used by permission

But just because a church closes the doors doesn’t mean everything was for nothing. Because during the life of that church, the good news was taught, children were raised in the faith, a community was served, and people were baptized, married, and buried. None of that gets discounted just because the church decides it’s time to “land the plane.”

In 1997, the Central Church of Christ in Abilene decided it was time for the remaining members to meld into other congregations and quit meeting as a church.

Was it a failure? Absolutely not! These people prayed about what God might continue to do with their building, asked the Highland Church of Christ if we’d be willing to accept their property as a “gift” and do something good with it. This is now the home of Grace Fellowship. Exciting new things are happening there! The God who worked through the Central Church for many decades is still working in that location thanks to the vision the remaining members had.

In 2004, the Southside Church of Christ, a tiny group with premillennial roots, decided they’d come to the end of their congregational lifespan. They, too, asked the Highland Church to accept their building and do something for that part of Abilene. This is now the home of Freedom Fellowship.

These aren’t failures! Thankfully, devoted Christ-followers realized that it was time to pass their property on to someone else. And what a blessing it has been!

In the next decade or two, there are going to be lots of churches that decide it’s time to “close the doors.” But the doors don’t have to be closed! Perhaps they just need to pass the keys to others.

Find a congregation that has the energy, resources, and vision to do something new there. Or find a way to give the property to a group like Kairos or Mission Alive.

I’m especially thinking of places like the West Coast and the Northeast, where property is so expensive. What an amazing act of faith it would be for these churches that are winding down to prayerfully trust God to do something new through others.

This way, the vision doesn’t end; it just moves into a new world with new vigor. That door you thought you were closing may just be opening to an amazing future.

used by permission

I’ve asked Carmel, a long-time, dear friend of ours, to write about her journey with her son. Please feel free to continue offering suggestions in the comments section about how the church can help.

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Mourning Mental Illness: Grief that gives way to God’s Grace.
by Carmel Christine

A turn of events can catapult your life as you know it into a sphere so foreign, so cold, dark, distant and frightening that you barely recognize it. My teen son was diagnosed with Bipolar two and a half years ago. This disorder didn’t arrive subtly so we could slowly get our bearings and adjust to it. It showed itself as depression first. Our effervescent son of younger years was changing, becoming more moody, but as a teenager moodiness comes with the territory. Within a very short time, he almost took his life and only by the grace of God the attempt was interrupted. It was then life as we knew it changed.

At the moment his doctor told us we needed to get immediate help for our son, I felt as though my heart was being pulled out of my chest by hand. My head on the other hand was trying to take in the doctor’s words—very slowly: “. . . nurse is looking up numbers . . . treatment centers . . .” while also trying to process a mom’s to-do list: “pack suitcase . . . but what about his food allergies? . . . how far away will he be? . . .” Grief is setting in but there’s no time for it. I’m cold all over. I have to move. I have to make calls. Not just one call—many, because I discovered not all places were able to take a kid with life-threatening food allergies. The risk? He’s suicidal which means no sharp things, ties and strings off shoes, etc., but they can’t keep him from drinking a glass of milk. That’s all it would take since he’s anaphylactic to it.

The darkness gets darker and has pushed me toward an abyss, a chasm. I was led to pray in order to get to the other side of this. My inner prayer to God then was two simple words: “Father, God.” All I could do was repeat it over and over. God moved me to take this thing moment by moment. I made the calls, one at a time until finally the right doctor and the right help came. Now I could breathe. Not deeply, but enough to feel. I felt grief. This feeling was the same as what I felt for the passing of my parents the year earlier. I’m not comfortable with it, but then who is. My optimistic outlook, past losses and how God had used them for His glory, to show mercy and grace, spirit and life at the darkest of times, kept me focused this time.

As time went on and medical treatment began, each stage was met with another loss. Each new medicine tried was always a risk. Then there was school. You see, there was always hope he would go back to school but that didn’t work out. When I would walk into the building to pick up his books I see all the usual activity of a typical high school—banners on the walls announcing a school dance, the window case with the trophies of sports wins, students, his friends, laughing and going to class. Walking through the school one day, I happened to look across the top of one wall where an academic banner stretched across with names of proficient and distinguished students from the previous spring. My eyes scrolled down the list and there was my son’s name. My eyes welled up instantly—mostly with pride but then an uncomfortable, overwhelming sadness—not because I didn’t think he could be there again, but that it wouldn’t be the same. With his bipolar (not everyone with bipolar experiences it the same) he needs more time to study, to read, to take breaks—basically he has to move “with” his disorder to take advantage of his more productive moments, which are unpredictable, so when the “lows” hit, he won’t be too behind. With that kind of pace, the way he goes about his education has to be different; a new normal.

Going to dances or even events like July 4th celebrations present more difficulties because of the sounds and lights. They affect him and without going into it, it’s just another reminder that his activities have to be planned out and can’t be spontaneous. My point is there is a loss experienced.

The difference between a mourning of death and this kind of mourning is it is excruciatingly private. Unlike mourning the loss of a loved one, there are no neighborly visits from family or friends. No covered casseroles lined up on the kitchen counter; no notes or cards of encouragement or any of the markings of cherished care that comes when death interrupts life. No service with a preacher offering words of love and comfort, or ending in prayers for God’s grace. Still when mental illness forged its way into my 15-year-old son, it did so cruelly, ripping into the effervescent personality of our fun-loving teenager.

Where was the church in all this? Well, the year earlier when my mom died, I visited a small church in my town. After services, I approached the pastor, told him that I was visiting and my mom had recently passed away. He stood there and said he was sorry but he needed to go catch someone before they left. I said, sure go ahead. I left too. It would be another year before we would find a church but that was ok. We still had God.

The beginning of our new path together as a family is still developing. We have learned to reach out to a few people and have found a church family which means everything. The amazing courage my son has shown throughout this has overwhelmed me and taught me so much. Some things just don’t matter anymore. It doesn’t much matter if the house isn’t picked up when he has invited a friend over. We have learned who our friends are and who not to invest time with. I personally have reached a new place in my faith. There isn’t a lot of time for wasting—time involved in the things this world thinks is important. My focus is on God’s Kingdom. My son is mine to care for here but belongs to God.

Our son is very open with his condition. Still, many people find it hard to realize all that he copes with because unlike other disabilities, with mood disorders or mental illness, you can’t “see” it. But one fine thing you can see is his fun-loving spirit is back, he found God and loves Jesus! Praises always to our One & Only.

I’ve asked Kamy to write for this series. Read and be blessed!

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God’s plan for his church is so much more than going to a building for a short time every Sunday morning checking off a list of activities. The church is his family, saved by grace, coming together to keep on growing in our love for him and for each other.

But it isn’t always easy…is it?

My husband, Kevin, and I have three precious girls, two of them with special needs and significant dependencies. Megan, our oldest, was born with a rare chromosomal abnormality—an unbalanced translocation—a combination so rare that when she was diagnosed, they couldn’t find anyone else in the world like her.

Since Megan’s birth, I feel like I was yanked onto a roller coaster ride that I wasn’t quite ready for…and most days I have white knuckles from hanging on for dear life! Some days hold hairpin curves and hills that take my breath away; other days hold amazing views that I would never see if I wasn’t on this particular ride. I strain to see what is coming up so I can be ready for it, but the fact is the upcoming tracks are just out of my sight. Tomorrow, next month, next year—I don’t know what’s coming next. No one does . . . except the One who holds time in his hands. So we just keep hanging on.

I do remember experiencing a clear picture of what the church should look like. It happened soon after Megan was born. We had gone home with our newborn daughter, and within four hours our world turned upside down. Megan quit breathing . . . turned blue . . . we rushed back to the hospital where they hooked Megan up to all those machines. Our church family was barely over 100 people at that time, and more than 60 of them were in the NICU waiting room with us. The team of doctors came to get our “history” and ask 3,489 questions (maybe a couple more—I can’t remember!), and their eyes grew wide when they walked into our waiting room packed with people. They whispered, “Do you want to go somewhere so we can talk privately?” We said no, we’d rather stay.

One doctor looked around and asked, “Are all these people your family?” Kevin did not hesitate before he replied, “Yes, this is our family.” They were there—not saying a lot of words . . . just staying close by . . . sitting for hours with us . . . bringing us food when we didn’t want to leave the waiting room . . . praying with us . . . just being near us. Thinking back on that time more than 16 years ago, I clearly remember feeling loved and supported by our church family just being beside us.

We hung on for the ride over the next several years, and God added Kaylin and Morgan to our family. Kaylin is now a healthy, typical 11-year-old—oops, she’s saying, “MOM! I’m almost 12!” Morgan was born in 2002 with the same genetic abnormality big sister Megan has—a faith-shaking time for us. This was a very different answer to our prayers than we had expected. But our family joke is that we have twins; they were just born seven years apart!

One time I was coming into the church building pushing Megan and Morgan in their wheelchairs. (Yes, I can push two chairs at one time; in fact, I feel strange when I’m not pushing a wheelchair!) Anyway, this particular Sunday morning a few years ago I remember someone opened the door for us and as I went in, people were moving toward the walls and telling their children to get out of our way—and I remember thinking, “Why do I feel like we are Moses with the Red Sea parting before us?” I didn’t feel cared for; I felt contagious! Were these people, my church family, purposely trying to hurt us? Of course not! I know that. But I remember thinking, Please, stay IN our way . . . make it hard for us to get down the hall . . . turn around and look at my girls . . . they would enjoy being greeted . . . I need a hug . . . take time to find out what makes my girls smile . . . touch us . . . I know we may be different . . . but we are the same in our need for love and connection.

When we moved to North Carolina three years ago, a family helped us by organizing a rotating schedule for people to take care of Megan and Morgan so I can be in the auditorium. This has been absolutely wonderful! And can I just say how nice it is for someone else to recruit helpers for my children? It’s tough to ask and I do understand some people are hesitant, but having someone else in charge of this is nice!

One of the greatest things about this rotating schedule is how other people get to know my girls better. When we walk into the church building now, I don’t get more than a few feet without hearing, “Hey, girls! How are you?” Megan and Morgan don’t answer with words, but they are seen and loved on by our church family.

A few months ago the teens in our church family said, “Megan is 16. Why isn’t she in class with us?” So now Megan IS in class with them. They even threw her a birthday party recently! I don’t think they have any idea how they are blessing our family by just wanting to be beside us.

We are hanging on for this crazy ride called LIFE. Our church family is on this journey with us—we are learning a lot together. I’d rather be stumbling and learning and growing . . . and crying and laughing and loving and longing along with other people who are stumbling and learning and growing…and crying and laughing and loving and longing right beside me. It’s so much better than trying to do this LIFE thing on my own.

God has a plan for His family—and you know what? I think we should stick pretty close to Megan and Morgan. They’ll keep us heading in the right direction toward home—where we belong.

Walt Whitman . . . used by permission

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier . . .
We ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun,
We find our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak . . .
Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged,
Missing me one place, search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

I have permission to run an excerpt when the book comes out in about a month. But here is Glenn talking about lament:

But sometimes they can use help. So let me share four stories (and there could be so many more!).

Story 1: Marti O
The first day we walked into Highland, Marti O’Rear, the children’s minister, met us with her smile that can light a room. She said, “Ok, let me have her. When she’s here, she’s mine.” (Funny, I tear up a bit as I write this—21 years later.) She wanted to be sure that Diane could attend class and the assembly without having to take care of Megan. (For those who maybe don’t know, I was the church’s preacher. I got there at 6:00 and was busy until early afternoon.) Marti knew that our care of Megan was around-the-clock, that we got very little sleep, and that we needed help on Sundays and Wednesdays—but wouldn’t ask. I’ve had several parents of specially challenged children tell me that they have just given up on trying to attend Sunday assemblies because it’s too hard. The easiest place of all is home.

Marti had a team who worked with our daughter. They learned how to incorporate her into classes; and they learned how to give her special attention when she needed to get away for a bit (translation: when she started pulling everyone’s hair). As Megan’s health deteriorated, this team went through training to learn how to provide the care she needed.

What can I say? It helped us? Too mild. It blessed us? Yes, but not enough. It saved us? Bingo.

Story 2: Don B
As Megan’s health deteriorated, life became more complicated. The routine was 24/7 care: percussion treatments, oxygen, g-tube feedings, meds, etc. We wore down. And with the medical complications, she was no longer able to go to school often.

She continued having bouts with aspiration pneumonia which would send her to pediatric ER. Each stay could run up to tens of thousands of dollars. We tried to convince our insurance carrier that just a minimum of home nursing care—which would be a fraction of the cost of one stay in ER—could help keep her out of the hospital. Our case manager said to Diane, I kid you not: “If you were a better mother, you wouldn’t be needing this help.” I know, it sounds like something out of a Grisham novel. But it was our life. We rarely slept, we tried to keep Megan (and two sons!) well, and I tried to keep all my other responsibilities at Highland going. And on top of all that for a long, long time we fought our insurance company every step of the way.

Until Diane went to her prayer group that evening and burst into tears talking about what this case agent from BC/BS had said to her. It just so happened that one of the women in the group was married to a lawyer who was connected to people in high places in Austin (translation: Gov. Richards).

The next morning we got a call from a man who was very eager to provide whatever help we needed. He said that we were being assigned a new case worker who’d be on our side. Home nursing care began shortly after that. (Of course, this was only a few months before Megan’s death. It would have been nice a couple years earlier. But later was better than never!)

Parents of children with special challenges often finding themselves “fighting the system.” They are doing just what they ought to do: being advocates for their kids! They often meet resistance from insurance companies, school administrators, parents of other children at school (who complain that all the “special attention” is taking away from their son or daughter’s education), etc.

What Don did made life a little easier. But even more, it reminded us that we weren’t fighting for Megan alone. Our friend, our brother, was fighting for her, too.

Those at your church who have children with disabilities need other advocates. And let me say the obvious: they don’t need to fight the same battles at church!

Story 3: Clark and Marci
My mom (and dad) took care of Megan a week every year so we could get away. It was a sacrificial gift that kept our marriage together. Of course, it was an act of love. Megan was her granddaughter. But it was exhausting and, in her last years, complicated. (I remember the call from my dad in the middle of the night saying they’d had to rush Megan to ICU where she was on a ventilator.)

But there were those other 51 weeks. Among the many people from church who helped us were Clark and Marci. They went through training to be able to care for Megan overnight. For the last year of year life, Megan spent a whole 24 hours with this couple she loved about once a month, allowing us to . . . wait for it . . . sleep! (Also, to reengage with the boys and with each other.)

Story 4: Dickie and Becky
There were so many times in the middle of the night when we went knocking on the neighbors’ door. They knew what it meant: we were rushing to the hospital, and we needed to drop the boys off. It was up to them to figure out how to get Matt ready for school and to football or basketball practice, and to watch Chris until we could work out the next step. They always—always—received the boys eagerly, no matter what time it was. They became Chris’s “other parents”!

Like the Hebrews writer . . . “What more shall I say? I do not have time to tell about. . .” Kay, Stephanie, E, Gary, Maria, Judy, Vicky, Beth, Ric, Lauren, Lindy, Jayma, Bob, Suzetta, etc. (It’s dangerous to begin this list, because, again to borrow from the Hebrews writer, “there were others.”)

But these were the people who surrounded us. Even then, life was challenging—as well as exhaustingly wonderful. But I can’t imagine having made it without them.

So . . . if you have a family at your congregation who has a child or children with special needs and you’re wondering what you could do, ask. Tell them you mean it. Be prepared to push a bit. Without being pushy, of course. Let them know that you’d like to assist with meals . . . or doctors’ visits . . . or bills (in some cases) . . . or babysitting . . . .

Some of my favorite memories of worship include prayers, scriptures, and communion thoughts led by members of our church who are mentally disabled. They were asked to lead not because they’re mentally disabled but because they are a vital part of the family, people of deep faith.

It’s important to parents of children with disabilities that the church recognize the humanity and giftedness of their kids. These children are not just a project of the church; they are the church.

A child with disabilities is first and foremost a boy or girl made in the image of God. They reflect his glory. They are humans! So please, don’t put them in some parallel universe by calling them angels (or something similar).

I love Brett Webb-Mitchell’s insight in his moving book Unexpected Guests at God’s Banquet: Welcoming People with Disabilities in the Church:

“How then shall we look at, listen to, work, live, and worship with those whom society has labeled as disabled? On a television talk show a few years ago, the newspaper columnist George Will, whose son is mentally retarded due to Down’s Syndrome, spoke about the very human nature of his child. . . . Many people try to make those with disabling conditions, like mental retardation, either Holy Innocents of God . . . or evil incarnate as a child of the devil. Will said that his son is human, full of the same complex emotions, drives, and stressors as any other child. There are times that his son is joyful and spiteful, happy and sad, sharing and greedy, loving and hating . . . all in all, the child is human nothing more and nothing less. Maybe the greatest way to approach his son and others who have some serious limitations and wonderful gifts is as a human being.”

In his equally thought-provoking Dancing with Disabilities: Opening the Church to All God’s Children, Webb-Mitchell writes:

“In one church, after a chorus of people with mental retardation sang the anthem for Sunday morning worship, the pastor began talking about angels. He started by talking about the angels in the Bible—the angel who wrestled with Jacob and the angels who sang ‘Gloria,’ announcing the birth of Jesus. Then he compared the sometimes sweet, frequently off-key sound of the present chorus of people with mental retardation as being a contemporary ‘sound of angels.’ But by labeling them as angels, he inadvertently robbed them of the richness of being human and left them with the barrenness of one-dimensional, postcard innocence.”

Our daughter, Megan, was mentally disabled. The older she got (up to her death at the age of ten), the more physically challenged she became. As I often have said, she only said one full sentence that I can remember: “I’m Megan.”

Yet we were blessed with people who saw in Megan the full humanity of one who bears the image of God. She was a reminder that we must not define “fully human” in terms of abilities (or disabilities).

It’s also important that the church recognize the special gifts brought to the church by these children. We parents of specially challenged children understand well the life and writings of Henri Nouwen; we get why someone would leave the most hallowed circles of academic achievement to live among the mentally disabled. When Nouwen writes of his friend Adam and others in their community, it isn’t with sympathy; rather, it’s with admiration. He learned how to be human, he learned about giving and compassion from his mentally disabled brothers and sisters.

So how can the church help? I’m not asking you to put children with disabilities on a pedestal. But treat them like other children: see in them the image of God, learn about their unique gifts and temperaments, and invite them into the full life of the family of believers.

“[One Sunday] when I was nearly lost in grief and discouragement, I looked at a line of people waiting to visit me. I was exhausted from preaching and from grief, and I didn’t know if I had the energy for the conversations to come.

“Years have passed since Kenneth read those words to me, but they still carry a tremendous power in my life. . . . Kenneth expressed the values of the kingdom in his urgency and terse words unclouded by comment.”

(from Megan’s Secrets: What My Mentally Disabled Daughter Taught Me about Life, used by permission)

Finally, this thanksgiving by Webb-Mitchell to the children with disabilities in his life — those with Braille pads, wheelchairs, hearing aids, autism, mental retardation, etc.:

“To all these people, and others like them, I say:

“You teach us the virtues of constancy and perseverance.

“You teach us patience.

“You teach us hospitality, hosting our laughter and tears.

“You challenge our assumptions about what life is, and what living with others in Christian community is.

“You are crossers of borders, showing us new borders we never knew the church had.

Megan

“You engage us in fitful acts of imagination, teaching us that imagination and creativity are skills and disciplined crafts learned in church.

“You teach us of the unpredictability and undomesticated nature of God’s love that rules this world. There is hope.

“Finally, you teach us that we depend on you, as you depend on us, bearing on your shoulders, and embodying in ways too magnificent for our senses to behold, the church, the body of Christ, as perhaps God means it to be. Thanks be to God for these politics of the body of Christ, which institutes our good.”

used by permission

But don’t make these parents summon up their courage to endure those words in the first place!

So let me start here: do not—repeat, do not!—try to speak for God. Do not, for example, tell them that “God gives special kids to special parents.” I heard that so many times by well-meaning people; and I’m still proud that I never exploded. At least externally.

Think of the assumptions behind this. First, God has a certain number of “special kids” he needs to pass out, and he’s only sending them to the very best parents. It’s some sort of theologically-uninformed version of the stork factory.

Second, and I think this is perhaps important, it’s blatantly not true. For what that’s worth. Some children with disabilities are, indeed, being cared for and raised by remarkable people. Some are in abusive homes; others are abandoned by at least one of the parents. So if God is only giving “special kids to special parents,” he needs to do his homework better.

Third, no parent in that world wants to feel “special.” Like many challenges in life, raising a special needs child will offer a chance for personal growth; but that’s quite different from saying you were hand selected by God.

But there are so many other iffy suggestions people make when they seek to speak for God, such as:

- This is God’s payback. This is what one infamous Virginia Representative said when protesting a Planned Parenthood rally a couple years ago. God punishes people by sending children with disabilities. To interpret God’s punishment like that lies somewhere on the scale between wildly inappropriate and blasphemous.

- If you have faith, God will heal the disabilities. Again, not true. The amount of damage done in the lives of the broken, the wounded, the tired by triumphalistic Christianity is enormous. It works better, at least temporarily, for the powerful, the wealthy, and those without cavities.

- This is God’s way to test your faith. God may well use it to refine someone’s faith. But again, God doesn’t need you as his interpreter.

As I write this, I realize I was much more gentle in the last series. Perhaps that’s because I’m still on the journey of grief. But I am no longer the parent of a living child with disabilities. So I feel like I’m writing on behalf of others.

Is there anything to say, then? Why yes, like . . .

- I don’t know exactly what to say, but I love you

- Nothing (with gestures of affection)

- I’m going to be at the store. What can I pick up for you?

- How can I help so that you can have some time to rest? Or just, How can I help?

- How did the appointment go yesterday? Did you learn anything new?

- How are you?

- I’m about to start dinner. Could I double the recipe and bring half for your family?

Well, you get the picture. As I write each one of these, faces of wonderful friends come to my mind.

As I said yesterday, parents of children with disabilities don’t want sympathy. But they can at times grow weary and frustrated. The special attention to one child can take away from much-needed time with the other children or with a spouse. They need you! They need your prayers, your encouragement, your help, your presence.

Being the parent of a specially challenged child is a privilege. It is thrilling, exhausting, joyful, disappointing, hope-filled, fear-filled, and exhausting. (Did I say “exhausting” twice?)

used by permission

In some senses, life with Megan was quite different from life with Matt and Chris. And yet . . . many days we didn’t think about it. Matt needed help with homework; Chris needed his baby food; and Megan needed to receive nutrients through her G-tube and percussion treatments to clear her lungs.

We no longer have a special-needs child at home. But on behalf of other parents (not pretending that our stories are the same, though perhaps they overlap), I want to mention some ways that a community of faith can help the parents.

So first, let me say this: love our child. Don’t be afraid! We know that in some sense you love all the children at your church; but don’t be afraid of getting close to our kid. He or she has the same need for affection that all other children have.

It will help us immensely to know that you know our son or daughter’s name, that you pray for our child, that you brighten up when you see him or her.

There’s nothing quite like seeing the smile of a man or woman who sees your child and walks over to say “hello.” And when your child can’t get out and you wonder if everyone has forgotten, there’s nothing quite like a note that comes in the mail!

Most of the things we’ve learned to do well we learned from watching others. We watched our mothers (or Emeril) cook; we watched our older sibling play the guitar; we watched our coach show us how to dribble.

used by permission

Paul knew that it’s the same way with a cruciform life. We need guides, mentors, examples. We need to peek over their shoulders and see what that looks like.

This is why in Philippians, where Paul is trying to create unity (2:1-5) despite the internal tensions they’re facing (4:2f, e.g.), he holds up before them examples: Jesus (2:6-11 — which Michael Gorman calls Paul’s “master story”) . . . himself (1:12-26; 3:8; 4:11-13) . . . Timothy (2:19-24) . . . Epaphroditus (2:25-30). These are people who model the emptying life of service. They are people who are working out their own salvation (2:12) by allowing God to do his work of allowing us to participate in the death and resurrection of Christ. They model a way of unselfish love.

This invites us to look around us to see who the people are in our lives who have been examples of this love.

Who is there in your life who reminds you of the importance of humility, compassion, forgiveness, unselfishness, and deep love?

I’m pressing on the upward way,
New heights I’m gaining every day.
Still praying as I onward bound,
“Lord, plant my feet on higher ground!”

This post is part movie review and part memoir of a winter Christian.

Higher Ground stars and is directed by Vera Farmiga. It follows the faith journey of Corinne Briggs—first as a child “asking Jesus into her heart” when the pastor tells the children that Jesus is polite, waiting to be invited into their lives; then as a young mother thrust back into belief when she, her husband, and their child are delivered from near drowning; and finally as a woman who lives in the middle of a fundamentalist group of self-proclaimed “Jesus freaks.”

This film avoids the easy road of turning all the Christians into hypocrites and judgmental clowns. They are three-dimensional people of faith, seeking to live in deep community. They are held together by lives of constant Bible study and prayer. They turn to God’s word for “answers” on everything—including the hilarious scene where the men gather in a circle to listen to seven cassette tapes on sex by some well-known Christian sex expert. (Yes, such tapes exist! I was forced to listen to them when I was an engaged student in college.)

Corinne wants desperately to share the easy faith and confidence of her husband, Ethan. She would love to believe that every prayer is answered, that every verse of scripture is literally true. She even begs God for the gift of tongues as a kind of confirmation, though it’s not endorsed by most in their community.

But in trying to survive in this fundamentalism, she keeps finding parts of her life that must be shut out—her love for literature, music, and creation. When her best friend is diagnosed with brain cancer and is left dramatically altered by surgery, she finds herself unable to just jump in and be thankful for God’s answer.

Following the surgery, the pastor leads the congregation in “It Is Well With My Soul.” At that point, you see Corinne joining in lifelessly at the chorus. You realize she can’t remain in this place. Not all is well with her soul.

A fundamentalist therapist tells her that she’s in danger of going to hell where her flesh will be whipped and ripped. He tells her that she must decide whether she’ll be inside with Jesus or outside with the dogs.

Corinne returns to her church building. Inside she sees all the signs of religious confidence; then as she walks outside dogs begin to gather around her. She realizes that her place is on the outside, without hating those on the inside.

As a winter Christian, my life has been dogged by doubts and questions. I tried many times to be a good fundamentalist. Six literal days of creation? Check. Mosaic authorship of the Pentateuch? Check. God’s answer to every prayer? Check. I memorized large chunks of scripture and spent (literally) an hour a day in prayer. I listened to the sermons on the eternal, conscious torments of hell (a renewed favorite theme within Christian fundamentalism).

But, alas, there were gaps in the armor of faith. Some were caused by reading outside my protected circle. Some by over-thinking. (I’m always guilty of this.) But some just by life.

During my years as a minister, I constantly felt the disappointment of some who wanted more confidence. They needed miracles; their minister loved mystery. They loved The Prayer of Jabez; I was embarrassed by it. They turned to scripture as an answer book; I found in it life’s greatest questions (along with an “answer” in Jesus). They saw it as the inerrant blueprint for dating, marriage, job, etc.; I trusted it as my spiritual community’s library of faith. They wanted confident prayers expelling Satan and claiming spiritual victories; I turned to the Lord’s Prayer. They spotted God’s healing everywhere they turned; I kept performing funerals. They needed more “already”; I’m “not yet.” They wanted sermons where everyone could shout “Amen!”; I preached anticipating quiet nods, thoughtful expressions, and eyes moist with hope.

It may sound like I think I’m really more spiritual than others. I don’t. I’m a winter Christian. I love and desperately need my fellow summer believers. I’m drawn by their answers, their confidence, their optimism.

But at age 55, I’m thankful for this faith that has survived. Doubt-filled, less-than-confident faith. I’ve given up thinking that if I just try harder I’ll have the assurance others seem to have.

I will groan, long, wait, and hope. For I’m a believer in the resurrection of Jesus.

My heart has no desire to stay
Where doubts arise and fears dismay
Tho’ some may dwell where these abound
My prayer, my aim is higher ground.

The wife of one of them has launched, along with some of her friends, a new magazine for young women called Darling Magazine. Here’s how they describe the difference between many women’s magazines (regular font) and their intentions (bold font):

Unattainable beauty, along with the idea that “ordinary” women are always in need of adjustment, and that the female body is an object to be perfected.
Challenges cultural “ideals” of beauty and questions its exaggerated importance. Sees beauty in every type of woman.

Present a barrage of messaging about extreme thinness and dieting, making most women feel like they don’t measure up.
Believes in being “fit,” yet sees “thin” in context of the healthiest version of you.

Over-sexualization and degradation of women in photos, ads and discussion.
Promotes respect for women’s bodies in fashion and photography, seeing modesty plus excellent fashion sense as “sexy.”

Shallow advice to real-life problems and a lack of depth about emotional health—promoting coping behaviors instead of lasting change.
Offers tangible, deep advice on painful issues facing women such as depression and anxiety (the #1 disease on the rise in women).

Excessive gossip and exploiting the mistakes of celebrities.
Features celebrities only in a positive light and never exploits their negative behavior.

Almost every item featured out of price range for the average woman, which promotes excessive spending to “keep up” with culture.
Features clothing and products within price range of the average income, not celebrity income. Encourages saving and living within your budget.

Riding the fine line of self-destruction through promoting wild and dangerous living, not addressing the consequences of choices.
Believes in bringing back etiquette, character and integrity, also focusing on increasing self-worth through living in more respect of your soul and body.

Often afraid to address spirituality, or regard the spiritual world as foolish or unnecessary.
Believes in expanding knowledge of spirituality and living a life connected to God in order to live well and love others.

What do you think?