Entry #4

This series was originally published on my socials in 2021. My beliefs and opinions have changed in some ways since then, but these words are still meaningful and relevant to who I am and what I believe today.

This week, I’ve had a lot of conversations. So, so many good ones. Not one bad one.

Snarky comments from people I’ve never met? Sure. But healthy and kind conversations with people whose opinion and beliefs I actually value? So many.

I continue to lose and gain followers, but I don’t even necessarily attribute that to the content being offensive (maybe I should), just that the content has changed. Maybe moms in the midst of parenting littles don’t have the space for these questions right now. HEARD THAT.

There seems to be a common belief that hard, honest questions in the church are bound to be met with shock or eyerolls or disgust.

And while sometimes I haven’t been satisfied with the answers I’ve received, none have been met with anything other than goodness.

Maybe we’re growing? Or maybe we tend to expect the worst of people? Maybe when we say these things out loud and enter into these conversations with humility, we are more charitable and tender than Satan would have us believe?

Satan is still the worst. After a week of this, I still believe that guy is a bad apple.

I wonder every minute of every day if I’m doing this the right way.

What the hell am I doing? Are these entries harmful? Are they prideful? Are my intentions pure? Am I building a platform or leaning into the Holy Spirit? Will I regret this someday?

And the answer is … sheesh, I don’t know.

I think that for today my motive feels pure: that those who feel isolated in their searching feel less weird. Isolation makes you question yourself, think you’re crazy for wondering what you’re wondering or stupid for challenging what you’re challenging.

The deeper I go, though, the more I realize … all these questions have been asked for a lonnnng time. You’re not stupid or crazy or alone.

I am not special, and neither are you. No offense.

And also, I feel compelled to write (I’ll resist using the word “called”). Words sit heavy inside me. It doesn’t feel optional. Do with that what you will.