One More Truth

Responsive faith with a trauma informed lens

  • POSTS
  • CATEGORIES
    • Balance/Discipline
    • Beauty/Being Present
    • Courage/Wisdom
    • Faith/Trust
    • Fear/Loss
    • Freedom/Choice
    • Goodness/Gladness
    • Grace/Gratitude
    • Hope/Endurance
    • Love…the greatest of all
    • Mind/Body
    • Peace/Rest
  • ABOUT
  • ARTICLES/PODCASTS
  • TRAINING & SPEAKING

Prayer of the Wholehearted

March 8, 2021 by michelle Leave a Comment

When I was ten, my dad accepted a pastorate position at a church in central Ohio. It was a plain building surrounded by cornfields, with a massive steeple that pointed high above the crops. During growing seasons, that steeple was the only evidence of the little church in the middle of nowhere.

Our move away from my grandparents and friends made me restless, so my dad invited me to come along on his Saturday adventures of running errands or visiting church families. Sometimes we’d pass a quiet afternoon at the church, situating rooms and chairs for service the next day.

One of my favorite things to do in the empty church was stand behind the podium like my dad did every Sunday. Trying to see what he saw, I’d strain my toes for a look at the rows of seats, but I was a small kid. I had a great view of the podium, but nothing else. A yellow Post-It note was stuck there, a memento from the former pastor. He’d written on it, “We want to see Jesus”.

It took me decades to understand the significance of those words…(Finish reading at Joy of It.)

 

On Instagram? Follow @onemoretruth for thoughts and random fun!

Saying ‘Yes’ & Occasionally Feeling Like a Failure

January 19, 2021 by michelle 6 Comments

When I was asked to facilitate a recovery support group at the crisis center where I work and volunteer, I hesitated. My life was full and confusing already. I said ‘yes’ anyway.

The first week, COVID was paying my home an uninvited visit, so I facilitated the group over Zoom. I introduced myself and then asked the masked faces to introduce themselves. Nothing. Undeterred, I dove right into the first step of recovery and the supporting verses from the curriculum. Nothing. Thinking the audio might be an issue, I resorted to writing key words on separate sheets of paper, holding each sheet up to the tiny lens on my laptop.

Blank stares.

I wanted to believe the disconnect was caused by Zoom screens, my congested voice, or possibly, my illegible handwriting, but before that long hour ended, I’d figured out the reason behind the uncomfortable silence – every woman in the group spoke Spanish. Most of them knew a little English and some knew as much English as I knew Spanish.

I’d committed to facilitate the group under the assumption it would be effortless, but it would not be effortless after all. The leader’s guide had acronyms for English words – useless. The tabbed and organized supplemental material stuffed in a binder thick enough to stop a speeding bullet – useless. My conversational style of teaching that includes one question every five minutes – useless. The French I’d learned in high school, because I guess I thought I’d be spending large portions of my adult life in France – useless.

I’d need to employ small words and concepts, big gestures and facial expressions (with a mask on, Lord help me). I’d need the woman in the group with the best English to be a translator. I’d need the Spanish leader’s guide so I could write out acronyms that would actually benefit the women attending. All of this would burn far more mental calories than I had to spare. But when the center manager asked if I’d please give it a try, I said ‘yes’.

Again.

I’m a hopeful person.

I’m also a glutton for trying new things.

I’m also, like any normal person, highly motivated by positive outcomes.

Not sure what I thought these positive outcomes might be, but they did not include having my limits and weaknesses on display week after week while standing with a smile, a dry erase marker, and an infantile Spanish vocabulary. I love my ladies, let me make that clear. But I’m better suited for ‘jump in, jump out, move on’ kinds of things. At the very least, I’m better suited for work that doesn’t make me feel like a failure.

Nope. Not God’s plan. Instead, He places me in long game work where I can practice the plodding of diligence. I’m not the plodding type, but I value diligence, so last week, I prayed while driving, “Lord, I’m showing up in body with a little bit of heart. Please fill in the rest.” (And then I counted the remaining chapters in the leader’s guide next to me. Two more weeks of plodding.)

Ironically, grace was the week’s topic. It was a surprisingly easy topic to teach with only a body and a little bit of heart. We looked up verses that define grace (they looked up verses that define gracia) and I wrote the definitions on the markerboard.

Grace = not earned

Grace = paid by Christ

Grace = unending

I could have written, ‘Grace = Lord, please fill in the rest’, but I wasn’t sure it’d translate.

The discussion wasn’t electric by any means, but we were getting somewhere. Then my translator, a big-hearted woman who leaks joy, said, “God’s grace is…uhhhh,” she paused to find the English words. “Too much love!”

Too much love: the remedy for a lost perspective. Such good words to rally the wandering pieces of my fragmented soul.

When I live like God’s love is too much for me, I see diligence through the lens of hope. I see that plodding work is really planting work – and I’m grateful to do it. My work is obedience and God works the outcomes. In my weakness or strength (but especially in my weakness), I give Him my best and He makes it good.

I’m prepared for the lesson this week. Ironically, it’s about Gratitude. I’m sure I’ll butcher the Spanish language on accident, but I’m sure I’ll also hear some incredible stories and a beautiful prayer or two from the ladies. They call me ‘teacher’. Mmmmm…too much love.

 

 

 

 

Love, pendulums, and the Author of grace

August 5, 2019 by michelle 4 Comments

Last week a CNN article announced a prominent Christian author and former pastor was walking away from both his marriage and the Christian faith. Newsweek had covered the story, as had USA Today, NPR, and Fox News, making it apparent the mainstream public cared just as much about the story as Christian circles. That doesn’t happen very often.

But a pendulum swing is always big news, I suppose, making Joshua Harris’ story a journalistic feast.

‘I Kissed Dating Goodbye‘ hit bookshelves in January of 1997. Harris was young, but his book –  essentially the teen guidebook for Christian purity – would launch him into Christian stardom. It sold 1 million copies, and although it was written with good intentions, it quickly became a legalistic handbook on fear rather than love.

Fear constructs ideals and judgements and calls them religion. Fear develops formulas and sorts people into categories of right and wrong, acceptable and unacceptable. Fear gets puffy and ugly and raises hate flags.

Fear wasn’t what Joshua Harris intended to communicate. He asked the publisher to stop printing his book and made an apology for his words and any destruction they’d caused. But I wonder if he forgave himself, because I know – painfully – making apologies doesn’t indicate anything about a personal understanding of forgiveness. Two decades after becoming Christian famous, Harris wrote new words – he was leaving faith. He was kissing the Christian circle goodbye.

I was truly sad about it, not because I always love the Christian circle, because I’ll be honest, sometimes I don’t. Not because I’d been a fan of Harris’ book. I never read it, but in a way, it shaped me. 

I was a senior in high school working at the Family Christian Store the day the book came out, and I was eight months pregnant. Joshua Harris was the poster child for doing everything right as a Christian teen, and I was the poster child for doing everything wrong as a Christian teen, and for the final month of my pregnancy, I carried an illegitimate child while also carrying stacks of the purity guidebook, lining them up on empty shelves, all neat and tidy. I grew a thick skin during that month, for a lot of reasons.

I’d work at the bookstore for several more years and countless pastors, youth leaders, and other kids my age would continue gushing about the book, asking, ‘Have you read it yet and don’t you think it’s wonderful and isn’t it about time we go back to the days of not kissing anyone until your wedding day?’

I was feeding a baby every couple hours. I was trying to make it to graduation. At any given moment I was thinking about buying diapers or worrying my abusive ex would show up and threaten to take my greatest treasure. I didn’t have the energy to agree or disagree with one man’s opinion written in a book. I didn’t have time to take sides, or explain the dangers of creating polarized sides on an issue in the first place. And any idealized dreams I’d formed about relationships, marriage, sexuality, or womanhood had been deconstructed in less than a year, so I wasn’t aiming for perfect – I was grappling for grace.

And the beautiful part of my story is, I found it. 

Becoming a teen mom in the height of purity culture taught me a lot about grace – that I didn’t need a formula for Christianity, I just needed Christ. I needed the good form of both humility and dignity, because without them, I couldn’t love or be loved. I learned how to live on the outer fringes of the Christian circle of ‘acceptable’, but I never felt like I had to leave the circle. I knew Who had invited me; I knew I belonged.

Grace doesn’t swing on the pendulum of our understanding, on the pendulum of our culture, on the pendulum of fear or pain or disillusionment. Grace doesn’t swing away from mistakes or swing closer when we get it right. We can’t explain it, we have to experience it from the source: Jesus.

So it makes me very sad when Harris, or anyone, walks away from faith in Christ, because they will not find grace apart from Him. I’ve tried to brute force my way through pain, questions, suffering, and failure without the gift of grace – and it broke me. Brute force always breaks.

The day after reading the announcement, I did as I always do on Tuesday and volunteered at Hope, a center for women in crisis. I sat in a circle with my women and facilitated the discussion. We didn’t talk about the news, we talked about things that mattered, about challenges and suffering, about joy and goodness. We were honest with each other and we listened. We asked questions we wouldn’t dare ask in church. We spoke truth without defending it, and we didn’t rush to give answers. 

I have a very good circle. Yes, it is still on the fringes of the Christian circle, and yes, I like it that way, but here’s the deal: the people in my circle – at Hope and elsewhere – are living like their God is as big and as loving as He says He is. They don’t pretend to know it all or do it all right, and no matter what is going on in their mind, body, circumstance, emotions, relationships, or in the world around them, they keep following Christ. I need that. We all do. (Note to reader: Get a good circle!)

We discussed strength and its many forms, deciding on these:

The best strength is agile trust in a good God – regardless. 

The best strength is resolute faith that endures – even though. 

The best strength is resilient hope that refocuses and responds, ‘Maybe today.’

And above all else, in all things, our greatest strength is knowing and believing we have a God who is right here, unchanged by our understanding, unafraid of our questions and doubts, and completely unwilling to be stingy with grace. 

So my friends, let’s live like we believe that. Let’s pray for each other and encourage each other. Let’s continue following the One who loved us first, extending and reflecting His love to those who don’t believe, to those who have walked away, to those who are seeking, and to those who are wandering, because there is still Good News and it hasn’t changed. 

 

As always, feel free to share. Thanks for reading.

What Grows in Waiting Spaces

July 12, 2019 by michelle 4 Comments

I met with a new friend yesterday. We’d scheduled to meet twice before, and both times we’d cancelled – because work, because travel, because life. January became July, and we finally made a date we didn’t have to break.

We were just two white gals with our laptops in Starbucks, still strangers, but deep in conversation, deeply connected by the conversation the Spirit of God had been having in both our hearts since January. And I realized while sitting there, in those six months of broken connection, God had been breaking common ground within us. There was purpose in His timing.

A few months back, my daughter and I strolled to the mailbox in the dark. I’d been waiting for the magazine that had printed my words, and for 7 days at least, I’d hustled to the mailbox in expectation, all the while, tamping my enthusiasm, just in case. On the way, I said I’d give up waiting if it wasn’t there.

It wasn’t there.

And on the way home, I said I’d keep waiting after all, because I’m wired to be a hopeful dreamer, even though sometimes, I wish I wasn’t. Carrying hope is tiring. Endurance exposes my weakness.

But that’s just it – I practice endurance. I finish my chores all the way before I cross them off. I get 5 hours of exercise a week, no questions asked. And when something comes out of me that isn’t a fruit of the Spirit, I give my heart a full examination, confront the problem, and dig it out. I take risks that could end in crushing disappointment – and sometimes they have. Endurance and waiting should be easier by now.

I took a risk last week and now I’m in the restless space between hope born and hope realized. I see it on the horizon sometimes, and I nod. I like seeing it there, expecting something ahead, but for now, I’m in the waiting space, the space of dependence, the space of patience. The space where I find out I’m not that patient.

These are the times when I when I chew gum like fiend, my jaw pounding harder than my heartbeat. These are the times when I criticize my body, holding the old lie that if I looked better, life would be better. These are the times the doubt voice is loudest and the accusations make more sense than the truth. These are the times when I wonder why I fiddle with hope at all, because courage takes guts and guts require hustle and sometimes I’d rather just wrap myself in the comfy blanket of apathy and drink my coffee without a single thought in my head, for heaven’s sake.

It’s a lie though. Who would I be without hope?

The journey of spiritual growth doesn’t have blankets, it has covers – of peace and strength, patience and ridiculous courage. Faith assures us what we see isn’t the whole picture and what we can’t see yet – the purpose and good of it all – will push through only if we do. Enduring hope is the journey; hope realized is hindsight. It’s when we see the gathering of many pieces in His perfect timing. It’s when we see ourselves at a table, connecting with someone of similar spirit, saying things we couldn’t have understood without the journey and the space to grow.

The spaces in which we wait aren’t times, but timing. I struggle to believe it in the waiting, but it always proves true in the end. God has the supernatural ability to finish everything He starts. We carry hope and He carries out His purpose – every time.

In all that you wait for and hope for, be encouraged, friend. And keep on.

 

Everyone needs truth. If One More Truth will encourage someone you know, feel free to share. Find weekly posts on Instagram: @onemoretruth

 

 

Next Page »

Michelle

Hi, I'm Michelle. I write about adversity, movement, and responsive faith, all through a trauma-informed lens. I've written for a variety of publications, including the Women's Devotional Bible in The Message (2024). Contact me for speaking engagements, podcast episodes, or articles for your publication. If you're just here to read, enjoy. I'm glad you're here.

Search

Want more truth?

Loading

Copyright © 2023 · One More Truth · Design + Development By Your Marketing BFF

Copyright © 2023 · Beautiful Pro Theme on Genesis Framework · WordPress · Log in