“I’m in the mood where I come all untied.” –Wakey Wakey, War Sweater
I can feel myself unraveling, coming untied. Wrestling with more than one struggle at the same time. Monsters that won’t stop.
I write to work things out. I write to remember the Holy Spirit is there. I write because I can’t help it. I lie awake at night wondering what God has for our lives. I wonder why we went to seminary sometimes. I wonder if that decision was the result of some strange indigestion. Like the aftermath of bad Chinese food for three years straight.
I get up and ask what The Church needs and how I can live in to my gifts and why, oh why, can’t my passions just be within the realm of acceptable actions for someone who is a young mom? I wonder why the church has adopted marketing and consumerism. So similar to the rest of the way we live our lives that most people don’t even know it’s there when they enter the room with the pews.
I don’t want to be cynical, as so many are. I just want to be obedient.
Apparently that means not sitting still. Or rather sitting still in the mess?
I’m choosing to ask the questions and let them be there. The guilt and the shame are the results of not fitting in. But then, I guess I never really have. Because I’ve secretly felt these questions for a long, long time.
I’m exploring what it might mean to be a spiritual director. Maybe even an ordained deacon someday. I identify with women who are saying they think God made them wrong because they love to preach and that well-behaved women won’t change the church. They are saying what I’ve never felt I could.
My husband bought books about women and ministry for a school assignment. He chose the topic. I told him it was my issue to wrestle with but he’s choosing to wrestle with it too. And I love him for that. I love him for sitting in the unraveling mess with me.
I’m coming untied.