When you see yourself in the story.

I read a familiar story last night, one I have heard or read on Good Friday every year for 37 years. But this year, the story hit differently.  This year, something in me broke open…

It stuck out to me that (in John’s account) it was the religious leaders calling for the death of Jesus, even after Pilate found no reason to condemn. It was the religious leaders who twisted the words of Jesus. It was the religious leaders who called for the breaking of legs to add more torture and pain to an already gruesome death so that they could celebrate their holy day without the stench of death, or the visible proof of the murder on their hands.

And today, on this holy Saturday, I am convicted and grieving the ways that “religious leaders” still call out “crucify” when death and casting aside are easier than changing “the way it has always been.” I grieve the lives lost at the hands of toxic theology, white supremacy, and systemic oppression. And I grieve and repent for my own complicity (both intentional and unknown) and the ways I have chosen to play the part when it would benefit me.

Today I am whole heartedly praying for resurrection…not just of Jesus from the tomb, but resurrection that can truly lead to new life and a new way in communities, and in our world. I pray that “religious leaders” will move past denying life and personhood to all people, and work toward building a bigger table, and systems that uphold and celebrate the humanity of all.

And I pray that if I am ever in a place again to choose my own comfort and privilege at the cost of another, that I will be given the bravery to sit in my discomfort, trusting others who profess that there is no reason to condemn.

I hope next time I read the story, that I will be made uncomfortable all over again. And in that discomfort, I hope I will deepen my commitment to radical love and inclusion.

In the meantime, I will pray and work to be a different model of what a religious leader looks like, and I will hope that along the way people might see more of Jesus, and less of me.

you are loved. anyone who tells you differently is wrong.

pjp

Roll the Stone away

Growing up, almost every Easter, my family told the story of the year that one of the boys at church saw me,  a young toddler, with no eggs in my basket at the church Easter Egg hunt. Seeing this, the boy came over to me and shared his eggs with me. Kansas Henderson, wherever you are, you should know you are still a legend at my parents house- some 30 years later. 

For the bulk of my child-hood, I have memories of frilly dresses, shiny shoes, and the Easter Egg Hunt at Rick and Dee’s house. It was tradition, and as a child, it instilled in me what community can look and feel like. Each year, we knew that after service on Easter Sunday, we would be hunting for eggs in the Berman’s back yard, and the church would gather together in the gift of hospitality, and celebrate the Risen Lord with laughter, joy and excitement.

When the Berman’s moved, that tradition changed, and as I grew up, hunting for Easter Eggs lost its appeal.  But when I moved away from home for college, I found myself suddenly missing that tradition, or anything that felt familiar, and was overjoyed to find an Easter basket mailed to me from my folks.

I feel those same tugs of longing for traditions and community as we approach Easter this year. As we all are bound to our homes for at least another 30 days, I am home-sick for the joy, laughter and excitement I experienced as a child, but more than that, I am grieving that for the first time in my life, I won’t be celebrating Easter in a church, with people, with songs, and all of the other markers of what has become for me, a lifetime of tradition.

As we approach Palm Sunday, and enter into Holy Week, I feel grief in ways I have never experienced in Lent. I feel the pains of loss: of routine, of schedule, of expectations, of long awaited plans and travel. And I feel the pains of death, as the numbers of the dying are rising, and just today, I got word of the first person I knew dying from this brutal virus.

These days are hard.

But perhaps, just maybe, we are being offered the chance to establish a new tradition, or a new set of traditions…ones that are based around the awareness of our own mortality, and our deep need for hope, joy, grace, and one another.

I also think that maybe, for the first time, I am going to experience Easter morning with the awareness of my deep need for Jesus in my life.

I know that may sound silly coming from a pastor- but the truth is that I think, on most days, I have myself fooled into thinking that I have this all figured out…and while I discern and pray, I don’t know that I have ever spent much time really aware and truly, deeply, grateful that Jesus died so that we could all have life abundant.

In real ways, this pandemic is forcing me to sit with, grapple with, and then accept and receive the gift of grace, the gift of new life, the gift of Easter. And with that comes deep grief, and deep joy.

Emily Scott, a pastor who inspires me on the daily,  shared these words today:

“I became a pastor because I love the feeling of drawing people together, in person, around a story or a meal or through a song. I love the intimacy that comes from crowding in around a communion table, everyone’s eyes shining with anticipation.

The resurrection, we know, comes anyway. This year I’m remembering that the resurrected Christ didn’t arrive in a crowded room, but to a few people at at time, two by two. A couple of women out before dawn. Men walking a long, empty road. We will find community again. But the resurrection will find us first.”

Emily is right, Christ didn’t emerge from the tomb with smoke and lights, and a full band. He didn’t emerge in flashes of lightening or signs of ultimate power…no, He returned back to his loved ones, at dawn, and then again over a meal. And the truth is, Jesus didn’t need a church, or even a rousing choral rendition of “Christ the Lord is Risen Today” to emerge from the tomb. Jesus came back quietly, intimately, and entered immediately back into relationship with his beloveds.

Maybe it isn’t going to be the same, the truth is that Easter this year will be painfully different- but maybe, in the midst of our separation, we might find ways to cultivate new traditions that will bind us together- and allow each of us to experience the Risen Lord coming back quietly among us, entering into our lives when we need Him most.

On Easter morning, may we find ourselves greeting the new dawn and rejoice that the stone has been rolled away- the stone that has kept us from seeing the ways we belong to one another, the stone that allowed us to take so much for granted, the stone that has kept us from understanding our own dependence on grace.

I yearn for the stone to be rolled away so that we can greet a life anew, and when this is all over, and we return to one another, I yearn for the world to embrace the gift of Easter- not just in frilly dresses, or Easter Eggs, but in ways that allow us to more fully see the humanity in one another, for us to see the world as God sees it, and each one of us- as beloved, deserving of life abundant.

I yearn for the world to confront the injustice that this pandemic has brought to the forefront, for us to shift our priorities, and for us to realize that the gifts of this time, while it has been brutal, stressful and hard, the gifts of connection and humanity remain- and the truth that we belong to one another is all the more clear. And may we continue to seek to encounter Jesus gathered with us, in small, quiet places.

And in the coming days, as we greet Easter and struggle to embrace the hope and joy amidst the grip of this virus, I wish you all peace, and a blessing from the Iona Community:

I leave you with this peace. Not an easy peace, not an insignificant peace, not a half-hearted peace, but the peace of our Lord Jesus Christ. And may the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit bind us together, now and forever more. Amen.

We belong to one another, you are loved.

May the stone be rolled away.

pjp

on being a princess

When I was younger- like, early elementary school- I took a computer class that taught us the basics of typing, formatting and spacing.

During that class, we were asked to write stories based off of an image prompt. One of the prompts that came on the screen was a princess in a castle, with a dragon.

I wrote the story of a princess in a castle, and a prince riding in to rescue her, only to find that she didn’t need rescuing after all. The princess had tamed the dragon and was living in her castle with a fierce protector- protecting her from unwanted intruders, and people who falsely thought they could save her.

My parents were so thrilled with this story that they pulled the perforated edges off of the computer paper, and put the story in a frame.Today, as I was scrolling through Instagram, I saw this post from Emily McDowell- and I had a sudden memory of this story, and I found myself wondering what happened to that little girl…what happened to the princess in me?I spent a lot of my formative years internalizing messages that told me I would need to be saved in some way, shape or form….that my life and self would have more value if someone rescued me, and swept me away to happier ever after.

Frankly, that is a lot of crap, but it is hard as hell to unlearn. Later in life, I resisted the label of “princess.” I didn’t want to be affiliated with the idea of being helpless or afraid…and I certainly didnt want to be considered high maintenance. The word princess became pejorative in a way I hated, so in a sense, I threw the baby out with the bath water.

When I saw this image today, I was reminded of the bold little girl who bravely told her world she didn’t need rescue…and she certainly didn’t need a prince. I remembered the brave little girl who lived into being a princess on her own terms, with her own agenda.I found myself missing that little girl.So right there in my office, I closed my eyes and I tried to remember what it felt like to be her. I tried to remember the skinned knees, big laughter, curious spirit, and how it felt to be free to live with abandon.

I’ve gathered some deep wounds a long the way, and I have caused wounds in others. Some of these things have healed, others are still a work in progress. I’ve done a lot of work in therapy, with coaches, and with journaling…and it’s been hard.

But today, today I saw healing within myself that I didnt even recognize until I saw this picture. I have had to face some uncomfortable and unattractive parts of myself, but as I continue toward fully accepting and loving myself, I can see images like this and remember that that little girl, that kick-ass, dragon training, castle owning princess is still in me.

She is me.

So I am reclaiming my role of the princess in my own life…no rescue needed, no more playing small, grateful for my supportive and equally badass partner, living a life that is courageous and vulnerable, depending on the grace of God, striving to be tender and fierce, and when life brings fear my way, committing to do it anyway.I am reclaiming the role of rescuer in my own story, standing firm in who I am, and who I have been created to be.

Who knows….I may even promote my inner princess to queen, she’s earned it.

How can you connect with the memory of your little brave and resilient self?How can you reclaim your inner bad ass?

Here is to healing, and to being reminded that YOU are your own rescuer.

Dragon and castle optional.

You are loved,pjp

a life of yes

I have gotten into the habit of listening to Podcasts as I drive to and from Dallas for work. Truthfully, listening to those leaves me in a much better mood than if I listened to talk radio, the news, or even music. These Podcasts have become a part of my have become some of my favorite things because I feel like I get a window into the life of other people. It feels like a level of relationship and connection, and I love it. Also, it is a daily reminder that a lot of people live really brilliant and interesting lives- it is inspiring!

Yesterday, on my drive, I was listening to a new-ish episode of The New Way Podcast, produced by a team of folks from 1001 New Worshiping Communities. 1001 NWC is a part of the Presbyterian Church (USA) that is working to imagine and bring to life new ways of doing church- to me, they are the folks on the forefront of what the church will be. In this episode, the host was speaking with the Executive Presbyter of Greater Atlanta (essentially, she is the pastor/boss/colleague of all the pastors in that region), Aisha Brooks-Lytle. My dear friend Alex has told me about Aisha, saying that I would love her and that she could be a good connection for me, and after hearing Aisha speak, I am convinced that Alex is right.

Aisha is comfortable with intimacy and vulnerability, and she shares profound wisdom. Listening to her was like water in the desert as I listened to her voice so much of how I feel about my own call to ministry. But her statement “My life has been a series of Yes-es”

Y’all.

This is the best way I can describe the truth of my call, and the truth of my faith- all of it has been marked a willingness to say Yes.

Throughout my ministry, and now, as I look ahead to a new chapter- ALL of it has come to pass because I have been willing to say yes to the ways I have seen God moving in and around me. My life has been what it is, and what it will be, because I have said Yes. Yes to love, yes to risk, yes to creativity, yes to opportunity, yes to community, yes to hard work, yes to rest, yes after yes, after yes.

Have I been unclear of what that yes would mean? Yes

Have I been afraid? Yes.

Have I been unsure? Yes.

Have I failed along the way? Yes.

Have I had to work on cultivating and maintaining strong boundaries? Yes.

Have I relied on others to help move me forward? Yes.

Has God been guiding, equipping and sustaining me along the way? Yes.

What is astonishing to me is to look back from today and realize how different my life would be if I had not been willing to say yes and to trust what would come.

Sometimes a yes may mean saying no to something else…but your yes will lead you to places you cannot even imagine, with fear, joy, courage and hope all along the way.

I don’t know how my next yes will unfold, but I know, before long, I will look back with gratitude on where I have been, and where I am headed.

What can you say Yes to? What is your heart, your soul, your spirit, your life asking you to say yes to? What do you yearn to say yes to? What keeps you from a life of yes?

May you find your yes…and in doing so, may you begin to see the ways that the universe, that God, that the spirit, will rise to meet you.

Say yes. You’re worth it, and the world needs you.

pjp

Homesick

I woke up this morning and was hit with a feeling of homesickness. It isnt unusual this time of year. The holidays have a way of tugging at your heart.

But this morning, as I tried to fight it, I couldn’t shake it, so I just had to let myself feel it, and I had to admit: I want to go home.

I want to go home to big family dinners and making enchiladas with my grandmother.

I want to go home to the sanctuary at valley presbyterian, and standing quietly in the back exchanging gifts with my best friend on christmas eve.

I want to go home to the sounds of my grandfather gobbling like a turkey and sneaking me a cookie when my parents weren’t looking.

I want to go home to dinner with my godparents.

I want to go home to the holiday hangout at the Dutch Goose.

I want to go home to a time when the holiday season didnt feel so tedious and exhausting.

I want to go home to the crisp in the air and the wind blowing through the redwood trees.

I want to go home to when everyone was talking.

I want to go home to when everyone was welcome.

I want to go home to when I wasn’t so skeptical and jaded.

I want to go home to when I could feel the magic.

I want to go home to wonder.

I want to go home to when this was my favorite time of the year.

I am lucky to be home with Kelli. I get to come home to her every day, and I don’t take that for granted. I love the traditions and memories we are making together. I look at our life and cant help but be grateful for all that we have, and the blessing that is our life together.

But I think in some ways, at this time of year, we all get a little homesick. In some ways, we all long to go home to some place, some thing, some one, or some time in our lives.

So if you’re missing “home” this time of year, you aren’t alone. And if you need a new home, our door is open, and there is a place at the table for you.

May we all find a little bit of magic and joy, even if we are a bit homesick, too. Maybe, just maybe, we could make a new home together.

You are loved.

pjp

Stepping out as I step in…

There is a certain vulnerability that comes with stepping into the pulpit. The messages I preach are ones that I, along with the help of commentaries, colleagues, prayer and the Holy Spirit, have prepared and chosen intentionally. I don’t always know if my words will be heard, or if they will be received well…but I step in anyway.

The same feeling of vulnerability is present when I step toward the communion table to preside and serve. I feel exposed, probably much like Jesus did when he served the meal to his disciples in the Upper Room. I feel the weight of the words, and the act of blessing and sharing communion, and I feel the responsibility of sharing the Good News of God’s love and care for all of God’s people.

Each time I preach or preside, there is a part of me that is keenly aware that pastors have been killed at the communion table, pastors have been killed in the pulpit…and yet…I step in, we step in. again and again.

Why?

In a conversation with a friend this morning, we talked about faith, and Paul Tillich’s idea of God being the ground of being. And we talked about the vulnerability that comes each time we step in to the pulpit, or step behind Christ’s table…we do so aware of our vulnerability, but we do so also aware that we are grounded in our identity as children of God.

Before, and since, this conversation, I have been thinking a lot about what it means for me, a queer woman, to step into a pulpit and to preside over communion at a church in Texas. The truth is that there are people who do not believe I should be able to preach, teach or preside- not because my education or training are lacking- but because I am a queer woman. There are folks who do not want me in church, let alone be given space and authority to preach God’s word. But I do it anyway.

However, this Sunday, I am stepping into the pulpit after a really hard couple of weeks. I was recently confronted by the reality of the people who think I, and my marriage, are an abomination and an affront to God. I live with this awareness every day- but in the last few weeks those voices were given space and air time in places I thought were safe. It is a painful lesson to learn- the lesson of assuming defense over safety.

And it is hard to step into places I thought were safe when they clearly aren’t anymore.

And for the better part of this week I have been struggling with how to respond… The truth is, this Sunday, there is a large part of me that doesn’t want to step into the pulpit- because I am weary and I am wounded. And, if I am really honest, I don’t feel safe anymore. But I’ll do it anyway.

I will do it not because I want to, but because I am called to. You see, if I sit silent and fearfully stay out of the pulpit…or if I stop presiding and serving communion…the people who would seek to harm me with their hateful words and misinformed theology would win. And that just won’t do.

So I will step out of my false sense of safety, and I will step into the pulpit because God created me, God loves me, and God has called me by name. God is the ground of my being- not hate, not fear, not people who think I am an abomination. And while there will be days that this Truth will be harder for me to live into, I will do my best to hold fast to and share the truth that God is a God of love, and that Christ’s table is wide, and vast, and leaves room for ALL people, even those who can’t see God’s image in me.

This is the hard part, the part that requires faith and grace, because I would never want my place at the table to be at the expense of someone else’s- and my prayer would be that those who think I don’t belong at the table, or in the pulpit, would open their hearts for God to change them so that they might see me, and the countless others like me, as worthy of love and grace, too.

As we prepare for World Communion Sunday, I hope you all experience the radical and abundant welcome of God- and if you feel vulnerable approaching the table, or sitting listening to a pastor speak- do what you can to tend to yourself- and know that the fear you feel is not because God doesn’t love you- it is because God’s people get it wrong sometimes. God rejoices in you, and in me, just the way we are. God is the ground of our being.

May we all find ourselves at a table where the fullness of who are is welcomed. Jesus would want it that way. And if you are still searching , you can sit with me.

pjp

Language barrier

I remember when I fell in love with Kelli, and as I began the process of telling people, I was asked a lot “so, are you lesbian?”

The process of falling in love with Kelli brought some of deepest joy I have ever experienced. It was an incredible feeling to be falling in love with someone who cared for me, who took care of me, who was patient with me, and who saw ME.

But, beyond (and sometimes within) the space between us, I had no idea what I was doing.

Falling in love with Kelli was effortless, and, in so many ways, I felt like I was getting to know the most authentic version of myself. But when it came to talking about me, and my identity in this new relationship, I felt stuck.

I had been an advocate and ally of the LBGTQIA community for as long as I could remember, and had become active in non profit and LBGTQIA faith work locally. However, as a new member of the community, things felt unexpectedly foreign!

Especially when it came to language.

“Are you lesbian?”

“Are you bisexual?”

“Have you just been hiding your true identity all these years?”

“Have you always liked women?”

These are just a few of the questions I was asked …questions that I didn’t have easy answers to. So my answer was and is, “I fell in love with Kelli. I love Kelli.”

What became really clear early on, is that while I was now part of the LBGTQIA community, my place in it was scrutinized and criticized. So, amidst this new community, I felt lonely.

Thankfully, I had a planned trip to Austin for a film screening, and to see one of my best friends Katrina. Safe, familiar space was on the horizon.

For the first time, I sat in a room of other LBGTQIA Presbyterians and our Allies, many of them ordained. My friend Katrina held my hand as I wept tears of joy, joy that comes with feeling seen… And she listened as I expressed the ways I felt a sense of belonging and community that I hadn’t before.

After the film, I remember talking to my friend, Alex, the Executive Director of More Light Presbyterians, and crying to him saying “I don’t know where I belong, I don’t know what to call myself, or how to identify! I don’t want to offend anyone or make a mistake.” He smiled at me and gave me permission to self identify however felt right to me.

Am I lesbian? No.

Have I always liked women, or have I been lying to myself all these years? Nope.

I fell in love with Kelli, as a person. I fell in love with her spirit, her heart, her smile, her laughter, her wit, her intelligence, her generosity….the list is long. The fact that Kelli is a woman is part of what makes Kelli, Kelli- so I love her “her-ness”, too.

So, in one of the most pastoral moments ever, Alex patiently offered the word queer as a possibility. And in that moment, I felt a weight lift.

I am queer. I don’t fit “traditional” hetero or LBGTQIA boxes, because my journey to here has been my own, individual journey.

But, y’all.

Queer is such a loaded word. It is a word that (for many) represents pain, rejection, fear, and a history of prejudice and hate.

And yet, queer has been reclaimed. It has been reclaimed in a spirit of hope, inclusion, and creating space. It has been reclaimed with the understanding that not all people, not all relationships, not all identities fit within “traditional” labels. And honestly, thank goodness, because without the reclamation of Queer, I would still be fumbling to find my identity, and to find my place in the larger community.

And Lord knows I am grateful to have found my footing, because claiming my queer identity has been met with criticism, ridicule, mockery, and flat out denial.

I read recently that some folx don’t recognize queer as an identity, and the assertion that those who identify as queer are fooling themselves and “playing gay.” I have been told that my identity is offensive, and that I should identify differently. And as of last night I was told I needed to “grow up” and recognize that to be queer is affiliated with being a freakshow. And ALL of these comments have come from members of the LBGTQIA community.

Ouch.

But guess what? I am queer. Like it or not, it is part of who I am. And in that identity I have found liberation. In that identity I have come to understand the depth of God’s love for me and my wife, and in that identity, I have found my voice.

I have also come to understand that my queerness might be offensive to others, but that isn’t about me. It isn’t about my identity.

I refuse to be erased because of what others think, and I refuse to call myself something I’m not to make others more comfortable.

So, to those who are struggling to find a place to fit, or a name to call yourself, you are not alone. Don’t let anyone tell you that you need to choose a word, an identity, or a pronoun, that doesn’t work for you.

And don’t settle.

You are deserving of an identity that fits, and to live fully into that identity. No matter what anyone else thinks.

If you need help finding words or claiming space, I would love to pay forward the patience and grace I received from my friends Katrina and Alex, and my wife Kelli. I will sit with you, and help you however I can.

You belong. You are loved.

This queer pastor loves you, and in the words of one of my queer role models, M Barclay, “queer delight remains.”

May you all find delight in yourselves, and one another.

pjp

“queer delight remains”- M

Recently, I read the news that pastor, advocate, ally, and all around bad-ass Anna Blaedel will be put on trial by the Iowa Conference in the United Methodist Church for being a “self-avowed and practicing homosexual.” Anna will be put on trial for loving their beloved, M, and for living out the truth of who God created them to be.

Anna is brilliant, they are an incredible writer and thoughtful theologian, and from what I can tell of their work with enfleshed, Anna is an asset for the church. Literally, Anna has made, and would make the church better. And yet, the church has made the painful and abusive decision to look past their skills, their talents, their humanity, and their identity as a child of God, and to move forward to trial.

I can’t imagine how deeply betrayed Anna must feel. I am familiar with the pain of the church wounding her own, It is a pain that no one can really understand until they have gone through it. To have something you have loved your whole life, something you have given your life to, turn its back on you and cast you out. It is soul-rendering, heart-breaking, life-changing pain.

And, all the while, it is faith deepening and call clarifying.

I dont know Anna personally, but their witness and work will have lasting impact on me and my ministry. I am grateful for their unapologetic queerness, especially in the face of unbelievable circumstances. That kind of courage is incredible.

And I am grateful for their beloved, M, who has also offered the world their giftedness, deep faith, and powerful witness…I am grateful for this amazing couple who are leading and loving the church to a new place, even if it will be at the risk of their own ability to work within it. They have both inspired me to continue to nudge, pull, push and urge the church toward justice and full inclusion. And more over, M has taught me the phrase and embodiment of the truth that “queer delight remains.”

In the face of fear.

In the face of hate.

In the face of Injustice.

In the face of wrong doing.

In the face of powers and principalities, queer delight remains, for it is the delight of the Divine.

My prayers are with Anna and M. May we the church do better, may we learn to embrace and celebrate the delight they, and countless others, bring to the church and the world.

pjp

Fill our hearts with Your peace

Yesterday morning, I sat in the second pew from the front of the sanctuary, near the aisle, where I normally sit. Except, once again, I sat down with the keen awareness that while I was doing what is “normal” for me to do on a Sunday morning, countless people were waking up to a new normal- the new normal of a life that has been devastated by gun-violence.

As worship started, the choir sang the opening song of “Come and fill our hearts with Your Peace”- a taize worship song. As they sang, I began to quietly weep. I wept with sadness, with heartbreak, and with anger.

The truth is, I have prayed for peace for as long as I can remember, and for as long as I can remember, I have continued to hear stories on the news of people killing people. We have been at war for most of, if not all of, my lifetime. And now, with a rise in hateful, racist, discriminatory rhetoric coming from our “leader”, it seems that division and violence are condoned.

My sister was born with developmental and physical limitations- and throughout her life, she has been diagnosed with a variety of mental illnesses. I have seen first hand what mental illness looks like when it is un-medicated, mis-medicated, or wrongly diagnosed. I have experienced first hand how dangerous of a partnership anger and mental illness can be, and I can only imagine how different my life would be if my sister, at any point in her life, had been given access to a gun.

Now, before folks get all bent out of shape- let me clarify some things. I am NOT saying that all people with mental-illness are violent, and I am not saying that all people who own guns kill people. What I am saying, is this: in our country, we have a mental health problem, and we have a gun problem. And based on the statistics I have seen, we are seeing the consequences of our choices to not deal with either.

My sister, thanks be to God, has had advocates, care-givers, state-funded systems, and loving family behind her for her whole life. She has been nurtured and cared for in ways that many in her situation aren’t, and I am keenly aware that if it weren’t for the ways my parents have worked to take care of and protect her, it is likely that my sister would be over-medicated, locked away somewhere, and could have done immeasurable harm to herself or others.

Mental illness can be brutal, and it can make the most outrageous lie seem like a valid, Gospel truth. It can send sweet, passive people into unrecognizable rages. And mental illness thrives in silence…it thrives on the shame that is created when a diagnosis disrupts our idea of “perfection” and “normalcy”…and it thrives on the isolation that comes from people feeling cast aside by a culture that values success over balance, money over happiness, and competition over contentment.

The truth is, I don’t have an answer to all of this- but just as my sister has struggled with her own mental illness on top of her development disabilities, I have struggled. I have struggled with PTSD, anxiety, and depression for the better part of 18 years, and in so many ways, I have lived with that silently. Why? Shame, silence, perfection. ( I could write a whole different blog about toxic masculinity on this issue….)

I am clear that my struggles with mental illness are minor in the face of so many others, but when I think to my worst days, when my illness had firm grip on my mind, and my sense of reality, I am so grateful that I did not have a gun- because honestly, there have been moments in my life where had I had a gun, I would have used it.

Those words are painful for me to type- and painful for me to admit- and I am sure they are shocking and painful to read. But I have to name it.

I am not a violent person, and I love others deeply- but there were days when I believed the lies that my illness was telling me, and days when I couldn’t recognize the good in myself, let alone the good in the world.

Thankfully, my story gets to be different. My story doesn’t end in tragedy because I had resources to mental health support and experts, because I had people in my life who saw me and wouldn’t let me be isolated or cast out, and because I had access to health care, my story gets to be different.

Our world has stigmatized mental-illness in dangerous and toxic ways, and at the same time, it continues to glorify killing, hate, white-nationalism, sexism, division and prejudice. We need to confront this reality, and then, we need to do something about it.

Guns on their own are not the problem, I know plenty of responsible gun owners. Mental illness on it’s own is not the problem. I know countless people who are living full, peace-filled, lives as they navigate life with mental illness. But the rising number of shootings, and the rising number of lives lost…. those numbers are telling us that we have a mental illness problem, and a gun problem- and that both of them need to be addressed- separately and together.

I pray for God to come and fill our hearts with God’s peace- we are in desperate need of it. But I also pray for need policy change, because we need that, too. We also need to end the stigma around mental-illness, we need to speak out against rhetoric of hate, rhetoric of racism and sexism. We need to speak up for each other, to remember that we belong to one another, and that life is precious and fragile.

Together we can help each other live well with mental-illness, together, we can help put an end to gun-violence….but, we have to do it together.

If you want to get involved in ending gun-violence, or are looking for ways to take action, I encourage you to visit Presbyterian Peace Fellowship to find ways you can get involved. If you want to have a conversation with someone who is doing this work in real ways, I will introduce you to Rev. Deanna Hollas, my friend who was just ordained specifically to work in the area of Gun Violence Prevention. And please know, while these resources are specifically Presbyterian, you don’t need to be Presbyterian to use them 😉

If you need mental health resources, I encourage you to visit SAMHSA, or reach out to someone you trust to help you. And if you are reading this in the midst of your own struggle, know that you are not alone, you are loved, and the world needs you here. If you need a safe space, I will be one, or I will help you find one.

May you be filled with peace from the Creator, and may we all find ways to take action to move our world toward peace.

I leave you with the words of my friend and colleague Holly Clark- Porter, who, with her wife, has just started a new call as a Co-Pastor in El Paso, Tx. She charged all of us to prayer, and to action, and calls all of us to work together:

With all of this, let our hearts beat together.

Beat to the love.
Beat to the joy.
Beat to the courage.
Beat to the story.
Beat to the hope.
Beat to the help.

To beat to the change You’re calling us to be.
With one heart, all God’s people said, Amen.

Amen, and Amen.

pjp

Listening

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the past few weeks I have been struggling with expectations, fears, and harsh realities. In the face of some joyous and exciting professional news, I have been forced to confront (again) the realities of some of the relationships in my life.

I am surrounded by wonderful people and wonderful support. I do not, not for one second, take for granted the fact that I am married to my biggest cheerleader- a woman I can count on for support, encouragement, accountability, challenge and unending love- even when love looks like telling me a hard truth. I have the best friends, friends who remind me I am worth celebrating, friends who let me share in big moments and small, who create space for me and the ways my life has changed, friends who support and love me, no matter what. I am blessed by so many in my life- and I have started to realize that I have given them less than my full self because I have been spending energy, emotion, and time, trying to make relationships work that perhaps, it is time to let go of.

Glennon Melton-Wambach (in her book “Love Warrior”) talked about meeting herself, and deciding to protect her fiercely. Maybe that is what I am finally deciding to do, in unexpected and difficult ways. You don’t ever want to feel like you have to protect yourself from people you love, but sometimes when loving them doesn’t change their mistreatment of you, that is exactly what is necessary.

In the wake of this revelation, the universe has been kind enough to provide me with gentle but clear reminders that it is okay to make a change. Two of these reminders came to me this morning- through the words of women that I have known for years- they are women who are strong, fierce, and gentle forces of love, and balance, in the world. These women walk the talk, and have become some of the trusted voices I carry in my internal narrative each day. And today they reminded me that what isn’t right for me, isn’t meant for me- and that the expectations I have created for myself are not written in stone. So it is time to make some changes.

This past week I was fortunate enough to spend some time with a professional coach- and in the course of that discussion he noticed that I spend a lot of time apologizing for my own self- apologizing for my gifts and talents- apologizing for ideas I feel called too- and he asked me why. Tears welled in my eyes, and I heard my voice crack as I said “because my giftedness has not always been welcomed or wanted.” To hear the ways that assumed rejection had made its way into my day to day life broke my heart. To hear that I have taken a posture of apology, anticipating rejection or denial, assuming I am wrong before I even start….that was hard, but clarifying.  This coach reminded me that I am gifted, and that I am called to walk in that giftedness- by God, the One who created me as God’s own beloved.

This is the truth for all of us. We are all beloved, and we are all meant to live lives of abundance… Lives that reflect each of our own unique giftedness, and the ways those gifts are meant to serve the world. The world needs each of us to know ourselves, and to walk in our giftedness, without apology. 

What will you do to protect yourself? What are the things in your life that you need to let go of? What is “not for you”? What outdated and unhealthy expectations (from yourself or others) do you need to change, or abandon? What relationships need to change, or end?

What will you do when you meet yourself? And if you meet yourself and don’t recognize the person looking back at you, my hope is that you will turn to those who know you and love you fully, so that you may be reminded of who you are.

You are loved.

pjp