It's Official!

I was approved for ordination today. For those of you not in the know regarding the minutia of this process in the UCC, today was the culmination of 2 and a half years of ongoing work - writing, mentoring, gathering with the committee on ministry and my support team, a 6 hour psych evaluation, and a seminary-level course. It has been up and down. My insecurities and imposter syndrome, my defensiveness whenever I feel pressured to “land” theologically, my need for belonging. All of it made an appearance in the last 2 and a half years. Today was the last hurdle before I get an ordainable gig and plan a service to make it official.

What unexpectedly touched me this morning as I was getting ready, was that today was an affirmation of God’s work in my life since I was 14. I’m 42. When I saw the 50+ faces on the Zoom screen today from 20 something churches in my region of the US, gathered to discuss my 21-page (single-spaced!) final paper, the tears just started falling. Because in 28 years, this was the first time where I was standing before a community of people who were there to witness the work of God in me. I am not a threat to the work of God. I am, in fact, a participant. Of course, that has always been true (and is true of many others). When I was a teen, I received covert help over the years when ministers hoped the elders wouldn’t notice. The years in worship ministry, youth ministry, campus ministry, women’s ministry, children’s ministry, overseas mission work, and now chaplaincy just started scrolling behind my eyes. What a time I have had.

I thought about how much a part of my early connection with my former spouse was about ministry. It was something that brought us together. For a time. We made these beautiful daughters. At some point, he no longer shared that vision. The community agreed with him. I felt left behind. Because my access to use my gifts in ministry were tied to his calling before. Much later, we got divorced. But I wasn’t left behind. Our paths diverged. I wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t deconstructed that tidy world I lived in then. Huh.

And now. Somehow. I’m going to be able to feed my little girls with money I make. In ministry. As their mom.

I don’t know if it is quantifiable how much having my gender be a determining factor in my qualifications for ministry has harmed me over a lifetime. The scars are there. I have done the grief work and can remain connected to those roots without having them continue to tell me what’s possible.

The faces of all my CPE colleagues - the people who took the time to call me out, to be with me as a grew and cried and integrated so much for so long, were all there. The supervisors. The educators. The patients. The colleagues. The security officers. My professors. My seminary cohort. The friend who gave me my first opportunity to preach. With all of this in my heart, and a feeling of awe in how many people continue to gather around for prayer and witness of God’s continuing work in me, I stepped into the spotlight today.

Wildly, someone from the church of Christ was there. Someone who also sojourned to the UCC. He private messaged me at the beginning - “do I know you? Are you so and so’s wife?” What a small world, y’all. The irony was not lost on me.

I am no one’s wife. But I am a reverend.

Pentecost - Speaking Truth to Power

The world is on fire, friends. We’re living in a global pandemic. Black men are being kneeled on to their deaths. Our cities are burning. Our economy is crashing. People are hungry. And scared. And angry. This is our reality. The question is not “why can’t we all just get along?” That is a white question. The question is, for us white folks, “what the hell are we gonna do about it?” This is not the time to ask our black brothers and sisters to do our emotional labor. This is a time to stand in between them and the police. This is a time to speak truth to power. If our police are not breaking rules while they stand on black necks, the rules have got to change. Period.

The Holy Spirit is a woman. I’m sure of it. Hell, she’s probably a black woman. Today is the day the Christian church celebrates and worships the Spirit who raised Jesus Christ from the dead. She put little embryo Jesus into young Mary’s womb. She created the world alongside her Trinity partners. She is no slouch. And she is what wells within us when we speak truth to power. She is the Spirit of disruption when systems are unjust. The Holy Spirit of God is not here to placate my white fragility. She is the voice that calls me to question my motives, my fear, my silence.

The events in our country this week, specifically the murder of George Floyd, should cause every white person in this country, especially white Christians who believe in the sanctity of life, to look in the mirror and ask, “What can I do?” “What do I need to learn?” “How am I complicit in his death?” And then GET. TO. WORK.

I decided not to post an image of George’s death. There was a time in my process of looking at my white privilege where I shared images of violence against people of color and forced myself to watch the videos of the deaths of Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, and Philando Castile in order to wake myself up to the reality of the black experience. That is important. If you have not exposed yourself to the material that exists of these moments and find any hesitation within yourself to speak out, watch the videos. You need to. But I also know that black people have seen enough of this footage to hold the trauma in their DNA. Generations, hundreds of years of oppression lives in their very cells. So I will not post that here. It is available for you to see. Instead, I chose to put an image of George when he was alive and healthy. I got it from Shaun King’s Facebook page (he’s a great social media follow if you’re looking to learn).

If you believe in the Holy Spirit and celebrate her power and beauty this year on Pentecost, I ask that you beg her to tell you what to do today in response to George’s life and death.

There is no peace without justice. May we do the work to enjoy the peace we all desire.

Maundy Thursday - Huh

It seems fitting to me that this is the first year I have participated in my church’s Maundy Thursday service (of course, on Zoom). If you haven’t ever included this Holy Day in your spiritual practice, it is an commemoration of Jesus’ last day before his crucifixion. We take communion and we tell the story of his death. Then we regather on Easter morning to break the vigil we begin on Maundy Thursday to celebrate the resurrection of Christ.

I say it seems fitting because this year, death feels close. Thankfully, I am not ill. None of my loved ones are ill. And I know that makes me incredibly privileged during this time of COVID-19, where the virus seems all around us. But between the virus and my CPE work at the hospital, it seems I am daily being confronted with the reality of death.

It has become part of my spiritual practice to attend to the dead and dying and their loved ones. This is new work for me. I have not been around a lot of death, though I spent my childhood in community and we certainly lost many people over the years. Somehow, being in those hospital rooms, especially with such limited visitation right now, this feels different.

For one, I am witnessing it almost every day I come into work (this is not a reflection of the state of the virus, but I think a common experience in Spiritual Care practice). That’s a lot of death. And now today, I spent a bit of my evening singing and reading the story of the death of God.

There’s a true heaviness to this time and to the work of God in the world sometimes. It is not all light and breezy. And for me, it has become important practice to not wish the heaviness away (I don’t mean to never take a break, but rather to not play ‘hot potato’ with it). This work, this deep, deathly work is important to what it means to be a human being. It’s hard. There are a lot of feelings to experience: fear, sadness, grief, anxiety, anger, resentment, frustration, stress…I could name every feeling and it it probably applies in the roller coaster experience that is death.

One of my fellow CPE interns recently said, “There’s no more human thing to do than to die.” And I thought, “That would not have been something I would have subscribed to three months ago.” This is a specific season, a specific time - both in the world and in our lives.

And I guess I wanted to come on here tonight and just wish peace and love to everyone as we communally go through death both in the Holy Week that is Easter and in the experience of COVID-19, where so much is left feeling uncertain and unstable. I think in all the instability and loss, we can find God here. I think he can meet us here. He can be present with us in this.

I don’t subscribe to any idea that God brings suffering or inflicts it deliberately. What a cruel thing to believe. I believe in love. And you know what? Love meets us in suffering. That’s why loss hurts so much in the first place - it’s the evidence that we experienced love at all. Glennon Doyle calls it our receipt. Embrace the pain of loss and hold on tight. There is beauty and growth waiting for us in the pain. Not when all the pain goes away - right now, in the pain.

And if this isn’t the right message for you tonight, if you need something happier and more shiny, it’s okay to skip me this time. I totally understand how important it is to guard our consumption of material right now. But if you’re feeling the heaviness, I just want you to know, that’s what makes you human. And humans do hard things. You are loved. Easter Sunday is coming.

Hospitality is More of a Posture than an Industry

I just got back from my grad school intensive last week in Durham, NC. What a trip! People who have done my program often say that Durham is the best out of the four intensives. It was phenomenal. The class we focused on together is called, Hospitality as Leadership, led by a kick ass female head of the Bible department (first in the churches of Christ…Naomi, you’re a bad ass).

If you’ve spent any time in the Bible, particularly the Jesus stuff, you’ll know that hospitality was something Jesus got in trouble for a lot. Not the hospitality industry where everything is fancy and requires payment, but old school hospitality where whores were washing his feet and terrorists were sharing meals with the religious folk (much to their horror). Jesus was the type of guy who broke a lot of rules. He hung out with people he wasn’t supposed to and he shared food with them, which in the Jewish faith was a major no-no. And while I like rule-breaking to a level I never admired when I was younger, I don’t think this was just because Jesus liked to theologically rumble from time to time (though I think he did) but because he really thought people were more important than laws and rules. He made space for people who society had said didn’t deserve space (uh oh, how can you not think of our border crisis now?!?!) I even think that he didn’t welcome those who weren’t “worthy” by society’s standards in spite of their station socially but because of their status. Having lived a life of a “lower” person, perhaps their perspective was important, irreplaceable, needed in the religious world? When everyone has a seat at the table, the conversation changes.

Part of what we do in the program is develop personal rhythms to sustain us in our spiritual practices and studies. It’s not about learning all the things with books but about experimenting and being open to new ideas and ways of life. But reading all the books and writing all the papers along with trying to make space for those we’ve been told don’t matter requires A LOT of self-care. Hence, the rhythms. It includes intentionality around prayer, hospitality, attentiveness, and simplicity. We write them ourselves so it’s really just a way to create something for us (we have a spiritual formation director who supports us in this…shout out to Natalie). And I am being more intentional with my hosting and being hosted within my family.

And so I had this moment with my oldest this morning…this daughter who I keep thinking won’t need me as much now that she’s in middle school. And yet, this kid shouts good-bye to me in front of all the cool kids at the bus stop and wants me there waiting for her (two blocks from our house) every day after school. She is giving me opportunities to host her and to be hosted by her. I’ve heard this in the context of marriage being described as “love bids.” Partners, and all loved ones, give us opportunities all the time to lean in or to lean out of the relationship. And while part of me thinks “can’t she just walk two blocks alone, I already took my bra off?!?!”, what this class is reminding me is that my daughter wants to host me in her day. The question is, can I make space for her while I host myself? I have a body and my own emotional needs and an incredibly demanding schedule. Those things are involved in just being me in my life right now. I need to make space for me in the midst of my life and that requires a lot of care and balance with my time and energy. Can I also make space, in these little ways, to say yes to hosting and being hosted by my child? And can I see those opportunities for connection as not just part of my motherly duty (does that ever really end?) but as even a way to bring blessings to me? This is not a one way street.

A lot of ideas around hospitality now are about helping guests feel comfortable. And that is really important. But have you ever played the role of host for the evening and at the end of the day, felt refreshed by the company? Have you felt loved and heard even as you poured coffee and served food? We think that hospitality is a top-down, one-direction dynamic. But, if we’re honest and also open, hospitality can be a circle. We can give and receive throughout the evening and the entire relationship. When I was in ministry, I positioned myself as giver and rarely as receiver. What an exhausting and prideful way to live! And how much did I miss out on when I postured myself that way?

I just wrote about seeing myself as a colander creating space for people to share things. That idea is in line with hospitality. It’s not about a physical space (Jesus was not a home owner). It’s about connection. It’s about eye contact. It’s about paying attention. Maybe it’s actually a gift from God to me that my oldest is open and honest about her need for me. And maybe that’s not another thing on my list but the exact thing I need to remind myself that my priority is love, no matter how easy it is to get caught up in everything else.

Energy Levels

I’ve been talking with some trusted friends about what I might do after I’m done with my grad program and one of the things that keeps coming to the forefront of my mind is chaplaincy. I’ve been interested in it since undergrad almost 20 years ago, particularly because that degree is in psych and it seemed like a cool way to connect to other people. And now, as I’ve had more trauma in my own life, I’m inevitably more interested in supporting others in trauma specifically. As a caretaker, I’ve always been drawn to crisis. I never wanted to be the person pulling people out of fires, but I wanted to help those who did that saving work process what they experienced. A supporter of first responders or trauma-touched, so to speak. And as this discernment process came underway, my energy seemed to draw A LOT of opportunities for connection.

I cannot tell you how many people have come up and shared with me really personal stuff in the last few months. I’m totally into it. My experience with it lately has been so different because I’ve postured myself differently than I used to when I was in professional ministry, or even younger when I was in high school. I used to see these types of moments as a burden-transaction. Someone needed to unburden themselves by giving their burdens to me. And I needed to take them and either solve them or carry them. Now I see these moments entirely differently. I see myself as a kitchen colander. A person climbs into my space, a space I create to hold this moment and the energy that moves between us (some might say the Holy Spirit) is like the water washing over. us My part is holding the space. I am not the source of the energy. And when that person climbs out of my space, I am not weighed down. I was honored to have been given the opportunity to hold space and the person in it with me gets to have a moment where they feel seen and heard. The energy and life moving between us isn’t actually coming from either of us. That energy is its own. I like to think it belongs to God. It’s really interesting to experience something that is not your own. I cannot control it and I don’t wield it. But it visits me in these sacred moments.

I’m finding that in my old mindset, where I felt compelled to fix or carry, that I was actually dishonoring the other person. I couldn’t see past myself. And because of that, I took on other people’s work. I can have grace for myself in that because I really didn’t know another way and the churches I’ve been in leadership under have modeled this level of caretaking to me and called it holy. But I don’t think the role of a spiritual leader is to tidy up the pain and vulnerability of other people’s lives. We create a container for people to be open. They open and in vulnerability and safety, they see and do their work. When we step into that space and direct or even take the process from them (often pridefully thinking we know what to do or can do their work better), we are actually crippling the growth of other people. Spiritual direction is not tidying. In fact, spiritual direction embraces the chaos and makes room for it. The wisdom is found in the chaos, not in the tidy space where everything is under the rug. The times that I have seen growth within myself, I have found it while being held up by others, not tidied by them or silenced by judgement. I think the way we hold (or don’t hold) space for others can create or lessen the pain of the people around us.

Suffering Isn't Evil

I have to tell you guys, I am really enjoying graduate school. I'm sure school in many areas would be fun or interesting, but the program I'm in specifically just fits like a friggin' glove. I'm so pleased! I'll be even more pleased tomorrow as it'll be the first day both of my kids will be at school (yea for the teachers strike ending!) as the program has been going on for a few weeks now and I feel an urgent desire to really hunker down.

One of the things I've been reading for class is a book that's actually out of print but I have no idea why because it's so brilliant! (Man, I am geeking out hard right now, sorry). The topic of one of the chapters is about suffering. There was a line he wrote that really brought clarity to something for me. He said, "the evil is in the intent to harm, not the suffering.” His greater point is that suffering isn't a problem to solve but just part of the human condition. But our modern/post-modern interpretation of pain is that it's always bad. I've written about this time and time again. I especially love that he brings intent into it as that has been a bit of a talking point for me for some time. It is so heart-breaking when you are held to a standard outside of your intention. I mean, I have had people hold me to things based on their own projection of what they decided my intentions were (or worse, outright claimed my intentions have no value in community), and I found myself at a total impasse. How do you resolve conflict (relational suffering, in this case) when what you say has no bearing on how others interpret your intentions? You freaking can't. 

So what I am continuing to learn is that if people don't give a fuck about your intentions, they don't give a fuck about you, not really. I don't mean that your intentions are your "get out of jail free card" but if they have no value within community, there is no grace or compassion in community. That's a community I cannot be accountable to because it is one in which I cannot be a human being. There is no space for feelings or frailty or straight up fucking up when your intentions don't matter. And so as I try to recover from experiences such as these, I can hold on to the fact that my causing suffering is not evil. It's evil to cause suffering if you're trying to do so. And that's legit, dude. Not okay. But if you cause suffering accidentally, you're just a person. It doesn't mean you can't apologize for unintentional harm, however, that apology only gains credence in a community willing to accept it. Sometimes that's more elusive than I imagined. 

It also means that when I feel harmed, I get to go back to my understanding of the other person's motives. Because I do my best to assign positive intent, rarely do I hold to this idea of evil. I have had a few occasions where the other person made it really damn clear they intended my harm, and that made it very easy for me to determine my response. But if I can have a reasonable doubt about another's intent to harm me, I get to reframe the suffering through the lens that it was possibly not on purpose. There are two sides to every story (let's face it: many more usually) so even when suffering is great, unless I am sure it was deliberate, I can choose not to receive it as evil. I can choose to receive it like grief, loss, heartache, but not true destruction. And that has merit.

Why Do Babies Die?

No. I'm asking the question. I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA why babies die. I feel like in the last several years, Tim and I have been in relationship with so many people whose babies have died. Not necessarily best friends, but people we know. We had a neighbor who lost TWO babies to two different diseases. I'm so angry. It's just not supposed to happen. 

And I feel like that's all we should say. I am not going to be that person that tries to tie an atom bomb with a glittery bow. It's just a shit show. I'm sorry. Maybe that's not comforting? I have no idea. I've never lost a baby. I know some people really cling to religious ideas and that brings them comfort. That's awesome. And I would never suggest taking that from them or dashing their hopes. But I personally don't think there's anything that's worth losing a baby. There's no cause where that cost is appropriate, no purpose that makes babies dying okay. 

I find myself praying when a baby's life is hanging in the balance. And that's weird for me because I don't pray often anymore. But there's nothing quite like knowing a baby is struggling to live somewhere and there's nothing anyone can do about it (except sometimes medical professionals, but even they are restricted in their control). It's awful. I hate it. And I want all the babies to stop dying. 

I think they need to stay here in the arms of their often post-labor mothers who need to smell their skin and hold their soft bodies and nurse them and just be with them. They don't need to be in the ground. Stop asking us to put them in the ground. Stop asking women to go home from a hospital bloody and dehydrated, leaking milk from painfully sore breasts with NO FUCKING BABY. It's hard to do that when your baby is healthy and with you. But to go through that without the reward of 9-10 months of pregnancy? Without the dreams fulfilled and the life-long hopes and plans? No. Just no. 

I know I'm not God and I don't have a say. And I'm not sure God has a say. I have a hard time talking to him in these instances if he does have a say. Because what the hell? There are not enough wrong things in the world for someone to deserve this. And if they didn't do anything wrong, again, what the hell? You just arbitrarily take babies from unsuspecting post-partum women? Why?

What. The. Fuck. 

And what about all of us who didn't lose babies? Who've never been in that bathroom looking down at the toilet in horror and shock? Who've never given birth and gone home empty-handed? What about us? Why do we get to hold our children FOR A LIFETIME and they don't? I don't want to be blessed above others and I don't want to be cursed below others. I just want it to be right.

And babies dying is never right.

I'm sorry.

When VBS Theology Hurts Children

I've been meaning to write this post for awhile. VBS happens in the summer, y'all! So here's what happened: I sent my kids to VBS. I was a little nervous about the theology that would be planted in their hearts but I was reassured by several people that VBS theology is usually pretty tame in the churches of Christ (yes, I sent them there). Usually the "fire and brimstone" stuff isn't emphasized. It's not really our way. We like our salvation process to be well thought out and not particularly emotional. Unless we're at camp. Then all bets are off.

However, here's the snag. The "VBS in a box" kit was purchased from some mainstream evangelical source, not the churches of Christ. The flashy, cool stuff never comes from us. And this was really flashy and cool and my children had a great time. They still talk about it. And it's like this every year, which is why I send them back (plus, let's be honest: free childcare in the summer is like panning for gold...you will search and search for a tiny sliver of it so your kids survive the summer with frazzled mom). 

And so, in the middle of the freebies that came home every day and the stories of the games and food, I had a 9 year old with a heavy heart by the end of the week. It was incredibly fortuitous that she and I both woke up at least an hour early on the same day for "no reason" after that week was over. And because mom got a break, she used that time to hold her child and have a heart-to-heart. Macy's not a sharer so this was rare and I'm so grateful it played out this way. Because otherwise,

I WOULD HAVE NEVER KNOWN THIS TOTAL BULLSHIT WAS TAUGHT TO MY CHILD AT A FORMATIVE AGE.

So she asked me, "Does it break God's heart every time I make a mistake (this is a question from one perfectionist to another, if you can imagine the tenderness being exposed here)?" 

"No darling, God expects everyone to make mistakes. It's part of being human and he made us human on purpose."

"But at VBS, we all had to write down our "sins" and then we had to write them on a cross and the teacher showed everybody. And I didn't know anyone else was going to see it and my handwriting is really big."

"That must have made you feel really exposed that she didn't ask your consent and didn't make it clear to you that others were going to see what you wrote."

"Yes that was really embarrassing (enter disparaging remarks about teacher). Then when she held up all our "sins", she took a heart and broke it in half and that was supposed to represent God's heart every time we make a mistake."

[Enter "dear God, help me not scream or cry right now" into my frantic brain.]

"Here's the thing, babe. Some people really believe that. Some people believe that God requires us to be perfect and that because we can't be perfect, that's what makes us need God. And that's why Jesus died."

"But Mom, does he even like me at all?"

"Yes darling. He thinks you're amazing. And he would never make you feel terrible for not being able to be perfect. In fact, I've found him to be much more kind to me in my perfectionist brain than I am to myself. And that's why I reject this theology. Beliefs are a choice. Do you think that if you conclude after hearing a belief that God does not even like you, does that sound like good news? 

"No, this is not good news." 

"Then it's not Jesus. Your teacher believes this and we can extend grace to her, though I know you're angry. And it's sad that this is the framework she's living in. But you get to decide what you hold and what you let go of. This sounds like something that isn't serving you, as it didn't serve me. You get to choose if you agree with your teacher."

"I don't think she likes me. She didn't like it when I asked questions."

"Yes, often in this kind of framework, there isn't room for questions."

"If I can't ever be perfect. Why even try?" [Because in this framework, the other option is eternal damnation.] Tears trickle down her face.

"Ah, you've hit my other rubric for if something is from God."

"What?"

"So one is, is this good news? Two is, does this give me hope? So the question is, seeing God's heart break because you can't always behave a certain way and you're the reason he died and you'll never be able to get it right...did that theology give you hope?"

"No."

"There you go. At the end of the day, you may decide to agree with your teacher. That's your choice to make because beliefs are a choice. You may agree with me that this is totally untrue. Just so you can hear another viewpoint, I believe that God made us human on purpose, that he delights in us and that there is no condemnation for those who love him (or for anyone, frankly). I believe that Jesus paid the debt of sin for all humanity once and for all. I believe we are safe and good and loved. Yes, of course, we should take responsibility when we hurt other people, even on accident. But that comes from a place of love for self and others, not from fear of punishment or shame. I believe that the message of Jesus is good news for everyone, not just for people who behave a certain way or who look a certain way. It's for everyone. And I believe that he is the author of hope. He's got this all figured out. And we're okay. We don't need to fix the world or save anyone. We just need to try to be decent people and love him and others. But ultimately, you get to decide what you believe. And as you grow up, you'll hear a lot of what other people believe. But you get to filter it through your experiences and ideas to see what you want to hold and what you want to release. You may grow up to believe very differently from me. And that's okay. That's what Grandpa calls "working out your faith." That's one of my favorite things about faith - it's yours to hold and shape."

"So I can just let this go if it makes me feel bad about myself and God?"

"Yup."

"Okay." Hugs. Back up to bed.

Deep breaths. What if we hadn't both woken up early? This kiddo doesn't talk to me about her experiences and feelings, but this time she did. And it really mattered. And I'm so grateful. I don't know if this will be enough to pluck out that seed planted in her heart and I'm feeling guilt for exposing her to this. And she wants to go back next summer because everything else was great. Ugh. At least I've got a whole year to figure out how to find a fun VBS that doesn't poison my child's self-worth and view of how God sees her. 

You guys, if after a lesson a child at a formative age comes away with 2 questions: Does God even like me? And why even try to be good? THIS IS A RED FLAG. I don't care how flashy the stage is, how fun the crafts are, CHECK YOUR THEOLOGY. THIS IS NOT OKAY. Sometimes, we get a chance to parent ourselves while parenting our children. This raw, innocent early experience with religious shame and loss of hope put me back in touch with my own innocence. I responded with fervent intent to be perfect. Macy already knows that's a bust. Thank God for books for children about perfectionism. But then her reaction was a total loss of hope. It makes sense to me. 

The more I've sifted through my theology, the more I've come to focus on the fruit of belief. It's not just about what is true and holding onto it. It's about how we are affected when we embrace a certain truth. Does this belief make me more compassionate towards others? Does this belief make me judge others? Does this give me hope? Does this help me understand others and have empathy? Does this belief make me feel affirmed in myself or like shit about things I cannot change (holla LGBTQI!)? This matters. This matters even more to me than the core beliefs themselves and ideas of absolute truth. And that's why I think there should be diversity of belief in community. Some people can hold certain beliefs and be engaged and loving in the world and others curl up in the closet and die. We gotta figure out what beliefs serve us and our mission in the world to be kind, to give grace, to make peace. And that is the polar opposite of how I was raised - that there is one truth, one interpretation of it and you're in or you're out. It's that framework that makes it okay to form children in this way because the alternative is hell. Any kind of shaming, stripping of humanity or judgement is better than eternal damnation, right? This is how we justify excommunication. This is how we can revoke rights for "others" because it's "loving" to tell them "the truth" so they can "come to God." If we make their lives fair, they'll have no reason to come crawling to God for mercy, right? This shit is toxic and it starts YOUNG.

This is the shit I've taken 6 years to unpack in myself and I'll be damned if I stand by and watch someone else do it to my kid. How dare we do this to children. Shame on us. This shit stops now.

The Violence is Within Us All

I want to hide in my bed for the evening. I took a bath and I just want to be done with today. The problem is, it's only 5pm and my husband feels sick so hibernating with two kids fending for themselves feels like a dick move. But this lethargy is bone-deep. Why do we do this to ourselves? 

In case you don't know what I'm talking about, I'm referring to the largest mass shooting this country has ever seen. And many people are talking about guns. And we should be talking about guns. Guns are a critical issue in this country. It's embarrassing how much we're in denial about that as people bleed in the streets for no real reason. Others are talking about how we frame our narratives, how this shooter has been given a pass on terms like "terrorist" because he's white. I could go on and on about that and I should. It's important.

But tonight I want to wonder, what is it in us that compels us to do such catastrophic damage to HUNDREDS of total strangers? And is there a piece of me in that hatred? I see myself in those cowering in fear and confusion and I see humanity in the one pulling the trigger with ruthless impunity. I can't imagine doing that and yet, there is a human compulsion to destroy life that resides in all of us whose heart beats. And that is why I don't want to get out of bed. Because even the eternal optimist, the girl who really thought she could save the world at 21, has to face the reality that sometimes humanity is a huge pile of shit. 

We are a violent nation and we have more guns than people. I know. I'm shaking my head too. And we have so much work to do legally to make things right, to prevent these things from happening. We need to deal with guns. We need to deal with mental health. But what can you and I do right now? Without politics and or funding? We need to create community. People do less shitty stuff in community. When we feel loved, when we feel heard, when we experience safety in relationship, that desire to harm others takes a backseat. Right? I think so. I hope so. That's all I've got tonight. And it'll have to be enough because it's still another hour til bedtime. Peace to your house, friends. 

Face Your Pain Head On

After all the intensity of last week, with two explosive blog posts and subsequent fallout (I'm trying to let go of care-taking all those who were unfriended by someone else but it's hard), I have been given an opportunity. Because I put myself out there, my story was heard at the right time by the right person who has given me a chance to preach at a church of Christ. Not as a profession! (One of my besties and her husband have been throwing that idea around, ironically, that I could become a preacher in the church of Christ). No, this is a one-time, awesome opportunity. If nothing else, I am most definitely an opportunist, so you better believe I'm doing it. I try to live my life in a way where I don't turn anything I want down, especially if it's scary. I find deep pleasure and satisfaction in the challenge of doing scary things. And because of that, being honest and vulnerable on a public platform usually gives me a thrill not a quaking horror (last week was a bit of a hiccup in that dynamic, but there's a natural ebb and flow to this). I have to tell you guys, I am so excited about this opportunity!

The sermon series he'll be working through is on reconciliation - with self, God and the world. And we'll talk church trauma, finding your voice, speaking your truth amidst others denial, self-kindness and more. I absolutely cannot wait! Beyond the excitement about the material and the challenge of preaching from Scripture (which has triggered me for years and I'm not done processing), this is a big deal on a scale so much larger than me. For almost 2 centuries now (if my church history class at Pepperdine is being recalled properly), women have not had permission to speak in the churches of Christ. Some churches are evolving out of that dynamic but they are rare and none are experiencing that process easily or without baggage. Repression creates a grave so deep, it's very difficult to get to the bodies underneath. And for most of them, it's too late. Their spirit has been crushed and they've fallen in line or they've left churches of Christ or church altogether. The sheer number of bodies having been buried by this theology, a literal reading of a few Scriptures, is overwhelming for me to ponder right now, even as I've lived it. So much talent, so many stories, so much value - left to suffocate because of gender. Gender roles, gender identity, the literalness that is breasts and a vagina. It's crushing, really. 

The shame of ambition. The questioning of your value. The uncertainty of your motives. The denial of your potential to contribute. The fear of self-adulation, the ultimate sin for a woman.

There. Is. So. Much. Pain. Here.

I feel like I'm standing on sacred, holy ground. And underneath me are the souls of all the oppressed women of the past, the generations of silence. The loss is profound. The loss for the women, but also the loss for the church. When I wrote about white privilege not acknowledging the loss of black voices as a negative, I feel the same way about this. I recognize that racial and gender privilege are different. But in the same way that white culture has functioned without the intrinsic value of black voices, the churches of Christ has MISSED OUT on the female voice in such a way that it is warped. White culture is skewed and the churches of Christ are too. We've been so hell-bent on emulating the early Christian church (somehow we've translated that into 1950, not 33 AD but no one seems to talk about that) that we've lost the full contribution of half of our population. That is tragic. 

I had an opportunity this summer to do something scary. I can't tell you how the fear welled up in me. At the Shaklee convention, we had a speaker come talk to us about breakthroughs. His name was Brian Biro and he was lovely. But the whole time, he was talking about how at the end of his talk, all 4,000 of us were going to "break boards" like we were in martial arts. We were going to get into groups of 10 and the previously trained "board holders" were going to hold our boards while we broke them WITH OUR HANDS. I was terrified. Specifically, I was afraid of the shame that would wash over me when I didn't break it the first time. I was afraid to have to try again, to work at something in public, because I was sure I wouldn't be able to break it the first time. Why would I? I've never done this before and I was afraid. I didn't know if I had the power within me to break the board the first time. 

Before we tried to break our boards, Brian had us write what we needed to break through on the board itself. It took me awhile to ascertain exactly what is what I was afraid of, but my teammate Laney (former therapist!) helped me break it down. I was afraid of my own power.

I WAS AFRAID OF MY OWN POWER.

How many women have felt that way? It's always been there, deep within me. Potential. Success. Power. A big 'ole fucking life. I've always known it and I can't tell you how scared to death I've been of fully stepping into my power. That probably seems funny because many of you seem to see me as already doing that in my writing. And I am. I feel like I'm living the life I want to live and have for a long time, if not always. But there's more here. There's always more in that well. And I keep trying to pace myself, as we've always taught women to do - be small, that's good enough, don't get greedy, let's stop here.

On the back of the board, he had us write what we would have if we broke through whatever the board represented. I wrote: "security, joy, hope, empowerment, leader of my daughters, choices and freedom." And I added my children's and Tim's names and the future grandkids we hope to have some day (because I believe in the generational impact of these kinds of breakthroughs). I want to be a powerful woman and I hope that by being her (myself), I will instill power in my daughters and maybe someday, their daughters. 

The reason I share this story with you, in the midst of my excitement about preaching, is that they go together. This formative thing that happened to me in August (grainy but proud video above) paved the path for this moment. I am an ongoing evolving creature, as we all are. But the more I step into my power by being vulnerable and honest and true, believing in my innate worthiness, affirming my value to contribute, the more opportunity is created for me to inspire others to do the same. And what better thing could I possibly be doing?  

Is there something holding you back from living the life you want to live? Is there more potential within you that you fear tapping into? These questions are worthy of reflection. And whatever you find behind that veil, I pray that you break through it, claim your life and live into your potential. Don't let anyone, even yourself, limit what you can do with your talent, your voice, your ideas, your heart. We've only got one shot at this. Take it.

Just Because You're Human Doesn't Excuse You Being An Asshole

I've found two major theories in how people accept humanity. Based on the way these ideas are implemented, the repercussions are drastically different. The first theology of humanity is, "oopsie, we're all human" therefore we should basically excuse all shitty behavior. The subtext is that we're pieces of shit so we can't set boundaries, defend ourselves or condemn abusive behavior. Anything goes because we're forgiven! I saw this reaction when Josh Duggar was forced to admit he was a terrible hypocrite (my words of course!) who advocated for women not showing their knees and then repeatedly lied to his virginal wife so he could go play with women who wore jeans (not allowed for his wife) and loved sex toys. That's not an "oopsie, we're all human" moment. That's a "you're a terrible abuser who deserves to lose his livelihood and the family you've built on total, deliberate deception" kind of moment. Sometimes the conservative Christian idea of redemption invites abuse and this is a good example. Because many Christians level the playing field of sin and make everything evil the same, we can see someone like "Poor Josh" and excuse his behavior with no evidence of remorse or life change. If he says the right words, he's good to go. And guess what? His wife is pregnant again. 

Another good example is any time Trump has ever claimed Christianity and then shown zero evidence of faith in any action in his life. But I don't want to talk about him. 

The result of this theology of humanity and "sin" is enabling abusers, silencing victims and not giving perpetrators the opportunity to experience real, life-changing consequences for their choices. It's always someone else's fault (in this case, the Devil, according to Josh). The perpetrator is actually the victim! We fail everyone involved and shame anyone who doesn't forgive the person who isn't remorseful. When someone is remorseful, their ways change. Until that happens, they're playing you. Sorry. (Again, TRUMP, TRUMP, TRUMP...damn, didn't I say I didn't want to talk about him?!)

The second theology of humanity is, "I embrace my humanity, have compassion on myself and then extend that towards others." For me, embracing my humanity, giving myself grace and learning to really feel compassion for myself, my limitations and my human-ness has made me a much more gracious, understanding person. Do you see the difference? In the first scenario, we poo-poo Josh Duggar. In the second, we feel grief for the shitty theology that taught Josh that the subjugation of women was okay and hold sorrow for his wife and children, who will be stuck with him forever. It's not about judging them. It's about being sad for what they're living in and outraged at the perpetuation of his behavior. 

It's in embracing my humanity that I cannot tolerate letting abusers roam free. It's in seeing Josh's wife suffer humiliation and a total lack of options and freedom that takes the conversation off Josh's "sin" and onto her as a human deserving of dignity and respect. It's in seeing myself in refugees, Muslims, people of color and the LGBTQI community that propels me forward against bigotry. The first approach continues blindly following bigotry while the second unveils it and fights back. We must see our own humanity and the humanity of others in order to make our society a more tolerant and safe place for everyone. Somehow the "we're all human" thing only extends to other fellow conservative Christians. How does that apply to the "illegals?" It doesn't. They should have known they'd be threatened with deportation while going through a miscarriage in custody. What about all those POC getting arrested and killed? They should just behave. Like I do in my ivory tower. Where is the "we're all human" in those cases? It doesn't apply. Somehow it never does. 

Claim the Good No Matter What

There was a little voice in the back of my head when I wrote my blog post on May 31st, Dreams Really Do Come True. It was a quiet one and it was ignored. But the voice tried to make me feel afraid of claiming the family milestone we had when we first went bowling. We've now been going twice a week with great success. But on that first day, we did a new activity as a family of 4 and it was actually fun the whole time. All 4 of us enjoyed it and Tim and I did not feel stressed or depleted afterwards. That was a really big deal. But publicly claiming that victory gave me a moment’s pause. Here’s why:

Sometimes we live in a headspace of scarcity. Like, if you claim something good and enjoy it, you will find punishment around the corner. The good stuff is scarce but if you’re quiet about it, maybe no one will notice and the hammer won’t drop. Does anyone else fear this? I’ve worked really hard on my scarcity mentality. If you don’t recognize how evil this kind of headspace can be, just look at what we’re doing in this country to “Make America Great Again.” The entire idea of deporting Muslims and building a wall centers on scarcity. This kind of nationalism lives in a place of throwing elbows and seeing people as “other” first and a drain on resources. As we know, some critical resources are finite, so any generosity or space created for diversity and acceptance threatens the amount left over for the majority.

I run my own business. And business is another arena where scarcity thrives. Everyone is trying to beat the competition and make the most money. Sometimes even at the loss of the customer either with quality or service. I cannot tolerate this. For me to represent something personally to people I care about, it has to be legit or I’m not doing it. Thankfully, I’m working with a company that lives the antithesis of a scarcity mindset, focusing on helping ourselves by helping others first. We work in teams and those teams do not compete or withhold resources from each other. It’s lovely. It’s the only way I could comfortably do business in the long-term. I literally cannot increase my business unless I’m actively coaching a teammate in achieving their goals or helping a customer improve their health. What a way to make a living! When I’m living in scarcity and fear, I understand the cutthroat mentality that a lot of businesses thrive on. And if it’s between my family or my community, I’m willing to admit, I choose my family. But I’m grateful to be in a business where I can have both. I know how rare that is.

These are some more obvious examples of scarcity thinking. But is the fear of bad following good a part of that in a distant way as well? I believe it is. I think we believe that only so much good can come to any one person in a given amount of time. And if we claim it, bad could come sooner and more intensely. Maybe it stems from my religious upbringing. There is a lot of theology that supports this either by claiming that marking a victory comes from a place of pride and “pride comes before a fall.” Or, that if you are experiencing good, that the “enemy” (Satan) will attack you and your family. Even admitting that I don’t live in that headspace anymore feels like a dumb thing to publicly claim. Not dumb because it’s obvious and no one believes that but because that fear is still there. Who would want to entice the devil?

Perhaps that is where the fear of pleasure comes from. A lot of conservative Christians fear pleasure. No one has ever said that to me outright. But we are really sexually repressed and anything that feels really good, must be sinful. That’s why we work so hard to find joy in God, because that’s the only safe place to find it. We mock “hippie liberals” for their love of nature and the environment. We judge those who imbibe for being addicts or weak. We call women who want to have sex but don’t want to be mothers whores and “baby killers.” Pleasure scares us. And maybe claiming a family victory is a form of that, enjoying a win and taking pleasure in the moment. Or maybe it’s okay, but only if we go on and on about giving God the glory.

No matter. My life has taken a few hits since that post. My tooth drama came full circle when it was extracted but not without extreme pain. Turns out, the nerve that was giving me so much pain ran THROUGH the tooth. Who knew? So, no matter how many needles my periodontist jammed into my gums and cheek, I could still feel it when he tried to extract the tooth. You know what they have to do in that case? They have to drill into the tooth and stick a needle directly into the nerve to numb it. Thankfully, after a shocking jolt and subsequent involuntary sobbing, the pain stopped for good and that shitter was removed from my mouth forever. Apparently the whole implant process takes 6 months, but day one sucked.

A few days after that, on Father’s Day, our house flooded. One of the kids left the toilet running and apparently it was also clogged. So for an hour during quiet time, 2 of the 3 of us were snoozing, the water just ran and ran. From our upstairs toilet to the carpeted hallway, through the floor to the kitchen ceiling below to the kitchen floor. The only thing we’ve really upgraded in our house we’ve had 12 years is that flooring. It’s gone now. Don’t worry, it’ll be replaced. And I’ve been saving so we can easily pay our deductible. But it’s a pain in the ass and there are strangers ripping out things I love and a lot of dehumidifiers and fans making the house almost intolerably hot.

Here are the positives. They’re always there if you’re looking. One, I had 3 dear friends help me on tooth divorce day. 2 of them drove me while I was high (though not nearly high enough). The other watched Penny while I was high. THANK YOU. It’s so beautiful to have people who, on a moment’s notice, are willing to get you your meds and make sure you get home safely. Many friends have listened to the insane tooth drama with compassion and humor. I feel so loved. Two, nothing of sentimental value was lost in the flood and we had the funds set aside to where the deductible doesn’t hurt. That’s a really big deal and I’m grateful to my business for providing us with the cushion we need to do things that really improve our happiness. Things like vacations and savings and not accruing dental debt when I feel I may have bought my surgeon a car at this point.

All in all, I will claim the good. It’s all we’ve got. And it’s enough.

The Courage of Commitment

I did something really brave on Sunday. I joined my church community as a member. It took me 2 and a half years to be willing to do that. At my church (it's so fun to say that, like using the word "fiance" right after a proposal), the membership responsibilities are not intensely binding or rigid but I feel serious about making a verbal commitment to a community of people. I waited until I was truly ready. Sunday, I felt ready to be vulnerable, open and shaped by other people in the area of my faith. That is a really big deal. My faith process has been something I have guarded viscerally since we left the churches of Christ. I have fended off many influences over the years and have treated my soul as the precious thing it is. I wanted to tighten that circle of influence and church was left out. To allow it to be shaped by a church community felt threatening for a long time. When you feel threatened about something precious, you circle the wagons. You've got to. If you're not in church for this reason, I commend you. 

After we left full-time ministry, we participated in a local church plant with safe friends. That season (about 1 and a half years) was all about unpacking our pain and we were surrounded with support during that time. It was so special to have church friends our age who weren't threatened by our grief or who felt compelled to defend against it. We were angry. We were confused. We were in shock. It was a painful, but precious time and we hold dear all those friends who held us up and loved us through that.

Then we went through my difficult pregnancy with Penny (where I couldn't sit in the church chairs) and Tim was ready for space when it came to long sermons and regular church attendance. That began a 2 year period where we did not really attend church at all. There were logistical challenges with my pregnancy and afterwards, the mental health stuff did not foster enough flexibility in us to try to be in church with young kids (it can be incredibly stressful). Sometimes attending church is just too hard. 

Once things stabilized at home, (about 2 and a half years ago), I visited my current church on my own. It's called Bridgeport United Church of Christ. One of my dearest friends, Danna, had been inviting me for about a year. She and I have similar back stories with our church of Christ history and professional ministry experiences (read: trauma) and she had found a home there. So right after Christmas, in 2014, I climbed the steps of Bridgeport alone. I was nervous. I can't begin to tell you how scary it can be to walk through the doors of a church. For me, it was the act of not knowing the rhythms of a strange community coupled with the triggers of talking about and engaging in faith activities in a group setting. If you judge people who don't want to keep visiting around, you are out of touch with what that process is like. And if church trauma is involved, forget it. 

So it was scary. But it was also shockingly lovely. I had spent the previous few years charting my own course. I was trusting my instincts, reading a lot, bouncing ideas and experiences off trusted friends and "practicing" my faith. My Reverend talks about the concept of faith as a practice a lot and I love it. I had started my first blog, Mutterings from a Perfectionist, and was actively unpacking my perfectionism and sifting through my values. Let's face it: faith isn't something you hold with full knowledge and certainty. For me, faith has become potentially making an ass of myself and learning a lot by listening. It's a practice. This idea also emphasizes that perfection is actually a barrier to faith versus the goal. Very healthy for me indeed!

I found myself in a room with people who were practicing their faith with activism and community engagement that left my new life in the dust. Not in an invalidating way, but in the way that I knew I could learn from these people and actually grow in the practice of my faith. Before, I was having to tune out church messages to pursue what I felt was right, in particular, obsessive focus on my behavior and qualifying it as sinful or not sinful. I wanted to learn how to love myself and love others. I wanted to be relevant in the world, not separate from it. I wanted my faith to be fused with my passion for activism, not as an act of rebellion from it. I found myself coming to terms with the fact that I could pursue this path on my own as I had been, or I could join a community that spurred me on in this process, that filled me with encouragement, that affirmed my grief about our culture and gave me opportunities to do something about it. Wow!

I didn't know there was such thing as a progressive Christian faith. I had already decided to keep Jesus and leave behind conservatism. But I assumed that meant I could not have church. And I was okay with that. Hell, avoiding church allowed me to leave that painful baggage in the past. Confronting it on top of everything else I was facing in my life, was just too hard. And then I walked into Bridgeport. And it was beautiful. It really moved me. I found my home. I knew it that very first week. And, like a lover who'd been burned, it just took me a really long time to be ready to live in full community with my friends at church. I needed to do church completely on my terms. And I still often recoil when anything is asked of me there. It's a gut reaction. I'm afraid of being used. I'm afraid of saying yes when I should say no. I'm afraid that sometimes yes will be the right thing. I don't want to give. I don't want to serve. I don't want to be obligated. And I really, really don't want to be betrayed again. But I've decided to knowingly look that fear in the eyes and try. And I have stumbled through it even as a visitor all this time. I'm choosing community knowing that for me, it is a bit of a minefield. But I believe the benefit outweighs the risks and that is a huge deal. I am so, so grateful to have found Bridgeport and to have been able to salvage faith community in my life. It was so unexpected and unnecessary. What a gift!

Here are the things I affirmed during the ceremony:

That I profess Jesus as the center of my faith

That I will be faithful to this community

That I will challenge this community to be the best version of itself and to live up to the things we say we believe

That I will allow myself to be changed, shaped and transformed by this community as I live into my called identity as a beloved child of God

Because it was Pentecost Sunday, there was a big focus on the Holy Spirit and it was also our church's 19th anniversary, so many questions were asked of the community and many stories were told about how participation in our church life had made a difference in everyone's lives. It was beautiful. We found that so many of us were transplants from other church movements. We were sojourners who'd found our way home. We ended church with a picnic. There were dogs and children running around and it was a good reminder that community doesn't have to be restrictive or homogeneous. It just has to be honest.

During that 5 year period between our firing and now (it'll be 6 years in a few weeks), Tim and I as individuals kind of went in different directions. And I don't mean opposite directions, just living into the fact that we have different needs spiritually. I don't know what that looks like in the long-term (which caused me great anxiety initially) but at this point, it has looks like me attending Bridgeport and him staying home. As a introvert and moderate, Tim just doesn't feel like church is home anymore. He doesn't really fit in conservative or progressive Christianity and sadly, that doesn't leave a lot of options. He hasn't found a place that really fits and he feels fine without that weekly rhythm. He's not uninterested, but he's not pursuing it either.

It is a tricky thing to "let" your former minister spouse not attend church. I use quotations because it is his decision. If I truly respect my husband and his faith process (as he does mine) then those are his choices to make. And it is a total judgment to assume that he's not a Christian or a person of faith just because he doesn't sit in a pew every week. How many people sit in a pew and then live like assholes? Sorry, but it's true. I can be an encouragement by checking in with him, engaging him in spiritual conversation and just being there for him as a friend. But it is not my job to lead him spiritually and neither is it his job to lead me. We were raised to believe that men are the spiritual leaders of the home. I've even heard people say that it's your job to get your spouse to heaven. I choose not to live in the fear of hell for myself or for my family. I choose to respect my husband's faith process, holding the truth that we are very different in approach, spiritual need and giftedness. And here's the thing - we always were. We're living more honestly now. He's not pushing himself to lead others. He's taking better care of himself. And I'm staying true to my love for him and the family we've made. I have so many friends who've wrestled with this. I know so many women who attend church alone with their children. They receive glances of pity every single week. Guess what? We're not spiritual widows. People change. Things happen. Life hurts and we process that differently. And we love our husbands! When faced with a change of direction for a spouse, we can hold on for dear life, nag until all love is gone or we can release control and live in respect and love. I am not afraid.

The other thing that's fun in a challenging way about this is it forces the church-going spouse to be accountable to him or herself. There's a certain shoulders-back grit that comes from making a spiritual commitment for yourself and your children as an individual. I'm in charge of my faith process. I collaborate with my fellow church members, but my soul is my own garden to tend and that is a beautiful thing. May the flowers grow in your garden. May the fruit rise up to nourish you and your children. May you pursue and work out your faith with freedom and grace. May you find a safety net under you that you never knew was there. That net is big enough for me, my children and for my non-church-going husband. It's big enough for you too.

The Restoration of All Things, Starting with You and Me

I'm in the stage of life where Disney movies are on our screens. A LOT. One of our current favorites is Moana. As you may know, the music is gorgeous, penned by none other than Lin Manuel Miranda of Hamilton. If you haven't seen the film, you should, especially because you will have no idea what I want to talk about in this post!

At the end of the film, Moana gives Te Fiti her heart back. It takes her a minute to realize that the fire monster chasing after her and Maui is none other than the goddess she's crossed an ocean to find. She's looking for a magical being and instead, comes face to face with a formidable, frightening creature. There is no life in her. Bent on destruction. She is horrifying. She is a beast, ugly, representing all decay and death, the end of all fruitfulness, life and beauty. 

How can the one who created the beautiful, bountiful, lush world around them become her own opposite? Where has she gone and what transformed her from life to death? If you've seen the film, you know that Maui stole her heart and used her powers for himself and tried to share them with mankind as a benefactor. He's a trickster, irreverent and full of himself (though charmingly played by Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson). He knows not what he's done. And the ramifications of his decision change the course of his life and the lives of mankind from there on out. The earth begins to die. The coconuts are black. The lush gardens are wilting. The fish traps come up empty. Who knows how long it would have taken for Moana's people to reach their ultimate demise? The trajectory had been set.

Moana is supposed to stay on her small island, following her chief father's lead. The number one rule of her people is "no one leaves." But the ocean is calling her. Supported by her "crazy" grandmother and the ocean itself, she is drawn to go past the reef, which is forbidden. Through many twists and turns, she meets Maui, helps him off his island exile, retrieves his magical hook and convinces him to help her give back Te Fiti's heart.

In the climax of the film, Moana sees Te Fiti as the fire beast. She holds her shining green heart in the air and tells the ocean "Let her come to me." The ocean makes a path. Te Fiti, the creature of death crawls on the ground towards her menacingly. Bravely, Moana starts walking confidently towards her singing,  

"I have crossed the horizon to find you.

I know your name.

They have stolen the heart from inside you.

But this does not define you.

This is not who you are.

You know who you are.

Who you truly are."

Then she brings the space between her eyes to the space between Te Fiti's eyes, a place of affection, equality and reconciliation. 

As Moana places Te Fiti's heart back in her chest, the ash and fire crumble and are replaced with lush greenery, flowers, LIFE! It spreads from her chest through her whole body, to all the land, even far away on Moana's home island. Life is restored. And it is beautiful. The old is swept away. All is made new. Maui reconciles himself to her and she forgives him. She is gorgeous. She is luscious. She is nature incarnate.

Every time I see this scene unfold, tears spring to my eyes, goosebumps cover my body and my breath catches in my chest. Why? This is eternity. I was raised to believe that if you didn't do and believe certain things about God while on earth, you would spend eternity suffering in hell. I no longer believe that. I don't know what happens when we die. It's ridiculous to presume any of us do. But I believe that the reason my spirit leaps during this scene is because our hearts long for reconciliation. Reconciliation with our creator, our purpose, our souls. And I believe that will happen to all people at the end of time. That wrongs will be made right. Not through retribution and punishment but through restitution and restoration. That ash will turn to flowers. That peace will reign. And it will be glorious, gorgeous, perfect. We will be fully restored. Anything that has died, deteriorated, degenerated, atrophied will flourish, rise again, breathe anew. I long for that. Maybe we all do.

The words Moana speaks to Te Fiti apply to all of us. When we live in a way that steals peoples hearts from their chest, we are not being who we are, who we truly are. We were made for more. When we denigrate ourselves by believing we live in a world of scarcity, we fight for power and control over things that are meant to be shared. Te Fiti was doing her job, providing life for all when Maui decided he needed her powers for himself. And everyone suffered. Te Fiti suffered. She became a monster, out of touch with her divine nature. She became decaying flesh and her actions reflected that. We don't have to be defined by our traumas, by the things stripped from us. We know who we are. Our name is known. And we are made for more.  

I don't want to live my life in fear. I don't want to obey in order to avoid punishment. I want to live in the land of Te Fiti, with my heart restored, creating beauty and life within and around me. I don't want to spend my time assigning blame, pointing fingers and trying to climb to the top for salvation. I want to pull up a chair at an endless banquet table, laden with enough food and drink for all. All races, all religions, all people. I want us to be a family. A diverse, somewhat crazy, beautiful human race. Don't spend your time taking hearts out of peoples chests. Be one to restore hearts. Not because we're mini saviors running around trying to bale out the sinking ship of humanity but because we must. Because we're all Te Fiti and we're all Maui. We are one. And restoration is coming for us all. If you have to cross the horizon to be found, do it. It is everything. Claim the beauty that is waiting for you.