Rape Culture and the Megachurch

 My experience with sexual assault and harassment at Idlewild Baptist Church

“Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what they have done has been in the sight of God.”

-          John 3:20-21

 

I’m 30 years old, and up until a few years ago, I attended Idlewild Baptist Church. I attended Idlewild my entire life, was married there and dedicated my babies there. I served in the nursery as a volunteer for several years and worked on staff in childcare from 2017-2018. During my time as a student and a young adult, I witnessed and experienced several instances of mental, emotional and sexual abuse, as well as elaborate coverups to keep these incidents quiet.

 

I’m 30 years old, and I’m tired of being quiet while more women are harmed, while our children are at risk, and while the church turns a blind eye to the evil being carried out by men in leadership at Idlewild. I’m tired of continuing to participate in church community that communicates to its young men that they can take out their unresolved trauma and unpleasant feelings on the women around them, and that they can get away with it. Please understand that I’m telling the truth. I’m telling my story the way I experienced it.

On August 12^th, I was sexually assaulted by a man I’ve known for the majority of my adolescence and adult life. His name is Jack Tinker. A few months ago Jack learned about sexual assault that I had experienced earlier in life, and at that point began a cycle of mental and emotional abuse and manipulation. He would work to obtain intimate information about my life, my marriage, my psychiatric issues, abuse I’d lived through, friendships I had, and use it against me. He would leverage any information he obtained and weaponized it to demand pictures or other sexual content. For example, he repeatedly asked me to video call him while I was in the shower, even though I repeatedly said no. On multiple instances, he tried to pressure me into going to meet and hook up with random strangers from the internet, even though I repeatedly said no and asked him to stop bringing it up. He was consistently trying to pressure me into uncomfortable or unsafe situations so that he could get off or gain more leverage over my identity. I didn’t give Jack any say in my sexuality, or participate in any of these unsafe situations he tried to arrange. I did not take any of his behavior as threatening, because he normalized it. It’s important to make clear, he did all of this in the context of friendly conversations that didn’t feel overtly threatening. Though I see it as psychological abuse now, it didn’t feel like abuse or manipulation at the time. I usually walked away from those interactions feeling mildly annoyed, not violated. Sociopaths and serial abusers are intelligent, they don’t show up at your door one day out of the blue and assault you. They find weak spots, bring them up in conversation till it feels normal, casually tease you about your sex life, flippantly throw out vague comments about their own baggage so it feels like two friends venting… they play the long game until they can create a situation in which your guard is down, and they can overpower and control you. If you throw a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will panic and jump out instinctively. But there is an old wives’ tale that you put a frog in water that’s room temperature, and eventually raise the temperature, it will sit until it boils to death. You can’t control women you scare away, and in Jack’s case, he invested time, mental energy and careful planning in raising the temperature and the degree of abuse.

 

On August 12^th, Jack Tinker created a situation in which I was vulnerable, and he was able to overpower and exert control. He had not been able to control me sexually prior to this point, and hid his frustration under a veil of casual, platonic friendship. I had expressed to Jack multiple times that I had no interest in a physical relationship with him and that I wanted him to stop asking me. He pretended that this was OK, that he had no interest in me sexually, and that he would respect the boundary I had set. This was a lie, and when my guard was down, I was sexually assaulted. (HCSO Case Number: 2020-554779)

 

To complete the entire picture, let’s rewind to about fifteen years ago at Idlewild, when Jack and I were high-school age and attending Idlewild. It was around this time that Eddie Struble was leaving Idlewild after several years of allegedly preying on young students in the student ministry. You would think that his leaving would have been the result of the police being called, an investigation being done, and him being publicly fired, but this was not the case. After several years of reports being made that the music pastor was engaging in inappropriate behavior with underage students, and several years of covering it up, Eddie took a different job at a different church, with a mostly unscathed reputation. Why was a pedophile allowed to remain on staff, evade accountability, and walk out the door free to harm others?

 

Shortly after Eddie’s departure, Leo Villanueva was hired as the youth music Pastor. Handsome, married with a daughter, talented and the recipient of a “Dove award,” it seemed like Leo would be a great change of pace. Leo started grooming me when I was 17 years old. After a breakup with a boyfriend, Leo took the opportunity to capitalize on my vulnerability and initiate an emotional affair with me. What started as flirtation turned into emotional and mental abuse: demanding responses, pictures, telling me he loved me and becoming rude and vindictive if I didn’t say it back fast enough. Extremely immature tactics, but always making sure that I knew if I really cared about him, I wouldn’t tell anyone about “us.” Leo began working to create opportunities for us to be alone, to drive out of town on various student events together, after I turned 18 in the Fall, of course. I genuinely believe that, had I not shared with friends that this “relationship” was going on, leading to his behavior being reported to the other pastors, he would have coerced me into a sexual relationship very soon.

 

I wish I was exaggerating; I wish I didn’t have this story to tell. I wish that I could say I flourished at Idlewild feeling safe, feeling like I was cared about as an individual, but I didn’t. When Leo’s relationship with me was investigated, Idlewild was given access to our texts, emails, photos – they had concrete proof that the story I’m telling today is true. But instead of holding Leo accountable in a way that restricted his access to students he was a danger to, he was left in place, and I was told to leave if I was uncomfortable being around him. Because abusers don’t act in isolation, this behavior continued with others, multiple times, until he was allowed to resign, unscathed, and similar to Eddie, continued working in churches and youth ministries for several more years. After several more years at Idlewild, most of which were shared in congregation with my abusers, I left Idlewild and never went back.

 

These are my experiences – this is what I have endured and witnessed. If we were to go over every single instance in which Idlewild turned a blind eye to women who experienced abuse, manipulation, exploitation and harassment under their roof, I would run out of time. I’ve heard from women who reported domestic/emotional/verbal abuse and were told the solution was to pray for a change of heart in themselves. Women who experienced extreme harassment, stalking, other violations of their persons and autonomy from men in the church, were told to leave if they were “uncomfortable” attending church with their abusers. There have been trivial accountability measures put in place, measures that should have been in place in the first place if the church was ever to be a safe place for its women, and these men were generally unaffected by any consequences of their actions.

 

Before you get angry with me, blame me for what I’ve survived, skip to the end to write some scathing comment about the wonderful experiences you had at Idlewild, HEAR ME: If we were to talk to women within the church about amazing, divine, healing, empowering experiences they had within the church, I’m sure we could make 1000 blog posts. But your positive experiences do not invalidate these men’s victims. Your experience feeling safe inside of the church does not cancel out the fact that for hundreds of women, and some children, Idlewild has not been a safe space, and the staff frequently did nothing to make them feel safer in their church home after they were violated. The fact that you had positive experiences at church does not mean that Idlewild had less of a biblical mandate to hold its people accountable for abusive behavior.

 

Abusers do not typically act in isolation. Every single one of those men had more victims who never came forward, regardless of the reasons, and so did Jack Tinker. Jack was reported for rape in Hillsborough County in 2016, a fact which Ken Whitten was made aware of shortly before he dismissed the victim and took no measures to look into the allegation made against Jack. At the time, Jack was a well-established employee of Idlewild.

 

Boys like Jack grow up in churches like Idlewild, and they watch over and over again as their female peers endure normalized abuse, and are quieted down and neglected. Some young men see this and decide to do better, to grow into men of character, safe men who develop a moral compass grounded in ethics and biblical principles. More often, young men see this and internalize the values they see demonstrated: they conclude that women don’t deserve as much respect, don’t have as much of a voice, and are less autonomous than them. These are men that might not ever physically assault women in adulthood, but they won’t respect a woman as their equal in God’s image, they won’t value her, they do not honor her autonomy. They often become frustrated with their inability to control the women in their lives, and end up with anger issues, chemical and pornography addictions, anything that allows them to feel as if they have some false sense of control that they were never entitled to in the first place. But when their church, which should be the safest place that young boys and girls spend time, instead decides that the reputation of men who have proven themselves to be undeserving of trust or respect is more important, what difference does it make if they harm the women in their life emotionally or mentally? If women’s voices are less valid, and their bodies less self-governing, and their ideas less valuable, and their testimonies less trustworthy, why would men who feel angry and entitled bother to do right by them? This is rape culture at work. This is a disease. The third type of man that walks out of a place like Idlewild is a man like Jack Tinker. Men who watched women get assaulted, and watched their claims get ignored. They watched other abusive men prey on vulnerable women, learned the wrong lessons and learned how to capitalize on weakness in the same ways, and worse.

 

I am not the only woman whom Jack has assaulted – I wasn’t even the only victim from when he was in town that week – and I genuinely believe that if I do not publicly tell the truth, I will not be the last either. I have nothing to personally gain from damaging Jack’s reputation, or the reputation of Idlewild, but the truth needs to come to the light so that this can stop happening. I’m calling on Pastor Ken Whitten to get his house in order. This is the pastor who married my husband and me, who dedicated our babies, and I know his desire is for the church to be stronger and holier. I’m calling on the leadership at Idlewild to stop allowing men who abuse their power to stay in leadership. I’m calling on Idlewild to hold its men to a biblical standard of behavior, across the board, without exception.

 

“If you show favoritism, you commit sin, and you are convicted by the law as transgressors”

-          James 2:9

“Mankind, He has told you what is good and what it is the Lord requires of you: to act justly, to love faithfulness, and to walk humbly with your God.”

-          Micah 6:8

 

During Jesus’s ministry on earth, He radically changed the way that society, particularly religious leaders, viewed and treated women. He sought out the broken women who had been abused, who were promiscuous, who were neglected, and advocated for them publicly. When male religious leaders wanted to publicly punish women, Jesus stopped them, forcing them to examine their own behavior before casting the first stone. He didn’t call them into a quiet room, and gently explain to them that it would look bad to publicly stone this woman. He called it out publicly. He cared more about the behavior that happened within the church than the world’s perception of the church. He knew it would be frowned on, but he sat and fellowshipped with women, he listened to their opinions, and he called out any men who criticized or questioned him for it. If women were valuable to Jesus, why aren’t they valuable to the church? If women’s voices were valid with Jesus, and their safety worth advocating for, why isn’t this true of the church? Moreover, why isn’t the church striving to be a safe place where anyone who deliberately causes harm to those he was given the responsibility to shepherd is no longer allowed to shepherd them? Why is it more important to preserve the reputation of the church BUILDING than to protect its members? If all people are made in the image of God, and this is the truest thing about their identity, why are men in leadership treated as if they are more important, or their reputation more valuable?

 

“…and when they persisted in questioning Him, He stood up and said to them, “the one without sin among you should be the first to throw a stone at her.”

-          John 8:7

 

All I’m really asking for is for the church to act like Jesus. To honor, protect and believe its women. To openly advocate for their value and validity and to publicly call out people who would cause them harm. Patriarchy is not God’s dream for humanity, and rape culture was not God’s vision for the church. This is why now, at thirty years old, I have left the church, and chosen Jesus instead.

Christianity & Feminism

Today I am going to say something that might make everyone that belongs to the inner circle I was raised in break out in hives: I am a feminist.

I feel like this post was important for me to write for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that this term is plagued with negative association, most of which is rooted in huge misunderstandings.

For the sake of maybe, just maybe smoothing out some of the tensions and setting a firm precedent for some of the articles I want to write moving forward, I would like to clarify the meaning of the term "feminism" to me, undo some misconceptions, and explain why I think Christianity and feminism can be synonymous.

Misconception: Feminists are pro-choice/pro-abortion.
Fact: I am pro-life, as I have always been. My belief that all human life is made in the image of God, and therefore inherently equal in value and worth extends from conception to natural death. 

I feel like one of the first things critics of feminism picture when they hear the term is women marching on Washington for the right to abortion, carrying profane signs and wearing, ahem, cat-ear hats. The fact of the matter is, that the term feminism is not a blanket statement to encompass beliefs about other social issues. At the end of the day, it is simply the radical notion that women are human beings with worth that is the same as men. A lot of feminists do believe in a woman's right to bodily autonomy (which is valid) but then also conclude that autonomy extends to an unborn fetus inside a woman's body. I do not share this slippery-slope type thinking, partly because I understand the biology of how conception and fetal development works, and partly because I believe that pregnancy is sacred. There are a lot of different views on this, as you well know, but do not assume that someone who is a feminist is inherently pro-abortion.

Misconception: Feminists hate men.
Fact: Feminists don't hate men, or masculinity, or testosterone... we just believe that we share the same inherent value as men. 

I feel like this one is a bit silly... If you are a grown adult who still equates feminism with man-hating, then just take a minute to open a dictionary and figure out what we're actually talking about here. Being a feminist does not mean that we believe we are owed "special" rights, it means we know we are entitled to equal ones. What we are discussing is a belief system that suggests that women and men have equal human worth, because they do. We believe that as a culture, we can do better, and aim higher, than patriarchy. We can dismantle the current patriarchal standard of living that does a disservice to both genders, and actually create a culture that is equally beneficial and equitable for everyone. What often stops this from happening, however, is men who are very comfortable with the way that things are, or believe that they have something to lose if the patriarchy is dismantled. You see, gender stereotypes and expectations don't just negatively affect women, they also harm men. The same type of assumptions that assume women are hysterical and emotionally sensitive also put men in an unfair box of stoicism and hyper-masculinity. The same stereotypes that discredit women's thoughts and opinions also discourages men from showing (or even having) emotions. The same harmful thought processes that blame female rape victims for the crimes committed against them also silence male rape victims, because, "come on, all men think about is sex anyway" or "that doesn't happen to guys." If you take a minute to think about it, there is a cycle here that is harming all of us, and those who have identified a need for feminism in today's culture have done so because of this vicious cycle.

Misconception: Feminists hate masculinity, and that's why they keep talking about "toxic masculinity." 
Fact: Toxic masculinity and masculinity are not synonymous. They are not terms to be used interchangeably, and we are not suggesting that masculinity itself is inherently "toxic." 

If you still are confused, please read that again, because this one is really, really important. The week after Gillette released it's commercial, essentially saying, "is this the best we, as men, can do?" There was a massive backlash from social conservatives and Christians, because somehow, we concluded that a commercial suggesting we as humans could do better than we're doing now, was an attack on masculinity. I even saw pictures of a guy standing in a field, with all of his children holding firearms of some sort, saying "thanks for the advice, Gillette, but I'll raise my kids how I want."
To that, I say "????"
First of all, the commercial in question was anti-bullying and sexual harassment. The idea, was to challenge the [very tired] "boys will be boys" anecdote and to encourage everyone to hold each other accountable and change the expectation. I thought it was fabulous. Why? Because I am raising my son to be a man some day, and I believe the world needs him in all of his masculine glory, to do better and aim higher. But my opinion about a commercial aside, it was obvious to me that people are very confused about what "toxic masculinity" is and is not.

Toxic Masculinity IS NOT: Testosterone, sports, guns, cars, having a beard... literally any traditionally manly things. 
Toxic Masculinity IS: sexual harassment, sexual assault, rape, domestic violence, domestic abuse of any kind, a reluctance to display or even have emotions because of societal expectation, pressure to be sexually active or perform sexually in ways you are not comfortable with due to societal expectation, bullying, gender prejudices, or any type of jokes/anecdotes/conversations that make light of any of those things, or as some would say "locker room talk."

Misconception: Feminism is not biblical. In fact, it is contrary to scripture.
Fact: The basic, core principles of feminism are not counter-biblical and in fact, are supported by scripture in many cases. 

When you read scripture, there are examples of female leaders who had great significance in Jesus's lineage and the course of human history, who were specifically chosen and used by God. In Genesis, God creates Adam and Eve both in His image, and makes a point of clarifying that in scripture;
"Then God said, "Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over... all the creatures. So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God He created them; male and female He created them." Genesis 1:26-27
From the start of human history, God makes sure that we know both men and women are created in His image. The question at the core of all human identity is answered before we can even think to ask it; that both men and women are made in the image of God. When the enemy manifested himself and came to tempt them to sin, he specifically targeted Eve. I know I may ruffle feathers when I say this, but this was not accidental, it didn't just "happen" to be Eve because of her availability or location: Eve was targeted because the enemy's hatred of women is deep-seeded and predates most of human history. Eve was targeted because Adam would follow.
Throughout the old testament, there are several examples of women who would serve great significance to Jesus's lineage and also to the furthering of His kingdom. In Judges, we have the story of Deborah, "a prophet, who was leading Israel at the time..." who delivered the message from God to have Barak to take 10,000 men into battle. When he hesitated, and insisted he would not go unless she went with him, she said "certainly I will go with you, but because of the course you are taking, the honor will not be yours, for the Lord will deliver Sisera into the hands of a woman." Then, it was Jael who ultimately killed Sisera and won the victory for the people of Israel.
In Jesus's lineage, there are the names of five women: Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, Bathsheba and Mary. Tamar and Rahab were both prostitutes, and they and Ruth were also Gentiles. Jesus used poor, misfit, unknown and sexually impure women to complete His genealogy. During Jesus's time on earth, He spent His time advocating for women who had been cast out by society, and intervening for them when the lawmakers wanted to punish their sexual sin. Jesus was the first to point out that the men seeking to stone the woman who had committed adultery had also sinned and were just as guilty as the woman they were pointing fingers at. Why? Because Jesus loved women dearly, and He advocated for them as a result. He made women important pieces of His story and His legacy, just as He did men, because they were just as valuable to Him. He advocated for, loved, supported, was supported by, ministered to, and spent time with women, just as He did men. Did He allow them to remain in sin? No, He called them out on their sin, just as He did with men. And when Jesus was raised from the dead three days after His crucifixion, the first individual He sought out and loved on was a woman.

In the churches of biblical times, women were prophets, leaders, ministers and missionaries, alongside men, not in place of. They weren't having to ask for seats at the table, because they were already there. I believe that was actually the intention for humanity, and if I leave you with nothing else, please hear me say: Patriarchy is not God's dream for humanity. God did not orchestrate a human race that was dominated exclusively by one gender or another. The portions of history where we see God's hand blatantly involved in pruning human culture included women in positions of leadership, being demonstrated the same sense of worth and identity from God to humankind. Were men and women designed differently, and for different types of roles? Absolutely. But at the core of our existence, our identity is made up of the fact that we are made in the image of God, and that is the most important thing about us. To restrict either gender to a set of stereotypes and expectations that are based in anything other than that truth is to do a disservice to our holy, sacred identities.

Living with OCD

May is mental health awareness month, and to do my part in participating in the occasion, I wanted to share my perspective and experience from actually living with a diagnosed mental illness. I have resolved to be frank, descriptive, and transparent as I share my point of view. I can only speak for myself, and it's important to remember that sometimes, one person's illness doesn't look exactly like another's, because everyone is different and so are the experiences that shaped them.

First, let's start by establishing what Obsessive Compulsive Disorder IS, and what it ISN'T. OCD is defined as "excessive thoughts (obsessions) that prompt repetitive behaviors (compulsions)." People with OCD can experience compulsive behavior, agitation, compulsive hoarding, hypervigilance, impulsivity, meaningless repetition of own words,  repetitive movements, social isolation, and persistent repetition of words or actions. Emotionally, people with OCD can experience anxiety, depression, excessive guilt, panic attacks, fear, racing thoughts, and night terrors. It's also common to experience food aversions and sensitivity to stimuli.

OCD is NOT: hand washing, organizing, cleaning, using hand sanitizer, a tendency to keep things orderly, or a dislike of things being dirty or disorganized. A person with OCD might tend to those things, or they may not. None of those are symptoms, they are simply behaviors influenced by personality and preference.

When most people think about OCD, they think about a character like Monk that washes his hands excessively, uses hand sanitizer constantly, and won't touch anything without a handkerchief. If you actually watched the bulk of the series, they later revealed that his compulsive behaviors resulted from trauma (as most do) and were his compulsive attempt to control his recurring thoughts. Mental illness is not defined by the habits demonstrated via physical actions, but rather by the thought patterns that spur them on. If this were a physical illness, you would go to a general practitioner and they would examine your physical symptoms, but since it is a mental illness, it requires evaluation (usually long, tedious and thorough) by a Psychiatrist or Psychologist. The mistake a lot of people make is assuming that OCD is completely defined by the behavior observable by others, when in actuality, the compulsions are more of a symptom of a bigger problem.

I very commonly hear people misuse "OCD," maybe more frequently than any other mental illness. I have heard coworkers (while erasing the white board) say "I'm so OCD, I have to get it all erased" or, after organizing blocks in a bucket say "I can't help it, I'm so OCD." Like I said before, this is just habit based on personality or preference to cleanliness/organization. The worst one I've heard yet, "everyone is a little bit OCD." Nope. Just, nope.

I have demonstrated some traits of OCD my entire life, but it has really become a prominent distraction in the last ten years or so.

My life and symptoms vary from week to week, but my illness is mainly defined by recurring, terrifying thoughts of fatal things happening to my children. Once, my son leaned over the loft wall overlooking the staircase and tile floor at my parents house when he was almost two. He did this two more times before knocking it off. However, I never stopped thinking about the worst case scenario, and he's almost seven. I had invasive images of him falling and breaking his neck, or worse (usually worse) over and over and over again. Every time we went to my parents house, I was terrified of this possibility. Now, there really wasn't a rational reason for this. He understood the danger after a stern talking-to and a spanking, had promised not to do it again, and really had not leaned over the wall again. But I couldn't get the image out of my head. Like a nightmare that would frighten you awake in the dead of the night, but all throughout the day, and I had no control over it. Another time, I had a friend lose a child in a freak accident, and again, all I could think about was the possibility of this happening to one of my children. Another time, I had a thought, without any prompting or basis in reality, of an alligator coming out of the pond near our house and eating one of my young children or our dog, and again, couldn't shake it. I saw it happen over and over and over again. Rationally speaking, this was ridiculous, it had no basis in reality. However, the obsessive thought patterns prompted by the made up scenario were no different for the thoughts prompted by real life events. All were terrifying, uncontrollable, and recurring. At this point in time (a few years ago) I could usually divert my thoughts elsewhere, distract myself for a period of time until the anxiety was no longer overwhelming, and carry on with my day (on the good days). On the bad days, my compulsive thoughts were overwhelming, exhausting, and deeply depressing. I responded to these upsetting thoughts as if they'd actually happened, and mourned. My depression was overwhelming and sucked the energy and life out of my days. I responded to these thought patterns with anxiety and depression, and I compulsively ate my feelings. I felt the anxiety helped me control and prepare for the worst, and somehow, the over eating made me feel like I was in control of something. The depression wasn't a choice, but it was a pretty inevitable side effect, as I was absolutely exhausted.

As the years went on, the compulsive behaviors have shifted from compulsive binge eating, to compulsive shopping/spending, to compulsive cleaning and rearranging furniture, to over eating again.

Fast forward a few years and I gave birth to Hannah, suffered a hemorrhage and endured a conscious, painful surgery. All hell broke loose in my brain. The thought patterns and fears that I used to be able to distract myself from, now were 10x louder, more painful, more exhausting. There was no distracting my brain, I completely lost hold of the steering wheel and was at the mercy of whatever my brain chemicals were doing that day. After a short period, the obsessive thoughts blurred together to a constant, static noise that I couldn't separate my own thoughts from. There was no stream of conscious thought anymore, just a blur of negative feelings and noise. I obsessed over trauma, worst case scenarios, and the fear of something happening to my children now felt inevitable, which was overwhelmingly depressing and exhausting. I attempted to control it by forcing myself into a rigorous routine, which helped keep it in check for a little while, but after a month or two, even routine wasn't enough. I was overtaken by exhaustion, mental "fuzz" and an overwhelming feeling of anxiousness. I started arguments to feel any sort of emotional response, and felt uncontrollable anxiety when overstimulated by sensory experiences. I couldn't sleep without touching the closet light three times and checking on Hannah three times. Sometimes, I would sleep for 11 hours every night and still feel tired... sometimes I would sleep for 3 and be wide awake the next day.

The takeaway here is this; mental illnesses like obsessive compulsive disorder are not defined by the behaviors that accompany them, they are defined and diagnosed by the thought patterns and mental dysfunctions that prompt them. A person with obsessive compulsive disorder is prompted to seek control of their obsessive thoughts by participating in compulsive behaviors. If this is not you, and you do not reserve the right to flippantly call yourself "so OCD." My hope with sharing my experience is that people will 1. In some small way, in their corner of the world, stop stigmatizing mental illness, so that more people feel comfortable seeking help, and 2. become more aware of the actual affliction that is Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

Be on the lookout in the next couple of days for my next article on the topic of how to care for and support your loved one with mental illness.

Depression, Mental Illness, and Spirituality

I have sat down to write this many times, without the ability to finish. However, the words I feel compelled to speak are important and so often never said. The topic of mental illness and Christianity are so infrequently discussed that you begin to wonder if mentally ill christians even exist. Too often, mental health and scripture are addressed by people with no understanding of clinical mental illness, leaving those who struggle to feel even more isolated and alien than they already do. My voice is important because christians with mental illness do exist, and they need to know that they are not alone.

My mental health journey over the last eighteen months has been long and exhausting. It's only in the last few months that I've been able to "come up for air," and I want to let others that are struggling know that it is possible, and that you are not less of a christian because of it.

The day Hannah was born, I had held her for about fifteen minutes when I noticed the nurses started to worry and quietly call for the Doctor. I was still in the haze of soaking up this new little life; my miracle baby who I had desperately hoped for, and been told about ten months prior that scientifically speaking, I wouldn't be able to have. The nurses were working quickly and calling for the Doctor more urgently, but I still wasn't too aware of them, as I was staring at Hannah and trying to get her to latch for the first time. For me, pregnancy, delivery, and the hours that followed were sacred; the one time in my life where the line between the "human" and the "holy" disappeared. I had known leading up that this was probably the last time in my life that I would endure the process, and I wanted to savor it. I had an epidural during delivery, but had turned it off about twenty minutes prior to pushing, as I'd felt it was too strong and I wanted to truly experience delivery for the final time. Hannah was crying, and I remember saying "I know sweet girl, you've had a hard day," to which the nurse replied "Mommy's having a bad day too, baby girl." I was? Before hearing her say this, I really wasn't aware of the fact that anything was truly wrong. 

My epidural wore off, and so did the glow of delivery as I heard the Doctor run back in the room and the nurse exclaim "she's lost about 200 ml of blood," and notion towards the trash cans full of bloody towels and sheets they had already discarded.

I asked Ben to call my Mom, as I needed someone to help me, and my mind had gone immediately to the worst case scenario: "if something happens to me, Hannah needs to bond with Ben." The minutes that followed were the most excruciating pain of my life so far, as the Doctor attempted to remove the piece of placenta that had attached to my uterus and separated as the placenta passed, and control the bleeding from the hemorrhage with an intrauterine "balloon" contraption. I wept and screamed and almost squeezed off my Mom's hand as she tried multiple times without success to control the bleeding.

After a few minutes, the nurse explained that I needed to go to the OR, so they could stitch the hemorrhage and get the bleeding under control, and there wasn't time for me to be sedated. Hannah was taken to the nursery. In moments, the last few minutes of "sacred" were ripped away and I was transferred to the OR. During surgery, I had a massive panic attack. I was given sedatives through my IV that were ineffective, as my adrenaline was running way too high. I remember a blurry nurse trying as hard as she could to help soothe my panic, help me to breathe rhythmically,  and settle, but it didn't work. I was conscious through the entire surgery, and every available stimuli (voices, noises, florescent lights, scrambling nurses) were amplified to about 100x more than they probably were IRL. I finally fell asleep after being transferred to ICU, and woke up without awareness of what had just happened, where Ben was or where Hannah was. 

The months that followed were dark and hopeless. My history of postpartum depression was something I had been aware of the possibility of, but the trauma of the surgery broke open the dam that had been holding all the despair, darkness, mental noise, and anxiety in check. For months, everything went black. For months, I couldn't separate one train of thought in my head from other and I couldn't tell where my conscious and unconscious thoughts ended and began. Everything was a blur. My brain was filled with a noisy, blurry static like at the end of a VHS tape after it's run all the way to the end. I picked fights just to diffuse some of the noise and nervous energy that constantly overwhelmed me, but nothing really helped. I had constant, repetitive, violently consuming thoughts of terrible things happening to my children. Over and over and over again. It was like having nauseating nightmares that would typically frighten someone awake, but I was awake, and they were constant, all throughout the day. I had no control over them. I was so overtaken by these thought patterns that I became extremely sensitive to any outside stimuli, I couldn't handle noise, I couldn't handle lots of visual stimulation, I couldn't handle any kind of challenging conversation or, god forbid, a disagreement or confrontation. Everything just made me feel like I was going to explode, like I was going to crawl out of my own skin.

The incessant noise (in my head) drove me to the brink of absolute insanity. I felt like I was too fragile to handle anything, and the more I had to keep living my life and facing my basic, day to day responsibilities, the more exhausted I was. The more exhausted I became, the more depressed I became. The more depressed I became, the more suicidal I became.

Knowing what I have always known about God, the Bible and eternity, I reached in every direction I could for support from the spiritual community. I attended christian counseling, I kept attending church, I did a devotional, a prayer journal, a bible study. I searched online for resources about what the bible says about depression. I drove to Lifeway christian bookstore to search the shelves for something, anything that would address the issues of depression and mental illness in relation to christianity. Do you know what I found? Nothing. Either, the resources exist and I just couldn't find them or, there's nothing available for christians with mental illness. I prayed, and prayed, and prayed. I asked, begged, pleaded for relief from what I was experiencing. I asked for miracles, asked for healing, asked for deliverance. When that didn't come, I asked for a little bit more strength, a little bit more helpful resources to help me cope. When that didn't come, I very quietly resigned to the notion that I had been abandoned, and God had turned a blind eye to my suffering.

Being raised in the church, this was completely counter intuitive and even sacrilegious to suggest that God wasn't present in my suffering. What I had heard up until now was "knock, and the door will be opened unto you." "Ask and you will receive." "Commit to the Lord the desires of your heart and you will succeed, because He cares for you." "I waited patiently for the Lord, He inclined and heard my cry. He lifted me up out of the pit." But it wasn't happening for me. I was screaming, banging on the door, on my face begging for help and God seemed to not be answering. I've never felt such a low level of despair. There's nothing to compare it to. When you're this low, death feels like it would be a mercy or a relief. The door was closed. God was on the other side of it, and He wasn't opening it. I felt like a small child standing in a dark hallway in the middle of the night, knocking for a parent that wouldn't open the door. I was scared, vulnerable, alone. 

The trite "words of wisdom" I found online in regard to "what the Bible says about depression" didn't help any more. I felt a low level of shame upon reading "if you're depressed, you're living in the past. If you're anxious, you're not trusting God with your future!" Many pages pointed to the scriptures such as "be anxious for nothing," and "cast your anxieties upon Him, because He cares for you." None of them had anything to do with how to deal with my mental illness. I was casting my anxiety upon Him, I was praying, I was trusting, and it was yielding nothing. Relief didn't come.

This led me into a period of doubt. I had no doubt that God existed. It was the fact that I understood that He did exist, that He was a good, just, fair God that was so confusing. How could a good, just, fair, caring, compassionate God with the power to do anything just sit and ignore me while I suffered? Was my idea that God was involved in all the details of our lives wrong? Was I expecting too much? Had I done something that was unforgivable and cut myself off? Surely He knew that I needed Him. Surely He knew that I was dying inside. God is good, but He wasn't being good to me, as far as I could tell.

It wasn't until over a year later that it was discovered that I was living with undiagnosed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and severe chronic depression. The OCD was a result of physical and mental trauma experienced on the day of delivery and my brain was scattered, broken, trying to find ways to cope with the negative feelings and side effects. My OCD looks like repetitive, overwhelming, nightmarish thoughts of terrible things happening to my children, and the inclination to control certain things in my environment as a coping strategy. It is extreme sensitivity to noise and an inability to deal with stress. It is separation anxiety in my relationship with Hannah (caused by being separated from her after birth for several hours). It is waves of depression that show up without warning. It is an otherwise normal day that gets ruined by a sudden flood of anxiety that feels like a swift punch to the chest. It is an inability to sleep for days on end and then sleeping too much for weeks. It is the inability to keep up with maintaining my household tasks and then panic when I fall behind. It's compulsive eating and spending. It's extreme issues with emotional and mental boundaries.

So, I came to the place where I was out of options. I had prayed until I lost my voice, and on paper, I'd done all of the things that a person of faith should be doing. I was doubting God's goodness and was falling into a spiritual crisis. I decided that the only thing I had left to do was to read the entire bible. It was literally the only thing that I hadn't tried and, if I was going to find fault with the scriptures, I at least needed to know what I was finding fault with. So I started reading. Finally, I came to Job.

The book of Job opens with God and Satan having a conversation. God mentions Job, how good and pure and blameless he is, to which Satan replies "of course he is, you've built a hedge around him. No harm has come to him, of course he fears you. If you took all of that away, surely he would curse you to your face." God challenges Satan and says that Satan may test Job, as long as he spares his life. Within one day, Job lost everything. His children, servants, property, livestock, everything. Gone. Later, Satan vows to take away his good health and plagues him with boils from head to toe. Because Job refuses to curse God, the story is often concluded there. The Sunday School version of this story is that Job still remained obedient and faithful to God and everything was given back to him, but that's not the end of the story.

The next several chapters of Job are filled with him cursing the day of his birth, wishing that he had died before he was ever born. Job weeps and mourns and despairs, saying that he did everything right and still he was punished, while the wicked do whatever they want and don't suffer like he does. Job cries "why give light to those in misery, and life to those who are bitter? They long for death, and it won't come. They search for death more eagerly than hidden treasure. They're filled with joy when they finally die... why is life given to those with no future? To those God has surrounded with difficulties? What I've always feared has happened to me. I have no rest, only trouble." (Job 3)

Job was depressed. Job was suicidal. And still, God saw him as good and faithful.

So, why is this portion of Job's story never addressed? It's depressing, it's uncomfortable, and it's real. Job's despair, anguish, and mourning wasn't sinful. Job's wishing for death wasn't sinful. His depression wasn't sinful. In the end, when God saw fit to correspond with Job, He was still pleased with his character and his spirit. He never disciplined him for his grief, He instead brought him healing. 

One major thing we can learn from Job's suffering is this: there are things we experience in this life that are worse than death. The grief that Job experienced was more suffering than his children who had passed away experienced. For those of us who are living with mental illness, our misery may feel like it is a punishment worse than death. We may often feel like there was no purpose to being alive if we have to carry the burden of mental illness with us for the rest of our life. Unfortunately, we are often made to feel ashamed of this suffering and desire for relief within the church. The character of God in the story of Job shows us that God is not indifferent to our suffering nor does He condemn us for the negative feelings associated with it. He does not abandon us forever, even if He allows us to suffer for a time. 

Meanwhile, I still have OCD, depression, and anxiety, and may continue to for as long as I live. And still, it's seems as if God is choosing to remain silent and not grant me relief. I may not know why on this side of Heaven, and that's OK. In the words of Job "should we accept only the good things from the hand of God and never any bad?" I may not ever have complete relief. I may always live with a mental handicap. But scripture shows me that I can experience all of these things and not be sinning in doing so. It's not a result of something that I've done or that someone else has done. It's not a result of some unforgivable sin that I've committed that's caused me to get cut off. Sometimes God calms the storm and sometimes He lets it rage on around us, and we never get to know why. We can rest in knowing His character and hope in the promise that He will someday give us peace.

Christian Entitlement

Lately it seems to me that Christians (especially very vocal christians on social media) have been shocked and scandalized by all of the cultural and social things that are happening in the world today. We are shocked and appalled when mainstream media starts featuring gay couples and even gay youth, we are offended when Starbucks features red cups with nothing "Christmassy" on them, and we are absolutely scandalized when Target begins to allow transgendered people to use the bathrooms of their choosing without penalization.

There is nothing wrong with disagreeing with these things on a moral ground. The problem I have, and what I can't seem to wrap my brain around is the fact that we are genuinely surprised when these things happen. Gay marriage was made legitimate and nationally recognized by the Supreme Court last year. Not only that, but the channel in question is Disney, who has always been one of the leading activists for gay rights and inclusivity, the Disney Parks literally started hosting "Gay Days" in the early 90's before gay pride was even trendy. Starbucks, the one who has offended us all so badly by not featuring snowmen or Christmas trees (as if those things have anything to do with Christmas in the biblical sense) has been a massive contributor to Planned Parenthood for years. And Target has never claimed a moral compass nor have they ever even pretended to be a company that supports Christian values. As a matter of fact, they have kind of been a leader in setting the tone for other companies to hire tattood, pierced, alternative, transgendered or gay employees before most major companies did.

These are three incredibly silly examples and yet, they have taken over social media at various points in the past year or two because "conservative Christians" decide that they are worth loudly, passionately protesting in the most obnoxious way possible. And that's just the three examples that come to mind right now, because I assure you, there have been dozens.

The problem with this is that it communicates to the rest of the world that we as Christians expect to be catered to according to our biblical beliefs and convictions when NO WHERE in scripture are we instructed to expect this type of treatment. In fact, we are told to expect to feel like aliens, to be hated by the world and to be shunned by the culture. We have instead become an entitled group of people who complain when our coffee cup doesn't suit us, while ignoring the fact that that cup of coffee also funded a donation to a group that aborts babies at all stages of pregnancy. We watch and support Disney because it's fun and wonderful and magical and then act revolted when they start to feature subtly gay characters in their movies and TV shows, regardless of the fact that we know where they stand on homosexuality and gay representation. We expect to feel comfortable in all of our TV viewing and entertainment choices and then feel the right to whine and protest on the internet when the reality doesn't meet our expectations. Why should it? Have we forgotten that we live in a fallen, evil world? Have we forgotten that scripture warned us the world would hate us in the same way that it first hated Christ?

The bigger problem: I can't for one second imagine Jesus Christ during His time on earth whining and protesting things the way that we do now. I can't for one second imagine Jesus saying things like "SEE, they're all just trying to convert us to their sick, liberal agenda..." Or, even worse, "I'll be damned if a perverted man in a dress tries to use the same bathroom as my daughter." I can't imagine Him ever making sweeping statements about transgendered or gay people in the way that we do. Homosexuality was spoken of in scripture, which means it's not new to our culture. Gay people have always existed, they just have a bigger platform and more representation in the media and politics now. We need to stop behaving as if this is a new thing that is shocking all of us. We were prepared for this, we were warned, we are equipped to deal with things like mature, compassionate, loving adults. We are choosing not to, and I'm sick of it.

Folks, we have all been sitting and relaxing in this pool for a long time. Over time, the water has become tepid and comfortable and we almost haven't noticed the temperature at all. Now, it's getting hotter, it's starting to boil, and we are all screaming about our "rights" to not be boiled alive when we never should have been sitting in the pool to begin with. We are called to be in the world and not of it. Nowhere in scripture does it say, "the world will know that you are my disciples when you protest stupid stuff on the internet." I'm not telling you not to refuse to partake in the things you feel convicted about not supporting. By all means, if the Holy Spirit has spoken truth to your soul about a particular thing and you feel called to abstain, ABSTAIN. "But when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites who love to pray standing on street corners and in synagogues to be seen by others." (Matthew 6:5) But we are demolishing our witness with the sense of entitlement that we are communicating on social media. We do not earn extra spiritual points by protesting things loudly on social media. If anything, we start to turn people away and isolate the very people that we should be demonstrating a witness to. My urging is this: please, think before you post. If you could, for just a few seconds, ask yourself, could I imagine Jesus saying this in these words, or would He express this thought differently? Would He express it at all? Would He take action on this topic with words or with actions? Is this something I can demonstrate my conviction for in my behavior alone?

"What I mean, brothers and sisters, is that the time is short. What I mean is that those who... make use of the things of the world should live as if they are not engrossed in them. For the world in its present form is passing away." 1 Corinthians 7:29-31

Change of Heart

There have been significant moments in my life where I have felt a sincere, indispensable, unwavering change of perspective and outlook. This one crept up on me slowly, and then all at once, and I can’t seem to shake it off.

            The last two years have been very tense politically and socially. The most recent Presidential election was controversial to the point of relationships getting severed and basic social decency towards one another being lost. Wherever you stood, on the left, the right, or in between, everyone seemed to hold aggressively hard to their platforms. All elections bring out this side of people, but this one was slightly unique in the fact that more people landed in the middle of the road, at a “moderate” platform than in past elections. And that was a perspective I could understand even less than being on the left. I myself have always held steadfastly to a “right,” conservative, republican platform. This is founded mainly from a pro-life perspective, as I have always felt concerned with the rights of the unborn and have always voted according to those who vowed to fight for the rights of the unborn. In this most recent election, we had a republican candidate whose steadfast dedication to this intention was questionable, but a democratic candidate who said, without any shame, that an unborn fetus has absolutely no human rights, even moments before he or she is delivered. In my opinion, based off this and other things about this candidate’s personal character, I felt as if the most important thing was to prevent her election. Sometimes, you need a mongoose to kill a snake. So, I voted for the mongoose and he got elected, but I can’t continue to pretend that I support or agree with him on every level. This does not reduce my respect for the position or the office, but I am not going to blindly pretend that I am at all comfortable with the state that we are in as a society as a result of this political climate.

            This year, the world experienced an immigration crisis in Syria that, again, was another issue that divided people politically. One side seemed to want to clutch tightly to self-preservation, preventing and safeguarding our typical levels of comfort, the other seemed to want to relax immigration standards to welcome any and all refugees that may be fleeing crisis. Why we feel the need to be SO black and white, I don’t think I’ll ever understand, it’s only made worse when both sides present their case as if it is the only “obvious” option and presents no room for negotiation or compromise. Neither stance was balanced or correct, and I think, that if we all put ourselves in a position where we could empathize with those fleeing crisis, we would agree. I, myself, sided with the “right” and stubbornly insisted that there was nothing wrong with protecting your country or its people, and in order to do so, we should blockade any immigrants from penetrating our borders because of the risk of Radical Islamic terrorism. I also, shamefully, willingly turned a blind eye to the gruesomeness of the Syrian crisis and stuck my head in the sand until people would inevitably stop talking about it. Later, I started seeing images of the brutality, the violence and the death; as if they were planted in my path, I couldn’t avoid them. Something was brewing, something was changing and I couldn’t keep avoiding it. Then I saw the image that acted as a catalyst for the change of heart I’m experiencing now; it was of a toddler, not but a year or two older than my youngest child, dead in the streets as the result of a violent attack. I have tears running down my face now as I sit here and remember how shaken I felt by it.

            The next issue was one that is being discussed widely right now, and that was one of racially motivated police brutality. Last year, there were multiple instances of black men being fatally shot down by white police officers, in such a dramatic cluster that it was almost mind blowing. The first time, I was hesitant to believe the public reaction that it was completely unsolicited, I figured there must be more to the story. I wanted there to be more to the story, because otherwise, there was an incredibly disturbing truth that needed to be dealt with. As it was, news stories were being distorted and warped by the media on a pretty regular basis, and as politicians capitalized on the opportunity to politicize these shootings, I became even more wary of the facts as they were presented to me. But then it happened again. And then it happened again. And every time, I did my own research, and couldn’t find ANY evidence that the way the police officers responded in any of the instances was appropriate, called for, or even remotely justifiable. But, wait. It wasn’t OK to question it, because I was a republican, and the instances had already been politicized to death. The right was already picking up torches and printing “Blue Lives Matter” bumper stickers, and the left was playing the blame game and pointing fingers back at the right. Here’s what I could never, and still can’t, stomach: in all of these incidences, when a black person is murdered (and yes, let’s be real and honest, what we’re dealing with is murder) what picture do they use for the news? Is it a nice, respectable picture of a man with his family? Is it a graduation headshot in cap and gown? No, it’s either the least flattering picture they can conjure up, or a mugshot from 10-15 years prior, if one exists. All of these men had families. All of these men had jobs, lives, friends, responsibilities, but the script is recited each time, “well, he had a record…” “well, he looked like he might reach around for a gun…” well, this wasn’t the first complaint the police had received about him disturbing the peace…” as if that somehow justifies shooting down a man multiple times while other police officers watched and did nothing. As if that somehow justifies shooting a man with a child in the backseat after he was pulled over for a broken taillight. I will just be completely honest with you all: I AM GUILTY OF RECITING THIS DIALOGUE. I AM GUILTY OF LOOKING FOR REASONS WHY IT HAPPENED. Part of this, I really do believe, is the denial that naturally occurs when a horrendous thing has happened, you don’t want to believe that it was truly as awful as it sounds, so you look for a more thorough, feasible explanation. I don’t think there’s necessarily anything sinful or evil about this. What is sinful and evil: continuing to deny this is part of a frightening trend, even after your search for explanation and justification turns up void.

Then came the message I couldn’t stop hearing: if you truly believe in the sanctity of life, from conception to natural death, and really believe all lives are precious and worth saving, why would these people’s lives be any different? If we fight ardently for the rights of the unborn, and we actually believe that those sweet little lives are precious, when does the sanctity of that life end? When they are born in a predominantly Muslim nation? When they are born in an inner city, low income neighborhood? When they grow up to be a teenager that steals cars and trespasses on property? When they grow to make a series of bad decisions that land them with a criminal history? When they no longer satisfy a political platform?

Men are kneeling before football games, during the national anthem, a time when they ought to traditionally stand out of respect and reverence for their country and their flag. It doesn’t take much time on social media to see that, once again, we are divided right down the middle. The issue is, apparently, black and white. You either stand or you don’t. You either are a respectful American citizen or you’re a disgrace. Folks, I am nauseated. I am actually sick to my stomach over this. And no, it’s not because it’s nauseating to see a group of men kneel while the national anthem is performed. It’s nauseating to watch Christians on social media become keyboard warriors, Facebook patriots and immediately advocate against the cause being protested just because it makes them uncomfortable. I have news for you, protests are designed to make people feel uncomfortable, they are designed to grab the attention of those whose attention needs grabbing. If you are uncomfortable with an interruption to your leisure time, this probably means you. I am not going to accuse you of having malicious intentions. I am not going to accuse you of being terrible because you think people should stand and show respect for their country in a traditional way. Of course they should. Of course you think they should. But, if you are so consumed with your opinion about patriotism being heard, at the expense of even attempting to understand the cause being protested, I will say it again friends, you are part of the problem. I wonder what would happen if everyone cared as much about innocent people dying at the hands of festering racism as they were about symbols of patriotism. I wonder how many things would change if we stopped insisting “racism is a non-issue” and trying to move on with our lives. I wonder how many of us could be enlightened by the perspective of someone who has actually experienced oppression or discrimination. I wonder how many of us would be willing to listen. After my handful of logins to Facebook this week, I’m willing to bet it’s not many.

I feel like it's important to clarify for those of you who are still confused. This protest is not a protest against the American Flag, the National Anthem, or the Pledge of Allegiance. This protest is not an Anti-American, anti-white, anti-patriotism protest. This protest was designed to grab attention of those watching Sunday afternoon and Monday night football. This protest was intended to be controversial, so that it would start conversations. For those of you saying, "rich black athletes kneeling during the pledge doesn't change anything," think again. I, and several others, have had several conversations about racism in our society that we probably wouldn't have had otherwise. Racism has a trickle-down effect. It's doesn't start with hateful people grabbing guns and going out and shooting black people. In the same way, change has a trickle-down effect. Both can start with small, seemingly insignificant conversations, if we are willing to listen to HEAR another perspective instead of to respond or argue. Overall: if the protests upsets you, fine, but if the reasons motivating the protest don't bother you, we have a problem.

This is not a left or a right issue. This is not a conservative or liberal issue. Why? Because that’s not good enough. It’s no longer sufficient to be a republican. It’s no longer sufficient to a democrat. It’s no longer sufficient to be an American. Hear me say this: it doesn’t matter what your voter registration card says. It doesn’t matter what your birth certificate says. It is time to answer the important questions of life: what is the most important thing about a person? Is it their ethnicity, genealogy, sexual orientation? Is it their birthplace, family name or gender? Or is it the unwavering, non-negotiable fact that they, like you, like me, were made in the image of God? It’s time to STOP escalating all of these other things to the position of “identity.” As believers, we ought to all unanimously agree that a person’s God-breathed identity is the most important thing about them, the fact that they were precious to Him before they breathed their first breath, and that they are precious to Him now. The end. There’s nothing else to discuss. And, if you are sitting here reading this, trying to scramble around the corners of your brain searching for arguments against this fact, then hear me when I say that YOU ARE PART OF THE PROBLEM. Regardless of where you stand, regardless of who you vote for, regardless of how you feel about the person who was elected… none of those things are excuses to remain willfully ignorant. I am speaking to Christians right now. I am speaking to those of you who are posting “I stand for the flag and kneel at the cross.” If that’s true, good for you. I don’t say that with sarcasm, I know several of you say it and truly do mean it. I know several of you have deeply personal reasons why you believe wholeheartedly in patriotic tradition. You are not wrong. You need to understand that this protest is bigger than that, but you are not wrong. However, it is not a free pass to remain ignorant of an ongoing problem. We gain nothing when we refuse to acknowledge that a problem MIGHT exist. We LOSE nothing when we make a conscious choice to hear another perspective. So, as you sit here, thinking “I’m not racist, I have black friends…” do me a favor, make some time to sit down with those friends this week and ask them what their experience has been like. Don’t listen to respond, listen to understand. Hear what they say, process it, digest it. If you’re feeling extra open minded, ask them what they feel might start to facilitate change. Then sit on it. Think about it. Learn from it.

I can only speak for myself here. I can only confess on behalf of myself and I am sitting here today realizing that until recently, I have also been a huge part of the problem I am endlessly grateful that my identity doesn’t end there. I am eternally gracious for the opportunity afforded to me to have been born in a country where everyone is free to speak openly and peacefully protest when they see fit. I am thankful for the shift in perspective that I have had. I am thankful that I am no longer content to hide behind a republican platform or even an “American” label.  I am grateful for the change of heart that has jarred me from a dangerous complacency. 

Hannah Katherine

The birth story of our sweet Hannah Kate would not be complete if I did not go back to the beginning of the year and explain the miracle of her creation. To be honest, we truly believe all of our children are divinely created miracles, partly due to the fact that from a physical, scientific standpoint, I ought to have extreme difficulty with conception. I have severe thyroid disease, hashimotos thyroiditis, and polycystic ovarian syndrome that was diagnosed my freshman year of college. My thyroid disease has only been under control for a couple of years, and my PCOS has proved to be an ever-present hindrance to my overall well being. I had a doctors appointment back in January, that was the third of a series of three in which we were trying to figure out why I was having some pretty severe health problems - uterine swelling, more ovarian cysts and extremely heavy bleeding that had gone on for quite some time. On this particular day in January, we were doing another ultrasound to follow up on an ovarian cyst that had been causing problems, and it was also the time in which I should have been ovulating. The doctor I saw that day told me that she was able to see the existing eggs, but that they were not healthy and not the type that could lead to conception. Considering this, and the pre-existing hormonal problems paired with the ongoing issues I'd been having, I was informed that it was highly unlikely for me to be able to have any more biological children. We discussed the possibility of secondary infertility, and even though she said she "never says never," I felt as if this was confirmation that I was done having babies. My heart broke, because I love being pregnant, and I had always dreamed of having more children. Regardless of how our children came to us, I knew that our family was not complete quite yet, and I grieved what appeared to be the death of a dream. In the midst of what had already been a very difficult start to the year, I felt my faith being challenged and tested, and I resolved to trust that God would complete our family one way or another. I spoke to a friend from church that week, and remember concluding that God was bigger than medicine or even science. I told her, if He wants us to have more children, medicine can't stop it, and if He wants us to be done, medical science couldn't make it happen. He will do what He has planned to do all along. My prayer was that He would eventually bless us with another baby. I found peace in the truth that even if He didn't bless us in that way, He was still good.

Well, imagine my surprise when about six weeks later, I found out I was about six weeks pregnant. Yes, God used the "not viable, unhealthy" eggs my doctor wrote off and used them to create our baby. I was using an ovulation app at the time to keep track of my periods and one morning on my way into the gym it popped up with a notification asking me if I'd started my period the prior day. When I said no, it said to take a pregnancy test. I kind of rolled my eyes, feeling like it was just an annoying jab in regard to a topic I was currently sensitive about, but since there was a dollar tree right next to my gym I reluctantly decided to go ahead and go grab one and take it before my workout. Having taken lots of pregnancy tests in the past, due to my extremely inconsistent periods, I was fully counting on a "negative" result. I went to the gym locker room, took the test and washed my hands. I was so uninterested in the test that I almost forgot to glance back at it before leaving the bathroom, and when I did, I gasped out loud when I saw two pink lines. Sure that I was hallucinating, I pulled the paper pamphlet out from the box and made sure that two lines meant positive. I nearly screamed. Having experienced the cardiac equivalent to a full workout by now, I decided to scrap the workout, go get two more tests, and go home to talk to Ben. Him and I spent the rest of the day in random outbursts of laughter as I continued to take "just to be sure" tests (in case the dollar store tests were inexplicably defective) and every single one of them came back with a strong positive symbol. God is good. And funny.

We mulled over different boy names for several weeks, as we were just *sure* this baby would be a boy. At 15 weeks, I pleaded with the ultrasound tech to check baby's gender, and confirm that "he" was a boy, so I could start shopping for baby clothes. Imagine my surprise when we discovered that this baby was a sweet little girl.

Three weeks later, I experienced one of the biggest scares of my life when I started bleeding unexpectedly. I was terrified that this dearly wanted baby had something terribly wrong with her, and we were going to get terrible news. My next door neighbor drove me to the hospital, as Ben wasn't home, due to it being his one day at the office in St. Pete. He met me there and we waited for what felt like forever, even though in reality it was only about twenty minutes. The nurse asked me about when the last time I'd felt baby move was, and my fear intensified when I realized I hadn't felt her flutter all day. The nurse left and went to schedule a sonogram, and I laid still and cried. All of the sudden, that sweet baby, as if in answer, started fluttering like crazy, and it was the most active she had ever been. It was truly as if she was trying to reassure me that she was OK, and I felt as if I was connected to her in a very special way. We had gone back and forth on different girl names since we'd found out she was a "she," but hadn't yet decided on something. When we prayed in the hospital as we waited, and dedicated her to the Lord, I was reminded of Hannah's prayer in the bible, and I knew I wanted her name to be Hannah.

We later found out that the bleeding had been caused by a case of full placenta previa and that she would be absolutely fine. I was sent home, put on modified bed rest, and the rest of the pregnancy carried on normally. Every step of the way, we felt as if we were being divinely provided and cared for. When the ultrasound tech noticed an abnormality in baby Hannah's bowel around 32 weeks, I made the mistake of googling the possibilities and sending myself into a full blown panic. We had been referred to a obstetrical specialist to do a more thorough ultrasound, and she was happy to inform us that there was nothing interesting or abnormal to report about our growing baby, other than the fact that she was a big baby. :)

The next few weeks passed fairly quickly, as we prepared for her arrival and tried to be patient. At 36 weeks, due to her large size and my history of premature fluid loss, my doctor decided it would be best to plan for an induction at 39 weeks. We went in to the hospital to be induced on the evening of Halloween, and started pitocin at about 4 AM. After four hours of labor, I decided to switch from my back to my side and try the "peanut ball" I'd seen on several birthing blogs. If you haven't seen this thing, just imagine a large, peanut-shaped yoga ball that goes between your knees. This serves as a catalyst for opening up the hips and allowing baby to descend. Well, apparently it worked because I went from being five centimeters dilated, to ten, in about fifteen minutes. I called the nurse and it was time to push. Six minutes later, I was holding our sweet Hannah Kate. All along, judging by the profile of her face we'd seen in ultrasounds, I imagined she would look a lot like big brother Lucas. I was surprised to discover that she had her own unique appearance, and resembled me more than my first two had. She was beautiful. As soon as they handed her to me, I did not want to put her down or even give her back to be weighed. The big difference about Hannah was that I felt I'd known her all along, not as if I was meeting her for the first time, and I'd missed her something awful.

About twenty minutes or so after she was born, I heard the nurse remark about the amount of blood that had been lost and that we needed to call the doctor back in. It was at this point that a nurse took Hannah for weight and measurements and the nurses started to look concerned about my blood loss. It took me a few minutes to realize how concerned they all were, and I don't think I fully grasped it until the doctor had come back in the room and also started to appear concerned. They began to take measures to stop the bleeding, but since I'd asked for my epidural to be turned off before I transitioned  (it was so strong I couldn't feel anything), I experienced the worst pain I have ever felt as they made several attempts to stop it. Not only did a piece of the placenta "break off" inside my uterus (one possible cause of hemorrhage), my cervix had torn at some point in the rapid dilation and pushing. I lost three times the (maximum) amount of blood typically experienced during childbirth and had to be taken to the OR to stitch my cervix and stop the bleeding. I was not sedated during surgery and experienced a massive panic attack in the operating room. The panic attack, mixed with my extremely uncomfortable reaction to the epidural (I experience tremors and negative side effects when coming out from under anesthesia) led to a heavy cocktail of drugs that eventually allowed me to relax and sleep in recovery. Hannah was taken to the nursery and I did not get to hold her again until several hours later.

Later, after what felt like a miserable eternity, I was put in a room and they brought Hannah Kate to see me. I cried sincere tears of joy and said "I have missed you so much." The nurse probably thought that I meant I'd missed her while in surgery/recovery. However, I truly felt like I'd been reunited with someone I'd loved dearly for a long time, and had been missing her my entire life. The flood of joy and thankfulness that I experienced made up for the fact that the next 24 hours of surgical recovery were the hardest and most painful 24 hours of my life. I didn't truly understand the meaning of the word "bittersweet" until I'd lived through the week she was born. I said multiple times in the hospital that it had been the best, and also one of the worst, days of my life so far.

We've been home with our sweet Hannah Kate for almost four weeks now, and every day I feel the same feelings of joy and gratitude. The story of her pregnancy and of her birth is a story of divine provision and of God's grace on every area of my life.

"I have not only been blessed, I have been divinely favored."