My Unbecoming

Women are unbecoming.

They are unbecoming the silenced one, the interrupt-able, the indirect object, the first apologizer, and the compromised.

This is not a scary thing if we believe that success and shalom for women are not inherently threatening to the success and shalom for men. And other women. And everyone. What if we did not assess humans competitively?

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I am only 33 but I am unbecoming. I’m unbecoming my childhood shame and guilt that made me nearly perfect, as I examine and re-examine the unkind behaviors of my child. I’m telling her she’ll be okay as we take the time to look at his heart, behind the cutting words and punishable arrows. Behind the performance and the pains.

I am unbecoming the self-righteous sensitivity that, like a clam shell, seemed to protect me, but then, turned out to isolate me instead. No pearl was forming, only imagined; all orthodoxy, no generosity. Like Beth Moore recently said, liking fewer people and calling it sanctification. No clarity maintained, eyes closed. In my fear of worldliness, I blocked human goodness; in my disdain for darkness, I blocked the light. I am unbecoming the closing.

I am unbecoming the reluctancy to say I was wronged, or hurt, or impacted. I am unbecoming a stoicism that the clam took well to and the patriarchy approved. I am undoing the dishonesty that other people’s comfort demanded; I am recovering from my own learned deafness to my needs, hurt, and worth. I am unlearning the lie that looking at something gives it infallible power.

I’m only 33 so I have only started to see the things God’s inviting me to unbecome. The undoing is not as a sweater unraveled, a heap of chaos and wonky, but as a first shoot from a bulb, headed up, having a taste for light. A mystery, a toil, to be sure, but a gift in this gift of time. Unbecoming into who I am better being.

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Also there is becoming. Women are also becoming. Definers. Decision-makers. Comfortable. Singular. Pervasive. Connected.

It can be hard to not trap the becoming, the new, in the unbecoming, or the old. It is hard to keep the two separate and moving, like siblings. For me, this includes the wildernesses of domesticity and being a woman in 2017 specifically. The ways to help, the gaps in our society, the cultural shifts, the breaking down of Christianity in our context, the new science, the recent poll. The conversations and opportunities that meet me each day, new pages, fresh print–not to be jammed in an old drawer and defined by an old construct.

It requires courage to not automatically reach for the old drawer, the last language. The becoming lessons are new to stay new–to start brand new hope, conviction, and relationship. Framing them in the past makes the lessons fade and compromises the work of unbecoming. We are brave when we look with curiosity. The situations my children face, that children before have never faced. Failures and successes that need to stand on their own two feet. The becoming is daunting in its own way because we don’t have the syllabus and the deadlines are moving; constantly, we are asked by this life to show movement, memory, and change–in this becoming, we are never finished.

Shalom, if we can dare speak of shalom within the world of only one person, is the overlap. When the lanes of the unbecoming and becoming merge. When the past isn’t too heavy but its substance is polished, and when the new isn’t hype or cheap but tailored…I suspect those moments when our gut, and mind, and lungs, and prayer, and worth are full, those are the times of most truth.

I pray for this work of unbecoming and becoming, a dotted line between the two in their youth. Traveling companions, but different journeys, each needing to stay in their lane for the most part. I pray for divine differentiation for healthy attachment; that the becoming would not have the lid of unbecoming, and that unbecoming would not go unnoticed in the fervor of becoming, and that both would help us be true, and full, and sources of shalom. I pray we would have people in our lives helping with each, pulling us to do whichever one comes least naturally, applauding the overlap, cheering for shalom.

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May you find the dotted line to occupy both spaces.

Undo, and new, ever human, going deep.

Unlearn, and discover, safer still, you and me.

 

 

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An Invitation from an Account Under Construction

When you are afraid of what other Christians will think if you love someone, you have probably identified a place where the church has led you astray from the Christ.

If you hold a doctrine up to the light to see through it better, and are rejected, you have challenged the auto-pilot, in your self and in your former group. And maybe, just maybe, allowed someone the grace of going after you.

Should you feel weighted by an identity you both cherish but continually causes you to grimace, I am at your side. And I have often felt afraid and I am a regular at the misfit table. Because I am not an expert on this New Life thing.

Let’s add a leaf, because it seems to be a good place to be.

 

When we read the story of the man at Bethesda, the one Jesus sees and knows has lain there for a very long time, the question echoes: do you want to be healed? When you say “yes, but…” and He pronounces YOU up, He pronounces YOU free, well, there is nothing to do but to walk. To walk on the Sabbath and face the red tape. To walk alone and to walk away from the conventional pools of healing you could never get to. You, like that walking man, may not even know for a while that it was Jesus who healed you. He may have to visit again before you get it. But that is what He does. That is who He is. A visitor. A pursuer.

 

He changes our account of things. 

 

If our account of things hasn’t changed very much, it is a scary book we wield as holy and an aging lord we announce. Isn’t the Story living and active? Isn’t He characterized by always working, the One who never had to learn, the Creator of tenderness and justice and possibility? So why are we so still. So still on our mats. So stuck in our thinking. So notorious in our reactions.

Brothers and sisters, he said after Bethesda, “you search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that bear witness about Me, yet you refuse to come to me that you may have life.”

 

Here at the misfit table, I know one thing right now: THIS IS NOT LIFE. Policies and pulling money and tantrums and cyberwars and accusations and flip flopping and ultimatums and fear are not life. They are manipulation. They are power. They are controlling and they are not Him.

His work will never be based on temporal categories. His generosity has never been contingent upon agreement. The life He offers and lived is and was never about majorities.

 

We are all becoming. We are all scandalously healed on the Sabbath. We all miss Jesus when He is right in front of us and we all may think what’s in front of us IS Jesus when He has left.

 

These are the true things that I have to remind myself of when I am so embarrassed. So sad. So wanting to give in to anger-pride and flee the scene, writing my own one-dimensional stories of others. These are the broken pieces that make up the Church. Church is a community that is all about being wrong and helpless. Sometimes I forget and think we are together because we have the same mission, or we have the same priorities, or we have the same united love.

But no, we are together mostly because we are broken and it took unconventional means to heal us. We are together because at some point in our lives, we didn’t have all the answers–we just had One. Why does that change so much after donning this so-called faith? Over and over, we lie down in old ways, adopt our old accounts of things, and He comes and says, “Do you want to be healed?”

 

If you are broken too, will you join me? If you want a new Life, can I be your company? It would be less scary to answer “yes but…” and walk away together. To see what it is like outside the stagnant pools that are surrounded by mats that have been there a very.long.time. To find the misfit table of questions, invitations and new accounts.

 

Now there is in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate a pool, in Aramaic called Bethesda, which has five roofed colonnades. In these lay a multitude of invalids—blind, lame, and paralyzed. One man was there who had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had already been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be healed?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.” Jesus said to him, “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.” And at once the man was healed, and he took up his bed and walked.

Now that day was the Sabbath. So the Jews said to the man who had been healed, “It is the Sabbath, and it is not lawful for you to take up your bed.” But he answered them, “The man who healed me, that man said to me, ‘Take up your bed, and walk.’” They asked him, “Who is the man who said to you, ‘Take up your bed and walk’?” Now the man who had been healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had withdrawn, as there was a crowd in the place. Afterward Jesus found him in the temple and said to him, “See, you are well! Sin no more, that nothing worse may happen to you.” The man went away and told the Jews that it was Jesus who had healed him.

(John 5:2-15 ESV)

Cliff-diving

I had the beautiful opportunity to attend Storyline Friday and Saturday and it was like running into an old friend while cliff-diving. 

I took 19 pages of notes and yet they give you the storyline materials. (I will spare you a summarizing essay.) I have no idea how to translate the binder or my scrawl to my husband, my community…oh, and then, my life… but it’s there, in ink, asking and inviting. At times I felt like my heart was overflowing; at other times, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Yes, cliff-diving with an old friend.

I will (can) say this: I am empowered to renew the fight for the heart. One of the main concepts of Storyline is that our stories are being hijacked and if we don’t plan them out and write (live) them with all the shared agency God gives us, something else will. Something else has. It was so refreshing to sit under a dozen different speakers of all ages in a room of 1700 people who did not grimace when people referred to the heart, emotions, or gut. The material is intelligent. The steps are rational. And the substance is about reclaiming the matters of the heart as legitimate, compelling, and directive. 

I don’t know about you but I have been injured by the ways that modern theology, faith, and church have shrunk the heart and the emotions to unreliable interferences in the path to holiness. To wholeness. It’s like, invite Jesus into your heart and then never talk about that blasted pitfall again! How bizarre to sequester God-given parts of us to isolation in the pursuit of healing. I would guess that I wouldn’t consider my leg to have healed if it was amputated. Yet I have this learned internal dissonance when I say things that begin with “I feel…” (and actually follow it with an emotion or hunch rather than a fact) or when I hear someone say “follow your heart” (you know, like on Disney movies). 

We are recovering captives. We may mentally agree with the Gospel and know all the right answers but we tend to live barely outside the circle we lived in before we knew Jesus. We have been given freedom to love and forgive and feel and explore. He heals and calls the minds and the hearts. And heart-statements and freedom-statements shouldn’t have to shroud themselves in layers of disclaimers. Emotions shouldn’t have to be termed unreliable more than the next guy’s “rationale.” 

So this recovering captive is moving forward. I am trying to slough off some of the apology I attach to my outspoken heart. I am going to try to make braver decisions. I am raising an antennae in hopes of picking up ways that the heart is shut down in conversations. I am re-opening to dream language that I thought was a shameful sign of youth or belonging to my generation but might actually be an indicator of New Life.