Finding a New Church
I have to set about finding a new church. I really don't want to. I'm really just so done with church. I love having a place to sing, and I love being in God's house. But I am done being judged by people who have nothing on me--people who are not me, who have not lived through what I have, who probably would not have made it. I am done being told that who I am is not good enough for what they're doing. And who I am has never been good enough; I've always had to be someone else, except with my fiance. Someone once told me that the bits that are "not good enough" are not really who I am. He was wrong. Every bit, good and bad, is a part of me. They're the part of me that is shock-proof, and I fought for that, and I'm keeping it. So screw them and the judgement bus they rode in on. Who I am is good enough for me.
But I have to find a church, anyway, where my future hubby and I can go for our pre-marital counseling so that we can get married in the church where I grew up (and where I am still a member). Because, come what may, I would like to get married in a place that feels like home. And I did a lot of growing in that place, and I am loved there. I love them, too. It's not a pretty church, but I like it. I like the sun shining in the west windows along the wall. I like how bright it is. I like the baptism tub and the plain wooden cross on the wall. I even like the ugly carpet. I like the ugly pews, too. I love the old hymnals even though they don't really use them anymore. I like that it's handicapped accessible when many churches up there aren't. It means that my grandmas can get around easily and that our family friends will be able to attend.
But this counseling stuff scares me very much. I'm afraid that we won't be able to get the counseling without having gone to the church. And I'm afraid that once we get the counseling, the pastor will say that we should not get married or will not approve of us getting married in the church. And we'll then have to get married in my parents' back yard or in the town's communty center (because I am going to marry him, regardless), which would not be the end of the world, I guess. But many major events of my life took place in my good old church back home, and I would like to add another to the list. Plus I think that either of the other locations would be problematic for my mother and grandparents and the caterer.
I am afraid that this pastor will look at us and tell us that we will not work or that we should take more time or that we should not be unequally yoked. I'm afraid that I will then tell him that I am not being unequally yoked, that I am not someone who would ever be happy with a typical Christian, that I myself am not a typical Christian, nor will I ever be. I'm never going to be one of those people who carries her Bible under her arm and her perfect attendance record in her head ever again. I'm never going to believe that it's wrong to love the man I love. Never. That's just not who I am. I am done pretending. And I'm done pretending to feel badly about things I don't feel badly about.
I'm afraid that I am not going to be good enough to remain a member of a BGC church. I'm afraid that if I'm honest, they will kick me out, and I'm afraid that if I'm not, they will say that he and I are not right for each other, even though we are. I'm afraid that who we are together will not be good enough even though I know we are good enough. I know that even on our bad days we are good enough for any seat at the table.
We love each other, and sometimes we hurt each other, and we keep on loving each other anyway. Even though I'm a bad person, a f-ed up person, he loves me. He doesn't think I'm f-ed up. And I love him back. We took care of each other this year by turns. I took care of him while he was sick, and he has taken care of me while I've been sick. No one else even knew how sick I was. No one else knew that at the end of the day, I came home and couldn't hardly get off the couch or out of my bed. No one else petted my hair and held me while my tummy was hurting me. No one else held back my hair while I threw up after my surgery. Not even my mom. Just him. (And, as a good friend once told me, that's real love.)
My dad hates that he's not a Christian, and so do a couple of my friends. I am reminded of a quote that I fell in love with long ago: "Mother, I love you, and if I had two lives to live, I would give you one, but I don't."
If I had two lives to live, I would give one over to being dedicated to what other people want for me. I would give one over to whatever pastor we end up finding who will sit with us for 6 hours to talk about our future together and to my friends and to my dad. I would not make other people sad if I had a choice. But it is either them or me. I know they want what's best for me, but they wanted what was best for me when they told me not to major in journalism, when they told me not to go to grad school, when they told me to get a job or two, when they told me to quit the second job and go to school. Other people have always wanted what is best for me, but they have never known what that is.
I'm not going to live life like that anymore. I'm going to do what I think is right. Maybe I will be wrong. If that is the case, there will be consequences that will be hard to face. I hope I still have friends to help me through it. If I do not, I will make new friends because that is what I do. I love this man, not some other man, not some religious man--this man. People who love me need to love him, too. If not, then we cannot be friends. We cannot even have a casual conversation in civil tones.
It makes me irrate that people judge him for his lack of relgion. He's a better person than I have ever been. He thinks the best of people where I have only ever seen the worst. The things people hide are evident to me before they confess them; to him, people are just what they seem to be. He calms me, makes me see that other people's secrets don't matter, that their indiscretions and horrors are not ours to face. We can be grateful that we are not those people, and that's all we need to do. What could I ever do about the terrible things I knew about people without knowing how I knew, anyway? When I'm with him, they roll off my back. The secrets people have, the lies that they tell, are all irrelevant--discerning them is a clever party trick I pull out while we are people watching or while we are watching the news, nothing more. He believes I can read them and their situations from some largely indecernable cues, but he also believes that just knowing isn't that important. He chuckles when I predict a twist in a news story two days before it breaks. He laughs when we watch cop shows on TV and I say, "He did it" the minute a character appears on the set (and end up being right). It's like what Pratchett says about witches not believing in gods because it would be like believing in the postman--of course he exists. Of course my ability exists, but so what? That goes a long way toward making me ok.
It makes me irrate that people judge me for loving him. What else can I do when I see that he has such a beautiful heart?
And because I have a talent for knowing things, I am not worried about what my father is worried about. He is worried about a hard life for me. He is worried that he prayed to God for my husband for all those years before and after I was born only to have me marry a godless man. He worries that I will lose my faith (if I have any). He is worried that my fiance and Jesus will not mix. I do not worry about these things. I know that God has given my dad what he didn't know he was asking for--someone who will love me completely. And I don't worry about his lack of belief. I know that my two best friends are going to meet one day. One day, it will just happen. One day, the truth will just be clear to him (or if it is not truth, then it will come clear to me). It is not a belief or a hope; it is a fact that I know just like I know that gravity will continue to work tomorrow.
I just hope that whoever we end up with sees that we are both unique and interesting people who were basically made for each other--two people who just wouldn't be as good apart. I hope this person sees the man that I have come to admire. I hope they see the person that I might become, the person I am trying to become. I hope this person understands that, religious or not, everybody has a 50% chance (if my knowledge of the divorce rate still holds), and that we have as good a shot at it as most and a better shot than many because we've already been through tough stuff and held tighter to each other through it.
We're just two people in love. We might be wrong. It might end horribly and crash and burn around us. That's always a possibility that people have to face. But we both hope it doesn't. We both are willing to try to prevent it from burning down. We will hurt each other. There will probably be nights when I will wish for a few minutes alone. There will probably be nights when he will wish I would just shut up and let him watch his TV. But I think we both hope that we will always be sorry when we do.
In the end, I think I hope I find a church that can be a home for us both, a place that will take us as we are and love us as much as we love each other, as much as my home church loves me.
I am sure of what I hope for and certain of things unseen.
But I have to find a church, anyway, where my future hubby and I can go for our pre-marital counseling so that we can get married in the church where I grew up (and where I am still a member). Because, come what may, I would like to get married in a place that feels like home. And I did a lot of growing in that place, and I am loved there. I love them, too. It's not a pretty church, but I like it. I like the sun shining in the west windows along the wall. I like how bright it is. I like the baptism tub and the plain wooden cross on the wall. I even like the ugly carpet. I like the ugly pews, too. I love the old hymnals even though they don't really use them anymore. I like that it's handicapped accessible when many churches up there aren't. It means that my grandmas can get around easily and that our family friends will be able to attend.
But this counseling stuff scares me very much. I'm afraid that we won't be able to get the counseling without having gone to the church. And I'm afraid that once we get the counseling, the pastor will say that we should not get married or will not approve of us getting married in the church. And we'll then have to get married in my parents' back yard or in the town's communty center (because I am going to marry him, regardless), which would not be the end of the world, I guess. But many major events of my life took place in my good old church back home, and I would like to add another to the list. Plus I think that either of the other locations would be problematic for my mother and grandparents and the caterer.
I am afraid that this pastor will look at us and tell us that we will not work or that we should take more time or that we should not be unequally yoked. I'm afraid that I will then tell him that I am not being unequally yoked, that I am not someone who would ever be happy with a typical Christian, that I myself am not a typical Christian, nor will I ever be. I'm never going to be one of those people who carries her Bible under her arm and her perfect attendance record in her head ever again. I'm never going to believe that it's wrong to love the man I love. Never. That's just not who I am. I am done pretending. And I'm done pretending to feel badly about things I don't feel badly about.
I'm afraid that I am not going to be good enough to remain a member of a BGC church. I'm afraid that if I'm honest, they will kick me out, and I'm afraid that if I'm not, they will say that he and I are not right for each other, even though we are. I'm afraid that who we are together will not be good enough even though I know we are good enough. I know that even on our bad days we are good enough for any seat at the table.
We love each other, and sometimes we hurt each other, and we keep on loving each other anyway. Even though I'm a bad person, a f-ed up person, he loves me. He doesn't think I'm f-ed up. And I love him back. We took care of each other this year by turns. I took care of him while he was sick, and he has taken care of me while I've been sick. No one else even knew how sick I was. No one else knew that at the end of the day, I came home and couldn't hardly get off the couch or out of my bed. No one else petted my hair and held me while my tummy was hurting me. No one else held back my hair while I threw up after my surgery. Not even my mom. Just him. (And, as a good friend once told me, that's real love.)
My dad hates that he's not a Christian, and so do a couple of my friends. I am reminded of a quote that I fell in love with long ago: "Mother, I love you, and if I had two lives to live, I would give you one, but I don't."
If I had two lives to live, I would give one over to being dedicated to what other people want for me. I would give one over to whatever pastor we end up finding who will sit with us for 6 hours to talk about our future together and to my friends and to my dad. I would not make other people sad if I had a choice. But it is either them or me. I know they want what's best for me, but they wanted what was best for me when they told me not to major in journalism, when they told me not to go to grad school, when they told me to get a job or two, when they told me to quit the second job and go to school. Other people have always wanted what is best for me, but they have never known what that is.
I'm not going to live life like that anymore. I'm going to do what I think is right. Maybe I will be wrong. If that is the case, there will be consequences that will be hard to face. I hope I still have friends to help me through it. If I do not, I will make new friends because that is what I do. I love this man, not some other man, not some religious man--this man. People who love me need to love him, too. If not, then we cannot be friends. We cannot even have a casual conversation in civil tones.
It makes me irrate that people judge him for his lack of relgion. He's a better person than I have ever been. He thinks the best of people where I have only ever seen the worst. The things people hide are evident to me before they confess them; to him, people are just what they seem to be. He calms me, makes me see that other people's secrets don't matter, that their indiscretions and horrors are not ours to face. We can be grateful that we are not those people, and that's all we need to do. What could I ever do about the terrible things I knew about people without knowing how I knew, anyway? When I'm with him, they roll off my back. The secrets people have, the lies that they tell, are all irrelevant--discerning them is a clever party trick I pull out while we are people watching or while we are watching the news, nothing more. He believes I can read them and their situations from some largely indecernable cues, but he also believes that just knowing isn't that important. He chuckles when I predict a twist in a news story two days before it breaks. He laughs when we watch cop shows on TV and I say, "He did it" the minute a character appears on the set (and end up being right). It's like what Pratchett says about witches not believing in gods because it would be like believing in the postman--of course he exists. Of course my ability exists, but so what? That goes a long way toward making me ok.
It makes me irrate that people judge me for loving him. What else can I do when I see that he has such a beautiful heart?
And because I have a talent for knowing things, I am not worried about what my father is worried about. He is worried about a hard life for me. He is worried that he prayed to God for my husband for all those years before and after I was born only to have me marry a godless man. He worries that I will lose my faith (if I have any). He is worried that my fiance and Jesus will not mix. I do not worry about these things. I know that God has given my dad what he didn't know he was asking for--someone who will love me completely. And I don't worry about his lack of belief. I know that my two best friends are going to meet one day. One day, it will just happen. One day, the truth will just be clear to him (or if it is not truth, then it will come clear to me). It is not a belief or a hope; it is a fact that I know just like I know that gravity will continue to work tomorrow.
I just hope that whoever we end up with sees that we are both unique and interesting people who were basically made for each other--two people who just wouldn't be as good apart. I hope this person sees the man that I have come to admire. I hope they see the person that I might become, the person I am trying to become. I hope this person understands that, religious or not, everybody has a 50% chance (if my knowledge of the divorce rate still holds), and that we have as good a shot at it as most and a better shot than many because we've already been through tough stuff and held tighter to each other through it.
We're just two people in love. We might be wrong. It might end horribly and crash and burn around us. That's always a possibility that people have to face. But we both hope it doesn't. We both are willing to try to prevent it from burning down. We will hurt each other. There will probably be nights when I will wish for a few minutes alone. There will probably be nights when he will wish I would just shut up and let him watch his TV. But I think we both hope that we will always be sorry when we do.
In the end, I think I hope I find a church that can be a home for us both, a place that will take us as we are and love us as much as we love each other, as much as my home church loves me.
I am sure of what I hope for and certain of things unseen.
posted by GetMeThrough at
12:44 AM
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