Saved

 

Two friends. 

Both persons of faith. 

Both raised in the Southern Baptist Church. 

Both taught that they have a duty and responsibility to save souls through the gospel of Jesus Christ. 

Both spent active periods of their lives using Christian evangelism tools to save souls.

Both are now Christian counselors. 

 

One friend recently had a teenage client in distress because she had broken up with her best friend.

The counselor lamented that she didn’t know if she could work this girl anymore because she doesn’t agree with the girl’s homosexual actions. 

She said she was surprised that the girl wanted to go to Christian counseling if she had those tendencies. 

She said that homosexuality is not something that Christians should be dealing with if their faith is strong enough.

She said that she was confused as to why the girl chose her because her counselor profile did not state that she dealt with issues of sexuality. 

In fact, she had intentionally left those issues off of her profile. 

She must follow what she believes.

 

In contrast, the other friend intentionally included issues of sexuality and faith in her profile.

“When I think of Jesus,” she says, “and how he lived, I am inspired. 

To love the sick and the poor and the children and others who are marginalized.

To tell people they are enough as they are and loved as they are regardless of what anyone else says about them. 

I follow the ways of Christ as he was portrayed as loving others.”

She wants all persons to have a safe place because she knows what it’s like not to have a safe place herself.

She wants to spread love because it literally may save someone’s life. 

She must follow what she believes. 

 

Two friends. 

Both persons of faith. 

Both raised in the Southern Baptist Church. 

Both taught that they have a duty and responsibility to save souls through the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Both are now in positions to help save lives.

Both are following what they believe. 

 

One of these friends probably makes you angry.

 

One of these friends, you likely think is wrong.

 

Oh God, may each of us be willing to see you for who You Are.. Not who we make you to be because of our beliefs, upbringing, and experiences. But who you are throughout time and circumstance, from the beginning of creation until now. Creating, refining, and redeeming, drawing all people to You. Amen.

Love Your Neighbor As Yourself

 I don’t have TikTok because I’ve heard that it sucks you in,

And I don’t anything else to suck me in.

Facebook is enough—

Especially now that I’ve discovered cute animal videos 😊!

But the other day,

As I was scrolling through FB,

I saw a video post by a friend whom I admire.

It was a TikTok video.

 

The video hit me right in the gut.

 

For days now,

I’ve been thinking of what the creator said.

Finally, I asked my friend to share.

She did.

And this is what @bibleschoolblacksheep (TikTok) said:

 

“I think the worst thing the evangelical church has done

Is to combine the idea that you should love others as yourself

With the idea that you are inherently unlovable and deserving of hell.

Because if you’re taught to hate yourself

Then when you hate others,

You’re loving others as you love yourself.

This is why evangelicals have this disconnect between loving people

And accepting them for who they are--

Because inherently

They’re taught that they are not acceptable the way that they are,

So they cannot accept other people the way that they are

Because they can’t accept themselves the way that they are.

And they’re taught that that is actually loving themselves and other people.

And that’s how evangelical and fundamentalist churches weaponize God’s love—

By teaching you to withhold it from yourself and from others.

That’s also why there’s such a correlation between learning to love yourself

And deconstructing your evangelical upbringing.”

 

Friends:

I’m not sure what else to say.

Sixteen years in therapy,

And I’m still learning to believe that

I am a beloved child of God.

 

May you learn it, too,

So that you can fully

Love God,

And then,

In a healthy way,

Love your neighbor as yourself.

 

Amen.

 

Loyal to Suffering

“We are loyal to our suffering,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he said.

“Our human nature is geared toward struggling,” she said.
“And society tries to convince us that
we must always live in fear.”

“But how does that make us loyal to suffering?” he said.

“In the absence of fear or struggle,” she said,
“In the presence of contentment and courage—
We are led to believe that something is wrong.”

“Go on,” he said.

“We find something to worry about,” she said.
“We create something to fear because it feels right.
We are loyal to our suffering.”

“Oh,” he said.
“But that’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

“No,” she said.
“The journey is learning to be fully present
exactly where we are.”

“In bad times and good,” he said.

“Yes,” she said.
“The journey is falling into Peace
And trusting That which passes understanding.”

“Even when it means being okay that things are going okay?” he said.

“Even when it means being okay that things are going okay!” she said.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she said.
“Now go be disloyal to suffering.
Go live into Peace.”

Dispelling Darkness

I remember being afraid that I’d be judged—that people would say that my relationship with God wasn’t strong enough—that I didn’t need counseling but that I needed to “get right with the Lord.”

I remember shaking when I first asked for help—feeling vulnerable—weak—sick. I remember crying.

I remember feeling lost as I walked into counseling for the first time. I remember having no idea what to say or do. I remember sitting on the couch and feeling very weird. I remember spewing a whole bunch of things that were in my heart and on my mind. And I remember crying again…to a total stranger…who would come to be God’s Love and Light when I needed it most.

I have been in counseling for twelve years now, and I have seen three different therapists. There have been months when I’ve not seen anyone. Life has kept me away. But for the most part, I have been in counseling at least once a month for all of those twelve years—sometimes in crisis, most of the time in the normal rhythms of the life of one who struggles with anxiety and works in the helping professions—all the while in a safe space of no pretense—a container of holding for every part of my life—pleasant, unpleasant, and neutral.

Counseling has helped me understand God more fully and deeply. It has expanded my understanding of the Creator, made me more amazed at the Redeemer, and caused me to be ever more aware of the presence of the Sustainer. Trinity God is alive, active, and well, and counseling has helped me see and understand that much…all the while helping me to see and understand myself.

And yet…there is still such a stigma about counseling. There is still the belief that Christians (or strong people in general) shouldn’t need counseling—that if our relationship with God (or our family or friends) is strong enough then we shouldn’t need outside help—that if we just “get right with the Lord” then all will be well.

Well, friends, I’m here to tell you: That stigma is a dark, damning lie.

God has not called us to go at life alone. Instead, God has given us the ability to know that there are times when we must ask for and seek human help. As a result, God has given us family, friends, colleagues, church family, pastors, teachers, doctors, counselors, and other professionals to provide us with the help that we need.

Dear friends: Depression and anxiety are illnesses. They are very often brain chemical imbalances that need to be treated, and the best treatment is talk therapy (and oftentimes the addition of medication). We have no shame in treating most physical illnesses; therefore, we must stop shaming the reality of mental illnesses that are crippling millions of children, teenagers, and adults, and we must stop punishing ourselves by pretending that everything is alright when it so clearly is not.

May we be a people of Love and Light; telling our stories and dispelling the darkness of fear, shame, and lies; offering hope and giving permission to seek help to those who need it; and mustering the courage to ask for help when we ourselves need it most.

Amen?

And amen.

Strange

Has anyone ever said something to you that you found so strange that it took you a few days to comprehend?

Joe The Counselor did that to me on Tuesday night.

He suggested that I intentionally do something that I think will bring up feelings of anxiety and guilt so that I can pay attention to what those feelings feel like.

He said that when I start to feel guilty, I should say, “Oh, hey, Gil. You’re here a little sooner than I thought you’d be.” And then see what happens.

I looked at him like he was a bit strange, yet what he said has stuck with me all week.

This afternoon as I was discussing vacation plans with my mom, I heard myself saying something a bit strange:

I think maybe you and dad should just go on and drive to Florida. At least that way you’ll have some control over the situation. Because there’s not really anything you can control right now. The weather. The flights. If you make it to the boat on time. Although…you could just leave everything as is and use this whole experience as an exercise in feeling out of control. Pay attention to feelings that come up. Greet them and then feel them.

My mom didn’t say anything. I could tell she was thinking that I was a bit strange.

Yet, as strange as it sounded, I understood exactly what I was saying.

Every moment.
Every opportunity.
Every experience.
Good or bad.
Planned or unplanned.
Is a chance to learn and grow.
To examine life and observe habits that can be strengthened or let go.
To learn not to harshly judge or condemn but to accept what is.

Sometimes we just have to look at life through a non-traditional lens…strange as that lens may be.

Wow. That Really Changes Things.

Today was rough. I’m not sure if it was me returning to “real” life after being away at a conference, if it was student behavior, or if it was a combination of both, but I was more than ready to call the day quits by the end of my last class. In fact, I turned and walked toward the board during that class and said to myself, “Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Do not let frustration invade your being. Do not angrily raise your voice. You can do this. The day is almost over. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.” I breathed myself to the end of the day.

…

When I learned the concept of being a “non-anxious presence” during my courses at divinity school, I immediately made it my goal to become a non-anxious presence. When I declared this goal to one of my professors, he laughed at me. What he knew that I didn’t know was that it is next to impossible to be a non-anxious presence. We can take steps toward being non-anxious. We can have moments of non-anxiety. We can live with a less-anxious presence. But it is very rare for a person truly to live as a non-anxious presence. My goal was indeed laughable. Yet it is still my goal. As my latest fortune cookie read: “It is far worse to live without goals than to live in fear of not accomplishing them.”

...

So…today I worked very hard to be non-anxious. I activated all non-anxious strategies—breath, prayer, body awareness, silence, sharing, firm voice rather than yelling voice, breath, and prayer—and, well, I didn’t fully fail. I didn’t fully succeed either. But I didn’t fully fail. And I suppose that’s a good thing, eh? 

…

In counseling on Tuesday night, I talked with Joe The Counselor about some of the situations that test my limits of non-anxiety—or I suppose I need to say less-anxiety if I want to be more accurate. For as many hours as I have been in counseling; for as many years as I have worked through the issues that are my monsters; for as many words as I have written about self-worth and value, grace and redemption, hope and resurrection, limitless love for all of God’s creation; there are still memories and realities that hook me—there are still words and accusations that hit me with such force that they knock me into the fetal position where all I know to do is cry.

As I shared these thoughts with Joe, desperately hoping that he could help me identify the root of one such reality that invokes so much anger and frustration in me that I truly do not like the person whom I hear and feel reacting, Joe patiently listened. Then he said something that I will not soon forget:

“Bear with me here,” he said. “You might not be ready to hear this. But what if the next time this reality arises, you say, ‘Thank you, (reality), for being my teacher,’ and letting the situation teach you whatever it is that you need to learn rather than letting it frustrate you to the point that you cannot think straight?”

I didn’t know what to say.

Until I finally said, “Wow. That really changes things.”

Think:
Thank you, student who is driving me crazy, for being my teacher.
Thank you, visceral memory that is punching me in the gut, for being my teacher.
Thank you, person who dislikes me and speaks ill of me, for being my teacher.
Thank you, stranger who cuts me off in traffic because you didn’t follow traffic signs, for being my teacher.

…

In my inevitably failed mission of living as a non-anxious presence, I now have one more tool to employ when my monsters attack: Thankfulness.

In every situation, friends, good and bad, there is something to be learned.
And for that, friends, there is reason to be thankful.

Thank you, God, for being our teacher.
In all things.
Even when our feeble, human attempts at love are laughable.

Amen.

Making The Most Of Me--Version One

Each year, The Harnett County Reading Council hosts a Young Author’s Writing Competition. This year’s theme is “Making The Most of Me.” Writers are supposed to write about life-events and decisions that have helped them make the most of themselves. What a difficult theme for the elementary writer! As an adult, I get it. Even so, I have struggled with this year’s theme.

After a lot of editing this entry to 500 words, here is version number one for my “Making The Most of Me” entry. This is the first time I have ever entered prose. I will post version number two on Thursday. It is a poem.

---------

I am a people pleaser. I like to do what’s right and have the approval of those around me. Even so, I can think of two specific times when I went against others’ approval and did what I felt best.

The first time I followed my heart and did what was best was when I went to a friend's dad's funeral during a major winter storm. The weather was horrible. The roads were in terrible condition. Making a long drive defied everything that made sense, yet I knew I needed to do it. So I did. When I arrived at the funeral, I was the only person there for my friend. I sat with her on the family pew, rode with her to the graveside, and stood beside her in the freezing rain as she watched her father’s casket being lowered into the ground. I then followed her home so she wouldn't have to make the journey alone.

Of all the things I've done in life, making that trip to that funeral that day is one of the things that I know I did right—despite signs of disapproval.

The second time I followed my heart and did what was best was when I decided to go to counseling. For many years, anxiety, depression, and intense feelings of self-loathing weighed me down. I stuffed those feelings inside and tried to cover them with people-pleasing work and relationships, yet I was deeply broken. Despite the common sentiment that going to counseling shows a major weakness of faith and a shallow relationship with God, and despite the fact that my going to counseling would be looked down upon by many church-goers, I found the strength to ask for professional help.

Week in and week out, my counselor listened to my jumbled thoughts and helped me see myself and the God that I adore in life-altering ways. She showed me the unconditional love and grace of God and provided for me a steady, safe place. Through my time in counseling, I learned the importance of finding my voice—of giving words to my thoughts and feelings and allowing people to help carry the griefs, hurts, heartaches, and joys that I too often try to carry alone. Knowing that there was someone who unconditionally supported, cared for, and cheered for me allowed me to see all of the other people in my life who were and always had been doing the same. Counseling changed my perspective and allowed me to see the world through different eyes.

Of all the things I've done in life, taking that step toward help is one of the things that I know I did right—despite signs of disapproval.

As a people-pleaser, I don’t like receiving signs of disapproval, yet I’ve learned that I must follow my heart and do what I feel is best…

…I’ve learned that being myself is the best way of making the most of me.

Breathe...Peace

Today is the International World Day of Peace. In preparation for the day, B had the 5th graders make Pinwheels for Peace and placed them in front of the school. I’ve been working with the 5th graders on songs of peace. We’re currently writing personalized verses to the song, “What Can One Little Person Do?”

----

On Friday night, I had the privilege of seeing Plumb in concert. She was headlining a women’s conference in Fayetteville. I’d never before seen Plumb and knew very little about her life or music, yet I knew I wanted to attend the concert because I’d recently heard her song “Exhale” and immediately connected with it. In short, the concert was amazing and speaking with Plumb afterward was the same.

----

In my example verse for the 5th graders, I wrote that I hoped for sustainability and made a plan to use reusable shopping bags to change the world. I want my students to know that standing for peace and changing the world doesn’t have to be a huge, instantly famous action. I want them to know that, really, it’s the little things that change the world and bring peace—things that they actually can do rather than abstract concepts that seem impossible. If I’d have thought they could fully understand it, though, then I would have written about my hope for mindfulness and self-awareness and my plan to breathe.

----

During one of the most difficult emotional periods of my life, one of my friends consistently told me to breathe. I remember getting mad at her for telling me to breathe because, of course, I was breathing. But one night when I found myself in fitful tears, I realized that I was holding my breath instead of exhaling. In that moment, I understood what my friend meant. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe. Steady breath calms us.

----

After standing in line for at least thirty minutes to meet Plumb, I had the opportunity to speak with her for a few moments. As a formality, I had her sign my newly purchased CD, but I really just wanted to talk with her. So I did. I told her how appreciative I was of the honesty and wisdom in her music and how much I resonated with “Exhale.” She explained her hope that as she inhaled and exhaled grace, the grace would find its way to those around her and surround them with a hug. As she explained this to me, she touched my shoulders to demonstrate the surrounding.

----

My first counselor, Jenny, gave me an audio-book called Good Medicine. In the book, the teacher, Pema Chodron, introduces a concept that I personalized to this: Breathe in darkness, stress, gunk, and all things bad; imagine Jesus (who, according to Christian teaching “lives” in the heart) filtering out and getting rid of all of the junk; then breathe out light, grace, hope, peace, love, and all things good.

-----

Just before Plumb told me her hope that the air she exhales will hug those around her, I shared with her the process that I learned in Good Medicine. I told her that I breathe in darkness and breathe out light for myself, my friends, my family, my students, the world. I presented the concept to her in case she wanted to do the same.

----

What can I do to change the world? Live with mindfulness and self-awareness. And breathe… peace.
mi

Making A Difference

Making A Difference…3.12.15

Tuesday night in counseling, Joe asked me why I do the work that I do. I thought for a moment and then said, "This is going to sound so stereotypical, but I guess it’s because I want to make a difference."

I then went on to say that I often doubt how much of a difference I am really making as an elementary music teacher. I said, "I know I can love the kids while I have them, but then they go to middle school and high school and have so much to deal with, and, really, how much is elementary music going to influence those?"

Joe said, "If I'd have had an elementary music teacher like you, then I probably wouldn't carry the scar that I carry. My music teacher's name was Mr. C and he used to throw chalk at us when we played our notes wrong. I was afraid of him. He made a mark on me--a lasting impression--something that I've had to undo. If I'd have had a teacher like you, then that wouldn't have happened."

I said, "So I can have a positive influence on someone by not doing something negative? I've never thought about it like that."

I've been thinking about it for the past couple of days. Making a positive difference by not doing something negative. Doing something good by not doing something bad. Offering a safe space to grow that isn't necessarily memorable but that is real--that holds kids as they grow and allows them to grow even if they don't remember the growing--that doesn't cut them down or stifle them in any way.

My best friend once asked me if I remembered learning to read. I said no. She said, "Me either. We must not have had trouble learning to read. I remember learning math because I struggled with it. But I never struggled with reading. It's just something I learned to do."

Maybe that's what making a difference looks like for me. Providing experiences for kids to learn even when they don't remember the learning. Providing time for kids to be kids even when they don't look back on their lives and remember me or elementary music.

I guess part of me has always wanted to be that teacher that people look back and say was their favorite. There's pride for you. But I guess maybe that's not what it's about. I guess maybe making a difference doesn't mean being remembered but providing love that helps a kid get through the day...moment by moment...step by step…until they meet other people who will do the same. I guess maybe making a difference is walking a kid to the front of the breakfast line when he is in tears and all he can say is, “I’m just so hungry,” because the last meal he had was school lunch the day before.

Don't get me wrong. I know that for some kids elementary music is very influential. Some of my former students have gone on to have careers in music and others remember specific experiences they had in class.

But for most--for the thousands rather than the handful--my class will just be part of their existence. Likely not identifiably life-changing. Which, I'm learning to believe, is okay.

God knows that I know how difficult it is to undo the wrongs done to us in the past. Maybe you know of those difficulties, too? So I will seek not to wrong my students--not to tell them that they cannot sing or play or make music--no matter how bad they are--not to scar them--not to leave them with anything they must undo in the future...and leave them only with love.

We've been singing, "When I Survey The Wondrous Cross" at church during lent. One of the lyrics that's been going through my mind all week is, "Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, save in the death of Christ my God. All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood...Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all."

It sounds so simple here. Love: amazing, divine. Love: my soul, my life, my all.

Love: really is what makes a difference.
And what I want to do.
Day in and day out.
Quiet. Steady. Stubborn. Positive. True…

Confession: But By The Grace of God

A coworker asked me the other day how I remained so positive.
But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.
Because here’s the truth.
I’m really not a very positive person. At all.

In fact, when left on its own,
The script in my head is one of the most damning places one could ever be.
“You’re such a stupid piece of crap. You should just stay in bed instead of getting up and subjecting the world to your junk. You’re overbearing and ridiculously annoying. You think too much and talk too much and no one wants to be around you. You’re a pitifully sad excuse of a
minister and teacher.”

Those are the thoughts that stay with me, folks.
But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

When I’m rested and my appreciation tank is full,
I can quieten the lies.
But when I’m tired and overly stressed,
They are all that I can hear.
And when they’re all I can hear,
I get really messed up.
I feel lonely. So I talk more. Then I feel like I say too much and annoy people. So then I get mad at myself and want to disappear. But then I get lonely again. And when I say lonely, I mean deep down irrationally alone. So I talk about it and try not to turn it inward. But then I get mad at myself for burdening the world with my mess. And then I shut down and want to disappear because I dislike myself so much And cannot believe that anyone else would actually want me around.
Crazymaking, huh?

But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

I’ve had to learn how to soften the lies and I have to face them every day.
Counseling has helped me build new neuro-pathways and
given me language for a new script.
I’ve learned to breathe and to give the Spirit space to settle.
I’ve learned the value of silence and contemplative prayer.
I’ve learned that I’m not alone in my damning thoughts and
that I do not have to carry them alone.
I’ve learned that people are praying for me, too…

But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

We’re in this together.
And I believe in you.
Which is one positively true statement,
Even when I don’t believe in myself.

But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

*Selah*

Helen's Courage

A few years ago, as I was trying to decide whether or not to go swimming at camp, I had the following conversation with a friend: Me: “I don’t always like to go swimming because I can’t see when I take off my glasses.” Friend: “Me either. And when I take my hearing aid out, you might as well call me Helen Keller.” So I did :-). I called her Helen for the rest of the summer and jokingly bought her a copy of “The Story of My Life” by Helen Keller. Surprisingly, she read the book! And she told me that it was a good read.

Fast forward to a few Sundays ago…Patrick was preaching a sermon in which he mentioned Jesus’ ability to move persons from darkness to light—to set persons free from bondage—to give voice to the voiceless. As his example to set up the idea, Patrick shared a bit of Helen Keller’s story—how she, though deaf and blind, was literally given a voice when she learned to read and write. Remembering the simple story from above and feeling totally fascinated by the notion of someone moving from darkness to light, I ordered “The Story of My Life” for myself.

In the week since I began listening to the book, I have watched YouTube videos of Helen’s life, mentioned her in more conversations than should be normal, and been absolutely amazed at her story—her insight, wisdom, intelligence, determination, gratitude, generous spirit, charity, writing, humility, positive attitude, and courage. Other than Jesus, Helen Keller has become the historical figure whom I’d most like to meet should time travel be possible, and her life has moved into a place of inspiration that is not finished inspiring.

It takes courage to set your mind to something at which you could easily fail. It takes courage to open your heart to things that could easily hurt you. It takes courage to face your fears.

For Helen, it took courage to set her mind to learning to sing and speak when she had no point of reference for sound. It took courage to decide to graduate from college when a college degree required taking classes in Greek, Hebrew, French, and German—when English didn’t even come naturally.

For others, it takes courage to:
apologize for speaking hurtful words;
leave a toxic, unhealthy relationship;
do the hard work of facing inner demons;
slowly open and create more space for life;
get out of bed each day;
stay sober;
get married;
have a baby.

I’ve witnessed a lot of courage recently.

I think Helen would be proud.

…

Courage: A Poem
Always know, dear friend, that God’s love and peace are real.
When you don’t have the courage to let go or the stamina to try,
rest in the certainty of God’s strength,
open yourself to the beauty of possibility,
trust in the promise of God’s amazing grace, and
remember that my love for you is real, too.

A Blessing For The Exhausted

I left my house this morning at 7:00. I got home tonight at 9:00. In between those hours I worked, drove, went to counseling, and rescued twenty five stones from a dump site.

I’m tired.

Not flat exhausted. But tired.

And I know I’m not the only one.

Joe, my counselor, read me a blessing at the end of our session tonight. I want to share that blessing with you here. When he finished reading this blessing, he said, “I know that maybe not all of it resonated with where you are right now, but I hope that at least some of it did. You are doing good, hard, work. And your ability to really feel is truly a gift.”

“It did resonate with me,” I said. “The rhythm of the heart. The rain. The twilight imagery. I actually drove into the sunset tonight on the way here. It was really neat to suddenly find myself under the colors. And the silence of the stones. I’m planning to get some stones after I leave here tonight. It’s neat that this blessing mentions the silence of stones.”

What of these words resonate with you tonight, friends? Feel free to share.

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A B L E S S I N G
For One Who is Exhausted
By John O’Donohue

When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic,
Time takes on the strain until it breaks;
Then all the unattended stress falls in
On the mind like endless, increasing weight.

The light in the mind becomes dim.
Things you could take in your stride before
Now become laborsome events of will.

Weariness invades your spirit.
Gravity begins falling inside you,
Dragging down every bone.
The tide you never valued has gone out,

And you are marooned on unsure ground.
Something within you has closed down;
And you cannot push yourself back to life.
You have been forced to enter empty time.
The desire that drove you has relinquished.

There is nothing else to do now but rest
And patiently learn to receive the self
You have forsaken in the rush of days.

At first your thinking will darken
And sadness take over like listless weather.
The flow of unwept teach will frighten you.

You have traveled too far over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain
When it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight,
Taking time to open the well of color
That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone
Until its calmness can claim you.
Be excessively gentle with yourself.

Stay clear of those vexed in spirit,
Learn to linger around someone of ease
Who feels they have all the time in the world.

Gradually, you will return to yourself,
Having learned a new respect for your heart
And the joy that dwells far within slow time.

©John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us (New York: Doubleday, 2008), p.125, 126.

Me and Valentine's Day

I didn’t realize how much I disliked myself until my world began to unravel around Valentine’s Day 2007. I remember the date because Valentine’s Day is supposed to be a time of joy, but for me it was the beginning of a long period of darkness. Along with the depression that had been lurking for years, feelings of intense self-hate, -doubt, and -insecurity had been lingering for quite some time, but I had stuffed them deep inside and tried to cover them with work and relationships. I knew that something was wrong when I had to begin taking blood pressure medicine at age 25, but even then, though I was able to restructure some of my work habits, I didn’t stop to consider the deeper issues of why I felt the need to work so hard. The bottom line? I was ashamed of myself; therefore, I tried to hide myself by focusing on what I could do instead of who I was.

I grew up in Smalltown, USA, the youngest daughter of the preacher of the most prominent church in town. I lived in a fish bowl where all of my actions were watched, so I felt the need to be perfect. I saw how people talked about anyone who transgressed in any way and I heard how important it was to be holy, blameless, and pure. No one ever said it in so many words, yet I knew: being different and having my own thoughts was bad—it was wrong—hence I, as the good little preacher’s daughter, grew to believe that I had to do everything “right” lest I became bad and wrong as well.

I figured that if no one knew how I felt inside—that if I made perfect grades, was a leader at church, excelled in academics and music, demonstrated wisdom beyond my years—then no one would know that I felt bad and wrong. I would be accepted. I would be adequate. I would be celebrated and applauded and people would think that I was great. No one had to know that I was starving inside. No one had to know that I was miserable and desperate for companionship. No one had to know that I feared rejection and failure. No one had to know my real thoughts and beliefs.

And so I did my best to live, but I basically lived two lives—a public life and a private one. Over time, I got tired of hiding my thoughts and beliefs—which really weren’t bad, if you want to know the truth—and desired just to be me. And yet, I was afraid. I was afraid of being me. I carried such a deep sense of shame for being me that I felt bad and wrong. If anything bad happened to me, I deserved it. If anything good happened to me, it was just a fluke because…“if they only knew who I really was.” If only they knew, then they would reject me. They would think I was weird or radical. They might turn their backs on me or stab me in the back. They might not be able to see Jesus in me. If only they knew…

Around the time life began spinning out of control, I started counseling, and in counseling, I realized:

There is a disconnect between what I know to be true and what I actually live out in my life. I know that God loves me. I know that God wants me to love myself so that I can be most fully self and love people. But there’s just something inside of me that won’t allow me to fully love myself and fully embrace myself.

(struggling through tears) I am an authentic being…and a whole self. And I have to recognize what I’m feeling and how things affect me…and when I’m hurt and when I’m angry…and not always just try to feel for other people and try to make them better.



This struggle to love myself has been life-long, and it has been hard. It has led me to make many poor choices. My inability to love and have compassion for myself has caused me to question both God’s and humanity’s ability to and reason for loving me and it has profoundly affected my work and ministry—often causing me to work and act not out of a sense of call but out of a sense of the need to be wanted or needed. Yet, my inability to love myself, I believe, has given me a direct point of understanding between so much of humanity. I dare say that many people struggle to love and have compassion for themselves. Like me, they may not realize the struggle for what it is because it may lurk in the shadows of hyper-functioning. But I believe it’s there in the eyes of so many people—people who are running from themselves for whatever reason—for fear of rejection, hatred of sexuality, pain of abuse, grief of loss, heartache of confession, guilt of mistakes, yearning of acceptance, for uncertainty of call.

Somehow, in the midst of loathing myself, I developed a theology that believes that God created each one of us wonderfully and uniquely—that before we were born, God whispered into our ears who we were supposed to be and that it is our quest to live into that design while we are on this earth. I believe that the world (including parents, friends, schools, partners, and the church) tries to make us into its image but that our challenge is to live into the fullness of who God alone created us to be—just as Christ alone lived into the fullness of his being.

As a result of my journey, my desire in life is to support people on their journeys by helping them discover who they are and encouraging them to live into their gifts and passions. Just as my counselor created a safe place for me to be fully myself, I want to create a safe place for others to be fully themselves. I want to be a healthy presence at all times, in joy and in hardship, but especially when someone stops running from himself and/or God. In those moments, I want to show the love and grace and compassion that I know, now, are life-transforming. I want to hold a light in darkness, yet when light is too bright and my companion is unable to embrace its presence, I want to wait patiently until she can allow it to illuminate her life.

Valentine’s Day is marketed as a joyous day of love, but for five years, Valentine’s Season has been the marker of my spiral into darkness. Today, though, I am humbly proud to say that I can finally celebrate the Hallmark Season again without re-spiraling into darkness (I’m a Hallmark Platinum member, after all) and that I can celebrate life and love and live with the courage, strength, purpose, and compassion to help others build their lives on the Love that never fails. What an amazing journey of grace…

Connected Through The Body of Christ: A Follow-Up

Our building is being reorganized these days. In order to work more efficiently, teams are being grouped together and offices are being moved. We have now moved from first floor to third. When I came into work yesterday at 8:25am (five minutes early!), I began work in my old office. Mid-afternoon, I realized my new office was ready to occupy and my file cabinets were moved upstairs. Late afternoon, I began packing. Early evening, I gave my computer to Ron The Computer Man so that he could move it up. Mid evening, I began moving my stuff. Late evening, I began unpacking. Super late evening, at 10pm, I left for home (four hours late!). I’m in my new office now. I’m not completely settled, but I’m at least grounded enough to be able to work. And I’m tired. I’m very tired. I’m so tired that my brain is barely thinking. You know I’m tired when my brain cannot formulate thoughts!

As such, I’m simply going to post a follow-up to Monday’s post. I will start with Jenny’s response. And I will end with my closing words. [This exchange occurred on Tuesday, so my brain was working a little more fully then.]

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Dear Deanna,
Your words are overwhelmingly gracious and kind. Just one thought: Every place you write my name in paragraph 4, and perhaps some other places, I wonder if it should/could/can be “Deanna.” Remember: you did the work; you discovered your own truths; you did the struggling, the searching, the courageous naming, the transforming. I thank my therapists—and the two I’ve had have been incredibly insightful and compassionate—but I know I did the work . Just a thought. Peace to you always, Jenny+

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Jenny,

I anticipated this response...so I have a counter-response :-):

Read carefully:

and I was reminded that it was Jenny who first HELPED ME LEARN to accept that truth that I belong…that it was Jenny who HELPED ME LEARN to believe that God loves me for me…that it was Jenny who gave me the language of being a person of worth and value…and that it was Jenny who taught me to sit with life, open myself to it, and accept the joy and grief that comes with living.

And...well...you did give me new language. I had never heard it before. And we cannot know that which we have not heard :-). And I had never been taught to sit with life and open myself to it. I had never been taught the reality of grief that comes with joy that comes with life. So in those ways, you were not only my therapist but you were my greatest teacher.

Don't fret, dear Jenny. I know I did the struggling, searching, naming, and transforming. And I make a conscious effort to claim that truth when it is appropriate--not to boast but to speak a language that allows people to know that we must do the hard work of finding our own voice in order to be set free. And I know that God was with me. I know that God worked alongside and within me--that I couldn't have made the journey alone--and that God will do the same for everyone who accepts the invitation to the banquet table :-). But I know, too, that you served as my guide and teacher along the way--that you helped me see and hear things that I could not see or hear alone. You showed me glimpses of truth and light and taught me the tools to run toward those. You helped create the container--the safe space--in which my brokenness could be examined and in the light transformed. So, yes, I thank YOU and thank God for you...

I realize that it is only because YOU have done your own hard work of struggling, searching, naming, and transforming that you were able to walk alongside me--and so many others--in mine--and theirs. I realize, too, that you are still doing your own hard work--as I am still doing mine. And, I suppose this sounds odd and I hope I am not overstepping my bounds but, I affirm you in your journey and am inspired by your courage--your very human, faltering courage--and I am sending you the same light and love and peace that you always send me.

It's interesting. I write notes every Monday and Thursday. I spend a lot of time figuring out what to say and how to say it. More often than not, I receive little to no response to what I've written. But yesterday, people did respond. They were moved by my words--by this story--and I can't help but marvel at that fact and wonder why. Could it be the inspiration of one life changing another and forever being connected in the body of Christ? I don't know. But I'm glad I know you. And after seeing you on Sunday, I feel certain that the people of Christ Church feel the same...d

Connected Through The Body of Christ

It’s been a little over a year since I walked into Jenny’s office and received the news that she was leaving counseling to go back into parish ministry. I cried. She cried. But I knew she was following God’s call for her life and that her greatest joy was not just in counseling but also in serving Eucharist to the body of believers…so…how could I begrudge her call?

Jenny is an Episcopal priest. I’ve long been fond of the Episcopal church and its liturgy. Even before Jenny went onto church staff, I had wanted to visit the church where she currently serves. One of my favorite college professors has played organ there for many years and I’d wanted to hear him play for some time. He’s absolutely amazing. Each time he plays, it’s as if the listener is at a recital. His hands and feet work together yet separately to play the keys and touch the pedals and work the stops and make truly awe-inspiring music. And so I went to hear him play yesterday…and also to hear Jenny preach…although I must admit I didn’t know the proper protocol for a former client going to visit her former counselor at her church!

I think that Baptists often miss out on the rich heritage of the church and the beautiful prayers and liturgies of countless church fathers and mothers who have gone before us. Though I spent a lot of time trying to figure out where we were in the litury yesterday (and secretly wishing I had taken my personal copy of the Book of Common Prayer—just because I have one ), I felt connected to centuries of believers in a rich liturgy of faith that surrounded me with the holy otherness and peace of Christ. Hearing and experiencing the language, sounds, patterns, and rhythms of faith passed down through generations caused me to be keenly aware of how big God is and how worthy God is of my awe and reverence.

Then Jenny spoke…and I was reminded that the Kingdom of God is open to all who choose to accept the invitation…and I was reminded that we each have a place at God’s table and that at God’s table we each find the acceptance for which we long…and I was reminded that it was Jenny who first helped me learn to accept that truth that I belong…that it was Jenny who helped me learn to believe that God loves me for me…that it was Jenny who gave me the language of being a person of worth and value…and that it was Jenny who taught me to sit with life, open myself to it, and accept the joy and grief that comes with living.

Because I didn’t know if I was breeching an ethical code of conduct by attending Jenny’s church, I hadn’t planned to take communion yesterday but had planned to remain part of the crowd, to blend in, and to slip out of the service quietly without making my presence known. But then my college professor saw me and smiled. And then I found myself with tears streaming down my face. And then I felt myself strangely compelled to walk forward. And then I found myself looking up into Jenny’s eyes and hearing her say, “Hey you…” and serving me the body of Christ…and then I realized just how significant that one action was—just how much meaning was held in that fraction of time.

Jenny, whose life and work changed my life and work by being the non-anxious presence of God to me, who left a profession in which she excelled in order to return to the parish to serve Eucharist and feel most complete, served me Eucharist—the body of Christ—the body of the one broken for me—the body of the one who gives life—the body of the one who fills me with the peace that I began to understand only when I realized and confessed my own utter brokenness...and that confession was made in the sacred space that God and I created with Jenny…God’s servant and light to me…so many years ago.

At the end of the service yesterday, I waited for my college professor to finish the postlude. When he finished, I joined a handful of others in applause and my professor sheepishly waved his thanks. Then I went outside and found Jenny. I listened to her be a good minister and then gave her a hug. Then we both stood there and grinned and I marveled at how far I’d come…and I silently thanked God that we are eternally connected…in, and through, the body of Christ.

A Bad Time

While talking about Holy Week, I made the statement that Jesus had a really bad week. Think about it. His week started out with a celebration but ended in betrayal, physical agony, and death. It was a week of extreme highs and extreme lows and it involved crying out in prayer so fervent that sweat turned to blood. I can't think of a week much worse than that! But I can think of times that have been dark. And I can relate to betrayal, agony, and death--maybe not death of my body but death of relationships and hopes and dreams. And I can feel extreme highs and lows. And I can remember crying out so hard that I felt as if blood would leak from my pores. Yet just as Jesus experienced the resurrection--because Jesus experienced the resurrection--so, too, have I experienced movements from dark to light...and during this Holy Week, I want to share parts of my darkest story with you now (and ask forgiveness for its length and for details that you may have already read). This was written in 2009 as part of a final paper for divinity school, yet, somehow, I feel like I'm still writing it today...

…While I was in Divinity School, I talked to Dr. Timothy Brock a lot about my journey. After taking seven and a half classes with him and writing a lot in each of those classes, I shared quite a bit with him and walked away either aggravated, challenged, or encouraged by his words. After taking Life Span Development and being introduced to how the Myers Briggs Personality Inventory intersects with spirituality, I began talking with Dr. Brock about the MBTI and decided to become a certified administrator. After my dear friend and mentor, Kay Simpson, died, and I found myself struggling to keep going, I received grace from Dr. Brock who supported me in going to therapy and affirmed the work that I was doing as I wandered through my dark night of the soul. After forcing myself to attend class on a day when I wanted nothing more than to sleep, I heard Dr. Brock say, “I believe that before we were born, God pulled each of us to God’s chest and gently whispered into our ears who we were supposed to be. Life on earth, then, is our quest to live into the fullness of who we were created to be. The world tries to make us into its image—oftentimes thinking that it is doing us a favor. But we must seek to live into the uniqueness of our self, just as Jesus lived into the uniqueness of his self.” When he finished talking, tears were already pouring down my face. I finally got it: I am a unique and wonderful self. And God loves me for me…

After I resigned from my position as youth minister at a local church, I did not attend one church regularly…I sometimes attended the church where Kay was on staff, and when she moved to another church, I followed her there.

The new church had had a contemporary early service for quite some time but had always struggled to find musicians for the service. When Kay arrived, she decided to rotate praise bands each week, and she asked my band and me to play on the second Sunday of each month. We agreed. My band consisted of my college suitemate, a friend who I met through camp, and a friend who was the daughter of a teacher at school. We were all teachers and we all loved making music, so we met at my house each week to practice, and we played at Kay’s church each month. Our practices consisted of a lot of talking and school debriefing, but they were the highlight of my week for well over two years. After Kay died, the band died, too. I am still not exactly sure what happened, but we never recovered.

November 11, 2006, was the second Sunday of November. As usual, the band and I met at the church at 7:30am to set up our equipment and do a sound check. What was not usual was the way that Kay walked into the sanctuary to greet us. Kay had left a message on my voice mail on Friday and told me that she was not feeling well. As soon as I saw her on Sunday, I knew that she still was not feeling well. Even so, she came in to work to print the bulletin and make sure we were okay. We asked her to sit down and listen to our songs for the day, so she did. She closed her eyes, opened her hands in a receiving posture, and looked so very content listening to us play. When we finished, she told us she was going to go home and rest. We asked if she wanted one of us to go home with her because she looked so bad. She told us she was fine and slowly walked out of the sanctuary. Kay died later that night.

Alone in her apartment, having been sick for a long time, the flu from which she was suffering caused her enlarged heart to go into cardiac arrest. I went to a music education conference immediately following church that day. I returned home on Tuesday in time to go to my night class. After my night class, I called one of my friends to check in. With panic in her voice, she said, “We don’t know where Kay is.” One hour later, we were at Kay’s apartment watching the rescue squad roll away Kay’s body. The next day, we were planning her funeral. The next we were at her apartment cleaning it out. The next day was the same. Saturday was her funeral. My band and I played at the funeral. Eight months later, I returned to Kay’s apartment to finish cleaning it out.

Kay’s death occurred during my eighth year of teaching and my fourth year of divinity school. I had continued taking night classes until that year, but that year was the last year that I would be able to do so because all of the core classes had cycled through. I was at an impasse: either quit teaching and continue taking classes or continue teaching and quit taking classes. Every bit of logic in me said that I should continue teaching. My job was steady and secure. I had benefits and was able to contribute to a retirement plan. I knew that I was working on a diverse mission field, and I had finally fallen into a groove with my planning and lessons.

Yet I was miserable. I had been miserable for a long time. I had immersed myself in church, retreats, the band, work, classes, friends, and family, and I had learned to pretend really well. Deep down, though, I hated myself. I hated who I had been, who I was, and who I was becoming. I was full of so much shame for being me that when Kay died—Kay, who knew the details of my life and still loved me—Kay, who was a safe place of unconditional love and encouragement—Kay, who, like Dr. Brock, believed that I was a unique and gifted self, created in God’s image—Kay, who died alone even though she was loved by so many—Kay, who I had taken for granted—I could not hide the shame anymore.

In January 2007, I went to talk to the campus minister, Faithe Beam. She recommended a professional counseling center in Raleigh, but I was too afraid to contact the center. I had always heard that Christians should not need counseling if their relationship with God was right, and I did not have the courage to deal with the perceived stigma of going to therapy. I struggled through two more months, progressively falling into a deeper and darker depression, but at the beginning of March I gave up the fight and contacted Triangle Pastoral Counseling Center in Raleigh, NC. Shortly after I entered my contact information, I received a phone call from Jenny, and I began sessions with her later that week. What she did not know was that I was planning to request her if given the opportunity. I never had to make the request, though, because Jenny called me first.

After an intense period of struggle and discernment, I decided to resign from my teaching job so that I could attend divinity school full-time. Once I made the decision, part of the anxiety that had gripped me went away and I knew that I had chosen the right path. I did not know where the money for my bills would come from, if my savings account would be depleted, where I would find health insurance, or how I was going to buy gifts. But I knew that I had the support of my parents, my brother, my sister, my aunt, and my friends, and, somehow, I knew that that would be enough…

Learning to function in a new ministry capacity while doing the draining emotional work of individual therapy, Family Systems, and Counseling in the Christian Congregation left me exhausted. The entire semester was one of journaling, reflecting, engaging the good and bad of my family system, and facing my demons. I learned what it meant to be a non-anxious presence and I realized that I wanted to be a non-anxious presence more than anything else. I realized, too, that my attraction toward certain people and events came from their being non-anxious. I learned to identify the root of my shame, fears, desires to please, desires to be perfect, and unwillingness to show grace to myself. Once I identified the root causes, I was able to begin re-writing my story and believe—truly believe—that I am a person of worth and value simply because I am created in God’s image. Kay had tried to tell me. Dr. Brock had tried to tell me. Faithe told me. Jenny told me each week in therapy. But until I got it for myself, God and I were not able truly to transform my life.

I went to Camp Mundo Vista as the staff worship leader in the Summer of 2007. I stayed during the weeks to help out as much as I could, but I needed to return home for therapy and family events each week. The summer was good. I made some very dear friends. However, I was still at a point of intense struggle and even at camp, the place where I feel God’s presence the most in this world, I could not leave the struggles behind. Grief consumed me. Letting go of Kay, my job, my band, and friendships overwhelmed me, and the uncertainty of being a full-time student nagged at the part of me that likes to be certain.

I went back to Mundo Vista as the camp worship leader in the Summer of 2008. I administered and interpreted the MBTI for the staff, coordinated both staff and camper worship services, worked in the office and served as camp gopher, and provided a safe, non-anxious presence for anyone who needed to talk. Just one year before, my anxiety level had been so high that I could not listen to anyone talk without filtering the conversation through my experiences and internalizing my inability to help the situation so much that I literally wanted to cut the hurt out of me. In just one year, so much healing had occurred in my life that I could feel the difference as I walked around the camp. A large portion of that healing had come through the work that I had done in my classes the semester before. Yes, I was exhausted when the semester ended and camp began, but the exhaustion was so worth the effort that I would do it all again. And it was only temporary. I lived away from everyone else over the summer—in a room of peace, silence, and seclusion, and for the first time in my life I was able to go to sleep at night without noise distracting me or fears weighing me down…and I was able to rest.

…I entered divinity school knowing that God loved me and that I had been called, yet I did not love myself enough to believe in myself or my call. I pretended. I wrote and spoke eloquently. I went through the motions of ministry. I loved others deeply and spurred them along in their faith. I appeared to have everything together. Yet I did not.

As my classes pointed out the unconditional love of Jesus Christ, though—as they taught me about God’s design for humanity to live into its fullness, God’s heart for social justice and redemption of this world, the beautiful story that I have the privilege of being part of, the men and women of faith who have gone before me, the greatness of creator God who is big enough to handle all of my doubts and questions, the community of love that exists within Triune God, and the depth of scripture that testifies of God’s faithfulness to God’s people—and as I accepted the love of professors, friends, family members, and a therapist who embodied the love of Christ, I slowly began to break down the wall of shame that I had hidden behind and embrace the person that I truly am: a child of God, redeemed, resurrected, and set free to love and serve in grace.