The Wrong Side of Religion

There’s a story I haven’t been writing.
We’ve kept quiet, distant, instead choosing the high road.
We’re surrounding ourselves with people that bring positivity, support, and love.
There’s no room the alternative, and there never will be.

I came into our relationship with deep abandonment issues from a decade long on-off relationship and Cody came in with significant financial stress, of which practically speaking only, it does not make sense to marry in this moment. The abandonment and debt moved in with us, and stress and anxiety visit more than I’d like. But we do not owe these details to you, dear reader, no matter that some of you have demanded them of us.

It is never our responsibility to explain what God is doing in our lives.
Each and every one of our stories has been carefully crafted to be unique, our own chess piece moving according to his will and purpose.

Most days we forget we’re not married. We wake up and choose one another each and every day. We’re committed to one another, love each other deeply, and value our life together more than anything. Those are the parts that make us a family, not the piece of paper. We’re reminded slightly, when traveling under different names or doctors visits, or when people don’t know how to address a card to us so they just put Cody and Dana, that we aren’t legally bound to each other.

We’re only painfully reminded that we are not married by “Christians.”
Over the past two years, we’ve found ourselves on the wrong side of religion.

We’ve felt the cold winds of disapproval.
We’ve heard the whispers of damnation.
We’ve been bruised by gossip.
And our hearts were shattered by those who dared try to steal the amazing gift of our son with their condemnation.

My mind understands the difference between God and Christians, but my heart struggles to link the two sometimes.
The collective church’s silence on the issues that should matter most is deafening: the refugee crisis, hunger, homelessness, our children dying at schools or theaters or churches, the lack of affordable health care, to name a few.
The focus instead on our little family’s tough, but practical decision not get married, makes me wonder, often, if we aren’t all missing the entire point.

Whereas Jesus’ entire teaching is about love and acceptance, I’ve found Christians more often focusing on shame, judgment, and ultimately, exclusion. Quickly labeling, swiftly damning.

I’m 30, white, educated, financially stable, solidly middle class, have an excellent support system, and am in a loving, wonderful committed relationship, but the hateful and hurtful reactions, the shame and judgment thrust upon us by a select few about starting our family before getting married made me understand abortion on a level I never thought possible. I empathize with women who make the very difficult decision, who don’t have all these factors in their favor.

“This isn’t a life any mother would want for their son.”
“10 months go by and now Cody’s engaged and expecting and getting married in Greece? Whose dream is this?”
“What are we supposed to tell our kids about your lifestyle?”
“What do you expect? We’re not going to be holding fricken balloons for you”
“Your heart must be so far from God to be living together and having sex before marriage.”
“We’re not going to be asking people to come to a shower where it may or may not last since you’re not married. That’s normal thought process.”
“Why would you share that you’re pregnant on facebook?”
“You’ve ruined Cody’s reputation”

When Leo was five months old, we signed him up to be dedicated at church in the spring, submitted the photos, picked out the passage we wanted, and invited my family to join. Our submission was flagged by a staff member and we were asked to meet with the pastor beforehand. We willingly did, gave the background of our story, and had a good discussion. He agreed to dedicate our son. We read his email the following morning, backing out, saying something was missing, and if we’re willing to wait to get married, we should wait to dedicate Leo to the Lord. We challenged back, noting that if I were a single mom it wouldn’t even be an issue, but because we’re committed without marriage, we’re excluded. Ultimately, we declined a second interview, too tired, too exhausted, too fed up, too mentally drained from it all. The shame. The judgment. The hypocrisy. The exclusion. We asked my brother in law’s father, a Lutheran pastor in Maryland, to baptize Leo in the park behind our house at the Inner City Christian Federation, and on the same weekend my sister and brother in law married last summer, we celebrated the ceremony, something even more special than we could’ve imagined.

We’ve slowly loosened the grasp on our desire to be accepted.
We’re standing out now, and allowing God to fit us in where he wants us to.

Brene Brown, shame researcher, amazing TED talker, author, and one of my idols, talks about bravery, courage, and the importance of speaking truth to bullshit in her book Braving the Wilderness. There is importance in not allowing others to frame the argument for you. It is not all or nothing, black or white.

Out here on the edges of christianity, I expected to find isolation and loneliness. Instead, I find we’re in good company. Here in the wilderness, we are able to show up as our true, authentic selves, and we’ve been able to have such meaningful, empathetic conversations. There’s love, acceptance, tolerance, listening, and learning. There’s so many of us experiencing this in different ways, different stories, and my eyes will never close to it again.

We’re practicing our bravery, courage, and ability to show up and be vulnerable, to speak truth to the bullshit and the sad lives of people that believe christianity must be a narrow, confined club, that will never venture from their bubble to truly see the world.
More importantly, we’re practicing our own courage and love, vulnerability and acceptance, so that we can teach this to our children too. You cannot pass on what you yourself do not possess.

I’m seeing others toe the line and speak out, risking their reputation, their following, their livelihood to do so. I’m inspired by authors and leaders I’ve long since admired like Jen Hatmaker, Beth Moore, Rob Bell, and Kent Dobson who are willing to lovingly speak truth to bullshit.
Thank you Jen, for your words and vision and bleeding heart in sharing your stance on gay marriage and your fallout from the church because of it.
Thank you Beth, for your words and willingness to continuously fight for safety for our kids at all costs and the refugee crisis, for your ability to wade through disgusting tweets and remain positive.
Thank you Rob, for your courage to be controversial, to ask questions, to challenge our thoughts and interpretations.
Thank you Kent, for detailing leaving church and finding God, especially from your vantage point as an elite preacher’s son.

This is the story I haven’t been writing.
This is the one I’ve been hiding behind for two years, quiet and distant, hurt and angry.
We’re surrounding ourselves with people that bring positivity, support, and love.
There’s no room the alternative, and there never will be.