Spring 2017
First, I confess my anxiety at even putting down what I think. I imagine what people will say. I think of all the people who have probably said it better than I can. But oh well, I have to get it out.
First, I confess my anxiety at even putting down what I think. I imagine what people will say. I think of all the people who have probably said it better than I can. But oh well, I have to get it out.
Some of my elders bristle at this kind of language. Heretical poetic nonsense! Orthodoxy is safety! Doubt is a slippery slope to hell! Well, maybe their criticisms are harsher in my head than they would be in real life.
I've made a decision to venture out. I've been drawn forth by love and curiosity. The inside of the old frame has become a slow suffocating torture, and I have to get out before I stab some innocent bystander, my fellow faithful churchgoers.
The bystanders are indeed innocent. Their Republican charismatic evangelical framework is working for them and they seem content. It used to work for me, it just doesn't anymore. Part of me wants to tell them about the view beyond--Science is so interesting!--but I don't want to upset them.
But I have to let some people know that I'm making changes that will affect them, and not all of them will like it. WHY? Why do you need this change, it doesn't make sense. You're better off sticking with the tribe.
Rob Bell has given me courage: "Whenever someone tells me they want to leave church, I say, 'Yes! Go! Explore! We need more adventurers to go questing for truth. Come back and tell us all about what you saw and learned." (Some of my elders think Rob Bell, another heretic, is dangerous. I hesitate to credit him.) But, how generous! Can you imagine if pastors and leaders let people go joyfully and asked them to come back with wisdom?
I was feeling guilty about leaving church again, and a little resentful toward people who caution me against questing. So I watched Moana again today. God, I feel it: Moana is torn between her love for her people and her love for the sea. She feels called to go on a voyage, but her family insists her place is on land. I love my church family. But the answers I need to find are not in the safety of the village.
Later that year...
Well, I'm still questing and questioning. Figuring myself out. I don't know if I'll ever go back to evangelicalism, but I haven't let go of God. I am still wrestling with him.
Last year I became very depressed, seemingly out of the blue. I started thinking about death often, not suicide, but how short and meaningless my life is. I went forward for prayer at church, but I felt increasingly distant on the inside. Last year's election, in which most of my fellow churchgoers supported Donald Trump, didn't help. I talked my husband into a fabulous visit to France to see a sweet old friend of mine, and even on that trip, I felt bleak. Then I decided to seek real help, but it took another six months of emptiness and misery to make an appointment with a good therapist (who is also a pastor, a pastor with a doctorate).
The therapist immediately dug into my automatic relationship patterns--performance, fear of rejection, placating, to name a few. I'm making progress. I am no longer gripped by a primal terror of abandonment if my husband leaves the room during a conflict--that was a big breakthrough for me. Although some days I feel like a lonely little girl, I am working on going through pain, instead of trying to avoid it. It's better to admit I feel lonely and scared, have a good cry, and start over tomorrow.
I used all my wrong patterns in my relationship with God, but it wasn't working. Paul Young said it took him 50 years to wipe the face of his father off the face of God. I learned to be a good girl for my parents, to support them through the terrible pain of divorce. I tried to be a good girl for God and not ask for too much, but at some point the deep doubt and pain has to come up.
Anyway, I decided that if I am always chasing God like an insecure girlfriend nervous about disappointing him, if I'm always on a mental roller coaster of he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not, if I hype myself up trying to feel loved, do ministry hoping for approval, and love my neighbor out of guilt... If I keep spinning my wheels, I'm not giving him a chance to show himself as the First Mover, the Grace Initiator, or the Good Shepherd. So I have given up, again. My current posture is, Here I am, God. Please find me.
Later that year...
Well, I'm still questing and questioning. Figuring myself out. I don't know if I'll ever go back to evangelicalism, but I haven't let go of God. I am still wrestling with him.
Last year I became very depressed, seemingly out of the blue. I started thinking about death often, not suicide, but how short and meaningless my life is. I went forward for prayer at church, but I felt increasingly distant on the inside. Last year's election, in which most of my fellow churchgoers supported Donald Trump, didn't help. I talked my husband into a fabulous visit to France to see a sweet old friend of mine, and even on that trip, I felt bleak. Then I decided to seek real help, but it took another six months of emptiness and misery to make an appointment with a good therapist (who is also a pastor, a pastor with a doctorate).
The therapist immediately dug into my automatic relationship patterns--performance, fear of rejection, placating, to name a few. I'm making progress. I am no longer gripped by a primal terror of abandonment if my husband leaves the room during a conflict--that was a big breakthrough for me. Although some days I feel like a lonely little girl, I am working on going through pain, instead of trying to avoid it. It's better to admit I feel lonely and scared, have a good cry, and start over tomorrow.
I used all my wrong patterns in my relationship with God, but it wasn't working. Paul Young said it took him 50 years to wipe the face of his father off the face of God. I learned to be a good girl for my parents, to support them through the terrible pain of divorce. I tried to be a good girl for God and not ask for too much, but at some point the deep doubt and pain has to come up.
Anyway, I decided that if I am always chasing God like an insecure girlfriend nervous about disappointing him, if I'm always on a mental roller coaster of he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not, if I hype myself up trying to feel loved, do ministry hoping for approval, and love my neighbor out of guilt... If I keep spinning my wheels, I'm not giving him a chance to show himself as the First Mover, the Grace Initiator, or the Good Shepherd. So I have given up, again. My current posture is, Here I am, God. Please find me.
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