This post is a few years in the making. I have thought about it over and over again, and the words never seem right. What is the right way to tell "someone" you love that you're leaving?
I fell in the love with the Quakers during the spring of 2002. A cozy little Meetinghouse was around the corner from my apartment, and I, seriously in need of a church community, decided to drop in. I chose a Wednesday night, because mid-week services are usually more casual. I assumed correctly.
The group I met was inviting, albeit curious about the tattooed woman who showed up seemingly out of nowhere.
That night changed my life. It totally altered the direction I was taking, Because of that little Quaker church, I joined the Quakers (or, as they're known formally, Friends). I enrolled in a Quaker college, earning my degree in psychology. I got married, helped start a church, worked in ministry for 4 years, launched a company, went through several major life events, including a divorce, all with Friends forming the backdrop of my life. Quaker ethics guided my business principles, concerns about social justice--probably what Friends are most known for--informed my decisions from where to shop to what to protest. I loved being a Quaker, and it gave my life the purpose I so desperately wanted.
Then I met J. Meeting her changed everything. And it called into question the beliefs I'd held for so long. J is in law enforcement. I was forced to wrestle with my Quaker "strongholds", namely, taking up arms, considerations regarding self defense, and the Quaker notion that there is God in all of us.
I love the Quakers; their collected wisdom is something we could all benefit from. But I no longer fully agree with them. I cannot embrace the peace testimony anymore. I no longer see "that of God in everyone".
I am leaving Friends. But I will always have Quakerism in my heart. I have loved it--and lived it--for too long not to. It will be a long time before I shed the peculiar Friends vocabulary. I will bumble through the Sacraments in my new church. My heart will be sad when I pass a Friends Meetinghouse. But I know that God is leading me this way. I have a lot of growing to do, and God has directed me to a new path so that I can continue to grow in him.
Dear readers, thank you for reading my thoughts over these many years. I hope they helped you in some way. I have grown and changed a lot, and I am honored that you chose to read about me.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Friday, July 24, 2015
Thinking about "Hate"...
Lately, I've been thinking about hate. Specifically, those who hate me, and how I respond to them. Hate is everywhere--on the radio, on social media, on our streets, in our hearts. In my heart. My reaction to people who hate me--regardless of their reason--has been, at least recently, to hate them back. And that made me wonder, why have I become that way?
A simple google search on hot button issues--gay rights, race relations, police issues--yields an impressive amount of negative, hateful material. Scrolling Facebook is no less eye-opening. My own page is not innocent. I often rant, re-post articles with my own angry commentary included, and post memes that are not exactly "healing". I am afraid that if I "play nice" on social media, folks will think I've stopped caring about those things, or that I have forgiven those who hate me and work to make my life difficult (try being married to a cop in this climate). I think it's so easy to hate others these days because it's just so available. Every news story seems to highlight the disparity between groups of people, no matter the topic. It's a continuous barrage of divisiveness.
But it's not healthy to live in a constant state of anger and unhappiness, which I think is what hatred really stems from. It's also not Christ-like. And I long to be a good example of God's love. When I unplug from social media and stay away from talk radio (NPR included), and simply live in my community, I see plenty of good things. I don't see the hatred that is so prevalent when people are "protected" by their online anonymity. And I see my own heart softening. When people find out that my wife is a cop the majority of them tell me how much they appreciate our police. Most people don't seem to care that I am married to a woman, that I am white, that I have tattoos. The list goes on. And I find myself bringing Christ into the world around me by just being nice. It doesn't mean that I still don't get mad, or that I have a handle on things. But it does mean that I am trying to manage my response to their hatred. I cannot make someone else like or appreciate me. But I can control how I react. I can decide not to hate them in return.
Tuesday, July 7, 2015
On taking a stance
About ten years ago, I read a book about so-called Godly sex. Now, there are probably hundreds of books about that topic. But Lauren Winner's Real Sex:the naked truth about chastity was different. It had statistics. It was realistic. It offered solutions. And it was interesting. This book was, at the time, cool. And as the pastor of a young adult congregation, I was eager to pass it around as soon as I'd finished reading it.
So I was both surprised and curious when I read that she no longer felt comfortable giving sex advice to Christians. Or anyone, for that matter. In other words, Lauren Winner is distancing herself from her contribution to the no-sex-till-marriage discussion.
Which got me thinking about making bold declarations, then softening one's position later in life. What compels someone to behave like an authority--as Winner did in her book--then abandon that stance? And how uncomfortable is it to have that new "belief" while also knowing that your original position is on record, out there for anyone to find?
I feel for folks like Lauren Winner--people who were firm in their footing, then for whatever reason, were lifted off the path and found themselves in an entirely new place. It makes me cautious about dispensing my own thoughts, and leaves me with the uncomfortable sense that I, too, have some bold declarations out there that I'd like to distance myself from.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
On life and a crummy vacuum
Recently, I read about a business concept called the 'sunk-cost fallacy'. For example, if I spend money building my website for my company, that money is a sunk-cost. It's gone. Where this takes a wrong turn is when the product is bad--if I never get traffic, and therefore clientele, from my website, but I keep the site going any way, I begin to wade into the waters of the sunk-cost fallacy. I incorrectly rationalize that it's too late to dump the website because if I do, I'll lose everything I've put into it. But the truth is, it's already gone. That time and money will never be recovered--what can be saved is future financial pain. I can stop that by getting out now.
It reminded me of a real life bad investment of mine--a pricey vacuum cleaner. I bought the questionable appliance over two years ago. I saved both my money and gift cards and went to Target, picked out the model and color I wanted, and happily went home. That was the happiest I was to ever be with that damned vacuum. It doesn't work. In fact, it is worse than that--after it somewhat picks up dog hair and cat litter, it redeposits it onto the floor the minute you shut it off. But here I am, over two years later, still with my crummy vacuum because I spent so much on it. If I get rid of it, I lose my money. I am defeated! But you know what? I was defeated the minute I bought the thing. I lost my money years ago. But if I toss the thing today, I can save myself many future headaches and pointless vacuuming sessions.
The sunk-cost fallacy applies to so many things in life--relationships, jobs, you name it. We stick around because we think to leave now will be to forgo any possible returns we'll get in the future. If you're in a terrible relationship and have been for years, you hesitate to leave because you've invested so much time, and well, maybe things will get better and you will get the 'return' you've been hoping for. Instead, you're simply delaying the inevitable--you made a bad decision, and at some point you will have to face it. Just because you sunk a tremendous cost--whether time, love, or something else--doesn't mean you'll get a great return.
But you know what? That's OK. There is, in fact, a return on a bad investment. It's called "learning". Learn from your mistake. You need not go down with the ship; get to dry land and continue on.
Yes, it hurts to lose so much. It is embarrassing to fail. But if we tie ourselves to a "bad investment"--the job that is going nowhere, the long-term relationship with the wrong person, the money pit of a house, the failing business--we are not free to get into the right situation. And the right situation will come with the returns you've wanted so much.
It reminded me of a real life bad investment of mine--a pricey vacuum cleaner. I bought the questionable appliance over two years ago. I saved both my money and gift cards and went to Target, picked out the model and color I wanted, and happily went home. That was the happiest I was to ever be with that damned vacuum. It doesn't work. In fact, it is worse than that--after it somewhat picks up dog hair and cat litter, it redeposits it onto the floor the minute you shut it off. But here I am, over two years later, still with my crummy vacuum because I spent so much on it. If I get rid of it, I lose my money. I am defeated! But you know what? I was defeated the minute I bought the thing. I lost my money years ago. But if I toss the thing today, I can save myself many future headaches and pointless vacuuming sessions.
The sunk-cost fallacy applies to so many things in life--relationships, jobs, you name it. We stick around because we think to leave now will be to forgo any possible returns we'll get in the future. If you're in a terrible relationship and have been for years, you hesitate to leave because you've invested so much time, and well, maybe things will get better and you will get the 'return' you've been hoping for. Instead, you're simply delaying the inevitable--you made a bad decision, and at some point you will have to face it. Just because you sunk a tremendous cost--whether time, love, or something else--doesn't mean you'll get a great return.
But you know what? That's OK. There is, in fact, a return on a bad investment. It's called "learning". Learn from your mistake. You need not go down with the ship; get to dry land and continue on.
Yes, it hurts to lose so much. It is embarrassing to fail. But if we tie ourselves to a "bad investment"--the job that is going nowhere, the long-term relationship with the wrong person, the money pit of a house, the failing business--we are not free to get into the right situation. And the right situation will come with the returns you've wanted so much.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Happy Mindful Year
Happy 2015! I know this is resolution time, so I thought I would offer up an "easy" one: be mindful. J told me living in the present and being aware of right now is on her agenda this year. That is a really good place to start, no matter what your other goals include.
I imagine part of being mindful means noticing things. Who and what is around you, and why. I had a brief look into my future back in the summer of 2001. I had no idea, though, because I failed to really look at the people around me. J had come into my life, as most of you know. She did not stay long, but perhaps if I'd paid attention, she might have. I did not notice that the person in my peripheral vision was my soul mate, was the person I would laugh with, grow with, share hopes and plans with; the person I would weep with over shared losses. I did not see that potential because I failed to NOTICE. What ever you may be searching for--a career, a love, a dream--it might be right there, going unnoticed. Pay attention. Be mindful. Look around you--what you seek is out there.
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Wishing you real peace this season
I've spent the better part of this year trying to discover my purpose for this life. I studied for and took the law school admission test. I applied to the police department. I started, then promptly dropped out of, paralegal school. It's been a long process. I have searched, I have pondered, and I have sought council from those wiser than me. But no answers. Here I am, still running a pet sitting business, making muffins for my wife to take to work, walking my dog, napping with the cats. Another holiday season is upon us and here I am, delivering gifts to our regular clients like I do every year.
I went to a meeting the other day, and I thought, well, maybe THIS will be my purpose--maybe I am here to take part in this important work. But then another thought came along: this time last year, I could not have envisioned myself in this place, doing some of the work I currently do. Let me explain. Much of my free time is focused on quality of life issues for police officers and their families. A year ago, I would not have imagined that would be the focus of my non-work life passions. And who knows where it will lead. Maybe somewhere, maybe nowhere. But I have decided that is OK. In fact, I have decided that it is OK to have no grander purpose than to make the most of each day that I have. I am going to try to stop directing the current of my life, and instead jump in the boat and drift wherever life wants to take me. I know not what lies ahead, and that will have to be OK. I have to trust that things will work out, that there is a reason for my being here, and that reason may not be wrapped up in my career. I read in a devotional recently that to expect that you are here for great things is a bit arrogant. It dismisses the importance of the many little things that we are good at and appreciated for. I am going to let the universe take me where it wants, and make the most of each stop on my journey with J.
I went to a meeting the other day, and I thought, well, maybe THIS will be my purpose--maybe I am here to take part in this important work. But then another thought came along: this time last year, I could not have envisioned myself in this place, doing some of the work I currently do. Let me explain. Much of my free time is focused on quality of life issues for police officers and their families. A year ago, I would not have imagined that would be the focus of my non-work life passions. And who knows where it will lead. Maybe somewhere, maybe nowhere. But I have decided that is OK. In fact, I have decided that it is OK to have no grander purpose than to make the most of each day that I have. I am going to try to stop directing the current of my life, and instead jump in the boat and drift wherever life wants to take me. I know not what lies ahead, and that will have to be OK. I have to trust that things will work out, that there is a reason for my being here, and that reason may not be wrapped up in my career. I read in a devotional recently that to expect that you are here for great things is a bit arrogant. It dismisses the importance of the many little things that we are good at and appreciated for. I am going to let the universe take me where it wants, and make the most of each stop on my journey with J.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
My story of complete love...
As a young adult, I became quite aware of a deep longing within my heart--something major was missing from my life. It was the proverbial soulmate. I started to search for that person everywhere; each new encounter, no matter how insignificant, was observed in
great detail. "Is this the one?" There was an underlying sense of expectation--each new day brought the possibility of finally encountering my other half.
The concept of two souls journeying toward each other, and finding wholeness, is an ancient one--Plato spoke of humanity (originally in three forms: male from the sun, female from the earth, and androgynous from the moon) being split into separate souls as punishment for their pride. Only when each half was reunited would they find true happiness.
I have been deeply despondent for the majority of my life for a variety of reasons,
among the top was the fact that I hadn't yet found "my person". But something happened in late 2001 that gave me hope.
I started to feel like I was very close to finding my soulmate. It wasn't a hopeful feeling, but rather a deep knowing. I couldn't put my finger on it; I was simply filled with assurance. That feeling lingered for some time--perhaps a few months. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. I don't how to describe my response to that lack of assurance--perhaps it was resignation. I know this much: I started to disregard the entire notion of there being only ONE right person for each of us.
And then I met J. Our friendship was instant, and it didn't take long for me to fall for her completely. I felt connected to her in the deepest possible way. For the first time in my life, I was in a relationship where nothing was missing--all the pieces fit together perfectly.
And then I knew: it was J. She and I had encountered each other in late 2001. We were "friends of friends". That peace, the knowledge that I was finally going to meet my missing half, came when J walked into my life. When she journeyed on a few months later, the feeling I had went away. It did not return until she made her way back to me 12 years later, late in the year, exactly the same month we had our initial meeting.
It's almost 13 years since that meeting. My heart is whole, my life complete. I have left my place of despondency. I am, as Plato predicted, truly happy at last.
great detail. "Is this the one?" There was an underlying sense of expectation--each new day brought the possibility of finally encountering my other half.
The concept of two souls journeying toward each other, and finding wholeness, is an ancient one--Plato spoke of humanity (originally in three forms: male from the sun, female from the earth, and androgynous from the moon) being split into separate souls as punishment for their pride. Only when each half was reunited would they find true happiness.
I have been deeply despondent for the majority of my life for a variety of reasons,
among the top was the fact that I hadn't yet found "my person". But something happened in late 2001 that gave me hope.
I started to feel like I was very close to finding my soulmate. It wasn't a hopeful feeling, but rather a deep knowing. I couldn't put my finger on it; I was simply filled with assurance. That feeling lingered for some time--perhaps a few months. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. I don't how to describe my response to that lack of assurance--perhaps it was resignation. I know this much: I started to disregard the entire notion of there being only ONE right person for each of us.
And then I met J. Our friendship was instant, and it didn't take long for me to fall for her completely. I felt connected to her in the deepest possible way. For the first time in my life, I was in a relationship where nothing was missing--all the pieces fit together perfectly.
And then I knew: it was J. She and I had encountered each other in late 2001. We were "friends of friends". That peace, the knowledge that I was finally going to meet my missing half, came when J walked into my life. When she journeyed on a few months later, the feeling I had went away. It did not return until she made her way back to me 12 years later, late in the year, exactly the same month we had our initial meeting.
It's almost 13 years since that meeting. My heart is whole, my life complete. I have left my place of despondency. I am, as Plato predicted, truly happy at last.
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