a giant pixie stick of imitation

one down

Hi and welcome to this first issue! This one deals with religion but others won’t be so heavy on that topic, so don’t worry I won’t be yelling at God too much. I am not aiming to look down on Christianity as a whole (right now) but rather talk about its effect on my life. The way I have worked things out with this has been through writing so I am sharing some of that on a wider stage now. This is just a little experiment to put more of my writing out there so thank you so much for signing up for it, it truly means the world to have people interested. It will evolve and grow so I welcome any and all feedback. 

Lizardbreath was the nickname my first and only boyfriend called me. He asked me to be his girlfriend the night before our last day of fourth grade and his cousin broke up with me for him on the night of our last day of fourth grade. It was an exhilarating twenty four hours in which I remember him passing me in the hallway and I internally gushed because the coolest kid in our grade- the soccer player- was my boyfriend.

I remember after the phone call retreating to the bathroom and looking at myself in the mirror trying to cry, because that’s what happens in the movies my parents didn’t know I watched. I imitated that because my small brain thought that’s how real life was, and my brain had been programming itself to imitate my whole life so this wasn’t new. The imitation was due to being raised in a religious home. To be honest, my parents always supported religion in my life but were never the enforcers. Instead they tasked my christian school and church to do the dirty work. My life was religiously insular- I went to a Southern Baptist school during the day and a Pentecostal church Wednesday nights and Sundays. My mom thought that was diverse since the two denominations butted heads. This was her way of exposing me to opposing ideas- one where I could defend the merits of speaking in tongues to a crowd of kids who’s most fiery chant was naming the Armor of God. 

Never met an elementary classroom without this hanging in a corner.

I thought being in between these two worlds made me edgy. “Well we fall on the ground when the Holy Spirit overwhelms us” was my radical ideology when I was 13. I cruised around to other denominations once my friends got cars and was introduced to Calvinism (debating free will vs predestination? A 15 year old’s dream convo.) My whole life, even my secret life of Non-Denomination, was still brimming with Christian mentors and friends who I constantly imitated their emotions and beliefs about God. Inside though I had secrets, and those secrets were questions about the validity of God that I couldn’t ask anyone because then my status as Bible Beth would be put at risk (sure, yes, I am a Virgo™). 

I remember the first time I knew something was different about me, and it wasn’t that I needed to check out Lutheranism. I was a 3rd grader at Christian Camp- the pinnacle experience of a Christian kid. If you were raised in the Assemblies of God, a typical camp experience was that Thursday nights were the night that Heaven cracked open and on a cloud of fire God descended into the service. It was the Endgame of camp nights and everything geared up to that experience. Other nights we did normal heavens parting service followed by a late night visit to the canteen for snacks. That Thursday night I remember watching my friends, tears in their eyes, move toward the altar. Soon I was the only one left in my seat and again- imitation- needed to go to the altar so no one thought something was up in my sin chart. I remember getting down there and side eyeing my friends who had their eyes closed, hands raised in worship. I did the shy raise, where my elbows were still bent- I wasn’t brave enough for the full extension yet. I earnestly tried praying and worshiping but I was only focused on getting one of those super size Pixie Sticks at the canteen as soon as the back doors flung open. I followed the lead of the kids around me and laid on the ground and closed my eyes knowing this was the last step in the worship process till we get to slide a pound of sugar in our mouths before lights out.

Next thing I knew I was waking up to some counselors whispering to each other “wow, God must really be moving inside her heart right now.” I opened my eyes to see who the lucky little culprit was and realized they were talking about me. Because I was the only one left at the altar. Because I had fallen asleep and my worship disco nap to them was me floating in a heavenly pool with the Father, Son and Holy Spirit (I was down long enough to bag all three in their eyes). I shyly got up, collected my things and headed out the door. I raced to the closed canteen and saw my friends enjoying the last of their large Pixie Sticks. This was the beginning of the end of my Christianity in the form of processed sugar dust. 

Quick pause for one minute to watch some bears swim in a pool.

Welcome back. I remember being mad after this experience because I didn’t have the experience of those around me. I wanted desperately to cry (a theme perhaps?) because God wasn’t moving in my life the way I saw He was in those around me. I thought maybe I wasn’t educated enough and God could only work through those who studied Him (Virgo™).

My ideal Thursday night at camp.

But I was doing the work. I read every Blue-Like-Jazz-Rick-Warren-End-of-Times-Explained book that came my way from Lighthouse bookstores. I did morning devotions and nightly prayers. I once even prayed in a cemetery. Yet most of my altar experiences were me checking out those around me for the signs of fatigue in the Holy Spirit realm so we could get over to Wendy’s before indoor dining was closed. I did feel God but I felt God the same way people at a concert all sing together- it was a collective emotion that permeated through everyone that made you feel like you belong in that space. The goosebumps were never the Holy Spirit brushing past me but were from moments when I felt like I was apart of something bigger than me, surrounded by people I loved. I imitated speaking in tongues, reading the Bible, saying the right Jesus thing because those that I respected were doing that, but it wasn’t me. Just like I couldn’t cry over my 24 hour boyfriend- I just didn’t care enough to want that experience.  

When I was 16 I finally became friends with someone I could comfortably say “this is weird, right?” and from there slowly chipped away my imitation game to become someone not afraid to be what their brain was thinking. It took some time to find myself outside of religion but I’m glad I was able to meet that person and grow. I still believe in some of what the Bible teaches and have the highest regard for my friends in the faith who have actually studied theology and don’t lean into corporate religion.

This also taught me that imitation isn’t just contained in mastering the art of raising my hands in worship and knowing the exact moment to put them down so I’m not the solo worshipper left and spark another wave of the Holy Spirit crowd surfing and now look Wendy’s is closed and the last movie played ten minutes ago. I’ve learned to check myself so that I’m not just following what’s around me, although the stakes this round are a lot lower because the end result isn’t my skin burning off forever. I’m not always perfect- sure it seems embarrassing to admit how much I faked speaking in tongues but have you seen how many improv classes I’ve paid for? Checking myself to stop the things that pleased others opened myself up to being good at the things that pleased me. Which probably lead me to starting this newsletter because I’ve been terrified of attempting writing outside of scripts or tweets in years because doing something different felt wrong, an idea I was raised on and I guess will always be shedding.

Will I ever go back to God? I don’t know but I do know it won’t be at the request or longing of others. It will be fully myself when I feel like I don’t need to imitate what people want from me. I don’t need God to be happy, the most joy I’ve experienced in my life never once came from a religious experience. But joy has come from me letting go and experiencing things as they come, not curating what is expected to happen. 

Re: what is going?

• I just finished Samantha Irby’s latest book wow, no thank you. Her writing is truly laugh out loud funny and I was scared my roommate would hear me laughing two rooms over as I devoured it’s pages. You can read one of my favorite parts of the book here.

• My family’s home country of Bulgaria is also experiencing an uprising due to corrupt leadership and police brutality (2020 once again poking it’s head telling us the world is smaller than we thought). My brother and dad grew up there and the huge protests that are happening are very special because although their democracy is in decline, they haven’t had rights like these in decades. If you want to learn more here is a good Twitter thread.

  

• Fresh air, baby. I hiked Cooper Canyon and the only picture I wanted to take was of the fresh air. I just couldn’t breathe deep enough. If you can get your butts to some non-city air go right now!!!!

• Some ways to help in Portland. Here are a few places I am donating my money this week and here are some other resources to help those over there. (Also I am assuming you are caught up on what’s happening and if not please spend more time researching that than you did on reading this newsletter).

• I have to come clean and admit that the Zac Efron travel show (Down to Earth) on Netflix where he tours the world with his best little buddy Darin Olien is really good and I cried when it was over. (I do stand by my Twitter statement that Zac has no idea how to dress for the elements. Also did everyone know RVCA was pronounced Rew-kah????).

  

  I want to end this newsletter with some words from John Lewis who passed away recently. Like many others it’s been tough to watch him pass during this time but what an exemplary life he lead. I can’t believe he’s gone. I know this quote keeps getting passed around but it is really good and something we need to stick in our brains longer than a 24 hour story.

“Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Our struggle is not the struggle of a day, a week, a month or a year, it is the struggle of a lifetime. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.”

Also here he is crowd surfacing which has brought me some joy over the last few days.

Comments? Questions? ANSWERS? Send ‘em my way.