fire dance with me

as i sat in silence yesterday i opened my eyes to see that the candle i had lit wasn't working well. it only had this teeny, puny flame that in the light of day wasn't near enough to inspire me. so i went and grabbed another. this one really needed a wick trim, but i so enjoyed the tall flame it cast. i returned to sitting with my eyes closed for a time and when i opened them again i was struck by the black curling smoke coming off of the dancing wick.

i was mesmerized. i watched as the flame jerked and contorted and burned off the dust from the candle wax. then it seemed to flow into a kind of dance where it was swaying in the momentum it had created. and then it was still.

it cycled through that process over and over again. and a small bell rang in my head. this is you. we are burning off the dust. you hate it, fight it, contort, rage and stomp for a period and then you flow into the rhythm that the momentum ignites and you dance until you are able again to be still.

again, i was mesmerized.

eventually i video taped it so that i could remember it and upload it here. i am having difficulty getting it to work, but will do it as soon as i am able so that you too can see the beauty of the dancing flame.

just what i needed

yesterday was just what i needed. kind of like pushing a 're-set' button on my psyche. i know i have a lot of time in the week to have done what i did, but somehow i don't take it. yesterday a.m. my worship was orchestrated by god. it was incredible how tied together everything was.

i began here (i didn't know it at the time, i thought i was just reading erin's blog) and those three short videos reminded me (again) that yes, i am on the right track. god is with the poor even though the church doesn't seem to be. (please take time to watch them - the idea of jesus being a shadowman is vital).

i then sat at my family altar and lit the candles and spent time in solitude and silence. quieting my soul is hard for me. my brain runs a mile a minute and i don't immediately see the benefits of silent time until later in my day, but just breathing and being still prepared me for what was next.

earlier that morning i had began to fill a scavenged book shelf with all of my most favorite books. i was pulling them from piles and other shelves and came across a story book i hadn't seen before. i don't know where we got it and it was placed in a strange place, sticking out of some non-fiction as if the holy spirit said "here, this one". it is called "the sleeping bread". it was my scriptures for the morning. here's what one reviewer said of the story:

Set in a Guatemalan village, it tells the story of Beto, a kind-hearted baker, and Zafiro, a beggar for whom Beto always saves his crusts. Unlike Beto, the villagers want only to be rid of Zafiro, and as festival time approaches, they force him to leave. While Zafiro is bidding Beto goodbye, one of Zafiro's bitter tears falls in the baking water. The result — Beto can no longer make bread. The dough refuses to rise. All finally ends well when Beto persuades the villagers to invite Zafiro back to the village. The mystery is solved, the villagers feast again on Beta's wonderful bread, and Zafiro is given a place of honour in the festival procession.

after my love affair with "sleeping with bread" this so beautifully tied together my passions.

i went from there to some time with a book i had been avoiding, the cup of life - i realized upon opening it why i had been avoiding it... this chapter was on suffering. this meditation was on sitting with our empty cup and the consequences of the life decisions we had made, both the joy and the suffering. i realized that living my life as openly as possible has meant that i make people uncomfortable. it is a choice and it has consequences. i really want it no other way. would i love for more people to join into this life choice, most definitely, but until then sitting with the pain of the loneliness was important and i felt such comfort in knowing that being in the margins and shadows was a place that jesus dwelt.

so all in all, and in many ways i can't articulate here, my choice yesterday was important and i'm so glad i honored that nudge to "be" and let god minister to me. it was the right thing do to. thank you for your encouragement, it means so much to me!

counting to 12

Keeping Quiet

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.

For once on the face of the earth,
let's not speak in any language;
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fisherman in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.

Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

Pablo Neruda - Source: translated by Alistair Reid in Extravagaria

via - inward/outward

light a candle, say a prayer

margaret at gratefulness.org just let me know that they have updated and improved the 'light a candle website' - very cool way to join the global prayers being lifted up world-wide.

Light A Candle - Birthday candles, Virtual candles, Votive candles, Memorial candles, Cyber candles - Light candles online

weepy day

i have been reading mark yaconelli's book 'contemplative youth ministry' for the past couple of weeks as i will be reviewing it on wednesday here on my blog as part of the grid-blog tour. i have been putting off writing mark as each time i sat down i was just overwhelmed with emotion. the fast approaching deadline forced my hand today and so i spent this morning in centering prayer and opened up to the emotions i had been holding back for far too long.

mark and his father mike were midwives of sorts to a very big spiritual awakening i had - i credit them for giving god permission to speak into my life (credit/blame - it's all the same!). they both taught me how to practice the presence of god - and remembering and honoring those emotions today has caused a lot of tears. if you've been reading my blog for a while you'll remember back in october i got a chance to thank mark at the nywc in pittsburgh and did the big ugly cry, right in front of him - trying to fight it the whole time. i was also dressed like a angel/fairy and he was the epitome of grace and kindness. he told me that my tears were a prayer, softening the hardened ground. well, today the ground is much softer as i have spent much time watering/praying.

it all seems so inefficient - i have THINGS TO DO - sitting in silence and tears just seems so indulgent, risky and like i'm tempting depression to take back it's ulgy hold on my life. how do we get to the place in our minds that doing the thing that will keep us from depression (being present to our emotions) is the exact opposite of what we tell ourselves - fight the emotions, keep a stiff upper lip, just keep swimming, just keep swimming... it's irony isn't lost on me here.

and so today i will enjoy the dirt under my psychological fingernails and plant some seeds in the tender soil of my soul and water them with my tears as i remember and am present to these life-changing memories and emotions.

i'm tired of moving

life here has gotten a bit overwhelming - lots of good things too, not all bad, but i'm feeling it and the second wave of relocation has hit me. i am aware of it, and feeling it - and hopefully facing it in a healthier way than i've faced some other moves we've made - but i can feel it's residual stress deep down in my bones. i have actually been carrying it in my muscles.

whether a genetic trait, or a by-product of a stressful childhood i have a very bad habit. i tense and lock my muscles instead of sitting relaxed and loose. this is especially prominent in my jaw, shoulders and my bum. i carry all of my stress there and screw up my body and cause myself a lot of discomfort. anger and resentment somehow sits in my butt muscles - the seed of my soul? i don't know - but i have been carrying a lot of resentment and anger there and it can be nearly crippling if i don't pay attention to it.

breathing, stretching (damn i've got to get over my inhibitions and get my butt to yoga) and actually feeling and processing the emotions that cause me to lock up and freeze. i've never been good at the limber sports - running, swimming, dance, gymnastics, tennis, golf - but give me a ball to hit hard and far, score a basket, spike a volleyball - strong muscle sports and i excelled. i could never even do a bridge (as a young in shape 2nd grader) or touch my toes when limber young muscles should be able to stretch. so both genetics and bad body connections play into the fact that i am now coiled as tight as a spring and on the verge of incapacitating myself (could that be what i really want - flat on my back in bed??) if i don't start to relax, loosen up and breathe through some of this.

so, i've lit my candles, will sit and meditate on my story for saturday (i'll blog about that later) and spend a day focused on lightening the load. we move in less than a month and if i don't come apart i've realized i'm going to come apart...

i need to dwell with these words

Being Merciful with Ourselves

We need silence in our lives. We even desire it. But when we enter into silence we encounter a lot of inner noises, often so disturbing that a busy and distracting life seems preferable to a time of silence. Two disturbing "noises" present themselves quickly in our silence: the noise of lust and the noise of anger. Lust reveals our many unsatisfied needs, anger or many unresolved relationships. But lust and anger are very hard to face.

What are we to do? Jesus says, "Go and learn the meaning of the words: Mercy is what pleases me, not sacrifice" (Matthew 9:13). Sacrifice here means "offering up," "cutting out," "burning away," or "killing." We shouldn't do that with our lust and anger. It simply won't work. But we can be merciful toward our own noisy selves and turn these enemies into friends.

Henri Nouwen

rhythms pace

there is more to life than increasing its speed

ghandi

i love this quote.

we're finding a lot of urgency in people's questions lately, especially now that we've chosen to slow down and breathe and not rush these huge choices.

i find men especially can't understand liam needing/wanting to take a sabbath break. our world has become so urgent and panicked and i'm realizing it's more to do with the fact that people can't handle stillness and silence, than it has to do with really being important and things being urgent. it's so counter-culture to choose simple and slow. it's almost like they are afraid they will be forgotten if they don't press their way into the frantic culture stream around us.

the art paper and pastels have found their way onto our dining room table, charcoal pencils and sketches are appearing around every corner. life is finding a soulful rhythm and pace that is far more fulfilling and life affirming. giving room and holding space for the inner teacher to bubble up those things that are needed and necessary.

it makes for a much more purposeful way of life. are we naive? probably. are we foolish? possibly. are we going back? not if i can do anything about it. we are truly finding the 'unforced rhythms of grace' and it is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

update: i was catching up on my 'daily digs' and found this:

Unfortunately, in seeing ourselves as we truly are, not all that we see is beautiful and attractive. This is undoubtedly part of the reason we flee silence. We do not want to be confronted with our hypocrisy, our phoniness. We see how false and fragile is the false self we project. We have to go through this painful experience to come to our true self.

It is a harrowing journey, a death to self—the false self—and no one wants to die. But it is the only path to life, to freedom, to peace, to true love. And it begins with silence. We cannot give ourselves in love if we do not know and possess ourselves. This is the great value of silence. It is the pathway to all we truly want.

M. Basil Pennington

turning enemies into friends

a day in the house - to myself!! yippee!

i started by getting some financial matters straightened out and then walked for 30 minutes on my new (to me) treadmill!! i had been praying for a way to get some exercise that didn't force me into the 16 degree weather since winter began and god has bestowed on us a used (free) treadmill. so today i have begun to relcaim and redeem that which was lost to the winter. don't know if phil saw his shadow today, but i'm going to be ready for spring, and there is already a spring in my step today.

as i was heading to spend some silent time with god i read today's daily reflection with henri nouwen, which was exactly what i needed, this day of all days.

"We need silence in our lives. We even desire it. But when we enter into silence we encounter a lot of inner noises, often so disturbing that a busy and distracting life seems preferable to a time of silence. Two disturbing "noises" present themselves quickly in our silence: the noise of lust and the noise of anger. Lust reveals our many unsatisfied needs, anger our many unresolved relationships. But lust and anger are very hard to face.

What are we to do? Jesus says, "Go and learn the meaning of the words: Mercy is what pleases me, not sacrifice" (Matthew 9:13). Sacrifice here means "offering up," "cutting out," "burning away," or "killing." We shouldn't do that with our lust and anger. It simply won't work. But we can be merciful toward our own noisy selves and turn these enemies into friends."

so i'm off to turn some of those enemies into friends. take care!

TGIF!

whew, this week has been a whirlwind. it started last weekend as we had a spiritual retreat planned for the youth at the church. we set up the auditorium with 12 stations where they could do everything from listening prayer to make prayer beads to give themselves henna tattoos with christian symbols. we also set up the prayer path labyrinth for them to experience.

we kept it up until today so my small group of women could attend instead of our normal study today. only 5 showed up and that kind of made me sad, but those who did really appreciated it, and i got to go through today myself. i needed that time of reflection after such a crazy week.

i've done this labyrinth about 8 times now and each time is different. there is one station where you stand in front of a full length mirror - looking at myself today i realized how far i've come. i remember the first time i ever did this years ago at the nywc in cincinatti that i couldn't even look at myself. today i was able to see myself for who i was. i truly haven't changed that much 'outside' but inside i am new, restored, and much more gentle to myself. i actually looked deep into my eyes and smiled. that could have never happened years ago.

afterward i was able to read the journal that we leave at the end of the path so people can write their feelings or thoughts on the process. it became somehow a thank you card to liam and i for taking the time to invest and expose our youth to this type of spiritual experience. i wept as i read of the depth of emotion and experience and god speaking into their lives. it made everything worth it, every little bit.

looking back i realize how much this would have meant in my own life if i had been 13 and exposed to this kind of christian experience - meeting god without someone telling me how to do it or what to think. this they will take with them everywhere they go - it's all portable and can be duplicated on whatever path god takes them.

yay! but i am glad to be on this side of it all!

i went and got the second set of bloodwork done today too, so hopefully i'll have a good idea of what's happening with my thyroid next week, and maybe even start on reclaiming that part of my life back. i'm really looking forward to it.

have a wonderful weekend ya'll!

i wanna be like... paul???

good morning!  i'm finding it hard to decide what to blog on for the past couple of mornings.  having the structure of the serenity prayer was really nice because i had that decision made for me.  get up, write on the next line.  no deciding to do this early in the morning...
 
something that's been rolling around in my head lately has been the need to explain my 'church of origin'.  in counselling they call your childhood family your 'family of origin' - so for pulling this all apart they are now my 'church of origin'.
 
when i say things like no participation and silent in the church many who haven't experienced this 'brand' of fundamentalism might think 'what does she want?  to preach?  aren't most women sitting silently during the sermon??'
 
i almost don't want to type their name because i don't really want to make this a place for argument, and the last thing i really want is being googled by somebody with an axe to grind, (unless their axe is like mine!) :)
 
the plymouth brethren (there i typed it..) are a distinct sect of christianity.  they believe in the priesthood of all believers (except women) and are similar, but independent chapels, assemblies and gospel halls all over the world.  their church structure is leadership by elders and deacons and there is not (usually) a pastor.   some more progressive ones do have 'full time workers' or maybe even pastors now, but the main-line pb's are very staunch and proud about their ability to be 'leaderless'.
 
they usually have 4 services a week (and i grew up dragged to each one of them).  the first is 'the lord's supper' or 'the breaking of the bread'.  it is a weekly hour long service that focuses solely on the death of christ and consists of men, 'moved by the holy ghost' to pray, read scripture (with very little commentary, all focused solely on christ's atoning death) and request a hymn (all focused on christ's death) to be sung accapella, but it is usually read first by the requester (in total) and then sung, usually poorly by the 25 people in attendance.
 
the second service is 'the family bible hour' and that is when the children are shuffled to the curtain divided basement while an itinerant speaker shares the same sermon he just shared last week at another brethren assembly in the next state.
 
the next service is sunday night, supposedly meant for bringing your unsaved friends, and the same speaker gives the gospel to the same 25 people who showed up that morning.
 
the final service was the wednesday night 'prayer meeting' where about 10 people show up and only the men can share requests and pray.  some progressive churches allow the women to retreat to the basement to pray.
 
this is all done with women's heads covered and silent.
 
if this was like a quaker service where we were trained for introspective silence and there was true reflection and pondering taking place that would have been enjoyable, but this was bone-numbing, day-dreaming silence, interrupted occasionally by a long winded (similar to last week) prayer.  my critics will say i just wasn't holy enough, that i just didn't try, or that my heart wasn't submissive.  that would be a lie.  all i ever wanted was to please my heavenly father.  i jumped through every hoop and was totally obedient to each and every dictate.
 
not only was my head covered, but my heart was also.  believe it or not i was truly submissive to my father, the elders, and then to liam.  they spoke for me (well my father never spoke, and that is a huge reason why i was so confused as a child).  this was my lot in life, and i was okay with that.  we were RIGHT, we had pure, biblical theology.  we were the new testament church.  to try to explain how distorted this was, i grew up thinking that john wesley was too liberal.  methodists weren't really going to heaven.  he was an okay hymn writer, but his theology was 'off' the mark.
 
so it's not like the church where i currently attend where there are the same people who talk/pray/preach every week, in my 'church of origin' everyone got to share, except for the women.  it was our punishment and reminder that eve screwed up everything.  we were silent to remind us not to usurp the authority of our husbands and fathers, and the almighty elders of the church.
 
my devotion to this 'ideal' was so strong i attended the brethren bible college (which i'm definately not typing because there are still many that i love there and don't want to bash them publically).  they trained my brain, taught me theology and awoke in me something large.  but still even with that 'awakening' i was still silent with my head covered.  it was an incredibly confusing time for me spiritually.  i knew i was called, now i was trained, but for what?  i wasn't called for oversees, so i guessed it must have been to marry someone else called into ministry.
 
i knew that i needed to marry a man who had upfront gifts, who could 'keep me in my place' and had a stronger personality than i did so i didn't end up like the real bobbie and my father.
 
i found liam there.  he grew up in an even more conservative branch (gospel hall) and somehow was untainted by it all.  he was called, dynamic and as passionate as i was.  (and by god's protection not a caveman in any sense of the word - god is good).  i knew we were meant to be.
 
what i could never synthesize was how completely different jesus was from any and all of their teachings.  he was left behind (to use their own words on them), set aside for another dispensation.  they truly didn't want to be more christlike, they wanted to be more 'paul-like'.  somehow that apostle captured everything each one of those men held up as important, and they became just like a distorted version of him (or what they thought him to be).
 
what i know now is that this type of church is very attractive for men who have power issues.  they split faster than the baptists, splinters and church breaks are very common in this undenominational denomination.  they rule by making everyone else look like heretics.  i truly didn't think that anyone outside this belief system was right.  looking back i realize now that it is almost 'sect' like in it's existence.
 
i need to add a disclaimer.  when this type of church works it's the best church structure i've ever seen.  if they didn't have such a distorted view on power and women they would be growing instead of dying.  many i love are still firmly embedded in this faith structure.  i watch the women become bitter and gossippy - their inability to participate severs any desire to participate at all.  god is as male and silencing as the elders.  it effects the spiritual life deeply.
 
so today, i stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith christ has made me free!  i wanna be like jesus, not paul.  today, in this 'dispensation' may your kingdom be on earth as it is in heaven dear god!

my psalm 23's

idelette's homework has me tied in knots. i know that was never her intention, but in trying to do this it touched an infected place in my soul. only poison came out. i kept trying and trying to be positive, profound, moving and deep, but these two subjects kept playing like a broken record in my mind.

silence is a huge theme in my life - i was silenced by the church of my youth, and it also taught that god was silent in this dispensation. his only word for me was the 'written word of god'. both of those things have had such an impact on me and my spiritual life. i know now they are both lies, but i'm having a hard time breaking through them for this effort.

so, here i sit - with two poisonous psalms. i have hesitated many times to post them, but they are honest and from my heart.

please know that god and i have reconciled much of this already, and i'm a little stumped why it's resurfacing again, but it is, so i guess i need to go with it. while i'm gone i'm writing my rejoicing psalm. if i can find an internet cafe i'll post while i'm gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the lord is silent
he does not speak

his complete word for me is in written form
this is not the dispensation for a personal god

you love david and moses and paul more than me

i thought i heard you call me, but it couldn't have
happened because you are silent
the fields are ripe for harvest and the workers are few,
but how is anyone to know if they can't hear your call

there are verses i read that seem to contradict this,
i am confused, surely there must be some mistake

you can't be that distant, that uncaring, that remote
i long to hear you speak just once

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the lord is my silencer
i shall not talk

he makes me sit quietly in church service
he doesn't care that i have anything to contribute

only males are fit to share, teach and pray

yea though i think and dream and
am educated in theology
my contribution is not necessary
your elders and deacons control me

have you called and prepared me for more than this?
you've placed a burning passion in my heart,
it is overflowing within me

surely somewhere, somehow i am meant
to use the gifts and dreams you've given me
may i be allowed to serve in
the house of the lord someday

sick jokes

i was raised in a tiny denomination that called itself a 'new testament church' and believed in the 'priesthood of all believers' (well not 'all' just men), no pastors, only laity and itinerant speakers. three, hour-long services each sunday (one at night). the first was 'the breaking of bread' or 'the lord's supper'- a quiet contemplative service where men, nudged by the holy spirit (or their wives) would be moved to share through scripture, prayer or suggesting an a capella hymns all focusing on the death of christ.

women were to be silent with their head’s covered. i grew up in the left side of the fourth pew, learning to daydream and that god didn’t care what i had to say, or if i had an opinion. it was a very confusing time for me.

my father wasn’t given any ‘up front’ or public gifts, which the church didn’t respect and regularly forced him to the podium. he would get physically sick every time he had to participate publically. because the church was small (dying actually) every man needed 'to carry the burden'.

i watched my mother, outspoken and resentful most of the week, except in church on sunday, where she would feign not only a covered head, but a covered heart, slowly erode and crumble in her spiritual life because she had no outlet for her gifts, which by some sick joke of god were the 'up front gifts' that my father was lacking.

the church taught me that my father was weak and my mother was shameful. and it also taught me that god had a sick sense of humor.

as i aged i realized that i too was 'honored' by the sick humor of God because i was so much like my mother. i fought every tendency within me to distance myself from the gifts rising to the surface in my own life. i longed to be the 'silent, submissive woman' the church ideal held up. what i saw in my own life were the same gifts that so ruined my mother, and made my parent's marriage so painfully difficult.

watching them relate was confusing. they'd reverse their roles for sunday morning and fight the rest of the week because they were learning that neither of them were equipped for the kingdom of god.

my father was a helper, an encourager and the most dedicated, loyal worker a church could hope to have. that was never honored. his confidence was ruined, he was a failure to god and ashamed of himself.

my mother was an evangelist, a teacher and a speaker/writer. god had no use for a woman with those gifts. she couldn't sing or play the piano, and teaching children's sunday school was not 'up her alley', so she too was ashamed, disgruntled and seethingly angry at a god who would 'save' her for this.

this heresy made a mockery of spiritual gifts and the love of god. to those of you who don't 'get' why it's so damaging to misinterpret pauls teachings this is why. the wall that it places in lives and the damage that it brings is so completely ungodly.

i hated the parts of me that reminded me of my mother. why did i have to be like her? why couldn’t i be quiet and content, respectful and silent. wasn’t it bad enough that god wrecked her, why me too?

it has only been since coming out of that brainwashed 'sect' that i have had the understanding that god has made me (as he made my parents) to be exactly who i am - and that he doesn't want me to be the singing submissive silent piano playing stepford wife.<b>r>
he truly adores my opinionated, passionate zest for life, my perspective and my voice. he created me this way for a purpose. i don't know exactly what it is yet, but i do know that i am not a reject in the kingdom of god - not a sick joke. god doesn't have a warped, punishing sense of humor.

how sad that it's only been in the past six months that i've realized the true implications of all of this. how it distanced me from my mother, how failure still haunts my father, how distorted teaching masquerading as the 'truth' forced my family, and so many others from having a close, personal, intimate relationship with the god they were so trying to promote.

emergent church, church of the future - please get this right. please allow each of us to participate by using the gifts god has placed in our lives - and honor each of them for the glory of god. if you screw this up you will truly not be changing anything but the decorations.

finding my voice...

i am a woman, i am called, i am finding my way to reclaim what has been lost, and redeem the time i have left. i am 38 years old. bobbie died at 43, that’s too young to die. she died with no voice in the church. silent and confused that the god who created her would gift her and refuse to allow her to use those gifts. how sad. even her writing wasn’t her voice. she tried to cram herself into the picture of what the church told her she should look like and it made her very angry and very sad. i long to fulfill her call and my own, to use my voice, that sounds so much like her’s, and the face that daily becomes more similar to her’s. the resentment that i felt toward her is being replaced as daily i grow closer to understand how difficult it was to be a woman in that tight, restrictive church.

god made her for great things. the kingdom of God lost out because my mother was kept from using her voice. god is replacing the anger and misunderstanding I had felt toward her because of the confusion of what a woman is supposed to look like, supposed to be.

as i learn to love her again i learn to love myself, and to understand myself more, is to understand her. i’m grieving again for her loss, for her early death. for the years of anger i had toward her for seeing so much of myself in her. but now understanding more about the damage done i long for her voice in my own life again, and i miss her deeply.

i have big feet...

i have big feet. actually all the women in my family do. have you ever worn a pair of shoes that didn’t fit, too tight, too small? i have spent my life trying to squeeze my feet into shoes that were 2 sizes too small. i only realized this a few months ago; that maybe they weren’t the right shoes, maybe these shoes were supposed to be thrown away. i have tried to fit the nice, silent, hospitable, help mate shoes that the church has been trying to squeeze women in since, well i guess since before there was a church to fit in to. and ya know what? they don’t fit.

i should have been a man. there, i said it. it’s not a sexual thing, it’s a gift thing. i make people uncomfortable. i am a natural leader, a challenger, a strong person, a person with a voice. a God-given voice. i notice things, i ask hard questions, i don’t like pat answers or being patronized. i should have been a man.

but i am a woman. and i have a voice. i have silenced myself and been silenced by the church for so long that what bursts out of me is like the steam whistle on a train as it rolls into town. it’s shrill and only plays one note. not because there aren’t more notes to play, just because i have no experience in playing anything else. i so long to give the rest of my notes a try, to learn to play my voice in an environment that allows me to misspeak sometimes, to sing ‘off-key’, to practice until i can get it tuned in. but it’s not safe, there isn’t that place.

i think i’ll just go barefoot for a bit and try to find it on my own. maybe here is the place? i don't know, bear with me. it might sound angry for a while, but i'll mellow and find balance as i go along. i think it's part of the grieving process. realizing the heresy that i believed to be true for so long really damaged me. replacing the lies with the truth is helping, but it is a process. barefoot sounds good. feel the grass between my toes already.