Ask Me Anything

Our society is--like every society, I imagine--confused. We don't want any taboos (everything that used to be wrong is now right), but then we create them left and right (things women used to talk about are now off-limits). It can be awesome (interracial marriage is finally acceptable!) and not (don't talk about my pregnancy, breast-feeding, depression, motherhood, how many kids we're having, how my kids are behaving, where they go to school, what they eat, or whether one is adopted). 

I see more lists of "10 Things Not to Say To Someone Who _______" than almost any other subject. It's like we love creating "conditions for being around me," as if I'm so fragile and insecure that the least allusion to something personal will alienate me forever. 

What kills me is that it means people are afraid to talk about issues that are actually very important -- issues that might benefit from the light of conversation and community and the sharing of ideas. I remember when we were struggling with whether to have more children and it felt like an impossible decision to make but there are almost no resources available to help you make it. How should we approach such a decision when no one will touch it with a 10-foot pole? I even wrote a blog post about it called "The Elephant in the Room" but never published it because I was afraid to enter the conversation. Afraid.

A couple years ago I read Donald Miller's Scary Close, and in it he says:

After Bill told me I was being too careful, I went back to the old me, the me who felt permission and grace to express his thoughts and feelings. I realized in order to have a career I was going to have to face the fans and the critics. It's a decision we all have to make in our lives, you know, because at some point we all face the risk of being known. 

But here's the truth. I knew I wouldn't be completely accepted. The risk of being known is also the decision to be criticized by some. There are judges behind every bush. But it didn't matter to me anymore. I couldn't afford to be afraid to write and my soul needed to be loved and it couldn't be loved in hiding. I was professionally and personally hungry. 

So, I wrote. I wrote as though God thought my voice mattered. I wrote because I believed a human story was beautiful, no matter how small the human was. I wrote because I didn't make myself, God did and I wrote like he'd invited me to share agency. 

I felt myself being a little more sturdy on the tightrope. The ground beneath me began to sink as I wrote, but I kept writing all the same knowing the whole thing was a mirage, that there was no rope and no risk and no death for falling. I wrote blogs about politics, knowing I’d alienate some of my readers. I wrote about leaders I felt were off base, knowing their followers would slam me on their blogs. As a Christian writer, I wrote about not having attended church in more than five years. I wrote my story. I stepped out and let people know who I was, not as a shock jock, but in the kind of risk it takes to actually connect with people. 

And of course I was judged. I was criticized. To put yourself out there is to be shot at.But something strange had happened in my healing, something that went along with the reflective work I'd done to become healthy.I learned to preemptively forgive... 

And regardless of the critics, the price was worth it. I began to connect with people through blogs and essays like I'd not connected in years. For every person I'd have to turn the other cheek to, there were ten who greeted me with a kiss. It was all worth it. To remind myself to never go back to being careful, I made a list of new freedoms. 

It looked like this: I am willing to sound dumb. I am willing to be wrong. I am willing to be passionate about something that isn’t perceived as cool. I am willing to express a theory. I am willing to admit I’m afraid. I’m willing to contradict something I’ve said before. I’m willing to apologize.

This perspective has been niggling at my mind lately. I don't want to gratuitously alienate people by "taking a stand" on minor issues. I don't want folks to hear who I voted for and then nothing else I say. 

But I also realized that I often don't hear my perspective in public conversations. I can't find someone articulating exactly what I think. Jen Hatmaker usually comes closest. Sometimes our pastor, Scott Sauls, says it first and better than I could have. But ultimately, there are a lot of controversial issues that I've been hiding from. And I don't think that's healthy for me (what if I'm wrong about them but no one has the chance to correct me?), and I don't think that's healthy for my community (if I'm not talking about it, who else is hiding? and who is assuming no one thinks otherwise?).

Truthfully, I end up writing this same idea every few years on this blog (i.e. Back in the Saddle). I guess it's how I give myself the courage to write hard things once I'm fed up with not saying them. 

So, here's your fair warning. I've gotten a lot of questions lately about how I decided to stay home with my kids. The issue of whether women should lead in the church will not die. And I have a feeling this presidential election may drive me to some sort of statement. 

As a result, some of you may like me less. But maybe those who disagree with me will teach me something or at least come to understand another point of view. If nothing else, we'll know each other a little better. And in the meantime, I pray someone else finds a kindred spirit, food for thought, and the freedom to speak their mind as well.