As The Laurels Grow

I’m a liberal Christian. That is, if you compare me to the belief systems I grew up in. 

I’m a conservative Christian. That is, if you compare me to most of the theology circulating within the Church today. 

I realize, these labels are relative and potentially triggering. For instance, the opening lines on this post might’ve made you inwardly squirm, depending on where you land on the broad spectrum of theology.

The words in the following post are tender for me to share. I don’t know how they’ll be received. I want to be as careful and as respectful as I can be with how I tell my story.

If there was one thing I could make you understand before you read further is that I’m not sharing what you’re about to read to expose anyone or bring condemnation on former churches or ministries I was a part of. But the reality is, much of what I struggle with now in my faith as an adult was planted in me by people who twisted Scripture into something God never intended it to be.

This shaped how I viewed myself as a woman in the body of Christ. This shaped how I viewed people who identify with the LGBTQ+ community. This shaped how I viewed what it means to be an American.

And now, at 33 years old. I’m realizing how far God has grown me away from what I was brought up to be. This post isn’t about me stating about where I currently land on important, sensitive topics like these (and more). This post—and possible series—is about me telling you how I’m learning to let God claim me for His own instead of letting these labels lay claim to me.

Recently, I witnessed a weird phenomenon in how the Church at large reacted to the revival in Asbury. I saw “conservative” and “liberal” hurled like weapons.

“Why AREN’T you rejoicing over this?!”

“Why ARE you rejoicing over this?!”

Accusations against brothers and sisters got tossed back and forth. It was like watching everyone play into the enemy’s schemes of division and confusion when maybe God wanted us to rejoice over the truth that what He’s does is far beyond our labels and terms.

I understand why we claim labels. However you identify, most of us want a standard to rally behind. We want to know who we can be safe with. I get it. I’ve done it. I believe the desire to be safe is an innately human one.

For the last several years, I’ve found myself in the middle—too conservative for the liberal side and too liberal for the conservative side. It hasn’t felt safe at all. At any moment, either side can turn on you and toss you out because being in the middle makes everyone uncomfortable.

Last year, when I held the middle ground on certain “hot topics” I had people from both sides yelling, upset and unfollowing me because I wouldn’t stop talking about the way in which Christians take their stances is just as important as the stances we take. 

I realized later I didn’t fit in the boxes labeled “conservative” anymore. I also understood I wasn’t exactly “liberal” either. I’ve been trying to figure out where I fit for a long time now but last year made it more evident than ever that I don’t have a name that place and probably never will.

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I’m the daughter of a preacher, the great-granddaughter of a legendary Appalachian preacher. Their legacies are both as rooted in the community I was raised in as the laurels that grow in the mountains there. 

I was homeschooled, had the stereotypical large number of siblings and didn’t cut my hair or wear jeans until I was long after I started wearing a bra. The combination of deep Appalachian history and fundamentalist-adjacent theology bred shame and fear into the family/church culture both me and my parents came up in. 

Much of my childhood was an experiment, an exploration into territories where no one knew what they were doing. It resulted in mistakes, harm and traumatic outcomes my upbringing didn’t intend or expect. Still, I’m living with the test results and, with as much respect as I can muster, much of it isn’t good.

I don’t blame anyone. The way I was raised can be summed up like many, with the old adage: “They did the best with what they knew at the time.” This limited knowledge broke them as much as it broke me. I have compassion for that.

One thing it’s difficult to get people to understand is how much pressure there was on families like mine to be perfect. Fellow pastor’s children can relate, I’m sure. And pastor’s children who were also pioneering homeschoolers had an extra layer of pressure to perform so everyone would see that “the experiment” was successful.

As an adult, I listened to the sermons and teachings I sat under as a child. My heart broke. I grieved for the way God’s truth was manipulated into a prong on the weapon of twisted prosperity gospel. “If you follow all of these rules, your children will not stray from God! You’re guaranteed a godly legacy if you wear these clothes, don’t watch these movies, only listen to this music and don’t ask questions!”  

The pressure of that teaching fractured my family. In many ways we’re still individually healing and trying to patch up the harm it caused. While I can see how God is using the parts of my story I wish I could change, breaking the cycle to claim His redemption has been one the hardest things I’ve had to endure.

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I have a plant in my home. A variegated rubber tree. This plant is one of my most exotic and beautiful. I love showing her off. But she’s not perfect. Some of her leaves have brown spots. Some of them are curled inward in unnatural shapes. This happened when I was in a bad mental health state over the past two years and forgot to water her or rotate her leaves away from too much sunlight or didn’t change her soil because I was too exhausted. Over the past two years, she’s stayed alive but not in the healthiest way.

Over the last few weeks, she unfurled a brand new leaf and it was perfect. No curled or misshapen edgers. It came out exactly as it was meant to; waving like a flag of victory atop her flawed history as she continues to grow.

Much like my house plant, I can look back on my life and see where I too was neglected, taught the wrong things or taught the right things in the wrong way. This resulted in huge parts of me being damaged and misshapen by harmful theology. Much like my house plant, I’ve stayed alive to my faith but not always in the healthiest way.

What I’m sitting with now is gratitude that God is bigger than my ultra “conservative” upbringing. And He’s bigger than whatever the current culture defines as “liberal” (ask 5 different people and you’ll get 5 different answers).

The safety my soul craves isn’t in finding as many people as possible who agree with me. It’s found in Jesus Christ. If He’s where my soul is anchored in, I can be brave enough to love whoever is in front me, whether we agree or not.

I don’t need to claim any labels. I just need to rest in the fact that God claims me as His own.

“Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” -Philippians 2:12-13