What Love Requires of Us

I sit in this small group each week, to stay tethered to something. Because it feels more intimate than church; bigger than my own thoughts and theology.

We close group this week and every week by opening the floor for prayer requests. We write each person's request on a notepad and forget about each one and the notepad before we leave this circle tonight.

Just as we end, there is one last girl that begins to share. Except instead of sharing her request, she begins to cry. It was quiet & soft-like an accident. All of our faces are on her as she works through tears to piece together words. She hopes these words will make her tears make sense to all of us. She is holding back about the deep hurt that has left her here: in this circle, unable to preform as the put-together person that she meant to be. She starts to tell us how this pain has changed her, how it has changed God for her. Her words came together slowly and the tears fast and unrelenting. The emotion she feels steals her breath. She isn’t here to make a request. She is here for relief. She can’t keep herself together anymore, she can’t have the faith they are talking about. So she empties herself out on this couch.

Her pain starts spilling out into the circle we sit in. The least I can do here is stay locked in with her; to carry, to feel, to imagine, the pain she is sharing with us. To sit in this with her, and go nowhere else. I think to myself, that there is nowhere else more important I go.

Just as her words start coming together, the girl who leads this circle stops her mid sentence to say “I am sorry, can we just stop right here and pray for you right now?”. Everyone follows suit quickly by closing their eyes and positioning their heads low.

Her eyes are open now, glued to the coaster on the coffee table that we are all gathered around. I watch as she becomes emotionless. They pray for her to try harder while her eyes stay on the coaster.

The prayer ends and the girl leading this circle thanks her for sharing and moves along, asking for any other requests. 

It settles over me that this prayer was not for the girl with the tears, it was for the girl leading the circle. All of us, too busy silencing our own discomfort, halting it with a prayer, that we missed it. We sent her off with our hopes and advice and prayers to a God she was struggling to believe is even good. We left her with all of those things and none of what she needed. Her pain did not disrupt our tidy lives.

It’s like when I found myself in a church bathroom with a girl who had just said the truth out loud for the first time. I am wearing my new, favorite white shirt and watching as her mascara melts off of her on to my shirt. I have nothing to give her, only my shoulder and my staying here. 

I hold her tight. I don’t use this time to direct or advise her. I don’t decide things about her heartbreak. I don’t say things like “everything happens for a reason” because I have no reason to offer. People on bathroom floors rarely need thoughts or opinions anyway. I have no answers. I am only as shellshocked and broken as she is, because I am. She didn’t need my prayers that night, she needed someone to care-so she can start to believe that maybe there is a God that cares too.

The shirt I wore that night is still stained with her mascara. I stopped trying to get the stain out. I like to think the hardwood floor where my first tears of relief fell is still stained too. 

May we find the messy work of love our highest calling; the love that leaves stains in our shirts, interrupts our tidy lives, and leaves us never the same.

Logan Burgess

on trusting the Inviter

Secrets of the Secret Place

8/14/2022

I sit, close my eyes, breathe deep, and expect to be with God. 

Instead-my mind is racing, reaching. With each breath, I await the calm my soul has been craving. I can’t settle myself; I can’t get still inside.  

My mind wanders to the event happening only a quarter mile away from where I sit now, on the balcony of my apartment. This is an event I should be at, that I am expected to be at. I assume God wants me in that big room full of good intentioned people. A worship night at the church I have loved, for the person I love, seems like the place God would want me. I start to wonder what God must think of me being here, and not there.  

Then, there You are. The steadiness that anchors my mind. The peace that restores my soul. I am filled by the sweet, all-encompassing relief of being close to You.  

“Is it possible,” I ask, “that You show up here even though I didn’t show up there?”  

The answer is immediate, it has been with me all day.  

My choice to show up here, instead of there, was decided by the nudge I had felt all day. I was drawn in by the undoubted invitation. Drawn in by the Great Inviter, always asking that I do this thing one thing-trust the invitation.  

So, the answer is yes, especially here. I was being drawn away from my own religiosity and my attachment to the woman I thought God and the good intentioned people wished I was. On a day where I am utterly aware of my inadequacies, where going there would only have left me feeling further from God than I did when I entered. Instead, You draw me here, straight into Your arms.  

I almost missed You. I almost went to that big building, where I thought you wanted me to be. I almost spent this holy hour there, wishing I was like them, like the good intentioned people. I almost participated and pretended. All to convince them of us, that I am a person You love. All to be worthy again.  I expected You to want me there, but You invited me here.

We spend this next hour, utterly together. 

I wonder what I would be surprised by if I stopped deciding and expecting You to only pull me towards the things dressed like church. What would this love look like if I looked for You-not the things I have associated with you. If I sought you, not the people and places that claim to hold You. You, not the security of being loved by or approved of by Your people. What if I trusted the invitation from a God good enough to show up wherever I am as exactly whatever I need?

If we are honest, we know the difference. It is deep in our bones. Settling in; soft, strong, sweet, and ours for the taking.  

It strikes me that this time We share is not another thing for me to accomplish or another thing for me to do today-it is everything.  

For the first time this week, I am ALIVE again. 

Logan Burgess

The Smiley & the Swirly People

I have known church since before I knew God. Each Sunday as a child, my mom would dress me and my sister up, and as a family we would go to church. Inside, were lots of smiling people.

There, I learned quickly about the woman that God wanted me to be. I tried so very hard to smile a lot, and nod at the men when they talk, and be grateful, so very grateful. All of the women were doing this and I wanted to be like them; the person God wished I was. I thought heaven was a place reserved for the smiling people.

If I’m honest though, I am not and never have been a smiling person. I’m a swirly person. Let me explain, here’s the truth:

• The rain makes me feel relieved.

• Sadness has always secretly felt like my superpower.

• I suck at pleasantries. I can’t fake love, I want to mean it even if all that is required of me that day is a smile. I just simply won’t be able to do it if I don’t mean it.

• I don’t think positivity and honesty can always coexist.

• I feel things deeply and intensely. The true and beautiful and horrible all the same. Some days this is exhausting-but always a breeding ground for any creativity that comes out of me.

• Emotions are always swirling around in a black and purple and sparkly abyss in my head. It’s horrible and I love it.

I have spent the majority of my life being frustrated by my inability to be a smiley person, resenting the people it came easy to.

One of the people I love most in this life is a smiley person. While we were growing up, I thought she was faking it all because I could never make myself quiet as positive or sparkly as her. I know now that none of it was an act. She is all the good in this world, exactly the person I’ve always needed. She has an ease of access to the joy of the Father. I see it in moments like this:

She is walking into church, this is and always has been the place she belonged most. She smiles at the people inside, meaning it each time. Honoring and seeing the best parts of each person and each moment here. There is nothing to think about here beyond what she knows to be true-she is rock solid. She is utterly herself, connected to the joy, to the mission set before her. Her face is sore from the smiling when she leaves, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

The joy has never come easy to me. Instead, here’s a similar moment for me:

I am sitting in my weekly small group on a blue chair in a circle of girls. Everyone is talking, I am sinking. I saw something on my phone moments before that stopped everything in me. What I saw touches the deepest parts of me, I’m now here, surrounded by people, longing. This longing is a familiar feeling. It happens when I see things truly heartbreaking, when I sit still with God, but also when I see or experience anything true and beautiful. I think it’s me longing for God, Eden maybe. These things feel like a piece of God on earth, like a minute of tangible communion, connection. I don’t really know. I just know I live from one of these moments to the next.

Walking with my sissy has taught me how much more of the picture we get to see together. How much more beautiful, expansive, individualized this life with God is then religion has made it out to be. I don’t resent her ease of access to the Father anymore. I am grateful I get to love someone who shares it with me & instead, I honor the ease of access I have been given to the depth of the father. I won’t keep fighting to be the woman I think God wants me to be, I will be the one he made me as.

To the smiley people, keep being all the good in this world, the joy that is flowing from the father to you, out onto all of us. We need you & are eternally grateful.

To the swirly people, we won’t let our fear make us gatekeepers. We will stop trying so hard to show up as good and instead we will keep showing up as honest even if we don’t look like the smiley people when we do. Because we know this, God on earth really only dealt with the broken and the honest people, which are the same people. Our commitment to the true and beautiful things of this world will give others permission to show up as all that they are. We will stay moved by it ALL & do our best to play nice with others. Most of all, we will wake up each day to meet with the Father soul to soul. We will get close enough to touch Him and take what we find there to the people out here.

So I will show up and hope the smiling people do too. I will decide I am not disqualified by them and do all I can to abandon the doctrine that taught me this. If we want heaven to touch earth, we must deem church and the places in between as places for both the smiley and the swirly people. We must ALL belong here, with each other and God. We will all show up- because grace is a free for all.

I will choose this. I will choose on earth as it is in heaven. Because I know that the gospel is best expressed not when I love people that are like me, but when I love the smiling people.

Rockstar God

I meet God with heavy eyes this morning. I had an exhausting night of sleep where I was reminded of so many things that make me show up to this day remembering, replaying, & hurting. Pain has a way of convincing me to not meet with God, but I choose to steep my hot tea and sit anyways.

I am remembering the reason I am here.

I’ve been taught I was created for the sole purpose of worshiping Him. As to say we were all created by God because of something we can do for Him. As if the God we believe in is some type of egotistical rockstar that needs our worship. I used to believe in a Rockstar God.

Today, I believe that God created us to love us. We exist this day, and each day, as the object of His affection.

When I consider this desire in God to love and be loved it is familiar. This desire for connection runs deep in me. I feel this longing to love and be loved in my blood. 

I’ve decided this thing was passed to me from the Father and consider that we might not have taken this made in His image thing quite far enough.

The way God exists as the trinity just might be one of my favorite things passed down. We too, exist as trinitarians; Created with a body, mind, and spirit.

I feel most connected to the Father when I get still in my soul. I feel Him on the keys of pianos and on mornings where I am the only one awake yet and some days at crowded bars. He lives in the deepest parts of me and if I can get still enough and alone enough, I am sure to connect with Him.

The boy that I love connects with God through the body. He needs to get to the gym each day like I need to sink each morning. I am guilty of punishing him for not being like me. When I go without sinking I feel the same frantic I remember seeing in him when the pandemic hit and the gyms closed. I boxed up God in my expectations and experiences and good intentions and wished for him to connect with God in the way I did because I thought it was the only way. I have imagined God to only move in the silent sinking places, but I know now He also moves on the turf of a gym and through nature and music and podcasts and the pages of books. The Father is much more than we expect him to be. 

I don’t pray for him to desire the quietness I need to survive anymore. I don’t try to be let in on the secrets between him and God. I let the secret place be secret and trust that it is closer than EACH of our breath. We were created in an image that is so vast. I hold tight to the truth that this walk is not one size fits all and cherish that each of us are wired so differently and specifically for the same connection.

I decide to abandon my ideas about the rockstar god I have believed in. 

I trade in my rockstar god for a Father that is committed to connection with me.

God of Tea Time

I have started a new morning ritual. I sit for as long as there is still hot tea in my cup and I commit to doing nothing other than being loved by God.

I cater to no ones expectations here. Not even the expectations I have imagined or created God to have of me. The goal is to commune. As I am. As we are.

I don’t show up here regretful or apologetic. I show up as a person He wants to sit with because I am. Maybe, just MAYBE, I am exactly the me He wants me to be right now.

I choose to not open my Bible here. I do this to remember God did not show up because I opened my Bible that day. He shows up because of nothing I have done or any efforts I’ve gone to with hopes of earning my way here. This love exist from none of my efforts. I choose to stop trying to hijack the most beautiful part of this love by working so hard for it and instead I sit.

There is no shiny version of myself to send to my meetings with Him. But I choose to acknowledge I am a person He has deemed worthy of showing up to sit with. Knowing this is both humbling and empowering and keeps me showing up to my kitchen table each morning.

I make no requests here and no promises other than the commitment to show up again tomorrow. This is a homecoming worth showing up for.

I choose to exist in this space separate from what I have done or the person I think I have become and just be loved. I imagine Jesus to be sipping on a cup of hot Jasmine tea while we commune. He is not the God that sits on my shoulder and begs me to do what is right. He is the God of tea time.

He honors my ten minutes, my pausing, my stopping, my sinking, by showing up.

I take my last sip of tea that is now cold. I stand up from this place and need to be no one and need to prove nothing. I am the me He wants me to be at this very moment. Being loved by Him is the destination and I can get there each day. This surely is THE daily bread. I begin the day, I indeed lack nothing.

Morning Rituals

I scrolled on my social media for an hour yesterday morning. I woke up today and began that same morning ritual. But pain puts my phone down for me this morning.

What I see, hurts. I let it linger and lie to me about who I am and who others are even hours after I put my phone down. And yet, I return each day. Searching from the same thing that hurt me yesterday for something to make me feel better today. Returning even after the pain, the betrayal, or the boredom. Whether I come back to Jesus the next day, seems to hinge on much more.

I have more patience for my social media than I do for Jesus.

F Bombs

I’m on a coffee date at a wings restaurant. I am sitting across from an “are you free? I need to talk”. She opens our conversation with “Well, there are simply not enough F bombs I could string together to encompass how I feel”. It was a lovely conversation starter and an honest one at that. She tells me about the unimaginable pain she is walking through. She is craving loyalty and love and to be told she is not crazy. Her people are falling short on all accounts. In fact the F bomb anger is not even for the person who caused all the pain, its for the loved ones whose love is not getting to her because of an effort to “love everyone” and not choose sides. She can’t feel their love with the knife in her back. She feels like she can’t give love with the knife in her back. I understand this.

I have been learning about my river. The river of love and forgiveness and grace that flows from the Father-to me, then out of me-to them. Whoever them is that day is not up to me.

In my river there are rocks, so many rocks. Rocks like un-forgiveness and deep hurt. My rocks impede loves flow. I’m practicing dealing with my rocks, throwing them out one by one. I want to tell her about HER river but I don’t. I know she doesn’t need to hear the word forgiveness right now, she just needs to be heard.

I understand because I fight with love too. I feel it swirling and wrestling behind the rocks in my river. I am unable to pretend that what is happening in my life and everyone’s life is not happening. I cannot participate in smiles with backstabbers and hellos with heartbreakers. I cannot fake my love. I need to feel the truth like I need to exhale.

Still, I find there are things that need settling each morning and most times it’s the same things over and over again. There are rocks to be pulled out of the river, love that needs to be released, not held.

Love was not held from me. And that statement doesn’t guilt me into forgiveness. It empowers me to get with the Truth Teller and let him teach me how. One rock at a time.