Letting Love Win

I've started writing several blog posts about the recent victory for gay marriage in our country.  Some of them have been happy and optimistic, and some of them have been downright angry and bitter.  This one came out kind of sad, but I think it's the truest representation of how I feel about the anger a lot of folks in the Christian church are currently feeling.  It's a difficult time to be a queer Christian. Obviously, things aren't all bad.  Most of my friends are very supportive.  My family loves me, and my sexual orientation hasn't changed that.  Of course, we just got nationwide marriage rights, which is a HUGE thing that I'm so excited about.  I'm helping local churches come together to run a reconciliation table at Tacoma PRIDE, and I'm very excited to be celebrating my first-ever pride out-of-the-closet!

These are all great things that I'm very excited about, but I think this post was important to write.  It's a modified version of a letter I wrote to an anti-gay friend of mine.  At least, I hope we're still friends.  

For those of you who support LGBTQ+ rights, thank you.  For those of you who, like me, are part of this group, congratulations!  And be careful.  There are a lot of angry, confused folks out there.  For those of you who are part of the group that is lamenting the Supreme Court's decision about this issue, please read this.  I'm not trying to change your mind, but I do want you to understand the effect your words have on people like me.  

No matter where you land on this issue, please be kind to each other. 

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I wanted to send this to you personally, instead of posting it publicly. I'm not trying to embarrass or shame you, and there are a lot of people who have been ranting in your comment sections. When I started writing this note, I was angry. And I wanted to say some really hurtful things. But my mom taught me when I was little that anger is usually caused by feeling sad or hurt or some other negative emotion, and when that emotion is hard to deal with, you pick anger instead, because anger feels less vulnerable. That's true. I'm not angry with you; I'm sad. I'm hurt. And I understand if this is the point where you stop reading. That's totally up to you, but I wanted to give you the chance to understand why what you've said has affected me this way. I am a Christian, and I am a member of the LGBT+ community. And it is heartbreaking for me to see some of the posts you've been making this past week. I know you don't think these posts are personal attacks, but this issue is personal, no matter what side of it you're on. It's when things get "not personal," that you start dehumanizing groups of people. "Gays" are not some mysterious outside force attacking religion. We are people. Individuals. And I'd bet money you know more homosexuals than you realize. Statements like the ones you've been making are the reason why for the first 20+ years of my life, I didn't believe that God could ever really love me. Regardless of whether or not you believe God "loves gay people anyway," it is almost impossible to believe that there is a place for you in the church when people are constantly telling you that you're "wrong," "broken," a "sexual deviant."

All any of us want is to be able to live our lives in peace, and love the people we love. I hope someday you change your mind. I don't know that you will, and I can't ask you to. If I believed the same things you believe, I would probably react the same way to the decisions that have been made lately. I will say this though; please be careful about how you treat people, and how you talk about this issue. To someone like me, the way you throw your words around could mean the difference between seeing Christians as loving or hateful. It doesn't have to be LGBT+ vs. Christians. The two are not mutually exclusive. I know where I live now, they aren't. But not every young gay Christian is as lucky as I am, and I have seen a heartbreaking number of people walk away from the church because they can't change their orientation, and they don't think that God can love them anymore.

Please understand I am not angry with you. I just wanted you to be aware of how the things you say affect some people. It's a lot more hurtful than you think, and you're not convincing anyone not to be gay anymore, but you might be convincing them that the church is not for them. And I know that's not at all your goal.

I understand if you don't want to be my friend anymore, but please don't attack me for what I'm saying now. It came from a place of real vulnerability.

Called to Wait

In February, I went to California with several dozen young adult missionaries from various other service programs around the country.  We were participating in a retreat that was designed to give us some time away from the stress of the everyday to discern God’s calling on our lives.  There was a small part of me that wondered why I even agreed to go, considering that at that moment, I had the rest of my near-future mapped out for myself.  I had decided that God was calling me to work in food justice.  I was planning on heading to culinary school after my service term was over, then getting my M.Div. so I could help feed hungry people.  It sounded like a great plan to me.  Until I went to California. 

I wasn’t actually feeling called to go to culinary school, or seminary, or really anything for that matter.  And for a while, that made me angry with God.  I felt abandoned.  Deep down, I think I also felt entitled.  I felt as though God owed me some great calling to ministry.  Almost as though following God this far was just a down payment, and I was waiting for the payoff that came with my good behavior. 

So, since God was obviously not going to tell me what I was supposed to do, I started trying to manufacture my own calling out of things I enjoyed doing.  I like to cook?  What’s a way I can make that into a calling from God?  Food justice?  That sounds good.  I guess I’m called to work in food justice.  Problem solved.

Except, the main issue with that, is that when you make decisions on God’s behalf, they’re very rarely the right decision.  I almost spent several years and hundreds of thousands of dollars to become certified to do something I wouldn’t be happy doing.  Why?  Because I’m impatient.

I sought out some one-on-one time with one of the leaders of the retreat on the third day I was there.  The question I had for him was one that embarrassed me; “I did the opposite of what most of these people did.  I came here with a clear calling in my head, and I feel like I’m leaving without any direction at all.  What do I do?”

He asked me questions about where I wanted to be.  This made me uncomfortable, because I knew the answer, but I figured that wasn’t where God was calling me.  It was just where I wanted to be.  The easy path.  But he told me two things that I think are so important:

1. God’s timing is not our timing.

In the book of Luke, we meet Simeon, who was told he would not die until he had seen the Messiah.  Some historians in the Eastern Orthodox Church believe that Simeon was over two hundred years old when this finally happened.  Simeon, in this case, was called to wait.  A long time.  And I’m sure there were plenty of times when he doubted he would ever see Christ, but God followed through with that promise.

2. It doesn’t have to be difficult or scary for it to be what God wants from you.

Sometimes I think we feel like we have to sacrifice what we believe will make us happy in order to follow God.  Like we need to be miserable or struggling in order for the work to matter.  But while we may sometimes be called to, “Leave everything and follow,” sometimes we’re called to stay put and do good work where we are.  God’s call is different for everyone.

So I am answering the call to wait.  I’m going home to Upstate New York, and I’ll be living with my older sister and her beautiful family.  I’ll be in the Saratoga Springs area, and I’m currently looking for a job if anyone hears of anything.  Mostly, I’m just excited to take a break from living such a transient life.  I’m looking forward to not wondering where I’m moving to in a few months, which has been almost a constant question for me since I was seventeen. I’m excited to read books and cook and play with my nieces.  I’m excited to be a couple hours’ drive from the rest of my family.  I’m also excited to make plans for my future.  As the retreat leader in California told me, waiting is not a passive thing.  There is a lot of work in waiting.  There’s a chance to learn and to grow and to prepare so that when you’re called to move, you’ll be ready.

For those of you who are wondering where I’ll end up, that is an excellent question, and one that I still struggle with.  Looking back both at the journaling I did at the retreat, and at my own journey up to this point, one of the major themes that keeps emerging for me is mental health.  In college, I started out as an art major, but I took so many psychology classes that I accidentally minored in it and ended up changing my degree to reflect this.  I enjoyed my art classes, for the most part, but psychology was where I really flourished.  I loved learning about how the mind works.  I love helping people.  I love listening and I’ve been told I give good advice and that people feel like they can trust me.  Maybe eventually I’ll go back to school to be a therapist.  It’s the one idea I can’t get out of my head.  For now though, I’m looking forward to getting a job, killing off some of my student loans and reconnecting with friends and family in New York.  

You're Absolutely Right

    I'd like to take a minute to talk, not about the facts of the Ferguson case, because we could debate all day back and forth about bullet wound locations and eyewitness accounts and the personal backgrounds of both Darren Wilson and Michael Brown.  I just want to take a minute to explain why this whole situation is so unbelievably heartbreaking, and should be no matter what "side" of this issue you stand on.

    In the past few days, I’ve been accused of being very emotional and too privileged to really understand the issues that I have very passionately spoken against.  I’ve also been told that the people of Ferguson are only protesting for their own personal gain.  And I would like to take a minute to acknowledge that all of the above statements are absolutely true; just not the way these people think they are.

    It's true, I am emotional about the situation in Ferguson, but I would like to remind you of something; regardless of the facts, a teenage boy DIED.  When a white boy is sent to jail for just a few years for violently raping a girl and then sharing video footage of it on social media, people mourn the loss of his bright future.  When a white boy shoots up a school, people label him as misunderstood and blame it on violent video games.  When an unarmed black boy is shot half a dozen times by a white cop, people say he was a thug and that he deserved it because he robbed a store.  Forget for a minute about all the facts and biases we’ve been fed on both sides, and just think about that.  Because the people who are reacting this way also don’t have all the facts.  There are people in this country who literally think it’s okay to shoot a black kid because he stole something from a store.  That’s all they need to hear.  Sometimes more than they need.  But in this country, the penalty for shoplifting isn’t death without trial, no matter who you are.  So yes.  Yes, I’m very emotional about this.  And I’m shocked and bitterly disappointed that there are people who aren’t. 

    As I stated above, I have also been told that I’m too privileged to understand this situation.  And that’s true.  I am too privileged to truly understand racism.  And it would take away from the immense suffering of people I care deeply about to pretend otherwise.  But things will never change if the privileged leave it to the oppressed to pull themselves up to a place of equality.  Equality is something that we need to accomplish together.  Instead of an “us/them” mentality, what we need is an “all of us” mentality.  We have to work together, not ignoring differences, but celebrating them.  Instead of taking a stance of “not my problem,” we need to make racism everyone’s problem.  

    Many people with white privilege are angry, because they don’t want to acknowledge the fact that they have said privilege.  It’s a very difficult thing to do, because then you have to admit that you have things you didn’t work for, or that you had to work way less for than someone else who is equally qualified, but of a different race.  Admitting that you have privilege means staring injustice in the face.  It means taking responsibility for the ways you have contributed to the institution of racism, both consciously and otherwise.  It means straying away from the cliché that is “I didn’t mean to,” or “I didn’t start it,” and moving into a place of active work toward progress.  And I understand why people deny that they have privilege; because really seeing racism for what is, is heartbreaking.  It’s so much easier to pretend that it doesn’t exist.  It’s so much easier to tell yourself that the reason why this group or that group is poor, hungry, lacks advanced education, is because they’re lazy.  They don’t have what you have because they’re not willing to work for it.  Bullshit.  [And there are, I’m sure, several people reading this that are more upset that the missionary just cussed than that people are being oppressed and killed in their own country.  Think about that.]  

    Ferguson isn’t in East Asia, or South America, or the Middle East.  It’s in Missouri.  And that terrifies us.  Because we see that racism isn’t a foreign or outdated thing.  It’s literally happening right here, right now.  And the fact that this is so terrifying for us is why many of the people who can afford to ignore it, do just that.  I mean, how could this possibly be a real issue when we’re safe and warm and our children aren’t being killed in the streets?  So we tell ourselves that since the problem isn’t, we believe, directly affecting us, racism must be over now. A thing of the past, and definitely not something that we contribute to.  I mean, how can you be racist when you have a black friend you get along so well with?  Never mind that they’re a person, not an accessory that you can wear as a sign to others of how cool and tolerant you are.  Never mind that you call her Tish, even though her name is La’Tishia, because that’s too hard or too long a name for you.  No it’s not.  You can say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, and triskaidekaphobia, and the word encyclopedia just rolls off the tongue, but you won’t give a human being the courtesy of learning their name?  Their name isn’t the issue. It’s the fact that we live in a society where people think it’s perfectly acceptable to ask people to change or shorten their names as a matter of convenience.

   I understand why people don’t want to acknowledge racism, and the subsequent privilege they receive from it.  It’s because they’re comfortable where they are, and they don’t know what they possibly could do to help.  Or maybe they know, but are unwilling to follow through.  But it’s true what they say; admitting that you have a problem is the first step toward fixing it.

    Which brings me to my last point: Ferguson protestors are, indeed, only in it for their own personal gain.  They are looking to gain safety.  They are looking to gain equality, justice, answers.  They are looking to live in the kind of world where they don’t have to coach their young people on how not to be killed during a routine traffic stop, or while walking home.  They are looking to gain something that so many people already have.  And those of us who have what they want don’t have to give anything up in order for them to get it, save for our ignorance and our silence.  I won't say all the protesters are peaceful.  Nor will I say that looting and the like isn't occurring.  But a lot of these people have lost all hope that they will ever be heard; that anything will ever change, and are willing to do absolutely anything to be heard.  And there are some who will take advantage of this situation just to raise a little hell.  Don't let the few extremists that are being covered in the media take away from the hard work and determination of the peaceful many.  Peaceful protests don't sell papers.  Riots sell papers.  

Giving Tuesday

Next Tuesday, December 2nd, is Giving Tuesday.  This means that the first $1,000,000.00 donated to the United Methodist Advance at midnight Monday night/Tuesday morning will be matched dollar for dollar.  Please consider whether you feel called to make a donation this year.  Any amount helps, large or small.  100% of donations made to US-2 missionaries go toward helping to recruit, train and transport the next class of young adults.  Without the help of the missionaries before me, I never would have been able to go on this amazing journey.  Please help me pay it forward on December 2nd.  I understand that there are many people who care very much about me, but are unable to give financially.  As always, your prayers and encouragement mean more to me than you know.  And to those of you who have already been blessing me, with prayers, with financial support, with an encouraging word or a listening ear, I would just like to say thank you.  You will never know just how much you mean to me.  

If you are interested in giving online, please visit this link on Tuesday:Sarah Mudge's Advance

Thank you for going on this adventure with me!

Goodbye Seattle! Hello...??

So... I've been trying to decide how to write this post.  I've been dealing with some pretty big stuff lately, but then again, so is everyone who's reading this.  We're always working toward the next big thing in our lives.  Mine just came up sooner than I expected, I guess.  

Some of you may be wondering why my two week vacation to New York turned into an indefinite stay.  To put it bluntly, my relationship with Mary's Place has ended.  I no longer live in Seattle, Washington, and I am making plans to go back and pack my things.  I had a pretty good idea that things with my placement site were over before I came home, but couldn't be sure.  I put in a request soon after I came home to be reassigned at a new placement site.  I am not finished with the US-2 program, and am planning on continuing that service until I complete my two year term in July of 2015.  For those of you who are reading this from Seattle, I want you to know that I loved my time with you.  I loved the people I worked with, and the friends I made.  I loved the relationships I built and the work I was able to do.  And I still love you guys, even though I can't stay with you any longer.  Unfortunately, the job became something I was no longer willing or able to do.  I won't get into the gritty details, because I don't think that's appropriate now.  I'm not looking to alter anyone's opinions of anyone else, nor do I think it's necessary to rehash the past in order to move forward.  I don't regret my time in Seattle.  I think it's safe to say I'm a completely different person now than I was a year ago.  I'm much more sure of myself.  I'm much more able and much more likely to stand up for myself.  I think overall I've become a much stronger person.  And I will always be grateful for my time there.

Moving forward, I'll be spending time in Upstate New York, travelling and telling others about the Global Missions Fellows Program.  If you're interested in having me come to talk at your church/youth group/what have you, please let me know (you can email me at smudgelovesjesus@hotmail.com).  I would be more than happy to include you in my summer tour.  Sometime this summer, I'm hoping to be reassigned to a new placement site.  When I know where I'll be going, I'll let y'all know.  For now, I'm enjoying my time with my family, getting to know my nieces and nephew, reconnecting with loved ones and having fun adventures.  Sometime soon, I'll have to write another blog post about my time at annual conference.  That was so fun and such a great experience. 

In the meantime, thank you for your prayers and support.  And for those of you who have been walking through this with me, I can't tell you how much I love and appreciate you.  Standing up for myself has never been my strong suit, and your love and encouragement has really been invaluable to me.  I have learned so much about myself through this process.  And I have also learned so much about the people who stand behind me.  I have never had to feel alone or abandoned, no matter how hard things got, because I know I have the love and support of so many amazing, strong people.  The love I have been shown in the past month is a reflection of the love I have been shown not only throughout my service as a US-2, but truly my whole life, and I know moving forward that those people will continue to be there for me.  So, thank you.  

Foot-Washing

So, I usually sleep until 10:30 on Thursday mornings.  I don't have to be to work until noon, and I am my mother's daughter; I love staying in bed as late as I can get away with it.  This morning, however, I was covering a shift for someone else, and had to be at work by 9:00am.  Not my favorite.  So when my alarm went off at 7:30, then 7:35, 7:40.... (You see where I'm going with this) all the way to 8:05, you can imagine I was a bit cranky.  At least I was covering floor shifts, which I like way better than working with the kids sometimes, because I love working with the single ladies.  I love spending time with them and getting to hear their stories.  Five year-olds are great, but they don't really have a lot of stories about "back in the day."  But not getting my day to sleep in, combined with a headache made me wish that my day was already over, which is not the greatest feeling when you're forty-five minutes into a twelve-hour day.

By 10:00, my day took a positive turn.  We were busy trying to get the ladies to come into the meeting room for group when I saw a few ladies putting towels on the backs of chairs.  Another woman was standing next to a cart that had three buckets full of suds and a few mismatched bottles of lotion they grabbed from the donation room.  I completely forgot today was Holy Thursday.  Apparently, it's a tradition at Mary's Place to have a foot-washing on Holy Thursday.

Now, for those of you that don't know, I was born with a slight birth defect in my feet that caused my toes to develop differently from most people's (see cutie-patootie picture below).  I don't know the technical name for it, nor have I ever really cared to find out.  I've always been pretty proud of my toes, having inherited them from my grandma.  I still wear flip-flops, and I don't mind people asking questions about them, making up different stories for the kids at work about how they got that way - the most recent being that a shark bit them off before I beat the shark up.  The moral of the story is always that you should listen to me because I beat up a shark once.

Look at those adorable teeny-tiny toes!
Also, the background is sparkly 'cause it's my scarf.  It would've been my rug, but I need to vacuum....

But while I'm perfectly comfortable having people see my feet (which I've come to think are pretty adorable), I've never been that comfortable with having people touch them.  I'm always worried about what they'll think; if they'll be grossed out, if they won't want to touch them, if they'll have all these different thoughts about how they got that way or if there's something wrong with me.  So instead of enjoying the opening prayer and worship song for the service, I was taking that time to comfort myself with thoughts about how this was really just for the guests, and the staff wouldn't be expected or allowed to participate.  Those thoughts both comforted and disappointed me.  Because while I was nervous, there was still a part of me that wanted to participate.  Then I looked down and saw that my coworkers were barefoot.  So, I guess the whole, "I'm staff and this is for the clients" thing wasn't gonna work.

For all my worrying, I ended up being the first person whose feet were washed.  A kind older woman whose name I still don't know half-knelt and half-fell down in front of me, placed my feet in the bucket and began to lovingly massage my feet in the soapy water.  It was then I felt that still small voice we sometimes find very easy to ignore nudge its way into my internal monologue.  And I was reminded that Jesus did this for all of his disciples, even Judas.  The creator of the universe, the Son of God knelt down in front of the men he loved, knowing all of their flaws, and took the time to wash their feet.  I have to imagine he didn't just half-heartedly splash a little water on their feet, but that he took time to wash each one in a loving, personal way.  I was also reminded that God gave me my feet.  He gave me my little tiny toes, and he loved them.  He loved me.  And it was in that moment that I saw Christ in the middle-aged woman kneeling before me.  I don't know if she knew that her hands were God's hands, but as she gently toweled them off, and took the time to rub lotion into my sore heels and tired calf muscles, I could feel the presence of God.

I guess the big take-away from this is that God really loves us, flaws and all.  And I'm not just talking about the physical flaws.  I'm talking about all those things you try to hide from Him.  All those things you try to hide from yourself.  I don't care what anyone says; I don't believe there's anything you can do to make God stop loving you.  There was a long time in my life where I thought God wouldn't forgive me for the things I'd done.  I felt like I had asked for forgiveness for the same things too many times, and that one of those times I would ask Him to forgive me and He'd just get fed up with me.  "This?  Again?!"  I was afraid of running out of chances.  But I honestly think God looks at our sins more like wounds that need healing than bad behavior that needs punishing.  And yeah, sometimes the healing hurts.  I remember all too clearly getting a big splinter in my hand while playing at Camp Aldersgate as a little kid.  It was so deep, my dad had to dig it out with tweezers.  It hurt so bad to get it out, but it couldn't stay in my hand.  It would just get infected, and I'd be worse of in the long run.  My dad didn't yell at me for getting hurt.  He patiently cradled my tiny hand in his big one and painstakingly worked at it until he got it out.  I could see how much he hated to cause me any pain, but he knew leaving me like that would just hurt me more later.  Just like that, God heals our wounds, but sometimes the healing hurts.  But He's willing to go through that pain with us; to gently cradle us in His arms and love us through it. Sometimes, that means the pain getting worse before it gets better.  Sometimes that means God getting down on your level and helping you to dig what's hurting you out of your life.
And sometimes that means God becoming man, putting on the flesh of a humble servant, not coming alongside you, but coming as a servant before you to wash your feet.

Hi Mom and Dad!!

I have at least (and usually only) one pageview every single day, which I am fairly convinced is one of my parents checking to see if I've posted anything new yet.  So, I'm writing you a message to say hi, I hope you have a fantastic day and I love you very much.  And if it makes you feel any better, I am working on another post that'll hopefully be up soon.  I just have a hard time finishing a thought before my brain moves on to the next thing, so I start with an idea for a blog post and end up writing about eight different things and never actually get to the point.  But yeah, soon.  Love you!