and I will regret this tomorrow morning at 5 am when my alarm goes off and the gym makes me its slave for an hour. But it's my birthday and I'm 27 now which means I can do whatever I want.

Birthdays lose their excitement as the years pass. I'm not yet at the age of dreading birthdays (although that age is coming in t-minus 3 years...), but gone are the days of excited butterflies in anticipation also. I actually forgot a number of times this week that the big day was approaching. And the day itself was so insanely busy that I probably would have forgotten there was anything special about it if Facebook hadn't let me know every 30 seconds that someone else had wished me a Happy Birthday (seriously, there's nothing like a birthday to make a girl feel loved).

Overall, 26 was a good year. Adjusted to some major change in my life, and while it was a bit a of a battle at some points, I think I've done it fairly gracefully. I think I've mellowed even more over the past year, and grown remarkably in my ability to love and understand myself. I'm more willing to own my mistakes and my successes, more ready to admit my weaknesses and take credit for my strengths. I hope God has shaped me to be more compassionate, giving and graceful. Even more so, I hope to be able to repeat that last sentence in 365 days.

I have a feeling that 27 is going to be a good year. There is hope and there is peace.

Have a Laugh or Three

He he he...these are funny.

Let Me Tell You...

Let me tell you about some of the things that happened today....

...a student very kindly asked me how I was doing this morning and tears rushed to my eyes astonishingly quickly as I tried to explain that I was a little bit tired.

...I found myself wondering if the student sitting across from me in my office could see that my eyes were completely glazed over and that I was really struggling to focus on what he was saying.

...my phone rang this afternoon and I whispered "no" and it stopped ringing.

...I was in the middle of writing an email and I closed my eyes and they stayed that way longer than they should have.

...I knew I needed to leave when I reached the point where hearing one more student ask if I was in my office was going to bring me to tears.

Two more days, friends. Two more days. Then I sleep. I'm tired. I'm happy, and thrilled to be doing what I'm doing, but I'm tired.

The Help

I've just finished reading this book. It seems as though every other woman in North America is also reading it and now we're all waiting for the movie version to come out sometime next week. And I needed to write about it. Because it was a deeply impacting book for me, and I've been dumbfounded at others' reactions to it.

A co-worker asked me the other day "Have you read The Help?" to which I replied that I was in the process, and she exclaimed, "It's so funny!" I think she meant "funny" not in a ha-ha kind of way, but more funny in a delightful way.

A friend on Facebook posted on her status "reading The Help! So cute!" I stared at it a moment...."cute?"

I found the book deeply disturbing. Were there humorous expressions in it? Certainly. Were there some cute stories within? Absolutely. I very much enjoyed reading it. But I would not use the words "funny" or "cute" to describe it. I would use words like....no, I don't even know what words to use. "Heartbreaking," maybe?

I should insert here that I really DID enjoy the book. I was proud of the courage of those characters, I did find their stories delightful at times, and did giggle at parts of it. I DID enjoy it and I want to see the movie, but...

The fact that our history includes the horrific belief in racial segregation breaks my heart. It does. That men and women, who share my skin colour, honestly believed that others with a darker shade of skin were "less than" and "dirty" and "diseased" and couldn't bear to share a bathroom or a dining table with them makes my heart ache. Who do we think we are?

What is even more heartbreaking is that despite the fact that laws and many North American cultural views have drastically changed in the past 50 years, racial discrimination is still alive and very well in our country and our world. Who do we think we are, that the colour of our skin makes us above another? Who do we think we are?

What makes me even more angry is that this is still happening in our churches. No, not between races, at least not in my church. No, here the segregation, the unbalance, the inequality, is still caught up in our body parts. Because I have the body parts of a female, I am not allowed to take formal leadership roles in many MB churches in this area. Because I am a woman, I do not have the wisdom, or the leadership abilities, or the blessing of God to add my voice to church governance issues or to stand behind a pulpit and preach. Who do they think they are?

While most MB churches in Canada have come a long way on this issue over the past 20 years, it appears that the churches in BC are actually moving backwards on it. A prominent church in my area, the biggest MB church in the city, one of the largest in the BC conference, has just pulled all of their women off the leadership council. It's asinine and makes me feel ill.

Where does this come from, this proclivity towards inequality? It doesn't come from God, of that I am certain. God has not created some of his children as less important or less human than others, because of their skin colour or their anatomy. This does not come from God.

We should be ashamed.

Bathroom Stall Wisdom

You know how sometimes there is writing on the inside of public bathroom stalls, usually put there by super classy girls who want the world to know that L+B=Love 4ever? Tonight I was in a bathroom that had a fair amount of graffiti, and someone had written:

Shut up

+

Love yourself

That struck me as profound. It kind of reminded me of that comedy sketch where the guy is a therapist, and his approach to counselling his patients was to yell at them to "STOP IT!" This bathroom stall message was somewhat like a verbal slap upside the head, "Shut up and just love yourself already."

Message received, super-classy-girl-who-writes-on-the-walls-of-public-bathroom-stalls. Thanks for being so obnoxiously, eloquently right.

In Pursuit

I completed my first hike today. I don't think I've every really hiked before...at least not like this. Certainly not in my adult life. Guys, I'm pretty proud of myself, I can't even lie to you. I've lived in BC for 11 months now and have done very little to utilize the gorgeous playground we've got here. My goal was/still is to get into hiking this summer; fits in well with my overall goal of living a more active and healthy life.

The hike we did today was labelled "moderate," (which for me was quite a workout...starting with an easy hike didn't really occur to me) but was relatively short (3.4 km return). It took us about 50 minutes up and about 40 down. My dad asked me this evening "did you guys get wet?" (because the forecast was pretty rainy today) and my reply was "nope! At least not with anything that my body wasn't producing." We sweated good and hard. That's one of the best feelings, I think.

Going up was hard for me, I can't lie. I'm not in awesome shape yet, and I was the slow one in the group. It's frustrating because I don't like to be that one in the group that has to stop to breathe, but my friends were gracious and encouraging. I only contemplated stopping once and it wasn't very seriously. I was pretty determined to conquer that mountain.

And I did. What a feeling. I felt like I had accomplished something important for my self-esteem, my motivation, my sense of determination. I did it. And I want to do it again.

This is what hard work looks like.

And this is what victory looks like.

You can all pat me on the back now :)

Simple Things

Yesterday, two things gave me immense joy, as I was babysitting the cutest kids in the world...my nieces and nephew.

1. I was putting the girls down for a nap and as I put Morgan into her crib, she started crying and saying she wanted to "walk." I was somewhat confused and kept telling her, "no it's time to sleep, Morgs." She kept crying and wanting to "walk" so finally I said "fine, I'll let you out and you can walk around the room." She walks over to the rocking chair and looks up at me expectantly. The light bulb went off in my head, "Oh you want to rock!" Now that I can do. So I sit down with her in the rocking chair, she lays her head on my chest and we rock. Life seriously does not get any better than that. Every time I said, "Ok Morgie, it's time to go to sleep now," she would reply, "I just want to walk a little bit..." I'm sure I "walked" with her much longer than her parents normally do...but Auntie Dana is pretty much mush for that little girl.

2. As the girls were sleeping, I got to hang out with Caleb (who just turned 5...how did THAT happen?). He was laying on the couch with me and I kept poking him, and every time he would just giggle helplessly. If you haven't heard his giggle, you won't get why this gave me so much joy, but he's seriously got the best giggle ever. I'm grinning just thinking about it right now.

Days like these remind me why I uprooted my life to be closer to my family.

I Love...

I love...

...seeing my nieces' and nephews' faces light up as I walk in the room and they launch themselves into my arms.

...the feel of new books in my hands.

...authors who can string words together like poetry (but not actual poetry).

...anything with a black and white pattern.

...meaningful conversations.

...the mountains and the prairies equally.

...Sunday afternoon naps.

...the point of a relationship where you're so comfortable together that you can sit side by side without needing to talk.

...a good cup of coffee.

...getting the giggles - the kind that you can't get under control and that usually hit at the most inappropriate times.

...driving down the highway on a sunny day, singing along to good music.

...finding new musicians to be obsessed with.

...knowing that I have been chosen by God.

...sitcoms that make me laugh out loud.

In Which No One Wins

We can all remember where we were when news of 9/11 broke. Nearly 10 years later we have news that the mastermind of that attack was killed by a US covert operation.

There were news reports last night that celebrations took place outside the White House and at Ground Zero, that justice had been served. I can understand why people say this, "an eye for an eye" and all that. But my heart was heavy last night. Was justice really served by taking another life? Why do we think that we can serve justice at all in this situation?

Was God pleased yesterday that bin Laden had been killed? Forgive me, but no. I am not saying that any of what that man had done in his life was pleasing to God, but somehow I don't think that rejoicing over the murder of a human being is any more pleasing to Him. I think that God weeps over the state of His children; we are all so wicked and filled with evil. We kill each other and are hateful and vengeful. I think God weeps.

"...as surely as I live, declares the Sovereign Lord, I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live." Ezekiel 33:11

I don't think justice was served; I don't think justice was able to be served in this situation, at least not by us. I don't think anyone wins here. And I think God weeps.

This is for Sam because he found my blog

Today I was driving home from work and I passed a girl playing with one of these

These were THE thing to have when I was in grade 2, which was *ahem* 20 years ago.

Blue skies and sunshine

It's amazing how the world looks different when the sun is shining. Like, yes, in the literal sense of "hey! those trees are actually green" and "wow! there's mountains over yonder!" But also in every other sense too. Like, "hallelujah, God has remembered us here in the valley and has given us a break from the gloom" and "hey! I'm not actually depressed, my body has simply depleted its Vitamin D tank about three months ago!"

*I'm all about le italics today. They are helping me add emphasis to the point.

Life's good, folks. School is wrapping up and this is the first year that I'm actually sad about that. I'm not burned out this year! In fact, I find myself regretting the fact that I haven't gotten to know more students! Do you hear the different tune I'm singing from the last two years??

In other news, I had dinner with the fam-jam tonight and my mom made these hella good potatoes with bits of bacon on them and I was all "Mom! These are awesome! How do you make such awesomeness?!" And she proceeded to tell me that once you are done frying the bits of bacon, you mix up a bunch of crap in the bacon fat and put it all over the potatoes. Guys, my stomach likes it not. Bacon fat is so not meant to be eaten.

It is what it is

Not sure about any of you, but I don't like things to be beyond my control. I like things wrapped up in a neat little box, properly labelled and defined and put on a shelf; I always know where the box is and can easily identify it because of it's proper label. So when there are things that refuse to be boxed and labelled and shelved, I get mad.

I've spent some time being mad this week. Maybe much time.

So because I can do nothing else, I have put it into a damn box (so there!), labelled it "it is what it is" and put it high up on a shelf where it will hopefully get forgotten.

It just occurred to me that by "putting it on a shelf" I mean "putting it at the foot of the cross." An appropriate place for it, I think. The only place for it, I suppose.

Say What?

Today I saw "spring bulbs" for sale at Superstore.

It's February.

I frikkin' love this part of the country.

To Be Known

There is joy in being a pastor's kid. I say that without sarcasm. To be sure, there are disadvantages, but there is also an upside.

I became a pastor's kid later than average - I was 15 when my dad took his first church - so I really didn't have the experience of growing up in a fish bowl as many other PKs do. My dad also put me (and I speak in terms of "me" rather than "we" or "us" because my siblings were both out of the house by the time Dad went into ministry) first, before church or conference responsibilities. I very clearly remember him looking me in the eye and saying, "if you don't want to do this, we won't" when our family was in the decision-making process of taking that first church. It meant moving to a different province and I desperately didn't want that. If I had been a more selfish teenager, we would have stayed where we were. The knowledge, though, that I was more important than the church was important.

We've also been blessed with churches that haven't placed many demands on me as the pastor's daughter. I didn't feel judged or watched or held to a different standard. This was good because I had made it pretty clear that they wouldn't get much out of me.

There is, however, a certain level of celebrity when you're a pastor's kid and it gets worse when you're a grown-up pastor's kid. People are somewhat fascinated by us at my parent's newest church; they know details about us, but don't really know us.

The upside of this is that people know who I am there. Now that I am new in town and looking to make connections, it's been nice to walk into that church and have people talk to me. I can walk into and back out of other churches without anyone saying a word to me. So it's nice to walk into a church where people make an effort to make me feel welcome. It's nice to be known.

All that said, though, I miss my friends and my home church deeply - today more than any other I think...

Laugh til You Cry

**Make sure you pause the music player first

Haunted

I have stayed up half the night reading - something I haven't done in a very long time - and I can't sleep yet for fear that what I've read will manifest itself in my dreams. So I will write it down, even though the tears aren't yet dry on my cheeks, and hope that this keeps it from haunting me tonight.

This book was not easy to read and yet I couldn't force myself to put it down. I usually read before bed, but I found myself thinking about the story throughout the day. The story is "fictional," but is one of those stories that rocks you to the core because you know it is an echo of someone's reality - lived long ago, buried deep, but not forgotten. Never forgotten.

It was a novel that followed an 81 year old woman as she slowly - painfully - told her daughters the story of her survival through the Great Terror of the 1930s in Russia and World War II. Did you know that more than 1 million Russians died there? Murdered. 70% of them starved to death. The horrors of mothers placing their children on evacuation trains, not knowing that the trains were heading into the heart of the German invasion. The horrors of mothers watching their children waste away from lack of food and knowing there was nothing they could do to stop it. The horrors.

There are thousands of stories like the "fictional" one I just finished reading. My grandparents and great-grandparents had these stories, maybe not these exact stories, but versions of it from elsewhere in Europe during that awful time. I know they do because I have heard murmurs of the handicapped brother and son who was left behind all those years ago - a memory so locked away that I have heard mention of it only once and even then only after my grandparents had passed away. This history is also my history. That knowledge is heavy and so is the thankfulness that I was not the one who had to survive it; but the fact that someone DID survive it is why I am here today.

What an amazing, and terrible, terrible book. The kind that makes you keep turning the pages, that changes you, but that you never want to pick up again.