photo by b_barbet
I haven't done a confessional in a while, but if I don't talk to someone about this, I think my head is going to burst.
I am increasingly beginning to understand what it means to live in the tension.
I didn't come up with that phrase and I've heard it so often that I honestly cannot pin down for you who originally coined it, but I can't find a better description of what is happening inside my heart and mind these days. In fact, I can't even pin down for you when this tension really began to take shape.
But here's what it comes down to - I don't know how much longer I can live life the way I've been living life.
It took me ten minutes and lots of delete button-ing to get that out, but there it is.
As you know, I've been reading David Platt's Radical and I'm preparing to teach Jen Hatmaker's Interrupted in my Sunday School class and I feel like everything I've believed to be true about following Christ and being a Christian is being stripped away and I'm all raw and bewildered and excited and depressed and in the meantime, it's completely business as usual in the place I go to to fellowship and worship with other believers.
And it makes me feel tense. It makes me tired and cynical and, honestly, judgmental towards this "attractional model" of church, this Six Flags Over Jesus mentality that seeks to entice, bribe, or even guilt trip people into coming to us instead of challenging, equipping, and even demanding that we go to them. It's overwhelming. I don't know what to do. I don't know where to start. I don't know if I should buy copies of Radical and deliver them to each staff member or maybe even every deacon in our church body. I just don't know how our local church or our denomination as a whole will respond to such a revolutionary message.
I've had a passion for sharing the gospel of the Good News of Christ in places around the world since I was a little girl delighted and inspired by what I learned in my Girls in Action meetings each week. But I'm married to a man who is much, much more interested in what is being done locally. I'm at a place where I would sell everything and move to India or start filling out paperwork to provide a home to a child through adoption but my husband . . . we are far from unity in this. So there's that tension.
And Dacey needs new clothes for the fall and winter. She is bursting out of last year's clothes. And I almost spent $50 at The Children's Place online last night, but couldn't push the Submit button on my order because I can't verify that their clothing is ethically manufactured, that it's free of sweatshop labor. And I love The Children's Place, y'all. Love it. But I can't continue to contribute to a system that fosters oppression so that my girls can wear cute clothes. And the tension pulls tighter on my heart.
I can't even grab dinner at Sonic anymore without thinking about what that $20 I just dropped could do for one of the 24,000 children dying every day from hunger and preventable disease.
I'm all messed up.
I'm all messed up.
It's almost paralyzing.
And it's a lot to carry around with me right now.
And I certainly didn't mean for this to be such a bummer of a confessional. I just started writing and this is what spilled out. You're probably not so much a fan of all the transparency now, right? Thank you for hearing me out anyway.