Flip it like this. (December 2025)

(Art credit: David Hayward, The Naked Pastor)

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A reminder...

Condescension, willful ignorance, racism, sexism, greed, vindictiveness, bullying, blustering, bragging, and the inability to see all others as your equal are all signs of weak character and emotional immaturity. Applauding and idolizing those who behave this way is anti-Christ. Those fruits have no place here--in this country, in our churches, and in our hearts.

Be strong and resist. 

Get out of your comfortable, white evangelical bubble before it's too late. Get to know real people and be their friend, but not to proselytize--to actually seek to know another human being who is different from you and understand that their experiences are just as valid as yours. That's called empathy, though many of you now think it's a sin.

Strong and gentle can coexist, despite the black-and-white thinking that persists now. Look around for people in need and help them. Lift others up, don't push them down. Applaud the helpers. 

Defend "the least of these." What you do to them, vote to be done to them, or allow to be done to them, you are doing to Jesus.

Stand up for what is right, even if it gets you ridiculed...or detained.

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WWJD?

Jesus would flip the same tables where many "Christians" have decided to pull up a chair.

The moneychangers are now in the temple. In fact, they're in leadership of the church and the country, and we are allowing them to write our narrative. I firmly believe Jesus would be equally angry and grieved, and he would be on a rampage.

You cannot be both a true Christ-follower and an American nationalist. You cannot be a Christ-follower and a racist or sexist--overt or covert. You cannot be a Christ-follower and applaud ICE arresting people who are not hardened criminals just because they're brown. You cannot be a Christ-follower and defend the strong as they bully and beat the weak (Russia and Ukraine, Israel and Gaza, etc.). You cannot be a Christ-follower and decide to look the other way and knowingly vote against healing the sick. You cannot be a Christ-follower and prioritize your dollars and what you think are your interests over the lives of other human beings. You cannot be a Christ-follower and deny the God-given rights of your fellow humans, just because you don't share their religious or political beliefs.

I need Christians, especially American evangelicals, to stop playing the victim. You are not being persecuted. Mild inconveniences are not persecution (ie. having to sometimes have church online during Covid). You have chosen to get behind King Saul, and you will see repercussions for it. Why do you think so many people have left the church and evangelicalism as a whole? 

Hate to tell you, this is not "The Great Falling Away" because many of those who have left are the ones who are seeking the real Jesus, who cared for the poor and healed the sick, since they no longer find him in evangelical churches. 

Maybe evangelicals are the ones who have really fallen away, and they are blind to it.

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As a person who now sees faith in the light of liberation theology, I have reached the point where I cannot be silent anymore. I have kept my opinions (mostly) to myself, but in the last year, I have attended protests. I have chosen not to let racist comments go unacknowledged. I have stood up and said something when I have seen scriptures being used to justify anti-Christian behavior and legislation. I have written letters to my representatives. I have made the choice that I will be okay with being detained at some point if it is in defense of another human's rights. 

Every day, it's something else, and I am left constantly shaking my head at the people I used to believe wanted to be like Jesus. They are no different and no better than those they always condescendingly referred to as "the world," and that's why I left and will never go back. When you say you follow Jesus but willingly vote to choose gaining political power over saving the lives of real people that you claim Jesus loved and died for, you have lost your way. 

I am a red letter Christian, not a red hat Christian. 

I choose to follow the words of Jesus in the Bible, even though they're not verbatim. 

I have started flipping tables. What will you do?

(Jesus wasn't a Christian, by the way. People made up the religion to spread his teachings of love and healing.)

Excuse me while I deconstruct... (December 2021)

I've written a few blog posts in recent days, mainly about my religious deconstruction. They're about things I'm learning on my own about the Bible and faith through a lot of reading and research. I'm looking at it now from a lot more angles than just the one I learned growing up. There's a lot to take apart, so I can figure out what parts actually fit for me.

I'm still trying to collect my thoughts, and my written thoughts probably help me more than they might help someone else at the moment. There's a lot of information--historical, anecdotal, and experiential, I'm sifting through. And there's much to take in and much to discard. I'm trying to figure out which of my many experiences were real and which were due to suggestion or part of wanting to belong. 

I'm going through all the biblical stories and personalities I was told were totally real and true, the ones that they teach little kids as the basics of the Christian faith, and studying many different texts and different researchers who have varying viewpoints. I'm looking at the timelines of when the books of the Bible were written and the supposed authors (greatly debated by scholars, by the way). It's hard not to notice that even the Gospels were written as what I heard someone call "a holy game of 'Telephone'"--information passed orally for many decades, then written down, translated, and compiled by various people with their own cultural, personal, and religious biases. (This is one of the many reasons I do not believe in biblical literalism or inerrancy.)

I have issues with the God of the Bible who was, on one hand, okay with rape, genocide, slavery, etc. and, on the other hand called "kind, loving and forgiving." I have issues with the fact that two people could have decided the fate of everyone in the world for millions of years to come. What about those who never hear about God? What happens to them? If God would send them to hell (another concept I now have trouble with), I'm not sure how I feel about that. I am reviewing a lot of questions I never had the courage to address, even though those questions were always in my head and heart. 

People who want to scare you out of deconstructing or really examining your faith closely like to say that you never truly had a Christian experience if you find yourself deeply questioning these things. But that's straight up BS. I was all in. And God, church, and my faith were the center of my life. I'm now trying to figure out where I fit into God and where God fits into me.

A couple of years ago, the realization hit me that almost all of the big decisions I made in my life were centered around acting out my faith and doing the "right" things--the things that looked most like God's will, even if my gut was telling me to think about what I was doing. You might say, "What's wrong with that?" Well, now that I'm taking all of that apart, I don't know that I ever really chose anything myself. I wanted approval from God and from the people around me because I was young, impressionable, and influenced by everyone but myself. That's a hard thing to realize, and it makes me feel bad that I never trusted my gut and the doubts I had along the way. But I didn't. And there's a lot to unpack there. I can't even begin to cover those in this format yet, either.

Though I'm finding myself still in the stage where I don't want to offend anyone or crap on anyone else's faith, I am also finding that I have become more and more offended by some of the beliefs I held on to as truths. (I may get past that fear of offending in my head at some point, who knows?) But some of those "truths" never sat well with me. And I'm finding it increasingly more difficult to accept them, the more I take things apart and examine them. I have found myself getting more and more frustrated inside. 

On top of all of this, I have gotten so incredibly frustrated about some of the things I have observed in white evangelicalism over my lifetime:

• the treatment of women as secondary (including complementarian doctrine)
• the push for white evangelical political power by promoting the fear that we could lose our religious "freedoms" (white, American Christians are the least persecuted people in the world)
• the misogyny and controlling nature behind purity culture, and the sexualizing of young girls
• dismissal of people's very real religious trauma and questions
• opposing viewpoints being seen as rebellion or heresy, even if there's no actual proof behind some of the stories or concepts being examined
• defending the Bible as truth using scriptures from the Bible...that's not how that works
• Mild Christian inconvenience being seen as persecution of Christians and the church (pssst...white, North American evangelicals are among the least persecuted people groups in the entire world)
• fear mongering--and sometimes outright arrogant venom--being spewed about immigrants, liberals, and LGBTQ+ (and that's just to name a few things)
• the false concept of biblical inerrancy 
• the exploitation of people who just want to serve God and their fellow man

I didn't, and still don't, want to be offensive or throw anyone under the bus, but I'm finding it so difficult to handle the frustration I feel rising up in me.

People want to assume that when you are going through a faith deconstruction, you are doing so from inside the confines of whichever religion you are deconstructing--that you will just circle back around to where you were because...well, why wouldn't you? You're inside those confines, why leave them? They're safe and you don't have to risk or begin to think for yourself. 

The assumption is that you won't step outside the walls and look at the structure itself. That's what the philosoper, Slavoj Zizek, calls "formal freedom"--when we make choices only within a given system or ideology. But what I'm looking for is "actual freedom." That is the questioning of the structure itself that grants me formal freedom. Questioning and examining undermines the power that the structure itself has over me, and I'm beginning to see that's a good thing.

David Hayward, a former Vineyard pastor, popular deconstructionist writer, and cartoonist, says, "The short leash lets us live with permission to make choices within the system without upsetting it. We think that a longer leash gives us more freedom, but it doesn't. It still keeps us operating under the tolerance of the system and those with power within it...Freedom isn't a longer leash." You have to undermine the power of the structure itself in order to find your own faith, if you find it at all. You don't have to believe everything about the majority-approved religion in order to live in a "godly" way.

Part 1 - Growing Up as a Pastors' Kid (June 2021)

A lot of my upcoming writing will be about what feels like a massive phase of life deconstruction in which I currently find myself. Since religion, one of the major parts that I'm deconstructing, has been a huge part of my life from birth, I figured I'd share some background for those who may be able to relate to living the way I did. It may be eye-opening for those who didn't live that way.

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As a pastors' kid in a small church, I was born into a life of watching my parents serving and having to have it all together. There were some really great things about growing up the way I did, but there were also some difficult things about church culture that I learned and internalized. 

People would call with problems at dinnertime. People would need my parents to drop everything and come be supportive during emergencies. People would need counsel after church on Sundays, while my "starving" younger brother and I just wanted to go home, so we could all eat lunch together. Early on, I internalized the idea that there was always going to be an endless string of people with various needs with whom I was in competition.

My parents were doing their very best to fulfill the calling that they felt God had given them, and, even though you cannot please everyone, they tried to make sure everyone felt included. I watched how much it hurt them when people they had invested their hearts into would leave. Even though the life of a pastor isn't about people being loyal to you, and though everyone is entitled to find a church family that they feel is right for them, I saw that it hurt them sometimes.

I was a very open, tenderhearted little girl, and I was very protective of my parents. When I did hear negative or hurtful things people would say, I kept it to myself rather than telling my parents things I heard. I think my need to take on pain to protect other people from bad feelings, and to manage their anxiety, started pretty young. Even though that wasn't ever supposed to be part of my role, I took it on anyway.

Looking back, because I was so sensitive, the fear of corporal punishment wasn't necessary for me because just knowing my parents were disappointed was truly punishment enough. But it wasn't acceptable for pastors' kids to have big, raw feelings in front of other people, or to speak their minds, especially if it was contrary to an adult's opinion (considered rebellious in a Christian family, or, if you were a strong female presence, in some circles it was considered a "Jezebel spirit"), even if it was a valid one. "Dr. Dobson parenting" did a lot of damage to a lot of families, and I have to say I did not grieve when he died.

So because I was born into evangelical church culture, and pastors' kids usually went one way or the other, I was one of those who chose to assimilate and not rock the boat. I feared punishment rather than respecting my parents. But I didn't rebel or go crazy like some did. Pastors' kids who disagreed or had their own opinions or chose a different way were a bad reflection on their parents and were considered "backslidden." 

I took sexual purity vows as an evangelical youth group teen because everyone knew you were just "a used up kleenex in the trash" or "a chewed up piece of gum on the ground" if you didn't decide to stay "pure" for marriage (yes, there were many youth conferences where those were actual references used for people who lost their virginity or who made decisions for their own bodies). In youth conference culture, I learned to judge people who didn't adhere to the rules. 

I learned to hate my body because it was bad, rather than a gift from God to me, and only a temptation that could cause a Christian boy to "stumble" in his walk with God. Apparently, males were lustful, ravenous animals, incapable of self-control or having strictly platonic friendships with females. (Even in some Christian organizations I knew about and was part of, young women who endured assault were often considered complicit and asked how they contributed to it or what they had worn, as if what you wear ever implies consent.) I learned not to trust my own wisdom or intuition about what was right or wrong for me, things that should have been strictly between me and God. (This is only a part of the things I'm dealing with now in therapy. I didn't realize how deep and pervasive they were, and how they reached into every area of my life.)

While I am now finally learning that my body and my life are mine and that what is "modest" is entirely subjective based on the culture you grow up in, I didn't know that then. In fact, modesty in the Bible does not refer to covering your body, it refers to not flaunting wealth. 

I've done quite a bit of research, and strict purity culture still seems to be the norm in evangelical circles. Strangely, females in the evangelical world are still taught pretty young that they are quickly turning into sexual objects, and that it is their responsibility to protect the males of the species from themselves. As a young girl, I learned that my body and my life were not my own, and I did not have autonomy or agency. Because I was female, I was supposed to be protected and sheltered because I was unable to be responsible for my own safety or make my own decisions. I was created to stay "pure" and make my future husband happy, and even considering anything else was something I was supposed to feel guilty about.

Back then, I believed the Bible was inerrant. I learned the Scriptures. I knew all the books of the Bible in order. I killed it at "Sword Drills"--where the Sunday school teacher would call out a reference and the first kid to find it in the Bible (ie. "the sword of the Spirit") was the winner. I still can tell you many obscure Bible stories you may not be familiar with. (Even now, when the Jehovah's Witnesses come to the door, they're always surprised that I can easily finish their scriptural references.) I was in the worship band, and knew every song lyric by heart. I volunteered in the puppet ministry and visited the elderly. I wanted approval and to feel like I had something to give.

For quite a while, I thought every Christian family lived the way we lived. I thought everyone centered their lives around church and prepared for the upcoming Sunday service all week. It was eye-opening the moment I realized that most other people's daily lives didn't revolve around church life and the weekly service. I was kind of jealous of those people sometimes, if I'm honest.

But as a pastor's kids often do, I also realized pretty quickly that sometimes needy people just came first because that was the job. I saw how much it affected my parents to be in service all the time. They felt called to it, though, so they accepted the pros with the cons. But as a kid, even though I was not called to it, it was my life. I accepted it all because I was born into it, and didn't know anything different.

Because I saw the effect that emotionally/mentally/physically/spiritually needy people had on our family life, I vowed to not be needy. In fact, I went so far the other way that people never knew anything that I really struggled with. I didn't fit in with most other church kids because I couldn't really be myself and show my pain, and I didn't fit in with kids who weren't in church because they judged me as "holier-than-thou" without even knowing me--I didn't fit anywhere. 

I internalized everything, and never talked to anyone about my true feelings and questions and fears. I never told my parents when I was struggling. Most people never knew until I was an adult that I was angry, depressed, anxious and felt alone for most of my life (actually, this may still come as a surprise to some). They never knew I had thoughts about people being better off if I wasn't there. I was great at being the happy-go-lucky Christian girl, full of toxic positivity. They never knew that I had big wonderings that never got answered. Even though asking questions is part of finding your faith, I was afraid to ask deep spiritual questions and voice opinions that might make it look like my parents weren't doing their job of instructing us properly in our own home. (God forbid a Christian admit they don't know everything, and maybe do some research!)

People never knew the toll it took on me, the pastor's daughter, just trying to be as normal as I could in a "fishbowl" life. I was great at pasting on a smile in front of church people. I learned by watching that some church people were untrustworthy. I couldn't ever divulge anything about who I really was or the struggles I had because it could be used against my parents. I created a role for myself, and I played that role my whole life. I felt more accepted in the role that I made for 

Keeping my history in mind, let's fast-forward a decade or so...

I graduated from a fairly strict Christian liberal arts university (a curfew, a dress code, no dancing, no partying). As many evangelical kids do, I got married young, about a year after I graduated college. While I was lucky enough to marry a really good man, I married into a pastoral life. He was already working at a megachurch in another country, and because the chaos and unpredictable nature of ministry was probably familiar and comforting in some way, I didn't think twice about moving there and joining him. I felt I knew what to expect from a life of ministry, even if it wasn't what I was called to. 

Almost from Day 1, I understood pretty quickly that I didn't fit the mold of a traditional pastor's wife, even more so in a megachurch setting. It became more and more difficult for me to assimilate and pretend to agree with ideas I didn't agree with--or, honestly, even see as biblical. It was harder every day to smile and say I was okay and look like I had it all together. I was dying on the inside because I didn't feel like I could get behind the desire for exponential church growth (why, though?), the prosperity gospel, or the disregard for the mental/emotional health of the staff--the ones who are charged with caring for the hearts of other people, day in and day out.

Early on in our time there, because I crave natural quality time and connection, I tried to get a fun group going. I planned a couple of nights where we on the large pastoral staff could all just hang out outside of the church setting and get to know each other as real people. That lasted one or two times. Most were too busy or didn't see the value in it. Life behind the sparkly, smoke machined, well-lit megachurch curtain was not easy to get used to, especially for someone who loved true connection.

More than once, other people in leadership made remarks to my husband (and even to my parents when they visited the church) about me and how I wasn't fitting into the vision, or even how my younger brother would be a better choice. If it weren't for the handful of people I truly connected with over my time there, and who truly loved me for the me that they saw, I think I would have fully withered on the inside. They are still wonderful friends to this day.

All the while, because I couldn't reconcile some of the things I was seeing with what I felt was what God intended church to be, I got deeper and deeper into depression. I felt stuck, and I just didn't fit anywhere. I was very lonely. In the middle of all of this, two of my grandparents died. I didn't know the city we lived in very well, so I was afraid to go too many places by myself. I was in another country, so it already didn't feel like home. I was away from my friends and family and all the people I had felt spiritually and emotionally connected to. 9/11 happened and I felt so far away from my home country, even though I was only an hour and a half from the border. When I had my first child, I was quickly in the throes of postpartum depression and anxiety before it started being a normal part of the female discourse.

Part 2 - What Happened Next (June 2021)

Keeping my history from the previous post in mind, let's fast-forward a decade or so...

I graduated from a fairly strict Christian liberal arts university in the late 90s. Attendance included accepting a curfew, a dress code, required daily chapel, no dancing, and, obviously, no partying. It was a situation where, just as you're supposed to be learning to be an adult, you weren't treated as one. 

As many evangelical kids do, I got married young, about a year after I graduated from college. While I was lucky enough to marry a really good man, I married into a pastoral life. He was already working at a megachurch in another country, and because the chaos and unpredictable nature of ministry was probably familiar and comforting in some way, I didn't think twice about moving there and joining him. I felt I knew what to expect from a life of ministry, even if it wasn't necessarily what I was called to for myself. 

Almost from Day 1, I understood pretty quickly that I didn't fit the mold of a traditional pastor's wife, most especially in a megachurch setting. It became more and more difficult for me to assimilate and pretend to agree with ideas I didn't agree with--or, honestly, even see as biblical. It was harder every day to smile and say I was okay and look like I had it all together. I was dying on the inside because I didn't feel like I could get behind the desire for exponential church growth (why, though?), the prosperity gospel, or the disregard for the mental/emotional health of the staff--the ones who are charged with caring for the hearts of other people, day in and day out.

Because I crave natural quality time and connection, early on in our time there, I tried to get a fun group going. I saw a need for connection amongst the pastoral staff. I planned a couple of nights where we, the pastors, could all just hang out outside of the church setting and get to know each other as real people. That idea lasted one or two times. Most were too busy or didn't see the value in it. Life behind the sparkly, smoke machined, well-lit megachurch curtain was not easy to get used to, especially for someone who loved true connection.

More than once, other people in leadership made remarks to my husband (and even to my parents when they visited the church) about me and how I wasn't fitting into the vision. There were even comments about how my younger brother would be a better choice for the position, like they would have preferred the chance to switch me out and get him. Someone was even assigned to "handle" me, under the guise of mentorship and wanting to know the real me. If it weren't for the handful of people I truly connected with over my time there, and who truly loved me for the me that they saw, I think I would have fully withered on the inside. They are still wonderful friends to this day.

All the while, because I couldn't reconcile some of the things I was seeing with what I felt was what God intended church to be, I slid deeper and deeper into depression. The constantly disgruntled and underappreciated church staff would never have said anything to the head pastors about the issues they saw. We were young adults pastors to a group of young people who had come out of a youth group that had a constant rotation of new youth leaders in and out--they were burned out and didn't trust us. There was a roped-off VIP section at the front of the church during major meetings with security around the guest speakers. There was basically a club for ministers who came to the conferences, and the ones who were generally the biggest in size and donated the most money were considered top tier. There was always the long, drawn-out pre-offering guilt trip reminder that if you give to God (ie. the church), you would get blessings back--also sometimes referred to as "heaven's economy" (aka. prosperity gospel). I also felt there was exploitation of volunteers who came from all over the world to donate their valuable time to the ministry. 

I felt stuck, and I just didn't fit anywhere. I was very lonely. In the middle of all of this, two of my grandparents died. I didn't know the city we lived in very well, so I was nervous to go too many places by myself. I was in another country, so it already didn't feel like home. I was away from my friends and family and all the people I had felt spiritually and emotionally connected to. 9/11 happened and I felt so far away from my home country, even though I was only an hour and a half from the border. When I had my first child, I was quickly in the throes of postpartum depression and anxiety before it started being a regular part of the pregnancy and birth discourse.

We hold these "truths" (April 2021)

(Written in 2021)

As I said in my last post, I'm deconstructing all of my belief systems, and it's encompassing every area of my life. I find I don't currently connect with some of the popular evangelical viewpoints, but I'm not throwing the baby out with the bathwater (yet) when it comes to faith as a whole. I want to be open to learning and growing. I desire to be comfortable with questioning.

In this process of deconstruction, I am finding myself reviewing and questioning some concepts, ideas, and stories that have been part of my faith, ones that were considered to be absolutes--concrete. And like concrete, I am chipping away at them (in a healthy, open-hearted way) by my own need to do in-depth research and a lot of soul searching, as well as my desire to find out for myself what things I can personally accept as truth. 

When I am confronted by these ideas that have been taught to me as fact, I am asking the question, "What information can I find about this 'truth,' and what do I actually believe about it?" I'm interested to see what remains when the chipping is finished (although, because I'm always researching, it will probably never be finished). Having questions and looking for answers is not the same as unbelief. In fact, I feel like a person's belief can be strengthened by seeking to find what is true, not necessarily what is taught.

This week, it's issues about faith, Bible stories I have questions about, and also what it means to be a Christian. I am also asking the question, "To be a 'Christian,' what is required of me?"

There are primary concepts, and those are what many would consider to be the basic truths of the Christian faith. These concepts include the existence of God, Christ's birth, death and resurrection, the concept of sin, and our need for redemption. Then, there are secondary and tertiary concepts, and those are what Dr. Beth Allison Barr, a professor at Baylor University, says are "the ones you have every right and authority to investigate and figure out for yourself how you feel about them." So that's where I am.

It is widely accepted that the primary concepts are the ones by which we determine salvation. 

Do you believe in God? Do you believe He loves you? Do you accept that He sent Jesus to die for you and that Jesus was resurrected?

The secondary and tertiary concepts don't determine salvation. 

Which Bible stories actually happened?

When Paul said that "all Scripture is God-breathed," there was no Christian Bible, no New Testament--there was only the Torah. Does that mean that only the Torah is God-breathed and the rest is a compilation of things we should know about? The Christian New Testament wasn't even compiled until the fifth century where a group of people chose the works they thought had apostolic authority.

Is the Christian Bible inerrant? Which parts of the Bible are meant for us to live by, and which parts are meant to teach us about the culture and issues of the day? There are a lot of varying views on that.

How old do you think the Earth is? Is Hell an actual place? Is Heaven an actual place? 

What about the inconsistencies in the Gospels--how can we accept the Gospels as absolutely true, word-for-word, if the first of them wasn't even written down until about 35-40 years after Jesus died (the last was 60-80 years after)? 

How accurate would they be, and can we say that they are the direct words of Jesus if they're written secondhand from stories that were passed, orally, over a long period of time? 

If the ascension of Jesus is considered to be foundational to our faith, why is it not described in more places and in more detail?

As you can see, I have a lot of questions I'm pondering. Some don't have easy answers. Many people say that you just have to go on faith, but I don't think that blind faith is actually "faith."

I am reexamining different biblical stories (these I'm listing are all from the Old Testament, or the Torah, so far), and I am coming up with some internal struggles that, really, I have always had with parts of them. I clearly remember the Sunday School felt boards with the paper characters stuck on them in various scenes to visually describe the stories to children.  Here are just a few of the many I'm reexamining:

Abraham--God tells him to kill his beloved, firstborn son as a sacrifice. Abraham agrees and pulls out his knife, but at the last second, God says, "Stop! I just wanted to see what you would do. Here's an animal to sacrifice to me instead." What would have happened if he had decided that killing his own child as a sacrifice was not something he was willing to do? What would God have done?

Lot--He goes to live in Sodom with his family, and two angels come to visit to see if he's righteous before God destroys the city. Some bad guys from the city come to his house and want to have their way with his guests, but instead, Lot offers them his virgin daughters to be gang-raped. God says, "Yep, he's righteous!" His family flees the city as God is blowing it up, his wife turns to look back in sadness at the city where she once lived (God told them not to look back), and God turns her into a pillar of salt.

Job--He refuses to curse God, even though he loses everything he holds dear, including his entire family and all he owns. But because he refuses to curse God, he gets a whole new family, and all new belongings, as well. So women and children are replaceable, just like belongings. But we use that story to show what great things can come your way if you don't get too upset at God.

David--He was considered to be "a man after God's heart." He is out on his roof one night, looks out and sees a beautiful woman, Bathsheba, bathing in her house (she was likely bathing in her house--not on her roof--because her period had ended and she was washing herself of her "uncleanness," as was the custom). He doesn't look away and go on about his business. Instead, he gets her to come to the palace where he uses the leverage of his royal power to get her into bed. Do you think she would say "no" to the king who has power over her life? Of course not! So, basically, according to modern sensibilities, that's rape. Then, David has her husband, Uriah, killed, so he won't be exposed. A prophet comes to David, and tells him that, because of what he did, Bathsheba's child will die. So Bathsheba loses her child because David raped her and had her husband killed.

There are a lot more stories I have thoughts and questions about. To qualify these and other biblical stories, Christians often say that the God of the Old Testament (or the Jewish Torah) is not the same as the God in the Christian Bible, specifically the New Testament. But if God is the same--yesterday, today, and forever--then that's not true.

So I am searching for answers that make some sense. On top of that, I am examining the many issues that have stemmed from evangelical "purity culture" and also the use of the Bible as a means to subjugate women. But that train of thought is for another day.

Zero Steps Forward, Two Steps Back (to 1864)...

So you're happy that the Arizona Supreme Court has reverted to an 1864 law banning abortion, even in the case of rape or incest? Good for you. 

*slow clap* 

You're probably one of the people who rejoiced or gloated when Roe vs. Wade was overturned. I know you didn't consider that there were 65,000+ rape victims, including children, and victims of incest who would now be forced to carry their traumas to term so you would feel you had done your self-righteous job and could pat yourself on the back. I know you didn't consider the women who very much wanted their pregnancies, but their pregnancies were now not viable. I know you didn't consider having to watch a real, live woman grieve and process even more trauma just so you could feel like you got a "W" for righteousness.

But I get it. 

I used to go to "pro-life" rallies and believe that I knew what was best for everyone according to scriptures that were intentionally mistranslated and misinterpreted to push an agenda. I used to march in Washington to declare my support for embryos... that is until I realized that pro-gestation is not equal to pro-life. 

When it hit me, my mind opened and quickly started to change.

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When I used to attend those rallies, my support for the unborn did not extend past the completion of gestation, nor, from my personal experience, does it extend past that period for most "pro-lifers." But all I had to do was meet real people who had been in the positions I mentioned and try to put myself in their shoes. Empathy.

All I had to do was a tiny bit of research to understand what the actual statistics were on abortion in the United States, and that they were not what was relayed to me by agenda-driven fearmongers. Talk to women who had had abortions, whose stories were real and were not embellished and pushed by the right-wing, "pro-life" agenda. Truth.

All I had to do was imagine that I had a young daughter who had been assaulted and was now carrying something inside her body that, every minute, reminded her of the horror she experienced. Compassion.

All I had to do was talk to many adoptees, adopters, and birth moms about how adoption didn't go as they thought it would, and that it was more traumatic in the long run than they had expected. Grieving with those who grieve.

Being pro-gestation and believing your personal, religion-based stance is correct and should apply to everyone sounds so good when you're in the righteousness bubble. But...

Unless you are willing to vote for legislation and funding that aids those who give birth to children they were forced to keep and the unwanted children who are born and end up being abused and neglected, you are not pro-life.

Unless you are willing to adopt growing children and adolescents who are in the foster system (not cute little babies), you are not pro-life, and you should never tell a woman (or little girl, in some cases) that adoption is the best option for her.

If you can do research on the number of lives that have been taken by mistake to enact the death penalty and still support such a barbaric practice, you are not pro-life. One mistake is too many.

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If you're considering this Arizona decision a "W," here are some tidbits for you. Let's discuss some other legislation that Civil War-era Arizona enacted in the same code, shall we? Remember that all of this legislation was written by one white man, Judge William T. Howell, and aptly named "The Howell Code" in 1864. The elected officials then approved the code.

In 1864, "The legislature provided that '[n]o black or mulatto, or Indian, Mongolian, or Asiatic, shall be permitted to [testify in court] against any white person,' thus making it impossible for them to protect their property, their families, or themselves from their white neighbors. It declared that 'all marriages between a white person and a [Black person], shall…be absolutely void.' (Richardson, H. 2024)" 

They also determined that the age of sexual consent should be 10 years of age...gross. Dueling was made punishable by up to 3-5 years in prison. Someone could be imprisoned for 2-5 years for trying to administer poison to a pregnant woman unless it was a doctor who was trying to help save her life. The legislators granted two divorces, one for a male member of the House of Representatives. They also established a county road. Yay.

So, in 1864, twenty-seven white dudes enacted a series of laws that, among other things, openly discriminated against black people and other people of color and determined that 10-year-olds were able to consent to sex (Richardson, H, 2024).

So if you're happy that Arizona is reverting to an 1864 law, why not revert to all of them from that same code? 

Oh, that's right. 

Because they do not recognize the rights and personhood of anyone other than white folks, specifically men. And somehow we understand nowadays that that is not okay, buuuuut...

Starting Over

I started this blog back in the 2010s. I have hidden most of my old posts because I am starting again from (almost) the beginning of a new season of life, in a different frame of mind, and in a belief system that has changed pretty dramatically.

If you're looking for Gratitude Sarah or Super Positive Sarah, you have come to the wrong place, sorry. 

That version of me lived in a lot of denial, or at least the gratitude posts and the happy-go-lucky posts masked a person who was sad, isolated, questioning, and raw--a person who curated her vulnerability. 

BUT,

I am learning to speak my truth, whether it looks good to others or not. I am in therapy and becoming a therapist. My children are officially adults. I am learning that I belong to myself. I am in the middle of earning a master's degree, which is something I always wanted to do. I am singing in a band, which is something I always wanted to do. I haven't run long distances in a long time because running serves a different purpose for me now. 

Life has been interesting, to say the least. But I am more at peace now in many ways, and I am living more authentically than I ever have.

So if you want to join me on this new ride, please do. I am not sure where this is going, but I'm ready to see what's ahead.

Thanks for being a part of this new season.

Lots of love,

Me

Deconstructing a Life (May 2021)

This post was written in 2021, and since my deconstruction began (I did not choose it, and neither do most people who have deconstructed) I have faced a lot of fears and long-held beliefs that I now realize after much thought, introspection, and research were not correct. By no means am I "complete," and I don't think I ever will be in the area of faith deconstruction. There are a lot of moving parts, and there is a lot to work on, including the effects of purity culture and religious trauma. So, if you're reading this post, know that I was in the beginning stages of what I now know will be a lifelong journey. 

Love, Sarah

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I'm deconstructing.

If you know what it is, you're probably in it, too, or you've already been through it. I've realized I'm entering into a deconstruction phase in pretty much every major area of my life. It started years ago, when pieces started falling out of the structures that were built for me, the things I always saw as "definites." I denied them and built up braces and retaining walls to hold everything in place, even though the structures didn't really belong to me because I had no hand in building them. But they were comfortable, even though they weren't mine.

Those retaining walls are now crumbling. 

It's happening all at once, and I can't stop the avalanche. I just have to be open and ride the wave of debris that is now tumbling. I can't outrun it anymore. 

It's not pretty. But it's real.

I'm just in the beginning stages, where I am allowing myself to think, feel, ask, agree and disagree, research, listen, and read. As I said, it's happening in every area of my existence. It's not necessarily a rejection of the major constructs in my life. But it's an acceptance that it's time to let everything come apart, so I can put the pieces that fit back together. I've been trying to make some pieces of the puzzle fit for most of my life, but I couldn't understand why I kept trying to no avail. Perhaps they're just not meant to fit.

Deconstruction is a process of grieving--yes, there are stages, and they're almost all painful. It's a process of questioning. It's a process of disillusionment and allowing yourself to feel and express anger. It's a process of opening yourself up to childlikeness--the freedom to ask hard questions with an open heart, some without easy answers. It's believing that you are lovable, even if others don't understand you or accept your feelings as valid. It's allowing yourself to have feelings, positive or negative, however they manifest themselves.

But I think that, unless you go through this process at some point, your faith (or lack of faith), or even your life, will never be your own. You will always feel like you are living someone else's life, someone else's faith, someone else's reality, and you'll feel obligated to keep up the facade of having it all together. 

You'll always feel like an imposter.

Some people find a new level of faith through deconstruction. Some people lose it. I think we find what we are meant to find if we are seekers.

I was standing in the shower today with tears streaming down my face. This deconstruction period has emptied my reservoir, and I'm seeing all the trash that was thrown in the water over my lifetime. Some of the trash is mine, but most of it is stuff I picked up from other people--things I accepted and made to be truths that were not meant for me. Deconstruction is part demolition and part trash pickup.

Here are just a few of the issues I've seen coming up in me recently:

• I have never been able to truly receive love or to love myself as I am
• I have never felt like I had ownership of myself or agency over my own life
• My faith has never felt like it's really been my own
• I have never felt "good enough" or had a sense of belonging
• I normally live (or lived) my life according to obligation, not according to actual wants and needs
• I have had questions I was afraid to ask or get answers to
• I don't feel worthy or like I belong anywhere
• I keep most people at arm's length, especially if they are in any position to hurt me

None of these issues are easy ones. Are they life or death? No. But they hit me at the core of my being. They are issues that have to do with the deepest parts of my heart--the places where no one else is allowed to go.

I think what hit me today, emotionally, was how much time I have wasted throughout my life not being my authentic self. I wasted time worried about what other people would think, when, really, no amount of worrying can change what people think of me. I always considered myself to be a "what-you-see-is-what-you-get" type of person. But, really, I'm a "what-I-want-you-to-see-is-what-you-get" type of person. My therapist says that, until now, I've been very calculating about my vulnerability. I let people see the guarded version of me, and allow them to think it's the truly vulnerable, authentic version. It's not.

The vulnerable, raw version of Sarah, however, is a rare sight. Most people will never see it because I curate what I feel is a palatable list of qualities, and that is what I show to the world. I've always done that. 

In the past, I kept up the appearance of being the happy pastor's kid, the cheerful college girl, the compliant pastor's wife, the relaxed young mom. None of those were really me. I didn't trust anyone, especially not church people--so much so that I occasionally had church people exclaim that they didn't think I ever had any problems when I would open up about my struggles. I didn't truly trust my heart being in anyone else's hands. I guarded myself from everyone, especially if I ever got an inkling they could ever hurt me.

I understand now, though, that I can't ever really love myself unless I open up to trusting other people to know me and love me, too--the real me. As someone who never really individuated or took the time to find who I was and appreciate that before I started climbing the ladder of accepted life milestones, I am just now finding it to be a necessity. I MUST learn to accept and love myself. I MUST find a place in my heart for understanding faith and what it means for me, not for anyone else. I MUST learn to be the real, authentic me, wherever I am.

Deconstruction can happen at any time in any part of your life. Sometimes it's a choice. Other times, as it has been for me, it starts as a trickle of little questions. Then the avalanche happens, and you just have to let it happen. I realize I've wasted too much time not being me. I don't want to do that anymore.

One of my friends who knows what I'm going through sent me this song and said the last part made them think of me. I get sad when I think about how many people waste their lives on trying to be something or someone they're not, just to make everyone else comfortable. I don't want that to be me.

The wind blows clear my memory
The pages start to turn
Then suddenly I'm singin'
The moment that I learn

One of these days I'm gonna love me
And feel the joy of sweet release
One of these days, I'll rise above me
And at last I'll find some peace
Then I'm gonna smile a little
Maybe even laugh a little but
One of these days I'm gonna love me

--Tim McGraw 

"One of These Days"

A Valentine Letter

I wrote this post to myself in 2013. I have only just started learning what all of this really means. Older, wiser, perhaps a little more jaded. But I'm here. Love, Sarah

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Dear Myself,

I know I don't usually participate in Valentine's Day happenings very often, but I wanted to write you a little letter to tell you how I feel about you.

Every day I'm learning to love you more and more. Not just for who I think you should be, but for who you really are. I'm learning that you need love from me just as much as you need love from everyone else, and I want to learn to give it.

Sometimes when I catch a glimpse of you in the mirror, I don't immediately see the beauty there. I see wrinkles and ripples and stretch marks and sags. But what I need to stop and really see is the true beauty of a heart that is full and open. I need to see you for the dreamer, the writer, the runner, the singer, the traveler, the loving wife and mother, and friend that you are. You are lovely just as you are.

You are becoming who you were meant to be and you are letting go of the things that have held you back. I know there are times I've hated you and called you names. I know there are times when I've let other people do the same and I haven't stopped them. I regret those moments when I didn't stand up for you. But I want to change that...

I promise that every day I will look at you in the mirror and tell you that you're beautiful, and I promise to do all I can to make you remember that. I promise to love you, even when I don't want to, just because you are worthy. I promise not to hold you to an impossible standard, and make you feel worse when you don't meet it. I promise not to expect perfection. I promise to forgive you. I promise to remind you to take time for yourself and recharge. I promise that I will do everything I can to keep you positive and proactive.

I'm grateful for you. 

You are loved. You are who you are for a reason. There are gifts in your heart for the world that only you can give. You are worthy of real love. You are worthy of great friendships. You are worthy of the unconditional love of your children, though you don't always feel you deserve it. You are strong. You are capable. You are valuable.

I want you to remember the words in this letter, especially on days when you don't want to.

Love, 

Me

What makes a person "Pro-Life?"

This post was written in 2012, but many of my sentiments are still the same, though my beliefs have changed in some ways.  Love, Sarah

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I hesitated (more than a couple of times) before clicking "Publish" on this blog post. 

There are lots of questions and thoughts I've had swirling around in my mind over the last while about the topic of abortion and what being "pro-life" really means. Attending the March for Life earlier this week brought some of them to the forefront for me, and my husband told me I should blog about them. So here I am. I'm working through my feelings on this topic.

Some people may be offended. Some may not. Some may agree with me. Others won't. I know that, and that's okay. 

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This week, I took part in the March for Life. It takes place every year in January to commemorate the Roe v. Wade decision that legalized abortion. There were around 500,000 people there (despite what the news media said...or didn't say).

I bet if you asked around at the rally, most of the people there would say that they are "pro-life." But I think if you look at it realistically, a majority of those people are really "anti-abortion," not "pro-life." 

There's a difference. 

You see, nominal pro-lifers--usually Conservatives (but not always)--tout the sanctity of human life. However, I can't reconcile the fact that many are so passionate about protecting an unborn child, but they are fine with murdering that child when he's grown into a criminal on death row. That's not pro-life. 

A human life is a human life. If we say we truly believe in the sanctity of human life, that means we don't get to pick and choose between who we save and who we murder. 

For the record, there is no difference in my heart between those who are pro-abortion and those who are pro-death penalty. You're killing a human being either way. I love you, but I don't agree with you.

It's that whole "thou shalt not kill" thing that I take seriously, I guess. I don't believe it's right to return evil for evil.

Yes, I know it's the law in some states, but that doesn't make it right in my heart. Yes, when you break the law in a particular state, you bear the consequences that come with that crime. If the consequence is death, it's death. Not much you can say to that...but, again, that doesn't make the issue right in my heart, and I refuse to vote for someone who boasts about the number of executions his state has carried out (I won't name names). 

(Aside from all of this is the number of death row inmates who have been found not be guilty of the crimes they had supposedly committed. How many innocent people have been murdered because of our need for the "eye for an eye"?)

I was having this "pro-life vs. anti-abortion" discussion with one of my friends the other day and she asked me how I would feel if one of those murderers killed my child. If I'm honest, my first instinct as a mother would be to kill him. That's my vengeful human nature. I would probably hold hate in my heart. I would probably try to think of the most horrifying, painful ways I could carry out my revenge. That's my sinful nature, though.

That's not what God would want me to do.

I hope that if something like that were to ever happen to me or to someone I love that I would eventually find God's grace to be sufficient. I hope that I would realize that I have been forgiven much. I hope that I would allow God to love through me, despite my urges to exact revenge. I know I would hurt deeply for the rest of my life, but I hope that I would at least be able to let go of the desire to return evil for evil.

On top of the issue of "pro-life vs. anti-abortion", many of those protesting don't seem to think of all the issues that surround abortion. 

Okay, so we change a teenage girl's mind and convince her not to abort her child. Then we pat ourselves on the back for our valiant efforts and drop the situation there. 

What happens to this child? 

If his mother keeps him, does he live in poverty? Is he on welfare? Does he have access to health care? Does he have the opportunity for a quality education? 

If his mother decides she can't keep him, where does he go--into an already overrun foster care system? If he stays too long in the system, we all know it's unlikely he will be adopted. The sad truth.

We want to save the babies, but not take care of them as they grow up.

So YAY! Good on us for saving a human life...but, truthfully, we aren't doing anyone any favors because we aren't making sure that child we "saved" has the opportunity for a decent life outside the womb. We "save" him, but then we vote on issues that doom him to a life that is less than we'd accept for our own children.

During the rally, people were talking about Tim Tebow and the fact that he was saved from abortion, as though his mother's story is in any way the typical abortion story. It's not. He's the Christian champion du jour, but the fact that his mother--a missionary--didn't abort him is really not that surprising. 

Tim Tebow seems to be a great guy. I'm not against him as a person. But he was not an unwanted pregnancy. His mother wasn't a unmarried teenage girl. He wasn't the consequence of an unprotected one night stand or a rape.

The latter are the people who REALLY are at the center of the abortion issue. Asking a missionary to keep her wanted pregnancy and asking a scared teenage girl to keep her unwanted pregnancy are two opposite situations.

Another blogger used the term "pro-birth"...because that's really what many people in the pro-life movement seem to be. It seems that our concern for the child stops at birth, when he or she is no longer the adorable fetus-in-distress we envisioned when we donned our anti-abortion superhero capes.

Abortion has been legal for decades and, if we're honest with ourselves, there's no end in sight at this point. I really don't vote at all based on the pro-life campaign topic because there are so many other issues that are relevant to right now and CAN change the life of a child who is spared from an abortion (or change the lives of MY children, for that matter). 

I will always peacefully protest abortion. I don't believe it's the right choice, even though I know that God has given everyone the right to choose.

So this is my challenge. If you call yourself a "pro-lifer", think about what you mean when you apply that term to yourself. Are you REALLY "pro-life" or are you really just "anti-abortion"? They are two very different things.

What would it mean for you to truly commit to being "pro-life"? Realize that being "pro-life" means that you believe that you desire to apply God's mercy to those who are innocent and to those who are guilty. God's mercy doesn't discriminate between the innocent and the guilty.

The guilty bear the consequences of their actions (as we all do), but is it really right to spare one life and end another?

If you are truly pro-LIFE, when you vote, think about how the issues you vote on will affect the lives of the children you're trying to save. How will you vote on welfare? How will you vote on health care and Medicare? How will you vote on issues that affect the economy and the future job market? How will you vote on education?

As you can see, my thoughts surrounding this issue are a little black and white. I know there are gray areas to every issue, but I feel strongly that there really is a line between pro-life and anti-abortion. I won't vote Conservative just because a candidate says they are pro-life. I will vote on issues. How that will go this time around, I don't yet know, but I am keeping my eyes open and not blindly following after someone just because of their supposed stance on abortion.

I'm praying that God guides me. That's all I can do.