Sunshine and twittering birds

I know...it's been quiet.  I haven't really known what to write.
I am writing like crazy- but it's all journaling and research.
I have an idea (or 3) for a book- so I figured- well, I have no idea what I am doing, so why not?
And as I have pondered this blog, I have wondered- what's next?

So- I asked God. 
What's next?
It's been a bit quiet.
And then I have felt this...pressure?  Burden?  Leading?
I don't know- I think I am supposed to write my "testimony."
Eeesh.
Blech.
Just the thought of the word "testimony" brings up thoughts of platitudes and christianese that makes me want to barf.

Revelation 12:11 says and they overcame by the blood of the lamb and the word of their testimony. 
So that.
So here goes- if you read my stuff or know me, you probably know parts of the story- but let me see if I can get it all down.
I am having flashbacks to our "testimony drills" before mission trips- the tell-everything-God-has-done-for-you-in-5-minutes-and-go! variety.  ARG.  They were the WORST.

SO- I grew up in church...I guess.  We went every Sunday.  In elementary school I went to a Congregational Church and in high school, a Presbyterian church... I think those experiences were great in that they gave me a sense of what community should look like.  Much of our lives revolved around the social life and structure of the church- and that was okay.
But I didn't get a sense that God was particularly interested in me personally.
I think I have talked about that moment when I was 8-9 years old and wished I understood my Bible.
I wanted Him to be interested.


When I was in high school, that church pattern continued.  It was all very social- important- but on a social level.  We learned "facts" about the Bible- but did any of it sink into my heart? I honestly don't know.  I don't think so.  I just did all the church stuff because that's what we did.


When I was 18 years old, my mom started teaching me to drive- why 18?  I don't know- that was just one of her "things."  There was the world's way, and there was my Mom's way...guess which usually won? ANYHOO.  She and I were tour guides at a fancy house in town.  We were getting off work and I thought I would try and pull the car around and pick her up to drive home.  It's too hard to explain what happened in print, but the end of the tale is that I flipped her car upside down, on railroad tracks, two minutes after a train went by.  True story. I totalled that sucker.  Completely mashed in the top of the car, I had to crawl out the back seat.  She called the police because she thought they should let the train folks know.  A friend with a police scanner later told us that they literally thought it was a joke or a prank.  It took forever for them to come to the scene.    None of the gawkers would come near the car because they were sure that whoever was in that mashed up thing was good and dead.
I grabbed a pricker bush pulling myself up the hill.  That was the extent of my injuries.
Well, the external ones, anyway.
I remember sitting with her holding me as I sobbed on the steps of the house while we waited for the police. Talk about the feels.  Waiting for the police because you made a horrible decision that had a high cost is horrible.  Time seems to last forever.
I was: in shock, scared, angry, ashamed (that was a big one) sad...all of it.
"I know God has a purpose for my life."  That's what I told her when we were sitting on the steps.
I knew that I had no business being alive, let alone unhurt for my stupidity.
My parents had to go out of town the next day- so I had a couple of friends come stay with me. 
One of them showed up complaining how she had locked her keys in her car at work, then I told her about my day, her response? "Dammit Sarah, you always out-do me!"
We laugh about it now.  But words can't describe how devastated and ashamed I was.  This was my mom's first new car in her life, and it was paid for.  I was so upset because of how disappointed I thought she was.

Three days later- a couple of friends and myself were off to "youth-camp" for the presbytery.  Dad drove, but we all had to roll around in the back of this decrepit van we used for craft shows.  We kids didn't even have seats.  Because, you know, I TOTALLED THE CAR.
The "camp" was the only church camp I have ever been to in my life.
It was fun- I don't remember too much about it.  We lived in the dorms of Illinois State University- ate, sang songs...did...stuff.  I guess.  Like I said, I don't remember much.  Except for one day in my "small group."
So- they split us into groups- for what I assume must have been Bible study of some sort.  It was co-ed- and I remember loving my people.  We were "led" by Diane and Steve- who were youth pastors.  And we never followed the curriculum. We just talked. I had no idea at the time that "not following the curriculum" would pretty much be the whole theme of my spirituality- but I digress.
I didn't tell anyone what had happened with the car. I was so very ashamed.  It was still very fresh- as the accident had just happened.  Then one day- I don't know what triggered it, but dang- out it all came- confession, words, tears, angst....
Like emotional vomit, BLEAAAAAAAHHHHH.
And what happened next is still one of the most powerful things that has ever happened to me.
Diane grabbed me and held on tight- and then everyone grabbed her and held on tight- and that woman PRAYED over me.  And I mean capital letters PRAYED.  She thanked God for my life, that He had protected me and a whole bunch of stuff I don't even remotely remember. I don't remember the words, but I remember the power and the love...and the sweet release of forgiveness and peace.  This was profound stuff.
On our way back to the dorms, I started to cry again- and all the kids in my group just stopped in the middle of the field and hugged me and cried with me.  We almost missed lunch. I don't even remember their names.
And of course, at the altar call that they have at camps- I gave my heart to God- and then sort of forgot about it.
He did not.

Fast forward a few years. I go to college.  I major in theatre.  I drift away from my faith- whole-heartedly, I might add.  Sure, I went to church with my folks when I was home, but whatever.
Then- I went to grad school and carried on in much the same tradition.  I tried going to church a couple of times, after all, it is what you do...but there was no life in it for me. I felt completely out of place.  Then I behaved badly, broke up with my then fiancee- and then proceeded to make a mess out of my life. I became the queen of looking for love in all the wrong places, as the old song goes. I was A VERY HOT MESS. I am sure it was painful to be around me- I was so lost- and like most lost people, I didn't handle it particularly well.  These patterns continued for a couple of years.  Then I got frustrated- and I didn't have a life outside of school....outside of the theatre department.  In a local newspaper I saw an ad that said, "Jesus hated church too, come find out why.'
I was like, okay.
So I went.  It was...familiar.  It was a large and conservative Presbyterian church in downtown Philadelphia.  And it was...familiar.
But they had a singles ministry.  Like most self-respecting singles ministries- it was highly dysfunctional.
BUT- at the same time- it also had a variety of people from a variety of faiths- and new kinds of thinking began to enter my brain.  We sang songs with the lyrics on an overhead projector instead of hymnals!  WHAT MADNESS WAS THIS?????  The people were nice, and messy....so messy.
After "worship"- we had little Bible studies- and then got to the business at hand, the reason we were all there- which was eating out with our friends.  I went to the beginners Bible study because, well, you had to begin somewhere, right?  And I didn't have any earth-shattering revelations or anything- but it did get me thinking about God again.

While all this is happening, I had a friend, Cindy- who was going through a rather horrific battle with cancer.  She was 19 years old at the time.  It was a rare kind of ovarian cancer- and we pretty much spent the summer in the hospital.  She had two operations- both with long, hard recovery times. I could handle that.  What I couldn't handle was the day they brought the 2 gallon bag of poison (chemo) that they were going to pump into her poor little body that had already been through so much.  I kind of lost my crap that day. I had to leave the hospital.  I just couldn't do it.  (On a side note, I am happy to report that Cindy is a cancer-survivor to this day- and a concierge extraordinaire) 

Now, if you don't know- in the Congregational and Presbyterian church tradition- prayer is something that you read out of the bulletin.  There are call and response prayers, the Lord's prayer and the Apostle's Creed- that is prayer.  You don't, you know...TALK to God.  Not all free-form and willy-nilly- at least that was my understanding.

So there I was- 25 years old, alone in my studio apartment in Philly (well, except for the 2 cats) going through all this crazy- and I just decided one afternoon to....you know...TALK to God.  I wanted to know what the heck was going on with Cindy.  So I sat in my chair- and while I felt a little silly, I asked Him-out loud- "Why is this happening?"

What happened next- I don't know how to describe.  I tell my friends it was a bit like Moses and the burning bush.  Somehow, I found myself flat on my face, laying on my floor,  sobbing my guts out, telling God that I was sorry for every thing I have done wrong in my life- big, little- far past, near past...I mean- WTF?
Repentance. I had no idea what that word actually meant.  But all of a sudden- I was somehow faced with a pure and holy God- who was so...LOVING and powerful...and pure.  The depravity of my own soul was suddenly thrown into sharp relief.  My pride, my selfishness, the lies I had told, the pens I had stolen- stuff I couldn't even think about- it was all there before me- and it was overwhelming.
This went on for about 2 hours- TWO HOURS.  And after I apologized for the wrongs of my life that I could think of, and the ones I couldn't, I remember, just saying, over and over again- "I am yours, God. I am yours.  Always, I am yours."  The cats were walking around me wondering- what the crap man?  What is this about?
In my apartment, there was a peace- a physical and tangible presence- that I know now is God-but then?  No idea.  My journal entry for that day was "There was a presence in my apartment today, I think it was God."
I still have it.

Well, I would love to say it's been all sunshine and roses and twittering birds since that moment.
But, no.
I then entered what is probably the darkest time in my life.
I started having trouble at school- with people- not my work.  I was still making terrible decisions when it came to my love life, I ended up in a couple of truly irresponsible, inappropriate relationships (to put it mildly) I became isolated, desperate and depressed.  There were lies built on truths about me that did so much damage to my soul and my reputation- I felt trapped.  And I felt trapped in the inappropriate patterns, no way out.  I wasn't strong enough.
I would cry out to God- but I was asking the wrong questions.  I lived in this horrible limbo for about a year until I graduated.  Then I decided, enough is enough. I had a friend who I would visit in North Carolina, I liked North Carolina, so I decided to move.
I wanted to run away.  Part of me knew that I wasn't strong enough to make the decisions I needed to make- so I needed to remove myself physically from toxic situations.  And I thought- HEY- this God thing isn't working out- so I'll go check out the New Age scene- I mean, Asheville is a New Age mecca.

And God, in His infinite mercy- allowed me to do just that.  He plopped me down right in the middle of it.  I got a job at a costume rental place, working for a woman who thought she was a reincarnated Mayan priest, and that was the tip of her iceberg.  It was ROUGH.  And while many of the New Age people I met were lovely and loving people-  I just didn't get "it."  I tried, I really did. I opened up to all sorts of stuff- but I was always like, "Really?"  While I was working at the New Age House of Costume, some people came in to rent costumes from a local church.  Several people, in fact- and I got to talking with them- and always kept it in the back of my mind.  I ended up needing to leave that place because it was so...whatever it was.  I ended up working a couple of part-time gigs- one of which was finishing the hair and faces on puppets for puppet ministry.  I am sure those lovely ladies who worked there prayed like crazy for me.  And for that, I am thankful.  They didn't hide their faith.  It was so different from anything I knew growing up.  They would stop and pray and talk to God.  (Can I hear an Amen! for those charismatics!)  And I started thinking about God again.  

March 15th, 1997.  I spring cleaned my house.  Then I decided, I am going to church tomorrow.
March 16th, 1997.  I went to church.  The pastor preached about how if you make a big step toward God, and if you don't have anyone with you- friends, a community- the devil will take your greatest weakness and come at you with both barrels.
I was sitting there all "HOW DOES THIS GUY KNOW MY LIFE???!!! HOW DOES HE KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO ME???!!!"
I re-dedicated my life to God that day and never looked back.
20 years this year.

I'd like to say it's been all sunshine and roses and twittering birds since that moment.
But, no.
It's the hardest thing I have done.
I have screwed up so many times, I can't even count.  Daily- the depravity of my soul wants to overwhelm me with my pride and self-centeredness and fear..
I struggle with doubt.  I lost my faith in the church- I still don't have it back...
It's been hard- to live in a world of suffering and hate and fear and all the ism's we face and have faith and hope in God.

But I always go back to that moment in my apartment in Philly.  That moment of insane repentance- when God was with me.  I didn't make it up- I didn't know enough to do that.  I didn't know what repentance actually was- let alone how to do it.  But I knew the presence of God when I felt it.  I still do.
And when I doubt, I ask for help.  And He helps- sometimes, it takes awhile.

And there are moments of joy and beauty and peace that also overwhelm me. I didn't know I had the capacity for love that I do- and that's all God.  There are moments of revelation about who He is, who I am, what is happening in the world- that rock me to my core.   Often, I ask- why are You showing me this?  What do I do with this?

I can't wrap this up with a tidy bow- I am still living it. 
There are days when I wonder where God is.  But He is there.
I have to actively look for Him, sometimes, but when I do, He is waiting. 

That is how I will overcome.  That is how I will live in love and faith.  By the blood of the Lamb and the word of my testimony.
Selah.