Free

Oh God—

I want to live free

Because I AM free indeed.

You have made me so, Jesus,

And you ARE MAKING me so—

Every day, every moment—

A release of the fears that bind.

You say do not worry about tomorrow—

You say live today for today.

You, who is the WORD,

Have spoken truth as are YOU ARE the truth.

Help me to live in that truth—

Always in your truth,

Not as fiercely independent and self-reliant,

But in community and relationship and service to others,

In you,

In Love.

Amen.

The Gospel

The law damns us.

The gospel sets us free.

The law controls us.

The gospel releases us.

The law judges us.

The gospel pours out grace.

The law keeps order.

The gospel brings radical upheaval.

 

I’ve spent most of my life living under the law,

Feeling judged, damned, and never enough

Because I can never rid myself of the sin that lives within me.

 

But that’s just the point.

There is NOTHING I can do to overcome my brokenness,

So Jesus did it for me.

 

Jesus lived a life that ushered in abundant life on earth with the promise of eternal life beyond.

Jesus died a death that paid the price for sin.

Jesus was resurrected into a life that defeated evil and death.

Jesus transformed the cross from a symbol of shame to a symbol of hope.

Jesus is gospel.

Jesus is hope.

Jesus is grace.

Jesus is love…

And love sets us free.

 

For the past five years, I’ve been learning about this Jesus anew.

It’s not a Jesus bound by the law,

It’s not a Jesus bound by failed human attempts of righteousness,

Rather it’s a Jesus who healed people from all walks of life to demonstrate that the Kin-dom welcomes all,

It’s a Jesus who chose messed-up, fallible creatures to carry his message of redemption,

And it’s a Jesus who really does love us and has called us to be part of his body,

Which is a really beautiful thing.

 

If you have been damned by the law.

If you have been controlled, judged, and kept in line by the rules and regulations of denominational and religious polity.

Then remember the gospel.

Remember freedom, release, grace, and love.

Remember that Jesus brings radical redemption to ALL who will believe—

Oh God, help our unbelief!

 

Amen.

 

Put It In Second Place

I just finished my annual benefits meeting—you know, the one where all of your fears are tapped and you are suddenly convinced that you need every type of supplemental insurance possible? What if I get cancer? What if I have a heart attack or stroke? What if I get in a wreck and have to be hospitalized? What if, what if, what if?

The ironic thing? When I got back to my room, the song “Fear is a Liar” was playing.

It’s hard to balance: The fear of “what if” vs. reality of “what is.” Scripture tells us not to worry about tomorrow because tomorrow has enough worries of its own. Yet if we don’t look toward tomorrow, then we will inevitably be unprepared for something that takes advanced planning and preparation.

Scripture tells us not to be anxious about anything but in everything by prayer and supplication present our requests to God. I pray all the time. Almost literally. I say, “Dear God” all day long and I believe every thought that follows to be a prayer. And yet I still struggle with Generalized Anxiety Disorder…and I really don’t believe it’s because my faith isn’t strong enough.

As I was preparing for my upcoming retreat, I read something that addressed this dilemma. In The Interpreter’s Bible, it says:

“Have no anxiety” should not be taken as a counsel of perfection. Spiritual freedom of the inner life will not, for most of us human beings, put an end to all worldly anxiety, but it may put it in second place where it is more readily handled. When given first place, it can be literally the death of us. So long as we have to make a living and keep body and soul together, we have to be more or less anxious about our job and our future, our families, social injustices, and a better future for everybody. There is anxiety in our waiting for future possibilities to show themselves, but when such concern is in second place, it will not dominate our whole life and interfere with what we care most about.” (pg. 112, Philippians Commentary)

I don’t know about you, but I think this is about as good of a solution as any: Put the fear, anxiety, worry, doubt, and all manner of ickiness in second place. All manner of ickiness will always exist, and it must be addressed, and life must be lived, but let the ickiness hold less weight in the balance, for God is with us, working and creating good, existing in and revealing Love…and Love wins.

Chainbreaker Ethan

My dad made me laugh during church yesterday.

While sharing a story from his teenage years, he said, “When you’re dumb, you don’t know you’re dumb.”

And how had he been dumb? When given the opportunity to preach at the age of 14, the text he chose was from Revelation. He wanted to tell the church that they needed to be on fire for Christ instead of lukewarm in their faith—lest God spit them out! Little Dan was frustrated that after coming back from summer camp on a spiritual high, he had watched his fire go out at the hands of those in the church. He admitted, lover of the church he may be, that “the church has a way of squelching people’s fires.” And I thought, “Yep, dad. You’re right. As much as we try, the church so often goes wrong.”

Yet sometimes we get things right:

This past Saturday, Rebecca the Children’s Minister worked with the children to make 100 crisis bags to take to local hospitals and fire stations. The kids wanted to provide something comforting to other kids who were experiencing traumatic events.

Yesterday afternoon, our women’s ministry group served lunch to numerous couples who have been married for more than 50 years.

And yesterday morning, our entire worship service was planned around a theme selected by my bass player, Ethan. Ethan joined the praise team about a year ago, decided that he wanted to play an instrument, and learned to play the bass. He even got a bass for Christmas. Ethan also joined the adult choir. As one point last year, as a 6th grader whose voice was changing, he was singing in both the children’s and adult choirs! Ethan quickly became my errand boy. If I needed to turn on the sound system—I asked the boy to do it. If I needed an actor—I asked the boy to do it. If I needed a music stand—I asked the boy to get it. Ethan was at every praise team practice, singing his heart out, boy band faces and all.

Yesterday was Ethan’s last Sunday with us. His dad received his Permanent Change of Station orders, so the family is moving to New York. As his swan song, Ethan requested that the team learn the song, “Chainbreaker.” After weeks of properly Antioch-izing the song (AKA, making it doable for our little praise team with no drummer), we sang the song yesterday. We also centered the entire service around the theme of God being the one who could break our chains. We laid the altar with chains, we sang songs of freedom, we read scriptures of freedom, and my dad preached about freedom. If it were up to Ethan, then everyone would have left church yesterday with a souvenir chain. But chains are expensive (I did look)! So only the praise team left with commemorative chains.

Friends, I don’t know what Ethan will be when he grows up. I don’t know if he has been called into the ministry like my dad or if he will follow in his dad’s footsteps and be a military man or if he will do something completely different. But what I know is this: I hope that no church, no school, or no human being will ever squelch my boy’s fire for God and enthusiasm for life.

If you've been walking the same old road for miles and miles
If you've been hearing the same old voice tell the same old lies
If you're trying to feel the same old holes inside
There's a better life
There's a better life

If you've got pain
He's a pain taker
If you feel lost
He's a way maker
If you need freedom or saving
He's a prison-shaking Savior
If you've got chains
He's a chain breaker

We've all searched for the light of day in the dead of night
We've all found ourselves worn out from the same old fight
We've all run to things we know just ain't right
And there's a better life
There's a better life

If you believe it
If you receive it
If you can feel it
Somebody testify

If you need freedom or saving
He's a prison-shaking Savior
If you've got chains
He's a chain breaker

It Is For Freedom

I confess. It’s easier not to write. I got off schedule during the last week of school because after working on an end-of-year computer requirement that involved writing for at least 8 hours each day I was, quite frankly, tired of looking at the computer. In fact, if I remember correctly, when I got home that Thursday night, I was so tired of everything that I plopped onto the couch and didn’t move for over three hours. Then I went to Florida to surprise non-internet using G-mama, to kid-sit Griffin the Nephew and Amelia the Niece, and on family vacation where internet connection was hit or miss. I could have written each of those nights. It was possible. But, like I said, it’s easier not to write. It’s easier not to do things that take time, discipline, vulnerability, and sacrifice.

Honestly, I’ve given serious thought to discontinuing these Monday and Thursday posts. I started writing them six years ago as a means of letting people know that those of us in full-time vocational ministry were not super-humans but regular-humans that experience life just like everyone else, and while I ended my work in full-time vocational ministry 2012, I’ve kept writing. I’ve kept writing because I knew it was a discipline that was good—a simple spiritual discipline of sorts—not a spiritual discipline listed in Foster’s Celebration of Discipline—but a discipline nonetheless. Yet many times my non-super-human self finds itself wondering, “What’s the point of posting each week? I don’t have anything profound to say. I write about Bullet and my family and school most of the time. And when I do write something spiritually or emotionally significant, most people don’t read it, so why put the words out there? Why not just stop?”

Before Mister Pastor Patrick announced that he and his family were returning home to live in Texas, he had scheduled yesterday and next Sunday as vacation time and asked my dad to fill the pulpit on those two Sundays. So my dad spoke yesterday and preached about freedom—about a people’s challenge to use their freedom not to take care of themselves and build up their own riches but to honor God and take care of one another.

In setting up the sermon for the children, Rebecca the Children’s Minister asked the children to recite the last line of The Star Spangled Banner: “O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.” She told the kids that even though we are each free to do pretty much anything we want to do—as long as we don’t break the law—we, as Christ-followers, are challenged to do things that are good and right and of God—and those things often take bravery.

As I write tonight, fireworks are going off around me. Bullet is petrified but hundreds of thousands of people around the country are celebrating freedom. I am grateful. And I am challenged to uphold and share a message of freedom to the people of every tribe, nation, and tongue, for the freedom that dominates my heart and mind tonight is a freedom that transcends tribe, nation, and tongue.

You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love. For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” If you bite and devour each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other…[And] the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit (--excerpts from Galatians 5).

Freedom. Love. Patience. Self-control. Discipline. Bravery.

I could stop writing. It would be so easy to stop writing. Life would go on and the world would keep turning. Yet on this Independence Day as I recognize that I am fortunate to have the freedom to pretty much do as I please, I also recognize that freedom is not free and that it comes with a call to be greater than myself. It comes with a call to be brave and to live by the Spirit that once called and continues to call me to walk this journey of faith with those around me…together…sacrificially…with discipline…and Love.

Fury

My first upside down roller-coaster was the Carolina Cyclone at Carowinds. I was at Carowinds with my youth group from Tabor City Baptist City Church. That same day was the same day that I learned never to wear jeans shorts to an amusement part. Wet jeans from water rides. Walking around all day. Let’s just say that it’s not a good idea!

I revisited the Carolina Cyclone at Carowinds on Saturday. I rode in the front car. The ride was a bit jerkier than the newer coasters, but it is still a fun ride. And I’m not so sure that I’d have had the courage to ride it again had I not been gently coerced onto the Fury 325 as soon as I arrived at the park.

For those of you who don’t know, the Fury 325 is the World’s tallest and fastest giga coaster. It is 325 feet high, has an 81 degree angle of descent, and travels approximately 95 mph. The track is quite intimidating as it towers over the rest of the park and the super-long line is quite daunting. Yet it was that super-long line that gave me the space to find the courage to actually ride.

Folks: I am not a young whipper-snapper anymore. I get dizzy if I spin around with my students just once and I get motion sick if I even think about reading while riding in a car or doing anything while riding on a boat. My bones are starting to ache and my family medical history is starting to become my medical history and, before Saturday, I genuinely wasn’t sure if I would be able to ride roller coasters anymore—and that was a very sad thought to me—because my nephews love roller coasters—and I do, too, truth be told.

So…when I got to Carowinds on Saturday and I saw the Fury 325, I immediately snapped a picture, sent it to my mom, and said, “I’m thinking about making Jack proud.” Jack is my oldest nephew who currently wants to be a roller coaster designer and operator. By the time my mom wrote me back and said that she hoped I wasn’t thinking about it too seriously, I was able to immediately respond, “I DID IT! IT WAS AWESOME!” Shortly after that, my sister-in-law wrote me and told me that Jack was super impressed. I felt as if all of my worldly goals had been accomplished in that moment!

Once I made it down that crazy steep drop and realized that I wasn’t going to die, I embraced my inner child, screamed super loud, and released my hands from the safety bars to pretend like I was flying. I did this on every ride that I rode and I rode every ride that I could ride and I would have ridden more had the park not closed. Needless to say, after overcoming what had become a really huge fear, I had a really great time at Carowinds.

Yesterday at church, Mister Pastor Patrick reiterated a point that I think we too often forget: It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. If we look at the story of God and God’s people, then we see God’s desire for this freedom: freedom from death, freedom from slavery, freedom from fear, freedom from anything that separates us from the love and goodness of God.

I suppose it may seem like a stretch to connect a fear of roller coasters to God. After all, roller coaster riding is a purely optional recreational activity designed for pleasure. And yet…the fear that I felt as I stood in line to ride the Fury 325 was so much bigger than a roller coaster. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of getting older—of losing my abilities to do things I love. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of not being able to breathe—of the anxiety and panic that come with the feeling of not being able to catch a good breath. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of not being good enough for my nephews—of disappointing them because I couldn’t do an activity that they hold dear to their hearts. The fear that was paralyzing me was the fear of looking stupid—of having heads turn toward me in sympathy should I get sick.

I spoke about these fears with the friends who were with me. And I wrote about these fears with my youth minister who wasn’t able to attend Carowinds that day. I asked her to pray for me—as stupid as that sounded—after all, I was going on a purely optional recreational activity designed for pleasure—and she did. And I felt those prayers. And I celebrated with my friends as I walked off that ride having overcome my fears.

It’s hard to know exactly what Jesus would do if he were around today, but part of me thinks that he’d have been in line to ride roller coasters with my friends and me, and part of me thinks that he’d really like them. I guess that’s why I found it so easy to imagine him with me and to hear him say, “It is for freedom that I have set you free, Deanna. Not to do ridiculously stupid things that will inevitably hurt you or others but to do things that will allow you to grow and trust and to have faith and believe and to allow you to live life to the fullest—in me—who has set you free. These fears that are binding you are bigger than this roller coaster—they are fears not of God—they are paralyzing you—but you can overcome them. Today. I am with you. Today. I will not forsake you. Today. Tomorrow. And in all the days to come.”

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free, friends.
And it is for overcoming damning fears that God cheers with Fury.

It Is For Freedom That Christ Has Set Us Free

The people of Israel,
released from captive slavery,
came face to face with what seemed like an obstacle, struggled, then
decided that they wanted to go back to Egypt.

Yet it is for freedom that God has set us free.

The disciples in Jerusalem,
grieving Peter’s impending death,
heard a knock at the door,
heard Peter’s presence announced,
forgot that the same God who parted the Red Sea and moved a freed people forward
could break the chains that bound Peter to prison walls.

Yet it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.

Adults living in fear of being called out,
Children stifled by crippling self-doubt.
Partners living in fear of doing something wrong,
Self-worth poisoned by threats of alone.

Yet it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.

Oh God: Help us when
We look at our lives
And paint pictures of Egypt.
Oh God, please: When memories haunt us--
When the yoke of fear
Begins to bind--
When good intentions go awry and
We are rendered useless--
Help us to remember who You
Are. You have made a path through the
Desert and delivered us from chains that bind. It is
You, always You, who calls us forward.
It is You, always You, who gives life and sets us free.

It is for freedom, friends,
That Christ has set us free:
One day—one moment—one breath—at a time.

Defining Moments: The Birkenstock

It was my sophomore year of high school, 1992.
My brother was a freshman at NC State.
His childhood best friend, Heath, was too.
I suppose it was at college that Heath found Birkenstocks?
A large, urban college is much different than small, rural Tabor City where we grew up.
Or it could have been a fad of the times?
Either way, it was Heath who introduced me to the Birkenstock,
And it was Heath who let me know that imitation Birkenstocks don’t come close to the real thing.

I got my first pair of real Birkenstocks at the beginning of my junior year, 1993.
I had moved to a new school in a new town and I wanted some new shoes.
My new school had a no strapless shoe rule, so I had to get shoes with a back strap.
I chose a classic Birkenstock design,
Three strap sandals, brown leather, wide foot-bed with heel cup, raised arch, and toe grip, size 38.
I wore that pair of sandals almost every day of my junior and senior years of high school.
When it was hot, I wore them with no shoes.
When it was cold, I wore them with socks.
I had no idea that I was setting up my foot to become so used to the Birkenstock foot-bed that it would be difficult to ever find any other comfortable shoes.

Since buying that first pair of Birkenstocks (thank you, Mom and Dad),
I have purchased many others.
I may despise buying clothes for myself,
But I will pay for a good pair of shoes—
Even if most people think they are ugly—
And I will pray that God will use them for good things.

Wearing shoes in which my feet feel free is important to me.
My feet hold me up.
They carry me.
They make it possible for me to do the things I desire to do—
The biggest of which is to love those around me.

…How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation…

I still have my original pair of Birkenstocks.
They’re well-worn and may soon fall apart if I don’t take them to be repaired.
(I plan to take them to be repaired.)
They carry in them many years of life and memories…
To which the beginning my tenth year of teaching was added tonight
As I stood in the hallway and greeted hundreds of students and parents while wearing
My first pair of Birkenstocks, now 21-years-old.

Freedom

Freedom comes at a cost.
Releasing the yoke of slavery does not happen with
Ease. The struggle hurts. Thoughts of Egypt
Erupt in the fight to move forward. The smell of
Death intensifies as casualties fall. Much is sacrificed. More can be gained. But is it worth it?

Once upon a time there were persons not bound by guilt and shame.

May we not lose hope on the journey to live free, for it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.

In Solidarity With Love

Sitting on the couch, stinky white dog beside me, mismatched black socks warming my feet, brown shorts and black t-shirt demonstrating an outfit the fashion police would arrest, I must jot down the things that I learned or pondered during my first on-call at the hospital on Wednesday:

1) The residents and Spiritual Care staff at the hospital are wonderful. They willingly and graciously helped me through the daytime portion of my duty, patiently guiding and mentoring me through a vast field of ignorance. To see them using their gifts and passions to minister not only to patients and family members but also to me was a humbling and inspiring experience.

Each day when I worked for SC WMU, we’d pray for missionaries who had birthdays on that day. We’d call the International and North American Missionaries by name but we would lump the chaplains and volunteers together by category because there are so many chaplains and volunteers sharing Christ’s love. Yesterday, that prayer for chaplains and volunteers took on new meaning as I observed and experienced firsthand the peace-giving work of the chaplain. I’m going to try to start praying for the chaplains that I know by name every day, and I’m going to start with the wonderful people that I’m working with now.

2) It is super important to have at least one or two emergency contact numbers memorized! Thanks to the speed dial on my cell phone, I don’t know many telephone numbers at all. But. If I’m ever in a trauma situation where I can speak and the chaplain asks me if there is anyone that I want them to call for me then I need to know the number. You do, too. Contrary to popular opinion, the wallet, purse, and/or phone don’t always stay with you when you enter the Emergency Department.

3) Badge holders with retractable elastic come in very handy when the name tag includes cheat sheets of vital information. While emergency contact numbers should be memorized, all information in the world shouldn’t…especially when it can be easily accessed via said badge.

4) Although I’m not a fan of wearing them myself, I think that everyone should wear a name tag. Names are important. Being called by name is important. Looking someone in the eye and calling him/her by name instills a sense of dignity that too often gets lost. It also provides incentive not to act out or do anything that would shame a person’s name. I’m terrible with names. I want to get better at remembering them. In the meantime, I’ll start lobbying for embracing the name tag.

5) I don’t want to eat barbeque or a salad in the middle of the night. The idea of heavy dinner food and/or a salad in the wee hours of the morning feels wrong to me. Yet. I think it’s great that the hospital cafeteria serves these foods to those who otherwise wouldn’t get them because they are sleeping during the day so they can work at night.

6) It’s okay to cry. To weep actually.

[Selah]

7) Sometimes permission can set us free. I went into yesterday terrified of doing something wrong. My old script of needing to perfect—to please everyone—to do the “right” thing—had been screaming at me for two weeks, trying to convince me that I was going to fail with chaplaincy. After shadowing the residents and talking to my supervisor, however, I was able to soften that loud voice and remember what I know to be true: no one is perfect, I am my own worst enemy, and life is about much more than right or wrong. My supervisor told me that she trusted me—that I wouldn’t have been accepted into the program if she didn’t think I could do it. She encouraged me to trust my gut and to minister out of my gifts and abilities—because they are vast. The residents showed me that it’s okay to get turned around in the hospital, that I didn’t need to panic when I hear the pager go off, that it’s okay to touch people on the shoulder, that it’s okay to laugh, that it’s okay to ask questions, that it’s essential to remain hydrated. One resident told me that I had a naturally calming presence and a patient said the exact same thing at 2am.

[Selah]

For yesterday’s spiritual care office devotion, we read Psalm 46 and focused on verse 10: “Be still and know that I am God.” As we sat together in the holy and sacred silence that is God, I breathed in the breath of life that is the Spirit and prayed to represent the love and peace that are Christ.

I made it through my first on-call because those around me must have prayed the same thing.

[Selah]

I will rest now. I can barely keep my eyes open. The dog, my mismatched socks, and my lovely outfit are ready to rest, too…and fall asleep thanking God for the communion of saints and the prayers of a people standing in solidarity with Love.

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…

The Fear of Being Seen

When I was 10 years old, my dad went to Ecuador with his Army Reserves Unit. I don’t remember much about the trip except that I got to ride on the riding lawn mower with the man who cut our grass and that dad brought me a ring from Ecuador that I still sometimes wear.

On Sunday morning, Dad referenced this trip in his sermon. He said that he was so anxious about leaving the family behind that he couldn’t even tell us bye. He said that he left in the middle of the night while we were sleeping so that we wouldn’t see him cry. The true irony of that last statement is that my dad now cries at the drop of a hat!

I don’t know why my dad didn’t want us to see him cry back then. I don’t know if it’s because he’s a man and men aren’t supposed to cry or if there was some other reason that compelled him to leave in the middle of the night. But I do know this: he was full of anxiety as he left for his trip. He was full of sadness for having to say goodbye—wondering if that goodbye would be his last. He was full of grief for the time that he would be away and the events in our lives that he would miss.

Anxiety. Sadness. Grief. Worry. Concern. Doubt. Hurt. Regret. Anger. Sadness. These are emotions that we all feel—some of us more than others—yet they’re emotions that we often don’t want others to see—especially in the church. Why is this? Why do we feel that we must hide so much?

I’ve recently talked with individuals—Christian individuals with a genuine desire to love and serve God—who are:

• struggling with the aftershock of abortion;
• attempting to overcome the addiction of pornography;
• dealing with the repercussions of an affair;
• grieving from being fired from a job for misconduct;
• embarrassed about admitting that she’s an ordained Baptist minister not because she’s embarrassed by her faith but because she’s embarrassed by the reputation that Christians have of being closed minded and judgmental and because she doesn’t want her non-Christian friends to build a wall of protection around their souls;
• healing from being raped; trying to survive in an abusive relationship;
• trying to pretend she’s okay after her dad died;
• trying to figure out how to apply for bankruptcy;
• trying to figure out where to go next after he senses a change in call;
• wondering about the existence and reality of hell;
• wrestling through thoughts of a loving God sending Jews from the Holocaust to hell;
• figuring out how to end a ministry well;
• coming to terms with really harsh, negative thoughts and feelings in a friendship;
• feeling completely alone in this world;
• questioning the meaning of life;
• feeling overwhelmed by the enormity of her job and so afraid of not being a good leader that she has migraines and ulcers and constantly lives in fear;
• realizing that she hates religion and simply wants a relationship with God—who is proclaimed as love but portrayed as a picture completely different;
• wondering how he’s supposed to live a life of faith in the world when his church friends judge him for spending time with friends who don’t live the life approved by the church;
• trying to find the courage to finally say that they do not feel called to teach youth Sunday School or VBS even though there’s no one else in the church to do it;
• trying to find the words to speak her truth to her family when she fears that her family will disown her for not holding “traditional American values”;
• afraid to admit that she voted for Obama and that she doesn’t think it’s his fault that our country is struggling;
• battling sickness and disease;
• wanting to hash out a healthy view of sexuality and sexual ethics but having no one to talk to;
• fighting depression;

All while pretending that everything is okay. All while holding it together and only letting it out late at night (if at all) so that no one sees them cry—so that no one knows their pain…

I’m crying as I write this today. I’m crying behind a closed door because I don’t want my coworkers to see. My boss came in earlier. I was wiping a tear from my eye and was embarrassed that she had caught me in the act. But why? Why was I embarrassed? Why is it bad that I hurt for the hurts of this world? Why is it bad that I feel my heart breaking with what also breaks the heart of God?

In the front of WMU’s Associational Leadership Tool, we read:

Luke recorded the mission that Jesus identified as his mission: “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (Juke 4:18-19).

Jesus proclaimed the Kingdom of God and gave witness to the redemptive acts of God. He taught his disciples to do likewise, and they saw him practice this as he went from place to place. They saw Jesus teach the people, forgive their sins, and heal their diseases and sicknesses.

I don’t know about you. But to me, today, freedom for the prisoners is freedom from the fear of being seen.

On Monday I wrote that Jesus saw them. And Jesus loved them. So I’m thinking that maybe we should do the same. I’m thinking that maybe we should start living lives that give people the space to be seen. I’m thinking that maybe we should live lives that allow speaking truth—however scary and ugly it is—to be the vehicle by which the oppressed (and isn’t that all of us) are released. And I’m thinking that maybe we should spend more time giving witness to the redemptive acts of God rather than the damning acts of humankind.

My dad told me last night that we Deatons don’t say goodbye very easily—that we hold on tightly to people and don’t quickly let go. He’s right. We do hold on. And goodbyes are difficult. Which I suppose is why he didn’t tell me bye when I called last night. Instead he said I love you. He left for a mission trip to Armenia this morning. But this time he left wearing his emotions on his sleeve. This time he left being seen…

An Independence Day Reflection

My best friend Angela is really good at teaching math. She’s good at everything else she teaches too, but she’s particularly good at teaching math because math is something she once had trouble understanding. She doesn’t remember learning to read. She doesn’t remember learning to spell or write. I don’t either. And I don’t really remember learning basic math (though I do remember learning calculus). But Angela remembers basic math…because it was a struggle.

I think that’s how it is with a lot of things in life: we tend to vividly remember the things that we’ve learned through struggle while simply accepting the things that come naturally. I don’t think that this is a bad thing. I think it’s just part of life.

Take, for instance, faith. I grew up going to church almost every time the church doors opened. I learned about God and accepted Jesus very early in life. It was part of who I am before I even knew what it was. Yet when I began to question and struggle through things that I didn’t understand, my faith became my own. My faith is still becoming my own. I recognize that fact and remember the struggle.

And today…today I think about freedom. Freedom is one of the things that I sometimes take for granted because it’s there—like my faith and my ability to read and write and do arithmetic. Though I realize that many people have and daily do fight and struggle for it—and for them I am grateful—I, personally, I haven’t had to struggle to receive freedom. I was born into this country where I am free. I am free to go to school and work and worship and to go to a day-spa and ride on a boat and shop for things that I need (and sometimes just want) and swim in my landlord’s swimming pool and lay in a hammock by the lake and sit in my apartment and type on my computer and live a life of luxury that, ultimately, I did very little to deserve.

This holiday weekend, I am so blessed. And fortunate. And so very grateful for the freedom that I find myself in and I recognize it and honor it and remember it rather than simply accepting it…today.