Jesus Has Left The Building

I’ve known Jesus my whole life and I believed in him for just as long. I learned about his life and all the great things he accomplished while he was here. I was told that he loved me, but it took me a long time to believe it. It would seem that the better half of my life, I was taught that I needed to be a good person who did good things to be accepted by him. I had to live a life that was “worthy” of his name. Most of the time, I was convinced that he was mad or angry with me. My childhood was nice and church was a place of contentment for me. Then, when we moved and I was old enough to go to youth group, church was nothing more than a social outlet. Unfortunately, I never felt like I fit in. We moved again and we went to another church. This church had no youth at all. I found my way into other youth groups in the area, but again it was nothing more than a social gathering. In the moments, when it shifted from social gathering to spirituality, it was nothing more than someone trying to play with my emotions. My whole life with you was based on one emotional experience after another. I had no idea what the truth really was. 

When I graduated high school, my parents sent me off to a Bible College where I was baptized into all things God. Really it was more like a baptism into a pentecostal denomination. Here I learned that I would never be a good example to anyone. I learned that I would never be a favorite. I got in trouble for a few stupid things when I first arrived there, and I could never live them down. I would never be anything great, at least not there. There were some good times with you when I really felt like I got to know who you were as a person. It’s hard, at times, to sort through what actually happened and what was made to happen. I tried so hard to achieve good things there. I tried to look good and to do the right things, but it was never enough. I was disposable, at least to those in authority. Luckily, I made friends with some really amazing people and they’re the only reason why I stayed. They were the only reason why I got through it. I knew these people loved me for who I was. They thought I was funny. They saw me for who I really was. They valued me. They still do. That’s how I know those friendships were real, because they still exist. 

Then, I decided I would volunteer at this place affiliated with the Bible School, “The Camp”. It ended up being a cult. How do I know that? One central figure head who made all the decisions and little to no accountability to anyone within or without the organization. We were ostracized from our family members, and were constantly reminded  that once we came we should never leave. This place was supposed to be my new home. The only problem was that I already had a home. I already had a loving family. I stayed there nine months. During those nine months, I lost a significant amount of weight because I constantly had to choose between putting gas in my car or food in my belly. I had several friends who significantly helped me through this period of my life. I would not have made it without them; you know who you are. At this place, I constantly gave of my life to people in need all in the name of Christ. It was seldom rewarded. I was seldom thanked. Running myself ragged was to be expected, anything less was considered a sin. I was told the soonest I would probably be able to take vacation and see my family was no less than three years. When I spent Christmas Eve alone crying in the attic, I decided I would leave at the end of the school year. 

In June, I came home. I moved in with my grandparents. Before, I left for college, we had started going to this new church. At first, I really liked it. When I made my decision to volunteer at the camp instead of coming home, one of my closest friends at said church turned their back on me. It was suddenly apparent that they had their own ideas of what God’s will was for me. The fact that I felt like God was telling me something else obviously meant that I wasn’t clearly hearing God’s voice. I was now inferior. When I returned home, this same person proceeded to make my life miserable. She purposely excluded me from things because she didn’t think I was doing God’s will. Meanwhile, I was caring for my grandparents who had Alzheimers at the ripe old age of twenty-two. Eventually, she ran me out of the church. When she was confronted about her actions, she pulled me into her office. I was expecting an apology; instead I was lectured about the rules of the church. I’m still waiting for that apology. The thing about someone like her getting mad at you, is that you have no idea what she’s saying about you to other people. She was pretty influential with the females in the church, and eventually it became clear that their opinion of me had become altered as well. After I left, she hurt several more people who also left the church. She still maintains her position of authority and affluence. 

After that experience, I joined a small group with young ladies my age. It was very enlightening. They were normal. They had jobs and lives and struggles. We were allowed to talk about our struggles. We were allowed to be normal. We even talked about our love lives, or lack thereof. These girls gave me a lot of hope. Being apart of their small group was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Eventually, I started going to their church. It was ok. I met my husband there. 

Since these experiences, I have been to two different churches. Then, my job prevented me from attending church anymore. It bothered me for a little while, but then I realized it was a blessing. I began to deal with wounds that the church had thus far inflicted on me. I began to think about all the stuff that had happened. What was my next step? Would I raise my kids in the church? Do I want my kids to go to church? Why does anyone go to church? Do I even believe in God? Is he even real? How am I supposed to believe the stuff in the Bible, when I don’t even know if God is real? 

For a long time, I justified my belief in God on personal experiences. Then I realized the power of manipuatlion and emotions. I realized that emotions are powerful forces that can cause us to believe just about anything. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that I do in fact believe in Jesus. I don’t know if I will ever go back to church. I do know that I love the person of Christ. I love what He represents in the gospels. Every act that he committed was rooted and grounded in an unending, unconditional love for humanity. I know that I want to help people. I want to love people more today than I did yesterday. 

I will always have reservations about church. In fact, I know that I have said things to people and I’m sure they’ve sensed my distaste for organized religion. I’m sorry about that. I really should exercise more respect for people’s feelings about the church. 

I also know that I don’t have to tell everyone what I believe in or who I believe in. I think that religion is a very personal choice. I hope that my life is reflective enough of what I believe, that people will want to ask me about it. I never want to force my opinions on anyone. I think it’s interesting in the church how people have no reservations inquiring about your relationship with God, but most people wouldn’t be that invasive about my relationship with my husband. But aren’t they pretty similar? In the book of Isaiah, God calls Israel his bride. In the New Testament, Jesus is compared to a loving Father, another personal relationship. I say all that to say, I don’t owe anyone an explanation for what I believe or why I believe it. What I believe is between Jesus and I. I still have a relationship with Him, although on the mend it exists. 

I just wanted to share my story because I know I’m not the only one whose experienced this kind of treatment. I know that there are others who have been hurt much worse than I. 

I'm also not one that holds onto things. I try to forgive easily. I have forgiven those who have wronged me, but I would be foolish to forget it. Jesus has always been an essential part of my life, and to have experience pain at the hands of those who claim Him hurts a lot. It is hard to overcome. Things have gotten a lot better for me in the past few months. Wounds take time to heal. Some wounds take longer than others.

What does homelessness look like?

I walked into the room and looked around. There was a double bed and a pull out couch. Two dogs in black crates. Their food bowls were empty. I looked around some more. I saw a refrigerator, microwave and a crock pot. There’s a TV and two armoires, which contains one of the two TVs. There are two people sleeping in the pull out couches and a small child sleeping on some pillows in the corner. 

Earlier that morning, when my coworker told me we were gong to visit a client living in a motel, I had no idea what to expect. I was a guardian ad litem for a while, but the worst I ever encountered there was the occasional dirty home.

Standing in this motel room, I suddenly realized the deficits of homelessness. I suddenly realized what its like to be evicted and lose everything. I realized if I could give that family a place to live right then and there, they wouldn’t even have furniture to put in it.

For once in my life, I realized that homelessness is as unique as those who experience it. I live in a county where homelessness is perceived as one dimensional. I also grew up in a household where handwork solves every problem, and every problem is a result of bad choices. The truth is that some people are homeless because they want to be. The truth is that some people are homeless because they made bad choices. Some people are homeless  because they are lazy. Some of them might even be bad with money. No matter why they are homeless, I have to wonder why some are homeless and some are not. Some people are homeless because they have bad luck. 

I do know this, what I saw in that motel room had an impact on my life. What I saw standing in that small entryway was enough to change my perspective of homelessness. The minority of homeless people are the ones that you actually see living on the street. The majority are the ones who are doubled up with friends or family until they grow tired of their presence at which time they are forced to find another place to live. They are forced to find someone else who is willing to take them in for a few months. The majority are living in their cars with their children wondering where their next meal is coming from or how they’ll pay for gas to get to the next place. The majority are invisible to most of the population. And yet our society insists on making a drunken, unshaven, unbathed person the face of homelessness. I realize that this is a reality, however it is not the only reality. What if americans were actually made aware that the fastest growing homeless population is woman and children? Would our approach change? Would our perception change? Would we be more compassionate? 

Homelessness affects every part of your life. If a family is living in a motel without a stove or oven, what kind of food are they eating? Sure this family had a crockpot, but that requires time and planning. You can’t forget about dinner when you plan to use a crock pot. Luckily, this family had a full size refrigerator, but the mother was concerned that they would soon be evicted. If they were evicted, they would be forced to live in their car again. Then what would they eat? Fast food would be their only option at that point. What about showers? Where will they change their clothes or brush their teeth? Will they feel safe at night? 

So again I will ask:

What if americans were actually made aware that the fastest growing homeless population is woman and children? Would our approach change? Would our perception change? Would we be more compassionate? 

You decide.