I was thinking about the Spoon Theory article this morning as i was deciding whether I had enough "spoons" to style my hair or if i should just put in a pony tail. I went for the pony tail. I've been pushing myself too hard this week and am paying for it right now. I have to miss a friend's going away party tonight because my sleep schedule currently has me going to bed at 3pm and i don't have the energy to force myself to stay up for it. The problem is that its at my house (i live with my parents right now). I know that I'm probably over reacting, but "i need to sleep" just doesn't sound like a valid excuse to missing a friends going away party that takes seemingly no effort to attend, and while "I need to sleep because my stomach has been hurting, my muscles are achy and weak, I have no energy, my body is exhausted, my mind is foggy, and i generally feel like shit and it's all making me rather depressed right now" is valid, it just seems way to heavy to tell someone. Sigh... I know that no one will hold it against me, but still. I feel bad, and i hate that my life is ruled by this stupid condition.
However, there is hope. My Dr. prescribed me a new type of thyroid medicine at the beginning of the month, and last week i was feeling more energetic and healthy then i ever have before. Of course then i got cocky and proceeded to run my body into the ground this week, but i hope that after a few weeks of resting and being good i will begin to heal up again. I hope so, i really liked having enough spoons to go on not one, but TWO errands in the afternoon and still have enough energy to hang out with people that evening! I know, "Whoa dream big!" (said in Juno's voice), but at this point that sounds heavenly.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
The Spoon Theory
This article is brilliant. It's the best explanation I've ever heard about what it's like to live with any level of debilitating illness. If you know anyone with a condition that effects their "spoon" count, then read this. It will help you understand them:
The Spoon Theory
by Christine Miserandino
www.butyoudontlooksick.com
My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.
As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?
I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn't seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.
As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.
At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.
I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.
Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.
She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become?
I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of "spoons". But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn't even started yet. I’ve wanted more "spoons" for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.
I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said " No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can't take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too." I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. Showering cost her spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.
I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s "spoons", but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less "spoons". I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on "spoons", because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.
We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night. When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.
I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared”
Its hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day's plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count "spoons".
After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can't go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”
Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my "spoons".
The Spoon Theory
by Christine Miserandino
www.butyoudontlooksick.com
My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.
As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?
I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn't seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.
As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.
At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.
I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.
Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.
She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become?
I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of "spoons". But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn't even started yet. I’ve wanted more "spoons" for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.
I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said " No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can't take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too." I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. Showering cost her spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.
I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s "spoons", but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less "spoons". I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on "spoons", because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.
We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night. When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.
I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared”
Its hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day's plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count "spoons".
After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can't go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”
Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my "spoons".
Saturday, February 23, 2008
My God Gregory
For the last week or so, I've been trying to separate the messed up version of god from what he is really like (The Shack's God opposed to the God of the Bible). I went to see the movie "There Will be Blood" today, and in it there is a very grotesque scene where the Pastor of the local church is praying for healing over this older lady. I swear i have seen that scene so many times before. The congregation all tranced out and babbling in tongues, the Pastor yelling for the demon to come out. It took everything in me not to run from that theater because i knew the people with me would know exactly why i left and i didn't know how they would feel about my reaction (yeah, I'm not quite that brave yet - see my previous post for more on that). But I realized at that point, there is no way at the present for me to say the word god, and not think of everything that i hated about church and the god i learned about there. That playing on the screen before me was exactly the persona that i acquainted the word "God" with. Yahweh, Lord, I Am, even Papa, were all names given to the god of the bible. The god that i hated. I realized then that i would never be able to separate the real god from my old view of him while i was calling them the same name. It would always carry the flavor of the messed up things that i equated with the word. To me, God had become this entity with a personality that I couldn't shake, so the name God was right out. I racked my brain thinking of something i could call this new god. That i could call the Shack's god. The god that would create the wonder of nature, the depth of the ocean, the beautiful pale blue light that pours from a full moon, a god who would trade his life because he loved me. And the only name that popped into my head, the name that i couldn't shake after it had been presented was, Gregory. That's right, my god Gregory. I think i laughed out loud when i thought of it. I had this entity, this blank canvas on which to find and paint a new picture of what god was really like, and i named it Gregory. I named him Gregory. I tried to find something more holy, Father, Papa, Jesus (who i still kind of liked, so that name was taken), the "I Am"... nope. nothing fit like Gregory did. I've never known a Gregory. I don't have any preconceived notions as to what his personality would be like. And now, it just feels like I'm on this journey, this quest to find out what Gregory is like. And now, for some reason, when people talk about god, i can separate the two and figure out if they are talking about the old god, or Gregory. And you know what, I think i really like Greg.
I don't know where this is going to end up. I don't know if it's good, or right, or will lead me straight into heresy and another messed up view about who god is, but honestly, i think it's the first time in a very long while that i have been able to think about god and smile. So maybe that's worth something.
I don't know where this is going to end up. I don't know if it's good, or right, or will lead me straight into heresy and another messed up view about who god is, but honestly, i think it's the first time in a very long while that i have been able to think about god and smile. So maybe that's worth something.
Follow up to my Rambling
It's been an interesting few days since my last post. I've started testing the waters outside my shell. I've actually taken the risk to talk with people about the whole church thing a cupple times this week. They were all on verifying levels of openness as far as what i could say, but the fact is that i was able to say something, and they didn't hate me. Infact, they were all very understanding, and talked with me through it when they didn't understand or agree with something i said. I'm still scared to be open with people, and will continue to be very careful as to what i say, but when the opportunity presents it's self, i hope i keep up the courage to be open.
A girl whom i was in a small group with at my old church called me up to hang out last week. She had left before i did, and i had seen her a few times since i had moved back home, but it was never anything too personal. It was mostly in larger groups at an open mike night that a local campus ministry held (It is the one church event i go to, mostly because the people there are so kind and open and don't care that i don't go to their sunday morning service. A cupple of them used to go to my old church and had left as well, so i knew them a little.) Anyway, i hung out with this girl and another guy that had just recently left the church, and as we were dropping him off, we all struck up a conversation about it, and proceeded to talk for the next hour or so. It was the most amazing night i have had in such a long time. It was the first time i was able to be even remotely honest with anyone besides my mom. They didn't care if i was angry, or bitter, or having a hard time dealing with what had happened, and the more i shared with them, the more understanding they were and the more i felt like i could share. Looking back, I didn't actually share that much with them, as I am still going to be very careful about what i say to people, (i am not that brave yet). Actually, I think I mostly asked them questions about their experiences. And they didn't mind me asking questions about their god, or about what had happened to cause their leaving or past churches they had attended. Infact, it was appreciated.
I think most of all, it was just healing to feel understood. To feel like i could come out of my walls and breath for a while in a safe place. They didn't blame me for leaving, or for what happened at the old church. It has been so long since I've been around people that i felt like I could tell stuff to, and they wouldn't ditch me for being too messed up or "spiritually unhealthy". It's so wonderful to have even the possibility of a relationship that is not built on church politics or what my leaders would approve of. A relationship where I'm not afraid they are going to run or distance themselves at the first sign of something wrong. The girl that i talked with, she especially makes me want to trust her. She is the kindest, most loving and genuine person i have ever encountered. I very much hope that our friendship continues to grow.
A girl whom i was in a small group with at my old church called me up to hang out last week. She had left before i did, and i had seen her a few times since i had moved back home, but it was never anything too personal. It was mostly in larger groups at an open mike night that a local campus ministry held (It is the one church event i go to, mostly because the people there are so kind and open and don't care that i don't go to their sunday morning service. A cupple of them used to go to my old church and had left as well, so i knew them a little.) Anyway, i hung out with this girl and another guy that had just recently left the church, and as we were dropping him off, we all struck up a conversation about it, and proceeded to talk for the next hour or so. It was the most amazing night i have had in such a long time. It was the first time i was able to be even remotely honest with anyone besides my mom. They didn't care if i was angry, or bitter, or having a hard time dealing with what had happened, and the more i shared with them, the more understanding they were and the more i felt like i could share. Looking back, I didn't actually share that much with them, as I am still going to be very careful about what i say to people, (i am not that brave yet). Actually, I think I mostly asked them questions about their experiences. And they didn't mind me asking questions about their god, or about what had happened to cause their leaving or past churches they had attended. Infact, it was appreciated.
I think most of all, it was just healing to feel understood. To feel like i could come out of my walls and breath for a while in a safe place. They didn't blame me for leaving, or for what happened at the old church. It has been so long since I've been around people that i felt like I could tell stuff to, and they wouldn't ditch me for being too messed up or "spiritually unhealthy". It's so wonderful to have even the possibility of a relationship that is not built on church politics or what my leaders would approve of. A relationship where I'm not afraid they are going to run or distance themselves at the first sign of something wrong. The girl that i talked with, she especially makes me want to trust her. She is the kindest, most loving and genuine person i have ever encountered. I very much hope that our friendship continues to grow.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Rambling
I've been reading a lot of blogs lately. They are all encouraging, beautiful, and i love having a window into these people's lives. But i can't shake this feeling that everyone who has left an abusive church has become these tender, loving people who have learned so much about god's love and giving people grace. Who have walked away and learned these grand lessons and become better for it. Since I left my church I've become angry, bitter, cynical, sarcastic and more insecure then ever before. From doubting if a god even exists, to changing gods completely (see my post on The Shack's God). And if anyone even hints that one of my new and shaky beliefs are wrong i feel attacked and become defensive and visibly venomous even if i remain silent. If anyone brings up the bible or references what i feel to be the God of the bible, i want to scream and vent out my hate. I'm not gracious. I'm not kind. I'm not loving. Even though I can remain placid on the outside so i don't offend the person I'm talking to, inside i am ready to scream. But i stay silent because i know if i open my mouth the full force of my wrath will hit them, and the deep and dark emotions that i feel will negate any validity of my argument, and that's not the person i want to be.
I don't want to show that ugly side of myself to the people. I'm so afraid that they will reject me completely. I'm afraid of being to needy, to emotional, to angry, to messed up. I learned in church that these were the kind of people that you shouldn't be around. that should be cut off. And to be honest, hurt and bitter people are not fun to be with so i don't blame them. I feel like i spend so much time trying to hide my faults from people, that there's no substance to me at all. That I'm one dimensional. But how could they think otherwise? I never say anything. When people ask me how I'm doing it's always "I'm fine" with a smile. I never let it show that I'm not feeling well, or upset. Some people that i have hung out with don't even know that I'm sick. And i've know some of them for so long, that i'm embarrassed to say anything, and i'm not close enough to any of them to trust that they will love me anyway.
I wonder if people get the feeling that i'm faking it. That there's just something off about my act. But they never say anything and I never give them reason to ask. The times when I have eluded to it, i just feel guilty for being so needy.
I have one friend from my old church who for some reason didn't shun me. He's one of the people that was deemed "spiritually unhealty", but i don't think he ever noticed. He's never been on the inside workings of the church, so he never sees the dark side of the place. But i can see him getting pulled into their elitist theology more and more. I hate when he talks about god, or if he mentions something the pastor said that meant something to him. I want to scream. I want to throw things. but i have so very few friends right now that I'm not willing to risk it. At our church we were taught not to associate with people that left the church because they would spread seeds of division and try to turn you against the pastor. And that's exactly what i would do if i told him what i was thinking. Even if i was able to say it earnestly and kindly, I'm so afraid that it would bring up all those messages in his mind, and that will be it. I would hate that, but it's becoming worse so i know that eventually I'm going to say something. I wonder what will happen when i do.
I don't want to show that ugly side of myself to the people. I'm so afraid that they will reject me completely. I'm afraid of being to needy, to emotional, to angry, to messed up. I learned in church that these were the kind of people that you shouldn't be around. that should be cut off. And to be honest, hurt and bitter people are not fun to be with so i don't blame them. I feel like i spend so much time trying to hide my faults from people, that there's no substance to me at all. That I'm one dimensional. But how could they think otherwise? I never say anything. When people ask me how I'm doing it's always "I'm fine" with a smile. I never let it show that I'm not feeling well, or upset. Some people that i have hung out with don't even know that I'm sick. And i've know some of them for so long, that i'm embarrassed to say anything, and i'm not close enough to any of them to trust that they will love me anyway.
I wonder if people get the feeling that i'm faking it. That there's just something off about my act. But they never say anything and I never give them reason to ask. The times when I have eluded to it, i just feel guilty for being so needy.
I have one friend from my old church who for some reason didn't shun me. He's one of the people that was deemed "spiritually unhealty", but i don't think he ever noticed. He's never been on the inside workings of the church, so he never sees the dark side of the place. But i can see him getting pulled into their elitist theology more and more. I hate when he talks about god, or if he mentions something the pastor said that meant something to him. I want to scream. I want to throw things. but i have so very few friends right now that I'm not willing to risk it. At our church we were taught not to associate with people that left the church because they would spread seeds of division and try to turn you against the pastor. And that's exactly what i would do if i told him what i was thinking. Even if i was able to say it earnestly and kindly, I'm so afraid that it would bring up all those messages in his mind, and that will be it. I would hate that, but it's becoming worse so i know that eventually I'm going to say something. I wonder what will happen when i do.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
The Power of Words - Positive Confessions
When i was depressed people would tell me to speak happy and good things over my life. When i couldn't worship joyfully because i was upset or confused by what was happening to me, people told me that if i did the actions and said the words it would change my heart. And, if it never got better i just wasn't doing it right or enough. it was always MY FAULT!! It was my fault that i was sad. It was my fault that i was still sick. It was my fault that i was depressed. It was my fault that i was so angry and confused, and instead of anyone asking me why i was so upset or what was going on they would tell me that i just needed to be happy and make positive confessions. Instead of looking at me they would pile on more things for me to do. FUCK THEM ALL!!! It wasn't my fault. It was never my fault. I couldn't fix it. Words didn't help. They may have helped David when he told his soul to arise and worship god, they my help my dad and countless others that claimed them to be the answer, but they didn't work for me. I would say them for days or weeks and and come away bitter, guilty and discouraged because i couldn't do it. I tried. I tried so hard. i swear i tried, but it just didn't work.
I feel like i should give my post some balance. Like i should talk about how if you really do talk down about yourself all the time, speaking good things over yourself may bring you some balance. But i really don't want to. I don't really like balance right now. So yes, every time someone mentions anything like positive confession, or other church propaganda i turn into the Hulk and go stomping and crashing though things. But again, I'm trying not to run from these feelings anymore, so there they are. In all their glory. I kind of hope that balance and understanding and grace for others opinions follow in time. I'm just not there yet.
I feel like i should give my post some balance. Like i should talk about how if you really do talk down about yourself all the time, speaking good things over yourself may bring you some balance. But i really don't want to. I don't really like balance right now. So yes, every time someone mentions anything like positive confession, or other church propaganda i turn into the Hulk and go stomping and crashing though things. But again, I'm trying not to run from these feelings anymore, so there they are. In all their glory. I kind of hope that balance and understanding and grace for others opinions follow in time. I'm just not there yet.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
For the Moment
Maybe it's because i woke up to the snow falling outside. Maybe it's from purging my emotions out so much the last few days. But at this moment, I'm rather at peace. I'm tired, kind of emotionally worn out, but it feels good. Kind of like a storm that's calmed into a gray haze and everything is just able to breath and drink for a while. I feel emptied out of all my torment for the first time since i can remember. I have no idea how long it will last, hours, minutes. but I'm not really concerned about it. i know there will be more writing, more tears, more hurt and problems to work through and wounds to be tended, but for now it's nice to just rest and breath.
The Power of Words
That was a hard blog to finally publish (see my last post on Rage). In my church you were taught that admitting a weakness was giving it power over your life. You were reprimanded if you ever admitted that you hated, or doubted something. We were told words had power and speaking them aloud gave them a foothold into your life and would keep you in bondage and from being happy. It was so extreme that no one would even say they had a cold or a cough because that was taking ownership of something evil.
I think it is true that speaking something aloud does cement it and give it some reality, but it's in a way that you can then deal with it. It gets it out of your head so that you can see it for what it really is. Maybe that's why this tactic was used. To further keep the congregation silent, unsure and ashamed of themselves. A brainwashing of sorts so that no one ever spoke against the pastor (because that was giving a spirit of division power over your life). So we were all kept silent and ashamed of even the thoughts that were whirling around in our minds. We ignored them if we could, and if we ever got so frustrated that we did try to confront the leadership about something, we didn't have anything to say. We had never gotten our thoughts in line enough to make a solid argument. We just looked like emotional fools and their points on thoughts and words giving power to the enemy were only reinforced by our behavior.
wow, what an effective lie.
The real power of words is that they hold truth. Not truth as in "this is what is good and right" but truth as in what is actually going on. If you are feeling hate or rage or frustrated, or doubtful, or angry, or regretful, it's ok to say so and not be ashamed or afraid of the fact. I think this will take me a while to learn though. So far every blog I've posted has been accompanied by guilt and fear of saying this stuff aloud. I didn't want to write for so long because i was ashamed or afraid that by doing so, it would only strengthen the doubts and fears and weaknesses that i did have. That i would be giving them power over my life and worst of all, I feared that I would be judge for being so messed up. But the opposite has happened. With every post i feel more real. I feel more at peace. like I'm giving my flaws skin, and space to breathe, and they are healing for the first time in my life instead of compounding and burrowing themselves deeper into my body. I admit to them being messy and ugly when i first let them emerge (my mom can attest to that), but the healing that they undergo after that leaves them unrecognizably ok. So I thank you, my readers, for sticking with me through such a messy story.
I think it is true that speaking something aloud does cement it and give it some reality, but it's in a way that you can then deal with it. It gets it out of your head so that you can see it for what it really is. Maybe that's why this tactic was used. To further keep the congregation silent, unsure and ashamed of themselves. A brainwashing of sorts so that no one ever spoke against the pastor (because that was giving a spirit of division power over your life). So we were all kept silent and ashamed of even the thoughts that were whirling around in our minds. We ignored them if we could, and if we ever got so frustrated that we did try to confront the leadership about something, we didn't have anything to say. We had never gotten our thoughts in line enough to make a solid argument. We just looked like emotional fools and their points on thoughts and words giving power to the enemy were only reinforced by our behavior.
wow, what an effective lie.
The real power of words is that they hold truth. Not truth as in "this is what is good and right" but truth as in what is actually going on. If you are feeling hate or rage or frustrated, or doubtful, or angry, or regretful, it's ok to say so and not be ashamed or afraid of the fact. I think this will take me a while to learn though. So far every blog I've posted has been accompanied by guilt and fear of saying this stuff aloud. I didn't want to write for so long because i was ashamed or afraid that by doing so, it would only strengthen the doubts and fears and weaknesses that i did have. That i would be giving them power over my life and worst of all, I feared that I would be judge for being so messed up. But the opposite has happened. With every post i feel more real. I feel more at peace. like I'm giving my flaws skin, and space to breathe, and they are healing for the first time in my life instead of compounding and burrowing themselves deeper into my body. I admit to them being messy and ugly when i first let them emerge (my mom can attest to that), but the healing that they undergo after that leaves them unrecognizably ok. So I thank you, my readers, for sticking with me through such a messy story.
Rage
I'm not a violent person. I've known intense anger before, but I've never really turned to violence to solve problems, and until recently, i had never felt rage or an intense desire for vengeance. It's an overwhelming feeling to have you soul scream for blood, bruises, and the need to inflict physical pain. It's consuming. It clouds your judgment. It sounds good. It sounds fun. Keep in mind i didn't want to kill anyone, or torture, or anything that extreme. I just wanted a fight. I wanted to walked away with black eyes as well. Totally battered and bruised. At the core of it, i wanted to push those who claimed leadership over my life into doing physically what they did to me mentally and emotionally. That way It couldn't be misread. It couldn't be twisted. It couldn't be hidden. Everyone could see what they had done to me and who they really were. It would be written all over my bruised and battered face, and i would finally be able to return the favor. To beat it into them that I wasn't going to hide or be submissive to them anymore. To maybe even hold power over them for a moment if the fight went my way. I never got a chance to speak out while i was there, and now i craved to be able to speak out with my fists.
I know that all sounds horrible, but right now it's just me being honest and real. I just pray i don't run into anyone from my old church on a day when my wounds scream for vengeance.
It's consuming. It sounds good. It sounds sadistically fun. It's my first real taste of rage.
I know that all sounds horrible, but right now it's just me being honest and real. I just pray i don't run into anyone from my old church on a day when my wounds scream for vengeance.
It's consuming. It sounds good. It sounds sadistically fun. It's my first real taste of rage.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
An Unsent Letter
Here's a letter i wrote one of the ex-members of my old church (i shall refer to her simply as friend in this letter). Friend left before me. She was ultimately the reason i left. She came in and married the head of our campus church ministry. The pastors kids hated her because they thought that they should be incharge of campus church, and they totally ruined her life while she was there. Friend and her husband eventually left and it was the actions surrounding this incident that woke me up to how wrong all of this was.
She has been such a good friend to my family after we left, and i know she wouldn't ever hold anything against me. She wrote my mom after hearing that i was struggling so much with everything that had happened and told mom to let me know that she was there for me if i ever needed anything.
I never actually sent this to her. I didn't want to hurt her even more by telling her what was really going on during such a painful time in her life, but it does give a good picture of my old church and what happened to make me decide to leave:
She has been such a good friend to my family after we left, and i know she wouldn't ever hold anything against me. She wrote my mom after hearing that i was struggling so much with everything that had happened and told mom to let me know that she was there for me if i ever needed anything.
I never actually sent this to her. I didn't want to hurt her even more by telling her what was really going on during such a painful time in her life, but it does give a good picture of my old church and what happened to make me decide to leave:
Dear Friend,
Hey sweet. mom showed me the email you sent. We both kind of laughed because she never actually said the the person she was writing about was me, but i like that you know me enough to have seen that.
In your email, you mentioned that something happened in your home town that was similar to what happened at the church here. I actually don't know that story. To be honest i feel like jerk for not knowing. During the time we were both at the church i was so focused on looking good to the leadership, that i distanced myself from everyone they deemed as "spiritually unhealthy" to hang around. I'm so sorry. It wasn't until later that i made sense of the amazing, loving, kind person i saw when i was around you, and realizing everything else was just slander to make you guys look bad. I'm so sorry that i didn't see this before. I love you guys so much, and you have shown so much grace and love to me and my family. I hardly feel deserving.
You said in your email that i could rant. Honestly, i just want to tell someone my story so that someone knows what actually happened. I'm a little hesitant because some of it includes the behind the scenes of what happened to you guys at the church. I doubt any of it will surprise you, but i hope it doesn't cause more pain. Who knows, maybe it will help validate what you guys went through; let you know you weren't crazy or reading too much into things.
It's strange, but you were actually the reason i left the church when i did. Shortly after you guys left (it was no more then a week or two), we had an overnight retreat thing at campus church, and all hell was breaking loose. Up until this point i had been a good little soldier and supported the Pastor and his kids through the whole takeover of Campus church. This retreat was bad, people were upset at each other and arguing and getting their feelings hurt, so i walked up to the pastors daughter who was chatting calmly with someone, and asked her what she was going to do about everything. She looked at me and laughed nonchalantly as she said: "it's funny, i fought so hard to get campus church, and now that i have it, i don't want it." and she turned around and continued her conversation.
I was devastated. The reality of what i had done, of what i had done to you, hit me with full force. This leader, this girl i had followed and supported and encouraged other girls to support and follow... it was all so very mean, and wrong, and i had been apart of it. While it's true i hadn't verbally attacked or openly shunned you guys, or others that had a similar thing happen to them, i had sat there and listened to it. i had assured people of the Pastor's family's good and godly intentions. I had believed every word the pastors daughter and the rest of the leaders had said.
I wish i could chalk it up to my being blindly lead or too trusting, but there was always a part of me that had known. I just cared more about being part of the "crew" (aka:the people the pastor and his family cared about) then seeing what was actually going on.
i spent the next two hours of the retreat in the back room crying my eyes out. they finally gave up on the retreat and just sent everyone home, so i left too. I started to hate going to the church as I began to see through the facade. Over the next few weeks it was made clear to me that i would never be accepted by the "crew" there, and this wrecked me again. There were some meetings around this time, and the pastor's wife told me i was wrong, bitter, and expecting too much from my leaders.
it's funny, even after i knew how messed up they were, how horribly they used and hurt people, how much they used and hurt you, it still cut me so deeply to be rejected completely by people that I practically worshiped the "sacred" ground they walked on. I left the church. i didn't leave for any reason noble or righteous, i got mad, i got hurt and i left. the theology issue was just what convinced my dad to stop making me go on the weekends i was home (which was pretty much every weekend).
So, that's me. Every bit of it hurts as if it just happened. Ever person i run into from the church just reopens the wounds from what i have done, and what was done too me. i don't know what to do. I don't know how to get rid of the pain and make the anger go away. and after all the promises and subsequent let down's i've had from "god" i can't bring myself to look to him because i fear another betrayal or silence would wreck me for good.
Well, it's not a very encouraging story, but it's real, and the most honest i've been with anyone besides my mom. If you do know of anything that can help me right now, please let me know. Part of me thinks i just need time, and friends who love and utterly accept me. Maybe that is the only way these sorts of wounds heal. I don't know.
thanks for listening, it makes me feel loved.
Elizabeth
The Shack's god
I finally talked to my mom about how i feel about the bible's god (see the post "Why I'm screwed with the bible's god"). I cried so hard when i finally admitted all it out loud.
A few months ago my Mom had read me a book called The Shack. In it, god was portrayed as someone whom i wanted so badly to be real. He was the person i ached for. I longed for. This god would have loved and accepted me no matter what i was, what i did, or if i never got it right. And i bitterly hated that book. I hated that someone would lie to me. That someone would tell me that god was everything I so desperately wanted, when i didn't see him at all in the bible's god.
I guess i can see the few passages about god's unconditional (unconditional = no matter what you do) love correspond with the god of the shack. But what about all those verses about stipulations, holy judgment and righteous vengeance in the new testament? What about the killing and punishment and genocide that god carried out in the old testament? That is not the god of the Shack. And this fact broke me, because i wanted the shack's god to be real. i needed to believe in that kind of god. It gave me life, it gave me peace, it gave me much needed hope. But it wasn't real.
I cried all this to my mom with all my depression and pain poring out. I hate doing that to my mom because i know she feels the weight of it all and i know it wears on her even though she says it's ok and always treats me with love and understanding. i love her so much.
After i had finished bleeding my heart out, she asked me if i would just forget about the bible. forget about heaven, forget about hell. What if all i knew was that some guy died for me because he loved me. She asked me what kind of man really would do that for me? What kind of god would really create the beauty of nature? What would happen if i just went from there and tried to know that god? And honestly, before men put the bible together, that's all people had to go off of. What kind of god would begin to show its self if i only took that?
Then she took me upstairs and read me Galatians from the message. She was right. it wasn't law. it wasn't written by the hand of god. it was just a story from a humble man. I recognized so many verses in that letter that had been taken completely out of context and skewed to pour guilt on to the members of our old church and to support the pastors agenda, to make laws, and to keep us in line. Actually when you think about it, when god wanted a written record of laws, he wrote them himself on stone tablets
So, I'm no longer reading the bible, or letting myself recall verses from it. Honestly, I really doubt that the bible is holy. It's not law. It's stories. It's men's opinions. And while it's true they were men that walked with Jesus, and when their letters are taken with a grain of salt and as a whole and not just as individual verses, there is probably some helpful advice in them. I'm just not going to be able to read it for a very long time. I don't want to be bound or hurt anymore by men's opinions.
I wonder what will happen now. i don't have words written in stone on what to believe and what to do to gain god's good will. all i know is that someone died for me because he loved me so very much. And that thought is one that makes me want to cry because i feel so very loved, and it starts to fill the emptiness of my heart. I wonder if i will every truly begin to believe that the shack's god exists.
A few months ago my Mom had read me a book called The Shack. In it, god was portrayed as someone whom i wanted so badly to be real. He was the person i ached for. I longed for. This god would have loved and accepted me no matter what i was, what i did, or if i never got it right. And i bitterly hated that book. I hated that someone would lie to me. That someone would tell me that god was everything I so desperately wanted, when i didn't see him at all in the bible's god.
I guess i can see the few passages about god's unconditional (unconditional = no matter what you do) love correspond with the god of the shack. But what about all those verses about stipulations, holy judgment and righteous vengeance in the new testament? What about the killing and punishment and genocide that god carried out in the old testament? That is not the god of the Shack. And this fact broke me, because i wanted the shack's god to be real. i needed to believe in that kind of god. It gave me life, it gave me peace, it gave me much needed hope. But it wasn't real.
I cried all this to my mom with all my depression and pain poring out. I hate doing that to my mom because i know she feels the weight of it all and i know it wears on her even though she says it's ok and always treats me with love and understanding. i love her so much.
After i had finished bleeding my heart out, she asked me if i would just forget about the bible. forget about heaven, forget about hell. What if all i knew was that some guy died for me because he loved me. She asked me what kind of man really would do that for me? What kind of god would really create the beauty of nature? What would happen if i just went from there and tried to know that god? And honestly, before men put the bible together, that's all people had to go off of. What kind of god would begin to show its self if i only took that?
Then she took me upstairs and read me Galatians from the message. She was right. it wasn't law. it wasn't written by the hand of god. it was just a story from a humble man. I recognized so many verses in that letter that had been taken completely out of context and skewed to pour guilt on to the members of our old church and to support the pastors agenda, to make laws, and to keep us in line. Actually when you think about it, when god wanted a written record of laws, he wrote them himself on stone tablets
So, I'm no longer reading the bible, or letting myself recall verses from it. Honestly, I really doubt that the bible is holy. It's not law. It's stories. It's men's opinions. And while it's true they were men that walked with Jesus, and when their letters are taken with a grain of salt and as a whole and not just as individual verses, there is probably some helpful advice in them. I'm just not going to be able to read it for a very long time. I don't want to be bound or hurt anymore by men's opinions.
I wonder what will happen now. i don't have words written in stone on what to believe and what to do to gain god's good will. all i know is that someone died for me because he loved me so very much. And that thought is one that makes me want to cry because i feel so very loved, and it starts to fill the emptiness of my heart. I wonder if i will every truly begin to believe that the shack's god exists.
Why I'm screwed with the bible's god
2 Peter 3 - So then, dear friends, since you are looking forward to this, make every effort to be found spotless, blameless and at peace with him.
1 Corinthians 13 - If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.
Matthew 10 - Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me;
Matthew 12 - Anyone who speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven, but anyone who speaks against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven, either in this age or in the age to come.
Matthew 18 - In anger his master handed him over to the jailers to be tortured, until he should pay back all he owed. This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive a brother or sister from your heart.
If that's what god is really like, what he requires, then I'm screwed. I don't just have passing thoughts that i can repent of and move on cleansed of sin. My anger, hate, envy, selfishness; every fault runs so very deep that it's a part of me. My sin entwines its self into my very muscles and cells, into my very being. it's not something i will be able to ever be fully rid of. I will never fully able to forgive. Never fully able to love unselfishly. Never able to be cleansed of the impure motives that drive me. I'm selfish, angry, i hate down to my very core, and no matter what i do, it doesn't go away. I don't love this god. I hate him for doing this to me. For telling me that there's so much love and blessings he can give me, but only if I'm able to get it right. Which I'm not. So i watch the rest of the christians basking in his love Sunday morning, worshiping unselfishly and asking nothing back from god, and i don't feel a thing. And i know it's because I'm not good enough. Because the only reason i even try to make myself better is because i want to feel his love, and I'm told that is the selfish motive that is keeping me from his presence. FUCK!!! I'm so screwed! i have no hope to ever get it right, and right now i want nothing to do with this prick of a god. But at the same time I'm terrified of heading to hell for feeling this way, and i desperately ache for god's love and approval even as i hate him.
Wounded
Abut 2 weeks ago i was feeling better about everything. The anger at my old pastor and the congregation wasn't very strong that day, and it was a beautiful early morning as i drove up to my favorite lookout feeling free from pain and depression for a few precious hours. It was like i could feel my wounds healed over. The scars still remained, but they didn't bleed. And at that moment, I felt a love for god. So after debating it for a while, i decided to tell him that i liked him today.
What i felt in return was a bitter, "Oh sure, NOW you love me." said with a bitter scowl. And the wound over my heart ripped open again as if freshly stabbed. I wouldn't blame him for not wanting to come rushing back to me after i had spent so many months hating him. But even though i deserved it, i hated him for it. I tried to tell myself that that wasn't god. That it was just the enemy. That the devil was trying to trick me. But i didn't really believe that. At my core i really believed it was from the bible's god, my old church's god, and i hated that he would hurt me like that.
What i felt in return was a bitter, "Oh sure, NOW you love me." said with a bitter scowl. And the wound over my heart ripped open again as if freshly stabbed. I wouldn't blame him for not wanting to come rushing back to me after i had spent so many months hating him. But even though i deserved it, i hated him for it. I tried to tell myself that that wasn't god. That it was just the enemy. That the devil was trying to trick me. But i didn't really believe that. At my core i really believed it was from the bible's god, my old church's god, and i hated that he would hurt me like that.
Why I'm writing this
I don't know. When you think about it, pouring out your heart, your story, your soul to perfect strangers sounds inappropriate and dangerous, especially if you are like me and do not want to trust anyone with your bruised and battered heart. But... at the same time i want people to know my story. Maybe i write this because I want my pain and struggles to be validated somehow. That by sending my words out into the vastness of this virtual world, someone will stumble across them and read them, and then maybe i won't feel so alone in it all.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
The High Aldwin
I watched Willow last night for the first time. I loved it! I loved the hobbit like Nelwyns, i swooned at Madmartigan's declaration of love for Princess Sorsha, but more then anything, the character of The High Aldwin (A minor character who was the head wizard of the Nelwyns) has stayed with me. He was very much a Dumbledore/Gandalf type of character. Truly wise and skilled, but looked at it all with humility and a sense of humor. If he reprimanded you it was with love and a smile, and just by looking at you, he could tell exactly what was in your heart. And even though this type of character rarely answers the actual questions that torment you, they always seem to answer the deeper questions of your heart.
Some days, i wish so much there were some Dumbledore like figure that i could go to. Someone old who has lived and watched life as it played out. Who has walked through the greatest of sorrows, and the greatest of joys. Who can tell just by looking into your eyes what is troubling your soul. Who answers your rantings and frustrations with exactly what you needed to hear.
I'm 22. I'm still so young. I don't have the opportunity that the elders do of having seen the passage of time. To know that every question and frustration fades away into something else. Right now all i see is the pain, the questions and the frustrations of the now, and when i look ahead, all i can see is them continuing on in unanswered and unending turmoil. I can't see like Aldwin or Dumbledore can. I Haven't watched as life plays out and seen pain turn into wisdom and healing, or anger and frustration give way to times of love and joy. But they seem to be able to. And when I'm near them, it's easy to trust them on it. it's easy to believe that everything is as it is supposed to be and at that moment, i don't feel as broken. I don't feel like the world is broken or fallen. I feel like all this is just life, and it's ok.
Most of it though, is that i think that they would look at me and care. They would care that i hurt. They would feel saddened to their depth that i hurt, and they wouldn't look away. Even if it was just for a moment, they would stand with me in my pain, and let me know that they wished for me to be well.
Some days, i wish so much there were some Dumbledore like figure that i could go to. Someone old who has lived and watched life as it played out. Who has walked through the greatest of sorrows, and the greatest of joys. Who can tell just by looking into your eyes what is troubling your soul. Who answers your rantings and frustrations with exactly what you needed to hear.
I'm 22. I'm still so young. I don't have the opportunity that the elders do of having seen the passage of time. To know that every question and frustration fades away into something else. Right now all i see is the pain, the questions and the frustrations of the now, and when i look ahead, all i can see is them continuing on in unanswered and unending turmoil. I can't see like Aldwin or Dumbledore can. I Haven't watched as life plays out and seen pain turn into wisdom and healing, or anger and frustration give way to times of love and joy. But they seem to be able to. And when I'm near them, it's easy to trust them on it. it's easy to believe that everything is as it is supposed to be and at that moment, i don't feel as broken. I don't feel like the world is broken or fallen. I feel like all this is just life, and it's ok.
Most of it though, is that i think that they would look at me and care. They would care that i hurt. They would feel saddened to their depth that i hurt, and they wouldn't look away. Even if it was just for a moment, they would stand with me in my pain, and let me know that they wished for me to be well.
Friday, February 8, 2008
My Back Story
My story begins with a need to feel accepted and loved.
I went to church almost every Sunday up until two years ago. If you were sick on Sunday, it was just the devil trying to keep you from "god's gift" for you that Sunday. You could either persevere though it and drag yourself to church, or stay at home with the heaping guilt wondering if this was the week god was finally going to answer your prayers, but you were to lazy to go receive it. Way to miss it because of a little stomach ache.
Looking back now, I realize just how well i knew the system at my old church. In Sunday school I knew that standing at the back of the line and looking just self-sacrificing enough would get you moved to the front as a praised example of how "the last shall be first". Even at an early age i was told by my peers that i was wise and had great insight into spiritual workings. Comments that would be seen as snippy and judgmental in any other setting were always praised. In my teen years pronouncing that someone had a "sexual spirit" (aka: any girl that got more attention then the pastor's daughter) was encouraged and rewarded with a smile and a pat on the back from the leaders, and the knowledge that you might have just proved yourself worthy to be invited to that next exclusive prayer and worship session (provided that you shunned and talked bad about all the right people). I'm shocked even now that i didn't realize how messed up and manipulative it all was. How manipulative and mean i was being. I thought that's how god wanted me to act. I thought i was doing what was right.
Even though i was good at the game, i didn't have enough to offer to be part of the "in crowed" at church (i shall call them the "Poplars"). I didn't play and instrument, and couldn't sing very well, so i was no use to the worship teem or a band that would increase their hip status. My parents didn't have a lot of money so they didn't need me that way. Bottom line is that i didn't have anything to offer the poplars, so i was always on the outskirts of the "undesirables" (the people who were deemed spiritually unhealthy), but since i was unquestioningly loyal, i was kept close enough incase they ever needed to use me for their means. which they did, and to my shame, i carried out zealously.
But it wasn't enough for me to just serve them. I wanted to be accepted by them. i became desperate to fix any perceived flaws in myself. I took every message the paster preached as laws that i had to become perfect in applying to my life. I became paranoid of having any sin in me, but could never make myself good enough. I could always feel my shortcomings like broken bones that would never heal. I couldn't purge myself of my sin nature. i didn't even have to actually sin, the impulses alone was enough to remind me of the depth of my brokenness and i would instantly be reminded of why i wasn't good enough to hang out with my leaders.
I meet with the pastors wife to express my feelings of exclusion, and to ask what i had done that made me unworthy. She told me that i couldn't expect friendship from my leaders, and that i was there to serve them. So i went home broken, embarrassed, ashamed, and with the pain of rejection carving its self deeper into my being.
When i finally came to realize that i would never be accepted by my peers, and allowed myself to see all the people i had hurt and shunned in the name of "Holiness", i left the church. Sounds like an obvious thing to do, but it was so scary because the paster always told horror stories about what happens to people after they leave the "covering" of their Apostle. Cars crash, people die, they are possessed by spirits that tormented them and their children. Basically, if you left the church, you chose to leave God's blessings and were no longer protected from the arrows of the enemy. You can imagine how bad things had to be for me to choose the devils wrath over what i was experiencing at church.
Fortunately my decision to leave coincided with an internship 2 hours away, so for the next year and a half i had a convenient excuse to miss a lot of services. However, in a new town with no friends i spent the majority of my weekends at home. Despite my pleading, my dad set the rule that if i was at home, i had to attend their church. So for most Sundays out of the next 19 months i would arrive late, spent two tormented hours sitting in the back while trying to hide from people, all the while feeling guilty that i had turned my back on god and the pastor, as the painful memories of rejection burned themselves deeper into my already open wounds.
8 months ago my family decided to leave the church. There was a church wide meeting to "pass judgment" on us. My parents had been mentors to many of the members and the pastor didn't want "confusion" to break out in the congregation. As a result we were shunned. Despite my previous decision to leave, this cut deeper then any event to date. I had attended this church from the time i was 5 (i was now 22), and friends that had helped raised me, and their kids whom i had in turn watched grow up, now wouldn't even speak to me or my family.
8 months later, i still bleed from it all. I am question every thing i learned or experienced about god, life, grace, freedom, hell, relationships, politics, redemption, healing, acceptance, friendship, forgiveness, and so much more. This is a record of my journey as i try to sort out what is truth, what is lies, and what simply cannot be known. It is a place where i can come and bleed, rant, vent, whine, muse, and ponder. And all of this i send out for anyone who will listen to my story.
I went to church almost every Sunday up until two years ago. If you were sick on Sunday, it was just the devil trying to keep you from "god's gift" for you that Sunday. You could either persevere though it and drag yourself to church, or stay at home with the heaping guilt wondering if this was the week god was finally going to answer your prayers, but you were to lazy to go receive it. Way to miss it because of a little stomach ache.
Looking back now, I realize just how well i knew the system at my old church. In Sunday school I knew that standing at the back of the line and looking just self-sacrificing enough would get you moved to the front as a praised example of how "the last shall be first". Even at an early age i was told by my peers that i was wise and had great insight into spiritual workings. Comments that would be seen as snippy and judgmental in any other setting were always praised. In my teen years pronouncing that someone had a "sexual spirit" (aka: any girl that got more attention then the pastor's daughter) was encouraged and rewarded with a smile and a pat on the back from the leaders, and the knowledge that you might have just proved yourself worthy to be invited to that next exclusive prayer and worship session (provided that you shunned and talked bad about all the right people). I'm shocked even now that i didn't realize how messed up and manipulative it all was. How manipulative and mean i was being. I thought that's how god wanted me to act. I thought i was doing what was right.
Even though i was good at the game, i didn't have enough to offer to be part of the "in crowed" at church (i shall call them the "Poplars"). I didn't play and instrument, and couldn't sing very well, so i was no use to the worship teem or a band that would increase their hip status. My parents didn't have a lot of money so they didn't need me that way. Bottom line is that i didn't have anything to offer the poplars, so i was always on the outskirts of the "undesirables" (the people who were deemed spiritually unhealthy), but since i was unquestioningly loyal, i was kept close enough incase they ever needed to use me for their means. which they did, and to my shame, i carried out zealously.
But it wasn't enough for me to just serve them. I wanted to be accepted by them. i became desperate to fix any perceived flaws in myself. I took every message the paster preached as laws that i had to become perfect in applying to my life. I became paranoid of having any sin in me, but could never make myself good enough. I could always feel my shortcomings like broken bones that would never heal. I couldn't purge myself of my sin nature. i didn't even have to actually sin, the impulses alone was enough to remind me of the depth of my brokenness and i would instantly be reminded of why i wasn't good enough to hang out with my leaders.
I meet with the pastors wife to express my feelings of exclusion, and to ask what i had done that made me unworthy. She told me that i couldn't expect friendship from my leaders, and that i was there to serve them. So i went home broken, embarrassed, ashamed, and with the pain of rejection carving its self deeper into my being.
When i finally came to realize that i would never be accepted by my peers, and allowed myself to see all the people i had hurt and shunned in the name of "Holiness", i left the church. Sounds like an obvious thing to do, but it was so scary because the paster always told horror stories about what happens to people after they leave the "covering" of their Apostle. Cars crash, people die, they are possessed by spirits that tormented them and their children. Basically, if you left the church, you chose to leave God's blessings and were no longer protected from the arrows of the enemy. You can imagine how bad things had to be for me to choose the devils wrath over what i was experiencing at church.
Fortunately my decision to leave coincided with an internship 2 hours away, so for the next year and a half i had a convenient excuse to miss a lot of services. However, in a new town with no friends i spent the majority of my weekends at home. Despite my pleading, my dad set the rule that if i was at home, i had to attend their church. So for most Sundays out of the next 19 months i would arrive late, spent two tormented hours sitting in the back while trying to hide from people, all the while feeling guilty that i had turned my back on god and the pastor, as the painful memories of rejection burned themselves deeper into my already open wounds.
8 months ago my family decided to leave the church. There was a church wide meeting to "pass judgment" on us. My parents had been mentors to many of the members and the pastor didn't want "confusion" to break out in the congregation. As a result we were shunned. Despite my previous decision to leave, this cut deeper then any event to date. I had attended this church from the time i was 5 (i was now 22), and friends that had helped raised me, and their kids whom i had in turn watched grow up, now wouldn't even speak to me or my family.
8 months later, i still bleed from it all. I am question every thing i learned or experienced about god, life, grace, freedom, hell, relationships, politics, redemption, healing, acceptance, friendship, forgiveness, and so much more. This is a record of my journey as i try to sort out what is truth, what is lies, and what simply cannot be known. It is a place where i can come and bleed, rant, vent, whine, muse, and ponder. And all of this i send out for anyone who will listen to my story.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
