Holding Space?

This pandemic has been weird. Right? The exhaustion from being on screens all the time, but away from people. Constantly feeling like you’re working, but you’re not getting anything done. It’s like reading the same paragraph repeatedly for twenty minutes before you just give up because you don’t know what you’ve read. Every. Day.

I feel like I’m supposed to have something to say. Something profound. Uplifting. Something that other’s read and feel seen. But I don’t have anything.

I don’t have advice on how to keep routine. I don’t always know where to find God in the midst of sickness, inequality, the stress, and the unacknowledged privileges that many of us hold. I don’t always know where hope is hiding. Most days I hope for hope, and cling to whatever straw I can find.

I catch myself feeling guilty for the moments that productivity fills my living room, or kitchen. My oven longs to be included by rising up banana bread or challah, but I can’t handle dishes anymore. The apartment is filled with dirty mugs that have been filled with coffee that gets cold too fast, and remnants of powdered latte mixes. Did I mention I’ve been cycling through the same 4 sweatshirts all month?

I truly don’t have much to say. Other than I’m trying to “hold space” in a way that doesn’t claim that I have it together. I sit with you. Muscles sore from too much sitting on the couch. Walks that leave me out of breath. But, I am with you. Waiting. Holding steady. Taking breaths when I realize I’m not breathing. Looking for God in the mundane. Expectant of love that transcends time and space and pandemics.

I wait for the day that we can sit together.
Within six feet of one another.
Celebrating the life that distance has brought.
New life from resurrecting rest.
I will wait.
Holding space for whoever would like to join.

The Cost of Education.

The other day I noticed that my banking app had a new feature where it would allow you to instantly check your credit, without penalization. So, of course I checked it. After holding my breath, as the pinwheel spun, the word “poor” in big, bolded letters popped up. I thought there had to be a mistake. As I scrolled through the red flags, the main reason my credit was bad was because of the student loans I took out for my seminary experience. Of course, education comes at a financial cost, but what happens when it also comes at a societal cost?

In my denomination, in order to be ordained, you must have your Masters in Divinity. This calling comes at a cost- sometimes I expect it, and other times things pop up that I didn’t anticipate. With the closing of Logsdon Seminary at Harding Simmons University in Abilene, Texas I am reminded of this. I have been reading the articles reporting on this closing, and though people say to never read the comments, I couldn’t help myself. Reading the comments posted on small town news accounts is one of the ways that I gauge how others may be perceiving  the world. “Seminaries are giving up the Bible to gain the world.” “Seminaries theses days are liberal and lost.” Statements like these make me wonder. Because I am one of the people these comments target. I grew up in a conservative context, but the past four years I have been attending a seminary that has been accused of being liberal.

I will forever be thankful for the place where I grew up. It’s in that context that I learned the importance, and the reverence of scripture. I learned how to grow in my faith, and how it is of the most importance to never let go of Jesus. With that in mind, I was mortified when I went into the “real world” and realized that much harm has been done in the name of this same Jesus. So, who is Jesus? What does Jesus stand for? And, what is the cost of following in his name?

For me, this cost has taken many forms. It has cost me friendships. It has and will continue to cost me financially. It has cost me my mid-twenties. It has cost me my confidence, and has created situations in which trauma occurred. But what have I gained? A new life in New Jersey. Lifelong friends. Hope in the future of the Church. I have gained a new and broadened understanding of how God is at work in the world. It’s because of my faith and my call to ordination that I have felt convicted to learn about systematic injustices, realized the important Christlike work that is to learn how to be an ally to my LGBTQ+ siblings, and continue the work of being an anti-racist. It is following Jesus that has brought me down the road towards justice, towards earth tending, and towards advocation. I did not end up in a liberal church, or seminary and lose Jesus. It was in these spaces that I encountered Jesus. I discovered God in new ways.

The comments that were written under the report of  Logsdon were mixed emotions, but majority were words of joy. Rejoicing over the closing of a seminary that was leading its students astray. Coming up on the end of my seminary career, I can’t help but wonder how it might change the way that I navigate the world. How I might be perceived by strangers. How did choosing to go to Princeton Theological Seminary keep me from being accessible to those that I might encounter in my future neighborhood? An unknown cost.

Education is a privilege- especially formal education. I am incredibly thankful for the formal education I have received, and I will never be the same because of it. Though formal education isn’t accessible for everyone, everyone can learn. Some of the most important lessons I have learned in life have come from relationships with others. My experience in Seminary has placed me into the classroom with people from all over the world. People from all kinds of contexts, and theological frameworks. And you know what is the most beautiful part about it? Everyone has faith in how God is working in the world. I have met people who are changing the world, and being lead onward through their faith in Christ. It is in spaces like these, where we open ourselves up to others who don’t think, look, or seem at all like us that we can experience God. Education is one of those things that you get out of it what you put into it. If you think you don’t have anything to learn, you probably won’t. I have started to notice this more and more in recent years. This assumption that we have nothing to learn from “the other.” I, and those who think like me, have gotten it right. What could we possibly learn from those who are theologically wrong?

I think about these things, and I think about the gospel. I think about the way that I approach scripture. When someone asks me if I think that God is dead, I would say, “No, God defeated death.” (Though I have taken a Moltmann class, so of course this a loaded question that with extra given time, has nuanced answers.) So, if God is alive, why do we act as if Jesus died at the end of the gospel books? Why do we enslave Christ to the words in the Bible? I believe that God is at work in the world, though people that I encounter daily. The Bible teaches me the characteristics of who God is. Of how God is at work in the world. And the good news, is that Christ didn’t die amongst the holy words in the text, but continues to move and live and breathe within us. If you’re like me, your faith is what helps you to navigate the world around you. When things seem difficult, or seem not to make sense, you find the people who radiate Christ’s love. You flip to the words of comfort in scripture. Christ is not finished working in the world. Jesus works in ways beyond our understanding. I try each day to not be so sure in my ways, that I forget to let Christ lead.

If your faith is something that leads you, are you willing to allow Jesus to move?
If so, at what cost?

The Hope of Confetti

I recently came to terms with the fact that I am not, and have not been “ok”. It’s been several years since I’ve recognized that I may have anxiety, but I thought I could figure out a way to “power through.” When I finally used the words “anxiety” and “depression” while doing an intake interview and shared a part of my story the phycologist said, “but you’re so high functioning.” After that I met with the psychiatrist who confirmed that I have probably been struggling with anxiety and depression for a while. “You’re so strong,” she said to me.

I’ve been mulling over these words for weeks. You’re so strong. What does it mean to be strong, exactly? Because I feel so weak. I should have listened to my needs before now. It’s been so difficult. It’s kept me from being a better student, friend, coworker, and partner. I can’t help but think that had I not been so strong I could have been so much better.

The “what ifs” get me. What if I would not have worried about the implications. What if I would listened to the signs? What could class have looked like if I wasn’t crippled with social anxiety? How much deeper could my friendships be if I wasn’t worried about my self care constantly? What if I actually would have cared for my self before now? It was in the midst of these questions that I found myself in New York City.

A few weeks after I got the diagnosis, I decided to go do something alone. It’s the first time I’ve done something alone in a while, and it was so wonderful. I decided to go into the city to volunteer with one of my favorite photographers. I love The Confetti Project, and the way that Jelena celebrates people. This specific weekend she was hosting an open studio, and since it was October, she decided to donate a portion of her proceeds to an organization working towards breast cancer awareness. Throughout that day I got to throw confetti on strangers. Families, children, mothers, and friends all came to the studio to celebrate. Some celebrated one another, but a few needed to celebrate themselves. Before the confetti flies, Jelena stops, and in what feels like stillness, and asks, “what do you celebrate?” One woman, who was newly diagnosed with breast cancer said with fearful eyes, “I just want to be alive.” I couldn’t help but think, wow she’s so strong. I instantly felt my stomach fall to my feet. That word again. Strong.

What does it mean to be strong? What does it mean for any of us to be alive, or be living? It seems that often, emotional strength is tied to suffering. Why is that? What if strength actually about hope? Why don’t we call out hope more often? I see hope in you. I think that’s what I’ve actually really needed. Someone to see the hope in me when I don’t see it myself. I don’t feel strong most days. But I think I could use a reminder that I seem hope-filled. I think I could be better at reminding others of that, too.

Sometimes I wonder why Jelena uses confetti. I mean, it’s completely fun and exhilarating. I get it. But what if there’s something deeper there? (Yes, I am in seminary, thanks for asking.) When thinking about the experience of having confetti thrown on top of me, there were a few things that run through my mind. “Wow. It’s so light, but I can almost feel every piece touch my body.” “How can this be so heavy and so light, all at the same time?” I know this may be heretical, but I couldn’t help but remember my baptism when I was being doused in confetti. There’s something about it that renews you. You feel light- you feel the weight of confetti. Even if just for a moment, the stress in your shoulders melt away. There’s something happening here. There is something to celebrate after all. The hope of confetti.

Photo by: @theconfettiproject

I love the United Methodist Church. But I might not stay.

I love the United Methodist Church—but I might not stay.

The UMC has taught me the power of an open table—but I might not stay.

Through the UMC, I learned how to ask questions and I learned how experiences, mine and others, matter in shaping how we approach Scripture and allow Scripture to form us—but I might not stay.

The UMC’s Social Principles taught me that I have a part to play in earth tending and that I have profound responsibilities to care for my neighbor—but I might not stay.

I’ve been an active UMC member since I was 12 (math says that’s 15 years). I’ve said the baptismal vows both as someone being baptized and as a committed community member—

Through baptism
you are incorporated by the Holy Spirit
into God’s new creation
and made to share in Christ’s royal priesthood.
We are all one in Christ Jesus.
With joy and thanksgiving we welcome you
as members of the family of Christ.

—but I might not stay.

Or maybe it’s because of all this that I might not stay.

As delegates gather for the UMC’s special General Conference, I’ve been thinking about the right words to say. The right things to do.  I love my church. I love my denomination. I am thankful for my Methodist identity. I am thankful for all it has meant and for all it has taught me. And that love, that gratitude, compels me to say that I might not stay.

It grieves me that the UMC has put our siblings who belong to the LGBTQ+ community on the margins of our denomination and held them there for years and years. We have not valued their sacred worth. We have said that God’s call has limitations, that God’s love has boundaries, that the church has a box—or is a box.

To those siblings, I say: I’m sorry. I’m sorry I haven’t stood up for you. I’m sorry that I might be one of those “white moderates” that Martin Luther King Jr. wrote of, pleading for patience and quiet.

1 Corinthians 13 tells us all about love. Love doesn’t fear. Love isn’t happy with injustice. “Love puts up with all things, trusts in all things, hopes for all things, endures all things”(13:7). Tell me, Church: How are we loving when we do not trust God to be at work in our neighbors? How are we loving when we are fearful? How are we loving when we ask others to endure while we go on with our comfortable lives?

It’s time for us to follow Jesus’s example, learning to erase the lines that humanity tends to draw. It’s time to do what he did, in Mark 7, when the Syro-Phoenician woman claimed her place in his presence and asserted her worth. It’s time to do what he did: He listened. And he was moved.

I have encountered Jesus in the sermons of siblings who happen to be LGBTQ+. I have been moved to tears as they baptize and serve communion. I have watched them create holy and faithful ministries. I have witnessed them following their God-given calls—calls made more difficult to answer by outsiders who have deemed them unworthy. I have seen them shine light into this world, the light of God, even as others tell them that they live in darkness.

We in the UMC are missing out on the full experience of sitting at the extravagant table that God has already set. By closing “our” table, we are missing out on the full celebration of all people in Christ’s presence. By excluding the rich diversity already present within our denomination through the divisions and restrictions we have placed in our book, we do not reflect the divine love and sacred value reflected in God’s good book—the very stories that proclaim the beauty of the table.

I admit I’ve been afraid in the past. There was a time when speaking publicly about being affirming would have cost me my job. The pressures of a simple Facebook affirmation used to keep me up at night.

I’m sorry for my fear. I’m sorry for all the times I didn’t have the courage to show love. I’m sorry for the part I’ve played in oppression of my siblings, for my complicity in denying how God is already at work in the lives of LGBTQ+ Methodists—and through them, in the world.

As much as I love my denomination—for the ways it taught me to approach Scripture, for the baptismal covenant, for the support I have felt as I’ve sought to answer my own call to ministry—I might not stay. As Methodists, we believe we are to do all the good we can. To me, doing all the good means affirming the call of all those God has called. Doing all the good means open hearts, open minds, and open doors. Doing all the good means not just toleration but also celebration.

I have vowed to do all the good, do no harm, and attend to the ordinances of God. So that means I will love my neighbor. And that means I will follow the call I believe God has placed on my heart and in my life. And that means I might not stay.

I want to stay. But I want to stay in the Church I’ve always dreamed of, a Church that is willing to recognize the harm that it has done to real, human lives even when it thought it was doing good, a Church that attends especially to the ordinances of God in a spirit of love, especially when it seems costly. My faith has been shaped by the idea that there’s nothing that can hinder God’s love for God’s children, that we can’t stand in the way of God calling ordinary people to do extraordinary work, and that we are actually invited to participate in bringing God’s kingdom now.

I dream of being part of a Church that is creative. A Church that equips all people to be ready for God’s call. A Church that celebrates our full humanity and our full welcome. If the UMC decides that moving “forward” means understanding God’s call and God’s love to be limited by sexuality, well, I might not stay.

Another compost pile.

It’s been a while since I’ve sat down to write.

Honestly, my last post taught me that writing a blog is a careful craft.

The attention was wonderful, in that people who had never spoken to me before felt comfortable sharing the most intimate of stories about how purity culture had unrealized grips on their lives in way that my words helped them to craft their own. But it was also distracting. For two weeks I was, “the purity culture girl”… Not exactly the name I was hoping to make for myself (honestly I hoped that I could go under the radar without any kind of name for myself, but here we are). People caught me on the side walk, or in the cafeteria and shared with me how impactful it was to hear someone else’s story in a way that validated that they were not crazy, or straying from God because of doubt- but rather griping even more strongly on to it.

The whole reason I started blogging was because I see the power in sharing our stories. Within my wildest dreams I hoped that my vulnerability would free others to also share their celebrations and their sorrows. The truth is though, I often fight the voice in my head that tells me that my struggles, worries, celebrations, or in-process thoughts are too simple for others to care about identifying with.

It is in the presence of those voices that I write today.

I often write a reflection piece about how seminary is going, and how the semester has played out. It is not usually a unique or profound perspective. I don’t think this post will be any different, but maybe as the holidays and comparative style posts show up on social media, there are those who could relate.

This semester has sucked to say the least. Usually when it snows for the first time, my smile is wide and the pitch of my voice goes up in excitement, “YOU GUYS IT’S SNOWING CAN YOU BELIVE IT LOOK AT IT” is usually yelled at whoever is in my vicinity, all in one breath. That, however, was not the case with the most recent powdering. My mood was different. I was frustrated by the unexpected guest. I saw it as a burden upon my to-accomplish list. I had lost all sense of wonder and excitement.

There’s so many ways in which this semester is different than the last four. Many of my friends are preparing for take-off into professional ministry as graduation is around the corner while I, however, still have another year to go. I have less jobs, but work more hours. I don’t have a place on campus to call my own, as I moved to a “more adult” apartment. I have a new relationship, which for those of you following along, know this is completely new territory for me (Ha!). So many new things worth celebrating, but I am unexpectedly not my best self.

It’s weird to be in my third year of seminary and realize that I am not “thriving”. I am not my best self. To realize that many of us are walking from one thing to another- living within the moments that so many pastors long to go back to- and can’t seem to get it together. But maybe I’m projecting.

I thought by now I would “have it together”. I imagined having coffee dates several times a week, investing in the relationships that I’ve been told will last a life time. Encouraging those around me, and being a presence to others that would bring peace, joy, a breath of fresh air (I dream big, alright?).  Instead it feels as if with each step that takes me from thing to thing, anxiety overwhelms me. As an Enneagram 7w6, I constantly replay scenarios in my head of how I could have lived out a moment in time with another person better, more intentionally. How could I have helped to loosen their load, to feel seen, to feel heard, to feel loved?

I get it wrong. A lot. This place has surrounded me with people who give grace freely, and I am so blessed to have such friends. They encourage me to be better and don’t let me off the hook when I have made mistakes, but also gently push me when I don’t give myself enough credit. I have experienced many seasons here. Seasons of thriving, of things dying, and seasons of new life. I often live in the compost pile. Turning over the messes I’ve made- over and over and over. Inspecting the pieces and forcing myself to sit in the filth and to take deep breaths of the smells of death. I know it sounds dramatic, but stay with me.

A compost pile. A place of many kinds of death. It’s also a place of life. I talk about the farm a lot, but it has and continues to teach me many things. It’s one of the most vulnerable places on campus. Though working the compost pile can stink, the elements that make it up don’t stay compost. It’s the pile that takes scraps of unwanted, and rotten foods and turns it into food for bugs and worms. It goes from bad to worse as it goes from rotten to literal poop. From there, it sits and is turned over, and goes through the process over and over again until it becomes a fertile and nutritious soil that will bring forth new life. No, that smelly, slimy, and gross squash won’t become a brand new squash again, but it now gets to participate in a larger story. It gets to be a part of a new story, a story that brings forth new life over and over again.

I hope that for my own struggles. For my moments of missing the mark. For moments in which I find myself stuck in my insecurities and humanity. Maybe, if I give it up to the compost pile… It too can bring forth new life in me. First, I’ll have to own up to the places that are rotting. To take something to compost, you have to call it what it is- rotten. Once it’s in the pile, I’ll have to take a shovel to it. Break it up. Let it sit. Turn it over. All in its own time. I’ll have to watch to not overwork it, but to tend it well. Just as I don’t know exactly what happens over time in the compost pile, I don’t know exactly how God works in our lives- in the time that moves too slowly- but I know that God is working. Like a farmer that tends the soil, may I allow God to dwell within my own compost pile.

Purity Culture Screwed Me.

 

First, I want to acknowledge a few things. 1. I am going to tackle Purity Culture (I’m fooling no one with the title) and the ways I feel it damaged me, but I recognize that I’ve been lucky: My boundaries and physical self have always been respected. As a heterosexual cisgender woman, purity culture didn’t cause the depth of harm in my life that I know it did in the lives of many friends who identify differently. 2. I use gendered language and a heteronormative understanding of romantic relationship in this post, because this is my story. If there is a way for me to tell this story in a more inclusive, helpful way, please reach out. I am still learning. 3. This blog post addresses Purity Culture, not the leader of the girl’s Bible study that I attended. She is one of the kindest, most genuine people that I have ever met, and I still strive to love others and love God in the ways that she does. I also am not attacking my home church; they continue to support me in all that I do, they are some of my biggest fans, and I wouldn’t be here without them. But as with any family, there’s no such thing as perfection.

Welcome to a strange (but true) part of my story.

I’ve been having several conversations lately about Purity Culture. It feels like it’s something many girls my age, from  similar backgrounds — Conservative, Southern, Traditionalist — are struggling with. It makes us feel vulnerable. It scares us. We still don’t know how to navigate these waters, but knowing you’re not alone helps.

 

Bear with me—this isn’t easy. I want to try to articulate how I feel like purity culture “screwed me”. I want to try to work through how it cheapened my relationship with God. I want to express that it doesn’t have to be a defining chapter of my (or your) story.

 

When I was in 8th grade, I went through a “True Love Waits” program at my home church. We celebrated coming to the end of the program on Valentines Day weekend. During Sunday morning service about 20 of us stood at the front of the church, all in pink shirts, next to our parents. As our youth director and pastor stood in between us and the congregation, they asked us, one by one, something along the lines of, “Do you commit to serve and stay in love with God for the rest of your days, including saving sex for the sanctity of marriage?”

 

All of us, with thick inked lines on our “How far is too far” sexual-activity charts, said a strong “YES!” Then we took rings from our fathers and placed them on our ring fingers. We were ready to begin waiting for our Prosperity-Gospel Prince Charming Soulmates.(In case you’re wondering: there was no course for the 8th grade boys, no chance for them to stand in front of the church to declare themselves celibate until their wedding night.)

 

Throughout high school there was pressure to always have your ring on. If you didn’t, people talked. “She must have lost her…” “Hope she doesn’t wear white on her wedding day—that wouldn’t be fair to those of us preparing to live out our Proverbs 31 lives.”

 

In 11th grade, I got my first “real” boyfriend. I had never kissed a boy before, and one day we were talking about it. I had concerns about being embarrassed—what if I wasn’t good at it? He had concerns too; he said he “didn’t want to take away one of your rose petals.”

 

What.

 

He explained that in his church, they taught that girls were roses, and each girl has a limited number of rose petals. With each “first” physical encounter—your first hand-holding, your first kiss, your first… whatever— they lose a rose petal. If they have sex before they get married, that automatically gives away all the petals. The girl is no longer a rose.

 

Part of me thought this was just silly. But part of me thought it made a lot of sense. Part of me learned that day that my value and worth were directly tied to expressing (or not) my sexuality—one of many lessons I would eventually learn from purity culture.

 

Purity culture taught me that my sexuality is not my own. It taught me that it is more important to keep my sexuality disengaged than it is to learn how to be a disciple. Engaging my sexuality would permanently disqualify me from being a disciple worthy of following Christ.

 

Purity culture taught me that, as a woman, it was my job and responsibility to slow the man down. Anything beyond my “too far” line was my fault, because I should have had better boundaries and clearer communication. We were taught as eighth graders that men are sexual “microwaves.” As a female “crockpot,” it’s my duty to help change their sense of time—We were in charge of taking it slow.

 

Purity culture made my virginity a prize higher than any other—maybe even higher than my heart or soul, when it came to ranking what in my life really matters to Christ. I was taught that my virginity is the most important part of who I am. It’s something I have total control over, and that it’s not mine to give away. It’s a “gift” that can only be shared once, and it was created only to be shared with my future husband. Anything outside of marriage was irredeemable—like a coupon, you spend it once and you can never get it back. Since my sexuality does not belong to me, I cannot really engage with it—only suppress it.

 

Purity culture taught me that if I stay “clean” and “pure” enough, God will bless me with a perfect, flawless husband.

 

Purity culture taught me nothing about why I am a beloved child of God. It taught me nothing about grace, about loving spiritual siblings who experience God in their lives outside of the framework that was given to me.

 

Purity culture taught me I had no right to love myself and call myself “Beloved.” It taught me my worth was bound up with the “rose petals” that are still attached or were given (or taken) away.

 

Purity culture taught me that marriage is not holistic. It taught me to feel like a piece of property awaiting a new owner to care for me.

 

Purity culture taught me that staying out of “trouble” sexually as a teenager was the key to a successful adulthood.

 

Three years ago I read a book by Dianna Anderson titled Damaged Goods: New Perspectives on Christian Purity. I can’t express how helpful this book was for me as I tried to navigate dating as an adult. It talked about those pesky Bible verses about women’s virginity and how it wasn’t about the women at all, but how they were not at full-trade value if they were no longer virgins. They were “damaged goods.” Their fathers would not be able to “sell” them to a good family. Having sex with a virgin who wasn’t your wife—that was theft of property. Anderson also discussed the rise of purity culture and how it was really about lowering the pregnancy rate and not about strengthening the relationship between women and God. Her writing started the shift in my thought process.

 

There’s still a lot of baggage that I’m having to sift through, if we’re being honest. I’ve come to find comfort in having a more “progressive” theological understanding. God has become a being who is so much bigger and more present than I remember knowing as a kid. God no longer is limited by the pronoun “Him.” God is redemptive, not punitive. Creative, not judgy. Loving, not distant. Patient, not quick to be disappointed.

 

As I have grown in my faith, I have come to learn that God wants their children to know that they are Beloved, and truly nothing—no, nothing—can come in between them and that love (Romans 8:38-39).

 

To say that God was absent throughout my teen years would be completely absurd. God was there. I believe God met me where I was and continues to meet me where I am. I have learned the importance of community, accountability and boundaries. Could I have learned these things in a way that was bit more helpful long-term? Maybe, but here we are.  

 

I have come to learn that “self-worth” is not tied to who I am or who I am not within a romantic relationship. I have found that one of the most uncomfortable, most difficult parts of dating is having the conversation in which I come clean (pun intended) about the baggage that purity culture gave me and that I still carry. No, guys in their late 20s are not pumped when they learn this about me. Yes, relationships have ended after these conversations.

 

It’s hard to balance the old but foundational residue that says my self-worth is tied into who I am within a relationship with another person, and the more I practice patience, the more I should feel secure in my self-worth. Yet in adulthood, I have found that it’s hard to think that the waiting for “all of me” is actually “not enough” or the parts of me that are engaged in relationship (my stunning wit, my impressive intelligence, my love for superhero movies, or my hilarious jokes) aren’t actually worth sticking around for.

 

Fluidity is something that we demand in so many places, but it shouldn’t be applied to  worth. Even with all of life’s contexts, nicks, and scratches, who we are at a substantial level doesn’t change—nothing can take away from that. We were created by the Creator out of a love so deep and intense it is incomprehensible. Because I was taught that my worth and value could get a “clearance” sticker or be defined by the loss of a purity ring, I still struggle with this. I still have to remind myself that I am always worthy, loved and covered in grace.

---

 

I still carry my purity ring with me every day. I keep it on my keyring—an ordinary place, among ordinary things.

 

A friend once asked why I carry it with me. In some ways, I think it’s funny that it’s with my keys—things that unlock locked doors, with my loyalty cards that give me access to coupons and show where I frequently shop. But that’s all afterthought.

 

Honestly it’s there because one time in college a guy I thought was quite attractive started to walk over to talk to me (or so I choose to believe), but I saw him glace at my left ring finger, which was adorned with a silver band, before furrowing his brow and changing direction. I realized that maybe respectable guys wouldn’t hit on a girl wearing what could be mistaken for a wedding band, so I decided that I wanted to have it somewhere as a reminder of my commitment but I didn’t want to wear it.

 

I’ve never taken it off of my keyring, and it’s still what I play with when I’m waiting or when I need to fidget with something. It reminds me of the person I once was. I remember how much it meant to me to have something that I could control within my faithfulness to God—a privilege that most people do not have. I was sold on the idea of it actually being an empowering way for girls to own their faith and relationships. There are moments when I wish I could have that certainty back.

 

I didn’t decide to write this blog because I have the answers, but quite the opposite. I don’t have the answers, but I have come to believe that that is ok.

 

Maybe your journey has been paved with similar stones and you wonder what that means for who you’re coming to understand yourself to be. I hope that in some way this blog gives you hope that you’re not alone on the journey.

You’re not the only one that purity culture “screwed up”— you are not “screwed up”.
Yes, relationships may be more difficult and move more slowly, but not because you’re a “crockpot.”

I hope that one day, the person who decides that this messy and strange baggage that I carry along with me will see it as a journey worth walking together. Maybe I’ll walk the baggage to an edge of a cliff, and then we’ll throw it off the edge… Who knows.

Until then, well, I’ll keep sorting through the mess as it shows up.
And buying all of the chocolate on February 15th.
But that’s a different blog post.

Journey well, y’all.

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Originally posted on: 2.10.2018
Resource Update: 10.14.2018

I’ve had many forms of the question, “So how do I talk to my kids about this?” or, “I want to get to where you are. How?”- I want to try to keep a list of resources to keep this conversation going.

Keeping in mind that I am all full-time graduate student, I haven’t had a chance to do a full resource scan. I personally have not read the books or curriculum below, but they come highly recommended by people who I trust and adore. This isn’t ideal, but I also know that it’ll be months (years??)  before I get a chance to read for fun again.

Please feel free to share resources you have found helpful in the comments.

Reading Resources:

“Talking with your child about sex can be scary! Sex + Faith helps parents incorporate their faith values with sexual information so they can answer questions, discuss sexuality at each stage of childhood, and show support of sexual differences. Section one explains how faith relates to sexuality and the essential role parents play in forming healthy, faithful children . The second section designates a chapter for four age groupings of children from infancy through high school. Each chapter explains the biological and developmental issues of the age, answers questions children tend to have, provides relevant Biblical and faith stories helpful to discuss with children of that age. Expertly written by Kate Ott, Sex + Faith is an easy to use reference guide for parents of kids of all ages.”

“Despite our best efforts to create welcoming and affirming congregations, the reality is that church can still be a harmful place to LGBTQIA youth.

Inside A Brief Guide to Ministry with LGBTQIA Youth, author Cody J. Sanders challenges pastors and church leaders to reflect on the various trials that adolescence brings for LGBTQIA youth. Designed for congregations that currently have a theologically and biblically affirming stance toward the LGBTQIA community, this unique resource provides insight and practical advice for tough questions like:

• How does an affirming stance toward LGBTQIA people affect the day-to-day experience of teenagers in a church setting?
• In what ways can a churchs youth ministry have a positive impact on the lives of LGBTQIA youth who want to fully live out their Christian faith and their gender identity?
• How can a pastor, youth minister, or youth ministry volunteer embrace, nurture, and provide skillful care for LGBTQIA youth in a congregation or community?

A glossary of terms to use when talking about LGBTQIA issues and a list of national and location resources that can be used to support LGBTQIA youth are included.”

Curriculum:

http://www.ucc.org/justice_sexuality-education_our-whole-lives

“Our Whole Lives, together with Sexuality and Our Faith, helps participants make informed and responsible decisions about their relationships, health and behavior in the context of their faith. It equips participants with accurate, age-appropriate information in six subject areas: human development, relationships, personal skills, sexual behavior, sexual health, and society and culture. It provides not only facts about anatomy and human development, but helps participants to clarify their values, build interpersonal skills and understand the social, emotional and spiritual aspects of sexuality.”
(Description is taken from OWL website linked above.)

Come and See

Merciful God,
we confess that we have not loved you with our whole heart.
We have failed to be an obedient church.
We have not done your will,
   we have broken your law,
   we have rebelled against your love,
   we have not loved our neighbors,
   and we have not heard the cry of the needy.
Forgive us, we pray.
Free us for joyful obedience,
      through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
(Prayer of Confession, found in the United Methodist Hymnal)

Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law and the Prophets: Jesus, Joseph’s son, from Nazareth.”
Nathanael responded, “Can anything from Nazareth be good?”
Philip said, “Come and see.”
   John 1: 45-46 CEB

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A few years ago when I came to visit Princeton, part of my travel required me to navigate getting to campus via trains and the public bus. I was sitting in the train station when a young black man came over and helped his father sit down before going to get the two of them food. When the son, who was around my age, came back I moved my bag from sitting next to me (it was in-between us) to my feet. Instantly the young man threw his hands up, and took a step away from me and said “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to invade your space!”. I quickly responded and told him that I was only moving my bag so that he would have room to sit next to his father. As he released an anxious sigh, I took moment to process the weight that my whiteness had for those around me. As I thought about this I hear, “So what’s a girl like you doing at the train station this late?” I giggled as I realized that that, at 11pm myself with my preppy Dallas Stars Shirt and brightly colored Vera Bradly travel bag, I did indeed stick out like a sore thumb.
We began talking and I shared that I was in town to check out a graduate school in order to eventually work at a church. With this information I watch him clear his throat, readjust in his chair in order to sit up straighter, and responded with a “hmm” while looking straight ahead. When I inquired about his response, he shared that he had had negative interactions with the church and had come to a place in which he didn’t trust the church as an institution. He told me about how he volunteered with students in the city to help kids who were likely to be “at-risk” and helped them to learn computer coding. We went back and forth discussing systematic poverty and if these after-school programs give students a realistic outlet to rise out of their situations. We discussed the church and how it isn’t willing to do work that actually helps its community, but only to satisfy it’s own self interests. I ended up missing my bus due to our conversation, but as I physically ran away to try and catch the bus, I turned and yelled, “Don’t give up on the church just yet, we’re trying!”

It’s been two years since this conversation in the train station. I wonder what he thinks now. How has the Church stood up against injustice? When has she gone and visited those who are lonely? Does she bless the poor in spirit, those who morn, the meek, the hungry, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, or the persecuted? Why do we still stay silent about those in Puerto Rico not having access to electricity or water? Why do we post photos with children from other countries during our Spring Break mission trips but stay silent when the ground on which these children play are identified as filthy, unworthy, and unholy? Why do we turn away when our neighbors get bullied and spit on?

It’s the church that taught me the importance of loving my neighbor, even especially when it’s not popular.
It’s the church that taught me to put my selfish desires and fears away because we are called to share the light of Christ with all- that all people have sacred worth.
It’s the church that taught me to raise my voice when injustice is identified.

Are we still being the Church if we only live into Christ’s calling for us when we are the ones who benefit?
Are we still being the Church when we cover our ears when the cries of those who are in need fill the air?
Are we still being the church when we close the front blinds when injustices fill the streets?
What does it mean to be the Church?

It means that we cannot be silent any longer.
Why would we want to?
Are we afraid of what might happen?
“Do not be afraid.”

Let’s work together.
What could come out of it?
Come and see.

This is my Song
(437 in the United Methodist Hymnal)

This is my song O God of all the nations
A song of peace for lands afar and mine
This is my home the country where my heart is
Here are my hopes my dreams my holy shrine
But other hearts in other lands are beating
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine

My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean
And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine
But other lands have sunlight too and clover
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine
O hear my song Thou God of all nations
A song of peace for their land and for mine

This is my prayer O Lord of all earth’s kingdoms
Thy kingdom come on earth Thy will be done
Let Christ be lifted up till all shall serve Him
And hearts united learn to live as one
O hear my prayer Thou God of all nations
Myself I give Thee let Thy will be done

A special “Thank You” to the staff at Kingston United Methodist Church for putting together a beautiful and potent service to help me process the happenings this week while also calling me and us toward action.

All questions. No answers. Yet.

One of my 2017 goals was to write more- and per usual it just didn’t get done.
I didn’t feel like there was much to reflect on, and I became consumed with busyness.
Everything I planned… Just didn’t get done.

Reflecting back on this past semester of Seminary that seems to have been the theme.
Not everything got done.
The homework didn’t all get done, and when it did it wasn’t always done well.
The balance of work and play didn’t go as well as planned.
Always give it the best you’ve got.
Sometimes the best you’ve got isn’t near enough.
Praise be to God for good friends who don’t give up on you.

There were moments this semester (as there always is) where I questioned my intelligence, my ability to be a good friend, even if I was good enough in general.
I know it seems silly, but there were days when I looked back at the path from which I came and thought, “Maybe I’m just not wired to be here. Maybe I’m reaching for goals that are outside of my reach.” Of course, I dismiss them, but they float back into view at the most inconvenient times often when I am at my most vulnerable.
This past semester I found that I compared myself to the other Seminarians, especially the women.
Am I feminine enough to be a pastor who is female? Is my presence soft and welcoming enough? Do I speak in a way that isn’t winey or bossy? Do I command the room in a way that is professional but not off-putting? Am I genuine enough?
This past semester was the first time that I realized that I had written a false narrative that if I wanted to be a Pastor, I had to be “less” while also not being “too much”. I’ve always known that I’ve had insecurities about being young, but it’s the first time that I realized that I had a mold created in my head of what a “good” female pastor should be like. An insecurity that is alive and well, a story that I am working towards reorienting and rewriting for myself.

There are moments this semester that broke me.
I had classes that challenged the ideologies that I was exposed to in childhood, things that I didn’t realize I still had in my basket of understanding. It’s weird to feel so distant from who you “used to be” while having moments of realization that your foundation is steeped in an understanding that is still heavily influential.
It’s swampy.
It feels familiar but incredibly distant- from a different life even.
There were moments that felt like I was looking into the face of someone else in the mirror. I never understood when people said that until this semester. It’s hidden in the depth of my eyes- they held a story once known. A person, a story that is vaguely familiar but unplaceable. Standing in the tension of not particularly liking the person you once were or the person you see yourself becoming.
Seeing all of the spiritual and emotional scars, the new wounds and feeling the weight of bruises yet to come.
The responsibility to navigate yourself better going forward.
To sit in the gray of “right” and “wrong”, of “us” and “them”, trying to hold everything in middle, because there is rich life in the messy and smelly swamp.

This semester wasn’t all bad, though.
Looking forward:
I am slowly learning myself and how to take better care of me.
I am getting the hang of this school thing. It’s taken a year and a half, but I’m getting there.
I’m finding my voice again.
I’m trusting again.
When I came to Princeton I was cynical, worn and negative.
I’m seeing God at work more and more.
While in the midst of deconstruction, I am finding my faith again.
It is taking time, but I am learning what it means to be Spiritual again.
There is so much hope in the midst of the unknown.

What’s in store for 2018?
Who can say?
I’ll just take it one step at a time.

Kitchen Tables

When I look back on formative and influential moments, so many of them come from a kitchen table. Breaking bread, eating chips and salsa, cups of coffee, pours of other types, conversations of all kinds. Kitchen tables hold a special kind of magic that allows for a vulnerability that nurtures and grows relationships in ways in my life that I will always be thankful for.

Thinking back on kitchen tables one that stands in my mind is the Lognion’s kitchen table. I joined them around the table just about twice a week every week for dinner my last two years of high school. I remember my first time having dinner with the family I sat in the wrong seat and quickly got yelled at (and if you know that Lognions you know it was not a quiet, gentle ordeal- but a very loud, aggressive interaction) however, they made a place for me and that seat became my place at the table- in fact, I still sit in the same place when I visit. Their table for me became a place of refuge, a safe place to process life, relationships and a place of constant support- even in the midst of disagreement. When I sat at their table I became a part of the family. I saw the arguments and the grace. I saw the tears and the laughs. I brought my baggage, dumped it on the table and they often helped me sort through it- and gave me permission to throw away the things I didn’t need. It was the first place where I learned that I could be completely myself and that it was enough. There’s so many conversations I think back to around that table. I think about the one time I stayed the night when I was in town visiting. I woke up early and Mark was the only one awake, so I made my way to the kitchen for coffee and chatted with him about life, ministry, the problems with the church. I remember his encouraging words about him believing in me and the ministry I would go on to do, but how difficult it would be. Our last conversation, just the two of us, occurred at the kitchen table. I will forever hold that conversation close to my heart. That kitchen table holds so many special conversations, especially the ones in which I processed life choices, I learned about chosen family and how much power is in a meal.

Another table I think about is the table at Union. Its daily task is to be a community table in the middle of a coffee shop. It has little handmade signs that say, “feel free to sit with me” around it. On Tuesday evenings it becomes the alter. It holds candles, notes, a plastic cup of grape juice and a plate of homemade bread. Though it is the largest table in the space, it is often seen past, it blends into the space around it. People come and play board games, work on projects or homework. Once a month it becomes a place where people create capes that go on to empowering children who are fighting to be their own kind of superhero. The everyday-ness of the table brings us light, life and grace each week in worship. Often, the alter in churches go untouched with the exception of the changing out of flowers at most churches, but not this alter. This alter is lived at, cried at, laughed around- it is a place where community is built.

I have a special piece in my room made from the scrapes of a kitchen table. It doesn’t look like much hanging up on the wall, it’s filled with jewelry and lives next to my closet. It was a gift from Dianna and Jordan. They saw me through some of the darkest days I’ve had so far, they encourage me and make fun of me when I need it. They check in and call me family. I’ve never actually eaten with them around the table my jewelry holder is made of, but it reminds me that I quite literally am a part of an important piece of their family.

The most recent, specific kitchen table moment happened last week. I just started an internship at a church and their meetings happen around a large kitchen table. I have only been with them in this role for about a month, but already I’ve been brought to tears at how much God is doing through this small community. I have sat around the table with strangers and dreamed about ways in which the church can show up for the community, and how we each can play a part in God’s call for the church. It’s a beautiful thing, to watch people who come from all different backgrounds and experiences to drop their dreams, their fears and their vulnerability on a table, asking God to show up and expecting God to work.

 

I think to the lessons in scripture in which Jesus shows up around a “table”. He flips them, he blesses them, he creates an abundance from them, he sends us forth from them. We need kitchen tables because we need community, we need to eat, we need the support, we need the reminder that we cannot and don’t have to live this life alone. I guess in the end, it really isn’t about kitchen tables at all.

A letter for your first year of college-

So many people I know are moving away from their hometown and beginning their college journey. This article is for you.

There’s so much I wish I would have known before starting college, and I just wanted to take a few minutes to write a few of those down- both for you and for myself as I anticipate another school year.

For me, college was a time in which I learned who I was a little better. I felt like through life I had carried around a bucket, and along the way I picked up lego pieces. These lego pieces are all of the things that you’ve learned along the way, hopefully to take them and build them into something great. College felt like taking those pieces and pouring them on a table to take inventory. Inspecting each piece while trying to decide if it’s something you still believe in, something you want to use to build your foundation with, or if you want to trade out your old piece for a piece in which fits better. This process can be both empowering and frightening. It makes you ask questions you haven’t asked before. There are moments in which you many not recognize yourself, and there are moments in which you are more proud of yourself than you ever have been before. I hope that the following words are encouraging if you find yourself feeling overwhelmed by the newness of college and the things that college can bring.

Remember who you are and what you stand for. You’re going to meet people who have all kinds of agendas for their time in college, and it’s not always “be a good student”. Don’t be afraid of “losing points” for leaving a situation in which you don’t feel comfortable. Give yourself grace when you make mistakes, but be wary of your mistakes becoming your character. My parents always told me, “you are who you hang out with”. One of my mentors ( Jay Neff, this is you) used to say, “surround yourself with people better than you- people you want to be like- and they’ll rub off on you”. So far, I have found these things to be true. Be careful who you hang out with, don’t surround yourself with people who are just like you. Hang out with people who came from different contexts then you did- learn to see the world through a different lens. Surround yourself with people who encourage you to be better, to be your best self. Be that kind of friend to others.

Be carful about comparison. Some people don’t have to do their readings and will get As on tests. Maybe you’re this student, maybe you’re not. Figure out what you need to do in order to be successful and do that. Your job is school, be the best student you can be and don’t apologize for it. Be carful about comparing relationships too. Maybe you grew up and have had the same friends all of your life. Don’t compare the friendships you have had for one week/one semester to those you’ve had for 10 years. I made this mistake when looking for a church. None of the churches felt like “home”. I wish someone would have told me that a church I visited 3 times wouldn’t compare to the relationships that had had 18 years worth of building and investment. On the church note- visit at least 3 times before you judge it.

It’s ok to change your mind. Like I said, your 20s are for working towards being the best you. (Age aside, shouldn’t that way we aim for every day to be?) Maybe you were thrilled to get into a specific school for a specific program but after your intro course you realized you hate it. THAT IS OK. It doesn’t make you are a failure. It doesn’t mean you messed up. Visits home may get weird. The first time I gave my opinion on something and my parents deeply disagreed- it was weird. It didn’t make me right or them wrong, it just means we have different experiences that inform our opinions. They still love me, and I still love them. It’s ok to change your mind. It’s ok to accept that you don’t have everything figured out. Keep working, keep asking for help, keep praying, keep going.

Know your surroundings. Practically speaking, don’t be on your phone when you’re walking through a parking lot, make sure you lock your doors, say hello to people when you pass them, smile. Don’t trust people with your drink. Be intentional at meals, take people to coffee, pay attention to people. Take care of yourself and those around you. Find somewhere to be a “regular” at. Whether it be a coffee shop, deli or somewhere else, be intentional to know the workers and for the workers to know you. On days in which you feel like no one knows you, it’s nice to have your order known. Get to know the student groups, invest time in them and find your place on campus. Know your community. There is so much more to campus, spend time investing in the community that is likely crazy about their students.

Take notes. In class keep good notes, doodle, whatever you need to do to be off your phone and paying attention. Keep thank you notes for when you want to take time to give someone a “thanks” big or small. When you are reminded of someone from back home, write them a note and let them know. You are missed, and people don’t want to bother you in your new life- take the time to reach out. Journal. You are going to grow and change a lot in the next three or four years, write encouraging notes to yourself.

Find your voice. Transition is difficult, and sometimes realizing how much you have changed or your friends have changed can be scary. Don’t let that deter you from finding your voice. Speak up about things that you care about. Be involved on campus with people who care about similar things and work together to make the community better.

 

You are loved. You are being prayed for. Take care of yourself. You are doing good things.
Make phone calls home.

We are rooting for you.