Here's A Story...

Once upon a time there was a girl who came from a slightly provincial family with a lot of secrets.

Not like “your father’s really your brother” secrets but secrets all the same.

So she learned to hide them

And in turn she learned to hide.

And thus began her journey to cover up imaginary inadequacies unknowingly inherited but unconsciously passed down from generation to generation in perpetuity.

Then along came church. Real church.

Not like the go-through-the-motions church she grew up in but a soul-stirring, dig-deeper, I’m‑sure‑we’ve-got-the-answer-you’ve-been-looking-for church.

Since you’re all inadequate and all.

This is the kind of church that I think subconsciously seeks out hurting, weak people the way dogs and bees smell fear.

They will never admit it but they do for a host of reasons.

[At least my current level of spiritual evolution has brought me to a place where I can say I genuinely believe it is not consciously intentional (but is nevertheless strategic).]

In case you haven’t noticed, this story is about me.

See, I bought the church deal based on my own flawed grid and unmet needs.

Sure, churches should be held accountable for the doctrine they purvey if we as the congregation are going to consume.

But I alone am responsible for my own life and well being.

I gave away my power and wasted a lot of time punishing those who willingly took control of my life because I was too afraid to.

The only problem is they didn’t know they were being punished – it was all in my head.

And holding my mind, heart, and spirit hostage.

It’s like the proverbial adages about harboring unforgiveness: you know, holding the hot coal expecting someone else to get burned. Or drinking poison expecting someone else to die.

But this isn’t all about me.

It’s about a burning quest to heal myself first and foremost and a persistent passion to share what I hope will ultimately be a story of victory that empowers and inspires.

You see, it occurred to me (quite startlingly, actually) that shifting around the characters in this life drama (new job, new city, new gadgets, new clothes, new career, new love) yields the same results.

It’s window dressing.

Like what one of my aunts calls a whore’s bath: spraying perfume over a funk that, try as you might, just can’t be covered up.

I can’t end this story with a tidy solution packaged with a big red bow because it’s a work in progress.

But I am increasingly becoming OK with that.

As author Zora Neale Hurston puts it, “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”

I am grateful for the nuggets of discovery God reveals with each layer uncovered because with each level of personal truth I embrace, I feel more authentic and closer to following my bliss.

So I thank you for sharing this journey with me – I don’t mind sharing if you don’t mind coming along.

And I do hope you feel empowered, inspired, and indeed victorious.