Chapter 6.....3 years in led to 3 years out

This next part of my journey....man, I've written and rewritten it for weeks. It's what led to my decision to tell the ENTIRE journey thus far actually. I didn't totally have words for this season and it bought me a little time.


I again caution, because there are still people I love and who love me that worship in that place and have community in that place, do not read my journey as if I am somehow sharing what you should be doing with yours. But in the midst of secrets and smoke and mirrors and my story being told by others...I decided it was right and fine to tell my own story.... all of it.  In our liturgy today we talked about asking 'how did we get here?'  And it's funny because I know that's part of why I wanted, no needed to share.  I finally feel like I've gotten through some muck and am standing on solid ground for a bit.  And with a little distance and clarity I can see a little more clearly. 




So we went to the big non denominational church.  And it was a right fit at a right time.


I learned so many things about studying the bible there.
I met so many people who loved Jesus and believed in the power of prayer.
I learned so many ways to bring my faith into my daily life.
I discovered a lot about myself.
I truly embraced the idea that if I only love Him and love others so many things in my broken reality could be ok...and even if they weren't, they were.


We engaged quickly and became engulfed with classes and groups and teams and activities. We volunteered. We signed our kids up. We dove in.


We were different. But it was okay. Different such that we..... listened to different music. Disciplined our kids different. (if one more person tried to force me to 'Love and Logic') Celebrated holidays differently. But we found friends and a community.


We served in so many different areas. Children's Ministry, prison ministry, worship ministry, marriage ministry....we then progressed to leading groups, teaching classes, my husband became a full time stateside missionary.  I felt as if even though there weren't a lot of people like us...(PS I mean Mexican and Black by the way) it was ok because we were accepted and loved.


And then I joined the staff.  And my journey was about to change.


Because I would never look at Christians the same.


I knew I was in for trouble my very first week. I had come from a job where on my last day I couldn't leave when I was supposed to because I had to stay on the phone with my client---a young adult who had threatened to end their life--until the police came and I knew they were safe. And just a few days into this new job, I was at a table with co workers discussing camp for the following summer and an argument broke out regarding the color of the tshirt that was going to be chosen. A serious argument that had faces turning red and voices being raised. And I began to angry cry. (Angry cry, for those who don't know me, is what occurs when I am equally pissed and sad and have to choose between losing my cool in a potentially aggressive/violent way or burst into tears. When asked what was wrong, I had to slam my hand on the table and say that I couldn't believe just a week ago I was dealing with real issues and real problems and here we were arguing about the color of a fricken tshirt?????  A tshirt which incidentally a great many of us moms were not crafting into quilts or pillows or art but were cutting for rags or donating to Goodwill.  Please tell me this was not real life.


But. It was.  


Over and over I would find myself caught in these odd scenarios....real life 'What Would You Do' interactions....where my family and friends who were not a part of this church would ask me over and over 'how are you doing this?  how are you surviving?' And as this was occurring.....there were ugly secrets and lies...reputations smeared...questions posed in ways that made you feel there was a 'right' answer and if you didn't know what the answer was....you were suddenly not on the team.


Both. Became more than I could bear.


I struggled. And I fought with myself about what my role was.  I knew that I could not stay silent about things that weren't okay, but I really tired quickly, as did my husband, in being the 'voice' or 'face' to represent something.  Also there were times when I might bring something up and it was well received....doesn't mean they always agreed but that they were open to discussion, to finding out more about the different perspective.....and there were times where I could tell the people I was speaking with really just wished I would shut up and get in line.  (PS. I hate lines)  I can't do anything but give examples because I'm tired of being cryptic. So that's what I'm going to do.


Special week with a theme of Taking it to the Streets. That week. Was incredibly hard. So many little things, but to name two.... we got an email asking us to bring in garbage so that the stage could be decorated for the city.  No, no, no, no, no.  Also, beautiful, full color postcards had been printed as promo for the family meals that were offered that week. Those meals had come to be known as the diner....that year?  the Soup Kitchen. No, no, no, no, no.  Both times, I ran to my boss's office and slammed the door and hollered and cried and in her sweet, gentle way she talked me out of spitting on people and quitting. And she helped me find my voice to go and have hard conversations requesting that this not happen....explaining that not everyone saw this as ok.  The garbage email?  Well, that person did not like my critique.  I could tell by her face and body language. She smiled and said they were decorating for the city so of course that's where mind went first.  I assured her that the city is more than skid row and off the top of my head there's bus stops, parks, trees, food trucks, people, buildings...just to name a few.  The postcard?  Immediately production was stopped and new postcards were printed, with the name back to the diner.  The person took ownership that it had not even entered their mind that it might not be appropriate, but of course they could see how that was insensitive and thanked me for being bold to speak up.


There were so many situations like this. Unwed pregnant mom----she can no longer be a leader? Ok cool. But I'm not telling her that. That's gonna have to be one of you.  Young child on the autism spectrum too difficult or disruptive for large group, so can they stay back in the classroom? Yea, that's not about to happen. Sorry Charlie.  Over and over. I learned who I could trust and who to avoid. I knew who had authentic love for me and who 'tolerated' me.


3 years in...I knew I would have to leave.  I remember the day.  I had to leave early.  And it was the first time that I felt totally alone in that place.


It was the day Obama was elected. His first term. I had put up with a lot during campaign season. Snide comments. Inappropriate jokes. Sarcastic remarks. Things that were not appropriate at the work place...much less coming from Christians.  But that day. That day, a staff person came to work wearing black and carrying a 'joke' bottle of 'NOBAMA' pills.  And was walking around, offering them to people. And people were laughing.  And she was not checked.  And I knew I had to get out of there before she got to me because I could feel it rising in me....I would've put down my Jesus and knocked the shit outta her.  So once again, into my bosses office I went. I don't remember if I told her the truth of why I had to leave or not....because from there it was a blur.  Grabbing my bag, racing to the car and then sobbing uncontrollably the entire way home. Not because she didn't want Obama elected. Believe me, that place might as well have been the Republican headquarters, so I was used to Republican rhetoric being widely accepted as the 'right' way to think....but that nobody, to my knowledge, pulled her aside, made her put them away and corrected her behavior.  Man, I pray I'm wrong and at some point that conversation happened....but to my knowledge it did not.


And so my prayer began....God. Please release me.  But there would be three more years of reflection, growth, and change before that day would come.


That's what I've got today.

Intro to the 'Holy' Years

After wandering in the desert I didn't really know I was in and slowly starting to merge my rock star and college mom life....I actually stumbled into what would become the most beautiful and destructive time in this journey. And it happened quite unexpectedly. 




I met the man that would become my husband while shaking my booty at a club. He was home on leave and neither of us were really 'looking' for 'the one'. In fact, by that night it was quite common for me to give fake numbers because I had sworn off men and he later told me that he had gotten a few numbers that night. But I did give him my real number. And he did call the next day. And for the next few weeks that he was home on leave we were together a lot.  He had to return to his post out of state and what followed was letters, phone calls, visits and back and forth. We fell in love and were quite smitten, but looking back, I don't know that either of us really knew what that meant. We were babies for pete's sake.  But we forged forward having children, moving in together and talking about getting married one day.


One random evening we had put the littles to bed and were watching TV. I'm not super big into spiritualizing things...but there are some things I have no other way of describing than to say they were a 'God moment'. What I mean by that when I say it, is that in the moment....something is said or done that is almost outer body--out of the blue and out of character and yet somehow I just know that it was exactly what is supposed to be said or done. There is a peace in the moment that is unexplainable.  So as we are watching some trash TV, we turned to each other and at the exact same time said to the other, 'We should go to church on Sunday.'




Um, what?




We had never been to church together. We had never talked about going to church together. We knew a little of each other's faith background, but that was about it. So after the surprise of what had just come out of our mouths we did a little research and discovered there was a non-denominational church just minutes from our apartment. It wasn't Catholic, it wasn't Baptist, it was close and did not meet at the crack of dawn, so we decided to give it a try.




Chapter 6 is coming....but this is all I got today.

Mess, Secrets and Bullshit

Today my brain has been in overload. #45 made another ridiculously hateful tweet this morning and social media erupted.  I went back and forth between reading the tweets and statuses and articles and comments. I did a lot of praying and a lot of inner cussing. Those things aren't mutually exclusive in my world.

It got me thinking about humans. And our ugly mess. And the kind of ugly mess we all have and then the much deeper ugly mess. Of secrets. Of bullshit.

We all have ugly mess of different stuff. This is the kind of regular mess that hinders our ability to be a decent, kind human. It might be areas where we are immature or stuck due to past experiences...it might be people we are holding a grudge against or anxiety that comes over us when dealing with a situation we'd rather not.  I have mess. And so do you. Often we come against each other as we are trying to navigate through our mess. Sometimes taking a breather helps. Sometimes being conscientious of how our mess affects someone else's mess. Sometimes just taking the ever needed 'adult time out' helps. It's the run of the mill mess that humanity will always have because, well....we are human.  And that gets messy.

But today, after reading so many posts and comments from people who identify as Christians and believers....and really wrestling through what it means to authentically LOVE...and what kind of human I want to continue to grow into....how to keep my mess, well, less messy...I keep coming back to two things that seem to hinder ability to both give and receive authentic LOVE. Secrets. And bullshit.

I was a master at secrets. From hiding my bulimia to hiding my true feelings....to living basically two lives in college...to ignoring my bi polar and how it was affecting me and my relationships...I know how damaging they can be. There's different kinds of secrets but they all seem to produce rotten fruit. 

We know our secrets. And we often have learned to hide them well.

We can keep secrets about who we are. We hide our true feelings or pretend to be something we aren't. We lie about big things, we lie about little things. We hide money and have affairs. We smile on the outside when we are dying on the inside. We front at work and give fake concern. We don't let others know who we really are or what we are really feeling.  All of this hinders authentic LOVE.  Because well, we aren't being authentic.

What if we came out of the shadows and just stood in the light.  Warts and all. Hiddenness and all.  What are you keeping from us? From yourself?  Addiction? Lies? Falsehood? Fear? Pain? Anger? Anxiety? Wouldn't it be refreshing to take a deep breath and exhale all of those frayed and broken bits of secrets....to allow them to transform to mess as we faced them and didn't worry about

Then there's our bullshit.

Man, do we let our bullshit keep us from love. When I say our bullshit, for me, it's deeper than our ugly mess or secrets that hinder....because like the definition says....it's nonsense, lies, exaggeration, foolishness that we say or do to be misleading and deceptive.

Sometimes we are fully aware. Sometimes we know.  Purposeful bullshit. This hinders authentic LOVE but I think we normally don't care because well....we're aware of what we are doing. It's the stuff we say we want changed but are doing absolutely nothing about. It's the "extra" that we say or do to pump ourselves up, to be "on" even though we don't give a damn.  We can't authentically LOVE or be LOVED because we are so full of false...there's no room for real.

Sometimes we aren't. This makes me sad because I know I've been here before..... (and could be again) in a place where we don't yet have our eyes opened to the bullshit that is hindering us. It might be self preservation. But honestly, I've found most times it's pride or denial. We behave as if the bullshit has been handled. Or as if it doesn't even exist. Or it might just be that we've been programmed to blindness. So that anger or that addiction or that judgment or that pain or that lie or that secret....just sits there. And while we continue on to relationship and partnership....we are hindered.  In a deep way that affects other's ability to love us and our ability to love back. And we aren't even aware!  We are missing out on authentic LOVE and may not even realize that we are.

As crazy as these days seem for those who claim to love Jesus and consider themselves his follower....I love Jesus. And I love the way he loved. And I love that he came against what was seen as the "right" way and the "status quo". He challenged leaders and those that stood in places of being 'in the know'. I want to love that way. I want to challenge that way. I want to be challenged that way.

That's what I got today.

Chapter 5: Are you in the Desert if you don't know you are in the Desert?

My early 20s were spent pretty wildly. Actually, I pretty much lived two lives. I had the finish college, dote on my daughter life and the party like a rock star life.  Neither of which had much to do with God.

I never denied God's existence....there just wasn't much acknowledging his existing in my life in those years.

As a student and a mom I did a lot of praying. I prayed that my daughter wouldn't be too scarred by the back and forth of co-parenting with her dad. I prayed that I'd finish college and find a decent job. I prayed about the future and I prayed I wouldn't always be alone.

As a rock star?  Pretty much the only praying I did was that I'd make it home safe while behaving in all kinds of ways that make it a miracle that I did.  There were some situations where I just couldn't explain how I survived.

College/mom life?  I was learning about other cultures and women's issues and race relations in this country. I was dancing and choreographing and dreaming. I was teaching a little how to use her manners and wear long sleeves and be independent.

Rock star life?  I was learning how much alcohol I could drink and still get up and dance on a table. I was learning how long it took to drive to Jalisco's for a steak burrito suizo at bar time if you were in a different city. I was learning how easy it was to manipulate men.


But looking back....
I always worked with people who believed in Jesus Christ, who went to church, who had bibles on their desks. Who said they would pray for me or invited me to different events. I occasionally took them up on their offers but honestly it was mostly out of respect for them than because I was really interested in what I was attending. I really wasn't sure how or if any of it would ever be relevant. But it was nice to know people were praying for me and my heathen ways.

But basically?  I was just doing me. And I was a lot to do so.....


That's what I got today.

Chapter 4: Wait, I'm a Stumbling Block?? What the Heezee??

After CCD, confirmation and the baptism debacles....I pretty much stayed away from church and anything to do with Christians. I wasn't necessarily through with God, or even Jesus for that matter.  But it was safe to say that I had pretty strong opinions about 'organized religion'. As you begin to read this chapter you might wonder how it is connected to my faith journey.  Stay with me. You'll see.

I was a single mom (by marital status only--I had a great support team to help raise my cherub Jordyn) and was determined not to become one of those single moms who focused solely on her child---and allowed her child to consume every aspect of her life.  I was going to finish college and get my degree, I wasn't going to live with my parents forever, I wanted to date and still have fun on the weekends when my daughter was with her dad.  So there was flirting and joking with male co-workers. There was teasing and occasionally going out for drinks.

Then there was the date. 

My job was near a bible college and so a LOT of the part time staff were students at the bible college. I began to recognize who was a student there very easily.  They were always super chipper.  Most of the women didn't wear pants. Many carried a bible with them. They said things like, 'With God's grace' or 'If God allows'. It was all Greek to me.  But even though they somewhat represented to me what I was running from....one guy caught my eye.

We became friends. I thought. He asked about my daughter a lot and would remember things I had shared. He told me a little about his family and why he chose to go to a bible college.  I knew the school was very strict and had a lot of rules. I knew he took his faith very seriously.  It was rather refreshing actually because I had not yet experienced people who prayed and had a sense of humor, who were kind and apologized sincerely, who had a gentle demeanor and yet seemed strong.

He was a cutie no doubt. And, I could tell he had a HUGE crush on me.  (no conceit here...many of you know when you know that someone has a crush on you)  It was sweet.  He was incredibly awkward and shy. He would rarely make eye contact and if and when I ever gave him a compliment, for example in the way he handled a crisis, he would turn bright red.  I remember one of my coworkers trying to egg me on to tease with him, lead him on in a way.  But I couldn't. I could tell, he was somewhat fragile and while I did think it was incredibly funny to exert control over males with my womanly wiles....I just knew this wasn't a situation where that was ok.  He was an honest and good person who had convictions and I wasn't about to mess with that.

So I was careful. Not to flirt too much. Not to stand too close. To step away when I could tell he was trying to nonchalantly brush past me. To take my lunch at a different time so we weren't in the break room/office at the same time.

Then one day he asked me out on a date.  I asked if he was sure.  I asked if it was okay.  He told me it was and that he wanted to come and pick me up and take me to the movies. He asked when my daughter would be with her dad and we set the date.

I found myself excited.  I just had this feeling that this date would be different. A gentleman. A guy who was not going to be about getting into my pants. But I was also nervous because. A gentleman. A guy who was not going to be about getting into my pants.

So he picked me up.  And from the moment the door opened....It was the oddest date of my life.

I could tell he was nervous. But not in the shy way....I can't really explain it, but it was different somehow.

He opened the door for me. He bought me snacks for the movie. I caught him smelling my hair. He fumbled in the popcorn trying to find my hand. He attempted to put his arm around me. He very  'non-chalantly' let his leg touch mine.I could feel the tension oozing off of him. I found myself physically withdrawing because it was so uncomfortable. After the movie, we stopped for ice cream and I have never felt more self conscious eating ice cream in front of someone before. He stared at me way too long and way too intensely.  I opted not to finish my cone because I was that uncomfortable.

When we got to my house, he walked me to my door and gave me the most bizarre kiss I had ever received. I don't know that I ever had a kiss where someone's tongue was in my mouth before our lips had even touched. He had a death grip on my arms. Then he ran to his car without looking back and pulled out of the driveway like a bat out of hell.

I knew it was not just the first date, but also the last date we would have.  I was prepared to have the hard conversation we might have to have if he asked me out again.  I need not have worried.

The next time we worked together.  He cornered me.

He told me he had something hard to tell me but it was necessary.  And he proceeded to tell me that I was a stumbling block for him. (had NO clue what that meant at the time, no clue.) That he would not be able to continue dating me. (um, one date...hardly dating dude) That he had broken all kinds of rules for me and the guilt that he felt was overwhelming. (nobody asked you to dude) He said that it was very difficult to be around me because of the sexual tension between us and that it had gotten too close to 'going all the way' (oh...poor baby if you really thought that dude)

When I let him know that I didn't know what a stumbling block was....he informed me that as a Christian man there were certain standards he needed to uphold and a sexy, single mom who was likely going to go all the way was not appropriate and that I made him think things he shouldn't be thinking.

I don't remember my exact words. But I remember laughing hysterically. And basically telling him he had nothing to worry about because a) we weren't dating b) there was no WAY he was ever getting to first base again much less all the way c) I had never been made to feel cheap before much less from a "Christian" man d) it wasn't my fault he was a horny toad who felt the need to break rules that he had agreed to follow--I hadn't broken any rule. e) I had standards too and he didn't match up to mine.

I honestly found much of the entire situation laughable. But I was irritated by one thing.  I hadn't pretended to be anything that I wasn't. I hadn't lied or 'broken rules.' In fact, I had taken great care to be thoughtful of him. And yet I felt like he had judged me and told me that I didn't meet HIS Christian standards?  The standards you cared so much about that you took out the loose single mom hoping you might get lucky?? And then because of your guilt "broke up" with someone you were never dating because of your lack of self control?  It simply solidified my dislike for a religion that caused people to pretend.

Yeah.  It was pretty much a done deal.

You can keep your Christianity.  I'm good thanks.


That's what I got today.

Chapter 3. Keep Your Earrings On!!

Christmas Eve 1990 I had the stomach flu like I'd never experienced. And for the day or two after I could not stop vomiting. Deep down. I knew what was what.

1st pregnancy test.  Positive.
2nd pregnancy test. Positive.
3rd pregnancy test. Positive.
Yep. I'm pregnant.

After confirmation I wish I could say that I had an hallelujah moment but I had not.

I still prayed. Believed that Jesus was the son of God and that there was good and truth in the bible, but I wasn't sure what to think about Christianity or religion.  I still thought that being kind and honest were good things and I believed the Golden Rule was how we should live.  I asked for forgiveness, tried not to lie and

Other 'rules' or 'laws'....not so much.

And while I was hardly promiscuous....I had met a man I felt certain I would end up marrying so it just made good sense to have sex.  I mean. Really, did the Pope think people would wait? And what was premarital sex to people who never wanted to or planned to marry? It was all murky and so I had decided that at 18, with a man I loved who I had pretty much decided would be my husband someday that I would have sex. And by 19 and over a year of dating I was SURE I'd marry him...so yes it was premarital but once we were married....I mean wouldn't God understand? 

I had not as much decided that I would be relentless about taking my birth control every day and at the same time.

And so, much to my surprise....

Yep. I'm pregnant.

The next significant part of my spiritual journey did not unfold through my pregnancy however. I certainly grew and matured as an individual and woman....but there were not a lot of changes to how I already felt.

After my sweet cherub was born (who in my heart will always be Apollonia Emerald but was legally named Jordyn Ashley).....things took a turn. Because very shortly after....discussion of baptism surfaced.  I cringed. And all kinds of confirmation baggage began to bubble up.  The truth is that I didn't want her to be baptized Catholic. But I felt like I really didn't know how to articulate why.

Please hear me.  I knew nothing. I had no bible study. I had no mentors or Christians in my life. I was forming opinions and moving forward based on gut reactions and thoughts I was having in response to what I felt was control.  I wasn't asking questions because there was nobody to ask them to.

People would ask why I wasn't getting her baptized and I would answer why would I?
'So she doesn't go to hell.'

People would ask if I had contacted the church about getting her baptized and I would answer where?
I had never been back to my confirmation church after, quite frankly, confirmation.

I remember asking, why baptize at birth?  If the purpose of infant baptism is to ensure that she would not be damned to hell if God forbid she perished...but we also much believe in our heart in order to be saved and an infant really couldn't believe in their heart.....but nobody really had answers.
And the pressure was on. And there were quite a few that were not going to rest until I baptized my cherub and secured her soul to Heaven.

Her father and his family attended and were members at the church I had been confirmed at. And while I don't remember exactly who set it up or how it came to be....an appointment was made for me and her father to meet with the Priest.

I walked in carrying my cherub in her carseat and very apprehensive.

I am not sure why, but I felt wrong being there. Like every fiber in my body was telling me to leave, but I didn't. I guess I felt like it was better to keep the peace with people I loved rather than upset them by following what I felt was right.

I allowed her dad to do much of the talking. To explain that while we were not current attenders of the church....it was the church both of our families attended.  ('Well,' I said internally, 'actually my family really doesn't attend but ok, we'll go with that.') To explain that although we weren't current attenders or members we desired for her to be baptized.  ("Well,' I said internally, 'actually I don't desire for her to be baptized. I could care less. But I wanted people who did care to be happy so...')  To explain that we understood there may be a class or something we would need to take, but we were willing to do what was necessary. ("Well, um, wait...when the hell did I say I'd take a class?? What the what!?!?!")

All of his chatter was met with a quiet stare back at us.

Silence.

Then the Priest proceeded to tell us that yes, we would indeed need to take a class, become members AND have a consistent pattern of monthly giving for them to consider baptizing my cherub.

Excuse me? I took a deep breath.  And another. And another. And then as calmly as I could muster, asked what that had to do with anything.

My question was answered with a blank stare.

I continued in explaining that my entire life I was taught that infants must be baptized at birth or they would be stuck in purgatory or damned to hell.  Personally, I did not believe that but I was willing to allow my cherub to be baptized for the people I loved who did believe that. And here he was telling me that it wasn't my unbelief in this ritual that disallowed her from participating...but the fact that I hadn't given on a consistent and regular basis?  That as a faith I had been taught we were born sinners but through the sacrament of baptism an infant basically was cleansed of original sin and also Jesus said we needed to be born again of water.  So here she was....and here was the churches opportunity to provide her with that.

I don't remember his exact response but in so many words I was quoted scripture and a lot about the sins of the father....in a very patriarchal and patronizing way...and began to again talk about the class and having a commitment of financial giving...

And I stood up, and I slammed my hand on his desk, and I leaned very, very far forward.

And I told him it didn't matter what anyone said and it didn't matter what anyone did....I wouldn't allow him to baptize her if MY life depended on it. That if he had spoken about my lack of faith or lack of desire to raise her in the Catholic church???  I could respect that. But to continue to speak of classes and consistent giving?  I was cool.  She was cool.  And we were leaving.

I'm not sure how her father ended the conversation or said good bye because I snatched up my cherub and stormed out...but I'm sure it was a very polite and kind apology.

And I was correct, I upset a LOT of people. And like confirmation.....it weighed on me.  On and off again over the next months it was a conversation that continued to surface.

And like confirmation, against my beliefs and thoughts....I agreed to allow her to be baptized. My wonderful grandma contacted her church in another town and they agreed to baptize the one year old of the heathen who told off a Priest.  No class. No membership. No money. No sins of the father discussion.

We chose godparents. We bought her a dress. It was odd. She was almost walking and the other families stared.  But. It was happening.  And there were a lot of smiles. And we made quite a few people happy that day.  In the end I decided it didn't really matter what I believed. Yet, deep down, I felt that it did.



And I remember during the baptism asking God to forgive me for pretending. And while I still wasn't sure what I believed. I did believe that he would.

There was so much more yet to come.

That's what I got today.

Chapter 2...and the beat goes on.....

Time for Chapter 2.  As I share this journey...please I remember that I am not trying to make fun of or ridicule any part of my journey, any religion or any church leader I knew.  I can only share what is real and true for my experience.

10th grade. The year I decided that I wasn't going to attend CCD.  My reasoning was two fold really.

Wednesday night conflicted with dance class. And dance class took utmost priority since I was going to be a famous dancer after all.  I could not imagine sitting in a classroom with a bunch of kids I saw all day at school to half listen to a bunch of boring stories when I could be at dance class!

But the real reason?

I really REALLY did not want to be confirmed. And the church we attended confirmed in 10th grade. Everything in me bristled at the thought of making a lifetime commitment to a religion I wasn't convinced I even wanted to make my own.  I was reminded that confirmation is 'just what you do' and anyone who knows me knows that I almost always initially buckle against anything that is 'just what you do'. It made absolutely no sense to go through with confirmation when I could not honestly say that I was ready to embrace the Catholic faith as my own and become a member of the Catholic church.

As I weighed how I was going to have the refusal conversation with my parents, I decided that it was smarter to go with the dance class conflict route vs. the rebel route. So that's what I did.  I mean, I was going to be a famous dancer after all.

So I didn't go to CCD that year.  And, I was no more of a heathen than I had previously been. 

Over the course of that year, there were numerous conversations regarding my not attending CCD and not being confirmed.  This occurred with friends, family...and even myself. I believe it was a little upsetting for my paternal Grandma and even my dad because in Catholic tradition-you get confirmed. Period. There isn't conversation about it. And as the school year ended and I realized the following year I would not have a dance class on Wednesday....I knew the question of confirmation would come up again.  There was now no 'good' reason not to go through with confirmation.

Sigh.

And so, it was time to be confirmed.

And time for the confirmation weekend retreat.

It's strange how memory works. I don't remember where we were...but I remember sitting in a room that had a lot of bean bags and comfy furniture. I remember candles and almost 'seancy' atmosphere. I remember reading a letter from my parents about how proud of me they were and what it meant to them as I was transitioning to adulthood.  I also remember that it was a crazy odd weekend of arguing, defiance and eye rolling.  I am sure I caused the retreat leaders to drink that Sunday night. Bless their hearts.

I remember one part of the weekend involved small group discussion about why we wanted to be confirmed.  And I shared that I didn't want to be confirmed. This was met with bewildered looks of disdain.  As my leaders struggled to understand and guide me....I became more and more adamant.

~If confirmation was really about solidifying my faith as a Catholic--affirming my beliefs and thus allowing me to be a member of the Catholic church....and I am not sure that I want to be Catholic...should I be confirmed?
~Why does a little old white man in Rome--ok ok the Vatican City--decide what is holy and right?  I mean, who is he?
~Is there like a vote or something?  Like the president?  Is there a coming of age that I can help decided who the Pope is?
~Why are my choices the Virgin Mary or Eve?  As a woman....this is not very promising.
~What am I picking a name for?  I have a name. What is the purpose of the confirmation name and what the heck is a secular name? 

And then. The letter. We had to write a letter of reflection to the leaders about what confirmation meant to us. Why we wanted to be confirmed. What we planned to bring to the Catholic church. What we had learned that weekend. What did we believe.

And in my rude 11th grade way....I let them know that I did not want to be confirmed and not only that, but during the retreat I had actually found more confirmation that I did not want to be confirmed and likely SHOULD not be confirmed. I thanked them for the good food and conversation, but let them know I understood that it would not be appropriate to confirm me.

And I waited. Because I really felt that surely this honest, raw letter would cause them pause and the Priest (who SUPER weirded me out) would call me and my parents in for a discussion and alert the elders that under no circumstance should I be confirmed.

But that didn't happen.

Instead, we received the information about the confirmation ceremony.

And. I was confirmed.  Melinda Patricia Sue (or Sue Patricia, I can't remember) Calderon Pitchford.

It was a nice ceremony with a fun party and made people happy.

I still didn't believe though.  I just asked God to forgive me for pretending. And I while I wasn't sure what I believed...I did believe that he would.

That's what I got today.