"Lived in" Theology

I have many thoughts on theology and they're very different from what they used to be. But my life is very much "in process" and has been for some time. This July, it will be 3 years since Tim (and I) got fired from ministry. That was such a significant loss. If you've never been in professional ministry yourself, it can be hard to understand why this is so much more than a job loss. At the risk of sounding dramatic, we liken it to a divorce. Our church was where we spent the majority of our time. It was where we worked, where we learned, where we found support, where all our relationships came from, where we introduced our precious child to God, where we found purpose and identity. It was our life. Many people who attend church share some of these feelings. It's your "go to" place. Obviously, when you work there, this is taken to another level. And while it is a "family", for us, it was also our livelihood. Leaving your church, when you're as invested as we were, is very disorienting. Many people wanted to know "what happened" when we were fired, but to be honest, nothing happened. Like some divorces, it's a million little things that just don't add up to a marriage anymore. There was no major infraction. It's like, they fell out of love with us. There were things we were unhappy about in our relationship with the church too, and we're not at all claiming that we never made mistakes. But it's a painful reality to sit in that you can be dismissed from your "family." Your family can literally tell you that you no longer fit in it. After all this time, just writing those words brings tears to my eyes.

When we worked at church, our life was a lot more structured. We knew what we were about, as individuals and as a family. There were a lot of mission statements, tiers of leadership, committees. We knew where our life was headed. Our path was set before us. The weeks, months, years just flew by. We were so busy. There were things we felt God pulling us towards (reducing our consumer patterns, being present in our neighborhood, doing less, investing in deeper friendships) that just weren't possible in that environment. We were too distracted by the immediate tasks at hand and were trying to fulfill everyone's expectations of us. I haven't met a minister yet who didn't struggle with people-pleasing. There just wasn't enough space for growth in these areas. I think this is because when you get hired (marry your new church), they ask you where you stand on all sorts of theological issues. You get hired based on whether you and the church are compatible in these areas. The problem is, if you change at all and your church does not, you will eventually outgrow it and vice versa. So you either don't allow your theology to evolve or you try to drag the church with you. I'm not going to lie to you. Every single precious friend we know in ministry carries wounds from this reality. It's very painful. And no matter what anyone says, it most definitely is personal. I think what happens a lot, to quote an amazing Chumbawamba song (yes, I just dated myself), they just "get knocked down, but [they] get up again. You're never gonna keep [them] down..." You just keep going, keep praying, keep trying, keep crying, keep leaving. Until eventually, many of us just get too hurt or too tired to go on. Some of us barely escape with our faith, while others lose it entirely.

There was a new-found freedom to leaving ministry. We could hang out with whoever we wanted to! We had time to build a life for ourselves based on our personal values and needs. We could be in transparent, two-way relationships. We found out we weren't the problem or the solution. We were just regular people trying to make our way in the world and be decent to those around us doing the same thing. We got to ask the questions instead of having to give the answers. We realized we had a lot of unmet needs and a lot of theology to reevaluate. It was the first time in our lives that we were free to believe what we wanted, without feeling the weight of a bunch of other souls soaking up our influence. We gave ourselves permission to wrestle, to grieve and to change our minds, over and over again.

To be honest, we're not nearly done. But all of the things we wanted to be different in our lives are now. It's pretty amazing. And when the shit really hit the fan this year with the postpartum depression, we had the relationships we needed to keep us afloat. We could not have had that level of trauma in our old life. We would have had to stifle it or at least try to contain it. (Ever try to contain grief? Works great, right? Depression...sure, it goes away if you deny it long enough. Ha!) We probably would have lost the job then anyway. Churches don't like to employ openly messy people, especially if this includes their theology.

As a Christian, my theology is the lens through which I see the world, my life, myself. But there comes a point in your life when crazy, unreasonable shit happens. And the frame that you're putting around your life isn't big enough. Your life suddenly becomes an 11x14 and your frame is still an 8x10. What are your choices at that point? Either cut your life back down to an 8x10 (denial, shaming yourself, repressing your feelings, jumping into another situation without processing your loss) or you embrace the mess and get a bigger frame. I firmly believe in a God who's bigger than any frame I've used so far. He's not threatened by my broadening theology. And yes, I would love to pretend that I'm completely open now, living outside any proverbial box. But is that really a fair expectation for myself? I think we all have boxes regardless of our personal theology. Would it be cool to have none? Sure. But at this point, this perfectionist is just happy to know that mine is a bit bigger than it was before.

Balance? Ha! I laugh in the face of balance.

Balance is completely out the question for a perfectionist. It's all or nothing all the time. It's not a very practical way to live and frankly, it's really scary and difficult to navigate the world sometimes. I am often hoping to find a middle ground; in my thinking, habits, relationships. I'm so thankful to have a therapist who helps me sit in the tension of this challenge. It's so much easier to stay extreme or run away.

One of the things I'm working on in my life these days is fun. I know this sounds silly, but my second pregnancy and subsequent post-partum season required my world to be very small. I had problems with my joints in pregnancy, to the point that doing one errand would put me in bed the rest of the day. Before I got pregnant, I was running 3 miles a few times a week and feeling energized by it. 2 weeks after conception, I couldn't walk down the stairs. Needless to say, I didn't do much for those 9 months! It was a challenging season of life, for sure, but I learned the invaluable lesson (of which I had intended to pursue for some time) of doing less. On purpose. 

Friday night. We party hard.

After Penny was born last summer, we were hit with a major bout of post-partum depression. Each day was just about staying afloat. As we're coming out of that fog as a family, I'm really working to prioritize my individual needs. It's surprisingly difficult. There is always a reason to put myself last. Before it sounds like I'm either a saint or a martyr, this would be the point where it becomes painfully obvious that I have caretaking issues. Turns out, there's a series of behaviors called caretaking, where your choices in relationships cater to the thoughts, feelings, and perceived needs of the other person, sometimes to the detriment of your own needs. I've got this. I apply it in all relationships but especially with my immediate family, which is typical with any psychological issue. It doesn't help that the evangelical world praises such behavior as “having a servant's heart.” I remember being told that our priorities should be “God first. Others second. Self third.” While that might help someone else be altruistic, it encourages a compassionate perfectionist to have unhealthy boundaries and priorities. There's some sort of middle ground between being completely self-absorbed and having no gauge on your own needs and interests. Frighteningly enough, left unchecked, caretaking can lead to massive resentment. I believe resentment is one of the biggest threats to healthy, loving relationships and needs to be taken seriously. This makes having fun surprisingly important and difficult for me to pursue. 

Getting ready for adventure.

So, I'm working on figuring out what I like to do, what gives me energy and life. Some of these things I never lost touch with. These include reading, public speaking, having one-on-one conversations with friends, and spending time with children. That one's easy since I have my own now. Things I'm rediscovering include: writing (what,what), home design, being outside, exercise, listening to live music, painting and crafting.

As part of my pursuit of fun, I found a groupon for kayaking. I immediately texted my friend Danna to see if she'd go with me. As expected, she was totally up for it, so I bought it and we reserved our day. Well, Penny is teething. BAD.

I ended up at urgent care with her the day before to confirm nothing else was going on before the big 3 day weekend. She was deemed okay, though the doc thought she might have a virus as well. She was really unhappy Friday night and I am her favorite person thus far in her little life. Tim is definitely the next best thing but he also had a commitment in the middle of my kayaking reservation. We had already arranged for a sitter (who,encouragingly, has not been made to brush my teeth yet). As a mother, it's very difficult to leave your child in another person's care when you're pretty sure it's not fair to either of them. I didn't sleep well Friday night. I knew how much I needed to be on that water. I also could not reschedule it based on the company's policy. This had been on the calendar for at least a month. And maybe being on the river for 3 hours seems like it shouldn't be that hard to arrange. Sometimes it's not. And sometimes it feels like the hardest thing in the world.

Well, I woke up to a happier baby. Not her best, but a far cry from the night before. Her fever was way down and she wasn't as insanely cranky. Tim and I agreed that I could

reasonably go play (as a caretaker, I'm working on not needing his permission, but it is really helpful for me when I have it. It's hard for me to enjoy something if it is causing tension in my relationship.)

Hoping my arms will work.

So, I SPENT 3 HOURS IN A KAYAK! As I climbed into my kayak alongside Danna's, who had never been by the way, I have a deja vu from college. I spent my sophomore year at Pepperdine in Heidelberg, Germany. We traveled independently every weekend. One weekend, I went to Interlaken, Switzerland for a girls weekend. If you've never been, plan a trip. NOW. No, I'm not kidding. It's heaven on earth. Seriously gorgeous. We ended up finding a group of boys from our house having a guys trip at the same hostel. While the ladies planned a day of hiking, I was intrigued to find out the boys were planning on riding mopeds. I thought, huh, that sounds like fun. Granted, I don't know how to ride a bike. I know. It's actually super embarrassing for me to admit that. But, it's pertinent to the story. Not sure why I thought I could ride a moped by myself with a bunch of experienced boys on icy mountain roads in Switzerland. But I did. Needless to say, I crashed in the parking lot with the owner scowling at me.

Proof that we are exceedingly cool.

Good thing I had a helmet on because I definitely hit a tree. The owner of the bikes was an asshole, but that's beside the point. Perhaps being the child of two entrepreneurs makes me think if I will it in my mind, it will be so? My consolation prize was that I spent the day on the back of the most experienced boys bike and it was amazing! Mainly because I was forced, for my own safety, to hold onto his INSANELY NICE abs all day while taking in the view. Ah, that was a good day.

Back to kayaking. I climb in thinking, is this going to be another Alps experience? Is it possible that I killed myself working through psychological and logistical issues just to get here and capsize repeatedly? Or, if I'm really slow, will this “tour” not complete its route? Turns out, it was not an Alps experience. Danna and I killed it.

So happy!

There was a super slow person on the tour and he had to trade kayaks with the bad ass female instructor (who had a baby 6 months ago, natch) just to keep up. And though I'm sore today, I feel amazing! I love being outside! I love having coffee date-type conversation on the water. I love that I got home and Tim and I took the kids to the park. I love that my babysitter had a princess tea party with Macy while I was gone.

Best sitter ever.

Perhaps living a life of balance is an impossible goal, especially if we're talking about achieving that every day. But once in awhile, you get a day that is EXACTLY what you need. Maybe life isn't about feeling bad about all the days that don't measure up to impossible standards. Time to call that a wash, I say. We never “arrive”, which is a major bummer for us perfectionists. And frankly, I bet we'll keep trying.

Feeling a bit better

But, every so often, you will get a glimpse of what's possible with hard work, risk and a lot of luck.  

Breeding superhumans...

I've decided to add my two cents to the conversation about infertility and making test-tube babies. Turns out, if you want to use a surrogate, they create a bunch of embryos and implant the few that are deemed "most viable." As we're learning more, some traits have been linked to specific genes. This gives the parents the option to pick which traits they would prefer to parent. This can range from major things like chromosomal abnormalities to balding. What I would like to put out there to the scientific community is this, "when are they going to isolate the gene that tells babies to flip on their stomachs during diaper changes?" Because that shit is annoying. We gotta breed that right out of the human race. That is all. 

I will not conform! (?)

I have a confession to make. I have crooked teeth, including (gasp!) a front tooth that is broken. If you think that's scandalous, listen to this - I HAVE NO INTENTION OF FIXING THEM AND I DON'T FEEL BAD ABOUT IT. There are a few reasons for this. 
1. I'm very practical. There's nothing wrong with my teeth, so repairing them would be entirely cosmetic. In this day and age, it is not difficult to justify spending several thousand dollars on beautifying oneself for kicks. For most people. But I was raised by a woman who, when asked by her husband of 25 years if he could finally buy her a diamond ring, asked for her floors to be refinished instead. Does she not know that I stand to inherit said diamonds in the future?!?! Come on, man. Ironically, she now has Invisalign. 
2. I think having crooked teeth is secretly kinda cool. I mean, how many people do you know who still have crooked teeth under the age of 40? Excluding the Brits? I grew up going to private school in southern California in the 80's and 90's. Every single kid had braces and subsequently perfect, straight, white teeth. At an age where fitting in mattered, there was a time I smiled with my mouth closed for pictures. (I was also uncharacteristically quiet when period-related wars stories were swapped. My period came so late, I was afraid I was missing a few essential female organs for awhile there). But once the acceptable age for getting braces passed (junior high), I accepted that my ship had sailed. So before this post makes you think I'm so cool and modest, I must confess that I find the idea of adult braces embarrassing. 
3. I often forget my teeth are crooked in the first place. Weird, right? The perks of a high self-esteem, baby. My parents may not have sprung for braces, but they certainly made sure I knew I was awesome. Seriously, how often do I stare in the mirror and critique my looks? Not often, to be honest. Maybe this makes me an unusual American woman, but I think I'm just fine the way I am. Perhaps that's hard to believe, as I'm writing this post in the first place. And sure, occasionally a picture will crop up at an angle that I am reminded, huh, that tooth is still broken. Interesting. 
As content as I am with my teeth, apparently I don't intend to teach my children the same lesson of self-acceptance. At Macy's check-up the other day, the dentist discretely asked if our family had a history of crowding. When I answered affirmatively, she pointed out on the X-ray how GINORMOUS her adult teeth are just under the surface. I raced home to confirm with Tim that we are on the same page about braces. Conformity it is, my friends! 

Not You Again...

It may come as no surprise to you that I am a list person. I have an app on my phone (tech credit always goes to the husband) that allows me to make my lists and check a box when a task is complete. Awesome. In my mind, a task gets checked off when it's actually done. Done, as in, never to be done again. Completed. Forever. Great, now I can free up mental space for a new task or at least get back to all the things I've neglected in order to get this one thing done.  
Ha! Is there such a thing as something that is actually done?!? What a joke! I live in a brain that wants this illusion of completed tasks to hold up as reality. But how many things in life do you only have to do once? Especially anything you'd put on a list. (Though I did have list as a child that included "get baptized when ready.") 
Sometimes I find myself surprised that repetitive tasks continue to present themselves. Laundry. School lunches. Responding to my 6 year old who prefaces everything that comes out of her mouth with, "Mom, can I ask you a question?" Dude, JUST ASK THE QUESTION. Eating. Balancing our budget. Breastfeeding. Brushing my teeth. It's like, I run my tongue over my teeth, feel the grit, and go, "really, AGAIN? How many times does a girl gotta brush her teeth around here?!?!"
Yes, I went there. And all the people who just love brushing their teeth and probably don't even wait for the inevitable grit to appear are officially disgusted. I categorize these people as "flossers." Not sure if you're aware of this but some people actually floss DAILY. Not just when they get steak in their teeth. Every. Damn. Day. They probably wash their face at night too. Thankfully, I'm married to a man who doesn't even care if I shave my legs, so flossing is completely off the table. Ooh wait, does that mean I can blame him for my irritation at the merry-go-round of the mundane, which sadly, often includes showering? (Btw, I did win a contest in my college apartment for least showering. Still proud). 
I feel like in the blogging world (I'm new here, so tell me if I'm wrong. Except don't. Because I hate that), after such a rant, there is an expectation that I'm supposed to tidy up the mess I've revealed. There's supposed to be some philosophical moment now about how it's all worth it, how I should be so lucky to have legs to shave and babies to nurse throughout the night, etc. While those things may indeed be true, I find myself instead trying to figure out a tactful way to ask my underage babysitter if I can add brushing my teeth to the list of inane tasks I like her to do for me...hmm.

It's about to get real...

I have many lighthearted type of anecdotes to share on here at some point, but I tend to run deep so hang on tight. It's gonna get real today, people. I want to go on the record as a married person who has gone through 2 seasons in her life now where she has fantasized about being single. Yes, I'm a nice person with a great husband (whom I love dearly) and 2 precious children who bring me great joy almost every day, which is pretty amazing, really. But occasionally I think back to my globe-trotting single days and think yeah, I'd like to go back to that time when things were simple. I was a viable, virginal girl (because let's face it, Christian woman find singleness more intimidating when they're no longer virgins, regardless of the reason) and the world was my oyster. I hesitate to speak frankly on the idea of singleness fantasies because I've never heard a married person say these truths and what if (eek!) I'm the only person out there who sometimes wants to think for 1 instead of 4?!?! A few years of wandering in Europe sound pretty good sometimes. I sleep well on trains and somehow avoided the Taken scenario the whole year I lived in Germany at 19. The fact that my many amazing single friends aren't currently wandering in Europe and aren't any happier than I am is entirely beside the point. 
There are many reasons for said fantasy. I, for one, am a runner. I hate to admit it because it feels like I'm shaming myself, but perhaps this is the fate of a perfectionist. Relationships aren't all good or all bad. And I hate that! Growing up in an evangelical household (which included our home, church, and school) life was painted as a series of good decisions and bad decisions. Your future mate would be a "godly" guy - knight in shining armor stuff, and there was one RIGHT person who was specifically designed by God for me. And in the meantime, marry Jesus! He's a pretty great husband, right? Though, I think we all know, JC never married. I have literally participated in 2 fake wedding ceremonies to Jesus in my life. Spring this on a silly kid and at best, it might plant a seed of loving God in their heart or at least stop them from having premarital sex. Do this to a serious perfectionist and she'll end up breaking up with her incredibly safe, chaste boyfriend out of commitment to her new husband. (I broke up with that wonderful boy 3 TIMES, poor guy). 
Needless to say, these attempts at teaching us that TRUE LOVE WAITS also taught us that true love is perfect, pure, and safe. Perhaps that's true about agape type Jesus marriages. But relationships between two people who are honest and who have had crazy shit happen in their life together get messy. The beautiful thing I'm coming to terms with is that IT SHOULD. Messy is real. True love isn't pure (meaning without fault, blame, mess, mistakes, fantasies of no one talking to you before 9am, resentment, grief, and heartache). Perhaps we're still in the process of figuring out what true love looks like.  
I think my perfectionist mind thinks relationships are either pure (childhood standard) or a trap (stay no matter what). This is the curse of being a black and white thinker. It's one or the other. It's good or bad. It's wonderful or it's awful. Turns out, it's both and. It's good and it's bad. Because even I, perfectionist who wants to save everyone, who's been on a pedestal her whole life (we'll get to that later:) am both and. Wonderful and mean. Loving and resentful. Honest and self-serving. Committed and restless. I don't think this means something terrible about me, my life, or my marriage. I think this means I'm human.

I gotta say, just STARTING a blog as a perfectionist is stressful. I've got to both remember my Google password AND name this thing?!?! You may think I'm being facetious because both are fairly simple things yet in my world, I've already lost a good 30 minutes to this task. Doesn't the big bad Google know that I never use the gmail account that my tech-savvy husband set up for me because I'm one of the only people whose primary account is still with Yahoo? And every time I try to retrieve my password, I struggle because the only password I use isn't "strong" enough for them? Don't they know that my brain is already cluttered enough after caring for 2 darling daughters and trying to figure out all my crazy shit that I have a TOTAL lack of interest in details like, remembering passwords that are approved by the Google empire that is slowly (or not so) taking over our world, one password at at time?!?!
Okay, rant over. Ish. This experience is such a great summary of my world - anxiously wanting to purge my feelings and thoughts but in the process of trying to share my crazy with the world, I inevitably experience some sort of roadblock. Thus making the process of purging said thoughts less and less rewarding and more and more tedious. Everyone knows that a stay at home mom living their life around a teething infant gets 10, 15 minutes max to take care of themselves at any given time. You gotta make those windows count, my friend. I don't have time for details like passwords and titles...this mama's gotta move, people, before the toilet needs to be fixed (no, this is not an exaggeration) or my stomach requires food AGAIN (does anyone else find their body's constant need for care irritating, or is it just me?) 
So, as scary as it is to put myself out there with a goal of not constantly second-guessing every line based on how others may or may not perceive it, here it is. My first blog post.