Last week was rough.
Between the attacks I got from people threatened by my talk about baptism (via e-mail and FB), my asthma flaring up, my anxiety rising, I sunk.
I worried about what others thought of me. I worried about other people's beliefs.
I felt under attack in more ways than one.
I cried. A lot. I wasn't myself. Last night, it culminated in finding myself up, at 2 am, sobbing, and reading Psalm 27 on my phone.
Had it not been for some friends who educated me on how and why this exact thing is happening to me right now, I'd have thought I was losing my mind.
One hour of yoga helped a lot this morning, but that was nothing compared to tonight.
Because I went to church this evening and the pastor spoke on exactly what I'm going through. Through the Holy Spirit, he got right into my head. Again. I think my eyes were full of tears more often than not during that hour. I walked out of that service with more peace than I would have ever thought possible after the week I'd endured.
Some things can't be explained through science or coincidence.
Anyone could say that it's coincidence that the pastor talked about keeping faith in the midst of those who disagree with you. That him talking about, to a tee, exactly what I'm struggling with has got to happen sometime.
But this is not the first time that's happened. Or the fifth. Or the tenth.
And tonight, when our pastor said something that made my friend Elizabeth and I gasp, because we had just been talking about it two minutes before walking into the service? Just another coincidence? Sorry, I can't chalk it up to that. I just can't.
While I can promise that this blog won't change from a mommy blog to a Jesus-freak blog, I can't promise that I'm going to talk any less about my faith from here on out. The funny L and G stories and randomness will keep popping up around here. Hopefully, I'm going to have some awesome before and after pictures of our new house coming as soon as next week. I've got an ADD-related post swirling around in my very distracted brain.
But the spiritual posts will keep on keeping on. I've gotten lots of emails this week from people who share my beliefs and those who don't. The vast majority, even from those of very different faiths, or lack thereof, have been supportive, and kind, and for that, I am so very grateful. And I feel renewed again.
Plus, as our pastor said tonight, if Jesus is this big, how can we not talk about him?
Namaste'.
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
It's my party and I'll celebrate if I want to.
I want to post this on Facebook, where I'm getting the backlash, but I'm not a fan of good ole FB drama, so the ole saying, blogging is cheaper than therapy? It applies again.
Wowzers. I posted about getting baptized yesterday here and on Facebook, and although everyone here and on Twitter was supportive (even those who don't share my beliefs), I got some hateful comments, messages, and status updates from others regarding my faith.
I'd just like to say that those people, who are so offended by my excitement over a new life, are completely hypocritical. They don't want me to talk about baptism or my love for God, but they think it's okay to talk about their beliefs and how wrong I am. It goes both ways.
You know what baptism isn't? It's not a ticket into heaven. It's not a conversion from Catholicism. It's not me judging others for not having a relationship with God. If it were, I'd be the hypocritical one. Because if you look back just a few years on this blog, you can find a post about me being afraid to walk into a church for fear of lightning striking me. And even after I joined and fell in love with my church, I was seeking. Questioning. Doubting.
So let it be said right here that I judge no one for their beliefs. I might pray for them, but I don't judge. I've been there, for a long time.
But asking me not to talk about something that has made such a profound impact on my life? It's almost impossible. It's like asking others not to talk about the dream job they landed. Or their children.
Because in the past, I didn't drive down the street, marveling at the creation that God gifted us. I didn't know to pray when overwhelmed, finding that it would bring me a sense of peace. I didn't see God everywhere I looked.
I was a mess. Anxious. Confused. Hurt. Angry.
Are things perfect now that I've found Jesus? Nope. Do I still lose my temper with my kids? Yep. Do I still cry in the kitchen when the dishes are piling up and I ruined the rice and G is screaming? It happened last night.
But this life change I'm going through? It's phenomenal. Literally.
I'd apologize for continuing to talk about it, but the truth is, I'm not sorry. If you don't want to read it, move along. And if something strikes a nerve in you, perhaps there's a reason. I wondered why the baptism videos made me cry before I ever stepped foot into my church. It was God whispering to me.
So excuse me while I continue to celebrate.
Namaste'.
Wowzers. I posted about getting baptized yesterday here and on Facebook, and although everyone here and on Twitter was supportive (even those who don't share my beliefs), I got some hateful comments, messages, and status updates from others regarding my faith.
I'd just like to say that those people, who are so offended by my excitement over a new life, are completely hypocritical. They don't want me to talk about baptism or my love for God, but they think it's okay to talk about their beliefs and how wrong I am. It goes both ways.
You know what baptism isn't? It's not a ticket into heaven. It's not a conversion from Catholicism. It's not me judging others for not having a relationship with God. If it were, I'd be the hypocritical one. Because if you look back just a few years on this blog, you can find a post about me being afraid to walk into a church for fear of lightning striking me. And even after I joined and fell in love with my church, I was seeking. Questioning. Doubting.
So let it be said right here that I judge no one for their beliefs. I might pray for them, but I don't judge. I've been there, for a long time.
But asking me not to talk about something that has made such a profound impact on my life? It's almost impossible. It's like asking others not to talk about the dream job they landed. Or their children.
Because in the past, I didn't drive down the street, marveling at the creation that God gifted us. I didn't know to pray when overwhelmed, finding that it would bring me a sense of peace. I didn't see God everywhere I looked.
I was a mess. Anxious. Confused. Hurt. Angry.
Are things perfect now that I've found Jesus? Nope. Do I still lose my temper with my kids? Yep. Do I still cry in the kitchen when the dishes are piling up and I ruined the rice and G is screaming? It happened last night.
But this life change I'm going through? It's phenomenal. Literally.
I'd apologize for continuing to talk about it, but the truth is, I'm not sorry. If you don't want to read it, move along. And if something strikes a nerve in you, perhaps there's a reason. I wondered why the baptism videos made me cry before I ever stepped foot into my church. It was God whispering to me.
So excuse me while I continue to celebrate.
Namaste'.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Big, gigantic, exciting news!
Both times that I became pregnant, I had a cute idea of how to tell my husband that we were having a baby. I like to think of myself as pretty creative and I had ideas flowing through my brain. And then I peed on the sticks and my ADD-fueled impulsivity kicked right in. I told him RIGHT! THEN! (In G's case, I actually sent him a text to say that I needed him to bring home another test, because the 5th test I took finally had a second faint line and oh my gosh maybe I was pregnant!)
I never told my parents in a cute way either. I was going to see my mom the night I found out I was pregnant with G but unable to wait, I called her and screeched that L was going to be a big brother.
When I have news that excites me, I scream it from the rooftops.
So on the night before Easter, I was serving at church, and my friend Elizabeth walked in the room, I should have known what I was going to do. Elizabeth has been an integral part of my faith journey. She's held my hand literally and figuratively. She's answered questions, some of which were beyond random. She's listened to my doubts. She has prayed for me and with me.
When I saw her that night, I did it again. I had ideas of how I wanted to share some big news with her, but I ran up to her and blurted it out, saying something like, "I have to tell you something and I think that Easter is the perfect time because (insert 'squeee!) B and I are getting baptized and will you please be my water witness?"
And then we dissolved into a tear-filled hug.
I sent her a text later apologizing for my impulsivity and she responded kindly as she always does, explaining that heartfelt and excited is far better than cute and planned.
Today, I filled out the registration to get baptized next month. Baptism at our church is so, so cool. They flood the field in our backyard and all the pastors help immerse hundreds of people proclaiming that they are His. I went last year and cried and cried. And then I cried harder when I looked over at L to see him crying too. But it's powerful, touching, awe-inspiring stuff.
I plan on writing a few posts about how our church feels about baptism; why we don't baptize babies (or anyone under third grade, for that matter), what a water witness is, and why I feel the need to be baptized even though I was baptized as an infant. So if you have any specific questions, let me know, and I'll answer them in future posts.
For now, though, I'm screaming it from the rooftops, er, internet because like I said, that's what I do with good news. And this news is pretty stinkin' awesome. I'm getting baptized!
Namaste'!
I never told my parents in a cute way either. I was going to see my mom the night I found out I was pregnant with G but unable to wait, I called her and screeched that L was going to be a big brother.
When I have news that excites me, I scream it from the rooftops.
So on the night before Easter, I was serving at church, and my friend Elizabeth walked in the room, I should have known what I was going to do. Elizabeth has been an integral part of my faith journey. She's held my hand literally and figuratively. She's answered questions, some of which were beyond random. She's listened to my doubts. She has prayed for me and with me.
When I saw her that night, I did it again. I had ideas of how I wanted to share some big news with her, but I ran up to her and blurted it out, saying something like, "I have to tell you something and I think that Easter is the perfect time because (insert 'squeee!) B and I are getting baptized and will you please be my water witness?"
And then we dissolved into a tear-filled hug.
I sent her a text later apologizing for my impulsivity and she responded kindly as she always does, explaining that heartfelt and excited is far better than cute and planned.
Today, I filled out the registration to get baptized next month. Baptism at our church is so, so cool. They flood the field in our backyard and all the pastors help immerse hundreds of people proclaiming that they are His. I went last year and cried and cried. And then I cried harder when I looked over at L to see him crying too. But it's powerful, touching, awe-inspiring stuff.
I plan on writing a few posts about how our church feels about baptism; why we don't baptize babies (or anyone under third grade, for that matter), what a water witness is, and why I feel the need to be baptized even though I was baptized as an infant. So if you have any specific questions, let me know, and I'll answer them in future posts.
For now, though, I'm screaming it from the rooftops, er, internet because like I said, that's what I do with good news. And this news is pretty stinkin' awesome. I'm getting baptized!
Namaste'!
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Blessed are those who are persecuted.
About a year ago, I approached a pastor at my church after a service, teary-eyed. I had just been touched deeply by a baptism video that was shown and felt beyond conflicted. Tripping over my words, I asked the pastor how I could ever be baptized when I had so many questions on certain biblical teachings. Although I consider myself to be a strong Christian, I am also pretty darn liberal in many areas.
He smiled kindly at me and explained that our church doesn't shy away from questions...in fact, they encourage them. He told me that even the pastors wrestle with certain topics. And, he added, that's the best way to learn.
A few months later, I attended a dinner at my church, where our lead pastor carefully, eloquently, and emotionally tackled the subject of homosexuality. With a catch in his voice and tears in his eyes, he discussed what the Bible says. Although I cringed, I was given some relief when he explained that he has close friends who are gay, and furthermore, everyone is welcomed into our church with open arms.
As I've wrestled with this and other issues, I've spoken with pastors and other members of the church. I've learned that there are pastors in our church of every political belief, and I'll never be told how to vote. I believe that Jesus was crucified, died, and rose again to save us, and it's okay that a lot of other issues are in the gray area.
So today, reading the posts and comments from my friends online regarding Amendment One, my heart is sad. I've learned that when I'm conflicted; struggling; anxious...the best thing I can do is pray.
So today I pray for peace.
I pray that people with hate in their hearts are healed and that, on the other hand, people who have strong spiritual convictions can hold strong to them.
I pray for people, gay or straight, who think that no one cares about them. I pray that they remember that Jesus hung out with outcasts; embraced lepers, befriended the lonely.
I pray that people on both sides of the debate, feeling oppressed, will be soothed by Matthew 5:10-12.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, For theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for My sake. Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
Today, more than ever...namaste'.
He smiled kindly at me and explained that our church doesn't shy away from questions...in fact, they encourage them. He told me that even the pastors wrestle with certain topics. And, he added, that's the best way to learn.
A few months later, I attended a dinner at my church, where our lead pastor carefully, eloquently, and emotionally tackled the subject of homosexuality. With a catch in his voice and tears in his eyes, he discussed what the Bible says. Although I cringed, I was given some relief when he explained that he has close friends who are gay, and furthermore, everyone is welcomed into our church with open arms.
As I've wrestled with this and other issues, I've spoken with pastors and other members of the church. I've learned that there are pastors in our church of every political belief, and I'll never be told how to vote. I believe that Jesus was crucified, died, and rose again to save us, and it's okay that a lot of other issues are in the gray area.
So today, reading the posts and comments from my friends online regarding Amendment One, my heart is sad. I've learned that when I'm conflicted; struggling; anxious...the best thing I can do is pray.
So today I pray for peace.
I pray that people with hate in their hearts are healed and that, on the other hand, people who have strong spiritual convictions can hold strong to them.
I pray for people, gay or straight, who think that no one cares about them. I pray that they remember that Jesus hung out with outcasts; embraced lepers, befriended the lonely.
I pray that people on both sides of the debate, feeling oppressed, will be soothed by Matthew 5:10-12.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, For theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for My sake. Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
Today, more than ever...namaste'.
Monday, April 23, 2012
God-given gifts
Every so often, you have a moment. A great big honkin' moment when some people say the stars align. Other people say the universe smiles on you. Still others insist it's good karma. Skeptics say it's luck.
Me? I say it's proof of God doing His thing, right there in my midst.
A few days ago, we got a text from someone close to us, saying that he wanted to come to church with us. We'd been praying for this for two years because we wanted to see his heart healed. We love him so much and yearned for him to experience what we had through our church because like us, he needs some hard-core love.
And it just happened to be on the weekend that friends of ours, one of whom was initially as anti-church as I used to be, were dedicating their daughter at our church. We barely got them in the church doors months ago, and yesterday, I got to watch them stand before the church, publicly proclaiming that they wanted to raise her knowing God and wanted the church's help to do so.
So as I listened to our pastor explain the meaning of dedication, looking at our friends who had recently agreed to their own faith journey, feeling a skeptical but willing loved one directly next to me, I had tears shining in my eyes. My heart felt like it was in danger of bursting out of my chest.
I had the opportunity to join our friends in the front of the church, cry and pray with them, and it was intense and holy.
And when I returned to my seat to hear my all-time favorite song, I couldn't have wiped the smile off my face if I'd tried.
Then the pastor started his message and spoke directly, I'm convinced, to our visitor. Questions he asked and topics he covered were so perfect for him that I rubbed my arms to try to rid myself of the goosebumps. Clearly, the Holy Spirit was working right through him and I got to see it with my own two eyes.
He wasn't the only one who was a recipient of a perfect message, though. The pastor taught this week about the parable in Luke 6: 47-49. Of all things, it was about houses. With two different foundations, one of which protected against flooding.
Last week, we decided to walk away from a contract on a house that we'd put money and time into, because it had a poorly constructed foundation and was built on a spring.
B whispered to me, "God has a sense of humor."
And as the pastor explained that storms will invariably come, but our faith needs to be deep-rooted and strong; that we need to be open to new learning; that it's crucial to let God be our support, I nodded.
Yesterday, God gave me some gifts. I couldn't be more sure of this had He presented them on my lap with a shiny red bow. I just wish I had the words to express my gratitude.
Namaste'.
Me? I say it's proof of God doing His thing, right there in my midst.
A few days ago, we got a text from someone close to us, saying that he wanted to come to church with us. We'd been praying for this for two years because we wanted to see his heart healed. We love him so much and yearned for him to experience what we had through our church because like us, he needs some hard-core love.
And it just happened to be on the weekend that friends of ours, one of whom was initially as anti-church as I used to be, were dedicating their daughter at our church. We barely got them in the church doors months ago, and yesterday, I got to watch them stand before the church, publicly proclaiming that they wanted to raise her knowing God and wanted the church's help to do so.
So as I listened to our pastor explain the meaning of dedication, looking at our friends who had recently agreed to their own faith journey, feeling a skeptical but willing loved one directly next to me, I had tears shining in my eyes. My heart felt like it was in danger of bursting out of my chest.
I had the opportunity to join our friends in the front of the church, cry and pray with them, and it was intense and holy.
And when I returned to my seat to hear my all-time favorite song, I couldn't have wiped the smile off my face if I'd tried.
Then the pastor started his message and spoke directly, I'm convinced, to our visitor. Questions he asked and topics he covered were so perfect for him that I rubbed my arms to try to rid myself of the goosebumps. Clearly, the Holy Spirit was working right through him and I got to see it with my own two eyes.
He wasn't the only one who was a recipient of a perfect message, though. The pastor taught this week about the parable in Luke 6: 47-49. Of all things, it was about houses. With two different foundations, one of which protected against flooding.
Last week, we decided to walk away from a contract on a house that we'd put money and time into, because it had a poorly constructed foundation and was built on a spring.
B whispered to me, "God has a sense of humor."
And as the pastor explained that storms will invariably come, but our faith needs to be deep-rooted and strong; that we need to be open to new learning; that it's crucial to let God be our support, I nodded.
Yesterday, God gave me some gifts. I couldn't be more sure of this had He presented them on my lap with a shiny red bow. I just wish I had the words to express my gratitude.
Namaste'.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Messages
About two weeks ago, I found myself in my kitchen one morning, ranting and raving.
"I'm a failure. I can't do anything right. I'm a terrible mom...I'm the worst wife. I'm a failure at work."
B just stared at me, wide-eyed. Eventually, he simply told me to stop.
The antecedent of my meltdown? I'd lost my keys for the umpteenth time. Of course I lost my keys....I am a full-time working mother, with my house on the market, and admittedly with ADD. But in my head, that proved that I was worthless, so disorganized that I was a lost cause, and a big fat failure.
Last night, in our class at church, we learned that although painful events shape our character, satan attaches a message to those events. These poisonous messages stay in our hearts and lie to us over and over. As I've blogged about before, I believe that if you hear something enough, you'll believe it.
I truly believe that the devil had wormed his way into my heart as of late. Between surviving an abusive marriage, being bullied as a preteen, and a few other unfortunate events along the way, the painful events had indeed shaped my life.
Last week, we talked a lot about Jesus in our class. And although I have always trusted that he saved us, I always felt like I was missing a connection to him. A service a few weeks ago helped a bit, and some email correspondence between me and one of the teachers assisted me even further. As I was driving into church to serve on Good Friday, I simply started a conversation with Jesus. Our pastor explained that when you start a connection, you'll just know. And on that drive, I knew.
I'm happy to report that since that moment, I've walked a little taller. I've felt more confident. It's been an antidote to the poison that was coursing through my heart.
Our teachers left us with a few quotes and Scriptures that touched my heart. I wanted to share them here in hopes that they would do the same for even one person.
I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. -John 16:33
"When our days become dreary with low-hovering clouds of despair, and when our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, let us remember that there is a creative force in this universe, working to pull down the gigantic mountains of evil, a power that is able to make a way out of no way and transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows." - Martin Luther King, Jr.
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. -Isaiah 41:10
"The problem isn't with God's presence. It's our awareness of Him." -G. Holder (our pastor)
He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. -Revelation 21:4
"You are beloved; worth Jesus dying for. If you really believed that, how would your life change?"
Namaste'.
"I'm a failure. I can't do anything right. I'm a terrible mom...I'm the worst wife. I'm a failure at work."
B just stared at me, wide-eyed. Eventually, he simply told me to stop.
The antecedent of my meltdown? I'd lost my keys for the umpteenth time. Of course I lost my keys....I am a full-time working mother, with my house on the market, and admittedly with ADD. But in my head, that proved that I was worthless, so disorganized that I was a lost cause, and a big fat failure.
Last night, in our class at church, we learned that although painful events shape our character, satan attaches a message to those events. These poisonous messages stay in our hearts and lie to us over and over. As I've blogged about before, I believe that if you hear something enough, you'll believe it.
I truly believe that the devil had wormed his way into my heart as of late. Between surviving an abusive marriage, being bullied as a preteen, and a few other unfortunate events along the way, the painful events had indeed shaped my life.
Last week, we talked a lot about Jesus in our class. And although I have always trusted that he saved us, I always felt like I was missing a connection to him. A service a few weeks ago helped a bit, and some email correspondence between me and one of the teachers assisted me even further. As I was driving into church to serve on Good Friday, I simply started a conversation with Jesus. Our pastor explained that when you start a connection, you'll just know. And on that drive, I knew.
I'm happy to report that since that moment, I've walked a little taller. I've felt more confident. It's been an antidote to the poison that was coursing through my heart.
Our teachers left us with a few quotes and Scriptures that touched my heart. I wanted to share them here in hopes that they would do the same for even one person.
I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. -John 16:33
"When our days become dreary with low-hovering clouds of despair, and when our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, let us remember that there is a creative force in this universe, working to pull down the gigantic mountains of evil, a power that is able to make a way out of no way and transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows." - Martin Luther King, Jr.
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. -Isaiah 41:10
"The problem isn't with God's presence. It's our awareness of Him." -G. Holder (our pastor)
He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. -Revelation 21:4
"You are beloved; worth Jesus dying for. If you really believed that, how would your life change?"
Namaste'.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
A Holy Moment
Some days I wonder how long it will take until I've stopped shaking my head at the fact that not only do I go to church regularly, I like it.
I was hurt by a church. I had convinced myself that I didn't need church. No one did. Organized religion...ugh. Seriously...who thought that it was necessary?
And then, as I've previously blogged, I found and fell head over heels with a church. It's huge. One of those enormous auditoriums. So. Many. People. But it has never felt big to me. People know each other in there. I have never walked from my car to the kids' ministry without seeing people hugging. People hug like it's their job there. And while I admit, at first, I was not sure what to think of this, now I love it. After a particularly challenging serving experience this weekend, I was showered with hugs and affirmations by people who'd witnessed my struggle. And? It was fantastic.
I get to see big things happen there. God is clearly present. I've seen more people touched by God, connecting with Jesus, and it makes my heart feel like it's going to burst. I've seen more tears there than I've seen in one place in my life. And I've cried more tears there in the last year and a half than I have in years and years. It's easy to see God's work there.
This weekend was no exception.
Because of the church's large size, there is an overflow room called The Loft. They show the service on a giant screen. You can get a cup of coffee and drink it in there. It has a more casual feel. The Loft was the reason I initially agreed to go to my church. It sounded acceptably un-church-esque. But now, I don't like sitting in The Loft for services. I want to be face-to-face with our phenomenal pastor. I want to see the musicians up close and personal.
The music. I wish I had the words to tell you how much I love the music. It's crazy...I used to hate Christian music more than country music (which is a LOT). But the musicians are amazingly talented. They change up the songs to the point that I tap my feet, bounce around, and sing out those songs. Me. Christian-music-hater. I love me some worship songs there...and I admit, far more than when I hear the original artists play them.
That's part of the reason I don't like The Loft. The musicians are also on the screen, and people don't seem to sing as much in there. Furthermore, the acoustics aren't great, so it's harder to hear the people who are singing.
Hence the pouting I began when I found out that the auditorium was full and we'd have to sit in The Loft on Easter. Full-on pouting. I was extremely disappointed and not afraid to show it.
We found a seat and when the worship started, I noticed that it was quiet in there. This was Easter and I could hear my voice above anyone else's, which isn't necessarily a great thing. After the first song, I even whispered to Brian, "No one is singing," and he quietly agreed.
After the worship, I plopped in my seat, thinking about the fact that the seats are more comfortable in the auditorium. And I couldn't even see the whole stupid screen. Gah.
And then, as usual, the pastor pulled me in. After a few sentences, I was hanging on his every word, as I do at every service. This man is the most powerful, funny, engaging speaker I've ever heard.
He mentioned that there were more visitors here tonight, and he spoke directly to them a few times.
And it hit me. There were probably a lot of non-believers sitting here. There were people experiencing what I did the first time all around me. I peeked around, and I could see women sitting stiffly, with their arms folded. Men looking at the screen with suspicion.
As he always does, the pastor started slowly bringing in the congregation. He told a story about seeing Mount Everest, with just the right amount of suspense and humor. He slowly made a connection to Jesus, explaining that you simply need to open your heart and God will do the rest. He said that Jesus is always there; we just need to take the next step; to look.
I saw people visibly soften. I saw so many women wiping their eyes that I dug in my diaper bag to see if I had a tissue to offer them.
Then, the last song began. I was one of a few people who stood up to sing. I could see on the screen that everyone within camera-shot in the auditorium had stood and was worshiping wholeheartedly. Of course, people in The Loft were seated.
Slowly, though, by one, or two, people began to rise. A few to my right. Several to my left. One ahead of me. The woman and her daughter next to me.
Goosebumps popped up on my arms. A lump rose in my throat.
Before I knew it, people were singing, proclaiming that Jesus had risen. I couldn't hear my voice over everyone else's.
And I thanked God that He had put me in The Loft. For I had gotten to witness a holy moment. At the Easter service, no less.
I was hurt by a church. I had convinced myself that I didn't need church. No one did. Organized religion...ugh. Seriously...who thought that it was necessary?
And then, as I've previously blogged, I found and fell head over heels with a church. It's huge. One of those enormous auditoriums. So. Many. People. But it has never felt big to me. People know each other in there. I have never walked from my car to the kids' ministry without seeing people hugging. People hug like it's their job there. And while I admit, at first, I was not sure what to think of this, now I love it. After a particularly challenging serving experience this weekend, I was showered with hugs and affirmations by people who'd witnessed my struggle. And? It was fantastic.
I get to see big things happen there. God is clearly present. I've seen more people touched by God, connecting with Jesus, and it makes my heart feel like it's going to burst. I've seen more tears there than I've seen in one place in my life. And I've cried more tears there in the last year and a half than I have in years and years. It's easy to see God's work there.
This weekend was no exception.
Because of the church's large size, there is an overflow room called The Loft. They show the service on a giant screen. You can get a cup of coffee and drink it in there. It has a more casual feel. The Loft was the reason I initially agreed to go to my church. It sounded acceptably un-church-esque. But now, I don't like sitting in The Loft for services. I want to be face-to-face with our phenomenal pastor. I want to see the musicians up close and personal.
The music. I wish I had the words to tell you how much I love the music. It's crazy...I used to hate Christian music more than country music (which is a LOT). But the musicians are amazingly talented. They change up the songs to the point that I tap my feet, bounce around, and sing out those songs. Me. Christian-music-hater. I love me some worship songs there...and I admit, far more than when I hear the original artists play them.
That's part of the reason I don't like The Loft. The musicians are also on the screen, and people don't seem to sing as much in there. Furthermore, the acoustics aren't great, so it's harder to hear the people who are singing.
Hence the pouting I began when I found out that the auditorium was full and we'd have to sit in The Loft on Easter. Full-on pouting. I was extremely disappointed and not afraid to show it.
We found a seat and when the worship started, I noticed that it was quiet in there. This was Easter and I could hear my voice above anyone else's, which isn't necessarily a great thing. After the first song, I even whispered to Brian, "No one is singing," and he quietly agreed.
After the worship, I plopped in my seat, thinking about the fact that the seats are more comfortable in the auditorium. And I couldn't even see the whole stupid screen. Gah.
And then, as usual, the pastor pulled me in. After a few sentences, I was hanging on his every word, as I do at every service. This man is the most powerful, funny, engaging speaker I've ever heard.
He mentioned that there were more visitors here tonight, and he spoke directly to them a few times.
And it hit me. There were probably a lot of non-believers sitting here. There were people experiencing what I did the first time all around me. I peeked around, and I could see women sitting stiffly, with their arms folded. Men looking at the screen with suspicion.
As he always does, the pastor started slowly bringing in the congregation. He told a story about seeing Mount Everest, with just the right amount of suspense and humor. He slowly made a connection to Jesus, explaining that you simply need to open your heart and God will do the rest. He said that Jesus is always there; we just need to take the next step; to look.
I saw people visibly soften. I saw so many women wiping their eyes that I dug in my diaper bag to see if I had a tissue to offer them.
Then, the last song began. I was one of a few people who stood up to sing. I could see on the screen that everyone within camera-shot in the auditorium had stood and was worshiping wholeheartedly. Of course, people in The Loft were seated.
Slowly, though, by one, or two, people began to rise. A few to my right. Several to my left. One ahead of me. The woman and her daughter next to me.
Goosebumps popped up on my arms. A lump rose in my throat.
Before I knew it, people were singing, proclaiming that Jesus had risen. I couldn't hear my voice over everyone else's.
And I thanked God that He had put me in The Loft. For I had gotten to witness a holy moment. At the Easter service, no less.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
"A life without heart is not worth living." B.Curtis, J.Eldredge
I started a class at my church last night called Storyline. In one sentence (that doesn't do it justice or even begin to really define the class), it's a women's class that looks at how our story intersects with God's.
I was seated at a table with seven other women, in a room full of hundreds of women. This is admittedly, nightmarish to me, but the fact that we were all there as Christian women, searching, open, and wanting to learn made for a very cool energy in the room. I connected with each of the women at my table in some way and our conversations excited me for what the next five weeks will hold.
Last night we talked about what makes a good story, what our story has been thus far, and where we hope it is headed. They played that awesome clip from Dead Poets Society, in which Robin Williams says, "That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?" Swoon. I already loved that movie, but at this moment in my life, I adored that quote even more.
We talked about our hearts...a lot. In a very powerful exercise, we wrote down words that label us on name tags. Almost everyone's said "mom," "wife/fiancee/girlfriend" "friend." In addition to those, mine also said "creative," "disorganized," "sensitive," among others. Then we stuck our labels on cardstock hearts, illustrating that our labels cover up our hearts; our souls; who we really are.
DId that strike me deeply? You bet.
I came to the realization that other people affect my heart to a very deep level. When other people treat me poorly (or even just not extra-kindly), it hurts me. Deeply. And while many days, I wish to have a thicker skin, some of the women at my table admitted that they wished that they felt more because then they would live life more fully.
I've had a rough go lately. I haven't been myself. I've been up and down. Having our house on the market, working full-time, being extra perfectionistic, having a shorter fuse...they seem to be a vicious cycle as of late. Because of my labels, especially those negative ones, I've doubted myself as a speech-language pathologist. I've felt like I've failed as a mom. As a wife. As a housekeeper.
Ripping those labels off is my new goal. Today, I felt like I provided some of the best, most enthusiastic speech and language therapy sessions that I have in months. I feel like I've had more patience with my boys, and even when I lost it, I was able to regroup with less guilt. I hugged my husband, which I'm embarrassed to admit that I haven't done nearly enough lately.
You know what other words label me?
Tolerant.
Intuitive.
Open.
Caring.
Artistic.
It's a risk...a big one, to embrace my openness. But a quote they flashed on the screen last night solidified my desire to try.
“In the end, it doesn’t matter how well we have performed or what we have accomplished—a life without heart is not worth living.”
― Brent Curtis, John Eldredge
Namaste'.
I was seated at a table with seven other women, in a room full of hundreds of women. This is admittedly, nightmarish to me, but the fact that we were all there as Christian women, searching, open, and wanting to learn made for a very cool energy in the room. I connected with each of the women at my table in some way and our conversations excited me for what the next five weeks will hold.
Last night we talked about what makes a good story, what our story has been thus far, and where we hope it is headed. They played that awesome clip from Dead Poets Society, in which Robin Williams says, "That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?" Swoon. I already loved that movie, but at this moment in my life, I adored that quote even more.
We talked about our hearts...a lot. In a very powerful exercise, we wrote down words that label us on name tags. Almost everyone's said "mom," "wife/fiancee/girlfriend" "friend." In addition to those, mine also said "creative," "disorganized," "sensitive," among others. Then we stuck our labels on cardstock hearts, illustrating that our labels cover up our hearts; our souls; who we really are.
DId that strike me deeply? You bet.
I came to the realization that other people affect my heart to a very deep level. When other people treat me poorly (or even just not extra-kindly), it hurts me. Deeply. And while many days, I wish to have a thicker skin, some of the women at my table admitted that they wished that they felt more because then they would live life more fully.
I've had a rough go lately. I haven't been myself. I've been up and down. Having our house on the market, working full-time, being extra perfectionistic, having a shorter fuse...they seem to be a vicious cycle as of late. Because of my labels, especially those negative ones, I've doubted myself as a speech-language pathologist. I've felt like I've failed as a mom. As a wife. As a housekeeper.
Ripping those labels off is my new goal. Today, I felt like I provided some of the best, most enthusiastic speech and language therapy sessions that I have in months. I feel like I've had more patience with my boys, and even when I lost it, I was able to regroup with less guilt. I hugged my husband, which I'm embarrassed to admit that I haven't done nearly enough lately.
You know what other words label me?
Tolerant.
Intuitive.
Open.
Caring.
Artistic.
It's a risk...a big one, to embrace my openness. But a quote they flashed on the screen last night solidified my desire to try.
“In the end, it doesn’t matter how well we have performed or what we have accomplished—a life without heart is not worth living.”
― Brent Curtis, John Eldredge
Namaste'.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
God-incidences
As my relationship with God grows, I feel His nudges a little more. I also start to notice things that just a year or so ago, I'd have written off as coincidences, albeit really cool ones. I've heard people refer to these as God-incidences, and I've adopted that term lovingly. I see more God-incidences in my life as well.
This weekend was no exception.
I serve at my church every other Sunday, shadowing a little girl who has special needs, but is very high-functioning. This week, she was sick. Unfortunately, her family isn't able to attend fairly often, and typically when I get the e-mail saying my services aren't needed, I quickly find other things to do with that time.
When the e-mail came through this week, though, I felt a big ole nudge from God, telling me to ask the kids' ministry if I could serve in any other way.
About ten minutes after I sent the e-mail, asking, I got an enthusiastic one back, asking me to please come in to work with another little boy in the 2-3 year old room with developmental delays. He had far more special needs than my other little girl, but I had such a good feeling about it that I read the email to B, smiling.
I showed up to church on Sunday and was greeted by the family, as well as by some very cool God-incidences. In a five minute conversation, we realized that the similarities between our families was eerie.
Our boys have the same dietary restrictions.
We live just minutes apart.
Two of our boys have the same name.
Two of our boys share the same exact birthday.
Two of our boys go to preschool on the same days, at the same school, in classrooms right next door to one another.
The other mom looked at me, teary, mouth open. She was clearly speechless, and I just smiled.
"Don't get me wrong," I told her, "I have huge goosebumps right now. But I've learned that stuff like this happens constantly around here. When you're open to it, you get to see it."
She told me that she and her husband hadn't been able to attend church together due to the very special needs of her little boy. However, she said that this week, they'd decided to go to church together and they'd figure it out somehow. The next day, they got the phone call that someone qualified to work with her son was available.
God-incidences are amazing.
Working with her son was a holy experience. At one point, he became overstimulated, but using my experience and some fervent prayers, I was able to calm him. I listened to God and used my knowledge to know when to push him to interact and when to let him hold back.
By the end of the service, we were holding hands, worshiping with all of the other kids in the room. The goosebumps on my arms were back, but I couldn't help but wink back at God, knowing that He is up to something.
The other interesting part is that because of some other personal conflicts, I'd been finding it increasingly difficult to continue the commitment I'd made with the first family. After a talk with the woman in charge of the kids' ministry, we were able to come up with a solution. I'm thrilled that both families will be covered and I'll get to serve with the little boy from now on.
Call it what you want. Say that the planets were aligned, that it was all just an awesome coincidence. I know the truth.
Namaste'.
This weekend was no exception.
I serve at my church every other Sunday, shadowing a little girl who has special needs, but is very high-functioning. This week, she was sick. Unfortunately, her family isn't able to attend fairly often, and typically when I get the e-mail saying my services aren't needed, I quickly find other things to do with that time.
When the e-mail came through this week, though, I felt a big ole nudge from God, telling me to ask the kids' ministry if I could serve in any other way.
About ten minutes after I sent the e-mail, asking, I got an enthusiastic one back, asking me to please come in to work with another little boy in the 2-3 year old room with developmental delays. He had far more special needs than my other little girl, but I had such a good feeling about it that I read the email to B, smiling.
I showed up to church on Sunday and was greeted by the family, as well as by some very cool God-incidences. In a five minute conversation, we realized that the similarities between our families was eerie.
Our boys have the same dietary restrictions.
We live just minutes apart.
Two of our boys have the same name.
Two of our boys share the same exact birthday.
Two of our boys go to preschool on the same days, at the same school, in classrooms right next door to one another.
The other mom looked at me, teary, mouth open. She was clearly speechless, and I just smiled.
"Don't get me wrong," I told her, "I have huge goosebumps right now. But I've learned that stuff like this happens constantly around here. When you're open to it, you get to see it."
She told me that she and her husband hadn't been able to attend church together due to the very special needs of her little boy. However, she said that this week, they'd decided to go to church together and they'd figure it out somehow. The next day, they got the phone call that someone qualified to work with her son was available.
God-incidences are amazing.
Working with her son was a holy experience. At one point, he became overstimulated, but using my experience and some fervent prayers, I was able to calm him. I listened to God and used my knowledge to know when to push him to interact and when to let him hold back.
By the end of the service, we were holding hands, worshiping with all of the other kids in the room. The goosebumps on my arms were back, but I couldn't help but wink back at God, knowing that He is up to something.
The other interesting part is that because of some other personal conflicts, I'd been finding it increasingly difficult to continue the commitment I'd made with the first family. After a talk with the woman in charge of the kids' ministry, we were able to come up with a solution. I'm thrilled that both families will be covered and I'll get to serve with the little boy from now on.
Call it what you want. Say that the planets were aligned, that it was all just an awesome coincidence. I know the truth.
Namaste'.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
"Scars are souvenirs you never lose." -Goo Goo Dolls
It's no secret that I love my church. Even after fourteen months, it sounds weird for me to say that. Because fifteen months ago, I was as anti-church as they come. But I do. I am convinced that I go to the coolest church in the world, and I secretly like when people come and get a bit weirded out by the edginess and casualness and outside-the-box-ness. The creativity blows my mind. The attention to detail awes me. The pastor is actually phenomenal. I hang on his every word and he literally makes me want to be a better person.
Today, though, I started to shift nervously in my seat about 2/3 of the way through his message. Something was making me uncomfortable. I was completely conflicted, because I was loving it. He was talking about sticking together when marriage gets hard. A few of our friends are considering or going through divorce right now, so it was hitting close to home. And although B and I are quite solid, maritally, the advice he was giving out was amazing and needed. Just how to treat each other and really love one another.
And what not to do. And the more he talked about what not to do, how not to talk to your wife, I started remembering how it felt when someone talked to me with disrespect. In fact, I started remembering details of the way my ex-husband treated me.
He started telling a story about a couple who had some serious struggles. Something flipped a switch in me. The tears were already in my eyes, but they fell down my face as he delved into this story. For the first time, the tears that I had in church weren't from my heart bursting from the music or the message, but from my heart hurting.
Badly.
I looked around, thinking that I'd bet my last dime that there was a woman in the auditorium who was living through what I lived through ten years ago. It happens more than you think, because abusers are typically the most talented wool-pullers around. And it scared me to think that she was thinking that the abuse was her fault, and that this amazing pastor urging her to stay was probably right.
So I started praying. Hard. I started praying that our pastor would give a disclaimer. Because I've been there. I've lived through it. And although I'm sure not everyone reading this would agree, I believe with all my heart that God wouldn't have wanted me to stay in that marriage. That God hates abuse as much as He hates divorce. (And for the record, that fabulous pastor agrees with me. I asked him.)
The problem is that women don't leave because they hear day in and day out that they are crazy. That they wouldn't need to be held down, kicked around, disrepected, screamed at, humiliated if they would just chill out, do the laundry, lose 10 pounds, keep the house cleaner, have sex with their husband more. They know that they are broken, but don't understand that we all are. They think that they should stay and after they hear it more times than they can count, they believe it.
I found myself talking to a wonderful associate pastor at the end of the service. (We were in a satellite location, so the lead pastor wasn't available.) And when I say talking, I mean rambling incessantly, because that's how I roll when I'm in any way emotional, which is far too often. I asked him if he could bring this to the lead pastor's attention because he has such a reach. And that I am absolutely positive that a woman who is being abused heard that message this week.
It occurred to me that while my voice doesn't reach as far as my pastor's, I have a bit of a reach too. I have a voice and every time I have posted about this, I get incredible emails. So I'm putting it out there again. Today I was reminded that if your marriage is hanging on by a thread, you should act lovingly, without unfair expectations, and God will meet you there to help you fall back in love. I give the preacher an "amen" on that.
But if you are being abused, or suspect that perhaps what you are enduring might qualify as abuse, you shouldn't stay. God wouldn't want you to be treated like that. He cries with you and hurts when you hurt. I'm sure of it. My brother, who is a police officer, tells me to this day that what I was going through was textbook abuse and he was sure the ending would have been quite frightening had I not left so quickly.
I know it's hard. And it's scary. And you think that no one will ever want a divorcee. I thought it too. I remember post-counseling appointments, sitting on my apartment floor sobbing my eyes out, not knowing what to do. Even after a mixing bowl was thrown at my head and I was told I was worthless, fat, and lazy in front of my neighborhood, I waffled on the decision.
But I left. And not one of the tears I shed today was wondering if I did the wrong thing in leaving; if I needed to ask for forgiveness for ending a marriage. It was worry for other women hearing the message.
The pastor I spoke to today was kind and loving. He complimented my heart and explained that there is only so much time in a message. I get that. But every day I stayed in that marriage chipped a little confidence out of me. And I learned that the scars of those days don't fade as quickly or as completely as I'd thought. But dealing with the scars is better than those open wounds.
Namaste'.
**************
As always, if you have questions or comments and you'd like to stay anonymous, you can email me instead of commenting at namastebyday@gmail.com.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Here's hoping.
I keep saying that I don't want to blog about my faith journey. I don't want to make people uncomfortable or, worse, label me a Jesus Freak. At least I can admit that.
But then, I do mention something on here, and the comments, and especially the e-mails, come rolling in. People encourage me to post about the cool things that are happening. And since this little ole blog is a baby book/diary/processing tool, I want to use it as such. I want to include everything that is important to me, and create something that my boys can read one day.
So guess what. I'm telling another God story. Go ahead and peace out if you feel so inclined. I don't mind.
If you are going to read, I'm grateful enough for that that I'm going to make a big confession right here. And it's worse than "I never ever iron" or "every room in my house is trashed right now" which are both true.
Deep breath...here it is.
I have huge, gigantic, ginormous doubts during my journey sometimes. I go to church and I get all inspired and I cry and I write in my Bible and I boogie during the songs and I believe.
And then as the week goes on, I wonder. I have lots of friends who are atheists. Who tell me they strongly disagree with what my church teaches. Who tell me the Bible is not to be taken seriously. Who tell me, on many levels, without saying the words, that I'm wrong. Crazy. Stupid.
I'm embarrassed to admit that then I wonder if I AM wrong. If the Bible is just written by people who want to control society. If...gah. If there is a God.
Sigh. I said it. I do. I wonder. I doubt. Even though I know in my heart what I believe, sometimes my brain takes over. I pray about that a lot. I apologize to God. I ask Him to come near and show me He's with me.
And? I told B this weekend that I wouldn't blame God for saying, "Gina, short of coming to you and speaking to you, I don't know how much more you want from me." You can read all the huge things He's done for me here on my blog. God likes to hit me upside the head with things, because I obviously need that.
This weekend, I had another bonk on my head moment.
I had taken some cough medicine that gifted me with a lovely bout of insomnia on Friday night. I had woken up and for the life of me, couldn't get back to sleep. I felt the strongest calling to get up and read my Bible. I kept getting this feeling about the name David.
Typing this makes me realize how crazy it sounds. It does. So I do realize that I sound like a nutcase. Don't worry.
Although I have a very strong Catholic background, I have very little Bible knowledge. When I volunteer in the kids' ministry, I learn as they learn. So I just went with this weird feeling and looked to see if there was a book of David. There wasn't. I decided to simply flip my Bible open and read whatever I landed on.
So when I opened to Psalms and Psalm 53 said "a maskil of David" at the top, I might have peed my pants a little. I definitely chuckled at it. I knew it wasn't a coincidence.
I really knew it wasn't a coincidence when I read Psalm 53. It began: "The fool says in his heart, there is no God."
Like I said....hit-upside-the-head moment right there.
At peace, I read a few more psalms, all speaking quite loudly to me, and went to bed peacefully.
Two days later, I went to church. As the pastor preached about David, B and I exchanged knowing smiles.
And as they played a closing song (Jesus Messiah), one lyric in particular hit me, again, upside the head..."All our hope is in You."
I consider myself fairly intelligent. I have my master's degree and always did really well in school. But somehow it took me that long to realize that of course I don't know for sure. Even with the coincidences that are clearly not coincidences. Even looking at my boys, who are obvious proof of God. I don't know for sure. I have to choose to believe...to have faith...to HOPE.
It delighted me when, later that day, my friend Elizabeth sent me my daily Scripture text and it gave me chills. Smiling, I read, "Hold unswervingly to the hope you profess, for he who promised is faithful. (Hebrews 10:23 NIV).
Namaste.
But then, I do mention something on here, and the comments, and especially the e-mails, come rolling in. People encourage me to post about the cool things that are happening. And since this little ole blog is a baby book/diary/processing tool, I want to use it as such. I want to include everything that is important to me, and create something that my boys can read one day.
So guess what. I'm telling another God story. Go ahead and peace out if you feel so inclined. I don't mind.
If you are going to read, I'm grateful enough for that that I'm going to make a big confession right here. And it's worse than "I never ever iron" or "every room in my house is trashed right now" which are both true.
Deep breath...here it is.
I have huge, gigantic, ginormous doubts during my journey sometimes. I go to church and I get all inspired and I cry and I write in my Bible and I boogie during the songs and I believe.
And then as the week goes on, I wonder. I have lots of friends who are atheists. Who tell me they strongly disagree with what my church teaches. Who tell me the Bible is not to be taken seriously. Who tell me, on many levels, without saying the words, that I'm wrong. Crazy. Stupid.
I'm embarrassed to admit that then I wonder if I AM wrong. If the Bible is just written by people who want to control society. If...gah. If there is a God.
Sigh. I said it. I do. I wonder. I doubt. Even though I know in my heart what I believe, sometimes my brain takes over. I pray about that a lot. I apologize to God. I ask Him to come near and show me He's with me.
And? I told B this weekend that I wouldn't blame God for saying, "Gina, short of coming to you and speaking to you, I don't know how much more you want from me." You can read all the huge things He's done for me here on my blog. God likes to hit me upside the head with things, because I obviously need that.
This weekend, I had another bonk on my head moment.
I had taken some cough medicine that gifted me with a lovely bout of insomnia on Friday night. I had woken up and for the life of me, couldn't get back to sleep. I felt the strongest calling to get up and read my Bible. I kept getting this feeling about the name David.
Typing this makes me realize how crazy it sounds. It does. So I do realize that I sound like a nutcase. Don't worry.
Although I have a very strong Catholic background, I have very little Bible knowledge. When I volunteer in the kids' ministry, I learn as they learn. So I just went with this weird feeling and looked to see if there was a book of David. There wasn't. I decided to simply flip my Bible open and read whatever I landed on.
So when I opened to Psalms and Psalm 53 said "a maskil of David" at the top, I might have peed my pants a little. I definitely chuckled at it. I knew it wasn't a coincidence.
I really knew it wasn't a coincidence when I read Psalm 53. It began: "The fool says in his heart, there is no God."
Like I said....hit-upside-the-head moment right there.
At peace, I read a few more psalms, all speaking quite loudly to me, and went to bed peacefully.
Two days later, I went to church. As the pastor preached about David, B and I exchanged knowing smiles.
And as they played a closing song (Jesus Messiah), one lyric in particular hit me, again, upside the head..."All our hope is in You."
I consider myself fairly intelligent. I have my master's degree and always did really well in school. But somehow it took me that long to realize that of course I don't know for sure. Even with the coincidences that are clearly not coincidences. Even looking at my boys, who are obvious proof of God. I don't know for sure. I have to choose to believe...to have faith...to HOPE.
It delighted me when, later that day, my friend Elizabeth sent me my daily Scripture text and it gave me chills. Smiling, I read, "Hold unswervingly to the hope you profess, for he who promised is faithful. (Hebrews 10:23 NIV).
Namaste.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Five Hundred and Twenty Six Days
Have you ever experienced a friend who just wouldn't give up on you?
Even if you pushed them away, time and time again?
Have you ever had someone keep at you for a really, really long time?
Like 526 days?
I have. FIVE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIX DAYS. That's a long time, folks.
On June 5, 2009, my friend Elizabeth invited me to her church. It was only the second time she had emailed me, but she'sballsy brave and passionate like that. And she loves her church, and knew that it's a creative, outside-the-box church that even someone like me would adore.
And when I say someone like me, I mean someone who swore.off.church.
I've posted about my experience with my former church before. And every time I do, I offend people. So I won't even discuss it today. But if you have a thick skin about your religion, and you are interested in my story, you can find it under my "church" labels. But I'm not going there again for the moment. (You can read my story of my first experience of attending my new church here.)
I went, reluctantly, after five hundred and twenty-six days of Elizabeth gently nudging me (and as she always reminds me, God wooing me).
For the last year, I've allowed my heart to be filled at my church. I've been distraught when we were too sick to go. I've given money when we didn't have it to give. I've cried through songs, through sermons, through touching examples. Oh, how I've cried.
A couple of weekends ago, we were each given a piece of broken slate to remind ourselves that we are all broken. We got to hold it through the service, feeling the rough edges. If we were ready to bring our brokenness to the cross, we were invited to do so at the end of the service. The church artists literally took these broken pieces and glued them to a giant cross that was hung at the new (and third!) location of the church. Seeing hundreds and hundreds of men, women, and children bring their brokenness to the cross left me sobbing in my seat as I waited my turn.
Just typing that out loud is crazy for me. For so long, I was one of those people who swore that I didn't need a stinkin' church. I could pray just fine on my own. I was a good person, thankyouverymuch. For goodness sakes, I work with kids with disabilities. Harumph. And seriously, the Bible? Please. How did all those people even know it was legit? Those weirdo Christians, that all seemed a bit socially awkward and too ready to push their religion on me? Just...ew. I didn't even WANT to be like them. Ever.
And then, after 526 days, I entered my church and my life has forever been changed. Last weekend, I started serving in the kids' ministry. Of course, I cried, watching older kids lead the younger children in worshipping. I've learned exactly why the Bible should be trusted.
I'm not usually a big believer in talking about church and God here. It gets weird, and people get offended, and that's not what I want this space to be about. As much as my spirituality is the center of my life, there are other things I'd rather blog about for many reasons.
(I do want to say, though, if you want to watch podcasts from our phenomenal pastor, leave me a comment or send me an email at namastebyday@gmail.com and I'll hook you up with the website.)
But? Yesterday was a milestone. It was the first anniversary of the day I started going to my church. Elizabeth sent me a beautiful letter via email yesterday (and of course, I cried at my desk, reading it.) She said that she wanted to post it on her blog, but that she respected my privacy. I told her to post away, and that I'd even link to it. So...here it is.
Elizabeth, thank you for not giving up on me.
For five hundred and twenty-six days.
Even if you pushed them away, time and time again?
Have you ever had someone keep at you for a really, really long time?
Like 526 days?
I have. FIVE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIX DAYS. That's a long time, folks.
On June 5, 2009, my friend Elizabeth invited me to her church. It was only the second time she had emailed me, but she's
And when I say someone like me, I mean someone who swore.off.church.
I've posted about my experience with my former church before. And every time I do, I offend people. So I won't even discuss it today. But if you have a thick skin about your religion, and you are interested in my story, you can find it under my "church" labels. But I'm not going there again for the moment. (You can read my story of my first experience of attending my new church here.)
I went, reluctantly, after five hundred and twenty-six days of Elizabeth gently nudging me (and as she always reminds me, God wooing me).
For the last year, I've allowed my heart to be filled at my church. I've been distraught when we were too sick to go. I've given money when we didn't have it to give. I've cried through songs, through sermons, through touching examples. Oh, how I've cried.
A couple of weekends ago, we were each given a piece of broken slate to remind ourselves that we are all broken. We got to hold it through the service, feeling the rough edges. If we were ready to bring our brokenness to the cross, we were invited to do so at the end of the service. The church artists literally took these broken pieces and glued them to a giant cross that was hung at the new (and third!) location of the church. Seeing hundreds and hundreds of men, women, and children bring their brokenness to the cross left me sobbing in my seat as I waited my turn.
Just typing that out loud is crazy for me. For so long, I was one of those people who swore that I didn't need a stinkin' church. I could pray just fine on my own. I was a good person, thankyouverymuch. For goodness sakes, I work with kids with disabilities. Harumph. And seriously, the Bible? Please. How did all those people even know it was legit? Those weirdo Christians, that all seemed a bit socially awkward and too ready to push their religion on me? Just...ew. I didn't even WANT to be like them. Ever.
And then, after 526 days, I entered my church and my life has forever been changed. Last weekend, I started serving in the kids' ministry. Of course, I cried, watching older kids lead the younger children in worshipping. I've learned exactly why the Bible should be trusted.
I'm not usually a big believer in talking about church and God here. It gets weird, and people get offended, and that's not what I want this space to be about. As much as my spirituality is the center of my life, there are other things I'd rather blog about for many reasons.
(I do want to say, though, if you want to watch podcasts from our phenomenal pastor, leave me a comment or send me an email at namastebyday@gmail.com and I'll hook you up with the website.)
But? Yesterday was a milestone. It was the first anniversary of the day I started going to my church. Elizabeth sent me a beautiful letter via email yesterday (and of course, I cried at my desk, reading it.) She said that she wanted to post it on her blog, but that she respected my privacy. I told her to post away, and that I'd even link to it. So...here it is.
Elizabeth, thank you for not giving up on me.
For five hundred and twenty-six days.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
What's Really Important
Our church never ceases to amaze me. I consider posting about it a lot, but only do once in a great while. I couldn't let this opportunity pass without sharing this, however.
After the tornadoes in Joplin, the schools were ripped apart. The kids are now in a very barren makeshift school, obviously making a difficult situation even harder. After the initial financial (and other) assistance, they asked the school what else they needed.
The schools' answer? Artwork to brighten their schools. Artwork to make a place associated with trauma a little less scary.
And yet another phenomenal idea was born...having our churchgoers paint huge canvases for the school. So as not to scare away the less artistic folks, they actually created paint by number designs so that everyone could participate. When I say everyone, I mean that L and I stood side-by-side and painted for a while after the service.
Yesterday afternoon, I found this video on Facebook that the church had posted of them presenting the artwork to the students. Watching it, tears welled up in my eyes and it reminded me what's really important in life.
After the tornadoes in Joplin, the schools were ripped apart. The kids are now in a very barren makeshift school, obviously making a difficult situation even harder. After the initial financial (and other) assistance, they asked the school what else they needed.
The schools' answer? Artwork to brighten their schools. Artwork to make a place associated with trauma a little less scary.
And yet another phenomenal idea was born...having our churchgoers paint huge canvases for the school. So as not to scare away the less artistic folks, they actually created paint by number designs so that everyone could participate. When I say everyone, I mean that L and I stood side-by-side and painted for a while after the service.
Yesterday afternoon, I found this video on Facebook that the church had posted of them presenting the artwork to the students. Watching it, tears welled up in my eyes and it reminded me what's really important in life.
Outreach - Joplin from The Crossing on Vimeo.
Monday, August 1, 2011
No one remains quite what he was when he recognizes himself. ~Thomas Mann
Things are still going incredibly, often overwhelmingly (meaning bringing-me-to-heart-bursting-tears) well at church. Every single week, I hear something that I needed, desperately, to hear. I wish I could explain this church in words, but I can't.
(However, you can go watch a podcast if you feel inclined. Go here and take your pick. I would encourage you start with one by our lead pastor, Greg. Most are by him unless otherwise noted in parentheses. You won't get the positive energy vibe of the building, but you can at least see for yourself how great the sermons are.)
Once again, this week was no exception. The associate pastor was preaching about Jacob, through which he discussed forgiveness, and wrestling with God over hard choices, among other things. But something he said really struck me and B. He asked if we considered what kind of messages we are sending our children. What do we say to them over and over? What do they feel about themselves? B and I both jotted this down.
My summer with the boys is coming to a close, and I've spent all day every day with them. My mixed feelings on the end of this summer is another post for another day, but I've been reflecting about the last several weeks.
I'd been wondering why L has been so, SO good lately. I mean, he's sweet. He's sensitive. He's loving and protective, and a good-hearted kid. I write about him enough that you all know that.
But. He's still a 4 (and 1/2!) year old boy. He gets mad. He throws temper tantrums. He demonstrates attention-seeking behavior. He pushes G down when he thinks I'm not looking. He even is a little sneaky from time to time. And oh, is he manipulative.
But lately? He's been really, really, really good. When the pastor asked that question, it hit me. Call it a God moment or what you will, but it hit me. I realized that I've been telling L just how good he is a lot lately. We spent a good thirty minutes in the post office last week and he was perfect. Looking back, I believe that it had to have something, at least, to do with the fact that I kept praising him for being so good. Then, when we went to the grocery store afterwards, and we were all sweaty and tired and hungry, I'd have expected a disasterous whining-for-fruit-snacks-culminating-in-me-yelling-at-him-to-knock-it-off trip. But it wasn't.
I chuckled as I remembered something else. As often as I'd told L in the last week what a good boy he is, he has said, "You are such a good mommy," almost as many times. And if I'm going to be really honest, I'll admit that I think that's why I've gone a bit above and beyond for him and had more patience.
I've talked on here before about my belief that you only have to hear something a certain number of times until you start to believe it. Things about you are the most powerful example of this. When I was in my abusive marriage, I believed that I was the cause of the abuse. That he had to push me around because I was crazy. Why? Because I heard it day in and day out.
So what do you believe about yourself based on what you've been told? What about your kids? Your husband? Your friends?
For the longest time, I believed that I was unathletic and had a terribly low pain tolerance and that I couldn't even think about wearing yellow. Those things were drilled into my head from everyone for years and years. Now? I rock out some fierce yoga poses, work through mega pain while lifting weights at the gym, and just bought a very cute yellow plaid dress last week, thankyouverymuch.
What beliefs do you need to stop hearing?
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to tell G how much he loves sleeping through the night and to write my husband a letter about his adoration of reloading the paper towel roll.
Namaste.
(However, you can go watch a podcast if you feel inclined. Go here and take your pick. I would encourage you start with one by our lead pastor, Greg. Most are by him unless otherwise noted in parentheses. You won't get the positive energy vibe of the building, but you can at least see for yourself how great the sermons are.)
Once again, this week was no exception. The associate pastor was preaching about Jacob, through which he discussed forgiveness, and wrestling with God over hard choices, among other things. But something he said really struck me and B. He asked if we considered what kind of messages we are sending our children. What do we say to them over and over? What do they feel about themselves? B and I both jotted this down.
My summer with the boys is coming to a close, and I've spent all day every day with them. My mixed feelings on the end of this summer is another post for another day, but I've been reflecting about the last several weeks.
I'd been wondering why L has been so, SO good lately. I mean, he's sweet. He's sensitive. He's loving and protective, and a good-hearted kid. I write about him enough that you all know that.
But. He's still a 4 (and 1/2!) year old boy. He gets mad. He throws temper tantrums. He demonstrates attention-seeking behavior. He pushes G down when he thinks I'm not looking. He even is a little sneaky from time to time. And oh, is he manipulative.
But lately? He's been really, really, really good. When the pastor asked that question, it hit me. Call it a God moment or what you will, but it hit me. I realized that I've been telling L just how good he is a lot lately. We spent a good thirty minutes in the post office last week and he was perfect. Looking back, I believe that it had to have something, at least, to do with the fact that I kept praising him for being so good. Then, when we went to the grocery store afterwards, and we were all sweaty and tired and hungry, I'd have expected a disasterous whining-for-fruit-snacks-culminating-in-me-yelling-at-him-to-knock-it-off trip. But it wasn't.
I chuckled as I remembered something else. As often as I'd told L in the last week what a good boy he is, he has said, "You are such a good mommy," almost as many times. And if I'm going to be really honest, I'll admit that I think that's why I've gone a bit above and beyond for him and had more patience.
I've talked on here before about my belief that you only have to hear something a certain number of times until you start to believe it. Things about you are the most powerful example of this. When I was in my abusive marriage, I believed that I was the cause of the abuse. That he had to push me around because I was crazy. Why? Because I heard it day in and day out.
So what do you believe about yourself based on what you've been told? What about your kids? Your husband? Your friends?
For the longest time, I believed that I was unathletic and had a terribly low pain tolerance and that I couldn't even think about wearing yellow. Those things were drilled into my head from everyone for years and years. Now? I rock out some fierce yoga poses, work through mega pain while lifting weights at the gym, and just bought a very cute yellow plaid dress last week, thankyouverymuch.
What beliefs do you need to stop hearing?
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to tell G how much he loves sleeping through the night and to write my husband a letter about his adoration of reloading the paper towel roll.
Namaste.
Friday, June 24, 2011
"The wonder is that we can see these trees and not wonder more."-R.W.Emerson
I've mentioned my love of trees once or 3205 times on this here blog before. I do. I love 'em. Big, small, evergreen, oak, weeping willow (oh, the weeping willow); any tree is a friend of mine. I love them because they are good for the earth, because they provide shade,and all that good stuff.
But? Honestly? I love them the most because they give me a spiritual connection. Is that weird? Perhaps.
I haven't posted about it too much but I have begun a new relationship with my church, with God. I still have eleventy billion questions and wonderings but whenever I start to doubt what I've learned is true, I look at a tree. And for whatever reason, it makes me know that God is real. Deep in my soul where you just feel things, you know?
When I was in high school, my boyfriend and I used to skip Mass and go sit under a tree behind the church. It alleviated some of my guilt, sitting there, because as I'd explain to anyone who listened, that's where I felt closest to God. Well. Except my mom. Because I'd straight-up lie to her face and hand her the bulletin that I grabbed from the back of the church as proof that I was there.
Truth be told, though...that is where I felt closest to God. Nowadays, I have a fantastic church that I would never dream of skipping services. I feel closest to God there, as the music fills my heart and tears spring to my eyes (every.single.week!) and I find myself nodding and "mmm-hmmm"ing as the pastor preaches.
But when I do start to question, to doubt, to wonder, because I am human; I watch a tree waving, bending, standing in stillness and I know that God created it.
So when I received a CD of pictures in the mail that my friend Elizabeth took at L and G's dedication, it seemed so appropriate that there were a few breathtaking shots of trees on there. I was pleasantly surprised to find them, although not shocked, considering that I not-so-subtlely hinted to Elizabeth that she should photograph one particular tree near church. She also knows my tree obsession and feeds my addiction.
When Easy Canvas Prints contacted me and asked if I'd be interested in reviewing a canvas for them, I knew I needed one of Elizabeth tree photos on a canvas. I sent Melissa at Easy Canvas Prints a photo and within a few days, it was on my doorstep. I opened it, ready to be blown away, and was, well, pretty happy. It was a bit dark, but all in all, it wasn't bad. When Melissa emailed me to find out what I thought, I put my big girl panties on and was honest. I told her I liked it (I did) but that it was darker than I expected. Her response was to find out if she could help me fix it, and if not, she said I could send another photo.
It shouldn't be a surprise to know that I know nothing about photography. I doubted that the company could find a way to lighten it up.
Imagine my surprise when just a few days later, a box was waiting for me on my front porch.
It. Was. Perfect.
Please excuse the photo. It was taken on my phone and B is so particular about how things are hung. Unfortunately, he's pokey about hanging things too. So I'm holding it up. It's terrible. I promise a better quality photo in an upcoming Wordless Wednesday post. See? Proof about the photography knowledge...er, lack thereof. I promise, it really is perfect.
I'm not a huge fan of advertising on blogs. I love highlighting Etsy shops and helping my bloggy buddies out to advertise, but I wouldn't normally do this. In fact, part of the deal was not even writing a post. But you guys? This company is really amazing. They were so easy to contact; I didn't even ask for a replacement and they fixed it. They obviously know their stuff and take great pride in their company.
Now, if I can get my sweet hubby to hang my canvas this weekend, then not only will I be sure that God exists, I'll have proof that miracles happen.
I was asked to provide advertising in exchange for a canvas. But I promise it's all from-the-heart honest. This company is really great.
But? Honestly? I love them the most because they give me a spiritual connection. Is that weird? Perhaps.
I haven't posted about it too much but I have begun a new relationship with my church, with God. I still have eleventy billion questions and wonderings but whenever I start to doubt what I've learned is true, I look at a tree. And for whatever reason, it makes me know that God is real. Deep in my soul where you just feel things, you know?
When I was in high school, my boyfriend and I used to skip Mass and go sit under a tree behind the church. It alleviated some of my guilt, sitting there, because as I'd explain to anyone who listened, that's where I felt closest to God. Well. Except my mom. Because I'd straight-up lie to her face and hand her the bulletin that I grabbed from the back of the church as proof that I was there.
Truth be told, though...that is where I felt closest to God. Nowadays, I have a fantastic church that I would never dream of skipping services. I feel closest to God there, as the music fills my heart and tears spring to my eyes (every.single.week!) and I find myself nodding and "mmm-hmmm"ing as the pastor preaches.
But when I do start to question, to doubt, to wonder, because I am human; I watch a tree waving, bending, standing in stillness and I know that God created it.
So when I received a CD of pictures in the mail that my friend Elizabeth took at L and G's dedication, it seemed so appropriate that there were a few breathtaking shots of trees on there. I was pleasantly surprised to find them, although not shocked, considering that I not-so-subtlely hinted to Elizabeth that she should photograph one particular tree near church. She also knows my tree obsession and feeds my addiction.
When Easy Canvas Prints contacted me and asked if I'd be interested in reviewing a canvas for them, I knew I needed one of Elizabeth tree photos on a canvas. I sent Melissa at Easy Canvas Prints a photo and within a few days, it was on my doorstep. I opened it, ready to be blown away, and was, well, pretty happy. It was a bit dark, but all in all, it wasn't bad. When Melissa emailed me to find out what I thought, I put my big girl panties on and was honest. I told her I liked it (I did) but that it was darker than I expected. Her response was to find out if she could help me fix it, and if not, she said I could send another photo.
It shouldn't be a surprise to know that I know nothing about photography. I doubted that the company could find a way to lighten it up.
Imagine my surprise when just a few days later, a box was waiting for me on my front porch.
It. Was. Perfect.
Please excuse the photo. It was taken on my phone and B is so particular about how things are hung. Unfortunately, he's pokey about hanging things too. So I'm holding it up. It's terrible. I promise a better quality photo in an upcoming Wordless Wednesday post. See? Proof about the photography knowledge...er, lack thereof. I promise, it really is perfect.
I'm not a huge fan of advertising on blogs. I love highlighting Etsy shops and helping my bloggy buddies out to advertise, but I wouldn't normally do this. In fact, part of the deal was not even writing a post. But you guys? This company is really amazing. They were so easy to contact; I didn't even ask for a replacement and they fixed it. They obviously know their stuff and take great pride in their company.
Now, if I can get my sweet hubby to hang my canvas this weekend, then not only will I be sure that God exists, I'll have proof that miracles happen.
I was asked to provide advertising in exchange for a canvas. But I promise it's all from-the-heart honest. This company is really great.
Monday, May 16, 2011
In which we dedicate
Growing up in a religion that baptized babies, I always questioned part of it. I always thought (and still do) that it was a beautiful and well-meaning ritual, but the reasons behind it always left me unsettled. I proudly serve as a godmother for a cousin and a niece, but the baptisms themselves stirred up thoughts that left me feeling guilty for questioning my religion.
When L was born, I put off baptism for a while, but after needling from some relatives, I gave in and had him baptized.
Well. Kind of.
Instead of in the church in which I was raised, I had L baptized in a park, under a tree, by a minister of a different religion. I did it in a way that was a bit more personal, but to be honest, the baptism was done out of duty. I don't regret it...the ceremony was beautiful and perfect for us, and we asked my cousin and her husband, who we adore, to be his godparents.
Fast forward to a few months after G was born, and I was left struggling with the decision again. About that time, we started attending our new church, where we learned of a new outlook on baptism....baptizing those who were old enough to make the decision. They had a dedication ceremony for children instead;a public promise that we'd bring our boys up to know God, and the church family promised to assist us in doing so.
We attended a class, in which our questions about infant baptism were answered with responses that made us feel comfortable, and felt right in our hearts.
Last weekend, we took part in the ceremony and it exceeded our expectations.
As we stood in the lobby and heard the band start the opening song, I was shaking as I thought of our family members who came to the ceremony that were of different religions. I was sure that the drums alone would send B's grandmother straight into a stroke. (Little did I know Grandma was getting down to the tunes.)
After the first song, the families processed into the church, standing in front of the congregation. Our children were introduced by name. I was already so overwhelmed that I don't remember hearing any children's names but my own.
Our pastor came to greet each of us.
He then spoke on what dedication means, on what we were promising to do, and how the congregation was being asked to help us. Although kids were screaming, running around, and the chaos was only somewhat controlled, I felt the holy moment that was promised to us in our class.
We listened as well as we could (and said a silent prayer that for once, our boys were the least out-of-control children somewhere).
The pastor explained that things were about to get very messy and very spiritual and indeed, they did. The congregation came up to speak with us, to pray with us, to love us. Tears pricked my eyes as my coworker embraced me, as a less spiritual family member locked eyes with me and nodded, as church members put their hands on our shoulders and prayed with us.
My best friend, who I sat next to each week at church growing up, now attends a church that is extremely similar to my own. She came to support us even though she is extremely pregnant, and it meant the world to me that she did so.
After the service, I knew that I was blessed to have gone through this experience. I knew that it was what was right for our family, and I am beyond grateful to have a church full of people helping us teach our children to know God.
And a family who, even though they may not fully agree with us, is willing to respect our decision.
And B's grandma? She came through with flying colors. I should have worried that I would be the one to stroke out, because I was absolutely shocked when I heard what she said to B after the ceremony. She explained that she loves her religion, but she prays a Novena every night that her grandchildren simply find a church that they love and that her great-grandchildren get to know God.
Like I said...everything I hoped for, and more.
Thanks to my friend Elizabeth for the gift of these photos. I wish I could express my gratitude clearly enough.
You rock, sister.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Water Food for Thought
I'd give you an update on L, but I would prefer not to jinx myself.
However...does anyone out there with food allergies have any info on diarrhea in kids even after you take the allergens out of their diet? Thanks.
Moving on from poo-related issues. (You're welcome.)
Remember the church I raved about a couple weeks ago? Well, they started a program called Advent Conspiracy. Here's a video (a good one!) that explains it better and more artistically than I ever could.
I'll be honest...after watching it, I felt a little guilty. Granted, we only got L one big toy for Christmas (along with books, pj's, and a very cool Harry Potter shirt) but we also got him an MP3 player and docking station because the CD player in his room broke. Also, B's dad asked for the gift of time to help with some projects around his house, and we agreed to it, but also bought him a really nice gift on top of that.
At least I'm making my coworkers' gifts. But still.
How do you get out of the cycle of buying buying buying and not feeling guilty about it?
What are your thoughts on this? Tips are welcome too.
Namaste.
However...does anyone out there with food allergies have any info on diarrhea in kids even after you take the allergens out of their diet? Thanks.
Moving on from poo-related issues. (You're welcome.)
Remember the church I raved about a couple weeks ago? Well, they started a program called Advent Conspiracy. Here's a video (a good one!) that explains it better and more artistically than I ever could.
I'll be honest...after watching it, I felt a little guilty. Granted, we only got L one big toy for Christmas (along with books, pj's, and a very cool Harry Potter shirt) but we also got him an MP3 player and docking station because the CD player in his room broke. Also, B's dad asked for the gift of time to help with some projects around his house, and we agreed to it, but also bought him a really nice gift on top of that.
At least I'm making my coworkers' gifts. But still.
How do you get out of the cycle of buying buying buying and not feeling guilty about it?
What are your thoughts on this? Tips are welcome too.
Namaste.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Sponge Bob, sweats, "skank," and... spirituality?
Ten words I thought I'd never say:
"I can't wait to go back to church next week!"
Yet I totally said them today.
I went to Catholic grade school, high school, and college. This morning, I calculated that in my eight years of grade school, I attended Mass over 900 times. During the school year, I went with our grade once a week, attended an all-school Mass on Fridays, and then was dragged went again on Sundays with my family.
I definitely got a great religious groundwork and an excellent education. But by second grade, I was saying the lines the priest says right along with him. Don't get me wrong...there's something to be said for rituals. But after years of the same thing week after week, I started tuning out the priest and checking out people's shoes on their way up the aisle to Communion. I hated getting dressed up, sitting in uncomfortable pews, and kneeling-standing-sitting-repeating for an hour each week.
I also started realizing that my liberal views didn't exactly jive with those of my church. In fact, when I got into an argument with a priest in high school over gender equality, it occurred to me that perhaps I needed to look elsewhere for my religious home.
And then I got divorced and wasn't allowed to take Communion until I paid $500 to get an annulment, even though I had been abused.
(In the Catholic church's defense, I have since heard that most priests would have worked out the pay with me.)
That kind of left a bad taste in my mouth regarding church in general. I'd tell anyone who listened that organized religion was a crock; that it was a bunch of hypocrites; that churches were just shady businesses in disguise, etc. etc., etc.
However, I've been teaching L about God and I pray. Then lately, I've been feeling like maybe "church" isn't a four-letter-word. My blog-turned-IRL friend Elizabeth has been telling me about her church for months and months. She isn't preachy about it; just excited and she just knew I'd love it. I wasn't quite ready to go yet. Then my mom's neighbor told me about the same church. So did my mom and her husband. And then our friends did, as well.
So I thought, "What the hell. (pun totally intended) What do I have to lose?"
And we went.
I walked into the building really upset. I'd been dealing with some drama at work and I was very angry with several of my coworkers. For the past 24 hours, when I wasn't on the verge of tears, I was crying over the situation.
Before we stepped through the front doors, I was struck by the beauty of the building. As soon as we entered the church, I could feel a positive energy. I looked around for the people who were dreading going to church, but amazingly, everyone was smiling and excited. Kids were running around, people were chatting happily, and there was even...a coffee bar!
I thought nothing could beat the coffee bar.
Until I noticed how many people were wearing sweats! Coffee and comfy clothes at church? That was my first inkling that perhaps I'd come back.
We found Elizabeth and her family and checked L into the children's ministry (which he loved and will be its own post eventually) and made our way into the room in which the service was held.
No hard pews. No kneelers. Just comfy seats, and even a section specifically for people with infants. It was near a door where I could exit to go to the nursing mother's room if needed.
The service began and I was wondering where the preacher was...the only person I saw, aside from the live, non-cheesy band was a guy in jeans and a casual shirt. He was speaking like, well, a person, laughing and playing Name That Tune with the congregation (which began with All Apologies by Nirvana). After two songs, and a Sponge Bob Square Pants clip on the big screen, it became clear that he was the preacher.
I started peeking around for Ashton Kutcher. Surely I was being Punk'd.
Before the collection, he said that if we felt called to give, we should, but if "church and money freak you out," not to feel pressure. What? What happened to tithing 10%??
Then he started speaking. When he said he knew there were people in the crowd who were struggling with something tonight, I teared up. I felt like he was speaking to me.
The sermon was on forgiveness, and I was trying to figure out how the preacher had gotten into my head, because he said exactly what I needed to hear, regarding the work situation that had me so furious. He spoke like a regular guy; at one point, he used the word "skank" when explaining that we need to see people as humans rather than as the action they did that ticked us off.
Dude. The preacher, in his jeans, who played good music and showed Sponge Bob, just said "skank." AND his powerful sermon brought me peace. Why had it taken me this long to come?
I laughed, I nodded, I teared up, and I loved his message. I was absolutely riveted, and didn't even think to check out anyone's shoes. There was no hell and damnation in his message. There was no angry God. There was just hope and peace and kindness and love.
Yeah, I'll be back.
And I'm totally wearing sweats.
"I can't wait to go back to church next week!"
Yet I totally said them today.
I went to Catholic grade school, high school, and college. This morning, I calculated that in my eight years of grade school, I attended Mass over 900 times. During the school year, I went with our grade once a week, attended an all-school Mass on Fridays, and then
I definitely got a great religious groundwork and an excellent education. But by second grade, I was saying the lines the priest says right along with him. Don't get me wrong...there's something to be said for rituals. But after years of the same thing week after week, I started tuning out the priest and checking out people's shoes on their way up the aisle to Communion. I hated getting dressed up, sitting in uncomfortable pews, and kneeling-standing-sitting-repeating for an hour each week.
I also started realizing that my liberal views didn't exactly jive with those of my church. In fact, when I got into an argument with a priest in high school over gender equality, it occurred to me that perhaps I needed to look elsewhere for my religious home.
And then I got divorced and wasn't allowed to take Communion until I paid $500 to get an annulment, even though I had been abused.
(In the Catholic church's defense, I have since heard that most priests would have worked out the pay with me.)
That kind of left a bad taste in my mouth regarding church in general. I'd tell anyone who listened that organized religion was a crock; that it was a bunch of hypocrites; that churches were just shady businesses in disguise, etc. etc., etc.
However, I've been teaching L about God and I pray. Then lately, I've been feeling like maybe "church" isn't a four-letter-word. My blog-turned-IRL friend Elizabeth has been telling me about her church for months and months. She isn't preachy about it; just excited and she just knew I'd love it. I wasn't quite ready to go yet. Then my mom's neighbor told me about the same church. So did my mom and her husband. And then our friends did, as well.
So I thought, "What the hell. (pun totally intended) What do I have to lose?"
And we went.
I walked into the building really upset. I'd been dealing with some drama at work and I was very angry with several of my coworkers. For the past 24 hours, when I wasn't on the verge of tears, I was crying over the situation.
Before we stepped through the front doors, I was struck by the beauty of the building. As soon as we entered the church, I could feel a positive energy. I looked around for the people who were dreading going to church, but amazingly, everyone was smiling and excited. Kids were running around, people were chatting happily, and there was even...a coffee bar!
I thought nothing could beat the coffee bar.
Until I noticed how many people were wearing sweats! Coffee and comfy clothes at church? That was my first inkling that perhaps I'd come back.
We found Elizabeth and her family and checked L into the children's ministry (which he loved and will be its own post eventually) and made our way into the room in which the service was held.
No hard pews. No kneelers. Just comfy seats, and even a section specifically for people with infants. It was near a door where I could exit to go to the nursing mother's room if needed.
The service began and I was wondering where the preacher was...the only person I saw, aside from the live, non-cheesy band was a guy in jeans and a casual shirt. He was speaking like, well, a person, laughing and playing Name That Tune with the congregation (which began with All Apologies by Nirvana). After two songs, and a Sponge Bob Square Pants clip on the big screen, it became clear that he was the preacher.
I started peeking around for Ashton Kutcher. Surely I was being Punk'd.
Before the collection, he said that if we felt called to give, we should, but if "church and money freak you out," not to feel pressure. What? What happened to tithing 10%??
Then he started speaking. When he said he knew there were people in the crowd who were struggling with something tonight, I teared up. I felt like he was speaking to me.
The sermon was on forgiveness, and I was trying to figure out how the preacher had gotten into my head, because he said exactly what I needed to hear, regarding the work situation that had me so furious. He spoke like a regular guy; at one point, he used the word "skank" when explaining that we need to see people as humans rather than as the action they did that ticked us off.
Dude. The preacher, in his jeans, who played good music and showed Sponge Bob, just said "skank." AND his powerful sermon brought me peace. Why had it taken me this long to come?
I laughed, I nodded, I teared up, and I loved his message. I was absolutely riveted, and didn't even think to check out anyone's shoes. There was no hell and damnation in his message. There was no angry God. There was just hope and peace and kindness and love.
Yeah, I'll be back.
And I'm totally wearing sweats.
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