Always something to prove

When I did CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education aka hospital chaplain internship) I had an incredibly sexist manager. A man who would scoff if one of us (women, we were 4 out of 12 summer interns) would ask a clarifying question about the on-call schedule or our reporting. When we would respond to his scoff with an apology for asking our questions he would answer with, “I have a wife… I know that women don’t get it and always have questions.” He would laugh under his breath at us if we cried or got emotional during our morning reports after a tough overnight. Us women can be so emotional, can’t we?? *insert eyeroll*

My supervisor, who led our small groups, and was one of the most badass women I’ve ever met and she would ask me why I had such strong reactions to this manager, why was he getting under my skin so much? She wasn’t defending him, she was digging, searching for the source of my ragging feminism and short fuse when it comes to sexism. “Did your parents not support you? Were you told as a kid that you couldn’t do things because you were a girl?” she would ask… My experience as a kid was literally the opposite. I have been so lucky to have been exposed to some truly badass women in my life. I had a front row seat as a kid watching my Mom knock out glass ceiling after glass ceiling, proving time and again that women could not only be pastors, but they could be really damn good at it. I had aunts that were highly educated and firsts in their fields, grandmothers and great aunts that proved women could run a farm, complete tough mathematics tasks, raise kids while doing it, run political campaigns and go toe to toe with anyone that stood in their way. I was watching Mia Hamm and her team beat the odds in the 99’ world cup and sell out stadiums across the country while winning it all, I was singing girl power songs along with the Spice Girls, my parents took me to meet women like Mae Jemison (the first woman of color in space and an all-around genius). And, I think most importantly, I watched men like my Dad not only support all these women but lift them up when it was necessary and also get out of the way when it was necessary. In fact, my Dad is probably a bigger feminist then I am!

Because of all this I have been pondering a lot lately this question of why… why I’m so focused on these feminist issues when I was raised with the idea that I am as good if not better than the man next to me? Part of the answer is shell shock. Because I was raised the way I was, in the community I was raised in, with the examples I had, I was blind to just how sexist the world still is, I couldn’t recognize the microaggressions exploding all around me because I hadn’t seen or experience straight up aggression myself until I was in the professional world. Now it’s all too clear how much we still need each other, how much work we have to do. If the election of Donald Trump over Hillary Clinton proved anything to anyone it should have been the fact that the country, we live in is still teeming with sexism. If the Brett Kavanaugh accusations are proving anything it’s that we still don’t believe women, we don’t value their bodies and their safety, we go with what is convenient over what is right.  

Women today are simultaneously filled with determination and fear; with pride in the women who were first and the knowledge that glass ceilings and trails can grow back. That the responsibility to be first might still fall on our shoulders. No matter what our list of accomplishments may hold, both individually and across the board, we will always have something to prove. When a woman walks into a room she has to prove she is capable, where a man has to prove he’s incapable. Women are constantly fighting to prove we can, where men are given that acknowledgment just by existing. This is why we, as women, have to continue to come together, to lift each other up and to believe each other; not blindly of course and not because of some kind of made up trickle down feminism, but because if we can’t support each other and hold each other accountable in a safe and productive way, no one else will.

When I moved into my office at my internship site I made the conscious choice to surround my desk with pictures of women (Leslie Knope style). I didn’t do this because I don’t have supportive men in my life, I did this because I wanted to remind myself of the powerful women who helped raise me, the women I call colleagues and friends, and the women who are coming after us that we have to raise right. I admire every face that smiles back at me from my office walls because behind those smiles is power and fight, a history of firsts and boundary pushing.

We may think that we don’t need each other, that there is balance in our world because more women are in the work force, more women are climbing mountains and running marathons, more women are educated and powerful, maybe we’ve made it! In so many ways we, as women, have arrived, we have proved ourselves time and again. But, until we stop hearing “for a woman” at the end of a compliment or success then we have not made it, there is still work to do. Until “boys will be boys” is no longer an acceptable excuse and rapists aren’t elected into office we have not made it. And you know ladies, until we start lifting each other up and believing each other, we will never make it. I am lucky to have fellow women who remind me every day how powerful and capable we all are, not just in how they go about their lives but in sharing stories of women who were the first to climb mountains, get elected to office, or accomplish something great. The reminders are beautiful and necessary.

I know that I am lucky. I am lucky to have had the examples and support I did while growing up. I am lucky to be surrounded by some truly powerhouse women and even luckier to call them friends and family. There are many who aren’t as lucky, who feel they are fighting the patriarchy alone. There are many who deal with intersectionality that forces them to fight battles on multiple fronts at once, or pick their battles in ways that I (as a white, heterosexual, cisgender, middle class woman) don’t have to. Because of this we have to be more aware of what we are facing, to acknowledge that even microaggressions are damaging and painful, that even though we have come so far there is still work to do.

So, keep sharing those stories, keep finding other women to run with, lift each other up, remind each other of the power we have both individually and as a group, but most importantly; believe each other, listen to each other, because once we realize we aren’t alone, there’s no stopping us.

The Walking Wounded

When you decide to do something that doesn’t even cross most people’s radars of possibility the number one question you tend to get is, “why?”

As I started getting serious about attempting a long distance hike on the Appalachian Trail I got asked, “why?” a lot. Even during my time on the trail a typical ice breaking kind of question between hikers is, “so… what brings you out here?” I even met a young man, still in college, who was himself hiking but also collecting people’s stories for his senior thesis on why people strike out on these time consuming adventures. I was counted among the long distance folks because I was planning on being on trail for more than 100 miles in one stretch. Initially my plan was 1,200 miles, a little more than half of the AT, in the end I managed to scrape my way over about 400 miles. If I’m being completely honest the trail kicked my ass. Some days it was physical, most days it was mental and emotional. There was no way to prepare for some of the conditions and hardships you face when all you can rely on is 35lbs of gear on your back, the strength in your legs, and your will to move forward. Needless to say, I was in over my head, big time. I’m proud of what I accomplished and for the most part, I quit on my own terms. But I am also insanely pissed and disappointed in myself for not hitting my goal. It’s a fun tension to live in (insert sarcasm here). Lucky for me the trail is always waiting, the ancient mountains have stood the test of time and they will always be there waiting to be explored and climbed. Unlike the usual challenges I choose to face, the marathons, the tough workouts, hell even the masters degrees I keep going back for… the trail is immortal. It may take me until I’m barely able to hike more than a couple miles in a day but I will hike every mile the AT has to offer. Because, why the hell not?

But, lets circle back to the “why” from this time around and the lessons learned. Originally I wanted to hike on the AT cause it seemed cool. A fun physical challenge that had a sense of mysticism to it. You gained a certain badass reputation when you were a long-range hiker; you were branded with not just the label of physical toughness but mental toughness. I wanted that. I’ve proved already that I can muscle through a challenge. That I can drag my fat and out of shape ass across the finish line of a marathon without training. But this mountain of a goal (pun intended) was something way different. This wasn’t just a 6-hour gauntlet of pain and then a hot shower, clean sheets, and a trip to chipotle. This was a years of preparation, research, survival, dirt under your finger nails for days, ramen for every meal, tripping down mountains, dodging snakes, standing up bears, destroying your body day after day kind of a deal. May not sound great, but when people asked me why was I doing this, that’s the answer I wanted to give them. That that was the experience I was looking for, that I desperately needed. I need to be challenged in a new way, I needed to reconnect, I needed to get away from people, I needed to remember what it was like to feel things on a visceral level, I needed to figure out if there was something I should be figuring out. Turns out what happened was that I started seeing my internal demons in a whole new way.

I was told that I most likely suffered from depression when I was 19 years old. I got pissed at the therapist, I thought only people who were weak got depressed, thought only people who had tough lives, or tough things happen to them were knocked down to those kinds of lows. Worst thing that happened to me in my life? Being born with a shitty metabolism. I’ve been fat since I was six, this has led to a lot of self-confidence issues, being bullied and judged, but in the grand scheme of things I can’t complain. So why in the hell was I sad all the time? As years passed I became more comfortable with this “diagnoses” or label on my mind, honestly many times I forgot about it, if people talked about depression I didn’t relate, I didn’t count myself among them, but I didn’t cringe either, I didn’t judge. My mid 20s was when things hit a new level, anxiety got added to the mix and my body felt so horrible, my chest was constantly tight, and my head was in a vice grip so tight that I thought I was dying. I sat in my doctor’s office crying from stress and told her I was convinced I had cancer, that’s the only thing that I thought could cause such physical strain on my body… I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside out. She said, “You have a therapist right?” I answered that yes I did, to which she replied, “Has she diagnosed you with anything?” the answer to that, was no. My doctor recommended I talk to my therapist about medication. She said, “Let’s get your stress under control. If you still feel this bad after that, we will look into what might possibly be going on with you.” I was both comforted and pissed. No way was something as (what I thought to be) benign as depression and anxiety causing the physical and emotional pain I was going through. I was up some nights unable to breathe, my hair was thinning, my skin was covered nearly head to toe with painful, itching eczema. It was nearly impossible for me to believe that depression could do that. But, I took my doctors advice, talked to my therapist about the pros and cons of medications and within a couple weeks I was on antianxiety/ depression meds. Things didn’t improve drastically or quickly. I still hated my job, ruined a relationship with a good guy, felt alone and unfulfilled, had little confidence in myself, and my skin still crawled with eczema. But, slowly but surely the tightness in my chest released, the rash started to disappear, I don’t think I was happy, but I wasn’t miserable either. This was a wake up call for me. A realization that you don’t screw around with chemical imbalances that cause you to see only darkness. That as “embarrassing” as it may be some times there is no explanation for feeling so low, it just is what it is.

Once at seminary I felt that I could vocalize and identify my depression. It was the first time in a group of people that I announced that I was one of many people who suffered from anxiety/ depression. It felt less like a label and more like diagnosis; like someone who is diabetic. This helps to take away the stigma and the self-judgment when you face it for what it is, a physical imbalance with serious mental and emotional side effects. This helped only a small amount when it came to facing the internal rollercoaster that was my emotions and mental status. One thing about me is that I am a highly functioning depressed person. I don’t miss assignments, deadlines, meetings, or fall through; even in my darkest times. Some times I wish I would, and then I wouldn’t have to explain what is going on or convince someone of my pain, it would just show. When you can function through your illness no one thinks you’re sick, especially if that illness is mental or emotional. So then you slowly start to feel like a fake, like maybe you’re making it up, maybe you’re overreacting.

What does this all have to do with my hike? Wasn’t that what was promised at the start? Well, friends, this is all a part of the why. This is all a part of the how. The hike became my medication, something that I could hold on to, something that I could look forward to, the light at the end of a seemingly endless and very dark tunnel. Remember the state I described earlier that lead me to medication and I thought I couldn’t get any worse? Well, I did. My second year of seminary was filled with some of the lowest moments I have ever encountered. The reasons don’t matter, they are in the past, but it was hands down the greatest internal struggle I have ever faced. If it weren’t for the promise of the hike, the anticipation of feeling something besides dread every day, the excitement over encounters with true beauty… well, I honestly don’t know if I’d still be around.

That’s the why that I didn’t bluntly share until now. I would usually say to people, “Well why not? It’s an adventure! I’ve always wanted to do it! It’s a great break from school…..” But the real answer, “Because I need to come back to life.”

What I didn’t expect the trail to bring me was a deeper understanding of my depression and how I live with and around it. I kept thinking that I should have some huge revelation while walking, or that I would change somehow, like I would crest a tough climb, see a mountain vista and break down in tears with some new understanding of my life, vocation, and God. This did not happen. Some views did bring tears to my eyes but it was because of their striking beauty and majesty, not a revelation about myself. I remember voicing this frustration in a couple conversations, this frustration over not having a life changing epiphany. The response I got was, “well… like the saying goes, not all who wander are lost.” I may not be lost, but I’m certainly not found either. I had to remind myself that most of the questions we ask ourselves in life just don’t have answers, not ones that are easy to find anyway. This is something I’ve had to come to terms with many times.

One of those questions was, “Why am I so depressed. Why do I feel victimized when I’ve never been a victim?” The simple answer, chemical imbalance. But, sometimes that feels like a cop out answer. What I realized during my hike and during all the time I had with myself was that I was a victim, just not in the way that we think. When we think about victim and abuser we think of two separate people. But, when I look in the mirror I am looking into the eyes of my worst abuser, I am a victim of myself. I am also the only one who can save myself. For me this has been the clearest way that I can visualize my depression, it isn’t some unseen force, some unanswered question – the answer looks right back at me in every reflective surface. This brings both clarity and guilt, an ownership of my life but also a sense of isolation, that while other people could aid me in the solution it is really up to me to fix, and while things that happen in my life could make things harder, I would always be my toughest critic. This may not seem like a helpful realization, it may seem self-deprecating and harsh… well, it is all those things. It’s also something I needed to figure out, that I needed to face; because it was the same way on the trail. Some things and some people made life easier or more enjoyable, some things made your journey miserable but at the end of the day the only person that would put my feet one in front of the other was me.

The other, slightly related realization I had was that I had to stop thinking I was on the same path as everyone else. I’ve always been awful about comparing myself to other people and internally competing with others (even my closest friends); this stems from insecurities mostly and feeds directly into my anxiety and if I feel I’m falling short it exacerbates my depression. One of my favorite phrases, which was universally honored and respected on the trail was, “hike your own hike.” Basically there is no right or wrong way to get from point A to point B if that way is right for you. We’re all on the same trail but moving along it in our own way. This led me to come to terms with the fact that I am not where I want to be in life. I’m 30 years old, single, only halfway done with seminary, consistently broke, and living in student housing! Haha not at all where I thought I would be at this point in my life. Some people are learning new things about themselves, making big leaps, falling in love, having kids, having the time of their lives and that is amazing! But me? I’m just not. I have amazing friends who I am sharing life with, I love learning, I’m excited about diving deeper into ministry, and I have so much good going for me… I say that because I want to make it clear that I am not constantly sad or disappointed in my life, quite the opposite actually. This may not be the pinnacle of my life, but that’s why life is so long and the trail continues. Even in times when things aren’t great there are still great things about those times.

I’m not sure if people will read this and feel hopeful for me, but even though the realizations were heavy and the trail wasn’t exactly what I expected, I loved it. I feel like I am carrying on with a greater understanding of myself, my depression, and what I want out of life. That for me, even now in this uncertain time, is hopeful. So while I may be the walking wounded, I at least know where I’m going.

#thisis30

Sitting in the refectory of LSTC eating a glorious omelet from Pedro and enjoying the early fall weather here in Chicago and reflecting on the last 30 years.

As this milestone birthday has rapidly approached the question I kept getting was, “How do you feel about this one?” As if turning 30 was something to dread or feel bad about. I know, that especially for women, turning 30 is a huge benchmark… if you are single and childless the thought “time is running out” crosses many people’s minds… well. I’m 30 now and I call bullshit on that. Honestly I remember having a much harder time turning 20 then I am having turning 30 haha… turning 20 was terrifying! I wasn’t a teenager anymore, felt like I had to become something else, to become and adult somehow. I wasn’t ready. Turning 30 though, that isn’t scary… I’m ready for my 30s.

My 20s were something else… I feel like I lived about 8 lifetimes in that crazy decade. I grew (I shrank haha), I loved, I lost, I broke down, I built up, I messed up, I lucked out… you get it. The past decade of my life felt like a whirlwind of change and expectation, beauty, and pain. It is hard to even start to reflect on my 20s and what I learned, what I did, and who I’ve become. That could take me all of my 30s haha but I don't want to dwell, I just want to take the good and make it better.... This is why I am so excited about turning 30, so that I can take the things I’ve learned and the people I love into this next part of life that has so much potential! 

Whenever you stand on the edge of the next step the possibilities are both exhilarating and terrifying. I know that my 30s could bring with them many challenges and possible heartbreak, but I can’t help but feel really optimistic about what this next part of my life will hold. I think it is because I am going into them with knowledge and wisdom that I fought for and with people in my life who have loved me through it all. With all that I have going for me and all that I have to gain, how can I not be excited about this refresh button that we all get every 10 years??

I have thought about goals I’d like to have for my 30s; things I’d like to do and experience. But I have learned the hard way that quantitative goals are all well and good when it comes to life but really horrible if you only meet them halfway or don’t meet them at all. Suddenly this missed mark eclipses what is actually amazing and good in your life! But, because it wasn’t on a “to-do” list, what you do have actually doesn’t matter. I don't want to live like that. 

In the last year I have grown to really love the mentality of self-improvement while AT THE SAME TIME self-realization of what you do have and what you are good at. So, when I think about being 30 and what I would like to achieve in this next decade, this is what I’m thinking…

Take better care of myself physically…. On previous birthdays (or just any day, lets be real) I have always associated this with a number on a scale. I will never be completely free of this mentality because I will always associate my personal health with my weight. But, in the last few years I have been able to push my body across the finish line of (almost) 30 long distance races, up some killer mountains, through tough workouts, and challenging situations. So, what would I do differently? What is my goal for this next phase? Well, I want to branch out… try new types of workouts, be intense in other ways besides just distance running. Maybe try out a triathlon… or start doing what my friend Caroline does and has recommended to me and become a race guide. I also need to stop kidding myself about how well I eat. Overall I do pretty good, but if I was doing that great I wouldn’t have weight problems, would I? I mean as we speak I’m eating peanut butter M&Ms (its my birthday though!). I just know that so much of my self worth and confidence is wrapped up in how I feel about my body, and mixing it up athletically and eating cleaner is the way to keep pushing towards that feel good feeling.

Take better care of myself mentally… I do this in many ways already but the change I need to make is to drop the judgments. I feel like I’ve always been a pretty positive person but the second a situation or even a person lets me down I automatically make the judgment that it will remain negative… NOT anymore kids! I truly have seen that every situation has a silver lining, some times you don’t see it until you’re out of the situation, and that’s ok! So I will try to look on the good side of as much as I can (except Donald Trump… there is no silver lining in Donald Trump).

Be more open to relationships… I mean this in a romantic sense. I have some serious walls when it comes to opening up to men I date (sorry… all like… 3 of you haha). So while I need to protect my heart, I probably shouldn’t hoard it anymore haha

Never forget that my friends and family come first.

Be better with money… like seriously Elise… get your shit together.

Overall I just want to be happy… consistently happy. Not naively where I think everyday will be sunshine and roses but just happy. I also want to help in any way I can to make sure the people I love are happy. So with my lessons learned, excited determination, and new gray hairs  its time to charge into this new phase!

Why I won't say that the church is dying

"This is a dying Church".... I hate that phrase. I do not like what it implies and I don't like that leaders within our Church are using it. I know that there will be people who say that I am naive, that I don't understand what is really going on within our Church, but let me start off by saying that I am fully aware of the struggles our Church is going through. I see it in the challenges that my parents and their colleagues face every day, I see it in the annual reports I get from now three congregations. I see it in my friends who are in seminary or freshly out. I see it on the faces of my pastors and on the faces of those on my candidacy committee. I see it, I read the articles, I have the conversations, and I am well aware of what we, as a Church, are facing... and yet with all of this staring right at me I still will never, ever say that my Church is a dying one.

Today my congregation confirmed 11 young teenagers, all in middle school or early high school, as we all are when we go through confirmation. Instead of a sermon the newly confirmed were asked to stand in front of the congregation, one by one, and tell us what faith means to them. While I sat listening to these surprisingly articulate young kids I noticed a pattern. Almost half of these kids talked about community, how the church as a living body inspired their faith and kept it strong. So I started thinking, how can we claim to be a part of a church that is dying when there is such renewing spirit and life among us?

The Christian church won't die, it has been alive for over 2000 years. But, the Church is changing... that is the difference, the word "dying" implies that it will no longer be around, that the people who believe together and pray together will disband and disappear into the wind, but to change is part of living. Now, is the church as an institution and organization struggling? Yes, it is, it's struggling a lot; attendance is down, roofs are leaking, offerings are at an all time low, and pastors are having to work day jobs just to keep the lights on, these are all grim realities. But you know what? These are realities that countless organizations are currently facing, even the federally backed education system is struggling! Teachers salaries and benefits are being cut, schools are closing, music, art, and sports programs are being sacrificed so that history, math, and science can continue... the entire world is struggling. But here's where the church is in trouble. No one makes giving to the church a priority anymore. The ruthlessly sought after millennials that everyone keeps talking about are poor! We need church but we want it for free. We also have not educated these new generations about the importance of giving to the church. I will admit that even as the daughter of two pastors I had no clue that the offering gathered every Sunday had anything to do with my parents' paycheck, or fixing the crack in the side of building... I just kind of thought it was a bonus, money that went towards the soup kitchens and bought crafts for Sunday school (which it also does, if there is any left over). The generation that was taught that 10% of your earnings goes to your church is dying, literally. And the new young families taking their place in the pews were not taught the same lessons. So, that is where we need to step up as a church. Stop saying that our church is dying because the non-denominational church down the street is packing the folding chairs, stop saying that pastors won't have jobs anymore, stop freaking out and start stepping up. We can't hide our churchs' problems anymore. We have to get real with our congregants and tell them that if they want to keep walls and a roof around their community and if they want their pastor to be able to care for them the way they'd like then we have to step up. And the best part is you don't have to be a millionaire to do it! $2 a week is plenty, whatever you can give, you should.

So, enough on the finances rant and back to this dying church thing...

It is my belief that we have lost sight of the difference between dying and changing. We, as congregations, have to change the way we reach out to new members, we have to change the way we communicate with people. There are some scary statistics out there about how church attendance is down, there are more "non-believers" than ever before (which I don't think is true I think we've just started counting), there are more Sunday morning options, etc.... But there are also other great statistics about how 67% of millennials prefer a traditional church service to a contemporary one, that my church welcomed 11... ELEVEN young people into our community today, that my mom's church is gaining new members faster than they can handle. People want community, it is an inner desire that drives all of us and church is the perfect place to find that community. Besides, that's how it all started! Jesus didn't wait for people to come to him and hope and pray that they threw him a few coins so that he could fix the organ... he went out to them, his followers were sent out to be fishers of men, and even after the ascension his followers continued and they met where and when they could. It was beautiful and pure and based on love, community and faith. That church that started 2000 years ago still exists today, it is within all of us, we are little individual churches walking around this world and hoping to find someone that we can relate to, yearning to spread the word. So, if our church can morph and change and "keep up" for 2000 years then we can keep that alive, we can change, we can shape ourselves to the desires of the people and people will also see the beauty in our tradition and sanctuaries.

So rise up church! Rise up and meet this challenge! This church is not dead, nor will it ever be, it's just different and different is not bad, it just takes time, love, and a little understanding.