in the midst of metamorphosis

Deconstruct - to take apart or examine something in order to reveal the basis or composition often with the intention of exposing biases, flaws, or inconsistencies. This will be my most raw and real series yet. I do not plan to "work" these posts as I usually do, spending energy writing and rewriting over time until they seem acceptable for publication. That feels too much like how I became firmly ensconced in this miry pit to begin with. It is my truth, laid bare, as I see and feel and recall it. It is my story to tell, in my words, in my way.  This is my deconstruction out of religion. (told in snippets of memories, without adhering to a linear timeline) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Shock kept the words from truly registering. They were heard. They were understood. They felt like birds trapped in a too small space, desperately flapping to escape the confinement of their truth. They were seeking freedom to leave, now , but were rooted t...

I desire open, honest, and nonjudgmental communication from all people and all views and all ideas. The words of my posts are simply my own thoughts on how the church* can fully be operational in Love. My first post on racism and the church (found  here ) was written two years ago, and yet it is still relevant, still truth, still a problem. Though I am no longer a part of the church, I have been observing her, watching...waiting...hoping for her to stand up and take on this devil, this time. Here are a few of my observations on the three camps that have formed within the white church: "All lives matter" is the acceptable motto of the first camp. Here, its members are intent on proving that the church loves all people. While waving this sign, personally and on social media platforms, endears them to their fellow campers, they are either blatantly ignorant to the troubling implications of this mindset (honestly, in this day and age, ignorance can no longer be an excuse ...

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...

Because this post also fits into another of my series - where the church gets it wrong - I will add the same disclaimer: I desire open, honest, and nonjudgmental communication from all people and all views and all ideas. The words of my posts are simply my own thoughts on how the church* can fully be operational in Love. Racism. It's a dressed up word for an ugliness that this country seems unable, or unwilling, to purge itself from. The struggles have been long and hard for all people of color here, and that is unacceptable. It is unacceptable for me, and it should be unacceptable for you. This isn't about following a famous football star or television personality or even our former president . This isn't about ratings or approval or 'jumping on the bandwagon'. This is about ending, once and for all, the inequalities, the abuses, the myths and fallacies, and the mistreatment of POC. and that is something that the church should be concerned with. Bri...

**********PARTS OF THIS WERE ORIGINALLY POSTED JULY 2016 I am biracial. In times like these, I feel trapped, caught between the rock of being white and the hard place of being black. I could write for a very long time about the horrors of racism that my family members, that my friends, have endured because of their skin color. I could cry and tell you of the suffering that I have been through, as recently as this month, because of my mixed heritage. I could paint a gruesome picture depicting the ugly side of this mess that most of America would prefer to slide under the ever present rug of denial and disbelief. I won't. This very post had a different slant when I first wrote it four years ago. I didn't want the country we came from, or the culture we were raised in, or the color of our skin to matter. I wanted desperately to look past that into "one big melting pot of beautiful completeness." Yes, those were my words. That was the me of then. and that...

*In 1967, the year that interracial marriage was legalized everywhere in the United States, 72% of Americans were opposed to it, and 48% felt that it should be prosecuted as a criminal act. *In 1991, the percentage of people opposed to interracial marriage (finally) became the minority. ................................................................................................................................................................... ................................................................................................................................................................... Growing up multiracial in this white part of the world was difficult, to say the least. My parents married only one year after it was legal for them to do so. My dad is white, of German and Swiss descent, and my mom is black, with a heritage that has traced our roots back to Africa, and also includes Native American and white. I was born into an era where the majority of peo...