Tag: personal development

So, What Do You Do?

What’s something you believe everyone should know.

I believe that everyone should know that your worth is not defined by the career you currently do or do not have.

I wrote an essay on this subject during my post-grad meandering and I believe in this sentiment even more in the eight years since.

Growing up I didn’t realize how blessed the people in my life were because they had steady jobs at the same company. My mom worked for a civil engineering firm and then switched jobs to work at her alma mater when I was five so that she would be commuting less. My Papa had steady employment as a chemistry teacher, a defensive coordinator, a dean of students, and an athletic director. My Grandma had a well-established piano lesson business and worked a 40 to 50 hour schedule of teaching from home. Their careers were not their entire personalities but I associated them as a child with these occupations, I dreamed of being as successful as them, never thinking that a recession or slow job market was possible, I was a kid. It made sense to me that if you worked hard, developed skills, or got a degree that work would find you.

It was quite troubling to me when I put the work in and found myself failing to launch my career at 22. Two years of applying, interviewing, and finding nothing to show for it in my decaying Rust Belt region was a bit hit to my confidence, my ego, and my identity. I would dread social gatherings and new acquaintanceships because of that one lingering question. That dark cumulus nimbus hanging over all interactions – so, what do you do?

A lot of things! I wanted to reply, but any answer other than what my job title was would receive looks of disapproval like I was being immature. As a kid, adults seemed to celebrate things that you are interested in but as an adult myself, they looked at me like I wasn’t trying hard enough. That I was lazy, that I was failing. Falling behind. Nothing going for me. The conversation would either stop there or there would be more questions to get at the root of why I wasn’t where they were at 22 with a job, a house, a spouse, a kid, etc. Once I got married a little pressure came off, but then I was just a wife and unless I hinted at a due date or a new job, the same puzzled looks appeared.

Now this opened my eyes to how poorly we communicate and how shallow our relationships have become in North American society. It’s not dissimilar to how the question of “How’s it going?” or “How are you?” should only be answered with one reply – “Doing well.” or “I’m fine.” Because no one really wants to know, it’s just a greeting. A passing ship. If you answer the question with depth, that’s weird or too personal.

But we don’t have to stay in this place. I believe with each interaction we can change this on a personal level, and it starts by knowing that you are more than what you do. You are not defined by your career or your bank account, that is not where we gain our worth because we are humans and not stock portfolios!

Cleaning as a Way to Destress

What do you do when you feel out of control? I used to just blast music in my headphones until I could push the emotions down. For the sake of my poor eardrums, I’ve been trying something new.

I am a Tornado

If you knew me in real life, you would know that I am not a great housekeeper. I am more of a tornado of creative chaos, whether it be in the kitchen or in my workspace, there will be messes and clutter. As a creative person, sometimes I honestly don’t notice the chaos or clutter around me, I just see what I’m working on and if I have completed my project according to my vision.

It’s not a good way necessarily to go through life, but it is my authentic self. As a kid, this led to a lot of nagging me to pick up and friction with my mom and grandparents because I was not organized or faithful in straightening up my room. The same with vacuuming, dusting, or remembering to do the dishes before my mom got home from work. Now as an adult, it’s an internal battle I wage with myself between the chaos tornado and the desire to keep things tidy.

Over the years of working from home, I’ve learned that a chaotic space is not a productive space, as they said many times before, and yet I’m still a bit slow to do something about it. It wasn’t until watching Business Proposal that I began to connect the dots.

Kang Tae Mu

While watching Business Proposal earlier this year, a now beloved classic in my house, I related to a lot of the main characters. The one I did not expect to feel a kinship with was Kang Tae Mu. He is a young president of a company, he is rich, polished, and in control. The opposite of me. It wasn’t until the mask of perfection cracked and I saw the vulnerable moments of his character, the heartbreak and stress of his childhood, and his perfectionism as a coping tool that I realized we are not so different.

There is this moment, that truly endeared me to his character and opened my eyes to my own poor coping skills. Tae Mu and his friend Mr. Cha go to Mr. Cha’s apartment after work (Mr. Cha is his assistant) and Tae Mu cleans everything. Mr. Cha just steps back and out of his way, while Tae Mu works out all the emotions rattling around his mind in chaotic fractures by cleaning, and later cooking. His character decompresses by putting things back into order when he feels out of order and out of control. I never thought of cleaning that way before.

Gellers and Gilmores

I had seen it portrayed less healthily in the show Friends through Monica’s character. Monica’s character does this in a more unhinged and controlling way. But Tae Mu’s cleaning is so much more relatable. I mean it makes so much sense that tidying things can be a productive way to release the frantic energy of big emotions. In the show Gilmore Girls, emotional outbursts are normal. The characters rant, they yell, they express their emotions with big displays and that is usually how my feelings come out. In big messy paintbrush strokes over my relationships and my little house. I don’t like that anymore. I want to be kinder, gentler, a positive person to those around me.

I know I’ll still have those moments, but I’d like to minimize them and cope in better ways. Like not pushing the emotion into a box and tossing it to the back of my mind or feeling stressed and tense. So I’ve been trying to clean, when I really feel like I’m stuck.

Cleaning to the Beat of Wonderland & Item

I was feeling down in the dumps today, it was just an amalgam of bad communication with my husband, a cold, some other not feeling good things and discouragement. A lot of little things kept going wrong and my highly sensitive personality was feeling overstimulated. I was messing with my ability to focus on my current mitten project, my NaMo WriMo start, and planning blog posts.

I realized the only thing I could authentically change to set my day on a better path was to do some cleaning that had fallen by the wayside while I had been sick. With my earbuds in place and a playlist of Stray Kids’ 5-Star and Ateez hits I set to work on a kitchen deep clean. It is incredible how the first five songs of 5-Star changed my mood. The pacing of the music woke the dopamine centers of my brain back up and I was jamming through my stovetop scrubbing. By the time I switched to Ateez, I felt this weight lifted off. The stovetop was shining, the kitchen floor was lemony-fresh, the dishes were sorted into the drying rack, and the laundry was done with its spin cycle.

My environment was different even if my problems and little irritations from the day still existed, I was less stressed because I was able to do something to release my tension. Something active and productive. I felt like I was running my day, not my day running me over.

#37 – A Notched Lapel

Last night, I decided to be productive. I gathered my scissors and descended on my fabric stash. To the cuts of fabric, I’d left for the first hint of 30 degrees, to make a tweed coat and plaid trousers. Oh how excited I was to have a tweed fabric that was free from wool, and on clearance no less. What a thrill!

For months, I browsed Pinterest through the forest of street-style pins to the flowing river of coat inspiration. I studied the silhouette, the collar, and the button placement. Oh yes, I was going to do this right. I referenced pattern against pattern, for the right feel. The right lapel.

For moral support, I played a fellow chaos sewist in the background, Stephanie Canada, and laid my fabric on the floor. I determined my cut lines and set them to work, as Stephanie set to work on her #grimgrinninggarb I set my scissors to work carving out the back coat panel.

With a smile, I draped it against my frame to see that the arm holes were placed correctly. The opening for the neck, cut as a slim yoke, compared to the wandering necklines of my past attempts.

Next the sleeves were ready to take shape, a careful gusset planned for the armpit. “What mobility I will have,” I thought, “sweaters, hoodies, flannels – none will be too bulky for this!”

But then the summit appeared in the distance. The jacket front and collar! It was time for the big hurrah, the moment I studied and planned for. I smoothed the yardage to the floor with care to ensure the edges were plumb. With a careful swoop, the arm holes were placed. I steadied myself for the neck opening and lapel.

I stood, I pondered, I cut. A neckline sloping down, reaching outward towards the heart. A lapel. Large enough to fold over and sit regal down the coat. With satisfaction brimming, I carried on to the collar. Easy peasy right? After such a feat! I referenced my pattern one more time and cut it. I placed. I saw what I have wanted to see for years now. A coat with collar, notch, and lapel to follow.

Alright! This is going to work. This is my dream coat. A piece of outerwear ready for Friday Night Dinner. It was sharp. It was, just one. But two? Where’s the second piece?

With horror, I realized my mistake. I laid the second piece to see that I once again forgot to mirror the pattern. It was perfectly cut, backward. The lovely lapel was inside out. I had two lefts and no right.

And I had no more yardage left, on a clearance find remnant. Game over.

No tweed coat. No coat project at all. It was over. Fin.

Sewing humbles me every time. I know one of these days all my practice and failures are going to produce something made with care and wisdom. But dang, I feel so dumb!

If you are feeling discouraged today, remember, that we’re all in this together. 🫶 Hopefully we can all find a way to laugh through our mistakes and keep looking toward what the future holds. We got this! 😁

Rediscovering Techniques in Color Theory

When you walk away from a discipline some of the knowledge stays with you, in the forefront of your mind. You can pick up where you left off, no matter how long it has been, like riding a bike. It is a core skill, a talent, an extension of yourself that stays with you regardless of what your hopes and dreams are in your current life.

For me personally, art in the mediums of watercolor, chalk pastel, acrylic, and block printing are forever imprinted in my brain. What has not stayed in the forefront though is how to make things look refined.

I used to possess this skill, but like a muscle group this skill needs to be practiced in order to stay toned or honed I guess is a better way to say that. To be sharp, one must sharpen through effort and practice.

As I continue to get my sketchbook out, I’ve noticed a plateau and a desire to make the image on the page pop. Something to make it feel real, or call to me from within the composed piece. I’ve experimented with movement and pointillism. I’ve been blending, shading, and highlighting.

I like the highlighting, but have noticed that I am going through my white pastel at a higher speed than the rest which got me thinking. Did I always, when I was taking art classes, defer to white to make those highlights? Is there another way I have lost since I stopped practicing, that I am missing?

What about color theory? I used to mix acrylic paints in this way to achieve specific hues and richer colors that subtly told the story in my brush strokes. It added three-dimensionality to a 2D image. But, I thought to myself, how did I do that with pastels?

And so from there I have been getting in my sketchbook and shading swatches of color. I do these swatches in groups. Next, I shade a contrasting color on top and see what happens. What I am seeing is making me quite pleased. I see depth. Earthiness. I see more natural hues with darker and lighter colors blending in the swatch.

With this re-claimed knowledge, I am inspired to continue down this path of discovery to re-acquaint myself with these lost skills. I didn’t realize how much I missed art as a form of expression and coping. It brings me joy. I feel at home, but a home I haven’t visited in many years if that makes sense.

It’s interesting what sticks with us from childhood, and what becomes part of our identity. Being willing to accept who I am who is not a boss babe but a sensitive creative with a lot of ideas floating around in this noggin. I should give that part of me more time to explore, reflect, and create.

Do you have any hobbies that you have done since you were a child? If so, what motivates you to keep pursuing them?

Listening to the Bible App’s Audio Version

I looked back through my posts the other day and realized it has been over a month since I shared a Bible Study post. I was surprised by this, but then I thought about it. Yeah, it makes sense, I’ve been aimless in my Bible reading. Opting to listen to the audio version on the Bible app rather than to sit down and have quiet time with the Lord. My reading routine in the morning has become a floating plan to whenever I take a break to be still with my Bible reading. As it goes life has gotten in the way and I’ve found myself fitting in a Bible listen at the end of the day while I get a shower, do my nightly planks, or while I work out. It’s been in the background, and I’ve wondered, am I getting as much out of this?

The Book of Daniel

It’s certainly been different. I’ve noticed that I am less likely to be familiar with the text, as in where in the chapter or book of the Bible I can find the information again. I don’t take notes because of the format change which has led to a decline in journalling about it. A positive is that I’ve been invigorated by this audio form in sections of my reading that have been confusing, laborious, and even a bit strange. Yes, I said strange and I am talking about the Bible. The last half of the book of Daniel is quite strange. It is a multi-chapter section of prophecy so otherworldly that Biblical scholars cannot perceive its full meaning. It has not been revealed to us yet or maybe it is not important for us to understand it, because as a 21st-century human maybe this prophecy from 600-500 B.C. simply isn’t applicable to us in the new covenant.

Even now as I begin to mention this section of Daniel I see an important point of my audio Bible listening illustrated – when I read this prophecy section my mind gets bogged down by what I am reading. I instinctively want to understand the text for the process of reading comprehension like they trained us in school but alas, I can’t fully understand it. In this process, my mind seems to get the loading screen of doom and I tend to get overwhelmed and stuck in one section of the Bible for a long time, fruitlessly. What I discovered while listening to the final chapters of the book of Daniel while riding the bike and other cardio exercises was that I could absorb the information in its strange form and let it be absorbed without getting bogged down. The narrator read the fantastical images as they were written in the text. My mind accepted it and took it in because it acknowledged the narrative nature of the text without needing to figure everything out before I accepted it.

Now should I go back and take notes? Yes, I need to definitely go back through that section because it has some descriptions of creatures that are more bizarre than DNAmy’s Cuddle Buddies combinations. The images are like Pokemon come to life and I want to try to make sense of it again. But I learned something valuable, if there is a section I feel discouraged by because of its height of difficulty or simply the language being used, listening to it is a viable option. So I tested this again.

Paul’s Correspondence with Corinth

My hypothesis proved fruitful. Listening to confusing first-century A.D. letters from the Roman Empire can certainly become easier to understand if they are read to you. Why? I believe it is because they are written with different grammatical standards and trends due to their translation and age that make it sometimes painful for a 21st-century reader. Think about Shakespeare or the Greek Tragedies – would you rather see them performed or read them to yourself? Unless you are Rory Gilmore, I would say the performance option is going to be the popular choice. Honestly, this made a huge difference. Paul is a fantastic speaker, he also uses continual run-on sentences. But if you take the context back to a letter that was read to the congregation, well then, we don’t write the same way we speak, do we? It helped me simply understand the point of his sentences. To glean the correct information and accept the information which specifically tries my patience. I’m referring to the case of certain passages addressing the women of Corinth that are difficult to get on board for in my modern Western context because they seem to muddy the waters.

Now the Apostles did disagree on things and both points of view are recorded in the canonical Bible, but context also plays a role which makes reading these sections, like 1 & 2 Corinthians a bit of a chore. These letters were written to address specific happenings with specific people and as such because they are letters yet included in the Bible, this makes understanding whether it applies to all of us to this day or just the women of this 1st century congregation is higher than my mind works. There is a lot of reading by faith and prayer because if I don’t I just get frustrated by the confusion.

Random Acts of Audio

I would highly recommend switching between reading the Bible with your physical book and listening to audio versions. Last night, I listened to the narrator read through the Book of Joel and most of Amos, which are books that are not cheery. God is both angry and disappointed in His people and that can be hard to read at times. Not only for the prophecy of destruction but for the pain God is feeling because His people have rejected Him and rejected Him for centuries. When a relationship is disrespected and treated as less than over and over again, there is acute pain. Studying the Bible has a transformative power in which you begin to see things through God’s perspective and not your own. It is sad thinking about how my Heavenly Father was betrayed by his children and yet is bound by His righteousness and justice to cast out evil. It reminds me that relationships, done badly are filled with pain for both parties. I’m not sure if I would have understood all the meaning contained within Joel and Amos’ words if I had read them instead of hearing them being read. There was repetition to their narrative structure that was evident as they were being spoken, as the prophets Joel and Amos would have done in the 5th and 7th centuries B.C. Interesting stuff, right?

My You’ve Got Mail Moment

Do you remember that scene in You’ve Got Mail when Kathleen Kelly and Joe Fox are at that dinner party, and he is antagonizing her and all she can do is stare at him? Later on, she emails NY152, and Shopgirl reveals how frustrating it is that she happens to freeze when someone pushes her buttons, and instead of having anything in reply her mind goes blank. I was thinking about this scene over the weekend as I had not one but two encounters with rude behavior.

The first was on Saturday, in Joann Fabrics. As I browsed the clearance fabric in a narrow aisle cluttered by overhanging fabric bolts making even one person in the aisle feel cramped, a woman who was probably a Gen-X to my Millenial, pushed her cart down the aisle and proceeded like a flash flood to move forward. Not saying anything, she kept walking, and walking, until I felt her cart in my leg and then she started saying in a syrupy voice “So sorry, excuse me.” She continued to push until I realized, she wasn’t apologizing, I was going to be moving or getting run down by a cart. The idea of not physically moving me out of the way did not exist in her mind. At that moment, all I could think of was “Where am I supposed to go?” which was ignored and I skedaddled out the aisle and watched her not even look at the section I was in and carry on to the next aisle where she did the same thing. I was baffled. I thought the behavior was coming from a pushy desire to get the fabric I was looking through, and now I think she didn’t even noticed that it was there or that other people existed in the store.

Now reader, the reason I am sharing this is not to rant or put her down, but to discuss the frustration I have in my own mind that I freeze in these situations. My mind goes blank like Kathleen Kelly and I wish it didn’t not because I want to be a mouthpiece of malice towards people I find rude, but instead to have any way of voicing a change. To have the maturity and the wherewithal to speak in wisdom and inspire people like this to re-think their behavior so that instead of being the person everyone in the store was avoiding, this woman could be a person bringing warmth and good energy to the group. But I can’t think of a single thing in those moments. I can’t even stand my ground respectfully without getting scared. I wish I could be a better person.

Now the next day, stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic due to road work, the unthinkable happened. We were merged into the left lane due to the right lane closure for road work and a woman who was old enough to be my mom, screamed down the right lane refusing to merge until she ran out of pavement. That is when she began to throw her Audi SUV, not a cheap vehicle, into the two-foot gap between us and the next car. We had nowhere to go and she continued pushing. She stared us down and began telling us that she was getting in and that’s that. She came within inches of taking off the right front side of our car, and it was only prevented by the traffic in front moving forward at the exact time. I was verklempt and rising in anger at the wastefulness of her actions. I don’t know the financial situation she has, but paying off my car has never felt easy. Making the progress I have has felt like a miracle because I bought it used in 2021 and it was marked up due to the car shortage, but we needed a running car. I would never willingly use it as a battering ram because I have to be first in a merge lane, because it is worth too much to me to treat it like an expendable accessory. It gets me from point A to point B and I am grateful to have it. I would never want to take someone’s transportation away to get one spot ahead in a merge lane.

That situation was just a bad moment, that happens because people can be pretty crappy, but I’ve replayed the moment in my head and wished there was some way in those crazy highway moments to diffuse people. Make them see reason and remember that these big life-altering actions, don’t have to happen. You can back off and apologize and people will respect you for it. How can we inspire change on the road and inside the aisle of the store? I wish I knew.

#36 – Gratitude and Growth

This year has been weird, weird because I tried something new. I took a step back and let something that had felt out of my control for years be out of my control. I stopped pushing, trying, fighting, and shape-shifting. Instead, I waited. I took my hands off of my relationship with my mom and submitted it to God. I was at rock bottom, our relationship hit an all-time low in January. We were no longer Rory and Lorelai, we were Emily and Lorelai careening towards Emily and Gran. Things were bad. Our communication was broken, and both of us seemed to be unbothered by the problems, allowing it to be the status quo. For just shy of a decade our relationship had been in a bad place. My life took a wrong turn when I was in college and never righted its course. We were no longer pals, but secretive enemies.

I thought this was the final destination for our relationship. I was not hopeful. I put it down and left it. For months I barely spoke to my mom. For six months we did not see each other. It was the longest break we ever took. Even when I moved 14 hours away, we saw each other within 5 months. The distance was too far. This year it felt like I lived on the other side of the world. It pushed me to be still to process what I was doing wrong and to realize what I wished our relationship could be like.

When my mom had surgery this summer, the thought of a complication taking her away woke me up out of this experiment in distance. I visited her and it was strained, but doing a normal thing, like visiting your mom after surgery, seemed to bring a little normalcy back to our unbridled mess. As she recovered our relationship ebbed and flowed like tides. One day we’d be comfortable, warm, and friendly. The next it was cold, distant, irritating. I began to wonder if the small bit of hope was just that a small taste. That maybe it was what it was, and I needed to adjust my expectations. Could we get along in my adulthood? I was uncertain and began to think that maybe my mom was my best friend as a kid because I was young and different. Like my personality and needs have changed and that was how it was. I began to encourage myself to accept it, but I didn’t like it.

But then August and September came and something changed. They came to visit us, and we went to visit them. We stayed for the weekend and went to a familiar fall haunt, the Antiques in the Woods show in Ohio. I had fun, I remembered the past times we had together at this event, and I met a friend of my mom and grandma’s who told me how much they loved my mom. They told me stories of moments I missed over the past decade when I was not interested in spending time with my mom and painted a portrait I hadn’t seen in a while. They reminded me of who my mom could be and why I was always so proud to have her be my chaperone on school trips or invite friends over to my house because my mom can be really cool and a sweetheart. All the baggage of grief, growing pains, family fights, moves, it had all clouded my vision. I was seeing through the eyes of pain and past, I wasn’t seeing her in real-time.

We hung out with them again recently and went to Erie Bluffs State Park. I remembered how much I loved traveling with my mom. When the trip began my plan was to show her Erie in hopes that she would like a place I was considering moving to, but instead, I felt this pull to not leave again. I felt this peace to remain where I am and be comfortable in the familiar and close proximity to home. To not be afraid of staying close to home and not be scared or ashamed of my roots. I’ve learned a lot this year and I feel immense gratitude for the process of how I learned because if I had not fully walked away, my eyes may have stayed clouded in the lens of the past instead of looking toward the future and appreciating what is right in front of me. My Lorelai to my Rory, my home that still remains, the ideal mom-dad-dog-plus a husband that fits like a missing puzzle piece, the family I always wanted. I just needed to wait and be open to things getting better.

Will we probably fight again? Oh most definitely, but have I learned you can repair what is broken. Yes. And that is what I am grateful for. That might be the most important life lesson because it teaches resiliency.

Slea Head, Dingle, County Kerry | 01

A memory from 2001, the drive around the ring of Kerry. This is a view, near Slea Head looking towards the An Fear Marbh (The Sleeping Giant/Dead Man) Island. A quick sketch made with chalk pastels. At the time, I didn’t understand the grandeur of what I was staring at when I was eight, but now the beauty of Ireland’s scenery lives rent-free in my mind.

The Details:

My First Buttondown Shirt

I’ve been sewing for three years as a full-time apprentice after being laid off. I’ve mentioned this before in #1 – Welcome and #3 – First Sewing Project and it’s been a quick learning curve from hand-sewing, paper patterns, pattern drafting, and machine sewing, but one skill has eluded me for three years. That is the working buttonhole with professional-looking buttonholes! Not my crappy buttonholes that look like an animal chewed a hole through the fabric and I hastily sewed some thread around it, no I’m talking about secure, there for the long haul, even button holes. Well-anchored and secure fasteners of fashion! Well, I figured it out thanks to YouTube and I am incredibly happy!

This shirt has a working placket of buttons and buttonholes, with a self-drafted shirt front and back panels, collar, and sleeves with a gusset for a more fitted sleeve shape. I finished the sleeves with a cuff for added pizazz. This shirt is made from buffalo plaid flannel from Mood Fabrics that sat in my fabric stash for 11 months waiting for the right project. At first, I bought it to make a two-piece pj set, which then was revised into matching pj pants for Kyle and me, and was further revised into pj pants for Kyle and a flannel shirt for me.

I love this print because it has Canadian Geese, Caribou, and Elk. Elk hold a special place in my heart because of where my husband is from, Caribou makes me think of the song Long Time Running by The Tragically Hip, the red plaid makes me think of my Canadian heritage, and Canadian Geese are my comfort animals.

I’m sure that sounds weird but I will elaborate. When I was 10, my mom had this amazing opportunity to go to Ireland through her work. Although it was only for 10 days, it really scared me because I had never been away from her that long. I was used to not seeing my dad for months, but my mom was always there for me. On the day her trip began, my grandparents took me mini-golfing and while we were there this little baby Canadian Goose, gosling I guess, followed me around through our entire game. It was my little buddy. I named it Popcorn. The owners of the course said they had never seen this happen before. If it hadn’t been a wild animal, I would have asked to adopt it.

Fast forward fifteen years later and I’m living in Savannah, Georgia. I moved closer to get to know my dad who lived in Savannah and I had a falling out with my mom in the process. My grandparents are now sick and I’m feeling lost. Each time I went to prayer meeting at Compassion Christian there was a flock of Canadian Geese in the parking lot. It was July and August, not prime migration time. It was odd, and I felt like they were there for me. A reminder that God was with me even when I was feeling lost and homesick.

Two years later, my grandpa passed away, the world was shut down and I felt lonely and lost in Meadville, unsure of how to feel home again. My grandma was now a widow and grieving, we didn’t know it yet but she was starting to move towards heaven, as she would in December of that year. I began to notice something each day at 4 pm, a lone goose or a flying V of Canadian Geese will fly directly over our house. Every day. This continues for a year. I even moved to a new place within that year and it still happened. When that goose or group of geese approached my house, I would hear the honk and I would run outside to watch it fly. In that moment I felt a feeling of comfort, like I could feel God’s presence with me so intensely. Just like a parent’s presence can make you feel safe, I felt that.

I’d say this is probably my favorite item in my wardrobe right now. Thank you, dear reader, for hanging out with me today. I hope you feel safe and loved today.

It’s Me, I’m the Problem

I want this post to be as real as possible. As I am currently tapping these keys into letters on this virtual page, I am uncertain if this will actually get posted. I don’t write enough and I think that is because I get too into my head. Perfectionism takes hold and I let the ideas flow out of my brain and into the atmosphere. I let myself talk my creative mind out of ideas that may be wonderful. I stumble and overthink. I’ve been thinking about what’s on my mind today for a couple months now, actually a couple years if I take stock. Okay, here it goes.

I’m bad at going to church, I’m not even sure if I like it or have ever liked it. Yikes. I said it. But I want to be different because I would like to have a community in my town and also keep a teachable spirit throughout my life.

Early on, church and school melded into one – private Christian education. That remained a constant throughout my time at college. Becoming an adult and reflecting on my time in church communities across various denominations has confused me more than it has filled me with an appetite to go. I feel shame for my feelings and I’m also concerned that if I called out the reasons in the circles that have left me feeling this way they would shut their ears until I “repented” and then they would still not hear me out.

Denominations I have attended or interacted with at school or in life:
Reformed Presbyterian
Christian Missionary Alliance
Nazerene
Catholic
Orthodox Reformed Presbyterian
Russian Orthodox
Greek Orthodox
Presbyterian USA
Seventh Day Adventist
Presbyterian split from USA
Evangelical Presbyterian
Non-Denominational
Presbyterian PCA
Baptist
Pentecostal
Methodist
Anglican
Lutheran
Mennonite
Amish

It’s quite the cross-section, spanning North America and Europe. Through these different church doctrinal cultures, I have been the weird kid with no siblings. The weird kid with a single mom. The weird kids with divorced parents. The weird kid who lives with her grandparents. The weird kid with no dad. The weird kid with catholic family members, whom my Reformed Presbyterian friends and family could not approve of. I’ve been the one who is uncomfortable by how Protestants self-righteously look down on Catholic and Orthodox friends. I’ve been the one who has felt out of place.

The girl who has been questioned, privately and publically about my faith because I like art and want to become a fashion designer. I have been questioned about my faith because I do not have children yet I am married. I have been questioned about my faith when I was the breadwinner of my relationship temporarily because my husband took an opportunity that temporarily had a pay cut. I’ve been questioned about my faith because of tattoos, ear piercings, fashion choices, and clip-in purple hair extensions. My salvation has been mocked because I sing hymns instead of psalms.

I’ve encountered churches that would not let me join or take communion unless my husband was first a member. I’ve encountered people who are self-righteous about their Pentecostal experiences. I’ve also attended churches where the pastor looks like an MTV cast member and preaches that your life will be full of wealth and privilege like him if you listen to him. I’ve heard sermons teach unbiblical things for the sake of social capital and popularity. I’ve encountered out-of-touch snobbery and generosity from humble people.

I’ve genuinely enjoyed four churches – the Spanish service in Paris at a very old church, Pastor Knapp’s preaching at First Presbyterian Church in an old stained glass stone church, SOMA in a random basement of building seated at tables instead of pews so that you could have a meal afterward (it was an inner city mission in my hometown), Compassion Christian with their rockband and folding chairs. My first thought after writing that is to realize that the “church” really doesn’t matter to me, it’s the people and their kindness. Their love for the Lord and his Word by which they are seeking to be Christ-like instead of being Christian – my favorite descriptor, not.

I have no idea what the point of sharing this is other than the fact that it is on my heart, and I feel led to talk about it because I don’t want to feel dread at the thought of joining a church, but I currently do. I don’t feel dread of stepping foot in a church or listening to a sermon and worshipping God. I’m not afraid to be identified with Christ or to share my testimony. But dang, the cliques, the judgment, and the bickering of the people in the church have really messed with my perception of the church. I’m not a snowflake for feeling that way, and I’m also not living in sin, I just know there is more I could be doing for the Kingdom of God if I joined a church that I will be missing out on if I can’t seem to get past this pothole in the road. It’s like a massive February pothole on a Pittsburgh road that might swallow your car hole if you hit it right.

I guess the point of this post is to bring community to the other ones like me who simply do not feel heard or welcome to voice the church hurt that they have. The ones who are struggling to separate who God is from these crazy humans running the operation called church. Can we help each other?

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