Ch. 3, Pt. 1: No More Monsters in the Closet
(This chapter was adapted from my writing in the time of crisis. If the “voice” sounds a little more antagonistic or aggressive, that’s why. Thanks for continuing to pilgrimage with me!)
Have you read chapter 2?
“If we have the aspiration to stop resisting those parts of ourselves that we find unacceptable and instead begin to breathe them in, this gives us much more space. We come to know every part of ourselves, with no more monsters in the closet, no more demons in the cave. We have some sense of turning on the lights and looking at ourselves honestly and with great compassion.”
Pema Chödrön, Comfortable with Uncertainty
. . .
I've been using a good many vague words like “doubts” and “questions” to this point in the story, because, well, the specifics might give you reason to worry and pray for my soul (ah, please don't).
But, hooray, you’ve stuck with me this long! You deserve more!
To sum up: In the aftermath of Overflow’s closing, I felt I had to keep asking “what else am I wrong about?” — all the way down the spiral. To eventually hit a dead-end, which brought me face to face with the Big Mama of all questions — most troubling & explicit — hiding in the shadows:
Does God exist?
You have to start with that one, right?! It's a classic. It is still being asked by people all over the world after all of these thousands of years because the existence of God can't be proved or disproved in empirical, verifiable terms.
And yet, this was the first time in my life I was asking the question. Like really asking it.
It was the first time I could let myself wonder (wander), where is God?
If he’s real and supposedly personal, why all the distance and mystery? Why doesn’t he reveal himself as we ask? Why can’t we all see him on equal footing? Why doesn’t he make himself OBVIOUS? Why does the search for God feel like a chasing after the wind?
Is God an absurdity?
I love how Andrew B. Newberg poses the question:
“Is there a spiritual reality, or is it merely a fabrication of the mind? If there is a God, does such an entity reach out to us like the hand of Michelangelo painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? Or is it the other way around: Does our mind reach out to embrace a God that may or may not be real?” (How God Changes Your Brain)
Either I had been afraid to know the answer or ...I didn't want to get smited (smote?) for asking.
I have always been a rule follower, you know? I color inside the lines.
Besides, a YES to this question (does God exist?) had always been a core building block of my life. I wasn’t really ever presented with another option than to believe. It was a prerequisite for belonging in my family, church, and “career” as a pastor. My whole identity felt nonexistent without this “divine paradigm.”
So, with good reason, I was just plain scared to look it in the eye – terrified of what might result from this altercation.
But the alternative seemed to be that the Real God had abandoned me, so either way, I was screwed. Might as well be honest with myself.
The Betrayer or the Betrayed?
I remember the day I wrote the deepest questions that were gnawing at me in my journal (July ‘16):
Have I simply been “following” a “God” who was in my head — a figment of my imagination — this entire time?
-OR-
Has the Real God abandoned me?
In the case of the first being true, I was mad at myself, and ashamed, for having been duped, conditioned, and manipulated into putting my whole heart and life into a LIE!
Even still, just writing out “does God exist?” on paper felt like a massive betrayal!
A betrayal to myself and my identity, which had grown and developed out of this core assumption
To my family who had raised me to serve God
To my husband who met me through the church and was ordained as a pastor by my side
To anyone who had been a spiritual mentor to me over the years
To anyone who had sat under my leadership in the church
To the God I had loved and served all these years
How could I? My “faith” was supposed to be “stronger” than this!
Turning on the Lights
Because I was already a broken, blubbering mess, and it felt like things couldn’t get much worse, I asked Gabe to read my journal entry (I couldn’t bear to utter the words out loud).
*If you have ever confessed any big secret to someone, you know how important a moment like this is: how important their response is.
He took my journal in hand, read for what felt like an eternity, looked back into my blotchy, tear-stained face, and…
…assured me it was okay.
He loved me the same, even if I couldn’t believe the same things.
He assured me that I wasn’t a betrayer of my former self, or anyone else.
It was “all part of growing up, all part of the journey,” he said.
He didn’t try to “save me” from the crumbling down of my belief system. He just let it be what it was. He just sat with me in the rubble.
He gave me his understanding heart and that was that.
I had been filled with fear, dread, and shame…and then, all at once, was flooded with feelings of relief. In an instant, I was given the room and space I needed, where I could utter the worst of it — “no more monsters in the closet, no more demons in the cave” — and still be accepted. Still be loved.
I no longer had to take the easy way out, jump to “spiritualized” conclusions, or brush my broken heart under the rug... I could “[turn] on the lights” and look at myself “honestly and with great compassion.”
Fear is No Reason to Believe
About a year later, I started reaching out — one by one — to a handful of friends. They also felt my pain and fiercely cared. They understood. They saw me. They carried my grief. They were my safe place.
They showed me that I could choose a new path, any path, and still be me. Still be loved.
In the course of one such cathartic conversation, one of these friends said something that really stuck with me. It went something like this (not an exact quote, more the way I absorbed it into my heart):
“I don’t fear God’s judgment…
If it turns out, at the end of life, that God DOES exist and IS a God of love, then he will know how hard I tried to figure all this out! He will see that I did my best to live a good life and make the world a better place.
Besides…fear is no reason to believe.”
This point came as such a huge source of comfort to me! Such a cleansing and liberating idea! An affirmation of what I had already been feeling about my whole dilemma.
I had been carrying the heavy burden of fear with my “faith” for so long, I felt incapable of dragging it any further! I had to sit it down, if just for a moment. Finally, I’d reached a point where I could give myself permission to do so…
Relief…
By this time, Gabe and I had started going to a new (more grief-informed) church — a story I’ll tell in the next chapter. And I was crying big alligator tears during every service, for weeks, and then months.
I was in mourning.
The words of the songs brought up so many warring, complicated emotions. But, more than anything, I felt relief.
I was relieved that I had had the courage to follow my questions all the way to the bottom. Relieved that I didn’t have to pretend anymore.
Relieved that I could sit down here,
at the bottom of the pit,
for as long as I needed to – maybe forever.
Relieved to be in a safe place with safe people.
It felt like such a sacred place: grounded and true.
Finally, out from under the guilt & fear narratives I had been carrying, I had no reason to deny my doubts or shoo them away. I could look at myself (and my “monstrous” doubts) “honestly and with great compassion.”
I could stop resisting and just be.
