Reap What You Sow

      I just recently had a family member very bitterly respond to my lamenting of a strained relationship with another beloved family member with, "Ya reap what you sow", and then walk away from me.   It took every ounce of control not to yell at this person, "If that's the case get in fights, people would have cheated on you multiple times as you were growing into a real adult, and used your body repeatedly for self-gratification over and over.  You would have people be demeaning to you at times and be utterly disrespectful just because anger seethes".  Praise God, I held my tongue.
       I should state that the family member who "so kindly" told me I reap what I sow, is actually a rather outstanding person with a lot of character and integrity.  We all have our bad moments.  All this arose out of me cutting ties with a close blood relative.  I cut these ties out of serious ethical disagreements.  At the time I allowed my anger and hurt to dictate my tongue and instead of cutting ties in a "classy" way, I went out in a blaze of bitchiness, poured salt into the disconnect wound, and then basically set it all on fire.
        Sometimes in life we don't get re-do's.  I tend to always leave the door open to everyone for a re-do chance; not everyone functions that way.  I can't say I blame them.  Hell, I wish I could shut the door to some for eternity but despite some solid efforts, I'm just not hot-wired that way.  For some, the hurt is so much that try as we may, we cannot physically get their door to open back up.  I attempted a re-do with this relative that I figuratively set ablaze with my bitchiness; the door is closed.
        As I was left to my thoughts after the "ya reap what you sow" statement, I was left to my thoughts and sadness.  I don't think embittered we should carry a philosophy of reaping what we sow.  Imagine how sick and depraved we would all be and the twisted shit we would go through for the entirety of life we all truly reaped what we sowed?! I think we all need to lay in the bed we make at times. It's about taking responsibility; not living in a constant state of punishment for our transgressions. The truth is some things cannot be un-done.  Sometimes we have to wrestle with the moments when we lost control and did or said something regrettable.  The wrestling teaches us how to proceed.  My family member that I set ablaze with hurt was in the state and visited with other family members; my presence wasn't desired by said individual.  Does hurt and anger always deserve hurt and anger in return? Reap what you sow?  Nawe.  We are called to a much higher level of compassion and love with each other than that.  Is it my bed to lay in right now? Yeah.
       My challenge to anyone reading this is to not look at our brothers and sisters with a spirit of reap what you sow but rather one of grace and forgiveness.  This doesn't mean that what has happened is okay, but it does mean we can be bigger and God IS bigger than our hurt and blunders.  Allow God to be bigger than our faults. Choosing compassion and love can sometimes pull us outside of our ourselves.  Accept the bigger.  Live the better.

Matthew 6:9-13

9 “This, then, is how you should pray:

“‘Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
10 your kingdom come,
your will be done,
    on earth as it is in heaven.
11 Give us today our daily bread.
12 And forgive us our debts,
    as we also have forgiven our debtors.
13 And lead us not into temptation,[a]
    but deliver us from the evil one.

Lesbian Bearing a Cross

         When I was 21 my first girlfriend landed in my lap.  I had dated guys long-term up until that point.  If ever a gay thought had come into my head before then, I would push it out just as quickly as it arrived and in my head, for all purposes, it never existed.  When I was 21 and finding myself expressing deep "friendship" feelings towards my female friend, I was a Religion major at a Reformed Church of America affiliated college; Hope College.  My beloved, adored college was filled with believers that were raised to believe homosexuality was a sin.  Professors wouldn't dare speak anything different unless they were tenured and even then, they did so timidly.  After all, Hope is a private college and a lot of funding comes from Alum who adore Doc Dobson and Focusing on His Family of preservers of the sanctity of marriage and procreation.  If Hope doesn't Focus on THAT Family, funding gets pulled.
          When my first girlfriend Michelle and I started to acknowledge our romantic love and act on it there was a prevailing thought that we were just gay for each other.  After all, she had never thought about being with a woman before me and neither had I...really.  I enjoyed my intimate relationships with guys and therefore had no reason to think that I had some special affinity women.  During our time together as a couple I was a senior in my RELIGION major at Hope.  I had every intention of heading into the ministry prior to this beautiful thing that landed in my lap.  I researched Divinity Schools and even visited one in New Jersey to see if it appealed to me.  I spent my undergrad praying with my friends, having countless late nights of deep, philosophical, theological, conversations with my devout, deeply loved peers.
            Coming out to my "brothers and sisters" in Christ was terrifying.  Rejection was real.  I was a prayerful, charismatic, leader in the church and with my friends.  How could Jess Robinson be gay and be close to God?! It's unthinkable isn't it?! And my beloved friends and sisters and brothers in Christ treated me that way.  I was no longer the believer that had a tuned ear towards God.  I was lost and gay. During this time of thinking I was just Michelle gay, I was unapologetic for who I was.  I wasn't a freedom fighter or someone who shoved my relationship in anyones face.  I did, however, disagree with my peers who "prayed for my soul".  I always had a sense that God loved me and formed me just the way I was.  At this time, in my pain and rejection, I felt no matter what the definition of my sexuality was, that my "deviation" was somehow my cross to bear.
             People have always known me.  I've been transparent and very sociable. I've always been likable. I'm caring and put others first (to my own detriment at times).  But this happened and overnight I was asked to step down from my youth leadership position, my Christian friends pulled back from me, my beloved parents argued with my identity for several years, and with a 50 foot pole, church members and friends prayed for me to see the way.  My cross to bear. 
           I'm almost 11 years into this "deviant" way of being true to myself.  I've been out of the closet since 3 months after my first girlfriend fell in my lap.  I've not hidden nor desire to hide.  If you don't have to live in shame for being straight, why should I? I've met my friends oppositions and fears.  I've lost friends.  I've had friends keep a safe distance.  I've had family members leave me.  I've had churches close the doors to me.   There are so many hardships that come along with what people label a "lifestyle".  It is not chosen.  I am not a champion and do not desire to conquer the ill advised thoughts of those that still want to pray for my sexuality.  I just simply want to exist, as I was up until I was 21; Jess Robinson.  That's all that I am; me.  Other people can fight the legal system.  Other people can champion the fight for such a stupid word as INCLUSION in the church.  (I shouldn't have to find an inclusive church.  Jesus didn't have a checklist...why do we?!)
          I just interviewed at a fine Christian institution that I would I practically give my left arm to work at.  I interviewed for a position in their ministry department.  I've got the passion, the knowledge, the love, the experience, and God but fear I'll be ushered into the closet with a gold carpet (as not to offend me) if I get the job.  I spent only 3 months in the closet;  I can't and won't go back.  Every time I've told God I don't want to do something, He has called me to otherwise.  My cross to bear. 
           Since moving back to Michigan I've only attended my home church 3 times because it's a Reformed Church of America/ Christian Reformed Church split.  AKA leave the gay at the door.  I've attended an Episcopal church once; not my flavor. I fantasized about rolling my eye ball down the isle during the homily and imagining peoples reactions. I've tried being Catholic a handful of times; a fantasized about sword fighting with an umbrella at the last mass I attended.  (Don't judge me for where my mind wandered.)  The point is, my heart is with the RCA/CRC churches.  Sadly, they are not with me.  So, I've been a solo artist.  I spend my spiritual time alone.  I sure do miss the community that comes with church though and the insight that comes from Bible studies and sermons.
            Jesus hung on a cross for you and me.  He carried the cross of which he was to be hanged on through the streets and was accosted by disbelievers.  He was accosted by people like you and me.  I carried my cross through my senior year of college and dropped it afterwards because the weight was too heavy. I just wanted to live as comfortably as possible; just be me. But I am not just me.  I will never be just me.  I am a part of a marginalized, beloved, population that Jesus loves nor calls us out of.   Perhaps we all have our crosses to bear for the good of the Kingdom.  A cross can't be light and the plight of travel is never easy.  God calls us to get out of the boat.  God never listens to my ideas that don't require courage or trust.  I think it's time for me to pick up my cross that I dropped so long ago and bear it.  

To: The Girl I Used To Be

      From time to time I find myself turning the pages of old journals from my senior year of high school and college.   I read bits of wisdom from a girl that it is much younger than I.  She is so full of passion, enthusiasm for the world and God's children, and focused grace.  Her knowledge of scripture is admirable and contagious.  Her thirst for doing God's work would lead anyone to want to do more.  Her honesty about herself and shortcomings is a transparency that most wish they had the courage to behold. I long to be close to that person. She is me, but we are no longer the same. 

     It is not unheard of for a college graduate to enter into the world with such zeal and optimism.  It's also not unheard of for a person like that to lose ample amounts of steam over years.  The disconnect between my former self and present day Jess started to occur subconsciously while I was still in college.  It began with being asked to step down from my youth ministry leadership position within the church for being in a gay relationship.  I was unapologetic for my love and therefore, the church was unapologetic to me.  I was determined not to allow it to get to me.  I ministered to many people about the difference between God's love and the examples led by God's children.  I encouraged my fellow gay brothers and sisters in Christ not to lose heart for God despite deficiencies and hypocrisies  held within the church.  I felt led by the Spirit to do and say such things.  I was in the throws of a gay pain melding pot and kept heart; or so I thought. 

      When you're forced to recognize your marginalized status over and over again, you can't help but absorb some of the messages of the majority.  When one loves God so but is spiritually abused by the church in such ways, one cannot help but grow a thicker skin.  The overarching tunes that many of my peers, church colleagues, and some family played were that of...

• You can't be in ministry and be gay
• You can no longer have a close relationship with God
• We can no longer be "sisters in Christ" because you must not know him anymore
• You are a mistake
• You are wrong
• You are LESS than
• You must change
• You must change
• You must change

      Thick skin or no skin, the messages seep in.  Spirit led and/or Spirit filled, some of the spiritual vigor is lost to closed doors.  I read those journal entry's of that Godly young woman and I miss her.  She had a finely tuned ear to the Divine and a sense of un-tattered innocence in her strength and knowledge of self.  She didn't know that the plight of a people group was about to be her own.  As I look back with my worldly wisdom, slightly jaded, I am reminded that I am not the only one missing something; I know that young woman misses me too. 

Do As I Say, Not As I Do; The Art Of Hypocrisy

      We've all been there.  That spot where we instruct those around us to do or perform in a certain manner that is contrary to what we actually practice.  If we tell people to do the "right" way, why is it so hard for us to follow our own words?
       I've recently come in contact with the most blaring hypocrite I've personally known.  Life has forced me to have my life aligned with this individual.  There appears to be no awareness, or guilt of the continued hypocrisy.  This individuals actions and words continue to never match.  It's rather stunning to witness this disconnect.  The outcome of this continued presence in my life has not just been my own bafflement but the need for me to examine my own hypocrisy.

      

   "Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?" - Matthew 7:3

         For the last 13 years I have been in one position or another of leadership.  This has come in the form of ministry, educating, social-work, mentoring, coaching, various forms of community involvement, and working as a supervisor.  My life has taken on positions of leadership where I counsel people in morality and ethics.  It's easy for me to counsel people in the direction of right and wrong.  At times it is difficult for me to do as I say.  

         I preach self-love and self-care, yet I rarely give it to myself.  I call those around me to extend grace and forgiveness to themselves but rarely extend mercy within.  I encourage people to follow their passions and dreams, yet, have allowed myself to be grounded to circumstances. I advocate for balance and moderation, yet go to extremes with myself. The list goes on....

       My patience runs thin with the said hypocrite in my life.  I'm always stunned at this individuals ability to move through life constantly contradicting their own words.  Instead of letting this fuel anger inside myself, I'm choosing to let it fuel change within.  I need to focus on the plank in my eye.  Let us become better by the people that challenge us and consider, what is the plank in my eye. 

          

   

When Trust Is Lost

      I still like to fancy myself rather young.  In the spirit of newness to this world, I acknowledge that I haven't experienced a ton of things, although I have a foundation of understanding at this point to lay my feet upon.  In earlier posts I've managed to take some not so beautiful things and flip them into something beautiful; something growing, enlightening, and meaningful.  But what happens when we find ourselves in the midst of something that no words of wisdom, scripture, logic, or even anger can answer?  Are we less because we fail to find some spunky reason or comfort in the midst of our heartache and angst?
      I battle between my 'Christian" understanding and value of things and just sheer bafflement at how human beings can be so god damn depraved of character and values.  I'm going to do my best at setting aside my theological beliefs for a moment because at this time, and a time that many experience, they hold no baring on the gut wrenching feeling we can experience at times.

When we love someone, what do we do when the shades are pulled and we see a character that we wouldn't choose to love?  What do we do when we've been scorned and trust is lost?

      Well, if you've been in an intimate relationship of any sort for a long duration of time; ya probably work it out (at least that's what's been exemplified for me).  If you are finding yourself in this spot with someone that you haven't had a close relationship for a long amount of time; you have to dig deep within.  I mean, we all do, but even more so as a single individual.  We need to examine how we got to be so close with someone that was able to pull the rose colored blinds over our eyes so well.
       It's not in my nature to leave things uninspired, and fueled with energy, and purpose.  It's just not.  I'm actively fighting not to do so right now out of sheer habit.  The truth is, some people hurt us. Some people don't see us.  We get trampled on.  We dust ourselves off, or least try to, and we move on.  We have to, because what's our other option?

      When trust is lost due to someone's actions, we have to look closely at ourselves and ask, why was I here in the first place?

Spera In Deo; Hope In God

       For the first time in many years, I walked around Hope College's campus with a book bag around my shoulder.  Snow was on the ground and as the students passed by me their breath was expended into the atmosphere.  Everything was very different about me walking campus this time.  This time I was an outsider (to the students).  I was a lady and not a girl.  I was observant of their interactions.  Some were laughing. Some were holding in depth conversations.  Some were trudging through the slush filled walkways holding hands of what they probably believed or hoped to be their future spouse.  There was magic.  There was Hope.
      I had time to travel through some of the buildings that hold my heart so close.  Eight years have passed since I've wandered those hallways, auditoriums, used the secret restrooms and corridors as to avoid an abundance of traffic.  I still know some navigating tricks for campus. The students look so young to me.  I referred to them earlier in the day to a collegue as "the kids".  I shocked myself a bit with that statement.  Kids...
      I imagine there a certain magic present on any college campus.  Young adults soaking in knowledge and developing into their own individualistic ideals and personhood; it's an environment unlike any other.  I do think there is a certain quality about Hope College that makes that entity stand out amongst the rest; SPERA IN DEO; a spirit of hope in God.
      I was a bad student while I attended Hope.  I focused the majority of my energies on deep, philosophical, and theological conversations with my peers, softball, and the youth ministry I was involved in.  Though I did not place my efforts into my grades like I should have, I did absorb and crave every ounce of character development that the atmosphere at Hope had to offer.  I entered into the world post-grad with one of the best things I could have; firm knowledge of who was and am.  The last 10 years since graduation have been filled with challenges; ups and downs.  I have had a plethora of professional experiences that have opened my eyes to humanity and the world in which we inhabit.  I've loved. I've been crushed.  I've faced some barriers that looked like mountains that I would never be able to summit.  I've felt defeated but never hopeless. SPERA IN DEO.
      So why was I wandering around the familiar but ever evolving campus that I love the other day?  Despite my lack of focus on my studies at Hope, despite some of my personal war stories, I was highlighted as the Arts and Humanities featured alumna for 2015 for their Arts and Humanities Day.  I was asked to come and speak to Arts and Humanities students because of my degree in Religion and my work over the last 10 years.
      I had a very beloved person in my life ask me the other day if I thought God had forgotten about her.  She has been disillusioned with the Christian religion for many years.  The weight of the question that has plagued her for so long wore on her face in that moment.  I told her that God never forgets us.  It can feel like He's left us for a period of time but we are never forgotten.  I told her that at my most distant and lowest times in my faith walk, God has ironically used me the most.  The times I felt the most worthless, He reminds me that I am somebody to Him.
      10 years ago if someone would have told me that I would be a featured alumna and speaking to students at Hope regularly because of my professional accomplishments and passions, I would have told them they were drunk and to go home! 2 years ago I would have said, "Don't screw with me. You're insane".  1 year ago I would have said, "I'm not useful.  I not someone that could be something like that even if I was given the chance".  SPERA IN DEO.
      Those seemingly impossible mountains were summited and not on my own accord.  God never forgot about me.  When we place our Hope in God, when we are able to look beyond ourselves to our Greater Power, we can do seemingly impossible things.  One of the most amazing and wonderful things I've been able to do in my life is give back to Hope College, in part, what they gave me.  May we all hope in God and know and feel that we are never forgotten.

            SPERA IN DEO. 

Music; "Where Words Leave Off, Music Begins"

       

           My knowledge of music began in the form of records and tapes.  Dad would thumb through his collection, as Mom would wait intently.  She would either vote "yes" or "no"; as a small child, I didn't get a vote.  On occasions, I can remember Dad putting in a tape of his desire and throwing on these gaudy, avocado green, headphones that covered his ears and then some.  Of course, as a young child, I wanted to be just like my Daddy.  He would indulge me and allow me to wear the esteemed, avocado green, headphones.
          As I grew and learned the ins and outs of the stereo-system,  I would put on my parents music and listen to it myself.  I remember those nasty looking headphones bringing me such clarity of sound.  I would lay on the living room floor all by myself with the headphones on; I would lay there, close my eyes, focus on the music, the beat, the words, and be enveloped by the sound.  I came to appreciate many different genres of music through this.  When Mom cooked, we listened to music.  When Dad relaxed, we listened to music.  We. Just. Listened to music.
          My first memorable tape was Nirvana's Nevermind.  I came into possession of this by pulling one over on the neighbors dad at Meijer.  I was in 2nd grade.  GRUNGE.   I felt like a dirty 7 year-old  smuggling that tape in with the cover of a baby and his penis.  This was the first album that was mine; MY music.  This was a simple precursor for what was to come.
          I became a writer of poetry at age 10.  Songs would either inspire me to write or would accompany me as I wrote.  After all, music is poetry of the mind and heart put to a tune.  As I grew older and moved through different emotions and experiences, the music that I listened to started to put to words what I could not.  Music served as my voice in a mind filled with questions; it served as my answers as well.  Bare in mind that all this was before the digital age.  During these times, we knew the album names, we had the next song on the album playing in our heads as the current one was fading; we knew the character of the album.  Some albums became our friends.  We would know them deeply and rely on them in difficult times.  I sought my albums many times for answers unknown.
          All I needed was a song to give someone.  Even if it was something like Ice Cube's You Can Do It, I knew what I was giving would make my friend dance, rap, or whatever else some adolescent white kid would do with a song like that.  I made CD's for everyone in my life.  My writing wasn't the best gift I could give someone; music on a CD seemed eternal.
        Video didn't kill the radio star; digital music almost has.  We no longer know the names of albums, let alone the CHARACTER of an album.  I'm hard put to learn the words to song now.  We are in an era where our attention span is short at best.  A song begins and we immediately skip to something a bit better, and then something else better.  I miss the days where songs sank into my soul.  It didn't matter whether or not they had any great meaning; they were with me.  My adolescents is soaked in songs, albums, verses, words.
          As technology progresses, I can't help but wonder what love of music I will be able to pass on to my instantly gratified, (digital) kids.  Will they ever know the satisfaction of listening to an album from beginning to end?  Will they ever know the art and character infused in to the production of an album? I won't begin with those avocado colored headphones, but I most certainly will sit with my children while they connect with the wonderment that is in a piece of art that is known as music.