Tag Archives: religion

Guest Post: “When You Take Your Twins to Church”

Today I have the pleasure of hosting one of my dearest online friends, the incomparable Leanne Shirtliffe of Ironic Mom.  Between her killer wit and her beautiful heart, I was smitten as soon as I met her, and of course I love a gal who’s handy with an innuendo (if you know what I mean). And, like me, she knows that the best way to handle life with twins is to laugh at every opportunity. –Tamara

(What’s up with all the guest posts around here lately?)

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There is nothing quite like suppressing a laugh in church. I do this often with my seven-year-old twins, who expend more energy and provide more entertainment than Cirque du Soleil on speed.

Here are ten churchy things Vivian and William have done that have made me want to crawl under a pew, curl up into the fetal position, and pray that the Second Coming is imminent –like in the next thirty seconds.

10. During the sermon, William started playing a loud version of I Spy. He started with “I spy something gray.” It’s an aging congregation.

9. When the choir started singing, William put both hands over his ears and kept them that way for the length of a cantata.

8. When I led the children’s craft before the service, Vivian asked if she could have more fairies for her cross. “They’re angels,” I said. I looked at William, who was holding up his stickers. “I know those are dolphins,” I said. “I couldn’t find fish stickers.”

7. Vivian and William had a hockey brawl, fighting over who got to put our money into the collection plate. I got hit with an upper cut.

6. When the pastor asked the children what God looked like, Vivian’s hand shot up. “Half man, half woman,” she said.

5. After partaking in bread and juice for the first time in communion, William loudly asked, “What was that all about?”

4. On another Sunday, Vivian returned to our pew after having communion and announced, “Jesus tastes yummy.”

3. The next week, Vivian was first up to the communion rail, knelt, and tumbled off in a sideways somersault.

2. While watching a baptism, William backed up and rear-ended a taller-than-him candle. It was set upright before the entire congregation had to stop, drop and roll.

1. Immediately after saying the Apostles’ Creed, Vivian turned to me and asked, “What’s a virgin, Mom?”

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Leanne Shirtliffe is the mother of seven-year-old twins. She blogs at IronicMom where her motto is “If you can’t laugh at yourself, laugh at your kids.” To escape from her kids, Leanne teaches junior high and finds that dealing with ninety-seven teenagers is often easier than being trapped in a house with her own spawn. Leanne is currently finishing revising her first manuscript, tentatively titled Get That Train off Your Penis: Things I Never Thought I’d Say As a Parent.

You can connect with her on Twitter and Facebook.

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Guest Post: “Whispers on the Road to Damascus”

Today’s guest post comes from Eva Leppard of The Aspirational Agnostic. I’m excited to share her post about her search for faith because, no matter what our religion or where we are with it, I think a lot of us have doubts and questions, and it’s important to me that this be a place where we can be honest about them and thoughtfully discuss them. Enjoy! –Tamara

(What’s up with all the guest posts around here lately?)

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Being raised as an insistent, dyed-in-the-wool, no-holds-barred atheist does set one up for some personal angst when one (ok, me) realises that she wants to discover God.

A road to Damascus moment would have been the ideal scenario, naturally, and I could have been loud and proud in my conversion and with my new and absolute understanding of the entire scope of Christian understanding. A nagging, uneasy feeling that I needed to begin a search and I wasn’t going to be able to relax until I’d discovered “something” is a whole lot less easy to explain or indeed to begin a conversation with.

I was raised to tolerate and respect all beliefs. Except Christians. Here, I understood that the best policy was to back away, smiling. Any interaction would instantly cause an infusion of bigotry, a passionate defence of biblical literalism and an instantaneous decrease in IQ points.

So deciding that I wanted to believe in God was a bit of a shock. And, to be brutally honest, a bit of an embarrassment. The first words that I said to the minister when I arrived at church on the first day were, “Hi, I’m Eva and I don’t think that I believe in God.”  He was surprisingly fine with that, and I soon found out that I could continue to say “fuck” and drink wine and know that evolution isn’t a myth (seriously, don’t mess with me on that one), so things were definitely looking up.

The internet is both a blessing and a curse for the aspiring Christian; I have been in equal parts freaked out by the sheer amount of opinionated, bigoted claptrap promulgated in the name of Jesus and thrilled and inspired by the wonderful people seeking to do good in the world, trying to bring the message of Jesus to life. I’ve been able to find myself a neat little comfort zone where I can read about what people are doing and how people are changing the world, and where I can sit on the sofa and go, “Wow, that’s amazing! If I really believed in God, then I would TOTALLY do that.”

Because I haven’t had that road to Damascus moment, have I? I haven’t had that supernatural experience which would force me out of my (very, very small) comfort zone and make me get out there with the poor and the needy. Until that happens, I don’t really have to force myself, do I? If God truly wanted me, he would make it abundantly clear. No room for misinterpretation.

Wouldn’t he?

But then, there’s that little voice. That still, quiet voice that won’t shut. the. heck. up. That won’t let me close the book on this experiment that hasn’t ended in certainty, or proof, or absolute conviction.

The voice of God wouldn’t be a still, quiet little whisper, would it?

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Eva blogs at The Aspirational Agnostic. She is currently spending a disproportionately large time asleep, given that she is pregnant with son number four and also works as a high school teacher. She spends her remaining free time looking for God. He’s being very difficult to pin down.

(Editorial note: I didn’t Americanize Eva’s spellings because I think they’re fantastic.)

Open the Door and See All the People

“Here is the church,” I laced my fingers together and hid them between closed palms. “Here is the steeple,” I shot my pointer fingers up and touched the tips together. “Open the door and see all the people,” I swung apart my thumbs and wiggled my entwined fingers. And this last was always my favorite part, the funny church members all wobbly and stuck together.

My fingers have grown since those days, but I still like to use them to remind myself of what makes up the Church. For all the division and frustration, for all the disillusionment and hurt, for all the damage that by rights should have razed the building long ago, still here is the Church. And still my favorite part is the people.

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So often we find it necessary to speak of the Church’s hard and hurtful parts. Today it’s my joy to take part in my friend Preston Yancey’s astounding, uplifting project, At the Lord’s Table: A Conversation, “a series of over 50 posts from varying authors about the beautiful, mangled Church.”

Please pull up a chair and join me.

Running

TOL’s 12 Gifts of Christmas!

Gifts 5 and 6 are up for grabs today! To throw your name in the hat, leave a comment on this post. (To leave a comment without playing, just add, “No gifts, please!”) I’ll announce the recipients tomorrow evening.

Regular Gift: I review/edit/advise on a post/document/manuscript sample of yours (800 words or fewer) or offer a general critique of your blog.

White Elephant Gift: I send you a tacky Florida postcard.

(What’s this all about?           Gifts 1 & 2            Gifts 3 & 4)

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Head is clouded,
Heart heavy.
Choice is before me
And I can run
Away or toward.
Head screams, Hide!
Heart whispers, No.

So I flip on
The soundtrack
For a run toward sanity.
An organ starts
And I begin,
One foot after the other,
Running with new hymns.

Continue reading

Guest Post: “Cool Like That”

It’s my pleasure to host one of my dearest blog friends, Alise Wright, editor of Not Alone: Stories of Living with Depression and blogger at Alise…Write! In the year or so I’ve known her, she’s taught me so much about blogging generously and boldly; she’s encouraged me loudly; and she’s shared with me a few hurts and lots more laughter. And at the risk of appearing to have missed the whole point of her guest post, I must assure you: Alise is cool in the very most important ways. –Tamara

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I write a primarily Christian blog. Most of what I write about ties back into my faith. But truth be told, my faith isn’t always completely orthodox. My brain has some big questions and my mouth has a small filter. And sometimes when I write about my faith-related questions, my atheist friends don’t hate it. In fact, they’ve been known to say that some of what I have to say is reasonable, even admirable.

When this happens, some of my fellow Christians will claim that this reaction from those outside of the faith only proves that my goal is to show how hip and with it I am rather than to spread the gospel. Because if there’s one thing we know about good news it’s that it pisses people off and leaves them feeling alienated. If what I’m saying about Jesus makes someone think that he might like them right where they’re at, then clearly it’s not the right Messiah.

Continue reading

This Means Church

My pastor once said that choosing a church was a little like getting married: You don’t hop around from one to the next; You “date” the same one for a while, and then you commit. But how do you handle doubts about the one you chose?

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Please visit A Deeper Story to read the rest of today’s post!

Oh Brother: Sex as a Stumbling Block

As a Christian person with a decidedly adult sense of humor, I’ve thought a lot about what it means not to be a stumbling block. As a Christian person with a decidedly adult sense of humor and a moderately well read blog, I’ve thought about it even more. And thanks to Peter Parker’s Uncle Ben, I know that with moderate power comes moderate responsibility. But what I’ve had a hard time coming to is what exactly my responsibility is when it comes to sex as a stumbling block.

(continued here)

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I’m happy to be guest posting for my friend Joy at her lovely blog, Joy in this Journey, today. It’s been my honor to watch Joy grow in boldness as she shares her struggles and triumphs of faith.

And let me tell you– it’s a bold move to invite the wild child of the Christian blogosphere to write about sex on your blog. So, do me a favor? Come give us some love.

Light Out of Darkness

We set up camp for the evening– beach chairs and my parents’ threadbare comforter, boogie boards and amateur sculpting tools, coolers and canvas bags filled with dinner and late-night snacks and anticipation. The kids dug and flung, chased and squealed. The grownups drank deep the salty air and fleeting moment.

A rough and drawn-out thunderstorm, so unlike the typical Floridian summer evening showers, had threatened to dash the whole night, to cast gloom where so many would look for illumination, to beat down the white powder nestling places. But with just enough time to restore the centerpiece event, the torrent ceased.

So we sat together, he and I, toes in sand, fingers entwined, and we tuned out children’s restless clamor and watched a lighting sky. Beams burst and shone and flickered and faded, one after the other, spectacular in sight and sound. And one kind of these in particular caught up my heart: It rose, straight and furious, then vanished.

But it was not finished.

Out of darkness, its light returned and broke into an explosion, expanding fuller and brighter, burning with a glory its first streak had only hinted at. I didn’t know what, but I knew it meant something.

And as we dug our feet down into sand where so many years ago he bent on one knee before me, I realized: It meant us.

Us, married so young, apart in spirit; threatened by relentless storm. Him, tuning me out; me, turning away; shuttling on a furious path. Us, too far gone, at the end of possibility; to our eyes extinguished.

But it was not finished.

God broke in as only, ever He can do, transforming despair into hope, turning hearts toward each other, drawing lives into His. He gifted us a whole new marriage, deep and true in a way the one begun with knee in sand so many years ago had only hinted at.

Out of darkness a thrilling light burst onward– and with just enough time to restore the centerpiece event.