That Time I Was A Fundie

Friends Are Friends Forever

I look at this photo of a photo from an old scrapbook, and warm memories flood back, of friendship, family, commune, a new spiritual identity, fresh faced with innocence of expectations of the years spreading beyond.  Then, in a flash, I'm flooded with the reminders of, the reality, of what did come about in those years after, now also a part of my fading past.

In the time of life reflected of my photo, it was a charmed time of innocence, the earlier years of being a church goer.  As a born-again Christian, I was drawn to the promises of unconditional love from God, from my family within the walls of the church, a sense of hope and belonging, at last.  But as the years stretched forward the times of warm bible studies filled with too much delicious coffee, worship songs, bible scriptures, long-winding unending prayers turned into restrictions enforced by nonfluctuating condemnation from the leadership and other members.  (Full transparency: the latter was not the former, the former being the ones in the photograph above.)

Where was the unconditional love and familial commune I had once sought and thought I had found?  Gone with the realization that I had fallen prey to the manipulations of spiritual leadership abuse, corrupted by the influences of absolute power, that I had never truly believe existed or wanted to believe existed until then.

As I have said in previous blogs, within the church, it was increasingly taught to flee the trappings of the world, this was enforced by insisting that we abstain from certain aspects of popular culture, read only the books approved and sanctioned by the church, and fully and only immerse ourselves in the ways of the church.  At first, recalling the younger days (see: the photo), I happily agreed to these standards, as if wanting to perpetuate the great love I felt in the beginning, hoping to restore the dying fragments of those happy times, but to no avail.

Perhaps my mental illness truly saved me from being saved.

Having been given the diagnosis of Bipolar in 2006, I was forced into the world of mental health therapy, psychology, forced to examine and look at myself through a variety of in depth therapeutic practises.  I could no longer run and allow various external sources to be a false salve, a drug, to hide from my pain.  The notion of psychology was a no-no in the Christian Fundamentalist worldview.  I was ostracized, silenced, and in short unable to show my new findings of self throughout my journey through recovery.  This led to a disconnect within what I believed to be my church family.  I could not be honest with them without fear of some sort of reparation, condemnation, loss of the friendship.  The cracks in the system that was the church were beginning to show for me, as I started to see the truth of the words "hypocrisy" and "legalism" written loudly on the walls of my mind.

So, in 2010, timidly and without truly knowing that I was, I left the church, one Sunday morning, clutching my bible and coffee mug to my chest, I let the back gate of the church building fall behind me with a crash as I stepped into the big world I had been taught hated me, hated Jesus.  This I would discover as I went forth was a blatant lie.

The reason that I am sharing the above is because all of this has been on my heart for awhile now.  As I believe recovery is lifelong in that as we are shaped by the influences of our past, healing is an ongoing process.  However, more so, is the fact that a dear young friend of mine recently entered the fundamentalist world last summer.  She accepted, became a believer, and was baptized into the same fundamentalist church world I used to attend.  The same place she was dunked and raised again, thus was I once upon a time.  Somewhere I have that snapshot of myself being prayed over by the hot young male pastor standing knee deep, in the warm pool made to look like a pond, water, before he dunked me backwards, only to re-emerge into a fresh new world...or so I had hoped.

As I watch her share her new views and photos across Facebook, they take me back to my early days, such as the photograph at the top details.  It was a rosy, shiny happy time.  I look at my friend's posts and silently hope that that her new found joy and connection will remain, that it won't become what it did for me, that the truth of what I experienced will not be part of her life's journey.  But, with a element of despair, I feel that may not be the case.

As I am unable to see into the future, I can only remain in hope that perhaps she and her friends will be the change, the evolutionary force, that the church needs to transform to relevancy and compassion, turning away from the hateful condemnation the Christian Conservatives dwell in all too  much, veering off from the teachings of Christ. 

Come what may, whatever happens, her journey is her journey and happens for a reason, as mine did.  As she is my friend, I am here for her, no matter what the next turn around the bend may be, as I also remain for my other friends of my past still a part of the fundamentalist world.

You've Got A Friend

On The Day I Left Calvary Chapel

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.--- Lao Tzu

It was a Sunday morning like any other in the months of intensive delving deep into the world of all things Christianity and recovery, from Sunday services to bible studies to Christian recovery groups to various self-help groups, my life had been, was, at the time all about getting healthy.  That was my job, in fact, and it was full time.  A few years previous to that fateful Sunday, I had been diagnosed with Bipolar.

That Sunday started like any other Sunday.  I got up for church, with a tinge of anxiety that I had been battling based solely on my recent church history connected to not one but a few Calvary Chapels. Looking it back, it seemed to come from the almost enforced decree that the members come to every service possible, serve in every way possible, give until it hurts, and then maybe feel some sort of acceptance from God, the church, and also had something to do with my finally starting to realize that and feeling the opposition from the church leadership.  Something along the lines of, 'Hey, that girl seems to be thinking too much.'

So, I drove the 45 minute drive to the Calvary Chapel I was attending at the time.  I sat through the worship service, sang the songs, listened to the pastor teach his lesson on whatever book in the bible we were dutifully slogging through, based on his choice, what he thought we should be taught at the time, being hit over the head with the doctrine of not the Bible, not Jesus, but the truth as Calvary Chapel sees it.  I see that now, anyway, then it was any other day.

Except that I was miserable.  And lonely.  And only starting to see it.  In a sea of my church family, I felt lonely, disconnected, as if I didn't really belong, in fact, had never belonged.  

After the service, I walked around and tried to chat with some of the people I had called friends at this specific Calvary for the last two years, tried to make some connection behind the aimless chatter and forced uncomfortable laughter that always left me more wanting, more empty after the encounter.

Finding none, I headed to the church coffee shop, where due to the church not wanting to shell out the money to buy coffee mugs, they had asked us all to bring along our own to have while at church.  I walked straight to the shelf where my mug was, the same I had been given by a friend when I had graduated college, and I picked it up.  I said, not to myself but not really to anyone else, "I just want to take this home for awhile", and stared around, no one had noticed.  No one ever really did, ever really had.

I slowly walked to the back door.

As I made my way towards the exit, I had no clear idea what I was doing, only that it was time to leave, for the day.  Only that I probably wasn't going to enter either the front or the back doors of this church again, but that was buried deep within.  What I really knew through and through, if I had been completely honest with myself, was that I was suddenly and completely no longer comfortable there. That I had been fighting for almost five years through at least three different Calvary Chapels in the area to feel at home, find some friends, feel accepted, comfortable with myself, to discover God and who I was, find forgiveness, healing, a family...and that hadn't happened no matter how I had tried to bend myself to their will and their beliefs.  

I came to the back door and pushed the door open, getting ready to step outside, walk down the alleyway towards the gate that led to the parking lot.  Did I look back at all, hoping that a friend would call out to me, want me to come back? They didn't, I don't think I looked back either.  

I stepped outside.  Clutching my purse and my mug, with my keys at the ready, I made my way towards the back gate.  At the gate, I paused.  I actually paused.  I felt some sort of guilt for just leaving, so much of my freedom to choose had been swallowed up in the church rhetoric and control.  I did have the freedom to choose when I left the church, but I had always come back before.  Deep down, I knew I wasn't coming back anymore, even if I had yet to admit it to myself.

I pushed the gate open and let it slam behind me.

And, then I was outside, truly outside, of Calvary Chapel.

I had no idea what was to come after that.  I didn't know then how angry I was, how angry I would be for years to come, angry that something that had seemed so beautiful, so full of love, was actually so toxic.  That made me sad too.  Very sad too.  I didn't know that I would also be heartbroken for years over the loss of the friends I had lost by leaving.  I didn't know the journey that would come by taking that first step out, not just away from them, but back to myself.  That by leaving that behind I would finally and truly find myself.

I didn't know that after I walked that journey away, toiled through the years of a difficult marriage, healing from the abuse of my life, sorting through it all, that I would find freedom, freedom to love again, to love my Calvary friends who no longer call and that I would forgive them for that, for all of it, to love and reconnect with the family and friends I had pushed away during those years, find the freedom to love myself fully and completely, and find the freedom to truly know and love the Divine, and be loved by the Divine truly in return.  

I didn't know any of that then.  I just knew I had to leave, that it was time.  Then, I just took the first step.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. ---Lao Tzu

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9ayN39xmsI

Not Another Blog With Biblical Scriptures

"Forgetting what lies ahead and straining towards what is ahead, I press on..."--Philippians 3:13

Basically, I don't see anything wrong with this verse, as moving forward from the past is the only path we really have in this life.  Time on this earth is linear, we move forward into the future and as of yet time travel has yet to be accomplished.  

So, I get it.  Its healthy to not linger on the past, to forget what is behind in order to continue forward towards your goals, in order to achieve your dreams.  Good idea, sounds reasonable.  

On the surface.

But, when I read it, a whole plethora of memories not so good floods up at me.  A painful realization of a time in my life when pressing forward was more important than honoring, remembering, and cherishing the past.

During my time at Calvary Chapel, I spent most of it in Sonoma County, the place of which I grew up.  In its belief that they had the final say on the literal translation of the Bible, Calvary put an emphasis on this verse.  And, in the place where I had memories from before, old class-mates, childhood friends, and the like, it became a pit of an emotional disaster.

As I mentioned previously, Calvary was very exclusionary in their world-view, not just towards the Non-Christian or Non-believer, but even going so far as to exclude other similar minded churches from being called " Truly Christian".  In addition to that, as I have mentioned before, emotions, intellect, advanced education, reading other books besides the Bible or those not dictated by the leadership was strongly discouraged, even frowned upon.  Your spiritual walk and obedience to Christ was questioned if you partook in any of the above activities.

What this resulted in, I have discovered, is a loss of understanding of self and identity as well as the inability to think for yourself.  

From some thorough examination, I have discovered Calvarys heightened focus on the "forget what lies behind" part of this verse to be disastrous to one's understanding of self, identity, and life purpose, even one's own spiritual walk.  For at Calvary, we were persuaded that any outside relationships with non-christians, whether past friends or current, were to be dealt with in the light of "bring them to church and get them saved", for there could be no closeness with someone who did not walk with Christ, at least in the Calvary worldview.

What this resulted for me, and I think for others, was a depreciation for the experiences and relationships of childhood friends, classmates, camp friends, even families.  Now seen through the eyes of what the church taught, my past memories with these friends were skewed by the judgment of the sins committed.  You were forgiven but it was constantly, by the church, drudged up about all the bad stuff you did in your BC (before Christ, for those not familiar with the lingo) days.  Thus, you were constantly in a state of shame for these past indiscretions.  What were you to do then was to move forward to heal.  The only way to change was to forget.

But, that is not possible.  Healing from the past never works if you try to merely forget.  We all have our past issues, pains, and grievances.  Stuff we carry around with us that color our understanding of our current relationships and situations.  Not dealing with that leads us to continue the cycle of destruction over and over again.  Perhaps that's Calvary Chapels true motivation, keeping the people submissive is easier if they are constantly in a place of shame.

During my time at Calvary, I had my breakdown and subsequent diagnosis with Bipolar.  The only thing that really healed and helped me was therapy, both group and individual.  Real therapy, not Christian where you read the Bible, studied some verse, and felt better.  No, that's band-aid therapy, that's almost a kin to doing a drug to cover the pain.  Very much like, in my opinion.

During my years of therapy, I did not dwell in the past or live there.  In actually, the years I spent trying to forget I dwelt more, whether living in regret over past mistakes or reliving old hurts.  In short, I didn't move forward no matter how much I said I did.

Therapy brought about true healing and forgiveness for those wrongs and hurts I caused and had done.  Through extensive therapy, I looked back, re-wrote the past, and then released it.  

However during my Calvary years pre-breakdown, I cast aside the childhood friends I care so much for.  After the breakdown and the therapy, I sit face to face with them, remembering the lovely times of our shared pasts yet cheering each other on as we move forward to our glorious futures.

Its those long-time friends that, despite my treatment of them during the Calvary years, that have remained with me.  Its the Calvary friends that have now cast me aside, choosing themselves to continue to "try and forget".  I do so hope that works for them and if not I pray they find true healing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0wBDDAZkNtk

Who is God, to me?

In my past life, I was a fundamentalist.

I mean, past life in the sense, of the chapter of time prior to moving back to Oregon, the marriage, the divorce, and the name change.  I mean, fundamentalist, not in the current meaning or even in a slanderous way for my more conservative minded friends, but more in the state of emotional being I was in, wound up in striving to be perfect and spiritually impressive to those around, in short, better than the rest of them, all while feigning happiness with a plastered on smile.

In actuality, I was miserable inside.  I was miserable because I was too caught up in what others thought of me and seeking to please those around me, above me with "power over me", meaning the church.  Ultimately, I was miserable because I wasn't honest with myself, who I truly was inside, who God(ess) had made me to be but was trying to be who I was supposed to be: the good little Christian woman who teaches Sunday School, doesn't swear, goes to daily prayer meetings, and uses all the popular Christianeze lingo.

What was I not honest with myself about, ashamed about even, and what I strove so hard to hide from others was myself.  Sadly, I hid from myself even more than from others.

I've spoken about my "bisexuality" leanings.  In truth, I've spent years trying to figure this part of me out.  Would I ever truly want to have sex with a woman? The answer comes back to a resounding no.  But the fact of the matter is, I am still attracted to the women.  This isn't inherently wrong in itself.  I've spent years trying to come to terms with that.  (At one point I was, until I "found Jesus" and was suddenly more conflicted with myself and my sexuality through the influence of the controlling force that is the church.)  Ultimately, I think the new term, or rather new to me, is the concept of pan-sexuality.  No, that doesn't mean one who has sex with pans but rather one who believes that love is possible with more than one gender.  Then, it follows that I am pansexual with a preference towards that male species.  (To be completely honest, I wish that I could be a lesbian at times, merely because women these days seem so amazingly strong and awesome, but alas, its men that attract me.  I think, perhaps, its because their minor awesomeness needs my overwhelmingly powerful degree of awesomeness to seem even remotely as awesome as me, well, maybe.  Maybe, its just that I like cock, who knows?)

But, I digress...

I think also I was trying to hide my heart's desire for choice of career, choosing than to force myself into the pigeon-hole of acceptable women's role as a teacher.  This, as previously mentioned, led to my mental breakdown.  Now, that I have found my life calling as an actress, singer, and performer extraordinaire, I have found the true happiness and sense of self I always knew was there but could never fully grasp.  In short, I am living the life I always wanted but never dreamed possible.

And finally, I am not in need of anything; I am completely at peace with myself.

I think that comes from being completely honest with myself, with the Divine Spirit, and with others.  I do not wish to hide any part of myself and have no real reason for that.  I strive to be the same person on the street, out and about, as I am in my own living room.  This is a lofty goal but a worthy one at that.  I seek to live a life of love and laughter, to love my friends and family, and to make a difference in as many people's lives as possible in the short amount of time I have on this swiftly turning planet.  I desire to be remembered not only as an amazing actress but more importantly as an amazing friend.

I have reached a point in my life where I do not regret any part of my life.  Any of it.  Not one bit.  Not the fundamental crazy years, not the "sex outside of marriage", not the druggie years, not the mad mad bipolar years, not even the abusive marriage ending in divorce years.  Not any of it.  It made me who I am and I can say that I have truly tried to be real and honest with every person that played a part in those chapters of my life.  I can honestly say that to the best of my ability at the time, I sought to "live truthfully" in those circumstances (not just on-stage.)

I have truly loved, truly lived, and laughed a lot along the way.  And cried.  I have found that it is truly better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.  I feel very blessed with the knowledge that the depths of life I have gone through (good and bad) may be more than what others have experienced, but they have made me richer and more real.

And now, I come to the part where I answer that question, "Who is God, to me?"  I think that that is a question we all must come to at some point in our lives.  Not what the church, our family, or society tells us to believe, but who the divine is to us.  That is the prayer of my heart these days for myself and for all of my friends, regardless of backgrounds and religious leanings or lack thereof.

I never felt completely comfortable addressing God with the masculine because I honestly always believed God to be genderless, or rather, above gender.  But, I have come to the realization that at one time I needed to address God in the masculine in order to heal my "daddy issues" as it were and find a positive father figure.  Now, it seems I am drawn to "her".  For this reason, I now say (s)he or merely pray to the divine feminine.  This now I think to heal any issues I have with my mother and to finally understand my own self worth as a female.  I see this time that we are living as the time of the sacred feminine.  In my journal and prayers, I address the divine as "Lord, God, Jesus, Spirit, Goddess, Universe" and end my prayers with "in the name of the divine".  This is merely concurrent with my own new spiritual discoveries.

It comes to this.  I am happy and finally at peace.  I truly finally believe that (s)he, the Divine Spirit, is not angry with me with my past, present, or future choices.  S(he) wants to aid in my creative endeavors and continue to guide me on the journey s(he) has destined for me.  I trust in her/his will for my life completely.  I know that s(he) knows what is best for my life and more than that has a path of abundance and prosperity laid out before me.

In this, I trust.  In this, I rest.  In this, I have peace.

What's on the Inside?

The ol' meme tells us: "It's not about what's on the outside, it's what's on the inside that matters." --As of this, truly is what keeps our minds from the superficial.

Until recently, I believed myself wholeheartedly that I followed this form of thought.  Until I met someone and found myself not attracted to the physical, insomuch, as to who I perceive they are inside, the beautiful person and passionate creativity that inspires me, touches my soul, and, in a sense, gets me.  I didn't allow myself to admit this attraction because admittedly I was hung up on the exterior, an idea that I discovered in myself to be humbling.

Strangely though, I have discovered, of recent, friends that value me not for my exterior but for the who I really am inside.  In past relationships (primarily with men), I felt objectified by my 'barbie-doll' physique and made to feel unintelligent.  With women, I was immediately seen as a threat to their relationships as soon as I walked in the room and before I even opened my mouth.  Because of this, I strove to hide the blatantly obvious physical, masking it with a sarcastic, sometimes witty, sense of humor.  It often didn't work: guys, at least my assumption says, saw me as not only sexy but funny!  A win for them, I guess.

Fast forward a few years when I started going to church where I was seen as some kind of seductress because of my figure (one that I inherited from my lovely Grandma).  I would walk up to my male "brothers" of the flock to have a friendly conversation and be looked at as if I was trying to jump their bones.  This made me feel so low for the way God built me that I began trying to cover up so much of my body that I was practically wearing a burka and started massively dieting to an extreme so that my body would become more childish, in affect, I would lose my sexuality.  No matter what I did in the church, men saw me as sex-object and thus the enemy.

Until recently, when I started acting and hanging out with the crazy theatre folks, did I begin to accept how I look and finally allow my whole self, the inner me, the real me to emmerge.  And, it is in that that I find healing and acceptance.  You would think with a bunch of actors and theatre folk one would have to be more superficial yet strangely this is not the case.  With my circle of theatre and film folk, I feel as if I am really being looked at, not examined as a possible lay or an immoral enemy, but for the truth of my heart and soul.

For this reason, I am thankful that not only can I finally achieve a healthy sense of mind, heart,  and body but through that I can express myself through creative expression and emotion.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFRm2srRC64

Wicked Judges We All Are; Show no partiality

In my quiet time today, I prepared for my Monday Night bible study of James.  I read James 2: 1-13, which talks about showing no partiality.  Now, I just got home from a very busy reunion for my Grandpa's 100th birthday, and got home late because of a mixup with the plane, so I am very tired and hope to God that He speaks through me, because my brain is in such a fog that I don't think I can accurately express what the Lord is speaking to me, and what I hope to impart to you.

It starts out:

"Show no partiality as you hold the faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory.  For if a man wearing a gold ring and fine clothing comes into your assembly, and a poor man in shabby clothing also comes in, and if you pay attention to the one who wears the fine clothing and say, "You sit here in a good place" while you say to the poor man, "You stand over there" or "Sit down at my feet", have you not made distinctions among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts?" 2:1-4

Now, specifically that idea of being a judge with evil thoughts when Jesus told us specifically not to judge lest we be judged hits me right in the heart.  But, I want to talk about how I have been shown partiality in the church and how I have learned not to, and am still learning.

I hate to slander it again but I was shown partiality my first year at Refuge Christian Fellowship.  I didn't talk the same as them, dress the same, was poorer.  Because I didn't have money, I didn't have a fancy phone, or fancy clothes, or go out to coffee, or anything.  I also felt excluded because I couldn't talk about my bipolar without fear of discrimination (yes, this is true in Calvary Chapels), like being told not to be on medication or go to therapy (they say this without any understanding of recovery or mental illness), or being told that it is demon possession.  I also was going through an amazing experience at Celebrate Recovery, digging into the heart of my own pain and discovering God's truth about his endless love for me.  I wanted them to go through with that, because I saw the pain in their own eyes, what they hid behind the facade of good frozen yogurt restaurants, dress shops, and coffee.

But, I have learned through this bible study that I was being judgmental towards them, for maybe being more spiritual than I am, holding positions above me when I felt that I knew more than them, being married before me, or having kids before me.  So, in my resentment, I lashed out and wrote a few of them angry letters trying to get them to see, and to Corynne and Grace, I deeply apologize to you, I hope that, yes, it did open your eyes to truths about yourself but without any bitterness towards me or without much harm done, and in your own time and your own way, I hope you can find the healing that you need.  As my dear friend, MJ says, "we all have our journeys of recovery".  Please forgive me, Grace, Corynne, and all at Refuge for being so convicted with my own sin that I treated you with such disgrace....but please know that I do believe you are a little superficial in your practices and ways you operate in the church.  That is just my honest opinion and I offer it with humility and grace.

Because of this partiality, I left this church and attended Hope Chapel Healdsburg where we had two homeless people come in and join us on Sunday mornings.  Everyone treated them as equals and they felt comfortable telling their story and talking about their needs.  They were also able to grow spiritually and deepen their faith in the Lord, plus be a blessing of the Lord's faithfulness and provision in hard times to us.

But, I was thinking as it says in James why would we as believers or unbeliever or what have you, show more partiality to a rich person than a poor person.  For as I was thinking, I would do this...for example, if a movie star or famous person, say David Tennant, was in my house, along with my best friend, Stanford, I definitely would defer my attention to David Tennant rather than the one that has been through hell with me and cared deeply for me for the past ten years or so.  So, I am guilty of this sin as well.  Maybe, envy of DT's position would spur on this poor treatment of my dear friend, Stanford. Would you be?

Also, we might, if we look at how the powers that be are treating us, as some are saying we are quickly sliding into a police state, we might be tempted to treat those in power and wealth with deprecation out of fear of persecution, or maybe doubt of the Lord's protection.

But, whatever the reason, as you can see, I am guilty of showing partiality and like the title says, am a wicked judge in the Lord's eyes.  The answer to this, is to pray for a heart like Christ, to love all people, rich, poor, gay, straight, Christian, unChristian, buddhist, etc as children of God and with the same love that God and Christ offers them.  After all, dear believers, aren't we all supposed to be little Christ's?