But let me back track. I should go back to the beginning and give an overview of how I got here.
HOW I GOT HERE
I was born and raised in a semi-spiritual family. We went to church every Sunday but I can't say I retained any of it. Only a few times in my young life did the words of any preacher actually penetrate the din of my self-absorption and cause me to listen, let alone be inspired. The result? I became an atheist. I called BS on the whole thing and decided it's easier to see us as light switches that just snap off in the end with no fanfare. Then I dropped dead. I was 17. Okay, I wasn't "dead" per se. But my heartbeat and breathing stopped for two minutes which, according to the medical world, is referred to as anaphylaxis caused by an allergy. But that experience converted me from atheist to at least an agnostic, a step in the right direction. Anyway, that's another story for another time. I went through most of my adult life as an agnostic. I believed in something, let's call it "God" for lack of a better word. I tried a few churches but it never stuck.
And then I met and married an amazing man who inspired me to find a church, one that I would love so much that I'd want to visit it weekly. Granted, he never actually uttered such a suggestion. His demeanor was a suggestion itself. He was a good person, a better person than me by a long shot, so I wanted to see if maybe his spiritual background was the reason why, and we made it our mission to find a church together, one that we would love and call our home away from home. The other motivator was my pregnancy. There's nothing like realizing you're about to bring a human into the world to make you look at yourself and say, 'Holy shit, I need to get my act together.' I didn't want our kid to be raised by a wishy washy, confused, sometimes atheist, sometimes agnostic, sometimes Christian-ish mom. I wanted to know WTF my beliefs were once and for all. Call it my inner control freak. And so I started looking for God. Like, really looking for him.
We perused some area churches and some of them felt more like attending an overdramatized pro wrestling match, while others made me feel like I would burn in the fires of hell the moment I stepped foot in the parking lot. They just weren't grabbing us, and if there's one thing I knew about myself, it's that I would not allow myself to settle. If I was really going to attempt this Christianity stuff, I'd need to find a place that made me feel all in. And then my hubs and I went to a church where the music was....good? Wait, what? There's good music at churches? I thought church was supposed to be boring fall-asleep-while-standing hymns, followed by the muttering of phrases that make no sense to me. But no, this was music that I would actually listen to if I heard it on the radio, and - dare I admit it? - sing along with. Woah. And then the pastor gave his sermon. But it didn't feel like a sermon. It felt like a casual conversation. I felt like I'd known this guy my whole life, and weirder, I felt like he knew me. In fact, his sermon was designed to be specifically about me and no one else. As far as I was concerned, there was no one else sitting in the congregation that day because he was clearly only talking to me. Not only that, but he was specifically addressing the very things I had just the week prior gone into a neurotic, anxiety-ridden frenzy over. He was a mind-reader. A psychic. There was clearly no other explanation. So I found myself and my already gigantic 5 month belly perched on the edge of our seat, clinging to his every word. And next thing you know, I was crying. Damn near blubbering, actually. What? This doesn't happen in church! Church is for making fart jokes as a kid and trying not to get kicked out for inappropriate laughter. Church is for writing shopping lists in your head as you zone out as an adult. But connection? What was this? I was intrigued. My hubs felt the same way and we went back the following week. And for the next 244 weeks including today. But this church blew our minds, between the mind-reading pastor, the catchy music, and the amazingly welcoming congregation. But these were only pieces of the puzzle that would bring me to the land of true believers. Another gigantic piece was my husband, my never faltering rock, my inspiration, my living embodiment of all that is good, patient, kind, tolerant, and loving. Another piece was Lee Strobel and his book, "The Case For Christ", which blew my mind, convinced me with historic and medical proof that Christ is the actual son of God (not just "some cool dude who was a great teacher"), and almost made me pass out in several places with its graphic, heartbreaking, horrifying descriptions of what this man went through for us. The final - and most important - piece was God himself. He gave me signs. Actually, he had always been giving me signs. I had just been too thickheaded and arrogant to see them. But now I could feel the steady flick of his thumb and forefinger on my forehead as he reminded me that Yes. He. Exists. But now back to today's story.
BACK TO TODAY'S STORY
My realization that Christ was divine was a pivotal moment in my life, but that's not to say that I haven't been wrestling and sparring with his various teachings ever since. I've had Godbonk after Godbonk - this is what I like to call those episodes in life where God points himself out to me unequivocally - for years now, and because I'm a stupid human, I insist on not trusting him, and on letting myself get mired in doubt and fear. Such was my ordeal before this weekend's Women's March on Denver.
Now...before you snap the computer shut because you think this just turned political...it didn't!
This post is not about the reasons behind the Women's March. It's about my fear of going and how God responded to it. So please give me a chance before you flip me the bird and assume I'm waxing political.
Are you still here? Thanks. I appreciate it. So anyway, rumblings of this crazy Women's March started flooding the internet, and we all know what a big, big fan I am of the internet. I'm waiting for the day that my husband leads an intervention against me for my dysfunctional relationship with Facebook. Facebookiloveyouihateyouiloveyouihateyou.... But I noticed that some girlfriends were planning to attend this march and I decided to hold my breath and agree to go. So I sent out a private message to them that started the planning process. As they went on about how exciting it would be, I admitted my inner dread and offered a great many excuses as to why I might not make it, until one girlfriend observed, "You really sound like you don't want to go to this." I had to laugh at myself because she was absolutely right. So that got me to thinking, Why am I making plans for something I don't want to do? And I decided to pray on it. And pray and pray and pray and pray on it. I asked God a great many questions about whether I should go, what my motivation would be for going vs not, etc. My main concern was being murdered or maimed. The march was expecting 30,000 people in attendance and the organizers assured us that there would be cops everywhere who were trained to identify perps, and yes, backpacks were allowed. Which of course meant that all I heard was "Backpacks, aka perfect bomb hiding devices, are allowed." So I freaked out some more and prayed some more and talked with my better half about it. And I was reminded in all of this that Jesus was not a complacent man. He was a rebel, a guy who yelled, a guy who turned over tables, cracked whips, chased off punks, and brought the smack down on anyone who would try to stand on the back of another. And so it came to me that if I believed in something, I needed to stand up for it, use my voice, and show my support by being there. It also occurred to me that there was exactly one motive for each choice. The motive for attending was love. The motive for not attending was fear. Was fear of God? No. I knew that much. So my answer was clear.
So I headed out early yesterday morning after bidding goodbye to my husband and kissing my son, the whole time trying to ward off morbid thoughts like 'I hope this isn't the last time you see Mommy.' Yeah, that's a happy thought. I headed out, armed with my wedding band which was a constant reminder of my marriage, my cross necklace which was a constant reminder of my God, and the two love notes that my bighearted four year old had written me and insisted that I carry in my wallet. In retrospect, I see all three of those things as my good luck charms. I drove to the train station in silence, praying and anxious the whole time. I sought reassurance that I was doing the right thing and not willingly sending myself to my own death. Wow, could I be more dramatic? As I parked and walked toward the station, it started ringing lovely chimes from its small belltower. The sound of the bells with the hue of the pink sunrisen sky was beautiful, and I basked in it until the inevitable morbid thoughts of bells tolling, for whom the bells tolls, etc, invaded my mind. It was incredibly difficult but I finally resigned to deciding that if I were to get blown up in a riot, it must be God's will. But I wouldn't have my son be raised by a mom who didn't march because she was too scared, or my husband be shackled with a fear-ridden wife. So I took a leap and did the trust fall with God.
The train was so full that we were shoved against each other like sardines. And when I exited and tried to take the bus with my girlfriends, we couldn't, because bus after bus was full. So we caught an Uber ride from a very nice driver who admitted to having been a former gang banger and was even stabbed once. Can't say it was a boring ride! Anyway, we went about finding our remaining group of friends, and we navigated a crowd of 100,000 (it was originally estimated at only 30,000) with friends who brought babies, four year olds, etc. I had forbade my husband from getting anywhere near the vicinity, asking him to stay safely at home with our boy. I don't think it broke his heart to be asked to stay away from something called a "Women's" March. After all, he's still a manly man from Texas. I could tell so many stories of the kindnesses I experienced yesterday. But I'll just keep it at this; it was the nicest crowd of people I have ever encountered in my life. Everyone helped and accommodated everyone. Everyone looked out for everyone. Everyone said "please" and "thank you". Everyone held each other up. Everyone watched out for the kids to keep them safe, and helped each other find lost friends. They held doors for each other, made room for each other, and showed genuine compassion for one another in their actions. When the crowd got too big to actually march, they settled for standing still and cheering each other on, because it was safer than pushing 100,000 people forward and causing an accidental stampede. But I left the day in awe of the human race, and completely renewed in my belief in it. And when I returned to my car, the bells chimed again. How different they sounded in my current, changed state of mind. And on my drive home, I almost laughed out loud with giddiness over the realization that God has my back. He always had. I just needed to finally trust him.
And true to form, our pastor gave another telepathic sermon this morning which focused on our need to find that one thing to center all other things around. What we decide as that one thing will determine whether all of the other things fall into place. If we make God that one thing, all things fall into place. Kind of like how I made trusting God that one thing, that most important thing, and lo' and behold, all other things fell into place. Over 670 marches took place across the world yesterday, and I have not heard of one of them becoming violent. And regardless of my stance on human rights, marriage equality or pro-choice vs pro-life, I got to go peacefully represent my views yesterday and hopefully show those with differing views that we can all represent our ideas peacefully. Hundreds of thousands of us experienced peace yesterday, because God in in control, not us. He has our backs. It's up to us to trust his plan.
2 Chronicles 30 "And the kingdom of Jehoshaphat was at peace, for his God had given him rest on every side."
