The Chrysalis of Doubt

She was so eloquent and passionate, but I just absolutely, at my core, disagreed. She was almost there; she had part of the truth. She was talking about doubt and how the Shiny, Happy People at churches don’t want us to talk about it. No, not just talk. They don’t even want us to whisper about it.

She said it was dangerous to hide this topic within ourselves. Yes, I agree. Hiding is rarely the answer. Then, she said doubt was the enemy and I cringed. She said there was ]’a war being waged over our belief and that doubt was the enemy. I just couldn’t get¬† on board. I couldn’t be moved from my foundation. War waging is rarely the answer.

You see, I have doubts and it makes people really uncomfortable around me. I either become a pariah or a project. Pariahs are avoided, unfriended, unfollowed and forgotten. Projects are prayed about and worked on. Neither of those roles is a comfortable one for me, but I’ve decided something recently.

I’m willing to be around people who are uncomfortable with me. I scare people sometimes. I talk about suicide, depression, darkness, pain, fear, ugliness. There are very few boxes here and they are not wrapped in pretty bows and paper. They are tattered boxes, used and crinkly.

They are perfect for playing in, I’ve noticed.

Doubt is a Friend

One of my favorite people that I’ve never met says, “The opposite of faith is certainty.” I think the favorite person might be Brene Brown or it might be Anne Lamott – not really sure. Regardless, it is a fabulous point. If you are certain of something, then how are you having faith?

In the lifecycle of faith, doubt is the chrysalis. In the cocoon of doubt, we can be fully ourselves – angry, fearful, tearful, sad, frightened, confused and absolutely breathtaking. It is the cocoon that people watch with bated breath, wondering what will emerge.

I personally imagine that I emerge an ugly, hideous moth. Ha! I am okay with this now. Moths are infinitely more useful than butterflies. Moths are pollinators just like butterflies and actually account for more of the pollinating action than butterflies. Go figure!

The other thing I love about moths is that they are largely nocturnal. You see them and are annoyed at how they flock to the porch light, I am sure. Yet, I have learned to love darkness. It is my home. There is beauty in darkness, just as there is beauty in the light. There is the darkness that brings solace, that brings rest and dreams. The darkness of caressing couples too. It is not entirely bad, as one might think.

Yes, I am a moth. In my cocoon of doubt, I have stopped fighting. This is only part of the process – to wonder, to guess, to be intrigued. Perhaps it is even the best part. I don’t really know if I will settle on “God exists” or “God is a myth” or ”

God is not concerned with me”. I sort of like being here – in this possibility. I can be all things to all people and connected to all people too. I understand those who believe wholeheartedly, because I have been in that phase of the lifecycle. I understand those who don’t believe, because I have been there too. And I even understand those who believe He is unconcerned, because I am sort of there right now.

All I can say to myself and those who find doubt in themselves is “Good, you are growing, maturing.” If in this lifecycle, you choose to believe or not believe, just remember that cycles repeat and next time you might choose something else. Nothing is forever. Today, I doubt. Tomorrow I might believe. The weight of today and tomorrow is more profound, more enriching when we are honest.

Truth is an evolution. My favorite words.

Candidly,

Ash

 

Unboxing a Deity

I’ve written in some of the posts about my faith in God. I try not to think about what people will *think* of my faith or lack of it, that is. It’s hard to separate our beliefs from the people around us, our relationships. How do I connect with someone who knew me as a Jesus-freak, cross wearing non-swearer?

I swear pretty damn good now. (Sometimes even in front of the children) I think I still love Jesus. He always appealed to me – loving and attending to the small, forgotten, less fortunate. The cross, however, makes me cringe, if I’m completely honest. Maybe I don’t care to know a god who uses his son’s blood to wipe away the ugliness of humanity. Maybe I want a god who doesn’t require me to be perfect in order to spend eternity with him or her. Maybe I’d like to know a god who loves me sin and all, no human sacrifice necessary.

It makes me wonder if all of the shame I feel for existing, doesn’t have a relationship with being raised to believe that I had sin nature – that in and of myself, I will do wrong. I mean, I hardly believe I’m perfect or that anyone is perfect. But born to sin? I think not. I’ve held too many perfect, innocent babies in my arms to believe that the *sin* quotient plays into things from the start.

If I were to sum up a lot of what has been happening in my heart spiritually, I would say it is a deep need to reconcile what I have believed with what I do believe now. It comes down to writing what I feel to be true in my soul. I think it is good to explore these thing, write them down, scribble them out, change…

I feel that God is real and benevolent and even God instead of god. I feel that Jesus is worth following and that others are probably worth following too. I’m partial to Jesus though. Maybe its because I was raised that way or because my heart simply remembers Him from the many moments in childhood – moments of pain, in which words from the Bible were the only comfort I found. Jesus knew I was depressed long before I did. I’m certain of that.

I also feel that God isn’t discriminatory. If He or She knows good and evil, then He/She knows how grey the lines between the two can be. I think maybe God is more okay with uncertainty than we think. Maybe God could care less about the holiness of our lives and more about whether we are searching for a spiritual path in the midst of the rubble. Maybe the journey is truly more important than the destination.

Destination – how I hate this part. Heaven. Hell. I remember people in church saying things like “The worst part of hell is that we would be separated from God.”

I’ve been to hell. Maybe not that metaphorical or literal place, but I have definitely been places without God. Many times of my own choosing and many times at no fault of my own.

People (and the Bible) say that God will never forsake us. I wonder what that word “forsake” meant in its original language, because I have felt forsaken and, I think, I have actually been forsaken. Then, that thought alone brings me in a circle. If God is benevolent then how have felt forsaken so very often. Then, another thought, we choose what we feel…and other bull shit. (Not really¬† bull shit, but sometimes I don’t want to analyze my thinking and choose the necessary thought and then feel the way the thought tells me to feel. Sometimes I just want to be good and angry!)

It felt like God was gone, whether he was or wasn’t. I perceived him as gone, absent. It fucking hurt. It still hurts.

I could do this circling all day long. I can reason and weave my way through a web of contradiction to an evolved truth.

But it may not be functional for tomorrow or a week from now. If walk the spiraling staircase of my belief and faith every single day, then I may not get anything else done. Maybe this, all of this back and forth about God or god and benevolence, maybe its simply a distraction.

I’m distracted from the present moment in which it felt good to say to a benevolent deity, “I know you see me. Please help me.” I think and say things like that all of the time. Perhaps they will never go away. Perhaps its hard-wired into me.

Perhaps it matters very little whether God or god exists or that he is good or wise. Perhaps all that matters is that the breath I take as I say those words centers me, reminds me that maybe, just maybe, all is not lost. Help can be found. I am seen. I am heard. I am not alone.

Perhaps it is what my best friend and I call “both/and”. I may be by myself AND I am not alone. I may not believe God is real and I still pray. BOTH can be true AND I can sit with the contradiction. Both/And.

I am not lost and I am not found. I am simply present.

Candidly,

Ash

Truth is an Evolution

It’s another one of those days. I feel like I have nothing to say, but I’ve learned too well that its actually the opposite. I know to keep going, keep trying, because chances are this empty feeling is related to repressing my emotions. I flip through my last few days like it is a catalog, searching for the point in time where I didn’t give myself enough freedom.

I find it, that moment. I was writing about Evan, trying to create a book for special needs mamas. I shared all of the things – the dark things, the very intensive trial and error with more error than anything else. Most of the time, I find that when I’m repressing emotion, its largely the emotions swirling around my little boy.

He’s getting big so very fast. Writing the section for my book titled “Our Story” is the essence of draining. Our story now spans seven years and there is much to say. This first round through it, I figured I would just do highlights of the story as I wrote and come back in the second draft with more detail.

I’m not sure there is going to be a second draft.

My brain wants to tell me that I’m a wimp. This is too hard. Its not worth it. The agony of reliving so many moments, so many hopes to be ended in complete letdown. My brain doesn’t want me to go into those depths and feel. My brain wants to preserve equilibrium. It knows this area is the epicenter of the quake coming to claim me.

I’ve been learning something lately – something that helps me open the conflict and pain in my soul.

Just because I’m hurting, doesn’t mean I am hurt. Just because I grieve, doesn’t mean I am bereaved. Just because I cry, doesn’t mean I am broken. Just because something is hard, doesn’t mean it won’t soften.

Absolutes are the death trap of my mind. They bind me up and twist me in knots. I don’t want to be riddled with conflict so I have to loosen my grip on those absolutes.

I used to believe in absolute truth. I was taught to believe in absolute truth. Literally, I sat in a small Christian school learning how to “defend” absolute truth.

I don’t believe in absolute truth anymore.

I believe truth is an evolution.

People say, “Nothing changes.” Others say, “Everything changes.” I think they are all correct. In this moment, there are some things that have been the same forever and somethings that have changed drastically. The only thing absolute is that there are no absolutes – a contradictive statement in itself.

I think the scary thing about our world is that contradiction is not accepted. It is vilified, personified, dramatized. Yet, what if contradiction was a bastion, a beacon for peace? Perhaps the beacon for peace would say to those arriving, “Here lie two truths, neither incorrect. They are apparently contradicting, but at second glance comprehensive. Stay awhile until you can see how a pattern forms and weaves itself into a tapestry.”

Later today, as I am writing our little story about autism, this is what I want to remember – that while the memory hurts, I am not presently hurting. I am well and coming from a place of strength to write this story. I can write this story and be well, at peace. Just because I paused, doesn’t mean I will stop.

Candidly,

Ash