I’ve written this post in my head 193 times, at least. I’ve been on the verge of publishing it before, but then I get scared and don’t sit down to write it. I make notes about things to add or change, and then I hide the notes away so no one can see them. You’d think I was plotting some highly secret and super complex world takeover.
Maybe I am …
(like just now, I deleted 2 full paragraphs and began them again because I decided after 3 minutes that I didn’t like them enough … le sigh)
I have a secret, internet. The sad part is it’s probably not that secret at all anymore. I’ve been trying to let on little by little as to, I don’t know, not draw attention or cause the next Inquisition. It’s a huge secret in my head, though. My psyche and inherent tendency toward anxiety have inflated it to epic proportions of fear and immediacy in my brain. I haven’t been giving this new bloggy link to anyone I know except this girl (who you should go visit immediately because her photography lately is out.of.control.) because I knew when I started writing here this thing needed a place to be said, and I wanted the option once I said it to pretend it never happened.
This doubletalk and second guessing is a lot of work. I don’t like it. I’d rather be open (like I am about um, basically everything else whether anyone likes it or not) and able to have conversations and not trail off into mumbles when I start letting things slip. This whole thing puts a lot of weight on my brain and my heart. It probably shouldn’t. It should be a lot more fun, but this closet I’ve created around it is oppressively small and getting a little stuffy.
And so, I’m giving up that closet for Lent.
Yes, for Lent. You heard me right. This girl, right here, is throwing open her self-imposed closet door and stepping out into the light for whatever happens next. The pride of thinking I had (have?) everything right is something I should go without. The comfort of not being challenged is a comfort I don’t deserve. So, here it is, world: This girl, born an Ojibwe and baptized a Protestant; who chose to grow up a Jew (and by grow up, I mean after say, age 13, when one can make these kinds of choices) and was once so disenfranchised with the greed and unacceptable leadership of organized religion (especially Western Christianity) that she once thought atheism didn’t look too bad …
This girl, now goes to church (and likes it, loves it, even).
This girl, after years of searching and hours of secret conversations, feels like she gets it.
This girl, says prayers of gratitude while she does yoga now, and before she eats, and before she sleeps, and she thinks it feels like the universe is listening to her … like she isn’t alone and talking to herself.
This girl, has found a new understanding of the Gospel.
This girl, two days from now, will begin observing Lent for the very first time, and at the end of those 40+ days she will give confession and take communion which she has not ever done once in her whole life.
This girl, is putting pride aside so that she can tell you this. She’s afraid people will judge, people that know and love her. She’s afraid to be wrong. She’s afraid to be one of those kooky people she talked so much smack about for so long, but she has wanted to desperately to tell you for a loooooong time, to share with you, to tell you stories and muddle over things she’s thinking about.
And she should probably stop speaking in the third person at some point.
So, there. I said it. Yes, me, the girl you least expected.
I’m feeling better already. Now, to convince myself to actually click publish this time …
Be gentle, please.