Back to School

Some thoughts on deconstruction and ex-vangelicalism

Today I walked around the park, and passed the dorm where I lived in college. I have complicated feelings about that place and this space and what it represents. The way it seemed then, and the way I see it now. Who I was. Who I am. It’s about identity and belonging. Who is in or what is out. More visceral than fashion or trends—it’s family and faith and friends of a lifetime who feel so distant now.

I remember that it is ok that it made sense for who she was. And it’s ok that it no longer makes sense for who I am. Both of us are brave. Both of us face our fears and take risks and dare to leave home and venture out for places not yet tried. Both of us try on new roles and move to unfamiliar places and dare to boldly continue our journeys. We listen to voices—inside and out, familiar and new. We wrestle and decide and err and apologize and try again tomorrow. New mercies. Fresh grace. With a good night’s rest and energy renewed we can take another run at it.

They told us to keep learning and growing…. But when we did, some of us got sidelined and not asked to come talk in classes anymore.

I feel so much nostalgia for who she was and what she had then, and the opportunities she had and the things she learned. They told us to keep learning and growing, listening and reconsidering. But when we did, some of us got sidelined and not asked to come talk in classes anymore. I feel grateful for the space she had then, and I feel betrayed that they haven’t grown along with her. I feel so abandoned and lonely and orphaned now that this is no longer my home.

“The places that used to fit me cannot hold the things I’ve learned.”
~Sara Groves

I walk past my old homes there and realize there is no longer a place set for me, no place to rest my head or my heart. No place to tell my stories, to share my wisdom and my hard learned lessons. To them I am one more almost success story. One more lost soul. One more stray who has backslidden and been tempted away by the spirit of the age.

I give Thomas a high five and tell him I’m good when he asks how I’ve been. He reminds me to stay hydrated on extra hot days, and fills me in on neighborhood news. His simple cheerfulness and unquestioning assumption that he belongs—and that we all belong—is more constant than nearly anything else around the park.

I hold space in my heart for the young folks moving in this weekend.

May we all be happy
May we all be healthy
May we all be peaceful
May we all live lives of ease

Different hopes than they would pray for me if they knew my heart.

And that is ok.

We all belong.