by Heather Plett | Feb 3, 2005 | Uncategorized
I walked into a Christian bookstore today, and instantly developed a nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. I suppose it was partly because I worked at that same bookstore many years ago, and have such unpleasant memories of my time there. That was my first “Christian” boss, and definitely one of the WORST bosses I’ve had before or since that job (and I’ve had lots of bosses to compare him to). He was mean, selfish, inconsiderate, and more interested in capitalism than compassion.
I suppose it was also because I almost always feel a little sick when I see the “trappings” of Christianity. No I don’t WANT to buy “test-a-mints” so I can offer my non-Christian friends a breath mint and then segue smoothly into a conversation about the “breath of God”. Nor do I want to be a “woman of god” if it comes with all those flowery sickly-sweet book jackets with muted pictures of women and flowers and OF COURSE the fancy script font. And HONESTLY are there really people who think a painting is more beautiful or meaningful if there’s a scripture verse plastered across it? (I could go on and on about the way Jesus communicated as opposed to the way so many Christians feel they should communicate, but I won’t waste my breath on that sermon.)
No, I’m afraid this time it went deeper than that. I’d gone there looking for a book called “Intimacy with God” and though the above-mentioned things made me want to bolt, I persevered and made it through all the plastic crap at the front to the book shelves. But then, as I perused the books, my nausea deepened. I stood there in front of walls and walls of books about walking with God, developing your Spiritual gifts, learning to pray, finding God’s purpose for you, etc., etc., and had a sudden, out-of-the-blue crisis of faith.
I wasn’t expecting it. Sometimes, when a crisis like that appears, I see it coming ahead of time and I can brace myself for the arrival. But not this time. This time I was caught completely off guard. This one crept up on me and sprung like a lion hunting its prey. I guess, when I look back a little, I can see the signs were there. I can pick out moments when the walls of my belief system started to crumble bit by bit. But I hadn’t put all the pieces together yet.
I don’t know why it hit me there in front of the books. Books are usually touchstones and beacons for me – helping me stay grounded and pointing me toward truth. But this time they seemed foreign and unkind. This time they reminded me how little I know about the truth and how much I doubt the “truth” that I’ve been taught. So many of the books just looked like paper reflections of the plastic crap at the front of the store. Others looked like they were way too holy for me – way beyond my battered and bruised spirituality. They painted a picture that I neither understood nor felt drawn to.
At that very moment I felt cheated by the written word. It didn’t look like truth to me. It looked like an artificial painting intended to disguise the genuine artwork. From my vantage point, I didn’t understand the cover-up, nor did I feel that I had any glimpse of the masterpiece underneath.
At this very moment, I don’t know if I want to be a Christian. I finally found “Intimacy with God” on the bookshelf and it looks like a very good book about just what the title says – learning to be intimate with a God who seems distant and aloof. I didn’t buy it. I don’t really know if I WANT to be intimate with God. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I look back at my life and see an endless void – I’ve had lots of moments when I felt truly close to God and really sensed his presence. But none of those moments are sustaining me right now. None of them are convincing me that intimacy with God is something to strive for.
I’ve been struggling with the Bible lately too. I guess that was one of the signs of deterioration that I overlooked. I’m not sure I trust the Bible. There are too many inconsistencies and too many things that don’t make sense. Like all that crap about women remaining quiet in church. And then there’s the picture of God that makes NO sense at all – the vengeful destructive God of the Old Testament. How does any of that fit into an image of a God of grace? And really – who wrote the Bible and how were all these individual men convinced they were writing the word of God? Was it really intended to become what we have made it into? Is it REALLY more important than all the other good stuff that’s been written along the way? And if He’s really the God of the Jews and Gentiles, male and female, why were ALL the writers of the Bible Jewish men? It doesn’t make sense to me. Sometimes I can overlook the inconsistencies, but that’s not working for me right now.
It might be a momentary lapse. I’ve had these before. Sometimes the dry spells last a few days or a few weeks, other times a few months, and then sometimes they last for years. It might just be another way of God communicating to me – helping me go deeper and find a new level in our relationship. That’s happened before too. But what if the dry spell drags on and on, and faith eludes me again? I don’t think I want to go through that again.
Perhaps I should go back and buy the book, because as much as faith is hard sometimes, I still believe a faltering faith is better than none at all.
I’m a little scared though. With my faith weakened like this, how will Africa appear through a cloudy lens? Will God seem more or less real when I’m faced with starving children and mothers who might have to sell their bodies to buy them food?
I don’t know. But I guess I have no choice but to walk through it. Perhaps somewhere in Africa, faith will come back to me.
by Heather Plett | Feb 1, 2005 | Uncategorized
It’s good to know that the terrible twos won’t last forever.
It’s good to know that my husband loves me.
It’s good to know that there are still lots of countries and cities left for me to explore.
It’s good to know that I have a warm bed to climb into at night.
It’s good to know that there’s another pay cheque coming in when this one dries up.
It’s good to know that winter won’t last forever.
It’s good to know that my family shows up when I need them.
It’s good to know that I can afford comfortable shoes.
It’s good to know that I can be strong and independent and still be a woman.
It’s good to know that I won’t have to dig through the trash to find supper tonight.
It’s good to know that my children need me.
It’s good to know that I can survive pain.
It’s good to know that there are at least 20 people I could call in an emergency and they would drop what they’re doing and come to my aid.
It’s good to know that my roof doesn’t leak when it rains.
It’s good to know that my children are safe.
It’s good to know that I have friends who make me feel welcome.
It’s good to know that my children are growing up and won’t always need me as much as they do now.
It’s good to know that I have freedom to express myself.
It’s good to know that I can make choices like where to live and what to eat for supper.
It’s good to know that someday potty training will be over.
It’s good to know that in Spring, things will turn green again.
It’s good to know that there is food in my fridge and clothes in my closet.
by Heather Plett | Feb 1, 2005 | Uncategorized
My beach bum baby. She’s almost 3 now and sometimes I have to remind myself that she was cute and innocent once, and didn’t talk back or call her Daddy a “butthead”!
by Heather Plett | Jan 31, 2005 | Uncategorized
1. We had Nikki’s party this weekend – almost a month early since I’ll be gone next month. Five preteen girls in a hotel room – what fun! Pillow fights, water slides, pizza, late night giggling, secrets – everything an almost 9 year old could want in a party.
2. Our bathroom is all done – right down to the floor mat and the matching pale green hand lotion. (Oops – not quite – still have to get the pictures on the wall.) I painted candle holders and a pot pourri holder this weekend. It is a thing of beauty! Last night, I lit the candles, turned off the lights, closed the door, and soaked in the tub for nearly half an hour. Aaaahhh! Next time, I’ll add a little mood music to complete the effect.
3. Sunday was the last GNF service I’ll be at in a month. Next Sunday is Mom’s membership service, and then it’s off to Africa for 3 weeks. It makes you know you’ve got a good thing going when you realize how much you’ll miss your community.
4. Nikki and I had our mother-daughter afternoon on Friday. She was delighted to leave school with me at lunch time. We went to the Forks, had lunch, wandered around the shops, and then went for our manicures. She got lime green, I got a coppery colour. She said afterwards that she probably chooses more hip colours than me because she’s younger. J My manicurist was a bit of a butcher – my cuticles hurt all weekend.
5. My family is good to us. Mom got up early Friday morning to make sure she got cinnamon buns baked for Nikki’s hotel breakfast with her friends. Cynthia stayed up late Thursday and baked a funky birthday cake for her niece. J-L hung out in the pool with five giggling girls – quite willing to play the cool uncle role. How much richer they make the lives of my children!
6. Maddie got a late start into the “terrible twos”. (Actually, after having 3 kids, I think the “terrible twos” is a myth that should be replaced with the “testing the boundaries threes”.) Potty training is a power struggle with her. On Saturday, during her “nap”, she changed her own poopy pull-up, resulting in poop all over her room. On Sunday, she stripped naked, and walked around with a pull-up on her head hoping people would laugh at her. And when you ask her why, she just smiles and says “Because I want to.”
7. I didn’t get as much done as I’d hoped this weekend. I ended up making way too many little shopping trips for bathroom stuff. We tried out 3 registers before we settled on one we liked, and 2 bath mats. But we were determined to be DONE so we persevered. Sadly, our bedroom didn’t get the clean-up it deserved because our attention was focused on the bathroom. That’s what happens when you bring something new into the home – all the other rooms get neglected. Poor little neglected rooms – I promise I’ll spend time with you soon! Soon the bathroom will be yesterday’s news and I’ll start looking to other spaces for some decorating pleasure. You could be next!
8. I enjoyed watching Julie pay Crib with her Pépère last night. She really is a smart girl and the way she focuses her energy when she’s playing games seems remarkable in a 7 year old kid. She gets this look on her face that says “I take great pleasure in trying to figure out this game.” I hope she finds enough to challenge her in life, because sometimes learning comes too easily for her.
9. Communication was good this weekend, despite my fears that there would be too much stress in our household in the weeks leading to my departure.
by Heather Plett | Jan 27, 2005 | Uncategorized
I love it when you pull it off – when you know without a shadow of a doubt that you have pleased your child. Not just a shallow pleasure, like when you tell them they can have ice cream for dessert. I mean a deep down gut pleasure that shines from their face and causes that look that says “My Mom is super cool! She must love me A LOT to do this for me!”
That’s the kind of look that I got from Nikki when I asked if she wanted to skip out of school on Friday afternoon and hang out with me. “Because I won’t be here for your birthday,” I said, “I want to spend some special time with you.” Her eyes lit up and her face glowed. “Are you SERIOUS?” she asked, not quite sure she could trust what she’d just heard. “Yes, I’m serious.” Her face broke into a mega-grin.
This is my occasionally aloof daughter who is beginning to spend more and more time alone in her bedroom, hanging out with her music rather than the real live people in the rest of her house. This is the daughter who gives me more withering looks than smiles these days. The rest of the evening, I was her best friend. She sat close to me, she hugged me a couple of times, she started working out the plans in her mind – like “where will we go for lunch?” and “can we go shopping?” and “will it be JUST you and me?” And when I fed her the icing on the cake – told her that we might get manicures together – I thought she would burst from the excitement of it all.
I have to hang onto this. For only a little while longer, hanging out with mom will still have some measure of coolness. But hopefully, even when she chooses manicures with her friends over manicures with mom, I’ll still find ways to bring her pleasure. Because I know that even when she’s got more attitude than charm, a little part of her will always be my little girl.
by Heather Plett | Jan 26, 2005 | Uncategorized
It’s interesting going to a 12 step program. Every week, a group of people (20 – 30) will sit and talk about themselves and their relationships with the “gods of their understanding” and none of them will name their gods. We all come to the table with different understandings and different names for god, and for most of us, a lot of baggage that goes along with that understanding. But nobody ever asks anyone what their god is called or what kind of faith journey is acceptable to their god or what kind of trappings of religion they hold to.
It’s refreshing. I don’t feel a need to know whether their gods are Buddha or Allah or some other construct of god. Neither do I feel any need to tell them the name of my god, or try to convert them to my way of understanding. All that matters in that room is that we all trust whatever god we’ve come to believe in to help us overcome our compulsion. And we trust each other to be god’s helpers along that path.
This experience, apart from helping me deal with my compulsion, has opened me up to new possibilities. I have defined my god differently than I would have defined him before. I have taken little pieces of other people’s gods, and added them to my own understanding. It hasn’t weakened my god in any way – on the contrary – he’s stronger and more approachable than ever. I like him better now. And I like to think he’s pleased with my new understanding.
Growing up, there was only one way to understand god. He didn’t change his stripes, and if you didn’t believe in exactly the same god as me, you were doomed to hell.
There were only a select few churches that had any access to the “truth”. Mennonites were safe – the doors of heaven would open to them without reservation. Baptists were close to the truth, but they weren’t pacifists, so their access to heaven might be a little touch and go. If they’d ever been to war, forget about it. Pentecostals – well, they were close too, but they did a little too much dancing and speaking in tongues, so there was no telling if their communication was actually getting through to god. Anyone who wasn’t evangelical – dear god in heaven, THEY deserved our prayers because they were way off the mark. Most of them were just “Sunday morning Christians”, weren’t they? There’s no room in heaven for THOSE kinds of people.
But at least these other so-called Christians had a little bit of hope, because all they had to do was tweak some of their beliefs and god might allow them entry. All the rest of the world – the Jews, the Muslims, the Buddhists – they were all damned to hell.
One day, the path became too narrow for me. I began to feel lonely, walking along that exclusive path to god. Not long after I’d spent a few years immersed in good solid religious education at Bible College, my belief system crumbled. The world outside Bible College didn’t seem quite as black and white. There were shades of grey that didn’t seem to fit the old painting.
I tried to hang onto it, because I didn’t like the thought of a life without faith, but it just didn’t make enough sense for me. What little bit was left went out the window along with the man who’d broken into my home to rape me. A god who stood judgment over me and my friends, and who wouldn’t protect me from the hands of a rapist, even when I called out for his help, wasn’t worth my time. For the next few years, the grey was all I had left.
I was in a hospital bed the day my faith returned. No, it didn’t “return”, but rather a new faith arrived to take its place. This faith allowed for shades of grey and it allowed new faces on my pathway. There was colour where there once was only black and white. It was a “kinder, gentler” faith, and it fit me better than the old one had. This faith allowed me to ask tough questions – like why my baby was taken from me before I got a chance to hold him – and still have something to hang onto even when I didn’t find all the answers. This faith allowed for the possibility that truth might take different forms for different people.
It’s not an easy faith. There are some things I can’t quite get past. I want the pathway to be open and clear of obstructions, but what do I do with “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man comes to the father but by me”? Do I accept only portions of “the text” and abandon those that don’t fit? Or do I look for other explanations that make sense for my new understanding? Is heaven even relevant? If not, what are we striving for? If another understanding of god gives comfort and support, who am I to say it’s not truth?
When I lived in the mountains, a wise friend told me that god is like a mountain. We’re all standing on different sides of the mountain, he said, and my view might be quite different from yours, but that doesn’t change the mountain.
I think god is big enough to handle human variations. I think truth is still truth if it fits you differently than it fits me.
