A Story

Hope you all like the new design! Here's a story i wrote during the time that i was still in my old church, but in the midst of deciding to leave. Well, it's not really fiction. It's me describing a beautiful moment that i will hold dear for the rest of my life:

Photo by XxLifeIsOursxX

Yesterday was a hard day. It's kind of been a hard week. one of those weeks when life is heaver then usual. I felt covered in it. Gunked up by the steps the last few days had brought me. It was poring rain outside. It was already dark and i still had a two hour drive ahead of me before i reached home, but the pull was too much. I pulled my car onto a side road hidden by tall trees and got out. The rain ran down the road and pooled around my feet and soaked through my clothing. I closed my eyes and drank it in. I leaned against my car and begged the rain to wash it all away. It's so strange. To think something so physical could reach something so deep. But i begged it still and let it pour into my soul. I breathed in the wet and let it fill my lungs, and then i waited. The water wet my hair and pooled down my face. It rushed down the bank of the pavement and curled against my shoes. My clothes pulled in the rain and let it run down my arms and back. I faced the heavens and closed my eyes and was enveloped by the rain.

The storm slowed to a drizzle and i breathed a sad sigh. I couldn't really expect the rain to wash away the years. I couldn't expect it to wipe away all my mistakes and heal my life. I wanted it to. I wanted it to keep raining until everything was washed away. To leave everything at the side of the bank. I can still smell it. The earth and the mist. The wet air that filled my lungs and made my hair cling to my neck. It smelled like redemption. But it didn't fill. It didn't wash me clean like it promised. It cleansed my skin and soaked my soul, but it couldn't reach deep enough. It couldn't reach down to the core of who i am. Of who i didn't want to be.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.