Who We Are

When we had settled in the new church, new neighborhood and with Elijah as a newborn, Kevin sat me down and simply said I was going to have to make friends in town. We had lived in Michigan, for about three years, but this move to SW Michigan had removed my previous life in Flint by about three hours. Kevin had been traveling back and forth between St. Joe and our apartment right up until Elijah was born. We had Elijah and then, very pragmatically, moved across the state three days later. I was reluctant to plug into anything. Not knowing what to do with a newborn child aside, church people or church life had never been a culture I related to, not because of my love or commitment for Jesus, but really because, for the most part, the Christian people I had been around since we had been married were inside of a tough, traditionalist box.    Kevin gently lays out a plan, I will attend a weekly women’s bible study that has childcare and seemingly teaches relevant curriculum. At th...

Church leadership advises or asks us to not attend services at the campus we led; they do offer, in a conciliatory way, to attend services at another campus. This proposition is not readily accepted by Kevin or I, as he can barely hold his head above water when around others. Friends ask if we want Harper and Elijah to attend the kid’s program, the same program they had both been attending since birth. The same children’s ministry I had covered when we were down on volunteers, even though, I for the most part, had really never enjoyed being around children. I decline, as my realization of how to move forward in this impossible situation is murky, and I have to plug the hemmorrhage of suffering and confusion for the kids. A voice of reason is in me, but the roof is only over the kids and Kevin. All I do is cry. Then sob. I try to ask questions, to myself, and then to Kevin, but we are both caged animals, trapped under a magnifying lens, beaming a consistent concentration of immeasurable...

The most still spaces in a mind and heart often seem the most threatening; the threat of valuing hope, in spite of failure, the threat of remaining still, and at the same time, draped in vulnerability to a past that continues to knock at our door, unravels and unsettles. Yet, the still remains, inviting us to move forward, despite an overabundance of feeling like we are rather unqualified to enter that said race onward.  I sit there, in the wooden pew, allowing the hardness of the room to enter my body. I am visiting Michigan, for the first time, as Kevin has decided to take on a Youth Pastor position in Flint. We have not yet married, but we are engaged, I am in between spaces in my mind but the physical presence of the church sanctuary wallops over me with dated artifacts. Someone had invited me to sit in the front row of these impossibly wooden pews, I smile, nod and decline. I am in no way someone special, and would feel quite disingenuous if I inclined. I fold int...

Standing next to Kevin as he told the entire congregation he was resigning from the church, because of an extramarital affair, turned the dagger in my heart clockwise. The layered nature of this entire event seems supernatural. No one had any idea what was happening beforehand, members and friends eagerly met us, as they did every Sunday morning, eager and energized to worship. Maintaining my composure as I put one foot in front of the other is not for me, or my friends, or the strangers in the sanctuary. I only hold my entire self together for Kevin. To be so broken, to fail as deep as all the oceans combined, and then walk through all of the shattered glass, to start over, with integrity, is an action I am still very much in awe of.    In the moment, I could only feel the shock in the room; I kept my eyes on Kevin the entire time. I, in no way, wanted the memory of everyone’s face to have a permanent fixture in my mind or memory.  Standing up in front of the church mean...

  Kevin and I define only a portion of a bigger picture. Church leadership had been informed by the individual Kevin was with, when he left the house that first night he had been confronted by members of the staff. Their position had always been for Kevin to resign, making a firm line he maintain no real role of leadership within the church. We meet with church board members; defiantly asking for Kevin to remain in his role. This defiance is not rooted in worth or duty but in the absolute largest margin of how greatly we cared for our congregation and surrounding community. As Kevin begins to speak to the small group of members he comes off as untouchable, like a stone, only breaking composure when he states “I have no more tears left in my body” then convulses and sobs.    We all watch, almost like we are flies on a wall intruding in a space we were never invited in to. Memory does not clarify if I reach for Kevin, or if I remain in my own space of misery. I propose, alo...