Taming of the Misconstrued

No, really. He does. And it scares me. When it comes to suffering in the world, I have a hard time believing it’s all God’s fault. I wrestle with the possibility that a good God is even remotely responsible for any of the war, famine, poverty, cancer, chronic illness, sexual assault–any pain out there surely can’t come from a God who is this great, holy, and just, good and loving Being.

But sometimes…it feels like we say things to make it all God’s fault even if we mean it in a positive way. “God is allowing this for a reason,” or “This is God’s will for you to go through this right now” are phrases that just rub me the wrong way.

Pain seems so…senseless. It rips open our worlds and turns everything upside down. And we always want someone to blame for it. I’ve researched various theological and philosophical works on theodicy and still I don’t have a well-formed opinion. It still bothers me that there’s a good God but suffering. I know…I know. He’s supposed to be good and it’s because of sin that we have the pain and suffering. But why doesn’t he stop it. Why…why can’t he stop this? I don’t understand. Just honestly tell me how this works, God.

I’m screaming at the sky

And I’m wondering why

You still care that i’m praying to you

How am I supposed to believe

That you’re anything more

Than a crutch to get me thru

So I clench my fists

And turn away from You

But not before You say

You can run away

And You can hate me

If you want to

You can scream my name

And curse Me to my face

But I still love You

And I will go thru this pain with You.

I heard the hymn “It Is Well” a few weeks ago and the words “whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say” have always impacted me. This time in particular, however, the words stuck in my throat as I sang along because it had been a long time since I sang a hymn that went beyond the nice melody and sank deeper into my heart.

For the past couple years, I’ve been in a season of doubt. Not the doubting God exists kind of doubt, but more of the is everything I’ve been taught about the Bible and Christianity true kind of doubt. Some people say that it’s dangerous to even question this. I’ll say it definitely feels dangerous, but I think that knowing why you hold the beliefs you do is important. Blindly following whatever a pastor says is right to believe seems to be more dangerous than challenging and questioning aspects of faith I’m not sure about. As a matter of fact, I feel this has helped strengthen my faith, even though it’s led to more questions I may never have the answers to.

And thus these doubts and questions bring me here. To a place of lots of uncertainty. A place of “Is God really good and why does He allow all this suffering and pain?” I used to think I had good answers to that–that there’s suffering because of sin, and we can’t know all that God’s doing because He’s God and we’re not. I still believe those things to an extent, but in a more nuanced way. More or less my conclusion now is that it’s complicated.

I think this accurately describes my relationship with God right now too. It’s complicated, but I know He loves me. And though the words “whatever my lot” mean something different now when I sing them, I still know Jesus is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. So no matter how much I wrestle with the sovereignty of God and the discrepancies I have with my faith and the church, that keeps me going.

Doubt in life I think is more about being honest with ourselves and God that we’re so not ever going to understand everything. That raw honesty is scary. I’m not sure the world is ready for the honesty it says it wants. This means seeing the dark side of everything. It means taking things as they are and not letting it completely destroy me. It means having room for doubt.

The freedom to doubt–to ask questions and learn to think for oneself–this is something we all need. We need this freedom and not constraint when our discoveries go against the status quo.

So…yes, I struggle a lot with doubt. I’m a Christian, gay, dealing with sexual abuse trauma, and recovering from legalism. And I’m trying to figure out what that all means for me and God. I’ve found Him to be more accepting and understanding than most of the people who claim to follow Him. I have no idea why He’s allowed certain things into my life. But I do know this: “It is well, it is well with my soul.”

I don’t want to be angry anymore. I’m tired of being angry. In fact, I’m exhausted—especially every time I get on social media lately, because toxic, downright hostile things have been circulating around the worldwide web ever since the SCOTUS decision on June 30th. I get it. You’re all in an uproar because you feel that marriage is being redefined—traditions in this country are being rewritten, all that jazz.

But I would caution you to think before you post that next Franklin Graham or Jerry Falwell opinion. Think about not only those who agree with you or disagree with you, but think about those you’re hurting with the vitriolic and incredibly insensitive posts. Marriage equality is so much more than a political issue. There are people—real live people involved. Imagine that? People?! Yes, people who are human beings who walk on this earth and breathe the same air you do. People…like me. I am a Christian. I am a part of the LGBT community. And I feel stuck in the middle. I feel like I have to choose between my faith community which is a part of who I am, and my orientation…also part of who I am. Don’t make me choose. I shouldn’t have to choose which group I want to love me.

I don’t want to be bitter because of your lack of love and support. I don’t want to be angry or so weighed down because the people who say they will love me the most might just abandon me when I tell them I’m gay. I want to speak on the behalf of so many closeted gay Christians out there who are struggling and maybe even contemplating suicide just out of the pain Christians (often their own family members) have caused them by saying they hate a part of them. So, here are some things I want you to know:

1. I’m not asking you to accept a “lifestyle.” I’m asking you to love me. Love me like I’m a person. Love me like you would want someone to love you if you were in my shoes. Love us. Support us. Stop judging us for something we. did. not. choose. Yes, I said it. I did not choose this. Believe me, if I had, I would have changed my mind a long time ago. No one wants to be a marginalized people.

2. But I AM asking you to love me like you want to be loved. Of course, you’re probably asking, what does support and love mean if I disagree with you acting on your same-sex attractions? It is actually possible to love someone you don’t agree with. I do it all the time. No one agrees 100% on anything. ever. Even other Christians. If you view it as sin, call me out on it by all means if I choose that life for myself. But…love me. Don’t ever stop loving me.

3. I’m asking you to accept that I. am. gay. Some may be asking, what if I just think you can’t possibly be gay? How then do I proceed? That’s like asking me if you can love me if I have brown hair and brown eyes instead of blonde hair and blue eyes. I’m gay. I’ve tried tirelessly to change that, and had to accept that I couldn’t. Most everyone else who’s LGBT will tell you the same thing.

4. I’m asking you to be courteous. I want to understand what it’s like for you, but in return, please afford me the same courtesy. If the world were majority LGBT and minority heterosexual, would you want me to ask of you the same that you’re asking of me?

5. I’m asking you to consider that celibacy might be an option. Guess what? Some of us who are gay/lesbian/bisexual actually agree with you on the “one man, one woman” thing. But some of us do not. So, instead of forcing us to marry someone of the opposite sex, help us in our singleness.

Even if you can’t understand what I’m going through, will you be there as I’m journeying through life? THIS is the support I need: that you will be there for me in the tough times just as I hope to be there for you regardless of what those tough times may be. I want you to be a community of believers who love Jesus and love like He loved.

Mental Illness…it’s something some people would prefer to leave in the shadows. It’s something many Christians often chalk up to “sin in your life.” or “selfishness.” It’s something that I personally have experience with, and it’s one of the hardest things to write about. Specifically, I’m going to attempt to write about depression from a personal angle and trauma/post traumatic stress…and what it’s like to deal with those two.

Lately I have been so…angry. So incredible Hulk taking down a building angry. I never knew I could feel that emotion this strongly. But really, I’m not so sure it’s angry so much as the underlying fear and sadness beneath the anger that’s been flooding through everything I do lately. Fear. Sorrow. Pain. It seems a never ending, bloody, piercing pain. This is what the trauma of sexual abuse leaves you with. Anyone who says otherwise–who says you can move on with your life and put your past behind you easily–well, I’d have to say to them that they don’t understand the long lasting effects of trauma.

The best way I’ve found to explain is two-fold: 1. an analogy of mental illness as a monster, and 2. through music. The first especially helped me when I thought of it this way.

Depression is like a 500 lbs monster sitting in the darkened, cobweb filled corner of the room, trying to go unnoticed but yet refusing to be ignored. It casts a dark shadow over one’s life. And no, it’s not a choice. If it were, I would have chosen not to deal with depression a long time ago.

But if depression is a monster, post traumatic stress feels like an even bigger monster in my life. The post traumatic stress monster buddies up with the depression monster–affectionately nicknamed Fluffy D–takes up the entire house. It feels as if it’s suffocating me slowly but gently…apologizing menacingly  for interrupting my nice quiet life with its nightmares and flashbacks.

If Depression (fluffy D) weighs 500 lbs, PTSD seems to weigh a thousand. With this image in mind, one would think these monsters are constant enemies but at times they’re more like close friends who betray you at your lowest point in your life. They’re more like frenemies.

For those who would discredit mental illness as a legitimate struggle, I would challenge you to take a long hard look at those of us who know these struggles are real. Most of us aren’t just making this up to get attention. Our worlds are shrouded in the darkness of mental illness and no, it’s not all selfishness and sin.

This isn’t to say that I don’t think there’s hope or that I’m just going to wallow in self-pity. I firmly believe there is hope. And that Jesus has given us that hope. But…Life. Is. Hard. The mind gets sick just like the body. And that isn’t just for the “weak minded” who don’t have enough faith. It’s part of living in a fallen world that Jesus is coming back for. It’s not all going to be fixed in this lifetime. Chemicals and hormones in the brain get out of balance. People go through traumatic things that scar them mentally. This is life. and death. Death to a false reality where everything goes right and works right if you’re living right. Mental illness involves monsters for some people–regardless of their spiritual status.

Now, to the more musical/poetic side. I’ll end with a song I wrote about dealing with sexual abuse and its after affects.

Hold My Trembling Hands:

You wake me up ’cause I’m screaming.

Screaming again

Please help me see that I’m breathing

I’m still breathing on my own

I’m in a crowd but my mind’s not there

I’m a thousand miles away

This place I go in my nightmares

I can’t see the light of day

Please help me out of this darkness

Hold my trembling hands

I need a way out of this chaos

Without you I can’t stand on my own, on my own

On the outside, I’m smiling

But on the inside I’m shaking

The walls I’ve put up are collapsing

All around me there’s debris, all around me there’s debris

Please help me out of the darkness

Hold my trembling hands

I need a way out of this chaos

Without you I can’t stand on my own, on my own

My defenses are up, but my heart sinks like a ship-wreck lost at sea

My defenses are up, but my heart sinks like a ship-wreck lost at sea

Can’t you see me?

Please help me out of this darkness

Hold my trembling hands

I need a way out of this chaos

Without you I can’t stand on my own, on my own

Dear Church,

Beautiful, loving body of Christ–the extension of the hands and feet of God,

Spiritual hospital for the invisible wounds so many people carry into your great assembly,

Beautiful, messy, broken church of God–the bride of Christ that He will make clean one day:

I love you. But we have a problem. Within your masses, there are hurting people who come through your doors every week. You can’t see that they’re hurting–or maybe you can, but choose to ignore their pleas for help.

These people look just like you, believe just like you, but yet they do not feel that they are a part of you. They do not feel safe to be themselves–to be vulnerable with you for fear you will turn them away as soon as they speak their minds. For fear that they cannot express themselves freely because they have to be plastic–constantly smiling and polite.

Sure, you know their names, their faces, maybe even their family and where they work. But you don’t really care to know people for who they really are.

They have invisible wounds they hide because you told them they have to be a certain way to be accepted. They have to pretend–pretend everything’s okay.

But it’s not.

They need your help. They need your love and support.

Would you truly accept them for who they are? Would you love them like you say you love people?

“Absolutely,” you say. “We include everyone here! We hate the sin, and love the sinner. There’s room at the table for all. We’re family here.”

Ah, but you don’t know what pain these people have been through by your own hand already. You don’t know yet their struggles. Every time you open your mouth to talk about those you claim not to hate, you spew such wicked, awful inhumane words about people created in God’s image just like yourself.

So, they politely smile and listen on the outside. But on the inside–you have wounded them at the core of who they are. Silently they speak volumes with their body language and that imperceptible change of face as they steel themselves for your harsh words.

Until one day they choose to tell you what’s really on their hearts. One day it’s not going to be enough to hide in the shadows. One day they will trust that all your talk of loving people as they are is true.

And I hope you don’t fail them. And I hope you will listen to love like you say you do. I hope that it happens for them like I dream that it will happen for myself.

Originally, I was going to title this post “Thoughts on Suicide” or something obvious like that. And while I do want to talk about that subject, the more I tried to write, the more I realized I needed to change the direction for writing on the subject. You see, I was taught some very wrong ideas about depression and suicide growing up. One time at a Christian camp when I was in high school, one of the speakers said this: “There is one giver and taker of life, and it’s not you.” When I first heard it, it immediately resonated with me. Because as a Christian I had always heard that sentiment repeated to someone struggling with suicide. I was taught that since God gave us life, how is it even possible that we could want to end it? That God has a purpose in this world bigger than yourself, so stop wallowing in self pity and being selfish about ending your own pain.

Once upon a time, I agreed with the people who told me this was how you counsel someone who’s suicidal or struggling with depression. So, God help me, I was the good little legalist and policed people about this. I would throw Bible verses at people and basically ignore the pain behind it. And I was struggling with depression and suicidal ideation myself. How dare I tell someone these things and yet, I knew the pain better than most. It wasn’t until about 3 years ago that I saw things differently. But I’m afraid the damage has already been done. For those reading this who I did say these things to and did talk to in this manner, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry that I didn’t just hurt with you and cry with you. That I hid behind a Bible and parroted what I had always been told. I was wrong. Depression has enough stigma without someone making you feel guilty for what you struggle with. I get it. Because I’ve been there. And yet I probably never shared my struggles with you. I was afraid of your judgment just as much as you were afraid of mine. I refuse to ignore your pain or anyone else’s anymore. All the shaming and invalidating of the pain–all it does is make us feel isolated. I felt so isolated, that the first time I struggled with suicidal thoughts at 12 years old, I thought I was a freak. I thought it wouldn’t matter what people thought of the pain I was going through because after all, I was just being selfish, right? So, I should just stop being selfish and hurting, and it’ll all go away.

But, to put it quite bluntly, my soul was hemorrhaging. There was so much pain. All I ever wanted was for someone to stop and listen to an insecure girl who just needed someone to tell her she was loved and accepted for who she was. I wanted to be treated like a human being in need of a Redeemer. So…selfish? Or hurting like hell? Does telling someone they’re selfish really help that person?

The problem is, that mentality helps no one. If we want suicide rates to go down, we need to listen to the pain behind this. Listen. . .and love. Accept that person as a human being struggling to live in a fallen world. Instead of making someone feel the shame of living in it they already feel so acutely. This is what I would have wanted someone to do for me. This is what I wish I had done for people in the past. This is what I WILL do now and in the future. Because we should be lifting each other up instead of tearing each other down.

I’ve struggled so many times with suicidal thoughts since I was 12 that I’ve literally lost count. All I know is, there is a light at the end of the dark tunnel, and a God who does care even if other people don’t. Part of my struggle is because of depression–both chemical and emotional. Another addition to that is dealing with the effects of being sexually abused multiple times in my life. I had days (and sometimes still do) where all I want to do is scream at the heavens to a God that I didn’t think could care about my pain. But now I know He does. Now I know that when I scream in pain and anger or wake up from a nightmare, He’s still right there with me. And He gets it. He gets it, guys. He loves you. You matter. Your pain matters.  Your pain and what you’re feeling is real. It hurts. Living in this life freakin’ hurts. But I promise, you will make it. Don’t give up.

I leave you with words from one of my favorite poems:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

– Do not go gentle into that good night, Dylan Thomas

P.S. If this is your first time reading my blog, and you have any questions or feedback from other posts, please let me know.

We smile so you think we’re all okay

But really we’re struggling and groaning

Waiting to see the light of day

Well, I’m not okay

This won’t simply go away

Just because you want it to

Just because it makes you uncomfortable

I’m sorry I’m not normal

That you think I’m different

But we’re really all the same

We smile and say we’re all okay

But really we’re struggling and groaning

Waiting to see the light of day

Well, I’m not okay

This won’t simply go away

Just because you want it to

Just because it makes you uncomfortable

If there’s one hot button topic circulating in the news in this country today, it’s the LGBT rights and same-sex marriage issues. Being for or against it isn’t really a part of this conversation, but some honesty and humanity are definitely on the table for this post.

There are those in the LGBT community committing suicide everyday because they feel like they’ll never be accepted for whom they are. There is this feeling of brokenness. And the brokenness continues until finally, in the midst of the long held silence, they speak. They are honest. They come out from hiding. But because of their faith, and the faith of their family and friends, they are rejected. Over and over again, they hear the same message: You’re not welcome here. There is no place for you. You’re not normal.

Is my very existence somehow repulsive to you? Even as I say this from my closeted dwelling of fear and shame placed on me by the church and even society at large, from my life lived in service to God but not in your box of status quo Christians, I feel less than you. I am bisexual. I am not heterosexual. I have never been so. But if I told you that, would that change how you think of me? Would that make me less of a person even though you may have known me a long time—just not that aspect of my life? Oh, I’m sorry. I made you uncomfortable, because I happen to be attracted to men…and women. And you don’t know how to factor that into your world. Because I’m not like you. It hurts that I’m not like you, but if I spend all my time worrying about how I can be like everyone else, I will be miserable.

Because, here’s the deal. I am a real person. A human being. And if you were the one who was different, what right would I have to treat you as a lesser human being? If you could but walk a day in my shoes or in the shoes of someone else in the LGBT community, you’d understand maybe just a smidgen of what it’s like to be discriminated against.

There is not a gay agenda…just people who want to be treated like human beings. That’s all. They just want to be treated like everyone else—with dignity and respect. With love. But instead, this seeking for love is turned to rejection because those who are different make everyone else uncomfortable. I guess it’s just easier to hide the “different” people in a closet somewhere and quiet their screaming voices. Their piercing, screaming voices of shame and pain.

It’s not ok. And we’re not ok. We can’t just be not gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender. There are so many more complexities than simply not being something that is a part of you. That doesn’t mean it is all of who someone is, but it isn’t something reparative therapy can fix. Neither can the church, counseling, or strict biblical teaching on how homosexuality is wrong in most cases. You can’t put people in a box. You’re suffocating a whole group of people. Please. Stop. We need you to listen to what we need from you, my Christian and non-Christian human beings. We need your love. We need your support. We don’t necessarily need affirmation. We just want to be treated like human beings even if that makes you uncomfortable.

God help the outcasts.

There seems to be this rumor going around that we are living in an “anti-god” society. Rumor has it that everyone hates Christians and everything that they stand for. Darn those intolerant liberals for telling us we can’t have everything our way. Unfortunately, in case you haven’t noticed, the rest of the world is not Christian and this is not a fast food restaurant world we live in. What upsets me, however, is the “persecution complex.” In particular, conservative American Christians seem to think that they are being persecuted for their beliefs in God and their belief in a certain moral code. As I understand it, it makes you upset because same-sex marriage has been legalized in most of the country. I understand that it upsets you that the Bible and prayer have been taken out of schools. I understand that abortion is murder, and you don’t like that it’s been legalized. But here’s the problem. You do not understand what persecution means. And I’m not so sure you understand what freedom of religion means either, but that’s a topic for another time.

Let’s look at the definition of persecution as we continue this heated debate about losing our Christian values. According to Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary, the verbal form for persecution is persecute: “to harass in a manner designed to injure, grieve, or afflict; specif: to cause to suffer because of belief.” So, with that term being understood, I have a question for you. Have you been harassed “in a manner designed to injure, grieve, or afflict”? Some of you would say, yes, absolutely! We are being forced to accept that same-sex marriage is ok! This is against what we believe!

Ok, but are you being harassed? Yes! “In a manner designed to injure?” Um…well…

If you’re of sound mind and body today and no one has physically abused you for your faith, you might want to step out of your American comfort zone for a bit and look at the other countries out there who legitimately struggle with this problem. I think you’re missing the point. There are people who are literally being slaughtered or worshipping in secret because of their faith. There are people who are locked up for this kind of thing we call following Jesus Christ. I’d like to take you to a passage in the book of Hebrews so you can see what some Christians in the first century church suffered through.

Hebrews 11:36-38: “Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were killed with the sword. They went about in skins of ship and goats, destitute, afflicted, mistreated—of whom the world is not worthy—wandering about in deserts and mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth.”

Also, the writer of Hebrews writes in Hebrews 13:3, “Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated, since you are also in the body.”

My dear fellow believers, until we have truly experienced what other Christians around the world have experienced because of their faith, we do not have the right to say we are being persecuted. We do not have the right. We are making a mockery at what these people go through. Remember those who are truly suffering as if you are with them. Pray for the truly persecuted church. I’m afraid you don’t get what it’s like to suffer if you live in America. Not really.

Another word that needs to be defined here is intolerance. What does it truly mean to be intolerant of something or someone? Let’s return to our wonderful friend, the dictionary for our answer. The second definition refers to religion: “unwilling to grant equal freedom of expression esp. in religious matters: unwilling to grant or share social, political, or professional rights.” Last I checked, we can still express ourselves religiously in most areas in this country. What makes me upset however, is that we don’t think others should be able to express themselves if they disagree with our Judeo-Christian worldview. Here’s a hint: The rest of the world is not Christian. And the more you fight for it to be Christian, the more ground you will lose.

My, how you have been intolerant of others just as much as they have been intolerant of you. You have spewed hatred against those who disagreed with you. You have caused more harm than good with this attitude. The rest of the world sees that you have forgotten how to truly love people regardless of their differences. Disagreeing is one thing. But treating others as less than yourself because you say that they “sin differently than you,” is an outrage. All the Leelah Alcorns out there know it to be true. You disagreed, but you didn’t stop there. You hated. You scorned. You called her a sinner, but you provided no solution for her pain. You love to point out the disease, but I have not seen you struggling to help others find the cure. Guess what? You are a bloody, filthy sinner, too, in desperate need of the same grace you seem to forget about when you speak against certain “abominations.” Those who have an abortion need this love. Those who perform abortions need this love. Those who are homosexual and bisexual and transgender need this love. Those who are just like you need this love. Where is it? Where is it, Christian? Jesus loved these people–every last one of them. Those he corrected the most were those like you who told everyone else they were wrong.

The Taming of the Misconstrued is more or less a blog about misconceptions I see American Christians projecting into this world, and the thoughts I have concerning the issues I see. This is a journey of sorts as well for me. I am a Christian, and have grown up in a Christian home. Whatever thoughts that brings up for those of you reading who are not Christians are quite interesting, I’m sure.

There is a struggle today among Christians to orient their faith with their actions. I am one of those Christians who sees Christians doing one thing but saying something completely different. I see so much hate from a group of people that talks about love so frequently. And so when the rest of the world says we’re intolerant, I can understand where they’re coming from.

This is a blog about correcting some of the misconceptions about Christianity that the world has seen recently. What Jesus Christ said His followers should do and what many are doing don’t line up. I’m by no means an expert on the subject, but I have been hurt enough by church and Christians to pull away for a bit and reexamine my faith. For those who have been harshly treated and judged and hated by Christians, I want to sincerely apologize. But I know that doesn’t make up for the pain you have felt from us because you believe differently or live differently.

Maybe, just maybe, this blog can provide healing for Christians and non-Christians alike. That is my purpose for writing. And hopefully I can provide stimulating conversation and food for thought through writing this. Thank you for listening.