Rending Hearts, Beating Breasts

DSC_4884.jpgThis semester I’m excited to be participating in a Bible Study at my church on the Sermon on the Mount. For today’s devotions, we focused on the first two verses:

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. – Matthew 5:3-4

What was most fascinating to me was the study on what it meant to mourn. The workbook had us look at passages in Joel and James which talk about mourning in the context of repentance and grieving over sin.

“Yet even now,” declares the Lord,
“Return to Me with all your heart,
And with fasting, weeping and mourning;
And rend your heart and not your garments.”
Now return to the Lord your God,
For He is gracious and compassionate,
Slow to anger, abounding in lovingkindness
And relenting of evil. – Joel 2:12 – 13

In of itself, that is a powerful image. But this morning I also read from Luke 18 which gives the parable of the Pharisee and the Publican. After giving a very unflattering portrait of the Pharisee’s prayer life, the Publican (ie. the supposed bad guy in the story) is cast in a much different light.

But the tax collector, standing some distance away, was even unwilling to lift up his eyes to heaven, but was beating his breast, saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, the sinner!’ – Luke 18:13

Accident it was not that I read both of these passages this morning. While the imagery in Joel is very powerful, it is a bit removed from me, staying in the realm of theory. Where as the passage in Luke tells a story and shows what rending your heart looks like in action. But it does more than that, it shows us how we can think that we are “rending our hearts” when we really aren’t.

The Pharisee stood and was praying this to himself: ‘God, I thank You that I am not like other people: swindlers, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector.  I fast twice a week; I pay tithes of all that I get.’ – Luke 18:11 – 12

Jesus tells us that it is the Publican (someone who would be considered the worst of Jewish society) and not the Pharisee (someone who would be revered as the best of Jewish society) whose prayer was answered and was justified in the sight of God.

What was helpful to me about reading these passages back to back was the reminder of how often I am like the Pharisee, how I compare myself to others and act like I’m better than everyone else and that God owes me something for my performance. Jesus’ parable in Luke helped me to see how I need to the Lord’s words in Joel seriously. I need to rend my heart and not my garments because Jesus is not interested in showy religion, but a faith that recognizes that I am a sinner and that I need the mercy of God.

It’s so easy to live my life as the Pharisee but I trust that as God continues to reveal to me my tendency towards self-righteousness and arrogance that He is going to shift my heart more and more towards the posture of the Publican who beat his breast and rent his heart.



The Impact of Art

Last Monday I got to speak at a homeschool conference about why art, in particular theatre, was important. Since one of the main things theatre has done for me was help me find myself, I wanted to share some of those thoughts here as well.

The impact that theatre has on my life goes way back, twenty years ago, when I was a withdrawn eight-year-old girl.

My older sister, Anna, was very theatrical. She was always acting. One year for a Christmas present, my parents signed both of us up for drama classes. I don’t remember much from that first class, but I do remember the recital.

Our drama instructor had put me in a scene (debating whether cats or dogs were better) and given me an Aesop fable to perform. The scene went fine, but the fable….

It was a lot of words for a shy, dyslexic girl to memorize and speak in front of a crowd of people. So many words in fact, that I wasn’t able to do it. So I performed it with script in hand, not at all disguised by the pretty paper we put on the back of it to look like a book.

Ashamed of my inability to memorize, I ran off stage crying before I had finished reading the fable. No moral for that tale.

After that day, I was certain I would never do theatre again. Obviously, I have since I now help run a theatre company. For one reason or another, I kept returning to it. Through the years of performing, I came out of my shell and found a confidence that I did not have.

Self-confidence is probably one of the most obvious ways that theatre can impact children’s lives.

But there are others. As an adult, when I think about why art is important to me it is not because of the confidence it brings, but because it is a mirror.

In Act 3 of Hamlet, the Prince of Denmark says of acting “the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as ’twere a mirror up to nature: to show virtue her feature, scorn her own image and the very age and body of the time his form and presence.”

We use mirrors to see ourselves. We can’t get an accurate picture of our face without outside help. Art can be used to reflect a picture of our core being, our soul, our humanity. As I have been exposed to art in its many forms, I have found that can it challenge me, comfort me, affirm me, and give me hope.

I’ll start with a challenging example. I’ve talked about how I am working to change the subtle ways that I struggle with begin racist before. One thing that I did not immediately recognize when I first realized that I needed to repent of that sin was how dismissive I was of the extent of racism that minorities face today. It was easy to buy the line that the “mainstream media” was “exaggerating” things.

I gained a different perspective when I watched the movie “Dear White People”.

(As an aside, I have been upset by the controversy swirling around Netflix’s remake of it. Nothing about that movie was “anti-white”. Personally, I found it to be very fair and balanced. I fear those who feel like the movie was an attack, went in with the goal of being offended.)

The movie was a very eye-opening and disturbing look at how disrespected and diminished minorities are. In watching that movie, I had to wrestle with how easily I dismiss others pain “because I didn’t mean to offend them.” and realized that if I truly value a person, I am going to take their hurt seriously and do my undermost to understand that pain and seek to learn how to interact with them in ways that communicate respect and dignity.


Art can also provide great comfort. I’ve mentioned before how I lost a very good friend to suicide. In the first several months especially, I struggled with so many emotions that I didn’t know what to do with them, and I often pushed them aside and ignored them.

A few months in, I got to watch a one-act based off of a Greek play, “The Trojan Women”. In it, a mother is grieving the loss of her family and home. As I watched the actors go from tears to cold horror to screams of pain, I thought about my loss.

The tragedy of the play took on my tragedy. I found such comfort in seeing the tears that at the time I could not weep reflected back to me.

I found such comfort in seeing the tears that at the time I could not weep reflected back to me.

Art can also be a great affirmation of the beauty and hope that is in the world. The other weekend, I went to see the “Last Days of Judas Iscariot” performed by Northampton Community College. In the final scene, Jesus travels to hell to visit Judas whose appeal for release has been denied. Jesus goes to reassure Judas of His love for him, to offer him a way out if he would only take Jesus’ hands.

But Judas refuses. He instead accuses Jesus of abandoning him to his fate and literally spits on His face, screaming and swearing at Him to leave.

There’s a lot going on there to think about, but as I watched this struggle between the characters, I thought of my own relationship to Jesus and how I often scorn His love and help because I feel that He has abandoned me to my fate. When the character of Jesus was affirming His love for Judas, it reminded me of HIs love for me

When the character of Jesus was affirming His love for Judas, it reminded me of HIs love for me and His continual offer to free me from my doubt and bitterness that I struggle with if I would but accept His love and take His hands.

It was amazing to watch because though it looks different, I betray Jesus all the time. Yet He still loves me. He died for me. And He comes to me in my darkness to rescue me.

The reflective nature of art is why I think it is so important. It is why I wanted to keep my theatre going after my older sister stepped down. I want to invite others to have their own experience of seeing themselves more accurately because of a show, or a drawing. I want to encourage others to wrestle with the beauty and pain of life that we can often push aside.

Art often gets dismissed as unnecessary, an extra activity that can be removed if there is a lack of money or time. I strongly disagree. I know everyone is different, but in my life, art has been one of the most powerful tools to help me bloom into the person God made me, either in giving me confidence or giving me understanding.

Have you had similar experiences with art? What about it is important to you?




“There’s no place like home.” – Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz

I’ve never been a huge fan of The Wizard of Oz, but that statement has always run true for me. I’ve been a homebody all my life. There is something about home. Here I mean more the feeling, the sense of security and belonging, of home than a physical house.

Over the past four months, my idea of home, security, and belonging has shifted. To help process it all, I’ve been compiling a Spotify playlist which acknowledges one or more of the myriad of emotions that I’ve been struggling with. One of those is “Lost at Sea” by Jimmy Needham. There’s one line in particular that I belt out with him.

(The whole verse is so good, I’m going to quote all of it.)

Ride the wave, wave goodbye, by the way did I mention today
That I don’t know the way home
So could you take me by the hand and lead me to the dryer land
So I can finally breathe again instead of sinking like a stone
And now I will diligently and not religiously but affectionately come
Before the throne of your grace in this place and seek your face
For all eternity and then some
“Reaching”. Carving. 2008.


Sometimes, the home there is earthly; sometimes it is a longing for the heavenly one. Either way, this song captures so well how lost it can feel to navigate a difficult time. The last month I haven’t been able to blog because of the upheaval of my life.

One of my more recent posts was about the process of pruning that sometimes happens in our lives. In the last month, in particular, I have felt that a more accurate description of my life right now would be being uprooted.

Or being uprooted and pruned at the same time.

(I take great pleasure and pride in my ability to be melodramatic.)

As I’ve been trying to settle into my new normal, the idea of putting down roots has been often been on my mind. I think the typical process involves becoming sure in your place, joining a community, and impacting your sphere of influence. For me, I have been realizing the need to put down roots in something more stable and lasting than any of those things.

I need to be rooted in Jesus.

The cynic in me shouts that that is not as simple as typing seven relatively short words.

It’s not. But I believe that it is the only hope I have in this world and the next.

What does it look like to be rooted in Jesus? For me, it is the cross and the empty tomb. Two years ago, when my mentor killed herself, I nearly gave up on following God, but Jesus kept putting the cross in my way.

One of my many struggles as a Christian has been the issue of God’s sovereignty in the face of evil and suffering. I like to describe my relationship to Jesus as a wrestling match because I feel like I am always fighting for the right to run my life my way.

When my friend died, I could not understand how God could abandon her to such a dark place when He said He loved her.

God never really answered that question. Instead, He pointed me to the Cross.

If anyone has been uprooted, it was Jesus. God became man, transplanted from the glories and splendor of heaven to the squalor of grief of earth. God the Son came to bring restoration to the world. The cost of restoration was His death.

On the cross, an innocent man hung in a criminal’s place. More than that, Emmanuel, God with us, died in my place, taking the punishment of my sins.

It is a horrific scene, an evil scene, an unjust scene, a scene that has Jesus calling out “My God, my God, why did you abandon Me?”

(If anyone had the right to ask God the Father that question, it was His Son.)

But the cross is also a beautiful scene, a scene of love, the place where mercy and justice kiss, a scene that allows God to pull us in His embrace.

That moment in history is one of the greatest clashes of all time. Horror and beauty. Evil and love. Justice and mercy.

And God ordained it all. He ordained it so that He could rescue me.

I wish that truth impacted me more emotionally. Maybe I’m too tired. Maybe I’m still struggling too much with believing in His goodness. But regardless of my emotions, the cross keeps me clinging to Jesus, allowing Him to take me along life’s journey (or even carry or straight up drag me at times.)

If the Trinity had devised a means of saving humanity that did not weave together the allowance of evil and the victory of love, I don’t know if I could even attempt to trust Jesus.

As I look to Good Friday and think about how Jesus was uprooted for me, as I get overwhelmed by the waves that crash around me, as I feel lost and uncertain of where I belong, I take a deep breath and pray “Jesus, restorer of my soul, help me to find my home in You.”

I’ve lost a lot in the last four months. But not as much as Jesus gave up to be able to “prepare a home” for me. Why did God need to make me feel like I was “Lost at Sea”? Only He knows, but I am striving to believe that no matter how dark the situation seems, love is in, underneath, and around all of it.

Some of it is a matter of perspective. Some of it is a matter of trusting that no matter what God might take away from me in this life, I will always have my home in Jesus, and everything else is inconsequential compared to the “surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord”.

Is it easy to believe and trust? I really wish I could say, but that would be a lie. I think sometimes, Christians feel like we have to make it seem like being a Christian is a breeze, but it’s not. At least not in my experience. Paul the apostle compared it to a race, a fight, a war.

I like to compare it to a wrestling match.

One that I know Jesus will win. Because he loves me, even when I don’t love Him. Because He died and rose again and is coming back for me one day to take me Home.

Merry (after) Christmas!

I hope your Christmas was merry and bright! Mine was a mixture of laughter and tears, but still a wonderful day.

The blogging has been lacking the last three weeks due to finishing up my production of Peter Pan and also dealing with some personal issues. But I hope to return in full force next week.

In the meantime, here is a Christmas carol that fits well with the purpose of the blog: encouraging us to keep blooming.

Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming

Lo, how a Rose e’er blooming from tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse’s lineage coming, as men of old have sung.
It came, a floweret bright, amid the cold of winter,
When half spent was the night.

Isaiah ‘twas foretold it, the Rose I have in mind;
Mary we behold it, the Virgin Mother kind.
To show God’s love aright, she bore to us a Savior,
When half spent was the night.

The shepherds heard the story proclaimed by angels bright,
How Christ, the Lord of glory was born on earth this night.
To Bethlehem they sped and in the manger they found Him,
As angel heralds said.

This Flower, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air,
Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere;
True man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us,
And lightens every load.

As a Christian, I find encouragement in the fact that my Lord and my God came down to earth as a baby, that He experienced the hardships of life, that He sacrificed Himself for me, and that He rose from the dead a victorious conqueror, the first fruits of the dead. He has fought the fight for me and won so I can press on, confident in Him that He is going to help me bloom into the person He has called me to be.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!




Easter and Loss

Some of you know that I am a closet NCIS fan. I watched it mostly during season 8 – 11. Even though I was heartbroken when Ziva left, and I still think Bishop is a sad replacement for her, I occasionally watch the free episodes posted on CBS to keep up with what was happening with the team.

Providentially, (It’s amazing how God can move and work through anything) on Wednesday of last week I watched “Scope”. It followed a marine sniper, Davis, who was recovering from serious wounds, both physical and emotional. Gibbs, the team leader, was charged with trying to get through to Davis and in so doing Gibbs ended up dealing with some of his own wounds as well.

At the end of the episode Davis thanks Gibbs for his help and says:

You know, the thing is, I was fighting myself. Trying to be some empty version of what I was before. But I think I need to try and find a way to be who I am now. You know what I mean?

That simple statement sent me off crying and by the emotional end of the episode I was sobbing. It felt good. I’ve been thinking for over a month that I needed a good cry, but it didn’t happen. Probably because the times that were sad and I was expecting tears I kept my guard up. But this caught me by surprise, hitting me deep in my soul.

I am that marine. I have been fighting myself, trying to be some empty version of what I was before.

The last six years of my life have been filled with wonderful blessings and joys, but also of things that were traumatic for me personally or for my community. In 2010 I contracted Lyme disease, from which my body has never fully recovered, in 2011 I had the joy of getting married but our first couple years were a hard transition, in 2014 I nearly cut off my hand, and in 2015 I lost a dear friend to suicide.

All of those things have taken a huge toll on who I am, and I often struggle with trying to go back to who I was pre-lyme. I miss things about who I was before I cut hand. I am weary with the weight of loss. And the fight to return to pre-all these things can be exhausting.

It was providential to watch that marine struggle with accepting his mangled and scarred body as part of him. It helped me to realize that I don’t have to go back. Who I have become as an outcome of those struggles is not a bad thing. It’s been a hard journey, it’s been a journey full of loss, but God has used those things to shape me, to start humbling me, to make a tad more compassionate, and that’s good. I don’t have to let trauma define me and cast a shadow over my life, but I can embrace the ways that God has used them for good.

Since Wednesday I’ve been thinking about loss a lot, especially in conjunction with the Resurrection. Jesus left the glory of heaven and took on human form. (If that is not loss I don’t know what is.) He died for our sins, paying the debt we owed to God, and then rose again. But when He rose he was still the God-man. He did not throw off His humanity. He became the firstborn of the dead, the first to have that glorified human body.

Jesus suffered great loss for us but He never reverted back to pre-incarnation. He’s returned to His glory, but even more glorious. He didn’t reject His loss, rather He embraced what He had gained, and amazingly, what He gained was us. Reconciliation between God and man was accomplished because Jesus lost much, because Jesus trusted His good Father to turn that loss into something beautiful.

So as I think the big things and the small things I have lost, I am trying to keep it in the perspective of the empty grave.

I may never have as much energy as I used to, and I may always have a twinge of Bells palsy. I may never like wearing skirts again. I may never play the piano or sign again. Maybe drawing will always be a bit frustrating because I can’t feel my pencil. Maybe the 22nd will always a sad day.

But whatever I have lost from these traumas, and whatever I am going to lose in future trials, I know that they are for my good and that my Heavenly Father is going to use them to make me more like Jesus. Will it be painful? Yes. Will I experience loss? Yes. Will I struggle to believe that God is good and faithful? Oh, absolutely. But I hope that I will be better at trusting Him in the process of healing, and that I will not fight so much to return to pre-whatever; that I will rather embrace the loss as a part of God’s shaping of me, as a part of my story.

Happy Easter all. Glory be to the one who accepted loss and considered us to be worth that loss so that we could gain heaven and fellowship with Him.

N is for No.

It’s been awhile. I’ve been finding other things that are more interesting to write about then my journey with food. But it’s time to come back to it. As a general update: right now I am concentrating on staying away from foods that make me feel ill (such as dairy, too much sugar, too much wheat) and losing the weight that I’ve gained through bingeing. But, to try and balance that out, I am also working on enjoying the food that God has made. For a time I am going to viewSunday as a feast day, not a eat whatever I want day, but a day where I can relax and eat some foods that I wouldn’t normally eat through out the week. We’ll see how that goes.

N is for No.

Am I able to say no to this food, even if I know that I can eat it without sin? “I buffet my body and make it my slave, lest possibly, after I have preached to others, I myself should be disqualified.” 1 Corinthians 9:27

This is a hard one for me and the one that shows the extent of control I have given food. I sometimes struggle to say no to foods I don’t even like! Most of the time I choose to say “yes” because I am more concerned with pleasure than with obeying God, but there are times when it feels impossible to not eat that cracker even though I’m stuffed.

Elyse Fitzpatrick suggests occasionally denying yourself food even if you can eat it to practice self-denial. I thought it was a great idea when I first read it, but honestly, I haven’t tried it very consistently. Usually if I am at all convinced that I can eat something I eat it.

I’ve tried fasting as the obvious way of saying no, but I struggle with fasting for the right reasons- learning to focus more on Christ. Fasting can be a form of penance for me. “Whoops. I overate. Therefore, I must fast to make up for the extra calories and prove to God how sorry I am.”

That’s not a great reason to say no.

But that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t say no.

It’s easy in America to always indulge. We have so much abundance and luxury, even those of us who are only moderately well off. Self-denial is not a often talked about Christian virtue in our culture even though Jesus made a big deal of it.

Food isn’t the only way we can deny ourselves, but it’s an area where I seek to fulfill myself instead of going to Christ, so fasting, be it from a particular food group, or meal, or day, with the intention of using the longing for that food to point me to Christ would be a valuable way to “buffet my body”.

Anyone have suggestions on how to fast? Every time I try seems to end in disaster.




The Spider in the Laurel

Over Christmas break I had the great privilege of being able to do a lot of reading. It was a gift to be able to relax in books, even the ones that kept me up late because I was so anxious to find out what happened. Here are some thoughts on one of them.

The Spider in the Laurel by Michael Pogash

It is a neat privilege to be able to read a book written by someone you know and who had an impact on your life. Mr. Pogash was my professor in 2010 for Plays: Classical to Contemporary at Northampton Community College. It was one of my favorite classes and I can attribute the beginnings of my writing journey to the end of the semester assignment: writing our own play.

Mr. Pogash kindly spent time critiquing the play for me and encouraging me to revise. I haven’t done, and probably will never do, anything with that first play, but it was an important step in wetting my appetite for the transformational power of words. More recently he kindly looked over my query and first ten pages of CHRYSALIS and helped me to identify its weaknesses, again encouraging me to revise and push on.

So I was very excited to find out he had published a book.

The Spider in the Laurel is set about forty years in the future when religion has been outlawed. Several people have compared it to a mix of 1984 and The Divinci Code. I haven’t read the latter, but I have unsuccessfully struggled through the former, and I can tell you I found Mr. Pogash’s book much more interesting.

There have been comparisons to Indiana Jones too as the conflict surrounds the recovery of a sacred relic. The book is compelling, complicated, and well written.  Being on a quest to learn more about story structure, I appreciated how tight Mr. Pogash’s narrative was. He amped the stakes at the right moments, adding complexity to an already powerful conflict.

It’s very thoughtful too. One of my favorite quotes from the book is:

‘Religion,’ he said, ‘is the one thing I think the Republic got right. It’s nothing but a corrupted invention.’

As a Christian that statement struck me and gave me pause. Only a short one though because I found I agreed with it. I see religion as a corruption of the faith that I follow and hold dear. The book pushed me to think about the ways that Christianity has been made a religion, the dangers of religion, and the ways I am tempted to live my life through the framework of a man-constructed, man-dependent, and man-pleasing religion rather than living my life in dependance and worship of God.

In the world of this book, religion is so corrupt that it turned it’s followers into terrorists. It’s bold and risks offending some, but I’m glad he choose to do that instead of just having simple, innocent religious martyrs. Besides making the characters more interesting and complex it also makes you think.

We’ve had acts of terror committed that are associated with Christians in the past year: the shooting at the African American Church and the shooting at the Planned Parenthood office. For all our attempts to deny otherwise, the church has had a bloody history: the crusades, the inquisition, the reformation, the butchering of the anabaptists, and recent events. I don’t believe that these things detract from the truth of the gospel, but it points to something we are afraid to admit. Our faith can be corrupted and when it is it can become a terrible, oppressive movement.

There is so much more I could say about this, but I want to get back to the book. Just know the book will challenge you to think. The above paragraphs are proof of that.

Last Tuesday I got to attend a reading of the book. It was a great time of getting to hear about Mr. Pogash’s process and listen to the selections he had chosen to share. What I thought was interesting was his response to a question about how he came up with names. He confessed that he often is unsatisfied with the names he chooses for characters. In this case, he was unsure about Rafael Ward’s name (the protagonist of the story). He had struggled to find something with deep meaning that didn’t feel forced.

In many ways Rafael is a great name for the main character. Not only is it the name of an angel who appears in one of the books from the Apocrypha but it also is the name of a famous renaissance artist, best known for his religious paintings. But it did feel forced. It was one of the few things about the story that bothered me all the way through. For a culture that was bent on eradicating religion, it seemed wrong for him to have such a religious name. No one ever questioned it, or made fun of it, or even brought up the fact that his name represented what the Republic was trying to bring down. Maybe that could be addressed in the sequel.

Other then the name there was one tiny thing that felt weak, an oft repeated phrase, and a large story issue that bothered me throughout ninety percent of the book. I kept pushing through because I was confident that the story would wrap up in a way that would show that what I thought was a story issue wasn’t one. My confidence was rewarded.

I bring that up to show really how strong this book is. Two minor problems, a name and a phrase. It’s a thoughtful action story that I look forward to re-reading and I cannot wait to read the sequel. Buy it here: The Spider in the Laurel



First #FightforBeauty tweet: In the midst of death and decay there is a stubborn beauty that holds to the very end.

If you follow me on twitter (@RoseofGerdes) then you’ll occasionally see a tweet about the #FightforBeauty. At first I wanted to tweet something about it everyday, but my twitter skills are still being sharpened, so I thought it would be more realistic to try for once a week. This week’s tweet:

#FightforBeauty: Remember who I am. Sharon, one who God has saved. Not my weight, not my success, not what others think of me.

Sometimes the tweets are about the fight to find beauty in the world around me, sometimes they are about the fight to find the beauty within me. This hashtag campaign came about from a conversation I had a long time ago with my sister about something her college professor had told her: Fight for the Positive.

It stuck with me. The idea of fighting for the positive was, well, a positive one, especially in the context of the theatrical community which can often get stuck in the drudges of darkness. The problem is that I am a more pessimistic, melodramatic, minor key kind of gal by nature. Fighting for the positive is hard for me. Swap joy for positive and the fight becomes almost a guaranteed defeat.

I used to be a more joyful person, or at least a more exuberant person. But as I grew up and experienced the hardships and doubts that God allowed in my life joy became an elusive concept. The times that I tried to exude joy made my soul feel even more joyless because it felt fake, forced.

What was joy when your father gets hit by a drunk driver?

What was joy when got bitten by a tick who threw you into depression and fatigue and distorted your face with bells palsy?

What was joy when your drawing hand was immobilized and you spend most of your days lying face down on your carpet crying out to God to help you push through physical therapy exercises and to give you patience until someone showed up to help you get dressed?

What was joy when your dear mentor killed herself?

Even though there were gifts of joy and hope in all of those situations it was hard to see it. You all have stories of dark moments, days, seasons, where joy was the enemy and not something you desired. If you are like me, you focus on the darkness and refuse to acknowledge the light even if it’s blazing round you.

When I was recovering from my hand accident, I Facebooked moments, events, and people I was thankful for, things that gave me joy. That helped me keep perspective. I’ve tried it a few times since, but not with regularity. For whatever reason, joy is tough. I think partly because we assume that if we have joy we must also be happy. I don’t know if that’s true, I don’t think it is. Regardless, I find it easier to have a feeling of joy and thankfulness when I fight to find the beauty that is in the world, situations, and in me. Beauty is a language I can understand.

That’s why I’ve started the #FightforBeauty. I invite you all to join me and to share the beauty that is in the world with your communities. When I set my mind to it, I have joy and thanks, remembering that God did not leave our world in darkness, but that He broke through time and space to take up the fight for us, winning it at the cross, and brining it to completion upon His return.



The Return of Star Wars, River Song, and Jesus

excitedThis past holiday season has been one the nerdiest Christmases I’ve ever had. On the 18th, which also happened to be my birthday, I got to see the The Force Awakens (at some point I’ll get round to making an official stance on that movie), for Christmas I was given Star Trek lounge pants and the first season to Babylon 5, and got to watch the Doctor Who Christmas Special. The return of Star Wars to the big screen and River Song to Doctor Who filled me with great anticipation for months. Months.

During the season of waiting I compared my excitement of these fictional experiences to my excitement about the coming of Jesus, and just Jesus in general. I wondered if I asked my family and friends to vote on what was most meaningful to me, Star Wars, River Song, or Jesus, what they would say. How would I vote?

Mentally, I know that Jesus is the most important thing in my life, but experientially this often isn’t the case. I’ve had moments, sometimes days, and even weeks through out my Christian struggle where Jesus has been the focus of my mind, heart, soul, everything about me. But honestly, the majority of my life has been characterized by a complacent, deadened, apathy towards my Lord, my God, my Savior.

I know I am not alone in this struggle. I think many Christians deal with a similar struggle. Why is it that things of this world have a greater hold on us than the God we profess to follow?

I can’t speak for others, but these are some of the things I have come up with as I’ve considered why Star Wars and Doctor Who, (and other things like writing, eating, my work…pretty much anything actually) get me more hyped up then Jesus.

1) I have a deep, personal, and meaningful connection with the characters and stories that I do not have with Jesus.

Now, I’m not saying that I don’t have any connection with Jesus. I do, and it is being strengthened as I mature in my faith, but there are times when I honestly think that my attachment to works of fiction is stronger than my attachment to God. I certainly can talk about Star Trek, gush about Babylon 5, and share my passion for theatre, with much greater ease than I can about Jesus. There are other reasons for this besides a lack of connection-fear, doubt, and trying to fit in for starters-but I do think that my shallow relationship with Jesus is a big part of it.

Growing up, my mindset about Christianity was very works oriented. In the words of my pastor, I interacted as though God was my landlord or boss, not my father. Even though I had grown up in a Christian environment, it wasn’t until I was 19 that it struck me that Christ died so that I could have a relationship with Him, not just so that I could impress the world with how perfect I am.

If you’ve followed my blog or know me at all, you know that I still struggle with my desire to be Super Woman. It’s been eight years since that epiphany hit. As God and I have wrestled through my doubt and anger we’ve made some progress in our relationship, but it still suffers from my goal-oriented, self-sufficient mindset.

I think this is because until very recently the thought that God the Father, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit wanted to be personally connected with me, knowing, caring, and interested about every detail, joy, and sorrow of my life, never occurred to me. I heard it talked about in sermons and read about it in the Bible, but for some reason I always assumed that deep relationship was meant for  some other person who God was more interested in. I am thankful that I can say God is helping me get rid of this lie. I am just as important to God as all of His other children. I’m excited to see how my life changes as I continue to understand this more.

So, this is a long way of saying that I have grown up struggling with God-issues. While I didn’t feel a deep connection with Jesus, I have always felt a deep connection to my Sci-fi. I grew up with Star Wars, Star Trek, and Babylon 5. I feel in love with River Song even though I am not a huge Whovian (don’t shoot me). The characters/story arcs mean so much to me. I laugh with them, get angry for them, cheer them on to succeed, and I weep, and sometimes wail, when people die-and no, that is not an exaggeration. I am engaged in a deep way.

I’d like to think that some of my attachment to these characters and arcs is because they have nuggets of truth about who God is and what He wants for the world. But…I can’t say that with certainty and is probably just my way of justifying my sometimes obsessive and idolatrous love of these stories.

2) I have invested in them more than I have invested in Jesus.

Part of why I feel so connected to these shows is because I have given them a lot of time, energy, and thought. This is something I really struggle with in my relationship with Jesus. It is much easier to sit down and watch B5 (especially when you just got the first season as a Christmas Present) than it is to read my Bible. Easy to justify too, because we can’t just read and pray 24/7, or we’d be disconnected to the world, hidden away like hermits!

Jesus demands that we love God with out hearts, souls, and mind. I think the mind is an important part of the relationship that we often downplay. We relegate the mind to the “study of God”, the “knowledge of God”, and keep it away from experiencing God. But I think meditation, a key-part of my faith that I have been lacking, can turn our emotions towards God. If I spend a lot of time thinking about something my heart and soul tend to get invested.

So while I am not going to be returning my beautiful Babylon 5 Season 1 DVD’s, (see how much I love this show?) I am working on making a more intentional investment in my relationship with Christ and focusing my mind on Him. This has been easier since I have begun to hope that He wants a personal relationship with me. My devotions are still a struggle, prayer sometimes feels like war, and there are Sundays when I am so ashamed of my lack of authentic adoration of Christ that I want to stay home all day and suppress all emotions with food.

But. But.

The awesome thing is that Jesus doesn’t need or want me to get all my ducks in a row before I come to Him. He wants a personal relationship with me as I am now: doubting, hopeful, angry, excited, focused, distracted. One of my favorite verses is:

So now Jesus and the ones he makes holy have the same Father. That is why Jesus is not ashamed to call them his brothers and sisters.

– Hebrews 2:11

Jesus is not ashamed. Jesus is not ashamed of me. This truth has been a balm to my embittered soul as I have struggled towards light, freedom, beauty. And when I think of these truths, then I get excited about Jesus.

So, now that Star Wars has come, and River Song has gone, and Babylon 5 is here to stay, I can look to Jesus strive to be more intentional in my relationship with Him, remembering that He wants a personal relationship with me, so that when I think about how amazing my Sci-Fi is, I will live my life in such away that declares the Creator of Science and Story is so much more.





Breaking Chains

I think this is my first post about theatre on this blog. With my attempts at blogging about how theatre impacts every day life once a week on All the World’s a Stage, I haven’t been sure exactly what to say about my dramatic life here that wouldn’t be a simple reposting of the same thoughts.

This week I am here to post about the deep meaning and impact I found and experienced in watching my actors (also known as my kids) perform A Christmas Carol the past two weekends.  There is, of course, the pride and excitement at watching my actors overcome self-conciousness and pushing themselves to abandon themselves to the dedication of their art in order to raise money for the Allentown Rescue Mission, a homeless shelter and so much more, but that emotion is only part of it.

When I directed A Christmas Carol five years ago we focused on Scrooge’s obsession with amassing and controlling wealth. This time I wanted to explore how Scrooge’s greed controlled him, picking up on the theme of chains that Charles Dickens crafted for us in the depiction of Marley.


Chains were present from the beginning. Starting out as the chain from a pocket watch, gaining weight with the chain trim that graced Scrooge’s robe, growing with each new Spirit’s visit. At first Scrooge is oblivious to his chains, but as the Spirits expose his heart to him, he sees how entrapped he is.

Desperate to be rid of the chains, he clutches at them but cannot take them off. In the end, the chains are ripped from him as he begs for mercy and proclaims his repentance.

It was one of my favorite scenes: the music, the lights, the group of ghosts closing in on Scrooge, his cries, the chains falling to the floor, were powerful. But it’s deep meaning wasn’t just in the artistic experience but in the personal remembrance of God’s work in breaking chains in my heart this year.

2015 was not easy for me. I started out the year recovering from a brutual hand injury. I had just begun to surface out of the depression that had crept in when my mentor killed herself. The tragedy pushed to the surface years of anger and bitterness towards God that I had repressed.

The short version of my journey over this year is, God dealt with me. He didn’t send me three spirits to expose my anger, but in the end the result was the same: He removed my chains. When I watched the chains getting torn from Scrooge, when I heard his cries of repentance, I thought about my own experience with shackles, my battle to repent, my fear at the pain of being freed from the anger that weighed me down. As I watched Scrooge prance around his bedroom after being returned and restored, I thought about the newness of joy that I have now.

This is not to say that I don’t still struggle. I do. Just yesterday I told my Pastor that I have never believed God was good. That declaration came out of the exhaustion of finishing a production and the fresh pain of not understanding why God has allowed the suffering that He has.

Even though it’s an exaggeration to say I have never believed God is good, I do struggle with trusting that God is consistent in His goodness.  I see His grace, but do not yet have the faith to believe that He is good in the face of things that seem so bad and evil. But after seeing God work to break my chains of anger, I know that God can free me from my doubt.

These are the things that I thought to myself as I watched my actors #FightforBeauty on stage, and this is why I love theater. It impacts us. It mirrors our own journey. And sometimes it gives us hope that we will one day be free.