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What if we are all experiencing culture shock?

Culture shock (n): the feeling of disorientation experienced by someone who is suddenly subjected to an unfamiliar culture, way of life, or set of attitudes.

We, Evangelical Americans, may rail against the culture we lived in in the 80s, 90s and early 2000s, but some of us reaped the rewards whether we recognize it or not: We could speak more freely about our faith, expect general Christian morality even in public schools, and it seemed most Americans agreed with Christians about the definition of marriage or what it means to be male or female. 

Did we speak about marriage/gender/things of faith as winsomely as possible in decades past?

Absolutely not.

But some of us benefited from the culture in which Christians lived all the same. 

But that cultural era is gone. What remains? “Symptoms of culture shock include loneliness, anger, and anxiety,” said intercultural communications expert, Scott Moreau (Effective Intercultural Communication 2013, 217). 

(Do those emotions sound familiar?)

“For some the experience [of culture shock] is barely noticeable; for others it is so debilitating that they end up leaving the new culture and returning home,” Moreau added.

Many of us are “returning home”—but our one-way flight back takes us not to our newly unfamiliar home country, but to our hyper-niche tribes. Without the Spirit’s power, we have trouble engaging people who differ even slightly in their theological beliefs in order to quell our culture shock symptoms.

The problem with this response is that it is…well, fruit of the sinful nature. “The result of sin’s control in our lives is clear… It stirs up trouble. It separates people into their own little groups.” (Gal. 5:19-20 NIRV)

Gulp.

Yes: We need to stand on Truth. But the way many of us hold that truth while hiding from or yelling at people tells me we are letting our culture shock speak more than the Spirit.

So, how do we adjust? Renowned cultural patterns researcher, Robert Kohls, recommended a few things (in 1976, mind you). I adjusted his thoughts into biblically related recommendations:

1. “The first thing to do is to pursue knowing your host country and culture as well as you can.” Translated? Let’s get curious about what we don’t understand. Learning can lead to genuine love for our enemies.
2. “Look for logical reasons behind everything in the host culture which seems strange, difficult, confusing, or threatening.” Let’s ask God for His heart for people we don’t understand.
3. “Avoid the temptation to disparage or otherwise talk negatively about your host culture.” Let’s first take our pain to God (not the internet), forgive those who have hurt us, and ask forgiveness of those we have injured.
4. “Find a host national with whom you can talk about what you have experienced.” We need to process with others who love Jesus and have adjusted more to this new era of the world.
5. “Have faith in yourself and in essential goodwill of your hosts.” I don’t have too much faith in myself or my host country, but I have faith in God who can make people out of dust and make light shine in the darkness. Let’s trust that He will never fail us nor abandon us.

Our current world is not our home, and God is using our culture shock to remind us of this reality.

Instead of giving up or hyper-tribalizing, however, let’s learn, grieve, forgive, and then roll up our sleeves and make disciples—yes, even (and especially) now.

Is it bad to say I don’t like joy?

Probably.

I have precious friends who literally have tattooed on their arms in big, bold lettering “Choose Joy.” I’ve looked at those tattoos and thought, “They must get something I don’t.”

I’ve blamed my lack of general joy on the weather, childhood trauma, and being a melancholy personality (here’s looking at you, fellow 4s!), but I am realizing that I can’t blame that anymore. I mean, joy is kinda required for believers.

Be joyful always.

When troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy.

[Jesus] for the joy set before him, he endured the cross…

 

1. Respond: What do you think about this?
   
2. Respond: Got any good joy podcasts, blogs, or you could send my way? That are deep theologically and also hopeful?
   
3. Read: Did you read the last post on joy–when my daughter asked why I’m so sad all the time?

“Help me, Jesus,” I prayed under my breath while getting ready for work.

It’s a usual prayer I offer up, and it seemed critical as I tried to surrender some swirling anxieties in my head. I just wanted Jesus.

But my oldest, the ever-perceptive, five-year-old, Gwyn, halted me in my anxious praying. “Mom? Why are you so sad all the time?”

I stopped, sat my backpack down, and then sat myself down. I looked into her eyes. She was genuinely curious. I felt genuinely defensive. Thankfully, the Holy Spirit helped me to set my defensiveness aside and thank her. “Wow, Gwyn. Thanks for telling me that. Do I seem sad all the time?”

“Yes,” she looked at my sideways. “Why are you?”

Yes. Why am I? I thought about it being winter in Michigan. (But almost Christmas!) I thought about the giant burden I bear with a huge ministry shift about to happen. (But it’s a good one!) I thought about being an Enneagram 4. (I’m just deep!) I thought about trauma from my past . . .

Dangit it. That’s it. Again.

Trauma. Stupid trauma. The return on investments for the kingdom of darkness when it comes to childhood sexual assault is so large and terrible. Even though I’ve gone through so much healing, there are always more areas of my heart and mind to clean.

This week, a friend who has also experienced childhood sexual assault, told me about a habit she has that seems innocent and funny. After laughing, however, I felt prompted to ask, “Is it your trauma making you do that or the Holy Spirit?” 

She was convicted. “It’s the trauma,” she said.

Now it was my turn for similar conviction: Is it my trauma holding me back from joy or the Holy Spirit? 

“Be joyful always.” The verse from 1 Thessalonians 5:16 popped into my head. Well, if that’s God’s Word, then my sad default cannot be caused by the Holy Spirit, so … it must be something else. For me, the culprit seemed to be trauma.*

When we go through trauma, pain, and suffering (especially as children), many of us learn to anticipate more trauma, pain, and suffering.

Joy feels risky. Happy is scary. If you expect the worst, you aren’t disappointed if the worst happens. But, if you are joyful and something bad happens, well, you have just experienced what we call “a sad surprise.”

A sad surprise is when you are skipping along merrily with your day and blammo, you stub your toe. You hit a car. You lose your job. You get hurt.

A sad surprise.

It feels better to always be sad—always anticipate the toe stub, the car crash, the job loss, the pain, and then you won’t be doubly sad if it’s a surprise.

I hate sad surprises. We all do. I’m not sure if I extra hate them because every instance of childhood sexual assault I experienced occurred around happy events: A game. A dance class. Looking at toys. Blammo. Saddest surprise.

But even if that is true, why am I still letting trauma have power in my life?

Why am I letting trauma bear fruit? I am cultivating the dark effects of evil—protecting it—by doing what it wants me to do: Anticipating the worst. Not pursuing joy.

Ugh. Joy.

Risky joy.

Joy to the world.
​
Risky joy to the world.

Jesus knew when He started His ministry what His job was: Change the world through His torturous death and miraculous life. He knew he would die. But even though He did, He did not let it stop His joy. 

Kids were drawn to him. They didn’t ask him why he was sad all the time. And if they did (because for some reason He seemed sad to them), He could have given them a valid excuse: “Well, kids, I’m about to suffer terribly, endure intense shame, take on the sins of the world (including yours), and go to hell and back. You think you might be a bit sad?”

He knew his forthcoming sad not-so-much-a-surprise . . . but He still chose joy.

Can I?

Can I risk pursuing joy?

Joy to the world?

Be joyful always?

Can I do it?

Will I do it?

I hope so. Now that I am aware because of the convicting question from my five-year-old,  I hope I will. But I don’t want to fast-forward the process. Instead, I want to look over at you siblings, and ask you if you can empathize. 

Does this resonate with you?

Does joy feel risky to you?

How do you pursue joy anyways—without it feeling fake?

Hit me up.

*I have experienced clinical depression, and I am not in a season of that right now. I am, instead, habitually not pursuing joy. Sad feels safer. If you are experiencing clinical depression, I see you. I pray the Holy Spirit, a good therapist, and killer friends are walking with you well. ​

 

• Respond: What do you think? Does joy feel risky? Easy? I’d love to hear your thoughts.
• Read: Although I’m still walking through this, I do see how even though trauma can wire our brain to expect more suffering, gratitude can rewire it as well. More to come on that in the next post… 
• Read: That next post. 😉 

 

The more I look at progressive changes regarding sexuality and gender in our country, the more I am involved with walking alongside churches, LGBT+ people, and parents of LGBT+ kids, the more I am convinced there is a simple but challenging way to fight the darkness:

Work on your marriage.

Let me explain:

What is the purpose of marriage?

Not what are the arguments against same-sex marriage (which can be found here), but what is the purpose of God’s design for marriage? 

Human marriage serves as a metaphor of God’s crazy love for the Church.

A man leaves his father and mother and is joined to his wife, and the two are united into one.” This is a great mystery, but it is an illustration of the way Christ and the church are one.
(Eph 5:31-32)

Our marriages exist to show the world how divinity (represented by men) wants to be one with humanity (represented by women).

“The ultimate purpose of the sexual difference and the call to union is to signify the difference and call to union of the Creator and the creature, of Christ and his Church …
​God is infinitely other, infinitely different form his creation. And yet this infinitely different Creator does not hold himself aloof.
God wants to be one with his creation. God wants to unite with his creation. God wants to marry his creation.” —Christopher West

When people look at your metaphor of this God-humanity marriage, what do they see?

Do they see two people dying to themselves to be one with each other to represent Jesus’ death to be one with us?

Do they see women submitting to and respecting husbands—not because the husband deserves it—but because she wants to show the world a picture of how we are to submit to and respect God?

Do they see men mutually submitting to and serving their wives—not because she deserves it—but because the husband wants to show the world a picture of humble, gentle, servant Jesus?

Does the world see divinity’s desire to be one with humanity in your marriage?

Or does the world (do our kids?) see us roll our eyes at each other? Secretly resent one another? Function like two roommates, and yet for some reason we keep saying that “God’s good design for marriage is between one man and one woman”? 

We say marriage is good, but we don’t live like it is good. 

How can you think of saying to your friend, ‘Let me help you get rid of that speck in your eye,’ when you can’t see past the log in your own eye?Hypocrite! First get rid of the log in your own eye; then you will see well enough to deal with the speck in your friend’s eye.” (Matt. 7:4-5)

They will not know we are Christians by our voting. By our posting. By our outrage. They will know we are Christians by our oneness.

“May they experience such perfect unity that the world will know that you sent me and that you love them as much as you love me.” (John 17:23)

If we want to do something about progressive changes in our world, we must start by holding up a mirror to our marriages.

I have the privilege of talking with many parents of LGBT+/same-sex attracted kids. They come to me humbly, looking for how they can love their LGBT+ children well, while not changing their orthodox, historical Christian view of marriage and sexuality.

After many conversations, I’ve come to realize there are at least five things I consistently say to them. I offer these five tools to you today not as an exhaustive list, but as place to begin.

1. Apologize

What did you do when your child came out to you? Did you thank them for trusting you with their story, ask permission to ask questions to genuinely learn more, and look them in the eye and say, “I don’t see you any differently; I just see you more deeply”?

Perhaps you didn’t. Instead, you reacted. You said something like, “You know this is sin, right?” You cried. You wailed. You made their terrifying conversation with you about you–and you watched your child pull away from you emotionally and physically.

Why did they do this? Because they did not feel seen in that moment. They felt you only saw your own pain and shame of them. And truly? You might have only had eyes for yourself. Instead of caring for their hearts, you asked them to care for you. No matter how old your child is, that’s not their job. It’s your calling to care for them like the Father cares for you. The way to repair this relationship is to apologize–not for your theological beliefs, but for your self-centeredness.

It is also possible that when your child came out to you, you responded as well as you could. However, you may feel confused because they keep saying, “You don’t love me!” You throw up your hands internally and think, “The only way they will think I love them is if I approve of their pursuit of what I do not believe is God’s best.” This may be true, but it may not be true. Again, a way to reconnection of relationship is through apology, but for what?

Before your child came out and you overtly talked about LGBT+ people, you covertly spoke about what you believed about LGBT+ people. How? When you watched a movie or show together and a same-sex, romantic couple came on the screen, did you gasp? Scoff? Sigh deeply about how “depraved this world is”? Or did you see this same-sex couple as beloved image bearers, and use the show-watching as a teaching moment to talk about how some people have same-sex desires, and their job is to surrender their version of sexual brokenness to Jesus (just like you do?).

If you know you perhaps set the tone in your home of othering LGBT+ people, your child who was secretly wrestling with their sexuality or gender picked up on it. Instead of feeling safe to come to you with their wrestling, they became afraid of sharing with you. So even though you say now, “I love you,” they remember the tone set in your home for years.

King David humbly and wisely said to God, “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me” (Ps. 139:23-24).

Every parent of an LGBT+ child (every parent!) needs to do this: “God, search my heart and know me. Point out in me any way that I have viewed certain people as less-than.” Then confess what God brings to mind as sin in your life. Why would God ever use you to examine the speck in your child’s eye when you have a plank in your own?

​After confessing to God, confess it to your child. “You may have heard x, y, z about LGBT+ people growing up, and I was wrong.” Apologize. Confess. And do it without also saying, “But I haven’t changed my mind on the theology!” An apology with a “but” after isn’t an apology.

Next Steps:
Read “10 Things I Wish Every Church Leader Knew About Gay Teens in Their Church” (it talks more about this coming out process)
Read “Is the Traditional Definition of Marriage Harmful to LGBTQ People?” by my friend, Dr. Preston Sprinkle
Listen to Bill Henson’s episode with us on guiding families well and read his incredible resource for parents and leaders
Listen to Dr. Mark Yarhouse’s podcast with us on his advice for pastors, parents, and therapists ​

2. Pray and think through: What is God’s goal for my child?

I often hear longing language in parent’s mouths for their children: “I just want them to find opposite-sex Mr. or Mrs. Right.” or “If only they wouldn’t dress or look x, y, z way.” Is this the dream for your child? Is this God’s goal for your child?

What is the goal of life? To love God and to make disciples.

Marriage is not the goal of life. Dressing a certain way is not the goal of life. Loving God and making disciples are our goals. If your prayers for your child and your conversations with them center around getting them to an opposite-sex marriage altar in the right clothes, God will not honor that because it is replacing idolatry with idolatry. It is worshipping the finite instead of the Infinite One.

God cannot use you as a tool in your child’s life if you are trying to make the “solution” to their wrestling anything other than their hearts arrested by the love of the Father.

Next Steps:
Listen to the conversation we had with Kutter Callaway on idolatry of marriage
Listen to the conversation we had with Christopher West on filling the infinite void with the finite

3. Know you need to grieve–just not on your child

I mentioned above how some of our reactions to our children coming forward to us are crying, wailing, and making it about us. Here is the thing: You need to grieve. If your child is not choosing to surrender their version of broken sexuality to Christ, that is hard! Grieve it–just not on your child.

Do you have a small group where you can be real? (Pastors, I’m looking at you now: Set the tone in your church so precious parents can “come out” in their own way and be supported by equipped small group friends.) Ask God to provide one. If you feel there are no spaces to get authentic, start and always go back to your personal conversations with Jesus. Begin by lamenting to him.

Next Steps: 
Read this outrageously rich book on lament by Michael Card and listen to our conversation with him
​Listen to this conversation with Sharon Garlough Brown where she beautifully articulates how we can rail on the chest of the Father (i.e. lament)

4. Meet Core Needs

We all have a God-shaped hole in our heart, and because of the Fall, we are all naturally predisposed to look to the finite to fill this infinite space. We are all born that way.

Instead of staring at the version of brokenness your child naturally runs toward to fill this infinite void filled with good needs, work to practically meet those heart needs. Show them you affirm them, see them, and believe they have a good purpose. ​Not when they surrender all of themselves…but now. “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom. 5:8). Did Christ die for you after you got it together? Or when you were in your hottest mess? Don’t wait to withhold practical love and need-meeting until your child meets x, y, z standards. Do it now, and represent the One who loves you.

Next Step:
​Listen to our podcast series on Core Needs

5. Know you get the special privilege to share the heart of the Father

Dear, precious parents: You have a special role to play in the midst of this. You get to watch your child go through pain and surrender them.

This is what the Father did with Jesus.

This is what the Father does with us every single day. Every day we thumb our noses at God: “I know better. I think this idol I will hang onto will help me.” And every day He lets us, while quietly, lovingly inviting us to a better way of whole-self surrender.

Next Steps:
Listen to a podcast I recorded with parents in mind with the Church of the City in Franklin, TN. Many have found it helpful (and reemphasizes some of what I say here)
Listen to a conversation I had with my dad about my own coming out experience

***
You have so much to hope for. Your child was made in the image of God, and God cares more for your child than you do. Pray, pray, pray, trust Him with them, and then practically love them like crazy.

We all have tempting situations. The temptation location and object may be different, but the heart of temptation is the same.

For you, it may be the refrigerator late at night, a Bible study where you are the smartest one in the room, a place serving alcohol, that man or woman at work who seems to notice you, or a person you hang out with frequently whose favorite form of communication is gossip.

We all have tempting situations. For some reason, one of mine (I have several, you probably do, too) is not talked about very much.

I like fighting that stigma.

“It could be hard,” I said to my husband, Matt, about being in a situation with a woman toward whom I was attracted. I battled the desire to hide from Matt even though I know him so well. It is always difficult to be vulnerable.​

It is always a challenge, but it is always worth it.

Sharing something deep and painful about yourself can be excruciating and glorious.

We want to be known, seen, loved, and nurtured. We all want people to reflect God’s meeting our Core Needs, but we fear getting kicked in our raw, open hearts. 

I have no guarantees to avoid a heart kicking, but the following 18 tools may help you avoid some of the same bruises I have experienced in the last 12 years of a vulnerable life.

1. Pray

Why are you sharing?

Healthy Motivations: To have people support the meeting of your heart needs. To have the Body of Christ see you, love you, and nurture you like Jesus.

Unhealthy Motivations: To have people meet your heart needs. Before I post, share, or speak on anything I reflect with God in prayer: ​Laurie, are you sharing this very vulnerable thing because you want to have everyone look at Jesus, or do you want someone to stare into your soul while you feed on their attention? Where is your focus?

My primary Core Need is to be seen, and I can quickly turn from looking into God’s eyes to others’. I need the Holy Spirit to help me discern my motivation for choosing authenticity.

Then, ask God if you should do it. It’s sometimes hard to know if it is a clear yes or no, but if your motivation is quite solid, move toward the next step.

2. Consider the audience

Is what your sharing for a general audience? Does your family know about this? Your siblings? Your small group? As one of my mentors says, “Don’t let your public self get ahead of your private self.”

It is sometimes easier to push “post” than to look someone in the eye, but choosing the easy route often reaps painful conversations and potentially lost relationships.

3. Consider if they are safe people

What does that even mean, right? No one is 100 percent safe except God, and even he lets pain happen for our good.

However, it is helpful to have some sort of a sense of how people might respond to the story you are sharing. One trick I use is to look for very strong reactions to the subject I am sharing–first at a national level, then church/local level, and then using an anonymous story of someone I know personally.

So, what this sounds like for me is I may ask about national LGBT+ issues, then move to church, then to a friend I know. An unsafe person’s voice may hold an angry, loud reaction. A safe person’s reaction will sound like they have come to a conclusion, but through a lot of wrestling. I want to hear the weight of the conversation in their voice and a tenderness for actual people.

I also look for these traits in determining if someone is safe:

Humility. The gospel simultaneously raises the bar and cuts us all off at the knees. I will recognize humility in how they talk about any type of brokenness. Do they mock, scoff, degrade, or tap their toe as they describe a person scrambling in this very tough life? Or do they see themselves as a fellow sick person in need of a Doctor?

Belief. If I am sharing to seek support of (not just friendship with) this person, I want to know they will guide my heart toward not what I want, but what I need—and the Spirit in me wants. For me this means they agree with what I believe is God’s good design for marriage, sexuality, and gender. Asking those national/church questions can help determine this.

4. Ask for pre-support

Are you sharing with a sibling for the first time, but your friends already know your story? Reach out to your friends for prayer and encouragement. Those friends’ acceptance and love of you reflects God’s love for you. 

5. Set a date

Tell the person with whom you want to share a month, week or a couple of days in advance. “Hey, I’d love to share something with you about my story I haven’t shared with you yet.” Set a time and place so you don’t back down, and so you can both mentally and spiritually prepare.

6. Share in person and one-on-one

If this is someone close to you, share with them one-on-one and face-to-face (or at a minimum, through video chat). Text/email/status updates are going to get misinterpreted at best, and the person close to you is going to feel rejected at worst. (“Why didn’t you tell me this deep thing face-to-face?”) Up close and personal conversations allow for tone and words to be questioned, explained, and increasingly understood.

7. Be intentional about the place

Set the time and place in a neutral location where you can both feel comfortable. This could be a quiet coffee shop, a park, or a fast-casual restaurant. (I recommend fast-casual because if it goes wrong and you are both waiting for the check, the awkwardness could increase.) This should be a place where you both feel at ease, but it’s neither of your home base. I recommend this so if it goes wrong, neither party feels trapped in the other’s more comfortable spot.

8. Picture Jesus

When finally sitting down with them, find a spot around you where you can envision Jesus sitting with you. My sister, Renee, once said to me, “Jesus is always winking at you across the room when you feel unseen.” I never forgot this, and still practice envisioning Emmanuel’s with-ness.

9. Look them in the eye

Get eye-to-eye as much as you can. When first sharing my story, I felt so much shame I couldn’t look at people’s faces–let alone into the window of their soul. I didn’t want to see the rejection up close. There is no need to feel shame for how we wrestle with things. Every human who walks the earth has broken mind, emotions, body, gender, and sexuality. You have the freedom to look eye-to-eye with them because they will see Jesus’ strength in you. “‘My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.’ So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me” (2 Cor. 12:9).

10. Name the awkward

Begin with, “I have something to share with you, and it might not be easy for you to hear.” This may be a hard sentence to have to say because you can think, “It isn’t right that it is difficult for them to hear!”

No, it isn’t right. In an ideal world, we could share our struggles with anyone without any need to emotionally prepare, but we are not in an ideal world. This is not Eden. So, let’s love them well by preparing them emotionally by naming the potential difficulty.

11. Share your story

Then say, “I want to share with you some of my story . . . ” And go for it. It’s okay if it’s messy. I would recommend pre-planning the high points so you don’t get lost in it, but sharing from your heart is always best.

12. Encourage questions

When you begin, I saying, “You are welcome to ask any questions along the way.” Remember, however, that Jesus loves you like crazy. If their questions come across as insensitive or mean, Jesus is never insensitive or mean—and they likely are not trying to be. “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Luke 18:24).

13. Be normal and answer unsaid questions

Some people react strangely to new stories. They don’t know what to do with their faces. They say things they don’t want to say. I try to give them the benefit of the doubt, and answer questions they might not have the courage to ask.

I often address things like, “I am not attracted to every woman,” “I don’t pursue close relationships with people I am attracted to” (so that they can infer I am not attracted to them), how I identify, and how it can be that I am now married to a man.

14. State your needs

What are you expecting from this person after sharing? Say it out loud. People are not mind readers. “I am looking for friendship, and I would love to get to know you better as a sister/brother/friend.” Or, “Thank you for letting me share with you. I would really like it if you followed up with me about x, y, z…”

15. Say goodbye

When it seems right, finish the conversation. It may have gone perfectly or not, but your belovedness from God is the same. Drink that love in as you drive away.

16. Give time

Give the person you shared with some time to process. You have known about this for years, but they only just found out. Ideally, they will circle back with you in a few days and say something like, “Hey, that must have been really difficult for you to share. How are you doing?”

But, people are people. They don’t always know what to do. If you are insecure about their response, reach out when the time seems right. “Hey, I shared something pretty scary to share, and I’d love to hear what you are thinking.”

17. Give them resources

If it seems they really don’t know much about the topic you shared, when you follow up on the conversation you could message them favorite books, blogs, or articles.

18. Celebrate

Go do something nice for yourself–no matter how it went. Go for a run, eat ice cream, buy yourself a new pair of shoes (or do all three). Take yourself out on what I call a Jesus Date, and celebrate what the Holy Spirit did through you.

An authentic life is excruciating and glorious, and it looks a lot like Jesus.​

There is a lot of fear and morose surrounding the grace/truth/Church/LGBT+ conversation.

If only I could tell my friend they can get married to their partner.
If only I wasn’t a leader so I didn’t have to dole out the law of the church.
If only the Bible didn’t say these things.

If we are simply walking on a balance beam of grace and truth, then this grace/truth/Church/LGBT+ conversation feels like a scary/sad conversation reserved only for the hyper-sensitive and super-trained.

Jonathan Pendleton

But we are not walking on a balance beam of grace and truth. We are a part of a big-picture story: A love story. A story of inclusion. A story of family. A story of oneness. A gospel story.

Creation

Before God created the heavens and the earth he was three. Three in unity. Three in a dance of joy and worship and oneness.

Then he intentionally split everything up: Heaven and earth. Night and day. Land and sea. Male and female.

“It’s good! So good!” God said. Even in this division there was unity. Oneness. It wasn’t hard to work for the glory of God. There was joy. Ultimate inclusion. Ultimate family.

Fall

Then, the Fall. Now there wasn’t only an intentional split but fraction. Division. Pain in everything from work to relationships to childbirth to the plants to our very genetic makeup. We were and are broken.

“Dear ones, even in your brokenness, be one,” God said. “Pursue unity, inclusion, family. Worship me—the satisfier of your soul. The source of your ability to be one.”

But it was hard. Working through the pain of not only our God-ordained differentness but now our sin-laden fracturedness was painful.

Redemption

“You can’t do it without me,” Jesus said. “I’ll make a way for you.”

And he did.

“Rely on me,” Jesus said. “Take my righteousness upon you, and be one like the Father and the Son. Invite more disciples into this oneness. Love and worship me in your unity.”

This worship as one is the goal of life. It has been the design from the start of creation.

We don’t live like we believe it. 

Instead, many of us follow the Christian paradigm: You are born, you pray “the prayer,” you get married to an opposite-gendered person, you make Christian babies, you do good things, you suffer, you tithe, you die, you see Jesus. Boom. Life.

No. That’s not the point of life.

And this is why we are sad and scared.

The LGBT+ conversation is simply a small mirror reflecting back into the dark corners of our churches and hearts we don’t want to look.

We don’t want to look at our worship of the nuclear family as ultimate. We don’t want to look at our lack of pursuing the mission to be one—and including people in this oneness (AKA making disciples). We want to live life peacefully, have a family, be happy, and die.

But then affirming LGBT+ people say the same thing: We want to live life peacefully, have a family, be happy, and die. 

Shocked, we say, “No!”
Or, “Yes?”
​Or, “Oh no, I have to say, ‘No!’”

But when we respond to their desires in this questioning, sad, or scared state we reveal our focus on our family and not on the ultimate family.

This is wrong. The reason I differ with affirming LGBT+ people is not because of a need to say, “No,” to their desire for a nuclear family, but because we all need to say, “Yes!” to something greater.

​What is this yes?

Priscilla Du Preez

Re-creation

The “yes” is oneness, ultimate family, and ultimate inclusion. A group of people working together to build the Kingdom, make disciples, and be one as the Father and Son are one.

Yes, a heterosexual marriage with kids is a part of this unity, but so are single people. And not in a, “Oh, I suppose single people can come,” but in a jumping up and down, “Yes! Of course! Single people! We need you! God made you for a good purpose! You are equally necessary to building the Kingdom!”

The only requirement for family membership is surrender, covenant, and a commitment to looking more and more like the Model of oneness: A holy God who has been one from the start. A holy God who has been family (Father/Son/Spirit) forever. A holy God who has been invitational from the beginning of time.

After we re-establish the goal (oneness), that’s when we can start talking about the practical pieces of truth/grace—not while singing a dirge, but with joy asking “How can we all experience ultimate love, ultimate inclusion, ultimate oneness, and ultimate family?”

The answer is by removing and pointing out ways we don’t look like the Model. We are not sin Nazis; we are oneness champions who recognize sin prevents us from oneness, from ultimate inclusion, and from ultimate family.

This is why I am not sad or scared when it comes to the LGBT+/Church conversation.

If I was worshipping the nuclear family as ultimate, I would be.

If I didn’t believe that God designed the world good, I would be.

If I didn’t see the bigger picture oneness that he had since the beginning of time, and he is calling us to pursue as we pray and build the Kingdom of God on earth as it is in heaven, I would be.

If I didn’t see that to say, “No” to sinful behavior was to say, “Yes” to more love, joy, family, and inclusion I could possibly imagine, I would be sad and scared.

But I am not.

There is pain for me as I live this grace/truth/Church/LGBT+ thing out, but as I surrender my suffering to the only One who can truly fill that space with the balm of Love, I am more joyful, confident, and sold on God and on his design than I ever thought possible.

Who is with me?

1. Read: Taking the Family of God Seriously by celibate gay Christian Bridget Eileen. Highlight: “Celibate gay Christians are frustrated. They’re frustrated because they’re making the type of relational sacrifices that scripture demands, but they don’t see the same from many others. Like it or not, a church where only the smallest fraction of its people prioritize spiritual kinship is not a church. It’s a club.”
2. Respond: Have you ever found yourself sad or scared when it comes to approaching the LGBT+/Church conversation? What helps you walk forward with tenderness, grace, and courage?

If you are reading this, you may have been following our marriage journey.

You may have listened to this really honest podcast or read this blog post when I wrestled with leaving.

Well, I have an update. And it is good. So, so good. 

I did not want to pray. I did not want to get triggered again.

Whenever I was triggered (something reminded me of the painful, resurfaced memory I have been walking with this last year-and-a-half), I went from living normal life to suddenly feeling like I was upside-down in the middle of the ocean.

The only way I have been able to describe this feeling is “dying.” I can hardly breathe. I cannot speak. I am nowhere. Floating. Dead. It has happened at least 100 times in the last year.

“Every time I am triggered like that,” I told Matt during one of our recent discussions, “the triggering compounds. It is made worse. It takes over more of my body.” I reached a point where I felt physical pain from it—a psychosomatic, tearing infection in my chest. It felt like constant internal bleeding.

“There’s no way this is God’s will for me.” I can live with same-sex attractions, I can handle some tough things in our marriage, but this? This re-traumatization over and over? No. I was done.

And so, we prayed.

We began the prayer by asking God to bring me to a place where I felt safe and could hang out with Jesus. My “Safe Place.”

My usual go-to spot holds a pond, fields, and beautiful reeds. But it was different this time. It did not feel safe. It was noisy, and dark and scary—like a bomb just went off. A baby was crying. The sky was pink and grey and hazy. I could see a form of Jesus across the pond. But every time I walked toward him he was repelled by me like the same poles of magnets trying to come together. Then I saw another Jesus walking around. And another and another. I started yelling at a one of the Jesuses, but he ran from me.

My real-life self told real-life Matt what I was seeing. He could tell I was not with real Jesus. “Do you need to go somewhere else?” Yes. I did. I asked God to take me somewhere else.

The beach. I’d been to this part of Lake Michigan’s shore many times before. I buried my feet in the sand. The sun was setting. The waves lapping the shore. No one was here but me. I was cold, but not terribly so.

I invited Jesus to be with me, and instantly he was. The real one.

I wasn’t as angry at real Jesus. I didn’t have enough energy to be mad. Instead, I shared the honest below the honest: “It hurts… so much.”

I could tell Jesus got me. “I’m not too much for him,” I told Matt. I did not see Jesus’ eyes flicker like I had seen many others do with a look of, “Oh shoot. What do I do with her? Same-sex attractions and trauma? Hot. Mess.” They throw the “Too Much” stamp on my head and move on.

Not Jesus. Jesus was confident–confident but sad for me. 

I rested in feeling known by him.

Then suddenly, we were flying over the water. It was peaceful but purposeful. I could guess where we were going.

I was right.

We went to where the trauma happened, but it was a different time of day—4 p.m. instead of morning. The lights were off, but the sun cut through the windows, making oblong shapes on the ground.

I looked around the room. My three-year-old self was there. She looked down at her legs, confused and scared. What happened? she seemed to ask.​

I knew her real, little girl self was somewhere in this house playing, but her soul was stuck here. A friend said to me recently, “You are stuck.” I was. My soul has been stuck here for years.

What happened? 

Suddenly, it was morning: when it all went down. I was no longer looking down at this little girl, I was her. Matt asked me questions, but I could barely speak. I didn’t know what was happening, just that something was happening. I was confused. And paralyzed.

I could not move. I could not speak. A stranger was hurting me, but I could not do anything. I wanted to be rescued. Where was the Rescuer?

I could see Jesus trying to step in to break the bond between me and a stranger, but he could not break it. Why couldn’t he break it?

“Can you speak?” Matt asked. Suddenly, I realized my mouth could work. Barely, but it did.

“Get away from me. Go. Get away. I don’t want you.”

Little kid sentences. Nothing extraordinarily powerful-sounding. Just the simple phrases of a three-year-old. “Get away!” A little louder this time. “Get away from me.” The evil moved one inch away.

I knew there was more than one person in this room seeking to hurt me. There was a host of shoulder-to-shoulder evil behind this stranger. “Get away!”

It moved two inches from me, but it was not far enough. “Holy Spirit, come! Help Laurie,” Matt prayed. In my mind, I grew in age, size, and strength. I could stand. I could use my once-dead arms and legs. I was a giant. I wore battered armor, and had incredible strength. I was a warrior. I was Wonder Woman.

I could see the Holy Spirit like a bright wind helping me, but there was something (someone) else needed. I needed another warrior. “Matt, can you pray?” He paused, and then stepped into the scene. He was a giant, too, and had new-but-dinged up armor. We fought side-by-side. Blocking, hitting, pushing, fighting.  The evil backed up twice as quickly.

Us plus the Holy Spirit was enough. It always is.

The darkness fled the room until there was no more.

Jesus was there again. He was laughing, clapping Matt and me on the back. “That was awesome.” He was proud of us, but not overly impressed. He was not like, “Phew! Evil is vanquished! You did it!”

It seemed…normal. What we did seemed great but normal for Christians.

I smiled over at Matt—my co-warrior. There were going to be more battles to fight together.

Zara Walker

Then it was 4 p.m. again. Little girl Laurie was back in the empty, dark room. Looking down at her legs. Her stuck soul there. 

“Can you go to her?” Right-now Matt asked. “Comfort her? Tell her she is going to be okay?”

My armor clinked as I walked to her. I could tell she still felt confused and scared, but somewhat more confident. She knew a battle happened. The evil was gone.

I bent down, and scooped her up. I held her close. My wordless actions told her all she needed to know. “It’s going to be okay. You are safe now. I’m here. We all are.” I nodded toward Jesus and Matt.

Real-life Matt was crying.

Little Laurie felt comforted, but needed something (someone) more: Jesus.

He came up to us holding the softest, white, sparkly robes for her. He covered her shivering body. He hugged her tight. He sat her down and guided her toward the door while talking softly with her. His tone was purposeful but sad.

“I’m going to use this, dear one.” As he spoke, I could tell he was thinking of all the other pain I would endure after this three-year-old one. Jesus knew he would use those moments, too. He would not leave me alone in them to suffer.

When Jesus and Little Laurie reached the door, they stopped. Jesus turned and looked at me in my Wonder Woman getup. I was sweaty and a bit bloodied-up from the battle. Jesus smiled and then bent, whispering in Little Laurie’s ear loudly enough for me to hear. “You are going to be her one day,” he said, gesturing toward me. 

Little Laurie’s eyes grew wide. Her jaw dropped as she turned to Jesus. “What? Really?”

She laughed, and he laughed. “Yeah! You are!” (Jesus is really good with kids.) She smiled proudly.

I couldn’t help but think, “Yeah, you will become me one day, but it is because of the pain. It is because of the trauma. You will get this strong by walking through it with Jesus.” I ached for her while I hoped for her.

I wonder if this is how Jesus feels for all of us all of the time: You get this strong because of the pain. I ache for you, and I hope for you.

I watched Little Laurie and Jesus leave. I knew she was going to school. She was going to train to become me.  It wouldn’t all be painful; she would have a lot of fun, too. But she needed to learn how to become Wonder Woman in the School of Suffering.

***

Matt closed the prayer, and I opened my real eyes and looked real Matt with new eyes. He was still a warrior, I just didn’t see the spiritual armor.

“When did we forget we were co-warriors?” he asked. 

I didn’t know. Sometime over the last year? We cannot forget again. The mission bonds us. We need our co-warriors in this real-life battle against the rulers and principalities of this dark world.

I did an inner assessment:  I could breathe again. The inner bleeding felt cauterized. All that remained was hope and love.

Praise God. I am finally free.

I am a warrior.

1. Respond: What do you think? Can you relate? What stands out to you?

2. Consider: Would you like to do this process? Here is more of the backstory: I have been in counseling for a year strengthening what my counselor calls my “adult brain” so I could engage in this process without getting triggered and “dying.” I had tried to do this type of prayer over a year ago, and I just…faded. Everything went black or red.

I needed some time to grow in counseling, and honestly? God needed to teach Matt and me stuff that we could only learn in the School of Suffering. The time for healing was this day, but what we learned in suffering before this day was necessary.

If you would like to engage this process, ask God for the right person to walk with you. Reach out to us if you want to learn about who we know who could journey alongside you.

3. Remember: I am not done. I believe that this “spiritual memory” will have profound lasting impact on me (as I have done things like this with other traumas before and they have had ​profound lasting impact), but I am not done-done. I am not sanctified. I have a lot more growth to do, but I am SO GRATEFUL for the freedom right here and right now.

4. Know: God loves you so much!! If you have a weight like this you have been carrying, carry it to Jesus. God longs to give good gifts to his kids (Matt. 7:11). Praise God. He is real, and he so loves you. I pray you can see more than a glimmer of this today.

Do you suffer from chronic pain of the soul?

I do.

Chronic soul pain (n): An ongoing, non-physical, internal ache.

We often like to finish our share time with friends with a happy  “But God is good!” Or read blogs where there is a problem but a lesson learned. (Yay!)

But that’s not real life. Oftentimes, after we push “post” on Instagram or leave an in-person conversation, we are left with an ongoing ache: Longterm pain in marriage or singleness, an ongoing battle with anxiety, struggles with finances, a tough war with sinful behavior, or a wrestling with unhealed wounds of the past.

Our pain isn’t fixed. It isn’t past-tense.

If you are like me, you would prefer a nice clean break of a bone rather than chronic soul pain. We’d like to check “healed arm” off the list. We don’t want to stare at the unchecked “ongoing broken heart.”

I feel you.

And it’s okay that we are not okay today.

Austin Ban

“Suffering is the textbook that keeps teaching us who we really are,” Joni Eareckson Tada said. “Suffering sandblasts us, strips us bare, strips us of our sinful ways, leaving us raw and exposed… [t]hat we might be better bonded to the Savior.” 

Joni Earickson Tada said that. A quadriplegic said that. She hasn’t been able to use her arms or legs for decades, she recently walked through an intense battle with cancer, deals with chronic physical pain, and seeks Jesus’ heart through it.

Her body (and soul) are in process. Her pain is not past-tense. It is chronic.

Although she suffers way more than I do, I understand ongoing pain–even if it is non-physical.

Do you, too?

Why do we judge ourselves so hard for being (more than) a bit of a mess?

Chronic soul pain is only made worse by our judgment of it. 

Words like, “I shouldn’t feel this,” or “I hate myself,” or “If only I wasn’t so…” take the weight of the “easy and light” burden Jesus talks about and make it unbearable.

It takes our eyes away from looking at Him though it, and makes us stare at our pain. Worship it.

The better way? Just notice it. “Yup. I have ongoing pain. I am holding Jesus’ hand even though it continually hurts.”

And then… if it is sin? Begin dealing with it gracefully. If it is a painful memory? Bring it to the Counselor and perhaps to the office of a wise human counselor. If it is something you can’t change? Surrender it to the only One with arms strong enough to hold it.​

And then just sit. Be. Be in process.