I’m a country girl from way back. Rumor has it my family is related to Daniel Boone, the man who continuously moved west, opening new territory because he needed “elbow room” and because, so the story goes, he felt that if he could see the smoke from his neighbor’s chimney, they were just too close.

Whether we were related or not, I can empathize with “Old Boone”. Driving down the highway, I tense if a car is closer than three car lengths ahead or behind me. I hug the shoulder, especially when being passed-being less than a car width away from another driver is just uncomfortable to me.

Walking or standing, there is an imaginary buffer zone we keep around us, called personal space. Some people don’t need much. Others need a lot. I’m one of the ‘a lot’ people. I can understand if someone reaches out to shake my hand. But I’ll meet them half way. The cashier who hands me cash and casually brushes my hand in the exchange disturbs me, because she unwittingly entered my space. Warn me about those frontal hugs, please. I much prefer shoulder to shoulder hugs. Even then, I need to mentally prepare for a few seconds before contact.

In the malls and on the streets, and especially at church, people constantly invade my space. I’ve watched others pile together like puppies, and I laugh at their antics. But I prefer to stay on the outskirts of such activities. Fun? Oh, yes. But put me in the middle and I’ll act like a cat over a bucket of water.

Friends begin to realize that my personal space zone is pretty broad. They are careful to stay out of this space, or to give fair warning before entering it. I’m grateful and much more comfortable for their understanding.

Spiritually, I need space too. Room to grow and react in. Space to be myself, to live up to my potential and to realize my dreams. Too many rules, and I begin to feel stifled. It isn’t that the rules are bad. I can even enjoy them at times, and I understand why others might need or enjoy them. But I need to be given the opportunity to decide which I will follow, and to grow into them on my own.

Having people to be accountable can also be great, but again, people need to warn me before they step in my spiritual space. I don’t care to be watched and hovered over. I need people to trust me and allow me some independence. Perhaps I’m like the teenager who never questioned parental authority. Still, if the parents don’t give me a chance to grow up, I will find a way to grow around the restrictions and overcome them, even if it means distancing myself from them. Like the tree next to a barbed wire fence, I’ll either move the fence or I’ll make the fence a part of me, but I will grow, whether the fence or the farmer want me to or not.

We need boundaries to grow, but we also need space. The amount of space we need can change through the years. But we all need some amount. The sooner we recognize and respect...

mary

For years I wanted to be a missionary. I was raised in the '80s. We are the World was one of my favorite songs. Missions work seemed like the ultimate adventure, and still allowed me the opportunity to help others.

When I was first shamed, my pastor knew my desire. He told me several times that he didn't want me at his church, so maybe I should just go be a missionary. Not knowing what was happening, I decided that missions work was out of the question for me, because I was so messed up I couldn't even be a good saint, much less someone who could reach out and touch others.

For years after that, I hid the pieces of my dream. I built some other dreams, and tried to follow them instead. And I did. But I wasn't satisfied.

Dreams mean a lot to people. If someone shares their dream with you, treasure it, protect it, and encourage it. Don't kill it, crush it, or break it. Dreams are precious things, but they are fragile, after all.

No, I don't see myself biking across China passing out bibles. But God has a purpose and it isn't too late to find it. My childhood dream was glorious, but in reality it wasn't so much about travelling the world as it was about helping others and doing something for God. Maybe its time to brush the dust off of my dreams, to polish them a bit and examine them in the light of experience. Maybe they weren't so broken, after all. Even if they were, I think I know now Who can fix them.

~Mary

mary

Its been hard for me, knowing that people will refuse to remain friends if I "backslide". But I haven't backslid. I have simply stopped going to a certain building a few times a week. If I had a friend that told me they wouldn't talk to me unless I shopped in Walmart, I wouldn't consider that person much of a friend. Same with these now-I'm still there for them if they want me, but its their choice whether to express friendship to me or not. I'm not responsible for their actions. My decision was simply to stop going to a certain place. I didn't walk out on God or them, but just did what was best for me. Now its their choice what they do. Doesn't make losing them easier, but it would have been harder to lose God, and that's where I was headed.

Relationships in the church seemed so shallow. I always thought it was just me, that I couldn't connect, maybe I was less spiritual or just shallow myself. More than likely those were not the reasons for shallow relationships though.

In the church, we were told that getting hurt in church was worse than most hurts in the world, because the church was our "family" and we were "so close". I wasn't close to them though. Not the way I was to family and friends growing up. To me being close means being able to laugh with people, to play games, to just be together without wondering if they would think I was "carnal". Closeness to someone means being able to relax around them, to "let your hair down" and just be yourself.

Its nice to think I might meet some people that aren't weighing every word I say, judging every move. I need friends. The kind of friends who are there at your roughest times to pick you back up, to love you. They are simply there. They seem to know when you need that encouraging word, that helping hand, that smile or hug. And they give it without hesitation, no matter what you've done or what others have said. I want friends like that, and I want to be a friend like that. Have I got some friends like that? I'm working on it. True friendships take time. But they're worth it.

mary

Got a text message earlier that I needed to talk to the pastor, from another saint. And tonight an all saints meeting was called, rather than regular service. I'm nervous as to what might happen in a way.

Over the past few years, I've looked at several of the various oddities within this church, the conservative movement I was a part of, and pentecost as a whole. No one would answer my questions for a long time. The answer was always to go ask the pastor. When I asked the pastor I was told that I was rebellious or thought I was smarter than him. I was expected to accept what was preached as gospel, and never look to the gospel or the God of the gospel for answers beyond the pulpit.

I hope these are anomalies-that they are not common in Pentecost. But the more I have read, the more I realize that I'm not alone in my experiences.

For a long time I refused to consider leaving the church, because they preached Jesus name baptism, Holy Ghost, and holiness of dress. But questions about other teachings started creeping into my mind. After two separate incidents, a year apart, when I was accused and charged guilty of something without being given a chance to explain (or in the second case to even know what they were talking about), I started looking into the scriptures more thoroughly. I stopped reading the Bible, but if something seemed strange, I'd referenceu the passage and read it in several versions if need be.

Several things began to disturb me:
the belief that the pastor was always right, and that he could not be questioned.
the concept that if the pastor said to do something, it must be done.
preference of one person over another.
letting down on standards held for decades, while still arguing that others (who used the same reasons for letting down on other things) were wrong
making women lesser saints
Not allowing women to be as involved
catch phrases that demanded a shout
rebukes for not shouting on catch phrases, or not shouting enough.
Meaningless songs with a few words repeated over and over and over and...

Its sad, really. I didn't want to leave, and I never thought I would stop believing certain things. I've wondered if I would have been better off if I'd left months or years ago when the problems started. I miss my church friends, but there weren't that many of them. I miss church activities to a degree. But I'm not sad to leave.

I wonder what will happen now, where I'll go or what I'll do. Will there be a church I feel comfortable in? Where? When? Should I take time off from church or plow back into it? Should I go to a oneness church or just let that go? Will I ever be able to marry now that I've left? Will I put too much emphasis on a new pastor, following the old, ingrained rules?

There are no answers to these questions, but I'm satisfied. At first after leaving (its only been a week)...

mary

There is a concept in the church I'm from that we can live above sin. If we sin after we come to God, we are told, we are, at best, living beneath our privileges. Sin doesn't have control of our lives now, therefore we shouldn't sin.

I have several issues with these thoughts, but there is one that really gets me. Perfection. The five fold ministry is for "the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry." So we are to be brought to perfection or maturity. But what is perfect? What is mature? Simple (they say). Don't cut your hair, don't put on makeup, don't wear pants, always wear long sleeves, don't wear jewelry (including wedding bands or bracelet watches). Don't go on a date without a chaperone, or hold hands or kiss until you're married. Don't lie. Respect the ministry, never talk bad about the man of God or his family, and never question what a leader says. Don't wear hairbows, don't wear anything in your hair that doesn't match your hair color. Don't wear red, don't wear certain shoes, don't wear denim to church, don't wear denim jackets or caps ever. Sit like a lady. Stay submissive. Learn when to clap and shout and run, and always do these at the right times. Don't be out after midnight, don't fellowship nonApostolics, don't drink or chew or cuss or swear....


The list goes on and on. Is that perfection? Following a list of proscribed do's and don'ts? Is that maturity? Or is perfection-is maturity-accepting ourselves and others as we are, while still becoming more like Jesus? What happened to love? Was it perfected right out of the church? Am I immature because I doubt these types of restraints in my 30s? Are others more mature because they watch to see when I make a mistake and immediately report it to the pastor (and gossip about it in the meantime)? Is the pastor in a place of spiritual perfection and maturity when he yells that I have a women's lib spirit, because I supposedly broke one of these rules?

Perfection, maturity, is so far beyond any list of do's and don'ts. I fear we've missed it. When I start to do something and stop to think, "if someone saw...", rather than considering how Jesus would think or just being able to relax and enjoy myself in some small way, that is anything but maturity, spiritual or otherwise.

If lists of rules were perfection, the Pharisees and Jesus would have been great friends, I suppose. But they weren't. It was Jesus who said "ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cummin, and forget the weightier matters of the law... these ought ye have done, and not to leave the other undone". It was Jesus who said "he that is without sin, let him cast the first stone." Jesus stepped beyond the rules and touched the heart.

God calls us, as Christians, beyond a list of rules. We are called by Him into a place of trust and faith and love. We desire to do our best for him, but our best isn't anymore...

mary