I picked up some barbecue from a local restaurant this past week.

It’s a hole-in-the-wall that opens at 11 am and usually sells out by 2 pm. They make no bones about how they will close as soon as the meat is gone.

When I arrived at 10:50 am, there was already a short line. They are THAT GOOD!

At 10:59 am, they opened their doors. There were now several people behind me waiting for their goodies.

Because of this not-so-lovely continuing plague, each person entered one at a time, some with masks and others without.

That left most of us waiting outside, just fine as it was a gorgeous fall day, filled with sunny skies and warm temperatures.

One woman fidgeted. She seemed overly nervous. She asked me how long I thought this would take as she had left someone waiting in the car.

A man complained that the website had not updated and they “better have brisket” today.

Three mid-twenties “guys,” looking like they just rolled out of bed, chatted about how much they loved working from home.

I was in a good mood and thrilled not to have to be cooking for the company we had invited over for dinner. My face was filled with smiles as I waited to order.

But my mind was churning.

What made this woman so nervous? Was the person in the car a child? A demanding, abusive spouse? Why was she in such a hurry? I felt sad for her.

What was the deal with the “Negative Ned” (the name I made up for him)? Why was he being such a jerk? This is a small business in a local town and he just “had to say something?” I felt pretty angry about him.

Where did these young fellas work, the ones in their sweats with bedhead? Did their bosses know that they were out-and-about? How fun for them to be getting lunch with their friends and working from home! Are they getting paid for this? I felt pretty confused about them.

As I drove away, the smell of pulled pork and brisket wafting through my car, I couldn’t stop thinking about this group of humans lined up outside on a small porch at 11 am, all waiting for the SAME thing.

Yet, we were all so DIFFERENT.

Coming from different places.

Feeling different things.

In different spaces.

Inside and out.

And it struck me.

No matter where we go or who we are with or what we are doing, we bring ourselves.

What’s going on in our life.

What’s happening inside our hearts.

Good or bad, happy or sad, annoyed or kind, fearful or at peace (yada yada yada).

Other people, even strangers standing in line and small business owners trying to serve up some finger-licking-good eats, reap the “rewards.”

Me?

I just happened to have had a good night of sleep, a full belly from my smoothie and an evening ahead with friends to look forward to.

I was rested, fed and loved.

Maybe that’s why I was all smiles and “in a good mood,” something the porch-waiters and shopkeepers benefitted from.

But the others?

I’m not sure.

Where were they coming from?

Were they rested, fed and loved?

I emptied my wares into the fridge, my husband helping me. I chatted away about the people in line.

He reminded me of a quote by Richard Rohr, “If we do not transform our pain, we will most assuredly transmit it.”

Yes to that. YES. YES. YES.

That has happened both FROM me and TO me.

A few minutes later, I hunkered down in my office, thoughts continuing to swirl.

This time, something Jesus said came to me. “Out of the heart, the mouth speaks.”

Yes to that.  YES. YES. YES.

What happens on the outside comes from the inside. Always.

Always.

I said a quick prayer on my futon, knowing I could have been any of those folks on any given day.

“God, grant me the goodness that I need on the inside. Help me to fight for it. Help me to receive it. Help me to give it to others on the outside.”

Even when standing on porches in small towns waiting with strangers.

The afternoon sun glistens through the trees.
The leaves are just beginning to be marked by yellows and oranges.
I steal a quiet moment to soak it all in.

Change and letting go beat their steady drums right in front of me.
They mirror what’s happening in my own life, my own heart.

So much change.

Much of it visible to the outside world.

My kids growing and flying.
My move to the woods (#acorns) and very-far-away grocery stores.
My new and strange love of flower gardening.
My public writing.
My decision to take a sabbatical from church and ministry.
My now simple and unhurried life.

So much change.

Especially in the hidden places of my heart.

My growing ability to hold space for grief and joy at the exact same time, not trying to diminish one for the other.

My okayness with not having everything right this minute at my beck-and-call.  #thisishardforme

My settledness of soul when I’m digging in the dirt and hashing things out with my Creator.

My surprising bravery sharing my not-so-pretty parts with the world and being somewhat fine no matter what others might think.

My emerging desire to lean into questions instead of being certain of answers. 

My permission to explore long-held beliefs, systems, and what drives me to cling to them.

My switch from frantic to slow, elaborate to simple, piety to peace.

So much letting go.

Of children.
Of homes.
Of manicured lawns.
Of privacy.
Of a sense of belonging.
Of life as I know it.

So much letting go.

Of people-pleasing.
Of perfectionism.
Of patterns.
Of platitudes.
Of praise-seeking.
Of performance.

An acorn falls with a large thump.
A brown leaf floats and lands to my right.

Many already scatter my driveway.

The trees are changing right before my eyes.
It’s beautifully sacred to see.

The trees will soon let go of all their leaves.
It’s the exact right thing for them to do.

The trees need rest.

From providing.
From producing.
From blooming.

The trees are not afraid of change or letting go.
They are not afraid of rest.

They tell me I don’t have to be either.

I am obsessed this week.  To say the least.

It’s all I talk about.
To my friends.
At the dinner table.
Via text. Phone calls. Zoom groups.

I can’t stop listening and thinking and mulling over and over and over.

I’ve been obsessed with a podcast.

It’s about the glorious rise to fame of a church and its pastor and then their spiraling demise.

Being a fierce “justice warrior,” anger wells within me over the same old story of corrupt systems and those who enable the people at the top.  Often in the well-disguised mantra of advancing the kingdom of God. I’ve seen and lived it over and over again in my lifetime.

It happens on large scales with huge followings.
It happens in microcosms like families.
It happens everywhere.

Questions loom large in my mind as I listen.

How does this happen?
Why does this keep happening?
Who is responsible?
Haven’t we learned?
How can we fix this?

Why am I so mad?

The last one haunts me.

Why am I so mad?

I know I’m mad at the pain it causes people whose desire to do good are being used as pawns in some weird game disguised as ministry.

I know I’m mad at the downright destruction left in the aftermath of shame, fear, manipulation and abuse of power.

I know I’m mad at the harm it brings to those who thought they found God and healing and life, but in the end, they realize it was all a fraud.

BUT…

As I dig a little deeper, I’m kind of mad at myself.  Not just kind of.  Really mad.

Mad that I can get caught up in advancing these systems.  I have and probably will again (no matter how hard I try not to).

Mad that the podcast could be about me. If my center-of attention, leadership-bent, late 20s, unhealed self had been put in a position that was “too big for my britches,” it certainly could be about me.

I’m okay with the mad.  It’s a bit of a righteous anger. Because it’s all just not right.

Me.
This church I’m learning about.
The much bigger system we all live under.

I dig even a little bit deeper and chatter about all this with my family.

Why am I so mad?
Where can I start?
What do I need to learn?
How can I heal?
Bring healing to others?

The answer that comes catches me a little off-guard.

Grace.

I’m still obsessed. How could I not be?
I’m still mad. I’m allowed to be.
But I’m still going to keep reaching for grace.

Or better yet, the Giver of it is going to keep reaching for me.
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If you are curious, the name of the podcast is “The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill.”  Click HERE to listen to it.