So Much Joy

I've been walking on clouds the last couple days.  So much of my "but I don't know details!" anxiety has disappeared, because, well, I know some details now!

I Skyped with Argyris on Monday, and I cannot overstate HOW IMPORTANT it is for me to see his (and Dina's) face.  It is utterly bizarre trying to plan this massive life transition alone, half a world away from my fellow planners.  He filled me in on some visa information, and most importantly, on my job!

I'm definitely going to be teaching classes for the women in the safe house, along with another teacher (as yet undecided).  Classes run from 10-4, which is my DREAM SCHEDULE.  I'll essentially be doing pscyhoeducation, and I am so excited.  When I first started at DTS, I remember being super interested in psychoeducation (basically, this means teaching psychological and healthful skills), but getting sidetracked by traditional counseling where you don't so much lead and teach as walk beside and encourage.

Anyway, there will be morning and afternoon classes based on topics like anger management, self-esteem, co-dependency, finances, employment, parenting, and an optional Bible study.  THIS IS SO AMAZING.  I love these topics!  I love how diverse the topics are!  I want to teach these topics SO BAD and learn while I teach and talk about them all the time and oh my gosh.  This is so completely perfect.

Plus, on Wednesday mornings I will lead the women in going through the 12 Steps.  This originated with alcoholism, but it has since been used by all sorts of groups based on the premise "I need help from something bigger than me to overcome this issue."  And the best part--on Wednesday afternoons, the leaders (including me!) will be participating in our own 12 Step program!!  I'm so excited!  I've wanted to find group counseling ever since my growth at DTS group, and here is one worked into my job!  Agh, I can't wait!

Having a concrete picture of what I'll be doing has been so encouraging.  On top of that, I have been supported by some really amazing men.  At work, Tyler has been a 100% cheerleader for pursuing my passion and helping me realize abused and neglected women really is my passion.  At Woodland, Joel has talked with me and worked with me in creating space for me to work with the church in raising support.  At TFC, Mike has started opening doors for me finding support here in Dallas.  And in Greece, Argyris is emailing me often, answering questions and just speaking such lovely prayers into my life (this last Skype he assured me he was praying that the awkward few months between graduation and moving would be meaningful for me).

Working with women who have been trafficked, it is easy for me to slip into "men are evil!" mentalities.  I am SO GRATEFUL to have such wonderful godly men who see a passion and a purpose in my life and are going out of their ways to help me accomplish it.  It really brightens my soul.

PLUS PLUS PLUS.  We had a staff meeting at my counseling center, and I sat by this guy Jeremy.  He is an intern as well, but he works a different day, so we've never talked before.  I told him about moving to Athens to work with women fleeing sex trafficking, and he said, "I think I know who you're working for."

"Dina and Argyris Petrou!?"

"Yeah.  At the Greek Bible College?"

"YES."

He went there with his wife TWICE in the last year.  He lived in the school's apartments where I will likely be living!  He met Dina and Argyris, and he heard them lecture on sex trafficking!!  I am so blown away by this tiny world we live in, and I'm feeling extra encouraged by Jeremy's extreme excitement and love for their work.

I'M IN THIS.  Sure, there will be more time for grieving the people and things I'm leaving.  But right now I am full to the brim of JOY.  I cannot wait!  This is such an exciting adventure, and I can't help feeling like it is designed especially for me.

Waiting in Advent

During Thanksgiving break, I played Dragon Age II for at least five hours every day.  Pretty quickly I realized I was escaping my anxiety by completing fictional quests, and I was grateful for the reprieve.  But now life has started back up, and I have to face the unbearable unknowability of the future.

It seems like I might not go to Greece until late 2015 or early 2016.  This throws my schedule off, as that means I will have to think through lease renewals and jobs.  It seems like fundraising is going to be extremely complicated and scary.  It seems like this whole adventure is overwhelming.

I tend to be a quitter.  If I don't think I can do something, I bow out and find something else.  So it was encouraging to realize that I don't want to quit Greece.  Although I am scared, there is no part of me that feels okay with saying, "well, screw this, back to the original plan."  I am 100% convinced that this is my best next step.  But still, I worry.

I talked to my friend Michal yesterday about our upcoming trip to Puerto Rico.  When she asked if I wanted to celebrate her birthday in the Caribbean, I immediately said yes.  Within 24 hours I had 1) booked flights, 2) reserved a hotel, and 3) scheduled a kayaking trip.  I threw it all back to her, and she stuttered an agreement, with the unspoken, "I just suggested this," very much evident.

That's what is frustrating about Greece.  When I decide something, I want to immediately work toward accomplishing it.  The fact that I cannot do so in this experience is driving me crazy.  There is so little I can control.

Which is why it's perfect that I am struggling with this during the Advent season.

Mallory and I have been texting each other Advent-themed prayers and book passages the last couple days.  I love the Christmas season because it's all about waiting, about expecting something good in the midst of a lack.  Easter is a lovely celebration of what has been accomplished and what will be accomplished, but Christmas is the time when we slog through the in between.  We are declared holy, but we are not yet holy.  We are saved, and we are being saved.  We are sinners and saints.  We are in the in between.

Advent says, "Wait!  This dark world will soon be bursting with light!  Just wait, just hold on and wait.  It feels impossible, it feels uncomfortable, it feels agonizing, but it will be worth it."  Advent is a reminder that we are not in control, that no matter how much I wish I could speed up the calendar, December 25th will come at its own pace, and not mine.

So even though I desperately want to book a flight, know all the details, and make accommodations, Advent is reminding me to wait.  To let God lead, to let God be in control, to trust God.

Lean into the longing.

Scared

Soon after I emailed Dina and Argyris, I was driving down Royal when I thought, "This is the dumbest thing I've ever done."  My mouth curled into a smile as I thought about leaving my internship, my awesome supervisor and coworkers.  I thought about turning down a solid job in order to depend on fundraising, and my smile turned into a loud crazy laugh.

"Thank you, God!" I laughed.  "Thank you for pushing me through the doubt and getting me to this place.  I love it!"

I love the risk, I love the insanity, I love having to trust God.  I suck at that in the small everyday things, but when it gets big enough to be life-changing, I love throwing it all away.

Of course, that intense joy hasn't lasted.  Fundraising intimidates the hell out of me.  Leaving the lovely people in Dallas who know me so intimately, who have been my counselors and allowed me to counsel them--that sucks.  Imagining starting over in a new country, making new friends and finding new streets and grocery stores is already exhausting.

I feel a little bit like I'm not allowed to be scared.  I fear that someone will say, "Well, this decision is wrong.  You were right when you decided to stay in Dallas."  So for awhile I didn't tell anyone about my fear except for Michal.

Me:  "Yeah, I'm really excited. Starting to also feel sick with "OH MY GOSH WHAT AM I DOING" but I think it wouldn't be an adventure if I weren't a little bit terrified."

Michal:  "Most people live their lives never being afraid of anything. Which means you never experience the thrill of doing something risky you know Jesus is beckoning you to do. Jesus is in Greece too.  Or, they are scared of everything and are petrified into doing nothing also. Either way, you can be scared. Scared, and stay, and regret, or be scared, get drinks with friends and cry and laugh and dream over things who will support you no matter where you go, cry on the plane if you need to and then go freaking do it and have awesome stories to tell your kids one day, meet equally brave people, help those who are hurting, and contribute to a story God is creating with other people. You will smile when you look at Jesus one day knowing you went with Him to Greece."

What a friend.  I love Michal.  She had better come visit me in Greece five million times. 

I Reserve the Right to Change My Mind

I have told so many people, "So you know how, like, five days ago I told you I was definitely going to stay in Dallas?  Well....I have completely changed my mind."  It's gotten a bit old, eating so much crow, but I probably need to do one big blanket explanation.  Plus when I'm old and writing my memoir, these blog posts are going to be invaluable information.

Last Monday I was finally able to Facetime with Dina and Argyris.  It was so great to see their faces.  We spent the first five minutes gushing about how crazy it is that we first met each other ten years ago (when I was a baby 16-year-old!), how we've kept in touch this whole time and supported each other however possible.  I felt my heart melting for this amazing couple.

"We want you to come for six months," Argyris said.

"A year," Dina corrected him.

"I'm trying not to scare her!" Argyris said.  "But, yes.  The longer you can come, the better.  These women have been abandoned their entire lives.  I don't know what you feel God's calling for you is, but if you want to stay in Greece for the rest of your life, we would love that."

I laughed internally.  I WAS SO RIGHT.  In the two months of no contact, I'd worked myself into thinking I was over-reacting, reading dramatic requests where only minimal ones existed.  Not so!  They were just as passionate and friendly-demanding as I was.

"What if I just came to Athens for a couple weeks?" I asked.  I was trying very hard to hold on to my previous decision.  "I care a lot about supporting you guys, and I would love to help raise awareness about your work."

"We will take you in whatever way possible!" Argyris assured me.  This was the worst thing to say.  If he had downplayed the usefulness of a short trip, my rebellious stubborn nature would have done it to Prove How Useful I Am.  Instead, his genuine acceptance melted me further.  Two weeks wasn't enough.  I had to go for a year.

I began to freak out at this point, and it was with some relief that we ended our Facetime.  I walked around my house in circles.  It was suddenly clear that of course I had to go.  All of the reasons why I was so excited three months ago came rushing back.  This was perfect.  But what about the reasons I had decided to stay in Dallas.  What about my desire to experience long-term relationships?  What about my tendency to avoid intimacy?

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.  I am a vulnerable person.  I over share, some people say.  Of course there are some things I don't share with just anyone, and of course I am learning to show anger and tears in real life.  But I'm not the emotionally closed off person I like to think I am.  As for leaving long-term relationships...I DON'T.  Moving to Jackson, to Senegal, to Texas...it twists my stomach to think of those decisions as mistakes.  Each time an opportunity presented itself.  I didn't seek it out.  It happened, the choice lay before me, and I decided to take it despite the fact that it meant leaving dear friends.  Dear friends that I carry in my heart and chat with on Facebook.  I'm not interested in leaving them.

And anyway, I LOVE people.  I think the key difference is that while I love the people I am with at the moment, whenever I see a new group of people in another state, another country, I think, "I want to know them!  I want to know how they learn and love and work!"  I want intimacy with everyone.  I want the whole world to be my friend.  That's not a deficit.  That's a gift.

All of these thoughts convinced me I ought to go to Athens, but....what if I was wrong!?  This had all happened way too fast. 

I Facebook messaged Kim, since I knew she would understand the conflict of "when is something big enough/worthy enough to choose moving over staying?"  She refused to make the decision for me, but said things like, "Not everyone has your spirit of adventure" and "Don't ever make a decision based in fear."  I countered each of her thoughtful comments with a "But...."  Finally she said, "Stop considering all sides of the argument and BE STILL AND WAIT."

So that's what I did on Tuesday.  Every time I felt myself arguing a pro or con, I told myself to shut up.  As I turned off my brain, I kept thinking about how God is a wild God, how "he is not safe, but he is good."  I realized staying in Dallas and building a private practice would be the logical and easy decision.  But how often does God do the logical and easy thing?  Not very often, as far as my Bible studying has gone.

I've always loved the story of Gideon, loser extraordinaire.  As my friend Ruth said, "I can't tell if he's a hero or a douche."  "He's a hero and a douche.  That's what makes him so great!"  I didn't even get to the part about him, though.  At the very beginning of his story, an angel appears and says, "God is with you."  Cowardly Gideon is threshing wheat in a winepress, and he grumbles, "How can God be with us if the Mideonites are attacking us?"

My heart stopped.  That is exactly the sentiment I imagine women who have been abused and trafficked would feel.  "How can God be with me when all these horrible things have happened to me?"  I wanted nothing more than to fly to their side to say, "I am God's ambassador, I am his arms and legs and eyes and mouth, and I came halfway around the world to be with you, to know you and care for you, so that someday you might believe that he loves you, he is with you!" 

My brain knows that the best thing to do is stay in Dallas.  But my heart is 100% convinced that I should go to Athens.  I'm going to follow my heart, especially since it felt, for a moment, like God's compassionate heart was beating in its place.

On Wednesday I emailed Dina and Argyris and committed to staying at least one year in Athens.  I did learn from my previous decision.  I do want to live more in the present without looking ahead to the next thing.  So I'm moving to Athens.  And I'll stay there until I know I ought to be somewhere else.  0_0

The Spiritual Gift of Mercy

In my Pauline epistles class, my professor said that instead of thinking of our spiritual things as something we enjoy doing, perhaps they are something which requires sacrifice on our part.  I don't see why they can't be both.  I've gotten to a place where I automatically reject any Christianese anti-joy stance, because I firmly believe God desires for us to enjoy life and the gifts He gives us.  But it makes a lot of sense that in our broken world, the things that ought to bring us joy will also bring us pain.

A couple years ago I asked some people from church to identify my spiritual gifts, and instead of continuing to listen to my professor (who I really do love, but well, I have a short attention span when I'm interested in something else), I searched my emails.  There it was, Joel saying he thought I had the spiritual gift of mercy, long before I considered studying counseling and making mercy a career.

I thought back several months, when I spent an agonizing evening with my friend Libby, opening up for the first time to a friend about how the weight of the world sometimes feels like it will break me, how my bouts of depression are more often global in scale than personal.  The ways people hurt each other, the inevitability of war and abuse and my helplessness to do anything about it--this can feel unbearable.  Libby said I take too much responsibility for other people's feelings, and she is absolutely right.  But I think there is something else to it.

If my spiritual gift is mercy, and if spiritual gifts require sacrifice, then this makes sense.  Mercy only exists where sin exists.  Being tapped into the richness of mercy necessarily means being tapped into the depths of sinfulness.  There some days I find this exchange more acceptable than others.

I have always been an emotional sucker for underdogs.  I cried for Gollum more than any other character in The Lord of the Rings, because he just needed unconditional love, oh my God.  My absolute favorite part of counseling is when a client tentatively admits to some secret, and by not reacting in horror, I get to watch their faces open up just a tiny bit in trust before the rest comes out.  All the shame, all the horrible things they have thought or felt or done.  I love being the person to hear their worst and to say, "I'm so sorry you went through that.  I understand why you would have done that.  I'm so grateful you shared that with me."  I hadn't really thought of it as mercy before, but of course it is.  I love seeing someone at their worst and saying, "I'm not going to punish you for that."

My overabundance of mercy is counterbalanced by an incredibly diminished capacity for justice.  I hate war, I hate revenge, I hate the death penalty, I hate giving up on someone.  My church is going through Joshua right now, and I very much appreciate how nearly every week whoever is preaching addresses the complexity of what it means to serve an occasionally genocidal God.  I struggle with that a lot, and the concept of God's justice in general.  There are exceptions, though.  I think of the men and women who kidnap children and naive young women, who sell other people's bodies for sex and abuse, who buy homes paid for by someone else's nightmare.  I think of those people, and my capacity for mercy shrivels up until I understand God's justice.  I understand His disgust with our sin, His desire to see it--to see us--utterly destroyed.

That's unusual, though.  And honestly, if I met someone who worked in the sex trafficking industry and managed to talk to them, I'm sure I would discover their own background of abuse and neglect and pain.  I'd like to think that I could learn to empathize with even these disgusting people, that I could learn to show mercy to them.

That doesn't negate justice.  I understand that justice is an attribute of God, despite my usual inability to fathom it or especially to appreciate it.  But I just read G. K. Chesterson's Orthodoxy in which he states the inherent paradoxes of Christianity.  Ours is a religion, not of balance, but of passion.  Christianity has inspired the gruesomest wars in history as well as an enduring community of people committed to non-violence.  Our God is entirely just and entirely merciful, and I think His people, being finite where He is infinite, are able to inhabit and display just one or two of His attributes. Someone else has justice covered.  I've got mercy, for worse and for better.

Ambushed by the Bible

For the past two weeks, I've been leaning more towards the "stay in Dallas" side of the future.  I had a breakthrough in group therapy that involved me crying in front of people, feeling horribly embarrassed at displaying vulnerability, and then being invited by a friend to talk about it more afterwards.  It was a lovely departure from my core belief that people won't like me if I open up.  Combined with the fact that I just read Vital Friends, a book about the benefits of working with friends, I was feeling like it would be super dumb to leave my Dallas support group.

As a result, I have taken no steps to contacting Dina and continuing the conversation of moving to Greece.

But.

My church is going through a series on Joshua, which is this consistently annoying reminder that God calls His people to do crazy things outside of their comfort zone, often with very little clear guidance beyond "Do this step.  Okay, now this one."  On top of that, my friend who took me out for further conversation accidentally compared me to the person I am annoyed with who only reacts to things, but rarely acts.  "Oh," my friend said.  "So like how you don't like to do anything unless someone else decides for you."  :|  On top of THAT, I started thinking about all the ways this opportunity came up, how so much of it seemed, well, supernatural.

It reminded me of the parable of the talents.  God gives people passions and opportunities, and if you use them and grow them and try, then He rewards you with further passions and opportunities.  But if you freeze up and do nothing, well...you may never get an opportunity again.

I was telling all of this to my friend today, and then she had to do homework, so I pulled out my Bible.  My small group at church has a challenge to read all four gospels in a month, and I am doing very poorly at it.  I opened up to my current location, which was....the parable of the talents.  Since it is the Message translation, I read, "That's a terrible way to live!  It's criminal to live cautiously like that! ...And get rid of this 'play-it-safe' who won't go out on a limb.  Throw him out into utter darkness."

Well.  Well, okay then.

So I emailed Dina.  It's not a decision, but it's a step away from being paralyzed with fear.

But Then I Think

I've been napping more often, which is only unusual because I've been sleeping a normal amount.  This didn't strike me as odd until something deep inside told me, "This is what you do when you're stressed," and intuitively I knew that was true.  It isn't really that I'm more tired than usual.  I just...sleep.  Oh, a bit of extra time? I subconsciously think.  Might as well be unconscious, then I don't have to worry about anything.

I'm in a weird state of limbo where Greece plans are concerned.  I have no new information, since I am letting the Petrous have some family time in the midst of their son's surgery and recovery.  However, this means my attempts to plan my future are happening without the most important part--the side beckoning me forward.  Without that lifeline, I feel like I'm stumbling forward for no reason at all.

I found out that accepting a job at my internship will, best case scenario, mean living off the same amount of money as I've been making these past two years.  Possibly even less.  While it has mostly been fine to live on $1,000 a month, I was kind of hoping that was a grad student lifestyle.  My supervisor assured me that, as with any new business, I shouldn't plan on actually making real money for the first three years of working in private practice.  This means that if I stay at my internship, I will need a second job.  A job...like nannying.  Although it feels a bit humiliating, I'm not above telling my bosses that I was mistaken--counselors don't actually make good money for awhile, and could I please continue to work for them?  I'm sure they would say yes.

What worries me is Greece.  If Greece is temporary, say three or six months, and I return to Dallas...what will I return to?  I could work at my internship well enough, but my bosses will have to find someone to replace me.  That means looking for a new second job.

It feels so much like life in Dallas would be easy.  Well, not easy.  This whole continuing-to-live-on-the-poverty-line is not great.  But if that's what it means to work in private practice, where better to do it than somewhere I have an understanding, supportive second job family?  Am I an idiot for giving that up to move somewhere new?  Does there come a point in maturity where pragmatism outweighs passion?

But then I think--God uses the foolish things of this world to shame the wise.  It's feeling incredibly foolish to walk away from a career laid out for me with minimal obstacles.  If it's foolish to go to Greece, does that mean I should?

But then I think--there are plenty of foolish things that I don't think God is necessarily leading people to do, like when I ate a bag of Twix candy bars.  God might love using ridiculous situations to show his glory, but that does not mean all ridiculous situations are his specific plan.  What if this is my pattern of leaving a good place, of being scared of the intimacy and commitment of settling down?

But then I think--what "pattern"?  Why am I determined to view all my personal revelations as necessarily bad?  So what if I moved from Peoria to Jackson to Fatick to Peoria to Dallas?  Each time I moved, I felt peace that it was within God's plans, and in every place I found a new family--people who cared for me and encouraged me to grow, people I could serve and love and miss.  I don't think any of my moves were wrong.  I think, for whatever reason, God gave me a passion for seeing new places and experiencing new things, and he has given me many opportunities to live this passion.  Why think of that as a bad thing?

But then I think--well, isn't it?  Aren't community and commitment good things?

But then I think--of course they are, but why can't both life paths be good?  Staying is good, and going is good.  They both offer separate rewards and separate challenges, but one is not necessarily better than the other, nor is a decision to follow one necessarily what the rest of my life will be characterized by.

But then I think--

But then I think--

But then I fall asleep.

Greece

I'm only quiet when I'm processing, and a two month absence from blogging accurately indicates that I have been processing something rather massive.

I'm working toward moving to Greece after I graduate.  So much of this possibility is unclear--when I would go, how long I would stay, if it is even possible.  The short story is that the Petrous, a dear family I visited twice on mission trips to Athens, invited me to join Dina in working with women leaving sexual slavery.  Everyone I have talked with about this opportunity has been overwhelmingly supportive, whether in affirming the reality that this is my chance to invest a long chunk of time in travel before settling into a professional life, or in reminding me that I never actually wanted to be in private practice anyway; my dreams have always skewed toward the international and missional. 

Everything is still very much in the information stages, but that hasn't kept me from leaping ahead and preemptively deciding that I will definitely go.  It took me about a week, back in July, to work up to a fever pitch of excitement.  Here at last was what I had been waiting for.  I remembered sitting on a Seattle beach with Roy, telling him how so many of the greatest events of my life have occurred because of random connections so perfectly timed that it felt like God.  This could be it again.

The first month of thinking and planning was almost entirely done in delirious excitement.  This second month, well, I'm becoming more realistic.  Working with women coming out of sex trafficking?  While I love the idea of putting my feminism into practice and tangibly helping women who have suffered the worst forms of oppression, I am completely overwhelmed by the magnitude of the job.

One friend told me that my singleness is a gift, not only in my freedom to travel as I will, but in my emotional freedom.  I can work in an emotionally draining job, go home, and take care of myself.  Were I married or had kids, I would go home to more people who needed me to be emotionally available to them.  This is a very nice thought, one which I clung to as evidence of this opportunity's perfection.  But...a job that is that draining?

My supervisor has been having me read articles about secondary traumatization, an effect of counselors working with a large caseload of trauma victims for a long period of time in which you inherit their triggers, memories, and nightmares.  I'm already terrified of rapists, clutching car keys between my knuckles in dark grocery parking lots and checking my backseat for potential kidnappers.  This fear is driven from email chains twelve years ago--how much more scared will I be when sitting before me is evidence of the worst humanity can inflict upon each other?  Stories of rape, violence, humiliation.  How will I be able to listen to them, empathize with them, be with them in their pain and come away whole?

I don't know if it is worth it.  Why should I tear myself apart to put someone else together?  Of course, if this happens, I intend to be proactive about self-care.  I will try to create a support system on which I can unload.  I will create safe spaces for myself, and give myself as much time and quiet as necessary to restore myself.  But still.  There are some things you cannot unhear, some realities you cannot ignore.

Last week Mike preached on Joshua 3 and 4 when the Israelites are going to cross the Jordan River at its deepest, during flood season.  Mike said it would have been nice if God had parted the waters in advance, had given his people ample time to see his power so they could trust in his provision.  Instead, it took the faith of twelve men to step into the water, to begin walking into a deep river that showed no hint of a miracle.  "Yet as soon as the priests who carried the ark reached the Jordan and their feet touched the water's edge, the water from upstream stopped flowing.  It piled up in a heap a great distance away."

I've been excited, and I've been terrified.  Now I hope to bring the two emotions together.  I will continue walking toward this deep river that threatens to swallow me in sorrow and fear.  I will continue walking, only because I have the assurance that if God is leading me, He will also make a way for me through the valley of the shadow of death.

Courage, dear heart.

Invisible at Church

I've been skipping church a lot, and finally a friend called me out on it.  I'd been waiting for someone to do so, which is exactly the sort of loser-move I side-eyed when I used to be an insider.  "Well, if they'd just come up to us," I would say, "We would totally invite them in and be nice."  True!  And it is undoubtedly unfair to ask people to be responsible for the emotional well-being of others.  But sometimes people are desperately unsure of themselves and need the validation that someone noticed they were gone and wish it hadn't been so.

That was a long preamble to the fact that:  I went to church today.  And I wish I hadn't.

It was Father's Day, which is never my favorite holiday.  Same for Mother's Day when there is blanket celebration with no acknowledgement of potential pain (either from one's own parents or from not being a parent oneself).  So there was the requisite adorable video and honoring of fathers.  There was a quote from Martin Luther about how we ought to be grateful for our parents because they fed us instead of letting us die.  All true, I suppose, but a single throw-away line about, "If you need to work through your family's dysfunction, go see a counselor," did little to honor the pain that I imagine at least 40% of the congregation felt.  Fathers, man.  They do a number on people.  Sometimes it's "simply" lack of time or affection, and that's enough to screw someone up.  But I've been a counselor for all of five months, and already I'm realizing how terrifyingly common it is for fathers to verbally, emotionally, physically, and emotionally abuse their children.  Handwaving that fact away with a "thank God for your parents" felt very irresponsible.

But I expected that.  What I didn't expect was a sermon based on the fact that humans bear God's image most fully in the family.  There were, like, maybe a few sentences about how the Church is a family, but mostly even that was in the context of using the Church to bolster your own family unit. 

As soon as it was said, my face shut down, my body turned in on itself, and I felt emotions crawling up my throat.  Honestly, I don't even care that I disagree with that interpretation of Genesis 1:26-28.  I personally believe that we bear God's image as individuals in relationships, but that there is no premium on marriage or parenthood as the relationship par excellence.  And I believe that multiplying to fill and subdue the earth includes, but is not limited to, physical reproduction.  But whatever.  That was not the message being taught today.  I could maybe have handled hearing that the family is the best way to represent God if even once the message had been directed to singles.  "What about us?" I thought.  "We're stuck with being sub-par image bearers.  What do we do with that?"  Hearing a callous "You just have to wait until you're married," would have pissed me off, but it would have been better than what actually happened, which is that myself and other singles (and the divorced and widowed and childless) were simply erased. 

It got worse, of course.  Because eventually we were addressed, in the form of a survey the entire congregation filled out after the sermon so that the church could better serve us.  Nice thought, and there was even one-fourth of the page devoted to singles.  There were sliding scales that asked if we thought God was using our singleness to sanctify and mature us, and I heavily circled the highest number in an attempt to prove my marital status doesn't affect my relationship with God.  Then there were a couple yes/no questions.  Two of the three were, "Are you saving sex for marriage?" and "Are you doing what you can to hold high the idea of marriage?"  Wonderful, wonderful.  My existence is summarily described by what I cannot do and by aspiring to that which I am not.  My singleness is the absence of.

To drive home the point, today was the Sunday when people with birthdays or anniversaries in the current month go forward to be acknowledged and prayed over.  I normally love this, because I really do have a high view of marriage.  But after forty minutes of being told over and over that this is ideal (and implicitly, you, Tricia, are not ideal), it hurt to hear one last time, "Congratulations to these couples who are exhibiting the truth that marriage is the place where people best bear God's image!"  I wanted to scream, "What about Jesus?  What about Paul?  What about that pesky verse that says it is better to be single than to be married?  Why is this not a nuanced conversation!?  Why do I feel like I don't exist?"

Instead, I practically ran to my car, throwing sunglasses on to cover the tears in my eyes.  As the car door slammed shut behind me, I instantly began sobbing and didn't stop until I got home.  Part of me sank into the desperate desire to be married and have kids--to be normal, to be the focus of the sermon, to be heard and valued in conservative evangelical culture.  I just wanted to fit in.  Another righteously angry part of me wanted to stay single forever, because I'm scared that if I ever do get married and have kids, I will be awash in relief at having arrived, and I'll blissfully forget the other singles who will still be ignored and undervalued.  I hope I will not be that way, but I've seen how the glow of being an insider can make me oblivious to those on the outside.

I don't mean to bash on my church family or my pastor.  I love my church to pieces, and I think this hit me so hard because I have such high standards.  They've been very nuanced and balanced and thoughtful in the past, and I'm sure they will be again in the future.  But today hurt.

Noah Gundersen

Last night I saw Noah Gundersen in concert.  I fell in love with his music the second I heard "Jesus, Jesus," which perfectly expresses my doubts and discomforts with Christianity while also clinging to a hoped for hope.

When I finally got around to listening to the rest of his music, I was blown away by his ability to honestly relate the highs and lows of life with a wisdom that digs beneath the obvious.  In "Isaiah" he describes a relationship with a girl who has a boyfriend.  He manages to convey the ambivalence of wanting the relationship and knowing it's wrong.  The chorus repeats Isaiah 41:10, "Fear thou not, my right hand will hold you, fear thou not."  The first time it is an excuse, a get out of jail free card, and as the song progresses into regret and conviction, it becomes a truth to which he clings in the midst of sin.  I mean, this guy blows me away.

And he's even more fantastic in person.  His passion pours off the stage.  He is absolutely captivating.  And the joy of live music comes from hearing your favorite songs in real time, watching emotions play across an artist's face as they share their soul with a crowd of strangers.  So when he played the opening chords of "Jesus, Jesus" I was thrilled.  It was better than I expected, however, as we were privileged to hear Noah's alterations to the song, something I can only assume reflects his spiritual progression.

The last verse of "Jesus, Jesus" is this:

"Jesus, Jesus, I’m still looking for answers
Though I know that I won’t find them here tonight
But Jesus, Jesus, could you call me if you have the time?
And maybe we could meet for coffee and work it out
And maybe then I’ll understand what it’s all about"

But what he sang was this:

"Jesus, Jesus, I’m still looking for answers
And I think I always will be
But Jesus, Jesus, could you call me if you have the time?
And maybe we could meet for whiskey and work it out
And maybe then I’ll understand,
Maybe then I'll understand,
Maybe then I'll understand
You."


It's probably powerful enough to let the contrasts sit there, but what is a blog for if not unnecessarily sharing opinions?  And I have to, because I love the changes.  First he acknowledges that not only will the doubts go unsolved tonight, but--they're always going to exist.  Then he changes out coffee for whiskey, reflecting a darker sensibility, and awareness that this is heavy stuff, not something for a casual coffee date.  Not only that, but he trusts that Jesus would join him for whiskey, would be comfortable joining him where he is: in a bar, silencing his pain.

And finally, my favorite change.  Whereas first Noah sings about understanding "what it's all about" he finally decides that he wants to understand "you."  There will always be questions and he will always want answers (don't we all?), but in the end, he knows those aren't sufficient.  You can have all the answers in the world to the problems presented in the song, but answers won't solve anything unless you know the Person who is giving the answers. 

Noah is probably not a Christian, from what my concert-mates told me.  But his song speaks volumes of truth to me, reminding me that having arguments are secondary to resting in Jesus.  If I can understand him, the contradictions and worries will fall away.  I'm so honored to have been able to listen to Noah's heartbeat so that mine can fall into his cadence. 

Shame vs. Guilt

This past Sunday I had a stimulating discussion with some people in my small group.  I was arguing for a less-common position, and finally one man said, "But is there ever a time when people ought to feel shame?"

I think I surprised everyone when I answered, "No."  To be honest, it surprised me as well.  Isn't that what it means to be a sinful person in awe of God's goodness?  Shouldn't we feel shame?

I still think, no.  Guilt, absolutely.  But never shame.  The man in my small group asked me to elaborate.

"Shame is the opposite of being created in the image of God.  Shame is being worthless and disgusting in the very heart of our being.  Guilt is making mistakes, of making really terrible, horrible mistakes.  It is doing the wrong thing over and over again.  But with guilt, there can be redemption.  With guilt, we can still be loved."

We talk about this in counseling quite a bit.  Guilt is appropriate (although sometimes people feel false guilt for things they either didn't do or have since been forgiven of), but shame is the disease that leads people to therapy.  Guilt is a parent saying, "You did a bad thing."  Shame is a parent saying, "You're a bad child."

I wonder how much pain has been caused by the Church confusing these two concepts?  We hear over and over again that we are sinners in need of grace.  Yes, absolutely.  But that is not our center.  At our deepest, most inward parts, we are created in the image of God.  We are glorious because we are known and loved by the God of the universe.  Have we inherited a sinful nature?  Have we each acted in countless sinful ways, hurting those who love us, hurting ourselves, acting selfishly in fear and hatred?  Yes, yes, yes.  We are guilty.

But sin does not stop God loving us, and that means we should never teach a gospel of shame.  In what twisted world is shame considered a part of "good news"?

The gospel I stand by is this:  You are loved, and you screw up, and you are loved, and the world sucks, and you are loved, and there is hope, and you are loved, and a day is coming when all will be well, and you are loved.

Sanctification After Death

I've lost the ability to recognize whether or not it's normal for lunch conversation to include eschatology.  The other day I was at Panera with Lindsay, and she sighed heavily.  "What if, after all this, there's still sin?"

"That's the whole point," I said.  "We won't be able to sin."

"Yeah, but.  If we still have freedom of choice, what's to stop this from happening over and over and over again?"

"I DON'T LIKE THAT IDEA," I said, fidgeting in my seat.  I knew there was a reason this couldn't be true, but... "Oh, I know.  In Genesis, there's both the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.  In Revelation, there's only the Tree of Life.  The option is gone--we've had our chance and we failed.  God saved us and the reward is life without temptation anymore."

Lindsay visibly relaxed.

"What gets me," I continued, "Is the idea that some kind of sanctification continues throughout eternity."

Lindsay was no longer relaxed.  "WHAT?" she said.  "I don't even like sanctification in this life.  Why would you think it'll keep happening?"

"Well, C.S. Lewis is always going on about it.  In The Last Battle and A Grief Observed and The Great Divorce...any time he talks about eternity its with this idea of continuously growing in Christlikeness."

"No!" Lindsay insisted.  "I hate that idea!  I just--you mean it never stops!?"

"No no no.  I think I'm explaining this wrong.  I'm with you, sanctification now is exhausting.  But when there's no sin or temptation...I think...I think it's like traveling.  There's so much to see and so many ways to grow, but it's not like the process is painful.  It's fascinating and fun to go somewhere new, and every new thing you experience just makes you hungry to experience more.  That's what it'll be like, I think.  We'll grow more and more like Christ, but it'll be an adventure.  With, you know, no delayed flights or muggings or whatever."

"Hm," Lindsay said.  "I suppose that's alright.  By the way, can we go to Iceland this summer?"

"YES," I answered, and bit into my turkey and avocado BLT.

Unconditional Love

Therapy today meant discussing self-worth, which was MISERABLE; I assume for everyone other than the three or four lucky bastards who had perfect childhoods.

Therapist: Do you think there's a spiritual element here?
Me: Yes. I was raised knowing that God loved me in spite of my sins, and—it was always in spite of. It's only been in the last couple years that I've learned that maybe God just straight up loves me. Maybe he delights in me.
Therapist: What would that be like?
Me: Comfort. Security. Peace...Too good to be true.

Our conversation moved on, but for the rest of the day I was stuck on this exchange.  Later it struck me why it felt so important--the last year or so has essentially been my attempts to prove that God's love is conditional.  For so long I've been defined (by others and by myself) as "the good girl," and it terrifies me to think that this reputation is what has earned God's love.  Does he only care about me when I'm trying not to sin, when I'm being modest, when I'm focusing on him, when I'm serving others?

So I stopped reading my Bible.  I started cussing.  I hit my snooze alarm until it was too late to go to church.  I ignored chapel requirements for DTS.  In my "good girl" way, I went bad.  I think I was railing against God, trying to prove to him that, "See!?  You don't love me now!"  I disobey authority, covet everything, hang onto jealousy, embrace bitterness, wallow in self-pity, and then I held my blackened and shattered heart up to God in defiance.  I wanted him to let me down.  I wanted him to be like everyone else, so that at least the world would make sense.  The rules would be clear--for me to experience love, I need to put on my happy shiny people face and DO STUFF.

But....that hasn't happened.  It's not like I've felt showered in God's love.  But during this year I've found friends who are in the muck with me, doubting and trying and flailing.  I've got this support system that is mysteriously okay with all of my pain because they know that the world is shitty and they're not interested in pretending it's not.  And it's through them and their sarcastic, enduring compassion that I think...okay.  Maybe God loves me.  Maybe I could never read the Bible for the rest of my life, and he would love me.  Maybe I could always act selfishly, and he would love me.  Maybe he looks down on me and fucking laughs and smiles fondly.  Maybe I'm his craftsmanship, and he made me good.  Maybe I'm broken, but he sees what I was, am, and will be, and he's just entirely delighted.

A Counselor's Prayer

 Taken from this website.

God, help me to share my client’s (or friend’s) pain without letting her pain overwhelm me.
Help me to feel her hurt without feeling consumed by it.
Help me to enter her chaos without being sucked into it.
Help me to approach her problems without feeling the need to fix them.
Help me share her grief without trying to rescue her from it.
Help me to bear witness to her past without feeling the weight of its devastation.
Help me to celebrate her growth without taking credit for it.
Help me to hear of abuse without turning cynical, broken relationships without becoming bitter, neglectful parenting without being judgmental.
Help me to hold hope for others even when I’m struggling to hold hope for myself.
Help me to keep my heart open even after it breaks.
And help me to draw closer to your heart every time I’m overwhelmed by the pain in mine.

Finding Hope in Purpose

At my first therapy session of the new semester, I had to admit that I had little to talk about.  Christmas had gone better than expected.  Some of the things that had been weighing on me had been confronted and put away.  I felt good.

My therapist asked how I would scale my depressive symptoms against how I felt when I first started therapy.  "I was probably a seven in the fall.  Now...I think I'm a two."

"A two?" she said.  "That's really low.  That's great.  What do you think changed?"

I didn't know.  But the more I think about it, I realized that I have purpose this semester.  My depression is almost always wound around feelings of hopelessness and purposelessness.  Now that I am starting to see clients, my life has meaning.  I am doing the thing for which I came to Dallas and entered graduate school.  All these things I've been cramming into my brain are coming out.  Instead of talking about stepping into people's pain and wondering what that will be like in the nebulous future, I'm experiencing it right now.

It's terrifying, counseling people.  But the good sort of terror, the kind when you see a person and you think, "You're going to change my life," or when the camel you're on lurches to its feet or when you stare at the clouds and feel so small and so massive.  It's terrifying, but it is mine.  It is what I am made to do, I have not one shred of doubt. 

God crafted me into a sensitive, empathetic person.  With every book I devoured, I learned to place myself in someone else's shoes.  With every person who ignored me, I burned with a passion to give voice to the voiceless.  With my heightened sense of disunity, I cried against the separation of heart and head before I ever had a place where I could sit with someone and say, "It's okay to feel things."

So although this first step into the next leg of my journey is stupid scary, I am so excited.  And that excitement that I have found from doing what I was made to do--that is what has healed me. 

Ministry of Singleness

When most people talk about a "ministry of singleness," they usually mean nuns or missionaries.  And that's if singleness is even discussed as a positive lifestage at all.  As someone who loves to travel and entertained the idea of being a missionary, this was not a wholly unappealing topic.  To be honest, one of my very favorite things about being single is that I can, within the space of a day, decide I want to go somewhere and make travel arrangements to get there.  The freedom to pack up and wander the world is a great joy.

But it's statistically unusual.

Let's say I travel one week in the summer and five weekends throughout the rest of the year.  That is less than 5% of my year spent in a "ministry of singleness."  I refuse to believe that God essentially skips over me during the routine of daily life until I pack my suitcases and head to Mongolia.  That's not true.  I do believe that, a lot of the time, and this sense of uselessness is what fuels the majority of my depressive symptoms.

Things are changing, however.  I think I mentioned that last fall, I decided to invest more heavily in a couple in my small group.  At the time, they had a toddler and a soon-to-be-baby, so I wanted to give them as many date nights as possible before their parental load doubled.  The enormity of their gratitude floored me.  I literally sat on their couch, ate their food, and watched their TV while their child slept, yet they acted as though I were doing something actually sacrificial. 

It struck me that I was in a unique position.  Other married people or parents can't afford to take care of someone else's children.  Not for long, anyway.  The burnout rate is significantly higher.  Hiring a babysitter is fine, but they are teenagers and you have to pay them.  But a friend who is perfectly fine getting her alone time in your house or hers, who cares?  That's an asset.  I'm an asset!

This is my ministry of singleness, and I'm looking to expand.  I have freedom to travel, yes.  But I also have emotional freedom, and the ability to pour myself into others because I'm not yet run dry.  I'm sure there is more, and I'm so excited to realize that using my singleness to bless others might affect 100% of my life rather than 5.

My Old Heart

I had a sweet moment with God, but it includes a curseword, so I'll put it under a cut.

The Grace of the Church

I had it in my head to put together a sort of Faith Profile of my year with the poems I've been writing.  So picked out the ones I was extra proud of and worked on editing them and putting them in some semblance of order.  I did this right before bed, which was a problem.  For one thing, it got my creative mind racing, and that takes ages to shut off.  For another, it opened up memories and feelings and doubts and worries.  I've been feeling pretty on top of things lately, and then I read my own words describing myself in my darkest emotions.  Not a great idea.

The result was that I skipped church today.  My alarm went off, I hit snooze.  Then I laid in bed for ten minutes thinking about how I was really tired and anyway I didn't want to go.  So I didn't, and I slept until 11:30.

It's funny, the days I skip church sometimes turn into big spiritual epiphanies for me.  That happened a little while ago, but it isn't what I want to talk about.

What I've been learning lately is the power of the Church.  I think I've always thought of it as God's people, I got that part.  I knew it was more than a building, more than a gathering of people who thought and acted the same way.  But in the last year or so, I've been deepening my awareness and appreciation of the sacred. 

One of the sacred things I've been stepping into is Communion.  That's honestly the main thing I miss whenever I'm not at church.  I've grown to love the cracker pieces and wine glasses passed down the pew.  I love taking strength there, remembering that I am here because of Christ, that it is only through Him that I can do anything.  I don't think the bread and wine are literally Jesus's body and blood, but I do think there is something far more sacred going on than I ever realized.  I think there is some special grace in taking Communion, some acknowledgment of our humility and dependency, some concrete action of finding purpose and strength in Him.

The other sacred thing I've been stepping into is the Church.  I just googled "Is the Church a sacrament?" and turns out the Vatican II said there is a sacramental nature to the Church, so good, I'm not alone in thinking this.  The thing is, as I've grown weaker this year, more aware of my sins and the sins of the world, I've found real peace in the Church.  Not as in they encourage me, though they have.  What I mean is, it's so comforting to know that while I struggle and doubt, there are others in the Church who are strong and faithful.  When I skipped church this morning, I took strength in knowing that there were others who went, men and women and children who heard the Word and took Communion and echoed creeds.  It's not a get-out-of-jail-free pass.  It's a genuine grace, I think, this acknowledgment that I cannot be strong all the time, but that God has me as one small piece of a Body--a Body that is strong, that continues when I am not physically present.  There is such comfort in seeing faith as communal rather than individualistic.

I'm turning mystical, I guess, and pretty High Church.  I just love it.  I love stepping outside of myself and realizing how dependent I am upon God's grace, how I need physical manifestations of His grace to eat and drink, how I need relational manifestations of His grace to serve Him when I cannot.  It's all just crazy enough to make sense.

Too Beautiful

I stumbled across this playlist of epically beautiful instrumental music, and I actually had to stop what I was doing to stare open-mouthed at my computer during one song.  It was so beautiful I wanted to turn it off, as if it were too much of a good thing, like my ears and my mind wouldn't be able to stand so much purity and clarity.

Beauty is, I think, sadly lacking in everyday life.  Efficiency and practicality are useful and good, but when we laud these virtues at the expense of beauty, I wonder if we aren't losing something precious.  Beauty is a sign, an arrow that points to the reality of "now and not yet."  This ache I feel around something too beautiful makes me all too aware that this is my life--I am meant for something great, and there is joy and peace in eternity.  But at the same time, right now life is streaked with selfishness and abuse and despair.  Beauty highlights ugliness.  It makes us aware of what life should be and in contrast, what life is.

We need those reminders, whether we find them in music, in stories, in forests, in architecture, in mathematical formulas, in gears aligning, in galaxies, in paintings.  We need beauty.

(Also I just read Rollo Mays' The Courage to Create, which has greatly influenced my opinion on the universality of creativity.  It's quite short and I highly recommend it for those who care about such things.)

Looking for Hope

One of the things I've learned from therapy is that I have a generally hopeless outlook on life.  My therapist took me back to middle school when I was most strongly depressed and vaguely suicidal.  I told how my desire to be dead was largely religious.  I was obsessed with Philippians 1:23, in which Paul says, "I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far."  I also took C.S. Lewis's quote to heart, the one about how if nothing in this world can satisfy, then we must be made for another world.  That's encouraging from an eternal perspective, but it has always struck me as depressing for the here and now.  It will never get better.

Had those feelings left? my therapist wondered.  And immediately I knew, no, no, I still feel that way.  I've learned to cover them up with busyness and friendships.  But whenever those things fall apart, I'm left staring at my philosophy of hopelessness.  What a shift, to realize that I don't suffer from periodic bouts of depression.  I constantly live from a foundation of hopelessness, only most of the time I can ignore it with distractions.

Two things have helped.

I'm making some really wonderful friends in Dallas.  One in particular is special.  We've decided to meet every week and get honest.  We've already addressed the fact that neither of us like vulnerability and we move away when things get too uncomfortable, so we're understanding of each other and committed to keep each other close even when the other is trying to run away.

Today we had lunch and talked about shame, casually mentioned some habitual sins, sharing an unhealthy desire to control everything, especially who I am and what I do.  It's freeing to talk with her, because we come from a place of "this won't get fixed immediately, and it doesn't have to.  God is patient, and what I can offer to you is my listening and my care and my acknowledgement that this is really awful for you."  I don't want people to fix me.  I'm tired of advice.  I'm loving having a friend who is screwed up and owning it, who lets me be screwed up and still wants to get coffee.

Life seems hopeless.  The one thing that gives me hope and makes me think I have a purpose is when someone says, "I wanted to be your friend because you're real.  You're not perfect and you don't pretend to be.  You're safe."  That's what I have to offer the world.  My imperfections.  In a screwed up world, that's rather lovely.

The other encouragement I had was from a job-searching book I have to read for class, ironically.  I get bogged down in the big picture, in the global sins and the ways in which nature and humanity cause pain on top of pain.  But this poem that the book quoted reminded me to look at the details for the reasons life can be good.

"What is success?
To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people
and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by
a healthy child, a garden patch
or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed
easier because you have lived;
This is to have succeeded."
--Bessie Anderson Stanley