Category Archives: Faith

The water and the wine

Posted by Amy in Faith, Religion and tagged with ,

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On Sunday, my son received the sacrament of baptism.

This was not something we told him to do; we didn’t suggest, coerce, or force him into it.  In fact, he has been asking for about two years.  For a number of reasons, it wasn’t until this past weekend that he was able to do so.

I have to admit, I love baptisms.  This is true no matter what method is used or what the circumstances.  There is holy beauty in the symbols of cleansing, renewal, and rebirth.  Long after I became a Christian, I learned that various types of baptism are used in many different religious traditions.  Even within my own, baptism takes many forms.

I have never been comfortable with any Christian teaching about baptism that creates too many rules.  I don’t simply mean the rituals we use or the words we say or the prayers we utter.  I mean those who want there to be strict guidelines on the method used or how old the person must (or must not) be or whether or not the person has been deemed by external evaluation to be a “real” Christian.  The truth is, the Bible is pretty murky on these points.

There will be people who believe that my son’s baptism wasn’t “real.”  They might think he’s too young for a believer’s baptism or that it wasn’t enough because he wasn’t fully immersed.  I honestly don’t care.  That moment when our family honored God and long-standing Christian tradition was beautiful and holy, and anyone who wishes to make it less than it was needs to spend some time examining his or her motives.

Before the Big Day, our pastor came to our house to talk with our son about his baptism.  Just to make it clear, this wasn’t some kind of test.  She didn’t whisk him away to another room to grill him on the finer points of his salvation while his father and I sat on our couch biting our nails in anticipation.  She came to our home, a place of comfort and safety for him.  She talked with him about the running symbolism of water throughout the Bible–and we all discovered that he likes rather obscure stories.  (Our pastor suggested a story he might remember involved parting water; instead of Moses, he named Elisha.)  She explained how everything would go during his baptism and asked if he had any questions.  (He did, but they weren’t pertinent to baptism; fortunately, our pastor is a gracious woman who understands children.)

We did have an entertaining moment regarding communion.  Our pastor told our son that he could take communion after he was baptized.  He had already occasionally taken the elements at our previous church, but he was curious because this church uses real wine.  He informed our pastor that he would take the wine instead of the grape juice (which they do offer as an alternative).  She replied, “That’s up to your parents.”  I told my husband later that I was okay with it, but my fear was that our son would do what I would have at his age–take a sip and spit it right back out.  In church.  With everyone else watching.  My husband offered to buy some wine so our son could taste it, to which he said, “Never mind.  I’ll just have the grape juice.”

So on April 7, my nine-year-old was baptized.  He did not stand in front of the church to give a testimony about his faith.  He wasn’t dunked in the Jordan River.  But our pastor poured out the life-giving water on his head and anointed him (formed the sign of the cross, for the uninitiated) with oil.  He was baptized alongside a small baby, the son of a family friend (which in itself was a happy surprise, though it is not entirely my story to tell).  He was welcomed in as part of both the church family and God’s family.  Once he was baptized, he received holy communion, kneeling before God with his fellow believers (and had grape juice instead of wine).

In a few years, he will have the opportunity to confirm his faith.  Perhaps he will choose to do so; perhaps not.  When he is grown, he will make new decisions about his faith.  This moment was not the beginning of his journey, nor was it the end.  It was a stop along the way, a moment that held meaning for his nine-year-old self.  My hope is not that he travel my spiritual path but that he will learn to navigate his own.  He has already made one choice; there are many more to come.  For now, we will honor the vows we made to give him all the love, help, and support he needs along the way.

Faith and art at the monster truck rally

Posted by Amy in Arts, Faith, Writing and tagged with , ,

Recently, the question of faith and art came up in my online writers’ group:  How does your faith affect your writing?  My first thought was, It doesn’t.  Of course, that’s not strictly true.  I write about faith here on this blog all the time.  But when I think of Christian writing, what comes to mind is usually non-fiction books that explain different aspects of faithful practice or junk fiction like Left Behind and Amish romance novels.  How could I explain what the intersection of faith and art are for me?

I’m not always sure that I’m writing about spiritual matters in the right manner.  I frequently don’t write in an explicitly “Christian” way–or at least, not the way I think some Christians expect me to.  I worry about the same things fellow writer Andrea Ward does:

I worry that my writing will not reflect God.
I worry about putting God in there artificially thereby making Him artificial and the story weaker.
I worry that writing about him will just make people tell me how wrong my theology is.

I often think my writing reflects God the same way monster trucks reflect safe driving tips.

Have you ever been to one of those monster truck rallies?  You know, the kind where the trucks drive through mud and run up ramps and pretty much just cause chaos?  My faith and my writing collide like a monster truck at a rally.  Creativity is the truck, splattering the mud of my faith everywhere.  Or perhaps it’s the other way around; it doesn’t really matter.  What’s important is that it’s messy and random and sometimes only makes sense from the inside, but it’s exciting and intense and one heck of a ride.

My faith is what drives me to seek justice and equity for all people.  When I write, it’s out of a deep need to put words to the feelings that bubble deep inside.  I can’t separate the two.  So when I take to my blog or I crank out a story, it’s infused with my sense of what-should-be.  Because of my faith,

  • I write about the ways the church has failed to exhibit “love your neighbor”
  • I plead for open minds and open hearts
  • I seek to write stories that don’t reinforce tired stereotypes and tropes
  • I ask others to do the same

I no longer worry that I need to mention Jesus every couple of sentences as a reminder that I’m technically a Christian writer.  I don’t expound on Bible texts, and I don’t often have fictional characters go through a moment of Christian salvation.  I work harder to explain the domestic abuse in Fifty Shades than I do to condemn the premarital sex.  Where my faith and my art collide, that is the space in which I find justice, peace, and wholeness.

How does your art reflect your spirituality?

Guest post: Thirty seconds of silence, take two

Posted by Amy in Guest Post, Questions, Religion and tagged with ,

Today I am privileged to have the amazing Daisy Rain Martin guest posting for me.  We met online by chance, through writing for Provoketive.  She is a talented writer and all-around fascinating woman.  I hope her words speak to your heart the way they do to mine.

By D. Gayo [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)], via Wikimedia Commons

I Was Silent for a Whole Thirty Seconds

A few months ago, I wrote a smokin’ article for Provoketive e-magazine that addressed the slew of anti-public school trash talk that followed the Newtown tragedy in the name of Jesus. You can read it at your own risk here: (That last paragraph was a doozy, let me tell you…)

http://provoketive.com/2012/12/17/thirty-seconds-of-silence/

I got mixed reviews, to say the least. Many people understood my angst, but others, whom I love and cherish and would never hurt to save my life, were less inspired. Insulted would be closer.

I’m not looking to rehash the argument of the public school system being to blame for our societal ills. Public schools have never inhibited a student’s freedom to pray freely and it is not the Great Satan. I don’t need to take that discussion further with people who will never see it any other way. I do believe, however, that the discussion that followed on that thread was amazing and begged some great questions:

What’s a girl to do when she sees that a portion of the church adheres to paradigms that she knows in her knower aren’t true? What’s a girl to do when it feels to her that the church has taken that collective paradigm and seemingly created a mini “subculture” of thought which makes her feel as if she’s in the wrong if she pushes up against it? What’s a girl to do when she’s accused of being (let’s see… how many have I heard?) insensitive to the Holy Spirit, deceived by the father of lies, shaped by the world, or just straight up simple-minded. I have questioned those subgroups and voiced my opinions, sending the saints screaming into their prayer closets on my behalf, while I scratch my head and try to shake it off. I’d love some wisdom on this.

But you know what? I’m also falling in love with the church again. I see Christ’s body acting with patience and compassion all the time. I was Episcopalian for a day and fed the homeless a beautiful meal (which they do all the time—it wasn’t just a one-day shot) with some beautiful friends. A lady in my church is starting a support group for people who have been abused and just can’t seem to love themselves no matter what. She has a cure! I speak at churches whose members just can’t seem to hug me tightly enough when I tell them my story. They even let me sell my book with the f-word in it! Sweet, conservative, God-lovin’ folks who have read the book—all the words—still put their hands on my cheeks and say, “Bless you, child. You went through so much, and we can see that God has brought you from a mighty long way.”

I wasn’t expecting that.

I’ve underestimated the church. I’ve overestimated the church. When is it ever going to feel ‘jussssst right’?

Carlo Carretto captured my quandary when he wrote, “How baffling you are, oh Church, and yet how I love you! How you have made me suffer, and yet how much I owe you! I would like to see you destroyed, and yet I need your presence. You have given me so much scandal and yet you have made me understand what sanctity is. I have seen nothing in the world more devoted to obscurity, more compromised, more false, and yet I have touched nothing more pure, more generous, more beautiful. How often I have wanted to shut the doors of my soul in your face, and how often I have prayed to die in the safety of your arms. No, I cannot free myself from you, because I am you, though not completely. And besides, where would I go?”

Indeed. Where would I go?

About the author (from her web site):

Daisy HeadshotThe juxtaposition that is Daisy Rain Martin stems from being born and raised in a show business family in the bright lights of Las Vegas while trying to navigate her way out of an abusive, ultra-conservative, religious home. [read more about Daisy here]

 


You can find her books here and here, and you can read her blog here.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Please join me tomorrow when I will be reviewing Daisy’s book Juxtaposed.  Full disclosure: She sent me a (signed!) copy late last fall, but it was not in exchange for a review–favorable or otherwise.  I read the book over the winter holidays, and I decided that the review and her guest post would fit together nicely.

Notable News: Week of February 23-March 1, 2013

Posted by Amy in Blogs, Cool Stuff, Faith, Feminism, Links, Women and tagged with , ,

What a great week it’s been.  I have been honored and thrilled to participate in the feminisms link-up and be included with some of my favorite bloggers.  Today I’m highlighting the best of what I’ve seen this week.

1. On the Body and Blood

There’s a lot of my spiritual past I still have to sort through, even as it relates to women in the Church. It’s not all so tidy, but it does mean that when I approached the rail for the first time to receive the Eucharist, it was the most unconsciously natural thing for there to be a woman with the Body and Blood in her hands, just as a woman held the Body and Blood two thousand years ago.  ["feminism & me, whether i knew it or not," Antonia Terrazas]

2. On (literal) bra-burning

Those scraps of fabric finally started burning well, the polyester fibers casting out light and all of our bold pronouncements at the injustice of the world. We stared for a brief moment at our success.

The flames blossomed.

“Oh my gosh!” someone shrieked. “THE TRASH CAN IS ON FIRE!”  ["The Fires of Feminism," Emily Maynard]

3. On not being half

I was angriest that day because a boy had said out loud what I’m always afraid men are thinking.

That, as a woman in the church, I am by very nature a HALF.

Half a heart. Half a body. Half a purpose.  ["today i embark on an expedition to take back my personhood," Jesus Gypsy]

4. On needing femimism

This is how I feel. When someone asks me why I believe inequality exists, I want to scream, “Why do I believe you exist? You’re standing right in front of me!”

So actually, Christian church, you need feminism like the dying need a tourniquet. But I need your attitude like a fish needs a bicycle.  ["What I Learned: Like a fish needs a bicycle," Emily Joy Allison]

5. On being a feminist for our sons, too

I’m a feminist because I want my son to see all people as valuable human beings, created in God’s image. I want him to reject culturally constructed ideas about what it means to be “masculine” or “feminine” and to embrace biblical truth about what it means to be human, male and female, created in teh image of a loving God.  ["for my son," Amy at Making All Things New]

6. On the control of women’s bodies

everything about my mother’s experience tells me a story about someone else deciding what women should do with their bodies. It tells me about dangerous assumptions and naive women and sickness being passed from one generation to the next, daughters without mothers and mothers without daughters.  ["FemFest : My Daughter’s Body," Bethany Suckrow]

7. On love and justice

But I agree with hooks that there can be no love without justice. Where unfairness, inequality, abuse, disrespect, victim-blaming, and rape exist, there is no love.

And feminism is one movement that fights for justice for women.  ["Feminisms Fest: I need feminism because there is no love without justice," Sarah Moon]

8. On taking ownership of misogyny and healing the hidden wound

We hear sermons telling women their only place in this world is the home. We buy toys that are deliberately designated for either boys or girls. We see movies that portray women as one-dimensional manic pixie dream girls who’s only mission in life is to rescue “sensitive” moody guys from their self pity.  ["FemFest: The Other Hidden Wound," Travis Mamone]

9. On speaking blessings over the feminist women and men of faith

So, I’m bending the rules a little bit. Next week I’ll probably do my own wrap-up, as well as a list of contributions that I thought were particularly helpful or well-done. In the meantime, I’m going to write something that’s on my heart: I want to speak a blessing over everyone who has participated this week. ["People of Valor," Shaney Irene]

10. On places where you can read more

Dismantling the wall of fear

Posted by Amy in Faith, Writing and tagged with , ,

By viZZZual.com [CC-BY-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

We gain strength, and courage, and confidence by each experience in which we really stop to look fear in the face… we must do that which we think we cannot.
(Eleanor Roosevelt)

A few days ago, fellow blogger Aaron posed this question to a group of writers in which we both participate:

What would you never write?

I think our failure to be brave with our words leads to cheap art, and when we use our spirituality as an excuse to pull punches in our writing we commit a tragic sin toward the faith we are professing.

So, what would you never write? Why are you scared to write that?

Good question.

My first instinct was to say, “Well, I think I’ve reached a point where I wouldn’t say there is anything I won’t write.”  I guess that’s a pretty good answer, other than the fact that it’s a downright lie.

When considering the question, I realized there are two things here: What won’t I write, and what am I afraid to write.  Those require separate responses.

There are definitely things I won’t write.  I don’t enjoy reading or writing graphic violence; you will never see anything written by me in which I have described a bloodbath.  I will not write rape or domestic violence in a way that glamorizes, glorifies, or titillates.  There are genres of literature that I don’t care to read or write; while I won’t say never, I can say that it’s highly unlikely.  Outside of those things, I’m not sure if there is anything else–only time will tell.

As for what I’m afraid to write, I think that category is shrinking, though a few things remain.  I have already broken most of the barriers I had put up against my own creativity.  I swore up and down that there were things I would absolutely never, ever write, because to do so would mean that I had somehow failed as a Christian.  As I took a hammer and whacked at every single brick I had used to build my walls, I figured out that in every single case, they were all shame-based fears.

This is one of the destructive forces of conservative evangelical culture.  Rather than viewing sin as a system of harm, sin has been reduced to a list of behaviors in which we must not engage–an updated and warped version of the Old Testament holiness codes, used to cow people into submission to “authority.”  (I could spend a very long time parsing this, but I’m digressing from my original point about writing.)  The result is people who are not only afraid to commit certain acts but are also afraid to think and write about them.  God is reduced to a Big, Angry Sky Daddy who cares more deeply about “immoral” thoughts than about the least of these.

For years, I thought that my writing had to reflect this bizarre and restrictive attitude.  I must either refrain from having characters engage in certain behaviors (most notably, swearing and sex), or I could have them do what they wanted but pass judgment on them for it.  Premarital sex was supposed to lead to disease or pregnancy and possibly be unpleasant or unwanted (particularly for women).  Sexual encounters must be implied rather than described, because erotic scenes could stir up inappropriate desires.  Swearing was reserved for nasty characters and must be softened rather than spelled out.  God forbid I should have any LGBT characters, unless they were tokens and/or “reformed” by the end of the story.  Even romantic literature itself sat on the fine edge between good storytelling and “emotional porn.”

Most of these taboos I learned while I was still in high school.  Because I felt a duty to “let my faith inform my writing,” my words became like dust.  Rather than being full of hope, life, and love, they were no more than parroting of the Rules for Right Thinking I had learned.  It didn’t help that I attended college and befriended a number of people who still kept to these rigid standards.  Even though I spent ten years in a far less suffocating church, I couldn’t let go of most of my hang-ups.

And then I ended up among even more conservative evangelicals than during my adolescence.

Call it rebellion.  Call it emerging.  Whatever term you use, I woke up.  I am actually thankful for that environment, because it was so much more extreme than what I’d experienced before that I couldn’t help seeing the damage being done.  I finally found my voice, and I was determined to use it.  Oh, I tested the waters cautiously at first, but it didn’t take long for me to dive in and start swimming.

I have now written nearly everything on my naughty list.  I’ve had characters swear like sailors; make love passionately; meet and fall in love with someone of the same sex; and do all of that without apology.  I’ve written about where I stand on feminism, LGBT issues, and the Bible.  I’ve even written about my history with rules-based theology in the churches I’ve attended (and people who know me absolutely know which churches I’m talking about, so the secret’s out).  Trust me when I say there’s not much left that scares me when it comes to writing.

Aaron left us a challenge as writers:

Today, write something you would never write. Stop pulling the punches. Stop being afraid of what they would say. Write hard. Share it with us; preach to us that writers and artists stir the pot instead of getting out of the hot kitchen.

I’m taking that challenge seriously.  There are things I haven’t written–in fiction or on this blog–that I’ve been hesitant to share.  But I’m going to go for it, because the only way to overcome those fears is to face them head-on.  The only way to grow as a writer is to acknowledge that I’m terrified of the reaction and take it on anyway.

What are you afraid to do (as a writer or in another capacity)?  How will you knock down the walls you’ve built?

Deeper problems in “emergence” Christianity

Posted by Amy in Emergent Thought, Faith, LGBT Issues, Social Justice, Women and tagged with ,

On Tuesday, Julie Clawson posted an excellent piece on the Emergence Christianity gathering in Memphis last weekend.  In her article, she rightly criticized Phyllis Tickle’s thoughts on the fall of Constantinian Christianity.  (Please read Julie’s post; it’s lengthy, but it’s worth your time.)  As a result, several of my fellow women of faith tweeted, reblogged, and discussed the content of Julie’s post and the problems that have become evident in much of emergent culture.

There was no problem with Julie’s thoughtful remarks about the confusion over Phyllis’ speech.  There was no problem with the continued discussion on Twitter, in which many women chimed in to suggest that there might be some issues within the movement, including a failure to examine privilege.  But for whatever reason, the conversation turned unpleasant when the women involved were accused of “attacking” the movement and being “passive-aggressive.”  In other words, it was the Emergence Christianity version of calling women “shrill.”

I stopped identifying with the emergent movement some time ago.  I found it to be largely populated by well-educated, white, cis-gendered, straight men.  It’s not that I have anything against that particular demographic, but I prefer to have a broader range of people in my life.  I have also become frustrated with the fact that Emergent types are willing to talk about inclusion but often fail to practice it.  For example, LGBT people are frequently left out of the conversation in the supposed interest of attracting more people to the table.  To put it simply, there is a widespread attitude that people should not be made to feel “uncomfortable” if they believe that homosexuality is a sin by having actual gay people speaking and teaching.  To allow such would imply that Emergents have taken sides; thus we’re reduced to hearing straight people speak on behalf of LGBT Christians rather than hearing from LGBT Christians themselves.

That said, I have three real problems with the back-and-forth over the last two days.  First, anyone who voiced (or tweeted, rather) concern over Phyllis’ statements was shut down as approaching their disagreement in the “wrong” way.  In fact, Jay Bakker even suggested to Suzannah Paul in a tweet that the best way to handle criticism is in person or via telephone.  This is an absolutely ridiculous thing to say, given the fact that Phyllis’ speech was 1. public; 2. the last thing on the program for the weekend; and 3. made by someone with whom it would be difficult for hundreds of people to have a personal conversation.  Should everyone who disagrees with President Obama’s policies attempt to put a call through to the White House?  This may be much smaller scale, but the principle is the same.  In effect, Jay was shutting Suzannah down for speaking out, rather than engaging her to find out why she felt that the speech was misguided.  In fact, in suggesting that it is unfair or unreasonable to critique problematic aspects of Emergence Christianity is much like telling people that it’s un-American to point out continued bias in the broader culture.

The second problem  is that following that awkward Twitter non-conversation (note: tweeting about someone’s tweet is also passive-aggressive), the discussion turned to “rigorous thinking.”  Once again, this is a way to shut down any real opportunity for honest consideration of privilege within the movement.  In this case, anyone who is not an academic or an intellectual is left out.  Additionally, it is assumed that only certain people are capable of having intelligent dialogue (read: men).  Women could not possibly have put in the time and study needed to be active participants.  As Sarah Moon pointed out in a series of tweets,

So, today I critiqued someone’s ideology and their response was “They must not teach [ideology] in the US.” Listen, man.

One of my biggest pet peeves is when white men assume my critiques of their academic discussions is based in ignorance

I have not put hundreds of hours into studying different theories for justice/liberation to be told “You must not have been taught” Nope.

Don’t even get me started on the fact that it is taken as a given that LGBT people don’t have any background in systematic theology.  Using the old “but we need to use our big brains to sort this out!” to silence reasonable criticism is a way of belittling anyone who isn’t a straight, white, cis-man by assuming that person is not intelligent or educated.

Which brings me to the last problem.  It disturbs me that the words “rigorous thinking” should be used in conjunction with anything having to do with faith.  This was exactly the kind of narrow-minded bullshit I tried desperately to leave behind with the evangelicals.  In their case, the issue was over finding the one correct interpretation for every single word of the Bible.  Right doctrine trumped everything else.  Now we have this particular brand of emergent thought that assumes we just need to study harder so that we can figure out God’s intent through Scripture.  Understanding the context and nuance in history and the Bible will render previous versions of Christianity null and void and lead us to perfect practice of our faith.  Unfortunately, there is no such thing.  Replacing one crappy theology with an equally crappy theology leaves us nothing but a huge pile of manure.  And certainly, maintaining that study is the most important aspect of spiritual practice ignores the fact that not all Christians are highly intellectual, nor do all of us want to spend the majority of our time poring over dense tomes.  Most of us just want to love God and love people, and we’re all still trying to work out what that means.

I no longer have any hope that this movement is redeemable.  (I’m sure my first clue ought to have been that Mark Driscoll was once associated with it.)  It certainly isn’t the place for progressive Christians to find the kind of faith that does not merely speak on behalf of, but openly invites the voices of those who are most frequently silenced within the church.  I don’t believe the answer is to start a new movement; I believe it is to stop looking for a revolution or a leader and start practicing the very things we want to see happen within Christian faith.  Until and unless we confront the real problems—those pertaining to privilege, status, and value-attribution—we will never be the people God intended us to be.

Guest Post: Hope Behind the Picket Fence

Posted by Amy in Faith, Family, Guest Post and tagged with

Today’s guest post was written by Brenda L. Yoder, MA.  Many thanks to her for offering her beautiful words.

Life Beyond the Picket Fence

“I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten” Joel 2:25

When I was a little girl, I knew just what kind of house I wanted.  It was yellow, had white trim, and a picket fence, just like my storybook friend in “Laurie and the House with Yellow Curtains.”  Now that I’m forty-something, that dream is a reality.  We have a yellow house, with white trim, and a picket fence.

Only behind the picket fence, there is dirt, manure, and weeds. 

Granted, it’s that way because our fence borders the garden.  But it also describes a life beyond the picket fence.  You know, the life-that-isn’t-what-I-thought-it-would-be life.  While sharing our picket-fence journey often makes me feel vulnerable, I find ease in sharing it when others need hope of a living God who redeems lives and restores broken dreams.

As a young parent, I first became familiar with Joel 2:25 when I read a book titled “When Counting to 10 Isn’t Enough: Defusing Anger” by Kathy Collard Miller.  It was the first resource I came across as I struggled with anger and reactionary responses to a strong-willed child.  As the years went on, power struggles with a toddler turned to full-blown, explosive, damaging fights with a hormonal teenager. They were a way of life for us, bringing turmoil and destruction to an otherwise picture-perfect home.  The calm serenity of a picket fence life was apparent from the outside, but not within.  Pain, not peace, was our routine, anger and hurt was our norm.

During these years, hope was something I desperately needed but couldn’t find or hold on to.  As leaders in our church and community, we were afraid to share our struggle, fearful of judgment or condemnation. I wonder if you’ve ever felt that way? When you walk a hard road alone, it’s a perfect recipe for hopelessness.  Hope is elusive when pain and turmoil is all you know.

As I’ve walked our journey and have accompanied others on their roads, I’m convinced one of the most essential needs of humanity is hope.

Hope that things can change.  Hope that God is good even in pain and struggle.  Hope that while people fail, God never does.

Hope for me came when I realized I couldn’t control the other people in the equation.  Just like an algebraic formula, I could only control one variable, me, and I hoped making changes would result in a different outcome.

As a result, I took obedient steps in what the Lord was calling me to do, making difficult decisions about behavior, sources of stress, and my own needs.  In the process, peace gracefully entered our home. It wasn’t an earth-shattering event, but was an equally powerful moment.  It began with a conversation in my kitchen, one that was probably routine in other homes.  For us, it was the first of its kind between a mother and child who had been at odds with each other for years. When the conversation ended, the presence of Hope was so powerful you could feel it.  My Savior was tangible that day.  Hope had arrived.  

Over the course of time, God has continued bringing hope and healing into our home, providing joy and restoration where pain and despair previously resided.  Hope came when obedience accompanied prayer, creating a catalyst for change I believe God desired to bring.  Now that we are on the other side, having journeyed from darkness to peace, it’s important I share with others that hope isn’t an elusive thing like that picket-fence image.  Hope isn’t feel-good front we put on when our world is falling apart.  It’s acknowledging that when life is full of dirt, manure, and weeds, good things can still grow. It’s allowing the Gardener of Hope do His work, weeding out destructive elements.

Hope, sometimes, is a choice.

Brenda lives life on a farm in Northern Indiana with her husband and four children, ages ranging from elementary to college.  She has a Master’s Degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling and BA in Secondary Education.  She’s been a stay-at-home-mom, teacher, and is currently a part-time school counselor, behavioral service provider, and has a small private counseling practice. Her greatest passion is encouraging others and sharing hope.  She does this through writing and speaking at www.brendayoder.com, where she authentically shares life beyond the picket-fence image. She is a contributing writer for The Purpose magazine, The Hometown Treasure, Not Alone Mom, She Stands and Circle of Friends online magazines. She is a speaker for Stonecroft Ministries, and is an inspiring bible teacher for women and churches.  You can contact Brenda at yoderbl@gmail.com.

 

 

Guest Post: 2013: A Year for a New Feeling

Posted by Amy in Faith, Guest Post, Relationships, Writing and tagged with

I’m thrilled to be starting 2013 with the very first guest post ever on this blog.  Many thanks to Andrea for her contribution.

By Konrad Westermayr 1883-1917

A Year for a New Feeling

My emotions often show up on my face before they show up in my head. I have people ask me, “Are you okay?” A questioning looks crosses my face and I say, “Yeah.” Sometimes I throw in, “I’m just tired.” That’s to make them think I’m less crazy not because I really am that tired. After they have asked the question, I pause to think about why they asked that. Sometimes it comes to me right away and I realize what I am feeling. Sometimes it just doesn’t come to me and I have no clue what ‘that look’ on my face meant. I have somehow shut the door from my emotions to my brain. For some of you that might sound like a great thing and maybe it would be. Maybe if you pushed that door shut a little bit life would go better.  Maybe it wouldn’t. For me, it isn’t working anymore.

You see this year I felt a very clear call from God to write a memoir about the way people have influenced my walk with Him. I finally realized this year that I have been holding on to and not dealing with a whole lot of hurts. Holding on to them has served to ingrain them deeper into my psyche, my dealings with other people, and my habits. I also realized that I am not alone. There are others that are going through this struggle silently. They, like me, think they are alone or that they have dealt with it or that it isn’t that bad. And all of those thoughts are wrong.

So if I need to write this memoir to help other people dealing with this that I am dealing with, then I need to know what I am feeling and why. I need to know what I have felt and delve into those past events and past feelings. So this year I am committing to journal 3 times a week. I am going to be writing down what I am thinking and searching for what I am feeling. I want to embrace those things and open that door back up. So I am looking forward to 2013 as I rediscover my emotions.

What are you looking forward to in 2013?

Andrea is a working family woman who writes about faith and relationships.  She takes seriously the call on her life to encourage others.  You can read more about her on her blog, Jesus, You, and Me.

Finding light

Posted by Amy in Faith, News and tagged with

By WildfeuerI’ve hesitated to post anything else about the shootings in Connecticut last Friday, because I don’t really have any words.  I didn’t write over the weekend; I was considering carefully about how to put into words what was going on in my mind.  The most I could do was respond yesterday to the viral blog post “I Am Adam Lanza’s Mother.”  The truth is that I’ve found myself mostly reacting to the reactions.  That’s not necessarily a bad thing; it’s what I often do here on my blog: I respond to the things that come out of Christian (particularly conservative evangelical) culture.  So that’s what I’m going to do today.

This morning, I finally finished catching up on emails and blog posts that have come out since Friday.  I read this fantastic post over on Rachel Held Evans’ blog that sums up very well what I’ve been saying since Friday.  (Our pastor had a very similar message in church on Sunday.)  There’s been a lot of talk, particularly on Facebook, about how we as a nation have gotten so far away from being “God-centered” that this kind of tragedy can happen.  The buzz usually goes in one of these directions:

  • We abandoned (or “kicked out”) God, so He’s left us to wallow in our evil.
  • We took God out of our schools, so He couldn’t (or wouldn’t) intervene in a place He “wasn’t allowed.”
  • We are no longer following God (in our schools or our homes or our government), so He’s punishing us.

I’ve heard and read a lot of discussion on this—on blogs, on Twitter, on Facebook.  Nearly everyone who believes one of the above is also firm in his or her belief that the United States used to be a nation of “Christian values” but that we’ve strayed from that and fostered an environment where great evil can occur, including causing the shooter to become a person who can kill children.

Nice try, but it’s not true.

I have two separate thoughts on that.  First, we’re not any less godly as a nation as we ever were.  The difference is that we’re more honest about it than we used to be.  If one really takes a hard look at our history (butchering native peoples, enslaving Africans, and marginalizing immigrants, for starters), it doesn’t look so good in the “Christian nation” department.  I’m not suggesting that we fixate on the negative or that nothing good has come out of our country.  On the contrary, I love being a United States citizen.  But I’m deeply ashamed of our past, and I’m horrified that much of the evils for which we were responsible were done in the name of Jesus.  It’s entirely irresponsible to look at our past and think that we can learn how to be more “godly” from behaving in the same manner as people did back then.  All we’ve done is traded those evils for new ones.

Second, why are we only ready to talk about how “ungodly” we’ve become when a person shoots up a school or a movie theater?  Where is the outrage in the horrors that happen every day?  Where is the anger and the cry for justice over the 11-year-old who was gang raped by 18 men?  We go ballistic over one man whose history we don’t know, but I’ll bet that almost no one reading this blog post even knew about the story I just linked.  Not only that, we don’t start blaming the ban on public school prayer for domestic violence, child abuse, rape, or singleton murders.  We either (correctly) blame the abuser/rapist/murderer or we (incorrectly) blame the victim.  But we don’t blame our “godless” society.

In the last several days, what I’ve seen leads me to believe that this is just another facet of privilege.  It’s easy for us to point fingers at whatever we want in order to explain why something like this happens.  The shooting took place in a suburb considered one of the best and safest places to live.  In other words, it was in the heart of a highly privileged community.  We’re not outraged by our history of “godlessness” as a nation because our crimes were against the non-privileged.  We’re not outraged by domestic abuse or rape or murder or child abuse because those things are done by “those people.”  We have to try to force the conversation into the realm of removing God because to do otherwise is to admit that the shooter wasn’t one of “those people”—and almost never is.

To admit that the crime was against “us” and committed by “us” (rather than the “other”) is to admit that we all have the potential to commit evil acts.

I’m not saying that we would go out and do something terrible, only that we could.  Most of us have enough filters and enough checks in the system to prevent us from doing such things.  But in our humanity, it is always something that lurks under the surface.  Most Christians call it “sin nature.”  Other people have other words for it.  It doesn’t matter what word we use, it means essentially the same thing.

What we might be forgetting, though, is the other side of that.  While we may have some kind of potential for evil, we have a much greater capacity for good.  We Christians might call it being created in the image of God; other people call it something else.  Whatever word or words we use, the concept remains the same.  We all bear this goodness, this truth, this light of our humanity inside us.  For most of us, it’s what prevents us from going out and committing terrible acts of violence against our fellow people.

Instead of believing the lie that we need our country to return to a mythical state of godliness, I’m choosing to focus on seeing that image of God in people today.  I’m choosing to recognize it first in my husband and children: to hear it in my daughter’s soft voice as she plays with her stuffed animals and in the rich, graceful tones of my son’s saxophone; to see it in my husband’s eyes when he greets us coming through the door after work.  I choose to find it in my sisters, without whom my life would be emptier.  I choose to appreciate it in my extended family, both the one into which I was born and the one into which I married.  I choose to see it in my son’s teacher at school, who herself is curious about the world around her and encourages her students to feel the same.  I choose to hear it in the warm laughter of my friends, chatting while our children play.  I choose to find it in the grocery store, in Walmart, at the dentist’s office, and at the hairdresser.  And then, when I find that light everywhere around me, I’m going to stop acting like God is missing in our country and start acting like He’s been here all along.

The election ate my soul

Posted by Amy in Faith, LGBT Issues, Religion and tagged with , , ,

I had another post planned for today.  It was written and scheduled.  I have moved it because I feel that I need to address some things that were said to me this week.

I can take a lot.  I spent many years in school being victimized by my peers; that doesn’t happen without leaving a person either heavily scarred or pretty tough or both.  Don’t think I’m being thin-skinned here.  I’m not against push-back on what I write, either, and I generally leave comments on my posts intact even if they’re not very nice.  (I recently deleted a few for being racist, but that’s about it.)  Still, every now and again, someone says something (or writes it, in this case) that hits a nerve.

Yesterday, I posted to my Facebook page several things that I was glad had happened during the election.  Among them were the addition of 3 more States with marriage equality (and a fourth that prohibited a ban being added to the State Constitution); many women being elected into office, including various minorities; and the ousting of the politicians who made disturbing comments about rape.

In response, several things happened.  First, I had lots of people commenting positively, both on Facebook and via private message.  Second, I had a few people become curious about my views, since many Christians disagree with me.  Third, I had some extremely judgmental comments left on my page.  It was the last that grabbed my attention, because the negative was far more over-the-top than the positive.

My immediate reaction was to find it funny.  I honestly thought it was a joke when one person suggested I must not be a Christian and offered to pray for me.  I mean, who even says that?  There had been enough sarcasm going around all day that I wouldn’t have been surprised.  Sadly, it turned out to be genuine. I re-read the thread and decided that maybe when I responded to another person (who had thrown baby killing in there, even though I hadn’t said even one word about abortion) it had been confusing.  I replied only about marriage equality, choosing to ignore the baby-killing remark; perhaps I had been misunderstood.  That proved not to be the case either.

Still, I was trying to see the humor in the situation.  My husband and I generated a list of the top 10 reasons why I’m probably going to burn eternally, and I suggested creating an online sign-up sheet so people could choose a time to pray for my soul.  I even tweeted about it, joking about eating devil’s food cake and reading Harry Potter.

After some thought, though, I realized that calling me a non-Christian for my support of marriage equality is unwarranted.  It’s not any other person’s job to determine whether I’m Christian enough.  Not only that, I’m hardly alone in my beliefs.  I didn’t develop my views in a vacuum.

I decided to sleep on it rather than responding with inappropriate actions or angry words.  Morning brought a new perspective that I’m ashamed to admit I hadn’t been considering.  A little voice whispered to me, You’re not the one being hurt.

It’s true; I’m not.  When it comes down to it, I can ignore the hurtful things and the judgment because in the end, I sit here in my place of privilege.  It doesn’t bother me so much that one person said a hateful thing to me, because ten other people said loving things.  It doesn’t bother me that one person made an accusation, because another friend send me a beautiful, gentle, and loving message (even though we don’t agree on the issue).

The people being hurt are my LGBT brothers and sisters.  If I am accused of not “knowing the Lord” just for supporting marriage equality, how much more judgment does that person have on people in same-sex relationships?  If I have Scripture thrown at me to show my error, how much more are my LGBT friends and family being beaten with the Bible?  Someone like that is simply not a safe person.

I understand that many of my friends won’t be convinced to share my perspective on this; I will never again share theirs, either.  But the unloving words don’t do anything to further relationships.  It becomes all about speaking of people’s lives in the abstract and passing judgment on one another’s faith.

To my dear friends and family who replied to me via text or private message: I love and appreciate you.  Your kind words meant a lot to me yesterday.  I am glad that even though some of us don’t agree, we can still share together and learn from each other.  For those who pray, let’s pray for each other that our friendship grows and that love grows.  I think that’s something we can all agree on.

To those who called me a baby killer, made racist remarks, and suggested I’m not a Christian: I honestly don’t need you to pray for my eternal soul, thanks.  I have a feeling your thoughtless and unkind words yesterday were fueled not by anything I did but by your bitterness over the election.  I hope that your anger diminishes, but don’t count on having much of a relationship with me.

To my LGBT friends and family: Much love to you.  You know where I stand, and that’s all that matters to me.  I’m not going to back down—I will continue to stand with you.  If it’s okay, I will pray for you to be surrounded by kind, generous people and to have loads more love in your lives.  I’m blessed to know you.

May the coming weeks bring perspective for all of us that we might once again come to the table together, leaving all bitterness aside.  Peace be with you all today.