Turning the Page

“Trauma took away choice. Part of healing from trauma means one must choose whether she/he will love again, care again, and reach for another human being again. Surviving and then telling our story returns that to us.” –Diane Langberg

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 I can’t do it anymore. 

 

I can’t read books about leadership, and spiritual abuse, and the history of fundamentalism in America. At least not for a while…

 

I didn’t finish Jesus and John Wayne. Had already lived the effects of that book.

 

I didn’t finish A Church Called Tov: Forming a Goodness Culture that Resists Abuses of Power and Promotes Healing because when I got to the second half of the book, I got a lump in my throat as this thought popped out: “As if the North American church gives a sh*t about a goodness culture.” That book has stayed closed. (Yep, I never use that language here but there just isn’t another way to say it.)

 

I recently did finish The Lord Is My Courage. Fabulous book. Underlined a ton. But even that one I had to take a few days away from because of how GOOD she was treated by a few pastors (you read that right—GOOD) after the hell she and her husband had endured in a former church. The kind of goodness, care, and tenderness I’ve seen my own pastor husband bestow on others in ministry spaces. But now these spaces are hard for us to even walk inside as a family. And the sadness came…

 

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God chose things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise. And he chose things that are powerless to shame those who are powerful.

1 Corinthians 1:27 (NLT)

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I think we’re all pretty aware of the downfall of Harvey Weinstein. Thus, spun the #MeToo movement and the #ChurchToo movement. That's right. It took Hollywood to help reveal the abuse going on in churches!

 

And why? Why did these things spread so quickly? Because finally, someone was giving language to so many who have been powerless and silenced for WAY too long.

 

I found myself grieving that I had not stood up to a man who had sexually harassed me at my first job out of college. Making matters worse, the only other woman in the office, whom I had known from another circle of my (Christian) community was defending HIM, not me. I can’t get into specifics because of a NDA. But believe me when I say the man was rich, powerful, and even known in DC. 

 

I wish I had known then I didn’t have to sign that paperwork. That by doing so I probably just perpetuated the abuse to continue for other women who came after me. Blah. Guilt. (And side note: you better believe I’ve had that talk with my daughters about reporting harassment and assault.)

 

In addition to the topple of Weinstein, you’ve probably also read the stories of countless others who are not out of jobs because those they oppressed were given a voice. Kevin Spacey, Matt Lauer, Charlie Rose, and many more.

 

One of the saddest reveals to me was that of Mark Schwahn, creator of my beloved show One Tree Hill. The actresses—Hilarie, Sophia, and Joy—had endured unspeakable harassment and sexualization. They are quiet no more. They are empowered.

 

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Believe it or not, I heard my first episode of the Drama Queens podcast the week I finally got to visit Wilmington, NC. I walked where these three wounded women walked.

 

As they shared memories of filming One Tree Hill in Wilmington, I’m practically yelling, “I just went there” at my computer.

 

When the actresses mentioned being able to smell the ice cream and chocolate shop named Kilwin’s a block away, I had to pause the podcast and tell Jeff what they had just said. He and I agreed, “Yes, you can smell the waffles cones from several doors down!” It is delightful. 

 

Drama Queens is somewhere around 60 episodes now. Part of the podcast is conducting a rewatch of the show and giving behind the scenes information. I’ve listened to every episode. I can’t tell you the joy it has given me to rewatch episodes and then listen to these women give behind the scenes details. They are respectful but truthful. Professional but not afraid to laugh at the foolishness of their younger years.

 

There was an innocence and also a darkness that clouded their experiences.

 

The cast had been told they were shooting a light-hearted story of a kid from “the wrong side of the tracks.” It was supposed to be narrated by the wise basketball coach at the school in their small town. Instead, they found themselves in a show that decided to compete against The OC, another popular, highly sexualized show released around the same time.

 

These women fought. They fought as hard as they could as young actresses in their twenties. 

 

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I knew long ago that Bethany Joy Lenz (she goes by “Joy”), who played my favorite character Haley, was a Christian. In fact, as a child, she sang in a production of Psalty the Singing Songbook. You can find the video on YouTube. I admired Joy’s ability to act and yet maintain her values and convictions. Shockingly, Mark Schwahn even mentioned once in an interview that he admired her principles. 

Still he pushed the lines.

One of my favorite discoveries is when Sophia Bush points out that she was angry at the producers, etc for making her wear such a short skirt in a particular scene that she told them they would regret that decision the next day when she would be allowed to pick her own clothing for the rest of the scenes. The next scene shows Sophia wearing a turtleneck.

 

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Now choose life, so that you and your children may live. 

Deuteronomy 30:19 (NIV)

 

A joyful heart helps healing, but a broken spirit dries up the bones.

Proverbs 17:22 (CEB)

 

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One of the most important life lessons I’ve learned is that we have the power, given by the Holy Spirit, to fight back the powers of darkness. It’s found in laughter, and joy, and continually pursuing the things that give us life.

 

Books on leadership are not giving me life. Books on how to promote a goodness culture are not giving me life. Books about other pastors who are making it are not giving me life.

 

What is giving me life is hearing about, reading about, and witnessing those who were powerless find their voice. Those who were once oppressed, being able to get louder and louder so that they are no longer ignored. 

 

On Drama Queens, the women are able to laugh. They are able to recall where they found life in the darkest of days.

 

In a scene on the second season of One Tree Hill, Hilarie Burton Morgan's character, Peyton, goes to a confessional at a church to ask for forgiveness and help with her desires to turn to drugs for dealing with the pain of disappointment and grief.

 

On that episode of the Drama Queens podcast, Sophia and Joy complimented Hilarie on how honest her performance had been. They asked what her inspiration had been. She said that before they shot the scene, she grabbed a hymnal and opened it to the song called, “In the Garden” and placed the open hymnal at her feet for the filming of the scene. She recalled growing up in a Methodist church and how her youth pastor had a profound effect on her life. 

 

I knew it. This actress had never talked about her faith in any spaces I had found, but I just knew it was a strong foundation for her life. Also, you should have heard me yelling back at the dialogue on the podcast when the other actresses admitted they didn’t know the hymn “In the Garden.” What? Really?

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You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.

Psalm 30:11

 

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Hilarie now lives on a farm with her actor husband Jeffrey Dean Morgan in the small town of Rhinebeck, NY. She still acts. But now she also writes, hosts Drama Queens, and produces a show called “It Couldn’t Happen Here,” a crime documentary series set in small towns. She sits with people who have lost loved ones to unspeakable crimes.

 

Hilarie’s first book is a memoir titled The Rural Diaries. At her request, I ordered it from the independent bookstore in Rhinebeck. The book has been sitting on my shelf for a long time.

 

I picked it up this week, and it is giving me LIFE. As a result, I decided to write tonight. To find my own voice and to believe that I, too, can fight back the darkness with joy. 

 

In fact, that’s how I got myself back to church after some hurtful events. I laughed at the ignorance of those who hurt us and decided their foolishness and lack of understanding about who I am/we are (if they ever even TRIED to understand in the first place!) can’t keep me from being in a place that gives me life.

 

So, I’m going to keep reading, writing, and, of course, talking back to the dialogue on the podcast. 

 

Last, but not least read THIS ARTICLE. Trust me.

Identity Crisis

The whole moving to Kansas things got started with a Facebook discussion on noodling. I made a (joking) comment about it having something to do with pasta. (It has nothing to do with pasta! Google it.)

A few minutes later, I received a private message from a children’s pastor who was an acquaintance at the time through my job. She mentioned that her church in Overland Park was looking for a couple of pastors and wanted to know if Jeff might be interested in one of the positions. They specifically wanted someone who was just out of seminary or about to finish. This fit Jeff perfectly at the time. (He was 17 credits away from graduating from Denver Seminary.)

 

So, we got in touch with a main contact given to us. Jeff shared with her that we were focused on church planting specifically. What we heard is that the church wanted someone to come be on staff for a year to lead the small groups. But that the plan was for this individual (well, both individuals they were hiring) to church plant soon and they would raise the team for the plant and give them the funds to plant. 

 

I was unsure. I mean…moving to Kansas? Meh, maybe. I do like the Midwest and had visited KC several times while in college in Omaha. We played sports against a Bible college on the KCMO side. (That’s Kansas City, Missouri. The other is KCK, and it stands for Kansas City, Kansas. I learned quickly when I moved there! Ha.)

 

We shared the information about the opportunity with our then pastor (now our Bishop). He was excited for us and said, “When an opportunity like this comes up, you go!”

 

Strangely, other trusted individuals in our church and circles were coming up to us saying the same word: “Go!” I would ask them if they were talking to each other. They said they hadn’t and that this is what they heard when they prayed for us. I, too, heard “Go” while lying in bed one night.

 

So we prepared to do that—to GO.

 

We flew to Overland Park for interviews and meetings. Jeff shared many emails and phone calls with the person hiring him from the church (who would be his boss). She seemed to have a jovial spirit. I admired her leadership as a woman in the church.

 

Jeff was offered the job, and we put our house up for rent. We loaded a truck. Then pulled a trailer on the back of that truck because we ran out of room on the truck. (Underestimated the size due to how many books we have!)

 

And off we set, going east on I-70. 

 

Just inside the KS border, Kyla said, “I don’t see anything. You said the place would have buildings." Hahaha! I assured her it would and held my breath we wouldn’t break down. Have you ever been on I-70? There’s barely anything there!

 

About halfway through KS, I got a call from Jeff. He was very upset. Our contact at the church blew up at him over the phone because we left CO late and wouldn’t make it to the service on time early the next morning. I guess she had arranged to introduce us and the other couple coming on board(?)

 

There was nothing we could do at this point. But my heart sank. What in the world was going on?

 

****

 

We got to town too late to check into our townhouse. The property management office was closed so Jeff’s boss got us a hotel room. She said she would come by in between services the next morning to pay our room bill for us. We waited and waited. Finally, we paid it ourselves and drove over to the townhouse.

 

As many ministry jobs do, this one started off well. There were many, many kind people in our new church! I liked so many people on Jeff’s direct ministry team. They set to work getting Jeff enrolled in classes (as they said they would help him find a way to finish seminary even though we weren’t near Denver Seminary anymore).

 

But about a month in, I opened the bulletin and a 20/20 Vision brochure fell out.  (Be honest…how many churches had those in the last decade? How are they going now? is the question. Hooray for 2020!)

 

We had received one of these brochures when we visited prior to accepting the job. But this one was different. The goal of “Church Planting” had been removed.

 

This concerned me, and I pointed it out to Jeff. We tried not to let us get too upset.

 

Unfortunately, it was just the beginning of some really confusing and hard events. For us and for the church too.

 

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Jeff was ordained to diaconate (became a deacon—a step in the process of becoming a priest) in early October of that year. We had been in KS for about six weeks. 

 

I hadn’t met the wife of the other new pastor. Our understanding based on what we’d been told was that we would be planting with them and I wanted to get to know her. I approached her with just a little bit more enthusiasm than I would just a parishioner because “we were in this thing together!” right?

 

Uh. No. Don’t think so. She looked at me like I was nuts. She didn’t seem to have the same understanding I did. 

 

I sat down a couple seats over and thought. WHAT.IS.HAPPENING?

 

A few weeks after that, Jeff’s boss went MIA. 

 

Only a couple people knew where she was. I understand totally that she needed a break. I think she was dealing with some personal things. I’m wasn’t necessarily upset with her. But I was baffled that no one stepped in to help Jeff or the other new pastor. They were left on their own to figure out what they should be doing and neither of them knew too many people in the church at the point. Confusion set in.

 

Another month went by and we heard rumblings about some problems within the whole denomination. Jeff asked what it was and the answer he was given was odd. It didn’t seem like the kind of issues that would upset this many people so much.

 

Jeff’s boss returned. We went to CO for Thanksgiving. Jeff met with our previous pastor and found out the real reason for the rumblings. I’m sure the answer he had been given in KS was just to keep people from being too upset, especially if it all turned out to be nothing. The original answer wasn’t really a lie. More like a very, VERY small piece of the BIG part.

 

(Please know that in leadership, sometimes you give small answers, as a parent does for a child. It’s part of shepherding and I get that.)

 

But then, there it was in the first part of December. The denomination was splitting. 

 

It was disheartening. And it brought up a ton of questions for clergy. In Anglican world, it’s proper to remain tied to the Church of England. A person breaking off was making that hard to impossible. It caused a crisis for many clergy.

 

And it certainly caused that for the leadership and Bishop we were under at that time. The Bishop went back and forth about who to follow and how in the larger Anglican world. This unsettling lasted for a couple of months. And when a decision was made, it became obvious that the church was on a different path than we were for how to remain Anglican. 

 

I will say this a million times. It wasn’t a them vs. us thing. It was “they feel called here and we feel called there.” Prior to the main leader splitting from the umbrella that held us all, it wasn’t a problem. Now it was.

 

We prayed for clear answers as Winter turned into Spring. Lent happened.

 

And some other things were becoming obvious to me. I was invited to a “soul healing” group. I went to one of the members for prayer (about personal stuff, not the church stuff). And the whole time I was being prayed over, I actually felt as if I was being oppressed, like something was on my chest, trying to squeeze the life out of me. Jeff was there for the session, just observing. 

 

When I got to the car, I was crying SO hard and told him, “I am NEVER DOING THAT AGAIN. SOMETHING WAS WRONG.” I later found out a group of people from the church were following the ministry of Andrew Wommack (actually based in Colorado). That made sense to me!! I don’t even know what to say about that man. I’ve pulled up his website and *shudders*…there is something not right there. 

 

So…there was that group operating. (And I believe they weren’t out to hurt anyone. Lovely people. They were simply operating with what they had been taught and told by that outside uh….voice…?)

 

Another dynamic was that another clergy member had gotten their degree from a non-Anglican seminary. One that was focused on one specific denomination. I don’t think one HAS to go to an Anglican seminary. (Den Sem isn’t one….) But some of what they said and preached reminded me of the legalism I had experienced as a child. 

 

I remember one teaching vividly…. 

 

It started off in the morning. We are (still to this day!) really good friends with a couple we met right after we arrived. We clicked immediately. (So much so that we are thinking of getting a plot of land to all retire on together. Kidding…well, maybe!! )

The husband had been in the morning service. I often sat in the coffee shop area during the morning services and then listened and attended the evening service. There were various reasons for this, but it helped me be available for Jeff, my kids, and people in the church who simply need a listening ear if I sat in one place in the hustle and bustle of the morning.

 

Jeff had sat down next to me for a few minutes in between running around and got a text from our friend. It said, “Has Becca heard the sermon yet?” Jeff told him I would hear it in the evening. He said, “Ok….let me know what she thinks.”

 

 I forget the sermon topic that day but it was during Lent so it was on sins and confession and repenting and all that goodness. (I actually have an appreciation for confession. Have taught a whole class on it.) This evening it was straight up law and shame. The teacher said, “If you aren’t turning off your television to go out and witness to your neighbors, then you don’t really love Jesus!!”

 

OH. OHHHHHH. NO, SIR. I put my hands into a fist and my entire body tightened. I couldn’t stand for the final worship song. Anything after that line was a blur. When we were dismissed, I ran….RAN to our Ford Explorer. Jeff grabbed the girls and ran after me. 

 

We got in the car. I distinctly remember waiting until all the doors were shut and I effing lost it.

 

Like screaming, crying, F words, S words, hitting the steering wheel. The girls started to cry. I couldn’t help the tirade. 

 

Why does nearly every church I go to do this to people in the name of Jesus!?!?

 

(The only church that hasn’t done that from the pulpit has been International Anglican 

Church. Oh, there have been individuals there in the 15 years. But the teaching and leadership speak of grace, goodness, and love. They don’t skirt sin. But they don’t use it to bash either. It’s spoken of in the appropriate terms and in the appropriate tone. But I digress…..)

 

We stopped at Taco Bell because there was no way I was going to cook dinner once I got home that evening. Our friend texted us, “How is Becca?” Jeff texted back, “Well, currently crying and cussing.”

 

And that kind of describes the rest of our time there. I calmed down, of course. But it was hard to shake all of what had happened at this point. 

 

After Easter, Jeff talked with a main pastor about his options. The pastor shared that he desired Jeff to stay on staff, if possible. He acknowledged Jeff’s gifts in leadership and preaching. Jeff asked about the whole church planting thing. The pastor didn’t know what we had been told prior to being hired, that it had been emphasized to us so much. He said he didn’t know when the plant would happen and that a portion of the church wasn’t in favor at the point so that’s why it was removed from the literature. 

 

There was a lot of miscommunication mixed with the denomination mess. In the end, we decided to depart back to Colorado Springs.

 

I am now nine years removed from that situation. I can honestly say that I still believe that God sent us there. I would embrace any individual from that church, and I have forgiven those who hurt us. I also believe the hurt wasn’t intentional. It was a product of a crisis and a lack of identity when some strings were pulled apart there. 

 

I still cheer for this church from afar. They did eventually church plant, about six years later. We know the pastor of the plant and he’s great. I was especially grateful for his wife. She was so kind to me and our family when we were in KS.

 

Additionally, I could see from afar that a change was made to right what had been wrong in the miscommunication we received on the front end of moving there. It was a subtle change. But to me it spoke of humility and a desire of that community to move forward in a new and different way.

 

For me, nine years later and several churches later, I’ll take it. And I thank God for the opportunity of Overland Park. 

(I tried to intentionally be vague on people and names. I have no desire to hurt any individuals or churches with this post. And know that I wrote it from my perspective of the events. Some details are hazy nine years later...!)

Stalking, Computer Tossing, and Credit Cards for Jesus (Part 2)

(Note: Part 1 can be found here.)

We got married on a perfect December day. 

As newly married people are, we were still optimistic about life and ministry. We were a little confused when I found out I was pregnant with Kyla less than two months into marriage. Surprise! We had found our way into a married student apartment on campus but had to leave soon because they don’t allow babies in the dorms. Jeff left the YMCA job, did some painting in between, and pursued a youth ministry position in a small town not far from Omaha.

We were familiar with this church and things were looking up.

Once again, we were offered a salary and benefits—such a good thing when you have a young family.

We moved into a small apartment in a typical Nebraska town with the Dairy Queen and Pizza Hut on the main drag. 

Jeff started his new job. On his first day, he was shown a list of people in the town to never speak to on condition of his employment. Apparently, there had been a church split we didn’t know about and wounds were still fresh. He came home kind of scratching his head about the list but whatever, I guess. I felt a little concerned because we didn’t know anyone in town. How would we know if we violated the list? I suppose we could always explain it was an accident……? I hoped….

By this time, we were both done with our Bible degrees. We thought we knew it all. (Haha!) It was not a joke at the time. But looking back, I can see some of the mistakes we made. I mean, we were taught that youth workers knew more than the parents. So, therefore, that’s the attitude we went in, neigh…JUMPED in with. We quickly—and I mean after one parent meeting—found out that this was perhaps not the best thing we learned in Bible college.

But things leveled out. In fact they went great! So great that the youth group doubled. We had parent volunteers begging to host small groups in their homes upon hearing how kids were clamoring to show up each week. Jeff started a discipleship group in our apartment. Kids were hungry to follow Jesus! It was exciting.

We also took a charter bus of the kids from eastern Nebraska all the way to a winter retreat in Colorado. Many had never been outside of the Nebraska, Iowa, South Dakota triangular area. There was genuine desire to connect with God that weekend. Jeff also took a group of kids skiing while we were there. As you can imagine, so many had never even seen skis. I prayed that entire day that no one would break a leg. They all came back in one piece. Only incident that weekend? A cut toe from a kid jumping from the deck into snow in nothing but swim trunks. He had been in the hot tub moments prior. Kids…..sigh.

We came home from that trip on a high. Kids remained in the groups. Our adult volunteers were growing in all ways too.

We had been given a small budget that was tapped out by this time because of the growth. The kids had paid their own way on the retreat. But there was still a long way to go re: ministry that year. Many months to fill. At one point I calculated that we had $.80 per kid in the youth group for the rest of the year. Jeff couldn’t really even take kids to DQ for ice cream on that kind of money. To keep the momentum and simply have the basics we needed for teaching and leading, Jeff and I started using our personal credit cards to pay for things. We needed resources for ministry. We had none. 

I was volunteering my own time to do monthly newsletters. It was rough on our marriage, especially the one time I used the wrong, outdated address labels. (Oopsie….) And Jeff was told to never turn off his cell phone. There was no excuse to not be available 24/7. Jeff started to experience health issues from the stress. They felt like our families and kids to shepherd. We cared about them. But it was getting harder to sustain our current pace in many ways.

Because we cared about the youth group, Jeff sought to fight for them when the budget requests time came. He requested an admin for a few hours a week to do things like newsletters. Denied. He asked for more money for youth ministry in general. The entire church and community had noticed the growth. Still, the board said no.

The main reason? Kids and teens don’t generate revenue. The bulk of the money would go to media equipment in the main sanctuary. (Even though, that was where the bulk of the money went the previous year and there was already quite a set up going on in there.)

It was exhausting. We were tired. We didn’t see a way forward. And Jeff was beginning to wonder if pastoral work was his calling after all. We couldn’t live being ON 24/7. The doctor suggested he quit so he didn’t have a heart attack by the age of 35. 

Jeff decided to give it one more attempt to talk with the head of the elders to see if somehow we could get more support in ministry.

Final words: “Until you can prove to me how children and youth generate revenue, you can’t have another dime.”

Jeff came home. Walked to our calendar and circled a date for us to move to Colorado. He had been thinking of pursuing a Masters in Counseling. Being in church ministry was too hard. 

It was 2004, and we were done. 

A couple weeks before we left town, we got a strange phone call. It was an elder from the Baptist church telling us that Brother S had stolen money from the church. He shredded documents and threw the computer out the window. The church had no record of Jeff’s previous employment and they were trying to piece together old paperwork. 

The elder said, “We’re sorry, Jeff. We should have listened to you. You were right.”

I had always wondered what happened after we left that church and what happened to Brother S. I had still been concerned about his stalking, especially after we had Kyla. In fact, one day I went to our bank in Omaha and the teller I interacted with attended the Baptist church. I hid Kyla from the woman by tucking the baby carrier under the counter. I waited until she was distracted before I ran for the door.

While living in the small town, we had also still been receiving paper newsletters from the Baptist church. I wondered, How did he find us? It was several addresses later after all and more than two years later. I was convinced he was sending us a sign that he was “watching” us. I even kept an eye out for his unique truck. I do know the police were involved after his lovely tirade at the church. But I never heard if he went to jail.

At this point, we were even more ready for a new start. Stalking, computer tossing, and credit card use for Jesus would be over. And maybe Jeff could live beyond his mid-30s! We planned to never go back into pastoral ministry again.

Stalking, Computer Tossing, and Credit Cards for Jesus (Part 1)

The page on the job board promised a salary and a parsonage. It was a Baptist church not far away. We were engaged toward the end of college, and it seemed like a responsible thing to do—have a salary and home as part of the deal.

We met with the pastor—Brother S—for Jeff to talk with him about the youth ministry position. He was gregarious. Boisterous. Larger than life with his toothy grin. We could see the house across the street with the big, beautiful yard for barbeques with friends. It seemed like the right thing. It seemed like the right place. Before we headed off, the pastor opened his wallet and handed us some cash, telling us to go and get some dinner. Poor students. We were impressed by his generosity and headed off to find ourselves some Fazoli’s while we talked and dreamed of our future.

This was only the beginning. 

Oh that big, beautiful yard. What a headache. And the headache had a name. It was Larry. Larry was the groundskeeper of the church. He liked the lawn mowed a specific way and was also on Jeff for the smallest things. Sometimes we didn’t answer the door. That did not stop him from coming around the house poking around for something to add to his list of complaints. We quickly learned—no parsonage again. Ever.

And then there were the frequent drives to the electronics store. Brother S would recruit Jeff to help him in pick up random equipment. Expensive equipment. On the way, Brother S would stop across the street from random parishioner’s houses. He said he “just wanted to check on them.” But Jeff said it always felt weird. Like spying on them. Or stalking.

Brother S liked being in charge. He liked joking around with people in order to disarm them. Back then, he just seemed like a fun guy. But there were other little signs. Like the night his daughter ran over to the parsonage, screaming for help (they lived directly next to the church) and when we walked over with her, he grabbed her by the hair, yanked her in the house, and shut the door in our faces.

We were only 21. All we had known is that it’s not right to question our elders and so we didn’t, at least not on that occasion. Shook our heads and walked back home. But I will never forget that night. The horrified look on his daughter’s face. 

On another occasion, I was working evening VBS. Jeff was deathly sick (I ended up taking him to the ER that night). Brother S didn’t like that I brushed off a direct command he gave me in the sanctuary at the end of the evening. I don’t remember what it was but the way he addressed me was disrespectful and I wanted to leave to check on Jeff. I put both of my hands into a fist and walked out of the church. He bellowed, “Rebecca, don’t you dare walk away from me!” 

But I did. Looking back I’m proud of myself for leaving the building that night.

A few weeks later we got a call from our good friend who worked for the church. She had gone out of town and suddenly realized she couldn’t come back to the church. Not ever. She had been conned. Manipulated into activity she didn’t know was wrong. Until she was out of his grip. Away from his control over her.

Immediately, Jeff realized he could not stay either. If they stayed they might look like accomplices to suspicious endeavors led by Brother S. Jeff wrote a long, detailed letter to the elder board—a group of men the pastor had in his pocket OF COURSE. 

The elders denied all claims, refused to look into the accusations. Instead, Jeff had to quit. We were months away from our wedding. The only work Jeff could find was 10 hours a week at the YMCA. (I had to change jobs too during this time due to harassment in my workplace.) Jeff moved into an apartment with friends. They would see Brother S’s truck drive by frequently. It was unsettling. The month we got married, we were literally living on ramen noodles. We bought a giant case of them from the store. 

No salary. No home with a beautiful yard. No idea what we would do next. 

But I was proud of Jeff for standing up for the right thing. Also, I was a little scared of Brother Stan. 

And he would briefly find his way back into our lives, a couple years later…….

Three Favorite Things (June 2016 Edition)

Life is well….life. It’s messy and tiring and I’m tired with it. (Someone literally said to me tonight, “How are you? Are you okay? You look so tired!” So…yeah, tired confirmed. Not just in my head anymore. It’s also on my face.)

I haven’t written on the blog in a while because there have been some huge shifts in my life the last couple of years that I don’t feel free to share here. I’ve taken to journaling again and that helps satisfy my processing-by-writing desires a bit. I do often think of this space though, and how I miss it. For now, for today, I thought I would offer a few favorite things that connect to where I’m at, my passions that I still get glimpses of on some days, and tangible things that are just generally saving my life in the mess and tired.

Here we go…

Podcasts

As of last December, I’ve really gotten into podcasts. Specifically, I’m loving (LOVING) The Happy Hour with Jamie Ivey. When I discovered this podcast eight(ish) months ago, I binged all the back episodes. Now I never miss a new one. I get so excited for Wednesdays when new episodes are released (and then so sad after I’ve listened and it's over). Thankfully, every other week Jamie also releases a Happy Half Hour that adds an extra discussion into the mix.

Why is it so great? It helps me feel less alone—especially as a mom. Jamie features a variety of guests and it really feels like sitting at a Happy Hour with friends. The host asks great questions and I am able to keep listening even to guests I’ve heard in other places that I had a hard time hearing.

Specifically, this week she interviewed Alexandra Kuykendall, who is from Denver (apparently she’s distantly related to someone who married into our family). I just recently started following Alex’s books and writing within the last year. I appreciated her words about having a family where children are spanned out a bit. She has a span from 13 years old to 4 years old. Our family has a similar span. She expressed how there are simply things they can’t do as a family because of the age gaps, for example family bike riding. This helped me so much because I think I had a lot of ideas about things I would do with my family like camping or family bowling nights but we can’t. (Yes, I do know people take babies camping. We tried it with Kyla when she was a baby. Yeah. No.) Now I know it’s okay to accept these things. I don’t have to live up to these ideals I set literally back when I was growing up. There is a process to letting it go, but her words helped me knows it’s possible to accept that reality and move on to what we can do and who we actually are as a family.

Other Podcasts I’ve enjoyed:

Seminary Dropout (Shane Blackshear)

The RobCast (Rob Bell)

Sorta Awesome

Mud Stories

Lighten Up

TV

My most recent binge (thanks to original shows on Netflix)? Bloodline. It’s so painful to watch. And so, so good. First of all, let me say that if you’re a Friday Night Lights fan, John Rayburn (played by actor Kyle Chandler) is no Coach Taylor and it’s so hard to see. It hurts me. The Rayburn family is messed up with a capital M. But, rather than accept it and change, they feel a need to protect the family name and continue making messes. There are some serious moral issues that come up with these people and I find myself cheering for them to get away with major crimes. I know, I probably need help, but you watch it and see for yourself the wrestling that goes on. The writing is good. Twists and details that pull you back to earlier scenes you didn’t realize were key. I’m kind of intrigued with the setting of the show as well—the Florida Keys. It adds to how eerie the whole drama is. Created by the Kessler brothers. We also (painfully) enjoyed watching Damages starring Glenn Close produced by the same brothers.

Other shows worth binging on Netflix:

Fuller House (I loved every minute of it.)

Daredevil

Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt (Season 2—who didn’t love Tina Fey as a therapist by day who needed to call an Uber to rescue her by night?)

Broadchurch (BBC, why don’t you just rip out my mama-heart?)

Books

A few years ago, I stumbled on a featured columnist on McSweeneys named D.L. Mayfield. She’s quirky to say the least but so gifted. She has the ability to speak truth about fundamentalism—her having grown up in Pentecostalism, a different strain of legalism from myself. But I could relate to her stories, her failed attempts to evangelize, and overall desires to be a good Christian who saves the world. One of her other popular posts I like is The Ministry of Funfetti. I’m thrilled that her first book is releasing this August—on my birthday week. I just got a preview of Assimilate or Go Home: Notes from a Failed Missionary on Rediscovering Faith and it’s good. I can’t wait to read it all.

Additionally, I’m looking forward to this new release this summer: A Woman’s Place: A Christian Vision for Your Calling in the Office, the Home, and the World by Katelyn Beaty

Other books I recommend:

The Listening Life by Adam McHugh (First 5-star book I read this year. I couldn’t put it down. And no, it’s not about giving up your phone and computer.)

How to Survive a Shipwreck by Jonathan Martin

Spiritual Sobriety: Stumbling Back to Faith when Good Religion Goes Bad by Elizabeth Esther (I wanted to underline entire chapters of this book.)

Wild and Free by Jess Connolly and Hayley Morgan (Loved having two different voices speak to women about being too much and not enough. It was just right.)

Last but not least…

I’m loving bike rides with Jeff. Because we had Kyla so early in our marriage, we haven’t been able to cultivate many hobbies together (beyond Netflix binges and some occasional golfing) in the last 12 or 13 years. But Kyla is now old enough to watch her siblings while Jeff and I ride around the neighborhood. As with many things in life, it’s good and hard (because I'm out of shape) and freeing. And I like it.

Now off to journal…here’s my new one…

Feel Your Feelings

I thought I would like the Disney movie Frozen since I never had a sister and I love watching my own girls interact with one another. But I was wrong.

Three words: “conceal, don’t feel” made me feel uneasy.

Yes, I know it’s an animated film. But I kept thinking, “This family needs a therapist. Not a group of trolls.” (If you’re unfamiliar with the storyline of Frozen, you can read more here.)

In contrast to Elsa’s forced denial of feeling her feelings, I love Olaf. He doesn’t hold back. Everywhere he goes, he declares, “I’m Olaf, and I like warm hugs.”

A snowman who loves warm hugs. Awesome. Feel your feelings, Olaf. Do your thing.

“Well, I’m Becca. I like long naps and Netflix binges.” At least I do these days.

There’s a deep imprint in the cushions of my couch. I’ve spent a fair amount of time there in the last year. I blew through Scandal, Mad Men, and I’m a good way through Damages. A couple weekends ago, I was on a Nicholas Sparks movie marathon.

My couch has been a place of refuge recently. A place to feel my feelings. I wish it wasn’t true but I’ve felt I can’t get off it very easily. This is not the kind of woman/mother/wife I had envisioned but this is where I’ve been. On my couch, eating Pringles and letting myself be sad when I need to be.

This last year’s theme of hard is related to relationships. I am wondering if this is just part of adult life—like a seven-year-itch in friendships. An overhaul of sorts that happens as we move through the decades of change. We all have friends who wander in and out of our life based on seasons or places we live. I get that. But for some reason, this has been like every “bump” along the way is a seismic wave. Crash against my heart. Back to my couch.

I’ve even been paranoid in this last month, wondering if people are “out to get me”. It might seem silly that I would assume people are wasting that much time plotting against me. But it’s true. I made a request of someone and they did the opposite of what I asked. So then my mind goes between “Did they misunderstand me or did they do that on purpose? What is happening here?!”

Not long ago, so much happened in the course of two days, I was on the couch again. This time it hurt so much I couldn’t even move. Like I was paralyzed from pain. As much as I wanted to will myself from that place, I chose to let it be. I chose to feel my pain to the deepest level and let all the hurt of the days, weeks, and months wash over me. I didn’t want to deny the emotions. I knew that if I stuffed it down it would come out in unhealthy ways later. I didn’t want to hold it in anymore. I heard the phrase, “Feel your feelings” several times, like a permission. Like the Holy Spirit was curled up with me there.

The next day felt like a bit of an emotional hangover. Ever had one of those? Like after a day of crying when your eyes and your head still hurts. But there was also a release. A new beginning. And for the first time in a long time, I’m feeling hopeful about the gift of those who are most supportive in my life. I see how God is letting some light into the darkness.

I trace it back to that evening on the couch.

In A Beautiful Mess, Kristin Ritzau writes, “So often our culture operates with a results-based mentality instead of seeing the Holy Spirit sitting there with us in the pain, holding us while we cry, grieve, or cough. The Lord is saying, ‘This sucks,’ just as I am.”

A few pages later, she goes on to say, “Meeting God in our emotions is sanity, real sanity, not pretend stability. This real sanity does not mean that we will always be happy. More accurately, we will be able to stay with our emotional states and deal with them with care instead of dismissing them, erasing them, or exploding or stuffing them.”

I realize emotions are scary things. They are unpredictable. What if they take over? But I believe the God of the universe who gave me the emotions can handle them. He can handle us feeling deeply. He sits with us in our hurt. We can trust Him in those moments.

I also believe that feeling is a form of self-care. It’s a way to honor every part of us as we were made. God can work in these moments to bring healing and show us more of His love for us.

This week I was still pondering the phrase “Feel your feelings” and wondering where it originated. Did I make it up? Did God just put that there for me that evening? Nope.

I was almost sure someone along the way had said it to me at another time. I was right. As I was messing with my “Spiritual Formation” board on Pinterest, I spotted an old post by Jen Lee: What to Do when It Still Hurts. And #13—Feel Your Feelings.

My name is Becca. I feel my feelings. I’m also open to warm hugs.

*Note: In A Beautiful Mess, Kristin also notes that many people do not handle their emotions in healthy ways and the result is actually bodily harm such as cutting. These are serious matters. Please seek professional help for yourself or those you know who are dealing with unhealthier aspects of emotions such as self-inflicted pain and mutilation.