Why I Told My Truth

I did something really scary (so scary I pretty much stopped talking about it right after I did it):

I told the truth.

Actually, that’s not entirely correct. I wrote the truth. The truth of my story, which is really the only truth I know.

I wrote it down and sent it to someone else to read and then suddenly I was in a crowd of other young women of faith writing the truths of their stories, and now suddenly we’re here.

We’re here sharing our stories with anyone who wants to read them. We’re here sharing our stories with you.

After I did this horribly scary, possibly foolish, completely uncomfortable thing, I wasn’t totally sure why I’d done it.

Why risk telling the truth of my story when it might end up really hurting or embarrassing me?

Why write it down in a way that it can’t be forgotten or edited or hidden under a mountain of rocks somewhere, never to be recovered?

Why talk about what it means to really live my Christian faith — in the gritty, authentic, this-is-not-a-fire-drill kind of way that’s easier to hide than to admit?

I wasn’t sure why I’d written my story until last week when I mentioned this feat of stupidity courage to two of my close friends and co-workers.

I told them I had a secret I wanted to share, and then I told them I’d written an essay that was getting published. They, predictably, squealed and praised before asking why I’d keep something like that a secret.

I wrote about my personal life, I told them, and how it intersects with my faith. I wrote about how the church can be overwhelming and suffocating at the same time as it can be welcome and grace-filled.

All of us, the dozens of truth-telling women in this book, wrote about these things. We wrote about sex and abuse and dating and love and marriage and fear and relationships and desire and purity.

Not in an abstract, clinical way, but in a raw, honest way. We wrote about our own experience with these things. My friends understood immediately why this was something terrifying for me (but they didn’t take back their squeals and praises).

And then? Then we talked.

It was like some secret door had been opened in the space between us and suddenly they both wanted to tell their stories, to speak about their experiences with religion and taboo.

Our stories were different; our lives are different. But each story matters, and we were all relieved and excited to have someone to share with.

People are hungry to have this conversation! They are searching for a safe space to be honest about their lives in a way they often feel they can’t be. We are all longing to be our whole selves, right where we are, and to share those whole selves with each other.

After my conversation with my friends ended, I realized that was why I had risked telling my story. Integrity is not an easy thing, but it is a precious and powerful thing.

Every time I have taken a step into a space of courageous authenticity, I have found that so many shining, sparkling souls are standing right there with me.

We are already standing right here with you. Come share in the story and be part of the conversation.

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Want to learn more? Check out these posts by the editors, Enuma Okoro and Erin Lane or go visit the Indiegogo site for Talking Taboo to watch a video of these fabulous ladies chatting about the project.

Human Broken Church

Human

Advent is a good time to be human.

This is a gritty, earthy time. Born out of the tradition of Lent, Advent is a season of dust and ashes, of humanness, of bodily incarnation.

Sometimes I think Mary, who would have been now eight months pregnant — tired and swollen, overwhelmed by her duty of bearing so much divinity and humanity all at once.

At this point, she was still carrying all of that inside her. She was waiting for this birth, and now we wait for it, too.

And when this birth comes, it is not sterile or easy. It is impromptu and uncomfortable. This peasant couple, far from home, welcoming a miracle into their family, into the world.

I think of Mary, leaning against her midwife, muscles clenched and brow sweaty, leaning into the possibility of new life. Glorious. Perfect.

These are the universal experiences of humanity: birth and death. And here we are, centuries later, celebrating them over and over.

Broken

Because it is a good time to be human,

because being human means being built of the dust of the earth, breathed with the life-breath of God,

because we are waiting for this perfectly imperfect birth again and again…

Because of these things, Advent is a good time to be broken.

This same body that is born will be broken, like bread, will bleed, like wine, and will die. This body is like ours: dust.

And we will celebrate this body’s death, over and over, like we celebrate its birth.

We will bow before the mystery that divinity, too, could look like this. That grace could come as this child and move as this man and die as this savior. That the story goes on, far beyond that death.

Church

When that body is dead (but only in one sense), the story will spread and grow, and lives will be pulled toward it, will be pulled into it, will be changed by it.

We will call them, too, body. They will be also human, also broken, also glorious.

They will long to speak the words that Jesus spoke, to live the love that Jesus lived, but sometimes they will fall short.

This, too, is universal: heartbreak.

The seeds of forgiveness must be planted deep and tended well enough to grow into fruit. This body must be gentle with itself, welcoming all its parts into the whole, lest one is forgotten and lost.

Advent is the re-beginning. Here we can start again, fresh as newborns, expectant as mothers. We can lean into the possibility of new life – our new life.

We can welcome God to come walk among us, to show us how to live in this body.

Advent is a good time to be human, a good time to be broken, a good time to be the church.

So let us wait for the Word together one more time.

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Folks are sharing stories of redemptive brokenness over at Prodigal Magazine for the Broken Hallelujah link-up. Please take some time to go visit…

5 Ways to Jump Start Your Spiritual Life

Getting out the Door

When I complain that I don’t have enough motivation to get out the door and go running, my sister-in-law often reminds me: “That’s what separates the runners from the non-runners.”

She’s quoting a line I often give to her. Anyone can run, the difference is just that some people actually do. I’ve been a runner for years, and I still have a hard time just getting myself out the door. I don’t think that challenge ever goes away.

Developing your spiritual life works the same way as developing a fitness routine. Anyone can do it: what matters is that you go do it. The advice below isn’t anything new or fancy or complicated because I believe that what you do doesn’t matter as much as that you do it.

What separates a plateaued spiritual life from a thriving one is just getting out the proverbial door.

5 ways to jump start your spiritual life

• Get a different perspective

I’m not speaking metaphorically here. I mean literally changing your usual point of view. Lay on your kitchen floor, pray from inside your closet, go barefoot for a few hours, roll down a hill, get into your house by climbing through a window, walk home on a different street.

I’m often amazed at what I miss because I’ve become dissociated from what I’m doing, which is too bad because earth’s crammed with heaven.

• State what you want

If you know you want something different in your spiritual life, you need to tell someone. Preferably multiple someones. Tell God — meaning pray about what you want. Tell your support system — meaning call on the people who care about you for encouragement and accountability.

And if someone in particular is involved in the change you want, tell them. If you want a deeper relationship with her, ask her over for dinner. If you want some empathy and compassion, ask him for it. If you want more worship time, ask friends to join you. You might not get a ‘yes,’ but the act of stating what you want is clarifying and freeing in itself.

• Pray without ceasing

In order to do this, you’re probably going to have to re-frame your idea of prayer. If you’re not a big fan of being seen talking to yourself in public, put in an earpiece and talk to God on the phone. Sometimes, when I feel words aren’t enough, I make up songs. Write daily gratitude lists, practice the spiritual examen at night, designate certain doors as “pray-ways” and commit to praying every time you walk through that particular door, do yoga, walk a labyrinth, find a new worship service, recruit a prayer partner, write prayers on your walls, set up an altar in your bedroom.

Whatever prayer practices you develop, they should work for you. It isn’t about quotas or answers or self-pressure or expectations. It’s about opening your heart a little bit wider every chance you get.

• Talk to someone very young or very old

Children and elders have incredible wisdom, and, generally, they love to share it! If you find yourself asking tough questions in your own faith journey, ask those same tough questions to someone profoundly brilliant, like a 5-year-old. Or make friends with one of the seniors in your community and ask them to share a time when they learned a valuable life lesson. I’m telling you, stories are everywhere.

• Learn your Enneagram type

I first learned about the Ennegram personality types from my spiritual director. I find the Enneagram more helpful than other personality typographies because it is geared towards self-understanding and personal development. Knowing my own tendencies and weaknesses has helped me deepen my self-acceptance and learn to move through those places where I get “stuck” more easily. Becoming familiar with other Enneagram types has helped me to understand other people (especially those who annoy or scare me) and tap into the strengths they bring to the table. This has been one of the most powerful tools I’ve found for personal and relational growth.

All kinds of great books have been written about the Enneagram. Fr. Richard Rohr has written about the Enneagram from a Christian perspective. Don Riso wrote a series of Releases and Affirmations for each type that I find both healing and convicting. Talk about spiritual growth! [In case you're curious, friends, I'm a 6.]

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What do you do when your spiritual life needs a jump start? What practices have you found most helpful for growing spiritually?

Dear Me: a Letter to my Teenage Self

Dear teenage self:

I’ve spent some time thinking about you, and I’m ready to share some pretty important insight. Please read carefully.

Cut your hair short and forget about piercing your ears.

Other than that, your fashion decisions are great: the jeans and t-shirt look will work for you for many years to come!

Listen to your parents and take the ACT again.

Then stop listening to them and just go to the college you like.

Stop dating older boys. Actually, just stop dating.

Or, don’t. It’s probably better to get that stupidity out of your system before you hit your twenties. Really, you will be lucky to date all great guys, each one better than the last (for the most part). And you will get over each and every one of them, I promise. (Except, of course, for the last one.)

Also, I think your life will be a whole lot easier if you start doing these two things sooner: going to therapy and listening to folk music.

And don’t feel shy about telling people about either one.

I’ll admit, this insight isn’t particularly profound or life-changing, and here’s why:

The problem with giving you advice is that every decision you make is part of making you the incredible woman you grow into.

I don’t think I want you to do anything differently, because I want you to become the very person you already are.

When I look back on how it was to be you, I feel a little bit of sadness over how angsty and lonely things were for you, and then I just feel a lot of pride.

I’m proud of the way you learn to articulate yourself and become intuitive about the world around you.

I’m proud of the way you respect your body (even when you don’t) and always run your best race.

I’m proud of the way you love to learn and realize your need to be challenged.

I’m proud of the way you care about your friends in a wide-open-hearted kind of way.

And I’m definitely proud of the way you love Jesus and the church.

I know your faith is like the steady point in the midst of confusion and change, and I know you’re building that faith brick-by-brick, with careful, steady hope. You’re building it through all those conversations in the back of the cross-country van, all those self-taught Bible studies, and all those nights sneaking in to play the sanctuary piano.

And for that, I am more than just proud. I am grateful.

Because of you, I am.

Because of you, I am still one of those crazy runners who runs because they actually like it.

Because of you, I am still one of those crazy Christians who goes to church because they actually like it.

Because of you, I will get two theology degrees and eventually work in ministry. Because of you, I will write a thesis and finish a triathlon and travel to Ecuador and climb mountains. Because of you, I will travel and fall in love and become a wilderness guide and start a blog and build houses.

So, dear teenage self, my message for you is this: you’re doing everything right. You’re right on time.

And you, God’s daughter, lack nothing.

Sincerely, in deepest love and utmost faith,

Bristol, the adult version

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I’m looking forward to reading Emily Freeman’s new book, Graceful! You should hop over to her lovely blog and read other Dear Me letters.

Living open-hearted

What I want in my life is compassion,
a flow between myself and others
based on a mutual giving from the heart.
Marshall B. Rosenberg, Nonviolent Communication

When I read this heartfelt post today, it reminded me of a conversation I was part of last week.

It was evening, and everyone around our close circle was tired. But we had gathered to talk about leadership and grace and how the two relate.

Most of the folks in the room were women. And most of those women are in preparation to become ministers. What I mean to say is: these are people with presence.

They know how to listen, how to hold space, how to be with the pain of others. They also know how to speak wisdom and truth, even to a room of strangers. That’s what they’re about.

But in the course of this conversation about what holds us back from being authentic and present, one woman shared an experience that was deep and heartbreaking, mostly because so many others in the room understood her story.

“I can’t live every day truly open-hearted,” she told us with certainty. After a pause she said, “I’ve tried before, and it doesn’t work. It isn’t safe.”

And she told us about a day when she opened her heart as wide as it would go, and walked around the whole world offering all the love she had to give — to her loved ones, to her fellow students and teachers, to strangers.

And it was beautiful –

until–

she passed a stranger who looked at her, as she said, “as though he could kill her.”

This person who didn’t even know her. But with her heart wide open like that, the hatred in his eyes came like a blow. And she closed her wide open heart to protect herself.

Living open-hearted isn’t safe.

I was moved by her telling of this experience. By her commitment to live in authentic love, by her painful honesty in sharing with us. And by her courageous willingness to consider trying it again.

“It might still be possible…” she said.

And hope grows just like that, like a tiny planted seed waiting to break ground, like daring the impossible and believing.

I can’t say I’ve lived an entire day with my heart as wide open as it will go, but I can say that thinking about this woman’s story made me open mine a little bit wider.

May we all drink ever deeper from the well of authentic love. May we believe, always, that the radiance of God’s love can shine through us even into eyes filled with hate, even in times when it is not safe.

Perhaps that is where it’s needed most of all.