Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

Where I’m At

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I oscillate between sharing my life and withdrawing into an underground storm shelter. Remember that movie with Brendan Fraser, Blast from the Past? Yes, that sounds nice sometimes. To just spirit away with my family and Jesus, playing board games and eating nonperishable goodies. But alas, that’s not what God calls us to. I wish the calling wasn’t always so painful.

I’ve gone back and forth between sharing my life, my insights, or Heaven forbid, my opinion, or simply remaining silent in my own comfortable mind. I have had so many people over the years email, comment on the blog, or message me on social media sharing how much my words have comforted them, helped them feel less alone, or heard the voice of the Holy Spirit speaking to them through my musings. That kind of feedback encourages me to keep going. But then…

Y’all, I have been really hurt. I say I don’t care what people think of me, but let’s be honest, it stings when friends and family judge you. I’m not talking about Facebook acquaintances. I mean friends. I have had women I have known for over twenty years, women in the church who I considered mentors, completely write me off. Women who kept up daily contact and encouragement with me, suddenly ghost me. And when I see those same women encouraging and communing with mutual friends, yeah, it hurts. It hurts to be brushed aside. It hurts that we have become a people, a society, a church, I dare say, that values platforms or something as inconsequential as the opinion on vaccinations over loving relationships. Didn’t vote Republican the last election?! Sorry, your cool kid, insider pass to the Women’s Bible Study clique has been revoked. Why does that still hurt me?

I have had family laugh at me, ignore me, lessen my feelings. I feel the judgment in an almost palatable way. Am I seeing things that are not there, like whispers at the lunch table, assuming the worst is being said behind my back? Perhaps. Perhaps I am, but it doesn’t change the feeling of brokenness inside.

I have spent the last two years discovering a side of humanity I wish I had never seen. On the other side, pre-Covid, pre-Trump, sat a naive woman, who felt certain that people who loved Jesus, loved people. Sure, there were hypocrites, but overall the Christian community was one built on love. I was sure of it. Now, on this side of a pandemic, after the loss of a presidential election on the Right, I see an abrasive, hardened heart of a community I’ve been a part of for over half my life. I cannot comprehend the actions of the majority. I cannot find the connection between the actions of Jesus and the actions I see on social media. The Sermon on the Mount and the rant on Facebook or Instagram are not parallel. The church I have always known and loved has let me down, and I’m still coming to terms with that.

Here’s what I don’t want. I don’t want my picture of my Savior, or my relationship with Jesus to suffer. The loving King who died for me, who died for the immigrant at the border, who died for the atheist at my workplace, who died for the two married men that live next door. This loving Jesus has never left my side. When I’ve felt the hurt and betrayal from friends and family, He has never let me go. So, I think He and I are good. I just keep clinging to His character, so often imagining myself sitting at His feet like Mary, listening to His truth.

The church, however, has fallen from me. I have not returned to corporate worship or any religious gathering in a group. I want to, but I’m afraid. The hurt I have experienced has broke me, and I’m not sure I could take anymore. I want my babies to be around the church. I want to return. I have just been unable to cross that divide. I listen to a church sermon every Sunday, I read the Bible for hours a day, and I spent countless hours in prayer and conversation with my Father, but I’m still licking my wounds. I’m just being honest. You guys know I’m a sensitive soul. My hurt still rears its ugly head almost daily, and I spend just as long laying it back down at the feet of Jesus.

Please pray for me, my friends. Pray that I will find healing, that I will be able to see that Jesus is the balm that covers my hurt. This I do know. I will never be the same. I will never again be the woman I was in 2019. And while that hurts, I am grateful that my eyes were opened to the insincerity of my fellow man.

It’s hard for me to even write this, as I know there are people who will judge me for it, assuming I’m “woke,” progressive, or even worse (LOL), liberal. They’ll pray for me that God open my eyes to the evil of this world, never seeing the evil in their own hearts and actions.

I do find solace (of this world) in the fact that I am not alone in my feelings. There are other Christian, lovers of Jesus, who want to love like Him, not just like the church club says. It helps to hear their hearts that mirror my own. Beth Moore, Skye Jethani, Greg Boyd, Phil Vischer, David French, Russell Moore. Organizations like Women of Welcome, Faith and Prejudice, The Lincoln Project. Personal friends (that I will leave unnamed) who I reach out to with my frustrations and hurt. Thank you. And most importantly, the amazing spouse the Lord has given me. I was raised initially in an atheist household. He was raised quite the opposite, not allowed to watch the (demonic) Smurfs or He-Man growing up. Together we have found this loving Jesus who healed our brokenness, forgave our sinfulness, carried us through addiction, and leads us even now. Because of Him, we are forever changed. Because of Him, we are encouraged to love like He does. Sadly, I’ve discovered that radical love like Jesus doesn’t always sit well with the religious. It didn’t in His day, and it doesn’t in ours either.

I’m not sure what this post is supposed to be about. It seems like I simply vomited my feelings into words, but trust me, you have no idea how much of my gorge I’m holding back and swallowing down. Perhaps for another day. Or, perhaps I will take my baby chicks under my wings and disappear from the grid of public opinion. I suppose only time will tell.

How Christians Should Be Responding to Kyle Rittenhouse and Such

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I can’t tell you how many times over the past month or so I’ve seen a controversy come across my social media feed and been disgusted. I’ve had thoughts, so many thoughts, but other than discussing them with my husband, I’ve mostly pushed them aside. And I certainly haven’t blogged about them. It’s felt pointless, straddling on hopeless, and I suppose the depressing thought of that has for the most part caused me to crawl into a hole when it comes to sharing my opinion on political/religious matters.

This morning I received an email from a pastor/reader of my posts. Thank you, sir. Your encouragement and comments of camaraderie were a blessing to me. It’s nice to remember I’m not alone in my feelings of sadness for the direction the church has taken. And while disappointing overall, it’s also encouraging to know I’m not the only lover of Jesus who has been attacked or vilified when suggesting we as followers of Christ should carry ourselves in a manner that models our Savior. Yes, I’ve been discouraged to share, even though my words are ones of love, because it’s exhausting to share what you deeply believe is true, in a spirit of kindness, and be met with jeers and laughter from your Christian brothers or sisters. Yet, isn’t that what Jesus did? Despite the angry voices, He pressed forward. When called a blasphemer, He held His tongue. Instead of going with popular opinion of religion at the time, He spoke about things like drinking His blood and eating His flesh. He knew He would lose followers, but He had no choice but to share the truth.

Now, first off, I’m in no way comparing myself to Jesus. Not at all! But I do pay close attention to His behavior. Every day when I read the Bible I absorb His Way. My goal in this life is to be His disciple. Not because I must do this for salvation! His grace is enough. I strive to be a good disciple because I love Him. With that in mind, I follow His example as much as I can. For today, that means speaking truth even when it hurts my feelings and heart at the reception of my words by some Christians. But again, the church leaders of Christ’s time didn’t like being told they were wrong either.

Big news was released today concerning Kyle Rittenhouse, and while this is a very deep subject that sheds a sad light on the inadequacy of our systems, I won’t go into every aspect of the case. As a human, I believe inequality could easily be witnessed in the proceedings, but I only want to touch on a small slice of this pie. That piece is how we as Christians should be responding to situations like this. I don’t care how those who don’t follow Jesus are talking about this case. I mean, I do, but it doesn’t bother me as much as fellow Christians speaking erroneously on earthly matters. Because our words impact Kingdom Matters. Allow me to explain.

As a proclaimed Christian we must understand we are representing Christ. When our words and actions thereafter don’t consistently speak love, we are misrepresenting our Lord. Jesus told His disciples that people would know they followed Him because of their love. We cannot forget that most important commandment, and when we do, we are a stumbling block to the salvation of others.

For example, we cannot say we are Christians, aka, followers of Christ, but then put a bumper sticker on our truck that proclaims, “let’s go, Brandon.”

We cannot choose to say a young man who killed people is a “hero.” We can’t celebrate the very poor decision of a immature mind to take a weapon across state lines to a civil unrest situation.

I mean, we can, but we shouldn’t.

We have to stop “taking sides” based on politics and understand that as followers of Jesus, the only side is love. We have to stop basing our opinions and decisions on our political platforms. When we do this, a sad situation where poor decisions were made becomes more about gun rights than it does the pointless death of fellow humans made in the image of the God we serve. We end up seeing rioters through the human eyes of destruction of property rather than empathetic eyes that try and see how a person can be pushed to make a big demonstration to get the desired results.

It seems like, to me, when I read the life of Jesus, I see a man who was without sin, yet He tried to sacrifice, serve, and love those who did sin. He saw to the heart of why the woman at the well did what she did. He loved her there. That love brought her out of her pit. He knew how to understand pain, and how to help others walk out of that pain. He never told someone, “that happened, like, a hundred years ago. Why are you still mad?!”

He was totally selfless! When something was an inconvenience to Him (like hoards of people following Him when He was just trying to grieve the murder of His cousin, John), He didn’t respond with anger. He didn’t say, “you should have thought to pack your lunch for a desert trek!”

The scripture says, “He had compassion on them.”

Despite His pain, He fed them.

He didn’t tell the woman with the blood condition He was busy with another ministry. He didn’t get angry when she touched His garment without asking. He didn’t worry that the crowd He fed would become dependent on Him for their fish and bread. He saw the pain on Martha’s face and brought her brother back to her, even though He knew the eternity that awaited him. Yes, He did it to lead others to the Father, but He also had compassion. He always had compassion. We are lacking in compassion, and our behavior isn’t bringing anyone to the Father.

We have confused our relationship with Christ with our political affiliations. We have assumed that Christianity and political platforms go hand in hand, but this is causing us to ostracize the people Jesus has called us to love and serve. We have taken a very fleshly stand and it’s having Kingdom repercussions. So, people who would benefit from the love of Christ, are instead being branded the enemy. We have taken a divisive stand rather than a servant heart. When we do this, we make a hero out of a confused boy, and a villain out of a president.

In fact, we laugh at chants of “f*€k Biden,” and we smirk at hateful rants. A political leader (if they’re on your particular side) can share a cartoon of themselves murdering their political opponents with a samurai sword, and we can say, “he didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a joke.”

Because, see, hurtful jokes become ok. Jeers, sarcasm, hatred, bigotry, selfishness, and greed become something we celebrate, and in fact, elect to office. We don’t want a Savior like Jesus anymore. We want a warrior who will annihilate our enemies (if memory serves, that’s what the disciples originally wanted Jesus to do too, yet that wasn’t His way.) How in the world we came to a place where this seems the way of Jesus is beyond me! The only thing I can figure out is people must not be reading their Bibles. I guess they’re simply listening to TikTok videos or their favorite news channel for their beliefs on life.

And that’s fine! If you want to be hateful and selfish, that’s your right. God has given us free will. My problem is when you give yourself the label of Christian, yet forget it means you are a disciple of His way. Not the way of Republicans, Fox News, or Breitbart. If you’re going to use the family name, you have to uphold the stellar reputation set by a man who told His bodyguard Peter to put down the sword. And then He put His abductor and murderer’s ear back on!

This country has become very divisive, but we can never put things back together by choosing sides. Instead we as Christians must understand when to surrender. We have to surrender our earthly ideals to His vision for the Church. We have to understand that servanthood is what He calls us to. We have to remember that the fruits of the Spirit are what we must bear, according to scripture, and that it says very little about bearing arms, unless it’s to lay them down, turn our cheeks, or “forgive them” when they know not what they’re doing.

We have a responsibility as Christians to respond to earthly and political matters in a certain way, and it’s not to “stand our ground” and protect our freedoms or rights here on earth. Our responsibility is to the Kingdom of Heaven and building that Kingdom. The Kingdom isn’t built by politicians, but rather built by love, by healing, and by repentance. Jesus showed us that healing, repentance, and eternal life did not come by earthly matters or the law, but through His sacrifice of love. Now our job, as disciples of Christ, is to show the way to eternal life and freedom from sin. Recently we’ve been pointing a path that while it will lead to religious accolades, will not necessarily lead people to Jesus. We have to work on this.

How to Feel Joy in Pain

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Yesterday I was driving to run a few errands. I had one day off before returning to my stressful job in the ICU, and that meant the day was dwindling away with unpleasurable tasks rather than sitting by the pool and reading a book. Yet, despite my mundane to-do’s, I cranked up the radio with a smile, hummed happily as I admired the blue sky, and drove forward in joy while the warmth of the day rested on my happy face. I had a minuscule moment of surprise over my unexpected elation, before it hit me why I was walking on sunshine at all. Every day got better than the last!

Look, I’m a realist. I’m not going to try and sprinkle rainbows on your cloudy day. I’m not spouting a magic cure or trying to be a lifestyle coach of optimism. But what I will do is share with you my life experiences.

I suffer from depression, and I also suffer from anxiety. Some days are better than others. Some days, though, I’m sad for no reason, and that drives me mad. I go through seasons where my melancholy mood is worse than others, and I can be negatively affected by work stress and problems in relationships with friends or family. I’m an over-thinker, and my persistence in going over a problem repeatedly will keep me up at night. What I’m trying to say is, I’m not without trouble. I’m not perfect. But I have found what helps.

I’ll go ahead and get this out of the way… I’m on an antidepressant/anti anxiety medication prescribed by my doctor. In fact, I reached out to my physician a couple of months ago when I saw the signs that my condition was worsening and a dose adjustment was necessary. I hate when the devil tries to use our weaknesses against us, like telling us we’re not a “good enough Christian” if we can’t get rid of mental illness by prayer and Bible reading. It’s simply not true!

I come from a long line/family history of mental illness, depression, alcoholism, and suicide. I won’t pretend to be an expert on chemical imbalances and hereditary factors in mental health, but I will say I believe they exist. I’m a believer in nature AND nurture. Your past experiences do affect your future self. Do they control the narrative? No. But we can’t throw out the scars that rejection and other painful instances leave in their wake. Also, I believe in spiritual forces beyond our recognition. I believe in familial curses that can impact one generation after another, and I believe the devil prowls like a lion looking to destroy us. I believe in demonic forces at work in mankind distorting our perception of reality and feeding lies into our thoughts. Never-mind external stressors like working a pandemic in critical care (insert your own personal stressor)!

With so many different factors that play a part in mental health, how can we as Christians say just one thing works? So, if you’ve ever felt guilty, or been made to feel guilty, for seeking medical help for your mental health, please don’t. Throw that out with the garbage. I love Jesus more than the air I breathe, but I still found myself with suicidal ideation the day before my period would start. I talk to God all day long, yet I couldn’t stop myself from worrying about things that were not even things! I read my Bible every day, but I know better than to think I’ve kicked addiction’s butt. I can’t just have a glass of wine and call it a day. It will end up being a whole bottle and headache in the morning. I know the Lord has broken the chains of addiction in my life, but I’m not about to put Him to the test. It’s not necessary. But I digress. I’m just trying to say, this is a broken world. Don’t be surprised if you need a little help picking up the pieces. You can believe in God’s healing and still take an antidepressant. God does much of his healing through the work of His children, be it a counselor or prescription provider.

But let’s get to the meat of this post. I’ve had plenty of patients over the years that have been on a bucket of medication, but they still couldn’t get out of their pit. Remember when I discussed the multifaceted nature of mental health? I believe that my healing, strength, and joy come from Jesus. Yes, I take a daily prescription, and yes, I talk about my feelings, but it’s His strength that keeps me going. Here are a few things that have made a positive difference in my life.

One, I read the Bible every day and spend substantial time in His presence. You can do this a number of ways. I read devotions from the Bible app on my phone. I read encouraging emails from trusted, Christian websites. I will take out my Bible and just open it up where I feel the Holy Spirit leads me and read. That may just be letting it fall open, or going to a book you feel the Spirit impress to your mind. I also journal. I’m going to attach a diagram of words. You can pick one for each day. Get your word, pray and ask God to speak to your heart, and then just write whatever comes out. This is a great way to communicate with Him. On work days I listen to praise music on my commute and I worship like the interior of my car is church on Sunday morning. Some of my best times with the Lord have been in the car!

Image from HIScoach Training Academy

Two, I give Him every day. I discovered my best place to get quiet time that is uninterrupted is in the shower. I bought a shower chair, and I’ll have a seat and talk to my Father. I pray about different things. Yesterday I just talked to Jesus like He was my best friend (because He is), and I told Him different things I had been thinking about my home and work life. He didn’t say anything back, but I knew He was listening, and I felt a weight lifted afterwards. One thing I always do in my shower chair/prayer closet is surrender my life/day to Him. I close my eyes and imagine I’m at the foot of His throne. Then I lay down physical objects that signify my mental battles. I lay down anxiety, depression, worry, doubt, and fear. I also give Him my finances, family, and future. I call it laying down the big three. I ask for more or His Spirit and less of this world. I ask for ears to hear His Spirit and truth over everything else. I do this every single day.

Now, this one I had slacked off on, but I picked it back up because I find it helpful, I see a difference, and it’s super easy. I daily apply the Armor of God (Ephesians 6). I memorized these verses, not exactly word for word, but enough to recite them. I say the full armor out loud and mentally put it on. Take that, Satan! Don’t laugh, bro. It works.

Lastly, I strive to walk in Kingdom Truth. This is sooooo hard. That’s why you see me doing all the above stuff daily. To fight fear, you have to be like a well-trained athlete. You have to daily feed on the truth of God according to scripture. You have to allow that truth to become who you are. The truth of scripture changes you! If you know a Christian who isn’t different from the world and displaying the fruits of the spirit, such as love, patience, kindness, joy, and self-control, then they are just forgetting the truth of God. We all have our moments, but to walk in Kingdom Truth means to understand this world is temporary. The problems we face won’t be forever, but a life full of love in Jesus will last for eternity. Nothing can truly harm us as followers of Him. We don’t fear change, political unrest, or the opinions of others. We don’t allow broken relationships to break us. We understand that while the tears may come right now, that joy comes in the morning (future). This life is a sandcastle, and the waves will eventually sweep it away, but until then keep building your castle for the Lord. Invite others to build with you; even the sinners (oh, wait, that’s all of us). Even the ones persisting in sin (oh, wait, that’s all of us)!

Pain comes, but joy is the River of the Holy Spirit that runs through the heart of every believer. We just forget it’s there. Spending time with the Living Water (Jesus) will remind us of that truth. Depression happens on this earth, but the truth reminds us that His strength is made perfect in our weakness. Like Paul, God won’t always take the thorn from our side, but He will use it to help us find our way. Our way back to His truth. The truth that we are sons and daughters of a King who rules the entire earth and Heavens, yet still absolutely adores little ole you and me. We love because He loves us. We lay down our offenses because He laid down ours. We forgive, as He forgives. We help the hurting. We seek His healing and guidance. We allow trouble to roll off our backs like water off a duck, because He is in control of all things! He fights our battles! He protects, guides, and provides. And remembering this truth, that I have to remind myself of daily, spending time with Him, this truth brings me joy even in the midst of pain.

Why I Haven’t Been Blogging.

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I don’t know if anyone has even noticed, but I haven’t been blogging like I used to do. I’ve been writing regularly on this site for eight years, and I’ve always loved it, until recently. I’m sure some people have assumed I haven’t been as vocal because I’ve been busy working a pandemic as an ICU nurse, and while I have been swamped at the bedside, that’s just not the reason. It’s more disappointing than that.

I have always found joy in sharing the things that the Lord has laid upon my heart. Even when I received angry critiques, death threats, or online harassment, I laughed it off. I knew God had given me the gift and calling to write what I perceived the Holy Spirit was speaking. I never doubted that calling or that gift of knowledge and discernment. And I don’t doubt it now. Not sharing a word on this website has been like ending a relationship with a dear, longtime friend, yet despite the heartache, I simply have been too weary to pick it back up. In essence, as I told a family member recently, I have become disillusioned. This disappointment and awakening to reality has made sharing my thoughts so very hard.

Approximately a year ago it really came to a head. I’ve always heard that you can really see what you’re made of when the heat is turned up. Gosh, this is so true. 2020 really turned up the flame under our lives collectively, and I sadly started noticing what people were made of. It wasn’t the world at large that broke my heart; it was the Christian community. The “church,” the collection of those who claimed Jesus as their Savior, for a large part, were reacting to the heat in a way that did not reflect the character and example of Christ. I’ve always loved the verse that states you will know a tree by its fruit, or when Jesus himself said, “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another (John 13:35).”

I haven’t seen the love. In fact, I’ve seen quite the opposite. I always enjoyed sharing what God was teaching me and revealing to my heart. I never claimed to know it all, and I was always quick to say that I’m a work in progress. I learned that laying down pride and humbling myself daily to the Holy Spirit is so important, because in this posture He reveals His heart to ours. By listening to His direction in humble submission I can see where I have been wrong in the past. And boy, was I wrong.

You see, a large part of me enjoyed the accolades from my fellow Christians. I had not always been a Christian. I didn’t start reading scripture regularly and daily until my thirties. So, as a “newer” believer, I leaned heavily on the church and elders I respected to guide me. Approximately three or four years ago, when I committed to hours of Bible study and quiet time at least 4 days a week, I started to notice a disconnect between the scripture and the behavior of many religious people. In other words, the fruit wasn’t there. Again, this discernment wasn’t from a position of pride. It wasn’t like I thought, “gosh, look at all these church folks not following Jesus like me!” No, it wasn’t like that. More than anything, it was a sad revelation. I became aware of a religious heaviness and spiritual oppression that persisted in some areas. I could feel it. It was heartbreaking.

I continued my seeking daily of God’s will as the years went by. My family sold all our possessions. We went from having everything to basically having nothing. Nothing but each other and God, that is. In this season of casting off the world we found a deeper walk with the Lord. We found God’s priorities for our family. We discovered how to trust Him more deeply and depend completely on His leading. It was glorious!

Along our season of walking deeper with Jesus, came an awakening to the world around us. We became more aware of how we could please the Lord in our daily lives. We changed our actions and behavior based on scripture. We wanted to walk in the Fruits of the Spirit, at all times! Even when the heat got turned up, it seems.

In 2020 the whole world caught fire, but it seemed to me that it was the church that let themselves get burned the most. Not at first. At first everyone was very loving to their neighbor, but as it got hotter out there, the rotten fruit came out. Again, please understand this doesn’t come from a place of pride for me. This comes from a place of heartache for my brothers and sisters in Christ. I haven’t spoken because my heart hurts too much to have uttered a word.

Somewhere in the fire of lockdowns, sickness, and financial strain, my brothers and sisters became very angry. I didn’t have a problem with the anger. I mean, I got angry too. The problem was where the anger was projected.

The Christian community is quick to say “it’s not a battle of flesh and blood we fight, but a spiritual one against the forces of darkness. Like, every believer I’ve ever met will agree. So my question is, why have we been fighting flesh and blood?!

I do blame social media for a large part of the problem. We live in a sinful world, born with a sinful nature of this world, and social media has been more than happy to feed that fleshly character. I have seen blatant, political propaganda be slurped up happily like it was the Gospel, and in this vehicle of political and religious angst, I’ve seen the church derail. Instead of a battle of good and evil, where God always wins in the end, we’ve lost our Kingdom-view glasses, and we’ve started a battle of us against them.

Republicans versus Democrats

BLM versus All Lives Matter

Like, you can’t support the police and support justice and equality.

Somewhere along the way we labeled everything that didn’t fit into our box as unGodly and bad. Vaccines became bad. While they’ve always been a way to combat disease, they suddenly became a way to “take away freedom.” I’m not sure where this started, but it really took off! It became a trend that if you were a Christian you couldn’t get vaccinated. False information began to fly around. Some of the most ridiculous and false information I’ve ever seen. Suddenly the Covid vaccine contained baby parts and changed your DNA. Don’t even get me started on the magnets and chip discussions. But I digress.

I don’t want this post to be about the vaccine. You can love Jesus and decide not to get the Covid vaccine. That’s not the point of this. The point is, people began to widely accept unvalidated, false info. The point is, Christians started believing we were in a battle of flesh and blood, that the pharmaceutical companies (flesh, real men and women), that the Democrats (flesh, real men and women), that the president (flesh, a real man) was out to destroy them. Instead of putting faith in God, or trusting Him to fight our battles of a spiritual nature, we took to horses and chariots to fight the flesh of those who oppose us.

I have heard preachers state the Democrats are trying to attack the church and take away our freedom to worship. There’s no thought of the Lord fighting for us, but only how we must arm ourselves with rifles to keep them sinners out!

We don’t see people as children of God. We see them as the enemy.

Our fruits are not patience, peace, gentleness, kindness, and especially not self-control. The fruits of many Christians have become rage, judgment, selfishness, and the exact opposite of love.

Christians have been proclaiming “faith over fear” and wrongly assuming that getting a vaccine or wearing a mask is fear. Those things aren’t fear. They’re wise, selfless, scientifically proven ways to decrease virus transmission. The real fear is the fear of losing our man-made religion! The Bible states nothing can separate us from His love, yet we’re afraid of the democrats closing our church building! Doesn’t add up, guys. The real problem today is fear among Christians. The Bible states there is no fear in love, yet proclaimed Christians are afraid of governmental control, vaccine and mask mandates, and liberal lawmakers. That makes it seem like maybe love isn’t there, since fear is so prominent. I mean, the fruit isn’t speaking like we’re His disciples. Just saying.

When the Holy Spirit began speaking to my heart how to bear His fruit and be a disciple of His love, I tried sharing this with my Christian followers. The problem was, while my words were based on scriptural truth and the words of Jesus Christ, they didn’t coincide with the popular thoughts of the Christian Church (of this world) and religion. So, while my blog posts gave a WWJD, kingdom view, they upset the religious realm of this world. Therefore, my thoughts were met with anger. In fact, met with rage! I was vehemently persecuted like I was Satan himself. I was called a “baby murderer” when I questioned if the former president’s behavior was something a lover of Jesus could support. I was attacked in flesh and blood as if who held a political office was a kingdom matter that meant the tie-breaker for who won the spiritual battle at the end of times. Do we see the problem here?

I stopped writing because the deception that tells man that his religious practices and political affiliation will save him, was too deep for me to speak against. I stopped writing because the false narrative was so much more tasty for people to ingest than God’s truth according to scripture. I stopped writing because I became disillusioned with how people I had loved, trusted, and respected in the Christian community could treat other humans with so much hatred and disdain. It broke my heart to the point of paralyzing me to speak on it.

Will I write again after this post? I hope so. I write for God, and God is love, and sharing His love is my calling. I want to share His love here. I hope I can share it by modeling it. I hope I can model it by loving my enemy, by bearing good fruit, and by encouraging others to do the same. We can be disciples, but we will only ever be an exclusive club rather than His church and bride if we can’t draw people to His heart by love. Our politics won’t win souls to Jesus. Our anger, rage, and judgmental behavior of those who believe differently than us certainly will not. So, maybe I’ll start trying again to model that love. That love that knows no fear, that love that is patient and kind. That does not envy, boast, and is not proud. Love that does not dishonor others, and is not self-seeking, not easily angered, and keeps no record of wrongs. Love that does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. Love that always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres (1Corinthians 13). I will persevere.

A Nurse’s Take on the Covid Vaccine

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I wasn’t going to do this, but then someone messaged me how much they respected my opinion. I realized that I have to speak my heart. Even if it makes people angry. So, here goes.

You go to the doctor for a well-visit. When your doctor suggests you need a medicine for your blood pressure, even though you feel fine, you take the prescription. Your doctor tells you high blood pressure puts you at risk for a heart attack. So, you follow her/his advice, and you fill the prescription.

Do you search the ingredients of the pill? Do you tell your doctor “no way, I don’t know what’s in that pill!

No. You trust your physician. The professional. You take the blood pressure medicine per your doctor’s advice and knowledge, backed by research, that hypertension can lead to heart attack or stroke.

When you have chest pain, you go to the emergency room. You let them do whatever they need to do to save your life. You trust the doctors, nurses, and yes, the creators of medications to save you.

Let’s say you’re a Christian. Do you not go to the ER when you have chest pain? Or do you not take the advice of your doctor to start a BP med? Do you say, “God will protect me from heart attack and stroke. I’m not falling for this false narrative.”

No. You trust your doctor. You trust the hospital. You trust medicine. No one questions your faith in Jesus when you get an emergency appendectomy instead of asking for a healing at the altar.

What changed in 2020?

Social media. False information. The perfect storm created by a huge, scary pandemic. When people are afraid, feel out of control of protecting themselves and their families, and are under pressure emotionally and financially, they become open to whatever will help them regain balance or control. If we can blame someone else, make something less frightening, and divert attention from the thing that actually frightens us, to something else, we jump on it. For example, Covid isn’t bad; The Left is bad. Ok, Covid is real, but it’s really a problem with immigration. Masks aren’t preventing the spread (even though operating room staff have used them for many years to prevent the spread of germs), it’s just a way for rights to be taken away.

Instead of focusing on the sanctity of ALL human life, we focus on statistics that fit our opinion.

Let’s say, Covid 19 is only fatal .1% of the time (a number I just made up, because youtubers do it all the time). Now let’s look at a real statistic… you have a 0.0002% chance of getting struck by lightning. Are you going to swim in a thunderstorm? Or go stand on the golf course with your club raised high during lightning? Why not?! The chances are really slim you’ll get struck!

It’s because you’re not an idiot. You do what you need to do to avoid getting struck by lightning.

You go to your annual well visit with your primary care doctor, and even get your prostate checked.

You get your child vaccinated against polio.

You wear seatbelts even though you’re a really great driver.

If you’re a Christian you have faith in God to save you, but you also understand you don’t walk out in front of oncoming traffic. That would be dumb to put Him to the test like that. You might just find yourself waking up to Jesus smiling and saying, “wow, Bill, I really can’t believe you did that. Didn’t you appreciate the vessel I gave you for my purposes on earth?”

And I can’t help but wonder if right now Jesus is asking some of us, “don’t you appreciate the vessel of your neighbor?”

That’s all I got for now, guys. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of working my buns off in the critical care unit to save people who my experience thus far with Covid shows me, won’t get better! 😭 It’s devastating. I’m tired of seeing more and more prayer requests come across my newsfeed for healing from Covid. It’s not that I’m against healing or praying. It’s that I hate this is still a thing! I truly believe better vaccination rates would have made this not the issue Delta is right now. There, I said it.

We trust science thus far, until this, and I just can’t wrap my head around it! I love Jesus more than anything, but I believe His Father created humans with the knowledge to create medicine and save lives. When we live longer, we can reach more people with His love and truth. Believing in medicine isn’t saying you lack faith; it’s actually a belief in the wisdom and knowledge that God has given mankind. Thank you, Lord. That’s why I’m a nurse. Life and death is in His hands, but sometimes He uses me to keep life going. What a gift!

So, I pray you will take my advice. I am consistently praying in the Spirit, and listening for His truth. There is not one, single day that goes by that I don’t seek His will and listen for His heart. I took the vaccine without a moment’s hesitation. In fact, I cried happy tears when I got it. Thank you, Lord, for giving scientist the knowledge to help us fight this virus!

Do with this information what you will. Not sure I’ll say much else about it. I’m just too tired. Lies are so much easier to believe than truth.

Sincerely,

The Exhausted ICU RN

No One Understands What Nurses are Going Through

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“God’s got this.”

“He holds you in the palm of His hand.”

“None of this is a surprise to God.”

“Heaven, help us.”

These are the sentiments spoken in response to what critical care nurses like myself are seeing, and while these comments are absolutely true in my book, they don’t quite give me the reassurance I’m hoping for. It’s not that the thoughts and prayers aren’t appreciated; because, they are! My spirit thrives on them, and His strength makes all things possible. But after hearing the well-meant words of others, especially after a brutal day, it occurred to me what the human side of me really wants.

I want people to understand.

I can’t really blame them, though. Other than my spouse, I’m usually pretty nondescript when it comes to my day. When asked how it’s going during a pandemic, we’ll use bland words like “hard” or “bad.” Perhaps even “exhausting.” Yet those simple syllables say little to what’s really going on. I’m not sure if it’s too painful to rehash or just easier to say less. I think, for many nurses, after having close acquaintances, or even family members, act over the past year and a half like Covid is not a big deal, it makes you place a wall around yourself. To see folks neglect simple things like masks, or to chastise vaccines and science, it makes you crawl inside a hole. Then, later, when you need someone to understand how you’re feeling, they don’t.

They don’t understand.

Other than my spouse, and a few family and friends I’m comfortable enough to share the intimate aspects of my day, no one understands the pain of what I see. Deep down, I don’t want them to. I don’t want that for anyone. But sometimes, I just wish I could open a curtain into my ICU for the world to see. I think we wouldn’t have another record-breaking surge going on if I could. Maybe I wouldn’t feel like crying, like I did yesterday, all alone in my angst. Even when the tears don’t come, because I’m too afraid to let them loose, worried that I won’t be able to rein them back in.

As it stands, in lieu of a magic window, you’re left with the fact that no one understands, unless they’ve been behind the curtain with you.

Words like “hard“ don’t accurately depict what it’s like to watch people slowly die of a virus that takes away their ability to breathe. “Bad” isn’t adequate to describe the fear in their eyes of dying with a feeling of cruel suffocation.

When you hear the “numbers are going up,” you don’t see the numbers I see going down. The oxygen saturation numbers that keep alarming too low to oxygenate the blood and sustain life. They don’t tell you on the news (no matter the network) what it feels like to watch a person turn gray, and blue, and purple. They don’t describe the feeling of your hands when ribs crack beneath them during CPR, no more than they tell about the hopeless feeling in your heart when a family member asks you over the phone if the patient is getting better.

I’ve never fought such a losing battle, and it’s hard to put that into words. When you’re in the business of healing, Critical Care Covid doesn’t play by the rules, and it just ends up feeling like a bad luck streak that won’t break. Does anyone understand how hard that is on us?!

I can’t speak for everyone, but I know that personally my heart is broken. It’s excruciating watching people suffer. It’s beyond demoralizing when the majority don’t get better. I’m angry at people who ignore the suffering of others. I’m pissed that this is still happening! I’m frustrated at staffing problems, and I totally understand why nurses are fleeing the bedside in droves.

The thing is, I can write out all of the above, and most people still won’t understand. Not totally. Until you live it, until you can’t unsee the things you wish you had not seen, and until you spend your off days in a depressed daze, despite your best efforts, you’ll never understand. For your sake, I’m glad you don’t.

The Broken Heart of Nursing After a Pandemic

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Well, I guess that’s it, huh? CDC said we can go without masks (to the vaccinated), and you see businesses everywhere taking down their “masks required” signs. Disney World is taking advantage of our good numbers in the U.S., and while I’m just as excited as anybody to return to a normal, pre-covid world, I’m also having a hard time.

When mask mandates fall, plexiglass partitions are taken down, and social distancing requirements are slackened, it doesn’t just usher in the happy feelings of going back to the good ole days like I would hope. You see, it also feeds the wrong fires, and it perpetuates bad theory.

Who doesn’t know someone who thinks COVID-19 was a political ploy?! Like, I could probably count on both hands, and have to take off my shoes too, to total the Facebook friends who are certain the pandemic was an attempt at government control of its people; without them even noticing that a lot of the behavior in 2020 proved maybe a little government overreach was necessary. But that’s another topic. No wonder the Podcast I listened to earlier called social media “Satan’s cesspool.”

Point is, as the pandemic blows over, the chance of forgetting its seriousness flies away like the wind as well. It’s easier to lessen the virus when it’s not affecting anyone you know. When it’s a distant, news story from India, it’s fairly simple to blame the Democrats for going overboard to keep people safe. Heck, you could even believe COVID-19 was never really a big deal. Except… it was. To me, it was.

I am a critical care nurse, and in the year 2020 I experienced the worst year of my nursing career. I would even go so far as to say it was worse than my time in the military, in a post 9/11 world, watching scores of young men medevaced to my facility with only one limb remaining. At least the brave soldiers I saw in my stateside care lived. Not so with the Covid pandemic.

I personally saw hundreds in our facility’s care die. Not just old people, or people with multiple health problems. I especially remember the mother of three children who was younger than me. I tried to warn her she might die if she didn’t lay in a prone position. At the time, it was the thing that seemed to help those patients the most. The next day, she was intubated. A week later, she was gone. It was like that for way too many patients this past year.

I watched my coworker dress out in PPE to hug her husband goodbye before he died. I cried on the phone with more family members than my heart could take. I saw the hope go out of otherwise strong men’s eyes. Each day they fought in vain to breathe, the light in their eyes dimmed more and more. It was a fight they couldn’t win. And sadly it was a fight the nursing community couldn’t win either.

As a nurse, my job is to make people better. In my twenty years of nursing, I did a two year stint in Hospice Nursing. Y’all, I loved it. It was extremely rewarding to care for patients and families during a difficult end of life experience. I was able to prepare, support, and comfort them. All that to say, it wasn’t the morgue being too full to take any more bodies that got to me. As a nurse, I can handle patients dying. The problem with the past year was, they all died. If you came into the intensive care unit, you were only leaving in a bag! Back to the counting fingers… I can count on one hand how many patients got to leave my critical care unit alive. That’s bad odds.

Nursing care is about helping. No one wanted to die of COVID-19! They wanted to live! And when we became (like) Hospice nurses to patients and families who had not requested those services, it was debilitating to the morale. Y’all, I still have PTSD-like response from 2020. My actions, even now, as the virus statistics improve, are impacted negatively by the trauma I experienced watching patients die, over and over, every shift, day after day.

I am a woman of faith. When churches began to open back up, I didn’t take my family back. I had seen too much! It wasn’t fear winning out over my faith. It was my trauma response. But you haven’t heard the worst part. I still haven’t taken my family back to church, but it’s no longer the corona virus that whispers to me to stay at home. It’s a whole other form of PTSD. It’s the response of people that has given me a lasting trauma. With the vaccine, time, and herd immunity, I can move past COVID-19. But the careless words, hateful attitudes, and selfishness of some, fellow Christians has created a lasting trauma in my life. It’s hard for me to share in fellowship with people who laugh at a virus that made 2020 the worst year of my life as an RN. I’ve just been worshipping God at home with my husband. God, my spouse, and my fellow critical care nurses seem to be some of the few who understand why my heart was broken into pieces this past year.

*Insert sigh.

I’m glad we are returning to a life without a pandemic. I’m happy to see my patients transfer out of critical care, and on their way to recovery again! I want my children to play with other kids, and I want my loving husband to go back to striking up friendships with strangers. I miss his outgoing self! I think these things are possible. I know they are! But then there are the things that I don’t think can return to before.

I can’t forget the way people spoke so nonchalantly and uncaring about the death of >550,000 American citizens, or over 3 million people worldwide! I watched friends be more concerned with having to wear a piece of paper over their face for twenty minutes of shopping than they were for the possible health outcome statistically of their neighbors over 65 years of age. Citizens worried more about their “personal rights,” as they perceived them, than they were staving off the spread of a disease that had healthcare workers going beyond the possibility of what they could do. I remember reaching a wall of what I felt I could handle as a nurse in 2020. Then we busted right through that mother, to the point I recall in tears asking a coworker, “is this real life?!”

We were drowning, and no one cared! Our patients were dying, and no one cared! And now, things are getting better, causing some folks to say COVID-19 wasn’t a big deal. And no one seems to care!! Except me, my coworkers, and the families of the 3 million dead people. We seem to care. We seem to remember the past year wasn’t just a political ploy to oust Trump, reform gun control, or God-forbid, raise gas prices.

I don’t guess I have much more in me to say right now than that. It’s exhausting and it’s heartbreaking. Just when I think my heart is healing, callous words step on the broken pieces.

My husband told me earlier, “Brie, people just don’t know. They’re ignorant.”

To which I replied, “I wish I was too. I would rather be ignorant to the reality of a pandemic than have gone through what I did as a nurse in Covid Critical Care in 2020.”

So, if you see a nurse friend with a distant, haunted look while you discuss the government’s mishandling of the pandemic, try and understand why. It was so much more than you’ll ever know to those it touched personally. I do believe politicians play circumstances like a fiddle, and I know things were and are still mishandled in regards to COVID-19, but we have to be bigger than that. We, as human beings, have to rise above politics and the noise of this world to care compassionately about one another. If anything could return to normal after a pandemic, maybe it could be that.

I Never Wanted the Pony

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“I bet you can’t dive all the way to the bottom and touch the grate,” he dared me.

I was five years old. A toe-headed, deeply tanned, tiny thing, but boy, could I swim. I wasn’t daunted by the Olympic-sized swimming pool sparkling before me.

“But I got my clothes on,” I answered, waiting to see if he’d take back the challenge.

“If you do it, I’ll buy you a pony,” he replied with a smirk.

And that was all it took. Like a bullet from a gun, I shot quickly into the water, sans swimsuit or not, pointed finger first to touch the drain at the bottom of the pool. Spoiler alert. I reached my goal easily, and broke through the surface of the water, just as quickly, sucking in air hungrily. Almost as hungrily as I ached for his response.

Here’s the thing about five year old me. I really wanted a pony. I asked if I could get one, more than once, not understanding the obstacles that stood in the way of my cowgirl princess dreams, such as living in an apartment, or being dirt poor. I just wanted one, and my father had agreed I could get one. Several times. The poolside promise wasn’t a new thing.

Here’s the next thing. I knew I wasn’t getting a pony. I may had only recently learned to tie my shoelaces, but I understood a thing or two about human behavior. The promise of a pony was like wishing upon a star. It worked in Disney cartoons, but not for little girls who changed schools a billion times a year, chasing dad across the country while he sowed his oats. I didn’t even want the pony. Not at that moment.

I was proud of myself, though. I tried to reel it in, but I couldn’t help it. Sure, touching the bottom of the deep end was nothing new for me, but it was for him. And mom knew I could do it, but he didn’t know. He’d been gone when I learned. Where did he go anyway? With just a backpack and the contents of our bank account, for months at a time?

Yessiree, I was proud. I was cheesing, big time, and I waited for his response with anticipation. Wouldn’t he be so proud?!

All I can remember is the chuckle. A half laugh, half “well, I’ll be damned.” He laughed at the sport of a smiling girl, and then he turned and walked away, probably afraid I’d get his smoldering, filterless Camel wet. I guess I remember something else. I remember my heart breaking. It didn’t ache for a pretty pony to keep in the nonexistent backyard, though. It ached for affection. I wanted him to be proud of me.

I can look back on the muddled years of my past, and I can see that same longing. Love me! See me! Make me feel worthwhile! I floated through friendships, relationships, and most facets of my life like a little girl kicking like crazy to reach the bottom. If I could just touch the grate, he’d be proud. Maybe he’d even stay around for a while. If I could just be skinny enough, pretty enough, smart enough. If I wore the right clothes, the other girls would accept me. If I slept with him on the first date, he’d have to like me. If I agreed to be agreeable, then my husband wouldn’t leave me. So many parts of myself I gave up or gave away, just hoping to finally feel the satisfaction of being worth something to someone. Anything to anybody.

I never got that pony, and I never found what I was looking for in the arms of mankind. Don’t get me wrong; I found love. I currently reside in the most fulfilling and joyous marriage I could fathom, but I had to come to a place in life where I realized my self-worth and personal happiness couldn’t be found in the acceptance, opinion, or affections of this world. As the years went by and I scoured the pages of my Bible, I finally understood my purpose and fullness were found therein. A Savior who called me precious, that was what mattered most. A God who became man, to give His life for me, that was what I had been longing for. An unconditional love that said, ‘you can have all of me, and you don’t have to give me a thing,’ that was what had been missing. I didn’t have to perform, fit into a box, or do anything other than just believe that love was there for me. And when I finally realized His great grace was enough, that His strength was sufficient, and that His love never failed, I stopped kicking. I stopped striving to reach the bottom, to obtain the love of the world, or to fill my cup with empty promises. Because, I never needed the promise of a pony. I only needed perfect love.

You Know Me

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You know me.

You’ve always known me.

Even when I didn’t know you.

You knew me when my biological father left me.

And you knew me when you gave me another earthly father to raise me in love. To show me you.

You knew me when I tried to hang myself at eight years old.

You said, “you can’t come home yet, child. I have more for you.”

I just couldn’t hear your whisper. But it spoke loud and clear when the rope snapped and I hit the ground still breathing.

You knew me when I cried, lonely, afraid, and feeling worthless. You set forth a series of events to arrange our meeting.

You knew me when I ran from you. Others may have given up on me, but you never did.

You knew me when I did right, and you knew me when I did wrong. Your love never changed.

You knew me when I tried to fill my heart with all the wrong things. You knew I would see the truth one day.

You knew I would run back to you.

You knew I would love you above all else.

You knew when I needed to go left, and you knew when I needed to go right. You never stop leading and guiding me down the right path.

Great is your faithfulness.

You’ve provided places to live before I even knew I was moving.

You supplied my needs when it seemed there was no way.

You have healed me. You have healed my family.

You have protected us from harm. Looking back I stand in awe at the ways you have saved us, keeping us in your mighty arms.

What the world has meant to hurt me, you have used to help me. When the world has caused me pain, you have comforted me. Your mercies are new every morning.

You give me joy in place of mourning, and you keep me in perfect peace as I trust in you.

When I cannot see a way… You make the way.

You knew me before I came to be.

You knew me before I acknowledged your name. You know me still.

When man disappoints, you deliver. You remind me of my own imperfections. You lead me to humble surrender.

You spoke the sun, moon, and stars into being, and yet, still you know my name. You know my innermost thoughts.

And you delight in me!

When I disappoint myself, and when I feel my lowest, you delight in me.

You have adopted me into your family. I always have a place at your table.

People may misunderstand me, but you know my heart. You always know.

I weep. I cry burning tears. How can you love me like you do?! All the words of gratitude I can muster will never be enough.

You knew me.

You called me.

You waited for me. You never gave up.

You saved me. You save me still.

You speak to me. In the deepest places you speak your truth. Whom have I but you?

The One who knows me.

I Finally Found Where I Fit In!

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I can recall receiving a specific message tailored just for me from a visiting prophet when I was twenty-one years old. His words were like a soothing balm, the proclamation I had always wanted in life, whether I realized it or not. He didn’t know me personally, yet the accuracy of his comments struck a chord with my misfit heart, and I have remembered them always.

He had spoken, “you feel like an outcast, like you’ve never fit in. But God wants you to know He has a place for you. You’ve always felt like a square peg, and God is saying He has a square hole in mind just for you.”

These encouraging words were just what I needed. I had always felt like an outsider in life. I was the girl in school who tried to hang out at the “cool kids’” lunch table, but had somehow never been able to take a seat there. I didn’t feel welcome.

As a child I was the new kid, from out West, with the weird accent. Totally tubular.

Or I was the sick kid. Epilepsy. Not a well-known condition in small-town U.S.A.

I was the adopted kid, never really fitting in with all the cousins. Treated differently by the grandparents even if they didn’t mean it to be that way.

I was the little girl who was so ordinary that her biological father had left town, never looking back at the daughter he rejected.

I was the quiet girl in school. Pretty, but odd. Puberty didn’t hit until I was seventeen, and I was the last cheerleader who still admitted to playing with Barbies or frogs.

In all the Howard Hughes’ films of the eighties, the outcasts and misfits at least had their own clique. Even The Nerds got their revenge.

But I didn’t fit in anywhere. I couldn’t find my group, and went through most of my young life trying way too hard to find my niche. A loner. Maybe even a loser.

I was born again at the age of 19. I can remember feeling such acceptance into God’s family, but it seemed short-lived. I’ll never say this was anyone’s fault but my own. I know my own perceptions are often to blame. It was probably the devil at work in my feelings, and perhaps in the actions of others as well. Regardless, I never felt like I fit into the Church. Most of my Christian peers had been raised in a deep faith, and I was still learning to read the Bible. I didn’t understand all the rules, of what was good, or what was definitely bad. I was on a learning curve when it came to taboos of the Christian walk, and those who corrected me were not usually gentle. Sadly, I have way too many instances of harsh correction by my “sisters” in faith, and I know I have healing still left from those encounters.

I had a past, but one thing I learned about people was, ones outside the church didn’t care about that stuff. They didn’t give a hoot about what I wore, if I watched an R rated movie, or if I had saved myself for marriage. It was much easier to get along with the people who skipped Sundays all together, and so began a season of being apart from God.

It makes me wonder, is backsliding the result of sinful influence outside the church, or is it perhaps the realization one haves that they’ll never be good enough to have a place at the table of religion?

Oh, but Grace. Great, great grace.

I have finally found my place. I have finally found where I fit. For awhile I thought the place that prophet spoke of over twenty years ago was a certain space. For years I wondered where God would move me, or what group of friends He would put in my path. Still corrupted by the ways of this world, and still scarred by past rejection, I still tried to make myself fit. I attempted to insert myself in this women’s group or that ministry opportunity. I allowed my belief system to be that of the majority to which I wanted to conform, knowing that to sit at the table, there are certain standards you must uphold, and certain opinions you must keep inside. The thing is, no matter how much I tried to mold myself into the Godly women I admired, the more unqualified I felt. I wasn’t the trendy mom, the crafty homeschooler, or the first hand up to volunteer for watching the nursery on Sunday. I didn’t like being busy, spinning plates, or overwhelming my schedule. Then I had this habit of seeing the best in others, trying to walk in the shoes of the “sinners,” and remembering far too easily the past I had previously mentioned. I wanted to give money to a guy on the street without worrying if he was going to spend it wisely! I wanted to believe that each time a drug addict ended up in my hospital bed, that they would stop using, and change their life. When others whispered about a short skirt on Sunday, I remembered a “church lady” making me leave a meeting because my t-shirt said the word “suck” on it.

My weird ideas have often left people confused. My fair treatment of those different than myself has made me unpopular in certain circles. In fact, the last year has found me ousted from the table of many of my Christian friends, simply for speaking topics not allowed for discussion. I guess we could call them “square peg” topics in the circular world of religion.

I felt so hurt. I felt the rejection all over again. Kindness was met with anger, and I trudged away licking my wounds. I guess sometimes you think you’ve found the place where God has you to fit in, only to discover you’ll never fit! We aren’t meant to fit in the pretty, round spaces this world provides. It turns out the edges have hidden rough spots, and you can get a face full of splinters, even as others have planks in their eyes.

When I read the Bible, though, I felt like I fit. When I read, re-read, meditated, and prayed over the words of Jesus, I felt totally at home. In His warm embrace I found my place, and in His love I found me.

I’m not in any way trying to lessen the importance of gathering with fellow believers. I truly belief that finding a church home, surrounded with brothers and sisters in Christ is much needed. Relationships are beneficial! The support, counsel, and correction of other believers is required in this confusing walk of life. So, don’t get me wrong, here. I’m not saying to throw out the baby with the bath water. But I am saying that some dirt and grime can get in the way sometimes.

Some people in this world find their place like the perfect glove. For others, they always feel like an outcast. I think it’s good to understand that if you don’t feel like you fit, you’re in good company. Jesus never fit in with the religious leaders of His day, either. People will misunderstand you, they will hurt you, or they’ll unknowingly (perhaps, knowingly) push you out. But at the table of the Father, there’s always a seat saved for you. Right next to Christ. It’s in His love we find our perfect place. It’s in His love that we finally fit in.