Sunday, September 3, 2017

Rising from the Ashes

Once time in college a group of us were playing a game in which one of the questions asked was, "If you were to write a book about your life, what would be the title"? I remember very clearly entitling mine Rising from the Ashes. This is no book, but it's my own writing that graces this blog, and that's good enough for me. 

I have contemplated writing a new entry for quite some time but have been stumped as to what to write about. Sure, there's been an update in my faith struggle -- which is still riddled with questions and enough cynicism at which I could shake a branch (Definitely not a stick!); however, a lot of healing has taken place, and that's one of the reasons I started this blog: for the sake of my own healing and maybe someone else's too. So here I go again.

If you aren’t familiar with my story or any of my entries, one of my most recent blurbs was my struggle to trudge through depression. Last year my parents connected me with a counselor who was a godsend for me, and still is, as she helped me not only make sense of the Shadows that had engulfed my life, but also guided me in untying a lot of insecurities that had built up over time. I am very grateful for her strong ability to aid me in my emotional and mental healing. While the suggestion of dealing with depression via medication was discussed, I took a chance at taking multivitamins and, for the most part, I have very little dealings with my Shadows since then. It doesn’t mean they will never pop up again – depression runs in the family, so I am susceptible to it when life gets hard – but so far I have escaped from my own Shawshank Prison, climbed my own Mt. Doom, or what have you. Point is, I have “crawled through a river of shit and come clean on the other side” (The Shawshank Redemption, 1994). I guess you could say so far I am kicking depression in the ass and enjoying it. (I swear I’m not a violent person.)

While there is still my faith struggle to work through – the biggest, nastiest lump of them all – there is progress there also. While I still get tangled up in a wad there also has been restoration. It is a slow healing but it’s been confusingly beautiful in how it’s unfolded. I became connected to a Celebrate Recovery group at a local church that has allowed me to be a mess of issues. While I’m the only one in the group that I know of who struggles with a background in Christian legalism, never have I felt judged for the few times I have opened up and shared part of my story. We all are trying not to let hurts and hang-ups control our lives.

Finding a church to attend, however, is still problematic. While part of me craves a church to call home, getting myself to that nestled comfort of familiarity is a very big challenge that I am quite unsure of how to confront. Call me a wuss if you want; call me lazy, unmotivated, lukewarm, or rebellious, but mostly the whole process is overwhelming and is only what I can describe as “sensory overload”. New building, people I don’t know, a worship band and singers that are foreign to me while singing songs that I can’t help but pick apart theologically and cynically, a pastor I want to learn from but don't know if I can yet trust even a little bit… ugh. After an hour of taking it all in while trying to be an active participant, I’m depleted. I’m stumped and have no idea if approaching this challenge day by day is what I’m supposed to do. The only solution I can muster is reading a few verses in my Bible at night (when I actually do open it, which isn't consistently), accompanied by a Max Lucado devotional, Grace for the Moment, and hope that it ignites a beautiful love for God again. It’s a work in progress.


Despite the fact that I know I’m still a mess, I’m more comfortable with where I am and ultimately am trying to learn to surrender to God and his will. I’m not where I want to be – I’m nowhere close to it – but I’m still trying to learn about grace instead of condemning myself when I know I’ve fallen way short. But the beautiful thing about this curious circumstance is somehow I still believe in the goodness and loving nature of my Creator; and somehow, despite all the crap I’ve endured, I still believe He leads me in unconditional love and that will take me all the way home. That is the only thing that gives me a hope draped in peace and restoration. 


"You've seen my descent, now watch my rising" -Rumi

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Baby Pool Faith

Some time ago I came across an inspirational quote on Pinterest that has since stayed with me: "Healing isn't linear." Considering the crazy amount of damage I took time to heal last year, it was a comfort to me, as my own healing journey has been anything BUT linear. Often I would wonder why I took three steps forward and two more steps back, one forward and two back . . . you get the point. I considered myself weak and inconsistent for not constantly moving up the incline toward that plateau with a neon sign that screams, "You have arrived!" Nope.

Last year was a tough one to climb -- I don't regret or hate my journey, as I have developed a few "muscles" I didn't have before and healed wounds that have stayed with me, literally, since my formative childhood years -- but despite all my progress, rebuilding my Christian faith is still a massive undertaking. I've returned to the church I went to before shit hit the fan; I left the same church feeling like maybe it's not a fit anymore; I've attempted to go to different churches and chickened out; and once more I revisited that same church with which I was at odds; yet still I hold out hope that my feet will not quit on me again, and one day soon I will walk into a new building full of people I've yet to meet. I anticipate I will be hesitantly excited about it. (Does that even make sense? Hoping for this new thing to be exciting and life-giving, as intimidating as it can be?) I've been present as often as absent from a Bible study full of friends I've known for a few years, yet I haven't been able to shake the feeling that I've been in over my head. I know it's silly to assume everyone else's life or faith seems so stable when I've only been given a small window that opens into a tiny room of one friend's (or many friends') entire existence, but that's how I was feeling: everyone else was a mature adult swimming in the deep end of practicing Christianity, while I was lagging behind and not strong enough to keep my head just above the surface where they freely swam.

Staying in the former atmosphere made me feel like I was holding others back from learning all they could. My questions felt like a distraction. (It's possible I'm overthinking things -- I'm a master at that -- but that's neither here nor there at the moment.) Finally I had to admit my current faith lacks the strength and stamina it once had. Maybe over time I have become a "baby" Christian again and need to relearn the basics before I jump back into the deep end. I'm putting myself back in the baby pool, so to speak. Willingly I am entering a season of rebuilding my faith into something that, I hope, will be motivated more by a genuine love for God and people instead of a faith that is driven by fear of judgment and condemnation. I'll make awkward and failed attempts at unlearning all the unnecessary rules I diligently learned to follow years ago, but I believe the effort will be worth it.