Black Olives for Papa

I don't remember a time when John Ganzert wasn't a part of my life. As a child, learning and trying to pick up cues to understand and be a part of the adults in my world, he was always a constant, steady presence. I knew he loved me because though he maybe never said it, his actions never gave me any reason to think otherwise.

Recently the adult in me has been a bit frantic about the fact that perhaps I was losing sight of the Papa I remember as a child, but as I have been sitting and reflecting, I am finding that somewhere knit into the fabric of who I am there are things I know about my Papa.

Like, seven straight lines of Solitaire cards, a rescue from a bus ride gone long, iodine smiles on bleeding knees, and a hand to hold on walks to the park. Story books on his lap, Square dancing and waltzes with Nona, sometimes not even anywhere special, just at home. Polka music in a warm car, Stroke survivors and endless soup lunches, a hearty appetite, golf and curling - now there was something that appealed to me as a little girl, after all Papa and his friends getting together to curl hair seemed perfectly natural. Imagine my surprise when I learned that curling was a sport, and actually had very little to do with hair.

There was never a missed birthday or a missed hug, the big silver shovel Ali and I could sit in together, and walks to the post office. Afternoon naps, giving up control of the remote even during hockey and baseball seasons, and waking very early to turn on Saturday morning cartoons. Countless sleep overs and help scrubbing purple elephants off arms and legs. Cinnamon and sugar pie crust treats, Papa's walks up the mountain, the smell of earth and the summer garden. The way his steps sounded coming up the stairs and feigned surprise when he saw we were visiting coupled with his reliable greeting, “hello, hello!” no matter what he always seemed happy to see us.

We had strange kinship, both of us beating the odds of illness.  It was, in fact, during those difficult days at four years old, I put five black olives on my fingers and showed my parents, declaring “this will make Papa better!” I’m here to tell you that it worked, linked of course with the grace of a loving God, and though faith wasn't something I ever remember being discussed, it was embodied through a lap to sit on, a crossword puzzle to examine, a steady, unchanging, unalterable love expressed through kindness, generosity, stories and laughter.

Perhaps that's a childish view, to gloss over imperfections, but it seems to me that in the fabric that pulls together to make me, those are the strands that bind.

I don't know a world without my Papa, and though I'm not overly keen to, I know that he would take a strong, steady step forward and so shall I. Knowing that he has shaped me in a quiet, consistent way.

One last thing, when you're sad remember, Black Olives for Papa, that will make it better.

On a Journey I'm still on...

I'm finally ready to make a truthful confession. I haven't been to church in a year, and I haven't even attempted to find another one. I'm not backslidden, I don't hate God, I don't dislike the church, I have just stopped going. I'm not going to lie to people any more, to tell them we're "in a transition", or that we just didn't "fit" into the last two churches we were in. I honestly can't say at this point when or if we will ever go back.

But why? Church has been an integral part of my life ever since I was small. Why would I just simply walk away?

Because I couldn't answer the one question that haunted me.

Jana, do you know me?

I thought I knew God, and how to live my life in the right way. I thought I knew what pleased him, and more importantly what displeased him. Of course I was "saved by grace" but I thought if I just repeated the Bible often enough, or if I attended church enough, or took care of babies in the nursery, or if I made coffee and served it to people, that would make the difference. But, the question kept coming. Louder. Stronger. So, I dived into teaching by pastors, and my anxiety grew. I was so consciously aware of the fact that I could never live up to the things that they preached, it was physically painful. I knew that deep down I could never truly be good, kind, thoughtful, respectful, loyal and on. and on. and on. So I pretended that I was those things until I finally knew the truth. I was a total and complete fraud.

On a Sunday morning, I would see my three precious children, dressed up, hair brushed and perfect, standing in our row, and all I could hear was the anger in my voice as I told them to hurry up and eat - we'd be late. The shouting I'd done over where exactly everyone's shoes were. The complaining I'd done all the way to the front door about running the coffee cart, and the knot I carried in my gut that both longed to be welcomed by people, but pushed people away because getting too close to people hurts. The smile on my face was followed by the distinct flavor of bitterness. Still, I couldn't answer that question.

Jana, do you know me?

It's been a strange year, not in church. Sometimes frightening. Sometimes lonely. But sometimes, beautiful and exciting. I have had the opportunity to start to really get to know the heart of Father. To ask some deep questions myself, even questions that sound heretical to my own ears, but that are always answered or discussed, or left for another time. I'm not afraid any more, and I can honestly say that we've had "church" come to us, in conversation, outings, driving to places, even at the very top of an old fashioned Ferris wheel.

I'm not saying this path is for everyone, I'm not here to convince you. It just happens to be the one I'm on. Walking with Father day by day.

The Silence of Shame - Thoughts on Normalized Sexual Assault

The resounding cry from women in the past few days: that sexual assault happens more frequently than we'd all like to acknowledge. That the reason sexual assaults are under-reported, is because women are afraid that they won't be believed and in reading some of the more aggressive, angry comments, they haven't been.


Several years ago, I participated in a study for women who had just had a baby. As a part of the process, I was interviewed extensively. At one point the interviewer asked me if I had ever been sexually assaulted. Immediately I answered no. I remember feeling surprised by the question, and relieved that I could answer no. It was the following questions that gave me pause.


"Have you ever been touched in a way that made you uncomfortable?"
"Have you ever received unwanted sexual attention?"
"Have you even been kissed, or touched in a sexual way that was unwanted or inappropriate?"


As the memories came flooding back, I can remember just being able to choke out a yes to all three. The memories were so vivid, and attached to deep feelings of inadequacy, self loathing, and shame, that those questions rolled around in my head for days, I talked about it with a few friends. I told them about the different times, when a guy I knew had sidled up to me, pressed against me, blocked me into my seat on the bus. When another thought a kiss was an invitation for a lot more, and another groped me, simply because he had the opportunity. When a grown man used to stare at me, tell me what a nice girl I was, what a good girl, and say over and over what a lucky guy my boyfriend was.


The sad thing? The stories my ladies responded with, were not just as bad, in most cases they were worse. Sweet girl friends of mine have been touched, fondled, kissed, groped, and even raped. Did they report these things? Talk about them at the time? Get help or support? No. Not a single one. Why? These guys were friends, boyfriends, adults in their lives. We had a plethora of excuses for them, he didn't mean it, I didn't think he realized what he was doing, how could he know what he was saying was making me uncomfortable? I didn't say no, or tell him to stop. I let things go too far. It wasn't his fault. I brought it on myself.


Of it all, what I remember most distinctly, is the shame. Of course I couldn't tell anyone at the time. They would look at me and say, you asked for it, didn't you?  What was a good Christian girl like you doing, out at night with a boy? I'm not really sure how God is ever going to be able to forgive you, now that you've utterly separated yourself from him. So, I never told anyone, I just left it to bore a deep, dark place, just deep enough to messily cover up, hide, and forget. I blamed myself for each and every time, I thought I had stepped outside of the cover of God's grace, and was irredeemable. Of course, I could make up for it by being "good enough", but the problem is, the shame never really goes away. God couldn't forgive me, because I couldn't forgive myself. Shame, it sits in the back of your throat and chokes the truth away, and in it all, I could never be good enough.


But, I'm learning something about God.  That he never left me. Even in those moments, where I was shocked, vulnerable and alone, when I felt dirty, and so low. He was even there, beside me in those times that I was intruded upon in the most intimate way. He loves me in every moment. I thought I hid from him, but was never hidden from him. That in his sight, in his love, shame can't breathe, thrive or exist. 


To my sweet friends who have been in these situations, and much worse. Shake free of shame, and speak. I believe you.

The Trouble with Blessin' Gettin'

Just recently one of my social media pages was clogged with a series of  “Blessin’ Gettin’” prophetic quotes and videos. It seemed that all I had to do was to click on the short video, watch it, then add a comment to the growing page - to be sure to receive my own portion of the excessively abundant blessing lined up to flow from the very throne of God to only those in humanhood fortunate enough to click “like”. To not click “like” and leave a comment implied that I would in fact NOT appreciate a blessing from the Lord...and that’s where things started to get awkward. As I scanned through several of the posted comments, my heart seemed to be torn in a two places. On the one hand, there are a lot of people out there who genuinely need some type of divine intervention in their lives - calls for new jobs, healing and restoration, and strangely, a resounding notion that, “It’s about TIME I received MY Blessing!!” I couldn’t help but feel desperate to point out, that these good Christians, are solidly missing the point.

Or are they? Have we not been taught that God loves us, and he shows us that love by showering blessings down upon us? If God is okay with what we’re doing, we might get the benefit of good health, food on the table and a nice family. But, if God is really happy with us, he’s going to bless us (because I’m going to keep telling him to) with piles of money, the perfect job, the perfect spouse, an exhilaratingly happy marriage and (when we’re extra special) a position of power and authority and our own personal following of devout people seeking our unending spiritual wisdom. Because of course, those are the things that would make us happy. Therefore, those things are blessings - because we exist for God to make us happy. Right?

Wrong. I can no longer understand the attitude toward God that reduces him to a mere genie. Is that really what we want? Imagine if my relationship with my husband echoed how I’ve treated God in the past. I would meet him at the door with my hands out, wondering what he’s brought me after work. When he only brought me one rose, instead of an entire bouquet, I would pout until dinner time, feeling deeply hurt and disappointed by him. When he finally put dinner on the table, I would wait expectantly for an after dinner surprise, and instead when Brad would ask for help with the dishes, I would pout extra hard, and throw the plates into the dishwasher. After dinner would likely not be any fun, as Brad might choose to play online games with his brother. This of course would lead me to growl, snap and cry until my eyes were swollen slits, after all - why wouldn’t he want to focus his attention all on me? At bedtime I would give him an earful about how he needs to think about his treatment of me. Of course, we wouldn’t go to bed angry - he would apologize.

I highly doubt our marriage would last very long. Enough. Really, enough. Stop and take a look in the mirror. What are we doing? The God of the Universe, wants to walk in an intimate relationship with each one of us, he sent his only son to die so we could be cleaned of our own sin, and how do we respond? We demand that God finally bless us, for all of the good we’ve done for him.

I can’t do it any more. My heart breaks, and cries out. It leaves me no where but feeling lost and deeply alone. The churning, growing desire for a relationship with God can no longer be satisfied by a relationship where my hands are held out asking for God to bless me. The turn has come, and I choose to walk in an intimate relationship with my Father. It’s terrifying - the control freak in me is rocking back and forth nervously, repetitively, but it’s time to trust. To put each circumstance of my life in the hands of my Father, and trust that he holds the outcome in his hand. To hear his voice say, come walk with me, and from there to follow.

Religious Disallusionment and the Rise in Snake Oil Sales

Lately I’ve found myself to be on a faith journey. It’s not one I started deliberately, and from where I stand now, it’s more than a little uncomfortable. I feel like I’ve climbed about halfway up a cliff face, and knowing what I know now, I can’t go back down, but pushing ahead looks like it’s going to be a challenging climb.

I grew up in an Evangelical Christian environment, with roots in the Word Faith movement. Because that was my whole world, it came as quite a shock to my parents, when I told them I wanted to date a CRC boy. Yes, we were both Christians, and yes, we both loved Jesus, but because of his lack of Evangelicalism I was somewhat concerned for his mortal soul. He married me anyway. These feelings lingered for several years into our marriage, and though my dear husband loved me, he never fully accepted my blatant evangelicalism. As wives do, I prayed fervently to God, asking him to please fix my husband, and I think that was when I had the first turning point that put my feet on a different path. God spoke to me. He said, “I don’t need to fix him, I made him that way.”

That was a kick in the gut for me. So, after all, God even loved people from the CRC tradition.  He wasn’t nervous about their non-charismatic theology, old songs, Apostles Creed, or long pre-written prayers. In fact, he loved their heart-felt worship, kind hugs and handshakes, and sermons. He appreciated their twice-a-Sunday services, and energetic kids Bible camps, and maybe - just maybe, I was on the wrong side of this one.

The idea that my Evangelical friends and I were just a cut above all the other Christians was an idea that didn’t want to vacate easily.  (After all - the Evangelicals are getting in to Heaven first) Then my Christian world imploded. I experienced a situation in which people who I admired and looked up to were angry, malicious, dishonest and cruel - all in the name of Jesus. Maybe that shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was. I had bought into it all, the theologies like - God blesses those who bless themselves, God gives bigger and better to those who give bigger and better, good things will happen when you have enough faith, and other assorted beliefs. Leaving my relationship with God somewhat one sided, and scattered in pieces on the floor. 

In an effort to pick up the pieces and put them back together I’ve found myself breaking even more with certain Evangelical perspectives. So much so, that if I was asked to identify with a specific Christian background for myself - I don’t think that I could. I can no longer stomach the money driven Evangelical doomsday prophets who are touting fear and Trump at every opportunity, who are twisting the truth of the Bible and fully wearing an ALL-ABOUT-ME Christianity, just so they can say to those foolish enough to not want this brand of Christianity -  I told you so. People who are somehow okay with church members hiding in pornography on Saturday night, and then cursing out a Gay family on their way in to worship Sunday morning. Who think that love and forgiveness should only come on their terms, and to people who think exactly like they do.

I can no longer stop the questions that are bubbling up from my soul that demand an answer. How do we welcome Muslim refugees? What is our responsibility to people of other faiths? How do I get rid of my own racism and fear of the future? How do we get beyond irresponsible Christian platitudes like “love the sinner, hate the sin”? How do I actively LOVE my LGBTQ brothers and sisters like Jesus would? What will make my own faith relevant to my children? Will they see my faith centralized in the person of Jesus Christ - his life, death, burial and resurrection? How do I love the people who want to hate? How do I respond to people with love, even when they think differently from me?

I asked God these same questions. He answered me. Matthew 7:7 - Ask and it will be given to you. Seek and you will; find. Knock and the door will be open to you.

I never thought about the measure of faith it takes to knock on a door - yet, we practice it every day. Once you knock, there is always a period of waiting and trusting that the door will be opened. I also never thought about God’s invitation to ASK and SEEK. For a very long time, I’ve let good religious people tell me what to think and how to think it. It’s time I started to think on my own. God isn’t worried when I read Matt Walsh’s blog, nor does he get concerned when I read John Pavlovitz blog, he isn’t threatened when I question the messages that I hear, and it doesn’t even bother him when I don’t agree with my Pastor. He wants me to ask and seek for him, and I know that I am not able to wander too far from my good Shepherd’s side.

The Power of Disagreement

People disagree about things. Actually, that's an understatement, people disagree about everything, mundane - is the dress blue or white? major - politics, religion and everything in between, but since when does coming across someone who disagrees with me, rather doesn't agree with me exclusively mean that they must then hate me? Hater.

Whoa - wait a minute, isn't that a leap? Just when exactly did it become OK to hate someone who disagreed with me? But, I've been feeling it lately. Politics for example, if you voted Conservative, you need your head examined, if you voted Liberal you want the country to implode, and if you voted NDP well, that was just a poll throwaway, vote waster. Are we really justified in believing the worst about one another, and speaking horrible things to one another, because we come from differing points of view?

Speaking as a Christian - lately we've been no better than anyone else, and in fact, we've been more judgmental, hypocritical, and antagonistic than usual. After all, wasn't it Jesus who said, Love your Neighbor, but when it turns out that he's gay, and voted for the Liberal party, well, then you're off the hook. Throw as much vitriol as you can find in his general direction, but make sure you do it anonymously and always be sure to tell him, that "we hate the sin, not the sinner." (What does that mean, anyway?) Meanwhile make sure you're in church every Sunday, to tick that box on your "Good Christian List." Everyone there knows how holy you are, and so you're covered.

I just can't accept that. One thing I have realized, is that I have to work on the very give and take that allows us to be the unique people that God created. Do I have the right to say what I think? Absolutely - I've learned it is important to say what I think, and to be confident in it. But, to love other people, it is more important for me to listen to what they have to say - and try to see things from their point of view. I can tell you right now, there will always be something that I won't be able to align myself with - for example, I will never understand what it is like to be gay. I have no frame of reference for it in any experiences that I have had. My life hasn't been like someone's who is gay, I haven't had to deal with what they have had to deal with, things that I imagine can be very hurtful and isolating - therefore I have no platform to make any kind of judgement.  Instead of saying to someone who you disagree with, I disagree with you, maybe what you're saying is - I don't understand your point of view - and I may never understand. But, you aren't stupid, and what you're going through is valid. When we are confident in ourselves, in God's love for us, and his command that we love others, the thing is - we don't need to understand. 

What is it we all want anyway? A whole bunch of people who just agree with everything we say all the time? Are we so threatened by someone who 'disagrees' that we have to automatically put them in the "evil" camp? Claim they hate us because they just don't agree. Let me tell you, I would take an authentic friend, who I know cares about me in spite of the fact that we have significant differences - even of opinion. If everyone agreed all the time, not only would life crawl dangerously toward the precipice of boredom,  just maintaining a friendship would require polite conversation to end itself promptly after the weather was discussed. If this is the case, we won't be able to maintain authentic friendships or even romantic relationships.  I love my husband, he is both my best friend and sparring partner.

I think people on opposite sides get so wrapped up in what is "right" and what is "wrong" that we have to convince the other party of how right we are.  We throw around ideas and judgements that we believe come from God, all the while forgetting about what is really important, and that is, our relationship with God. When it comes down to it, in the end, it is only me who will have to stand before God - and I know that he will be able to clearly see the ugly, dark places of my heart that are easy for me to hide when the world looks at me. Those things that Christ covered on the cross for me.

When I realize that, I realize that Christ has set me free. So, disagree with me. I may never be able to fully understand where you're coming from, but I will love you instead.

Outside the Lines

 
I have never met anyone who is Transgender before. So, maybe I don't get out much, or maybe it's just that I...well, mostly don't get out much, but, a couple weekends ago our neighborhood church (not the one we attend, but one who has, notably, on more than one occasion taken the time to show that they care for our community) was having a multi-family garage sale.  They invited members of the community to purchase tables, and brought several people into the church who perhaps wouldn't have thought to attend otherwise.  Being that the garage sale was just at the end of our street, and really - who can turn down a good garage sale, we brought the kids for a  look around. 

One table caught their attention immediately. It was laden with light-sabres, star wars action figures and various other interesting toys and games. Now, having our "parenting" hats on, we looked at this as an opportunity to teach the kids a bit of fiscal responsibility. They had each been given some "pennies" and could make choices about what they might like to buy. This was when I noticed that the young lady at the table was transgender. Micah immediately reached for a light sabre (he had one at home, but a battle of light sabre's isn't a battle unless there is another light sabre). He asked the lady how much it was, and she told him, $5. He had only been given $3. Quietly Brad and I worked to explain to him that it was more money than he had. Immediately, even in understanding what Brad and I were trying to do, she asked Micah if he would take really good care of the light sabre. He assured her that he would, and she gave it to him for his $3. 

I really appreciated what she did for Micah. After all, her Star Wars collection was extensive, and in pristine condition. She was obviously a collector, and could have demanded a price too high for a little boy to pay.  (Brad and I made sure that she got the extra $2) But, as Olivia started to touch and look at all of the different figurines laid out in front of her, this lady didn't flinch or cringe or demand that I pull my four-year-old's hands off of her collection, instead she started to talk to me. Through our conversation I noticed that some interesting things that didn't happen.

She didn't ask if I was a Christian, or what I thought about Bruce Jenner.  She didn't explain her surgeries or how they worked to me, nor did she demand any kind of recognition or respect. She didn't flaunt her lifestyle or push it in my face, she just talked. I learned very quickly that she is an avid, and passionate collector. That she knows more about Star Wars figurines than most people would understand in a lifetime, and that what she really wanted from this garage sale was the opportunity to connect with people, share some of her things that were very special to her, and send them to good homes. It was a nice conversation, and it made me realize a few things.

One of the best parts of my job is that I get to connect with students on a daily basis. But something I am learning, is that in each of my interactions there is a balance for these students between, a level-headed confidence about their new direction in life - Teaching. Yet, at the same time, even though they are University Students who have completed a first degree, I have found that they all want to be told, "You are important, you are doing a good job. Don't worry about your mistakes, keep pressing on.  Everything is going to be ok." It was the same with this young lady from the garage sale. She wanted to know that she was important, and valued, and that the things she had to say were important and legitimate. It struck me that the things that this lady deals with every day by appearing so "different", were probably more heartbreaking than I could imagine. I don't know what it's like to feel like I don't fit in. I've always fit somewhere - and isn't it what we all want? To fit? To be loved and accepted as we are? As much as society purports to be welcoming to ALL people, we know that it is not. How can we expect to impact someone's life in a positive way, if we don't care about who they are, and take a risk to love them?

I think that in this one life, I want to be the kind of Christian, the kind of person who can look at people from all races, religions, places in life and truly love them. Because even in the darkness and depth of my own sin, Christ loved me. In the words of someone a lot smarter than me - Amazing grace! How sweet the sound, That saved a wretch like me!I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind, but now I see. 'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved. How precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed.