the God you fell in love with is truly good

I was wide awake at 4:41 this morning. I begged my body to go back to sleep, but something was stirring. As I showered at got ready at 5:20, I realized how much I missed mornings. The quiet when the rest of the world is sleeping, the peace that comes when my heart is not yet throbbing with the heaviness of the day. When I began to ponder this peace and this strange stirring in my heart for the morning, I realized how much I miss Jesus too. I have been a whirlwind, a storm, and a hurricane. Glimpses of the sun have been rare, far and few between.

I have been trying to conquer the world, save the lives of everyone around me, deciphering the difference between boundaries and walls, navigating the anatomy of the human heart and just trying to make sense of the world. I don't know what it was supposed to be like, but I know it is not this.

The world has been so loud and His voice has been so quiet. My questions are bigger than ever before. Vulnerability has a way of cracking open anger and bitterness in a way I never thought possible. A tornado tangles my own memories with all the pain I have ever seen in the world. I have a hard time separating truth from lie. My questions have become demanding, rather than reflective. Why was my little friend in Nicaragua living in trash? Why did they tell me to not sit in the trash with her? Why did I come back to America after I gave my heart and soul to little children who didn't speak my language or know my Jesus again and again? Why did I feel the heart of God so fervently in India and I can no longer see him in my own country? Every damn time I pass a homeless person, I am infuriated at the system and how I play a part in it. Someone told me recently that the people I offer services to at my job steal money from my paycheck. How can their hearts be so cold to those who are less fortunate? How can God allow the oppression of suicidal spirits to plague our nation, let alone my close friends?

There was a time when I was okay with not having an answer for these questions. There was a time when a gentle man of God told me to set my questions on a shelf until Jesus himself came and tore down my shelf. But my shelf is full, my heart heavy from constantly carrying the questions. I know I join an army of Christians who carry these and can no longer accept the status quo. Church, what am I missing? This body I am a part of has been an organism, living and breathing for thousands of years, alive with the heart of God at its center since its beginning. I cannot turn my face because the evidence is so real. I cannot ignore the legacy of the Church, with all of its flaws and all of its beauty. But I do need to reconcile the way in which this Body has been a part of the pain of the world while still having Jesus at its center.

A friend encouraged me a few weeks ago and told me this: "Remember that the God you fell in love with is truly good, but is so different from what we've been taught. You'll realize this God we believe in cannot be contained that we have created for Him. It's so much more." I cling to this because I know that this Jesus that gave life to the dead, belonging to the forgotten, Family to the lonely, and changed my life from the inside out is still the same Jesus. Even though doubt pulses like blood through my veins, it is for those children who do not speak my language in other countries that keeps my faith alive. It is for all of these people that ignites my smoldering wick. It is how the heart of God still pulses through my veins just like the doubt. And this is what keeps me holding on.

unraveled

"When I know I've lost me,

will you come to find me?

Will you reintroduce me to your love?

Can you find all my pieces?

Can you put me back together?

They say you're the defender of my heart,

is it better this way?"

He hears my rewrite of the popular song. One I have sung over and over again, confidently. 

He hears my beating heart, throbbing with fear. If there is one thing I still know, it is this: 

He hears me, He knows me and He is still writing my story.

When I was little, my grandma always taught me not to pull on the loose strings of my clothes. I can hear her voice now, telling me how quickly it will unravel. She would remind me to be gentle with my tights as I pulled them onto my legs, "Careful, or they will tear." I always had tears in my leggings growing up, I was playful and reckless.

I didn't know the same would go for faith. 

As curious as I am, there was a loose string. I kept tugging at it, mesmerized at the way it all unraveled before me. Shocked at how quickly it came apart, wasn't it rooted on solid ground? And now, here I am, sitting on the floor, surrounded by the loose threads of my faith, wondering if beauty can be made from even this. Here I am, pleading with someone to answer: is this a good thing or not?

I told a friend about my unraveled tapestry.

She said, "Leah, if it helps - this makes sense. Mid-twenties, graduating college, trauma and a personality adamantly against ambiguity. It was bound to happen." 

This is one of the scariest places I have ever stood. It is also one of the most beautiful. It is a view from the mountain I have never seen before. I am grateful for the support I have found here. I am grateful for the stories I have heard here. It feels like a valley, but the view is wonderful. I am not afraid, because I know Jesus is here. Slowly, He is stripping away the parts of my theology that were far from him. 

I cannot be silent in this place.

It would be simply unfair of me to only post my revelations. 

I must invite you into my journey because I know I am not alone. 

I know that there are others who are deeper in this journey than me.

I have given Jesus my unraveled tapestry. I don't know how long it will take, but I hope the end result is more beautiful than I can imagine. I hope the same for you. 

"I like your Jesus, I don't like your Christians."

I remember when she said it. Sitting across from her at the lunch table in tenth grade, she was constantly challenging my faith as I believed I was witnessing to her.

"I like your Jesus, I don't like your Christians."

It didn't make sense to me. I knew there were some bad Christians out there, fakes I would call them. But for the majority, the people I knew loved Jesus and loved people. Her statement was far beyond my capacity to understand. And now, all these years later, I find myself uttering the same words. 

I heard those words again from another friend, years later. And I started to imagine what it would be like to take him to Church with me. My long-haired guy friend. I could see it. I would bring him into Church and someone who looks him up and down and walk right past him. I think this is when it began. I am grateful for him. He pointed out some blatant flaws that I had missed before. He made me realize that my answers for his questions were like a kid using Elmer's glue. The questions had grown, no longer little pieces of paper to glue together, but boulders, huge and menacing, that my Sunday school answers no longer measured up to. 

I started to say those words. I started saying them when I watched a Christian institution walk right over my friend who was suffering from a diagnosable mental health condition and ask her if she had sin in her life that was causing this. I started saying these words when I heard Christians talk about mental health as a faith issue, rather than a real medical concern. The doubt grew like cancer throughout my body and heart as the people who claimed to be Christ followers looked less and less like Christ and more and more like a country club. 

I haven't wanted to write this blog. I haven't wanted to admit to myself that I had questions. That my faith is on shaky ground. I haven't wanted to admit it to you, my readers. Because I know what some of you will think. I know some of you will be concerned, I know there will be talk. But I can no longer pretend that it all makes sense to me. I can no longer say that I know what is right and what is wrong. I can no longer say the Bible gives clear answers on homosexuality or the age of the earth or politics. I can no longer say I agree with the Church of my origin that women cannot be in ministry, that salvation is predetermined, that missions look a certain way, that we should send away the immigrants and build a wall, that speaking in tongues is dead and healing can no longer be miraculous and instantaneous. I can't live that way anymore. And please, if you have concerns, I beg of you to reach out to me. If you are concerned about me, I want you to tell me. I want to have these conversations with you, rather than feeling alone under the weight of these questions. If you have questions, tell them to me. I want to know that I am not the only one who feels the quakes of the earth and looks around to see if anyone else is feeling them too. 

This does not mean I am doubting Jesus. He is still my everything. I am doubting the institution that I know is the Church. I am doubting the rules and rituals we have created. I am doubting the 'safety' of American Christianity. 

Today in Church we sang "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom." 

He is here. I can still feel him. I can still cling tightly to the truth of his goodness, his resurrection power, his hope. I know he goes with me to this valley of questions. I have found freedom here, but I have also found fear. It is a fear of loneliness, a fear of being misunderstood. So if you're reading this, I want to hear your thoughts. I ask you to reach out to me and share your thoughts about this, whether positive or negative. Let us not be in the dark with these questions.

no condemnation

Eyes unwavering from the ground. She was in awe of the words he was carving into the dusty ground. And there was sudden peace, as her heart, fearful and raging, slowed to a normal pace. 

She watched what he wrote, used to those who drew lines, this man was writing words. He was different than the disappearing crowd before them. And then they were gone, the whispers were gone, the accusations were gone, finally.

As she lifts her eyes to this man,

there is something she has never seen before.

The embodiment of gentleness,

the kindness of love.

And for the first time in her life, there was no judgment in the eyes before her, there was no raging desire for the body she had to offer, there was no disgust at her lifestyle or condemnation for her actions.

There was only grace. 

And then he spoke, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?"

She looked around, lightness in her chest. "No one, Lord."

And Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more."

This man who had every right to condemn her, every right to throw the first stone, every right to carve her sins in the ground and throw her into an eternity of condemnation, set her free and forgave her. He knew of her sins, the adultery, the lying, the deceiving. He knew. 

But when he looked in her eyes, he did not see her sin. He saw her heart. When she looked in his eyes, she did not see condemnation. She saw his heart, gentle, kind and loving.

How have we been like this woman, eyes frozen on the ground, afraid to lift our eyes to the Savior, terrified that in His eyes we will see a condemnation for all that we have done wrong?

How have we been like the Pharisees, first in line to throw our stones, angry and judgmental at lifestyles we do not understand, pain hidden by sin, demanding that Jesus give us permission to throw our stones?

Guilty of both, fearful of the stones and ready to throw them, I look into Jesus' eyes and only see gentleness. I hear his voice, as clearly as this woman did, and it is just as kind.  

In the past few years of my life, I have ventured on this journey of examining my stones, examining my own sin and dropping them. Jesus said, "Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her." This line has been so convicting. How can we throw our stones when we also have sinned?

When all of the judgment falls away, what is left is me and Jesus.  His gentleness and kindness is an invitation to be safe and to love well. Others actions do not matter as much to me as the call to love them, to be a safe space for them, to be an invitation to meet Jesus.

you are enough

Who was it that told you about this imaginary timeline?
Tell me who it was that told you that you missed it.
Was there a specific person or was it this cruel society that robbed you of your joy?

Let me explain. I see fire in your eyes.
A burning when you tell me of your passions.
How you want to bind the wounds of the hurting hearts,
How you want to share the truth with the broken,
you want to bring Jesus to the lost
you want to guide the lonely mothers,
you want to bring an end to depression and anxiety
you want to break stigmas
Your eyes light up when you talk about this,
your voice gets lighter
and your cares dissipate
I see what you were designed for.

I also see the glaze in your eyes when you look around and everyone seems to be arriving.
Oh, sweet friend, each journey is so different.
Can you not see that the one who has been pushing herself since she left her hometown is crumbling?
Can you not see that the one who is following her dream has lost her passion?
Can you not see that the one who has fallen in love has lost her calling?
There is no place to arrive, there is no one destination for all.

When did this disconnect happen?
The serpent crawled in on his belly
whispered lies about your worth
gave false definitions of happiness
stole the joy from the calling of the Lord

he stripped truths and twisted them around your neck into lies
this one you are dying under:
you are not enough

I feel the quickness of your hammering heartbeat as you lay your head on my chest
I can see the floodgates behind your eyes
pleading with me: is this really all there is?

But it didn't start here, did it?
It began when your childhood wasn't a childhood
and there was trauma
and abuse
and hard work

when the suffocation first began
don't dress that way
don't talk like that
smile, don't cry
be quiet, we're in church
They never gave you a chance to be who you were

When you grew, it was a choice
put on the corset
follow your dreams
but do it right
go to college
get married
have kids.

but that wasn't you.

I am so sorry they made you believe this.
I am so sorry they made you believe that being you was not enough.

I have to tell you. You are enough. Exactly as you are. Whether you finish the degree or not. If you take a break or not. When you quit your job. You are enough. You were created in the image of God and he made you enough, not for your salvation, but for you, for your passions, for your dreams. You are not too much. You are not too far gone. You are not too far off track. You are completely and wonderfully enough.

What I need you to know is this: it is okay to stop. It is okay to breathe. It is okay to slow down. There is no race. The only important thing is this: God. He has no timeline and he is gentle in his call. He asks us to take his yoke upon from him for his yoke is easy and light. Let us take a moment to know how kind he has been to our weary hearts. It is okay to slow down, my friends. Take time for you, take time to heal, take time to play. We serve a God who calls us to gentleness and patience, who calls us to different times and places. Please stop rushing, please stop racing.

this is for you

maybe New Year's was not a joyful celebration but a deep sigh of relief: you are still here. you are stronger than you thought.
maybe it was a small smile of hope because you knew that on your own you were not capable.
But those people, those stubborn, beautiful people you call your friends won't let go of you.
and maybe you went to sleep happy but you woke up and it was the same.

the same messy thoughts.
the same family.
the same hellish confusion.
the same school.
the same problems.
the same you.

maybe you're discouraged,
because maybe, like me, you battle lies that tell you that you barely moved forward.
that it was a waste of a year. that you didn't make an impact.

oh sweet friend, I know what it's like.
the lies get so loud sometimes, and it feels like you've fallen off the mountain that you have baby stepped your way up.
you spend all this time letting your heart be healed, but just when you think you are ready to expose your scar to the world, you realize, the skin wasn't yet strong enough and you are bleeding again and it hurts the same and you wonder if you will ever be whole again.

if I'm being honest it was a long year. it was a hard year. I spent a lot of nights breathing prayers into my pillowcase as my exhausted mind drifted into sleep. there was a lot of anxiety, pressing heavy into my heart, for silly little things, evidence of a much deeper pain. There was the constant voice of my therapist in my head: "Leah, lean into the anxiety, you are not in control." There was a release of shame that I even saw a therapist, to admit my need and put it before other things. and there was a whole lot of trust. an opening of my clenched fists, realizing nothing was there in the first place and a filling of hope. I convinced myself I was holding onto things only an omniscient God had the ability to hold together. I convinced myself that I was protecting everyone I loved by being everywhere all the time, constantly having my phone on, sacrificing my sleep, my time and myself.
this is not selflessness.
I learned that self-care is putting others first. I learned that it isn't always bubble baths, but its journaling my mess of thoughts, its stepping onto an airplane and walking straight into the unknown, its admitting that I'm broken too. And its a long long long walk, finally letting my thoughts slip into silence and my heart calm.

Let me tell you. I am in awe of you. The way you keep shining after the night you didn't think you would survive. The way you stand after the panic knocked the breath out of your lungs again. The way you love the broken with all your broken pieces. I am amazed by you. The way you pursue your degree. The way you stepped down from a promotion to take care of you. The way you donate to charities even though you barely made ends meet. The way you fall in love even when your heart has been broken. The way you courageously talk about the light, slicing your darkness to ruins. I am so proud of you. You feel like you haven't made any progress but look at the mountains you have conquered. Turn around and see their power and splendor. You didn't let them stop you. I am in awe of you. You have such a beautiful soul.
Please realize that so many people are in awe of you. Please know how lovely you are. Please don't let the world tell you any differently.

If the lies are winning, look up.

If the lies have your eyes tethered to the ground, reach out.

If the lies locked your hands in chains, cry out.

Because my love, the truth is for even you.