I distinctly remember sitting on Lindsay T.’s couch on July 4, 2013, drinking from a cheap Strawberry Daquiri Seagram’s bottle. “I don’t know if God loves me,” Lindsay admitted. We had recently upgraded our acquaintanceship to friendship, and this conversation was a milestone. “God loves me when I’m good,” I responded. “But deep down I’m pretty sure He’s just waiting to give up on me if I screw up.”
Just two years later when I graduated from seminary, everything had changed.
I spent three years hearing my professors say things like, “God is not the god of karma, but the God of grace,” and “It is grace that justifies us, sanctifies us, AND glorifies us,” and “When I get to heaven and God asks why I deserve to be there, I’ll just shake my head and whisper, ‘Jesus.'” I spent three years in a church that offered weekly Communion so that we never forgot where our strength comes from. I spent three years in a small group where we argued about abortion and gay marriage and Islam and transsexuality and feminism in safety and love. I spent three years befriending counselors who were delighted to discover my darkest secrets and shared their own with me. I was spoiled with grace.
But then I moved home. The problem with leaving your hometown and changing is that when you return…you revert to your old mental and emotional habits. Or at least, I do. Who was I before I learned to trust in God’s unconditional love? I was the Good Girl. I measured my worth in my modesty, I argued people into heaven, and I covered my possessions in simplistic Christian statements. I was determined to earn people’s approval. I was determined to earn God’s approval. I knew how to work the system, and honestly, it was comforting. Legalism is nothing if not controlling, and I am good at controlling things. Continue reading