I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am a child and my friend is visiting my Sunday School. She is Catholic, and my Sunday School teacher starts speaking to his elementary age students about how Catholics are lost and deluded and how the pope is an anti-Christ. He tells us that Catholics are going to hell. I feel my cheeks go red. I am embarrassed. I am disappointed. I am confused. Understandably, she doesn’t come back. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am an adolescent and I go to youth group. I am called names and made fun of. I don’t fit in. It is unsafe and uncomfortable and cruel. Is that what church is? Is that what the family of God is? The youth pastors don’t really care. That’s just kids being kids. Maybe I should lose some weight? Maybe I should go to Christian School instead of public school? Contrary to the vision statement in the weekly bulletin, Church does not feel like an accepting or kind or safe place. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am a teenager and I meet a woman who asks where I worship. I answer, and she goes stiff. “Oh,” she says, “that’s the church that doesn’t believe women can lead.” I murmur some polite defense, a little in shock. That wasn’t fully accurate, I don’t think. But then again, maybe it’s not unfair? I start to ask some questions. What does it take to become a leader in this church? Who and what is valued? Who is given attention? Who is criticized? Who is given a pass? Who is told to submit to others? Who is given praise? Who is pushed out or looked over? Who has a meaningful future there? Who is asked to change? Who is allowed to remain unchanged? It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am on a summer missions trip. It’s the fourth of July and we have team members from Canada. I realize they love their country as much as I love my country. And I start to wonder. Are we truly unique? Is my country better than their country? Does God love my country more than theirs? It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am a freshman in college attending the second inauguration of Bush/Cheney. An anti-war protestor, standing nearby, looks at our student group of teens from around the country, decked out in official inauguration gear, and starts to murmur how we should be ashamed. Then she looks closer and says with a tinge of shocked horror, “You are all so young!” The others in my group make jokes. I sort of smile but wonder, “Me? Ashamed? For enabling the Iraq War? For the torture? For the deaths?” I didn’t get it. We are the good people. But then I did get it. I start to feel a little uneasy. I start to feel a little queasy. I remember how I waited days and days to mail in my absentee ballot, so long that it might not have even counted. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am studying in Yemen, learning about the hopes and dreams and fears of my Arabic teachers. I hear about how one really wants to come to America and live in New Jersey. She tells me how much she loves her hijab and how much it helps her to feel beautiful and confident. I see these people I was told to fear and I start to love them. I want to help them. I want to tell others back home that they are ok, that they are kind, that they are human, too. I want to welcome them as they welcomed me. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am a new college graduate, starting a masters program. I did not vote. Not for McCain, not for Obama. I am in a church and on my knees reflecting on the confession of sin. Perhaps for the first time ever I feel that I know what it means to repent, to receive forgiveness, and to stand before the throne. I feel converted to the Church. And I wonder, how did I miss this before? What have I been grasping for all this time? How could I have been surrounded by confident truth claims and yet never felt quite like this before? What has changed? Why is this different? It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am in a new job, a dream job, a Christian job. My co-workers are crying at their desks. My boss made them cry. He scared them. He demeaned them. He chastised them. He made them feel small. Eventually, he will sort of apologize until it starts all over again. Then I am crying at my desk. I think, “Surely a ministry should be a better, safer place to work?” But no. I am told it could be a lot worse! I am told we just have to learn to cope. I am told it is just a difference of personalities. I am told that I might have the wrong kind of personality. I try to warn other leaders, but they don’t have much to say. They can’t do anything, they say. It’s all for God, they say. It still helps people, they say. I quit. It’s a recession and I am unemployed for over a year. Maybe it is just me, maybe I am the problem, but then why was everyone else crying at their desks? Is every place you work like this, or just the Christian ones? It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am in a car with my first African American best friend. We are arguing about George Zimmerman and Trayvon Martin. It is tense but still laced with love. We agree to disagree. I think, “See, we can have different perspectives still be close. There is a lot we do agree about.” But then I begin to wonder. Does she see something here I can’t see? Could she understand this better than me? Maybe I am missing something important here. Maybe I don’t really understand. Maybe what they say on Fox isn’t the full story. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am on the TV interview balcony for CPAC 2012, serving as an intern. I see so much in just a few days. I look Mike Huckabee in the eyes and I see a chilling blankness, a darkness. I am unnerved. Aren’t we supposed to be the good people? I see Tony Perkins acting like a king. Aren’t the Christians supposed to be the humble ones? I hear jokes that make me cringe and cheers for political ideas that leave me pale. I look at the reporters and film crews and I want to apologize. I am asked to help an inebriated fellow intern to her room to be sure that she isn’t taken advantage of by older men. I hear about how notorious the annual conservative event is in the neighborhood for public drunkenness. I want to say we are not all like this. But…what if most of us really are like this? It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am in DC at the Faith and Freedom Coalition conference. I came because I thought it was a serious gathering to discuss the status of religious freedom for all faiths and all people. I was wrong. Very wrong. I see sad things. I see absurd things. I hear obnoxious things. I am so confused. Weren’t these people supposed to be my heroes and role models? Aren’t they supposed to be the good and righteous ones? They don’t seem like any of those things. Do I want to help a movement that raises up leaders like this? That applauds leaders like this? Not really. I am concerned. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am talking to a group of fellow grad students in my second masters program and they invite me to watch “2016: Obama’s America” with them. I pass. I had to, uh, wash my hair, or something. I remember the first movie, from four years before, and how none of that happened – not in the way they said it would. I realize the world isn’t apocalyptically worse after four years of “Obama’s radical socialism”, not like they said it would be. I start to wonder if we are all being conned. I start to wonder if some of our fears are wrong. I start to wonder if some of our leaders lie. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am standing on a stage in Virginia Beach with a crowd of GOP VIPs. They are chanting Mitt Romney’s name. I am uncomfortable. I don’t think I agree with them, I think I like libertarians better. But I still want to be involved. I want to make a difference. I want to think this matters. I get to shake his hand and say hello. He seemed kind of different, maybe just because he seemed honest. I was still skeptical. I was told he was in a cult, that maybe he was hiding something from us. But he seemed kind and genuine enough to me. I don’t know who to trust. But he seemed better than so many others. It could be worse. What is governing really about, anyway? What should we hope to get out of our government? I vote for him. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am at my wedding, on Lake Tahoe. We are outside of a church, at a resort. Strangers watch us exchange our vows, take communion, pray, and sing in worship. We didn’t close off our love, we brought our love to God’s creation and to where other people could hear. It was a small piece of a big day, but it still spoke. Why do so many of us worship in black windowless boxes when we can worship where people can see and ask and join? Why do we think we have to hide? Why are we so afraid? Why do we try to confine the work of God? Why do we separate ourselves from others? Why do we run from the beauty of God’s creation? It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am a new mother in a new place and so many of my relationships are falling apart. All that people here have to offer me is blame and shame and rejection. Finger pointing. I am drowning. I am scared. And yet the burden for relational building and repair is put on me, the stranger in a strange place. I cannot do that. I cannot carry that weight and take care of my baby and build a new marriage at the same time. I cannot. So the Bible is used as a weapon against me and my family. And sharp words are spoken. And lies are told. I feel so rejected. But what if it is not all my fault? What if forgiveness looks like something different than what they want me to offer others? What if I am not a monster in that way? What if all I want is to protect myself and my family? What if Jesus has something else to say in the midst of relational pain? What if Jesus cares about me, too? What if sometimes Jesus wants me and my family to be safe? To be loved? It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am holding a positive pregnancy test in my hands and I feel like I might crumble. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what the future will look like. I am in shock. And I am afraid. And I feel joy. And I feel sadness. I grieve. I celebrate. I just want to hide. What will people say? How do people who don’t have a loving, supportive spouse cope with this? Why does it have to be so scary? Why do I fear judgement? Why can’t it just be simple and happy? Why do the same people who say “choose life” often act like this is all something we can easily predict or control? Why do I know that “friends” will have hurtful things to say? Why do we allow for all the facets and stressors of pregnancy, child birth, and child rearing to crush the very people who are meant to carry and sustain that precious life? Why do I, a married Christian woman, still feel so judged and so unsupported and so ashamed and so afraid? It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am staring at an eviction notice. We couldn’t pay rent in time and the apartment complex sent it to us. I am 7 months pregnant with our second child. We can figure it out. We can pay, just barely. But what if we couldn’t? What then? What do other people do? What happens to those families? What if you have no support? What if you have no one else to call or no credit to access or no hope for a better future? Are “handouts” really wrong? Maybe hardworking people sometimes just need some extra help and that is ok. Maybe the government helping people like that is ok. Maybe it is good and necessary. Maybe accepting that help is not shameful or bad. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am in our tiny condo with two children under two, just outside of DC. Donald Trump is on the TV, and people like him? They are defending him? He is saying terrible things, yet people I know are laughing? They are campaigning for him? They like this? He tells a lie nearly every time he speaks and yet they say this is ok? Surely I missed something and they are just kind of kidding. Some people I know are trying to push back, I think. But how did we even get here? I turn off Fox News for the last time ever. A long held doubt continues to nag at me. What if we aren’t the good guys? What if most of us, none of us, are as good or as righteous or as wise as we thought we were? What if I missed something? What if I missed a lot? I am so lost and confused. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am curled up with my husband at midnight and we are both sobbing. She didn’t make it, the text says. A shooting, almost a mass shooting. She dies too soon, too young, too suddenly. And then, in the same city, another brazen mass shooting the next day. So much death. So many tears. Yes, thoughts and prayers. Yes, let’s respect the life lost. Yes, let’s not “politicize” any of this. But, then again, why do we accept this, ever? Why is it just seen as an acceptable cost of a free society? Is that true? Must it be true? What more could have been done? Why do we produce so many monsters? Why do our neighbors or their children feel that they have no choice left but to kill? How did they become so desperate? How did they become so cruel? How did they get those guns? Why do we tolerate it? What more could have been done? She shouldn’t have died. I am angry at God. It seems so wrong. And yet I can only get through the days because deep down I still believe that God is good. But if God is good, then it must be on us, right? And if it is on us, then why do we let this happen, over and over and over again? Why doesn’t our country want to do something more to stop it from happening again? Why can’t we try? It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am on my way to the 20 week ultrasound for my third baby, exhausted, excited, and nervous. But then I realize that some people could be heading to an abortion instead. Suddenly, I just see it and I can’t escape it. If we make abortion illegal, if abortion is always murder, as I was taught to say, the person paying for, scheduling, and allowing the abortion to happen would need to be imprisoned. Mothers would need to be imprisoned. I don’t support abortion. I just wonder, how can all the nice and simplistic slogans of the professional pro-life arguments still be consistent with each other? How do the competing messages work together? It doesn’t make sense to me anymore. I have so many questions. What if it is more complicated than I always thought, more complex than how I was taught? What if there are other ways to help address all of this in our society? I don’t have any answers, I just feel the weight of the moment. I just feel the sadness of the moment. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am almost 30 and readying to give birth. The Access Hollywood tape is released. People I know and love and thought I trusted agree that it is “just locker room talk”. I am in shock. I think, “This has to be it. No one can vote for him now. This has to be the end.” It isn’t the end. Then the other allegations pour in. Liars, they say. But the judges, they say. But the babies, they say. My third baby is born. At least Beth Moore spoke up. Maybe that part was real. Maybe God still is who He says He is. Maybe the people who say they believe in Him are too. We are so nervous, but surely we are all better than this? No. We are not better than this. Dr. Dobson? Him too? Trump wins. So much for family values. I am broken. How could this happen? How could they do this? How could they support this? How can we justify any of this? I am shattered, I am stunned, and I am afraid. I don’t know who to trust. And I wonder if anything from my past was real or good or true. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am at the Women’s March on the National Mall with my family and I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t like all of it. I don’t agree with all of it. Yet the air is heavy with pain, and fear, and grief, a grief that I share. The people I used to think are good are busy mocking hats and calling liberal women ugly and telling them they are going to hell. The people I used to think were bad are asking for decency, kindness, truth, and – most all – a protection from abuse. I came to listen. Whatever our differences, those people with the pink hats are now my people. Their grief is my grief too. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am logging back onto Facebook after a season away because of post-partum depression. My timeline is full of nothing but hatred for Colin Kapaernick just because he kneeled, and support or silence for the nasty man who they helped to make the most powerful leader in the world. I cannot understand any of this. I don’t know if they understand either. The first amendment is butchered. So is the Bible. My heart breaks into a million more pieces. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am nursing my fourth baby as I hear the screams and cries of children being separated from their parents at our border. I am horrified. I think this must break the spell. It does not. There are more excuses. Always, there are more excuses. I cannot shake the horror of what this “pro-life” president is doing and what these “pro-life” leaders are willing to defend. Eventually, enough people change their minds and speak up. But not all. And not for long. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am watching live coverage as Mitt Romney announces that he will vote to impeach Donald J. Trump. He is honest and good, after all. But then he’s the only one? How? Why? I think of those people who cheered for him so many years ago. How many of those VIPs who chanted his name back then are now cursing it in disgust? I think of all the religious leaders who first told me that Mitt Romney wasn’t trustworthy who are now singing the praises and defenses of a man who is so much more horribly, painfully, obviously worse. Whatever happened to personal responsibility? Whatever happened to civic virtue? Whatever happened to consistent integrity? Shouldn’t all of this matter? Did character never actually count? Why do the rest of them cover up for such lawless corruption? Why do they tolerate rampant abuse? How can I trust any of them again? Was this only ever about money and power? Is that it? Where do we go from here? It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am watching Frontline on PBS with my husband and tears are streaming down our faces. For the first time, we see Barack Obama’s full response to the Sandy Hook shooting. For the first time, we see the memorial for the Mother Emmanuel shooting victims in context. We see how much we missed, and we grieve. We repent. What else did we not see? What else were we lied to about? What other lies did we believe? I used to see pictures of the press conference about Sandy Hook and the first words that would pop into my head were “FAKE TEARS!” I would see clips of Obama singing Amazing Grace and all I could think was “what a narcissist!” I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. I missed so much. I have so much to learn. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am staring at my street full of Trump flags. George Floyd is dead and now my neighborhood is flooded with eerie blue lights at night and talk of running anyone out of town who disagrees with Back the Blue, guns in tow, by day. I don’t feel safe. We hang a sign with a different message and fellow neighbors trickle by to quietly thank us for our bravery. Our bravery! For hanging a campaign sign! Some of them are scared too. They are scared of our other neighbors, the ones with the flags. They are scared of people with crosses on their walls and #blessed in their profiles and guns on their shoulders. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I am putting away our Christmas decorations and I see the President of the United States lying yet again with anger and selfishness and manipulation. I am watching to make sure my vote, our votes, are certified, as it should be. Then it starts. First up the stairs, then through the windows and doors. Where are the police? I see them in the chambers. I am in shock yet not surprised. I am weary yet not unprepared. I am afraid for our elected leaders and I am afraid for our country. I am angry and I am sad. I see the hangman’s noose and I see the cross. I see the flags and I hear the slogans. “Jesus Saves” they declare as people died. Then, in the wee hours of the morning, I watch as a majority of GOP representatives try to throw out millions of legitimate votes, anyway. I know this will not be the end. It stays with me.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
It just kept going and going. Moment after moment, slowly changing me and shaping me. A brick would fall here, and then there. I’d try to patch up the holes to keep it standing. I’d try to hold it up to keep it from collapsing. I thought I could just keep building upon all that once was. I thought I could salvage it. I thought it was just a series of minor problems that could be overlooked or easily solved or smoothed. But whether in the end it was a slow or quick erosion, it all fell down.
I am in my house, our first home to own, watching Joe Biden become President. I voted for him. I don’t know what it all means, aside from the fact that I wanted to do something concrete to stand up to the abusive bully and the liar. 81 million of us wanted to stand up to the abusive bully and the liar. I am happy and relieved. But my life, the life I built, the life that was built for me, is now a pile of rubble all around me. At my feet I see bricks of good times, and bricks of hard times, and bricks of times I’d rather just grind into dust and see blown away by the wind. It all stays with me.
My faith. My education. My politics. My professional goals. My community. In a rubble.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
The temptation is to hastily build something new. Or, perhaps, to just move into someone else’s building. Walls and roofs and foundations are so comforting. But standing in this rubble I think that can’t be right. I think I must take some time to sort through it all. To clear it away. And to start the hard work of deliberately, intentionally, making something stronger.
It is painful and it is joyous and it is frightening and it is freeing.
I see so many around me happy to go on. Free to go on. But some of us can’t do that yet. Some of us need to make sense of all this rubble at our feet. Some of us need to make sense of what has just happened. Some of us need to make sense of who we are and of what we believe.
It is, I think, the exuberance of youth that tells us to run on ahead and just do. Just lead. Just succeed. But I am no longer all that young. And so I want to step back and listen and watch and think. I want to figure out where and how it all went so wrong. I want to decide what to build before I start. I want to sift through those fallen bricks to set aside all the old pieces that need to be kept and turned into something new. I want to do the hard work of clearing and leveling and preparing a new place for a new shelter.
It is painful and it is joyous and it is frightening and it is freeing.
I am looking to start over. With old convictions, and old joys, and old lessons, but new forms, and new plans, and new goals.
I don’t know how you start over as a person. Is there a guidebook? Are there instructions? What do you tell other people? How do you define yourself? How do you explain yourself? How do you introduce yourself? I guess we will just have to own up to all that we don’t know and then get to work.
I will learn to trust again. I will learn to hope again. I will learn to dream again. I will learn to believe again. I will learn to worship again. I will learn to create again. I will learn to reach out again. I will learn to smile again.
It is not a quick work and it is not an easy work but is a necessary work and it is a good work.
I didn’t ask for it to fall, but it fell anyway.
I didn’t seek out this work, but it found me, anyway.
I didn’t want to rebuild from the ground on up, but I will, anyway.
Finding Tangle 