in the midst of metamorphosis

Recently, two prominent people have announced their “defection” from Christianity and, for me, it’s particularly heartbreaking to read the harsh opinions about it. The truth though is that they are not alone. There is a seemingly large desertion, myself included, of the traditional ideas of church and religion.  That begs to have the question answered, why? Whether it be temporary or permanent, I’m finding that most of those that I talk with are looking for one thing. More.  More love, less condemnation. More inclusiveness, less division. More openness, less judgment. More world, less these 4 walls. I believe that Jesus was all about a life of more. More than a book. More than a church service. More than a religion.  He was about going past what the people of that time knew. He was about finding the more, and that took shaking things up, asking hard questions, changing old thoughts, patterns, beliefs.  More always comes at the cost of loss. Those of us search

intentions vs intentionality This subject has been rolling around in my head for a few weeks, working its way out in short bursts as I struggle to wrap my head and heart around what it has to say to me in this moment. Simply put, my definition of intentions are the words I say, and intentionality is when I add actions to those words, bringing them to fruition. So, what exactly does that look like? We have all been there, traveling that road to hell that is filled with good intentions. Our minds are swirling with these really good thoughts and words, falling together to create really good ideas and plans, and before we know it, they slide unhindered right out of our mouths. We say a lot,  like I want to save all the animals, or let's hang out, or we need to exercise more, or let's love others better, or today I'm eating healthier, or we want to save the planet, or ....and the list of our really good intentions starts piling up faster than dirty laundry in a household

Riding the bus during my childhood school years became my first memories of boys and bullying and the inexcusable being excused. These boys were older and they were, by far, worse than any "mean girls" I've encountered since. They were persistent and loud. They were relentless and aggressive. and they were never stopped. My first encounter of being groped was on that very same bus. A different boy but just as aggressive, just as persistent, just as relentless. A foundation had already been formed. I was less than and had no voice, no backbone, no knowledge to fight this surrounding system of boys will be boys. and I never stopped him. Years later, I would encounter this same attitude in the workplace, the one that had me trying to avoid the handsy cook in the walk-in, that had me laughing off customers advances so that I could make enough tips to support myself, that had me scared because a forceful patron had followed me home from my job at the bar and now knew whe