From Where I'm Standing

there are a ton of other things i could say, but i want to move on because that’s not why i sat down to write. i’m writing to you dear friends, because i made a promise to be courageous this year. an aspect of being courageous is being vulnerable, especially about things that are uncomfy. here’s some uncomfy for ya.

this morning i watched a livestream of an Easter service at the church i used to attend in Denver. i haven’t listened to a sermon, gone to church, or opened a bible in a while. like, months upon months. i stopped all those things, not because i grew “lukewarm” or because i got busy. no, i did it intentionally because i finally took some questions off the shelf around and about Christianity. they had been sitting there for a while, unaddressed, even when i deconstructed my faith for the first time 6 years ago. i’m not talking about more “open handed issues” like predestination, hell, gifts of the spirit, or even same sex attraction being sinful. crucial ideologies of the Christian faith were up in the air. dusty questions about salvation, sanctification, the crucifixion, and jesus being god incarnate. i’ve resolved within myself some of those after grappling for 6 months. but two of them are left as question marks even now. 

i’ve gone back and forth between not calling myself a Christian anymore and then a “sortof Christian” because i felt a fraud for claiming to be apart of a belief system when i didn’t hold many, many fundamental beliefs (often political) that the average American Christian held. and i really didn’t want people to make assumptions about my alignment on those topics if i did say i’m “a Christian”. where i was felt too complicated and too messy and too difficult to articulate. i was terrified of walking away from Christianity and telling friends and family, because i wasn’t sure what relationships would be left. fear of abandonment is real guys. but so is the intense need to be transparent and authentic (in case you’d like any more confirmation, yes, i am an enneagram four. hi.). i began simply saying, “i believe in god” and left it at that. i also avoided it because i didn’t want to debate with anyone about any of it. it was far too personal. and contrary to what some of you might think, i sincerely hate arguing. it makes my stomach whirl, my heart skip beats, and tears prick like needles in my eyes but i quickly shove aside those physical reactions in the midst of arguments and debates because i can’t seem weak or else my reality will get denied and i am just so tired of my reality getting denied so i argue sharply and in my defensiveness occasionally sprout off some verbal slap in the face intentionally so they will shut up and not deny my reality further. that was a run-on sentence if ever there was one, but i’m not going to correct it because i need you to feel the anxiety i feel. yes, i fully know that defensive mechanism is super not okay and i’m getting better at letting that ugliness die, instead pursuing connection in the midst of conflict. therapy is so helpful my doods.

back to topic. i don’t know what to refer to myself as when it comes to faith and god and all that jazz. so i’m not labeling myself. what i do know is this:
i believe in love. i believe love wins. i believe that love is enough. and i believe that god is love. 

this doesn’t negate the tension in my head and heart, flooding into my daily life. i have been working so hard to build a dam up against this flood in order to prevent drowning. 

the dam burst this week. 

i thought i was going to drown, then i remembered that i know how to lie on my back and float. so here i am, floating. and in this floating, i hold the tension. 

the tension between suffering and hope. 

between anger and affection. 

between grief and joy. 

the tension between gratitude and disgust. 

between doubt and empathy.

between excitement and sadness. 

for years now, i have grown weary of holding the tension to the point of avoidance. it’s heavy and sticky and unpleasant. i have shifted its weight and grasped to hold on, like when moving an awkward piece of furniture out of a room with a stupidly narrow door somewhere in virginia in the middle of july. sweat streams down your skin inside your tank top clinging to your body and the furniture starts to slip from your wet hands. you don’t know how it got into the room to begin with, but feel a twinge of determination to strategize mix with strong desire to let it fall to the ground so you can get some ice water. the tension. 

today, i am done refraining from picking up that awkward piece of furniture and instead i’m holding it. because in doing so, i am no longer denying my own reality. i am no longer attempting to protect myself. i am no longer separating the black from the white, with one hand pressed to one side and the other halting the opposite side, but letting the two slam together, creating a perfect gray. 

it is in this gray that i find parts of myself again. it is in this gray that i feel an inner peace i’ve not felt since i was a relatively sheltered 18yo, confined by the ease that growing up in Colorado Springs brings. back before i learned about the strength of addiction and the ache of accidental death and anguish of heartbreak. before i understood how precious community is, how new cities can become home, and the unexplainable power of love and acceptance. here, now, is a peace rippling over my toes as if i am standing in the creek in southern Monument with the lightness of my friends laughing, as we splash each other’s thick cotton t-shirts with the words “wing like eagles” printed across them. wings like eagles. yes. that is where i choose to sit in this tension. on the magnificent wings of this mighty bird who looks so fragile and elegant from far away. the tension, the paradox; utterly unorthodox. that is where i am. 

if you find yourself in the gray waters too, i hope you’ll float with me. hold that tension as we sit on the wings of eagles. we are the truth seekers. the joy seekers. the deep feelers. the pursuers of authenticity. the believers in sole answer of love. 

with deep affection and anguish,