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The Plank In My Eye

Last night Steve and I had a deep conversation about our relationship. I was expressing a need that I hoped he could meet. To ensure that he understood the significance of this particular need, I searched for a good example that he would be able to relate to. Aha! I had the perfect example! It went something like this:

"So, you know how you feel about my faith life? I know you still love me no matter what, and that you don't judge me or pressure me. But part of you feels disappointed. Maybe even upset. And even though you try to be patient and understanding, it still affects our relationship in some way, shape, or form. Because our friendship and relationship was built on our faith, and now that part of our relationship has literally disappeared. Your faith is very important to you. You want someone by your side, someone to walk this journey with you. But you look around and I'm nowhere to be found."

That was the gist of it, anyway. And I was like, Hell yeah! I found the perfect example! Now he's totally going to see my point!

And then I was like, Wait. Wait a minute...

...Crap.

It was then that I realized that he and I were going through the same exact thing, but for different reasons. And when I thought about how frustrated and disappointed I've been feeling, I realized that he must have been feeling pretty much the same way.

So last night we made a pact. He would make more effort to meet my needs, and I would make more effort to make my faith a little less fickle. So I'm going to try. For me. And for us.

(In case you didn't know, I got the title for this post from scripture - Matthew 7:3. Yeah, I know some scripture. Don't look so surprised.)

Faith Versus Belief

So, I really hate when people blog about their dreams. Yet, I'm about to do just that. Please just bear with me, as I promise to keep it short and to the point. And there is a point. Or at least something to make you go "hmmmmm."

Here we go:

I was walking along with a VIP from the Diocese. I was asking him hypothetical questions regarding what the Church does and does not condone. At one point I asked, "What would happen if it was found that a youth minister was gay?" And he replied matter of fact, "He would be fired." (*Disclaimer: remember that this is JUST A DREAM and is NOT factual Diocesan policy or practice.)

His response shocked and upset me. Then suddenly we were walking past some sort of museum or something that was showing an exhibition paying tribute to the gay plight against discrimination and homophobia throughout history. Next thing you know, a gay friend of mine appeared by my side and invited me to the exhibit. I looked over to the VIP dude.

"If you go in there, you're jeopardizing your ministry," he informed me.

I looked down in disappointment, then went into the museum with my friend.

Once inside, I started sobbing uncontrollably.

Then I woke up.

It was one of those crystal clear dreams that seemed so real. I was actually on the verge of tears when I woke up. And all day long I wondered why I was sobbing so hard in the dream. Out of empathy for the challenges gay people have faced and continue to face every day? Or because, in my dream, I felt like I had to choose between my faith and my beliefs? Or from guilt that my faith and my beliefs aren't always compatible?

Perhaps all of the above?

The point of this post really isn't to debate the Church's stance on homosexuality. It was just a dream. Relax, apologists. I don't think any one would particularly care if I went to an exhibit like the one in my dream. (At least that's what I would hope.) The point here is that one of the struggles I face on this journey is when my beliefs - whatever they may be - conflict with my faith. Some would argue that faith and beliefs should be one in the same. I'm not sure I agree.

Thoughts?

Story of My Life

A faith that's right there...almost within my grasp.

Back in the Day

I came across this old picture from when Steve and I used to invite our friends over for weekly faith sharing many years ago. On this particular night we read the passage about Mary and Martha - Mike is posing as Jesus, Michelle is posing as Mary, and that's crazy Izza posing as Martha in the background. Haha! I miss those days. Back then, I was more like Mary, taking time to just sit and be with Jesus.

Makes me think...maybe what I've been missing is a good, strong faith community.

B Average in Spirituality

Steve and I took a personality test of sorts, except that instead of the results revealing that you're an Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judger (which I am, by the way), it tells you what spiritual gifts God has blessed you with. I love taking these types of quizzes and was curious what type of heathen this particular quiz would expose me to be.

So you're supposed to end up with two primary gifts and two secondary gifts, but I had a four-way tie for 1st place (20 out of 20 points for each). According to the quiz, God has blessed me with the gifts of:

- Discernment: the gift to know and to test whether something is spiritually good or evil.

- Leadership: the gift to set goals and then lead others to work together to carry out these goals for the glory of God.

- Mercy: the gift of showing kindness and compassion in the name of Jesus to those who suffer.

- Wisdom: the gift to offer good advice, solid counsel, and spiritual insight as it relates to God's purpose.

Hmmmm...so I'm a bossy know-it-all with a bleeding heart and superb BS detection. Yup, sounds about right.

Equally unsurprising, I got a 1 out of 20 for the gift of Hospitality and a 0 out of 20 for Prayer. My friends will readily vouch for my hospitality score, and given the fact that I try to call in sick to mass on a semi-regular basis, I'd say it's no secret that I struggle with prayer. But I plan to work on both of these. Raise them to 10's out of 20 at least.

(The quiz we took is called Spiritual Gifts Inventory by Rev. Rusty Freeman)

Kicking and Screaming

I did not want to go to mass yesterday. I mean, I seriously DID NOT want to go. I was hot, grumpy, tired, lazy, and I procrastinated until literally the very last minute before finally getting ready to go. And by "get ready" I mean a quick wash of my face, pulling my hair into a messy ponytail, throwing on whatever was clean, and running out the door with 15 minutes to get to our church which is 20 minutes away.

I begrudgingly drove to church, wishing I could have finished watching Win a Date with Tad Hamilton, which I didn't really care about at all but at least it would have meant staying home. I snuck into church, slipped into a seat next to Steve (who looked disapproving, yet not surprised), and sulked. Why oh why did I have to go and marry the youth minister of all people?!

After I resigned myself to the fact that I was there and that it didn't kill me, I sucked it up and got over myself. I ended up actually enjoying the homily and even sang, clapped, and danced a little as they played one of my favorite songs at the end of mass. Steve turned to me and said, "See? Aren't you glad you came to mass?"

Whatever, dude. I mean, yeah, I got something out of it. And of course I don't like not wanting to go to church. But the truth is, it's just where I'm at right now. And until I figure out how to change it, then I'm going to have days where I literally have to drag myself to mass. In fact, that's probably exactly why God gave me a youth minister husband...because He knew I needed someone to annoy me keep me in check.