I have been continuously employed AND housed for several months now. It’s pretty awesome, especially having been homeless as long as I was. My job situation is a little tenuous — the company I work for was sold, the new owners promptly laid off a bunch of people, I was forced to take on additional responsibilities that are causing me severe aggro, blah blah who cares — but I am working full time and earning enough to pay rent and bills, feed myself, and save up for emergencies.
And of course, I have been faithfully attending church. The same church at which I have YEARS of history, not all of it good, but which provided for me during my most recent time of need allowing me to somewhat re-stabilize my life.
I’m still a black sheep here.
I do have friends in this church, a small number of people who occasionally offer more than just thoughts and prayers. Meals when I was broke and homeless, a bed when I found a home, a few hours of actual companionship and listening. People here do genuinely care about me, but over the years I continue to chafe under the question of what that means. “I care about you” and “I love you” are words that mean very different things to different people.
In practical terms at this church, for the most part “I care” seems to mean “I wish you the best, but you’re not my problem and I prefer to keep you at a distance.” There are a lot of people in the congregation who are friendly enough to my face, but quietly uninclude me from whatever fellowship they have going on, even while inviting other people they barely know.
This has always included people in leadership.
My church is CONSTANTLY soliciting volunteers. There’s an ongoing need, as of course there is at any church, more so now because of COVID. We’re having in-person services and our annual summer children’s program, but the pandemic has limited the scope of what we can safely do. It has also limited the number of people willing to participate as they once did.
Last Sunday was the orientation for our summer volunteers. There’s an obvious requirement for clear rules in any kids’ program, including forms and background checks and such. At the end of the morning service, Pastor remarked that we’re pretty short on help this year and encouraged anyone who hadn’t filled out forms to come to the evening orientation anyway, as they really needed all the help they could get. After the service, one of my moderately-closer friends (a longtime member) asked me if I was coming back that night for the meeting.
I said no.
She asked why.
I told her.
She wasn’t surprised in the least. She merely remarked, “That’s unfortunate,” disappointed but not remotely shocked. But she knew. She knew as well as I did that they can beg for volunteers all they want, but in private they are looking for a certain kind of person to serve the Lord here.
And I am not that kind.
As I mentioned in my very first post, all the times I tried, I was quietly rejected.
Even last year, when the Pastor’s wife briefly allowed me access to the church’s social media. (That’s my area of expertise, and I could have helped a LOT.) She was such a power-tripping, micromanaging control freak about it that I wasn’t really able to do anything. She would literally stand behind my chair as I created promotional graphics, chirping “Can you make that word red? Can you make it bigger? Make that word gold? Can you move the letters over to the right a little? A little more?” I’m not even exaggerating. I’d post on FB to spread the word about a fundraising event, and she’d remove it without a word. So I guess we didn’t really need the money, or something.
Towards the end of the year (during the 2020 election when everybody was ready to eat each other) she hissy-fittily removed my access because I had locked down my personal Facebook profile. She couldn’t see my posts anymore, and took this as a direct insult. (As I touched upon briefly in my last post, she and I have never been close anyway.)
Hand-Staple-Forehead
As much as I enjoy a touch of late-blooming-goth-girl melodrama, I recognize that I’m not an actual leper to these people. They do tolerate my presence and feel a sense of, if not happiness, at least relief when my life is relatively stable. Kind words do count for something, and sincere prayers do count a lot.
Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much. — James 5:16 (KJV)
I don’t want to minimize the value of heartfelt prayers and genuine positive comments. It’s just that….So, SO many people have SAID THINGS to me in my life, to make me believe there was actual care behind their words, only to turn their backs on me later, that I don’t really trust offerings from Ye Olde Thoughts & Prayers Shoppe anymore. Especially when your ACTIONS repeatedly demonstrate that I’m not truly welcome.
Weeding
The house I’m currently renting is a cute little overpriced building in an old residential neighborhood. Since I moved in, I’ve developed a daily ritual of walking around, talking to the trees and plants, pulling off dead leaves, chasing off ducks (I’m plagued by a disgusting brood that loves nothing better than to poop in MY carport), and taking pictures of things that grow here. A great many of the shrubs out back are actually weeds, but yesterday as I photographed the stunningly lovely tiny purple flower featured at the top here, I started thinking:
What actually is a weed?
You know, some people think that dandelions are weeds, but, you know, I always think, who the hell decided tulips were so great? — Peter Griffin, Family Guy episode 2×12
In very general terms, a weed is just a plant that is unwanted and/or unintended. It’s considered undesirable, sometimes for specific reasons. It might be non-native to the area and may have a tendency to crowd out native plants which may endanger them. A weed might be unwelcome merely because of its tendency to spread more quickly than it can be contained. It might even be poisonous or considered a detriment to pets and wildlife. Here’s the first-listed definition of weed in Merriam-Webster as of this writing:
1 a (1) : a plant that is not valued where it is growing and is usually of vigorous growth
especially : one that tends to overgrow or choke out more desirable plants
Unwanted.
Unintended.
Undesirable.
Unwelcome.
Poisonous.
Considered a detriment.
Can’t be contained.
Non-native.
A danger to the native.
Choking out the more desirable.
Not valued where it is growing.
In the Bible, weeds are also considered a negative thing. Do a search for words like “thorns,” “briers,” “tares,” “thistles,” etc. They’re always referenced as some sort of impediment or punishment, as far back as Genesis. A weed is an analogy for anything that keeps you from being a Good Little Christian. So, are weeds the black sheep of the plant kingdom, or am I the weed of the church?
Ultimately, I don’t think it matters because here’s the thing: So very many things classified as weeds are actually shockingly beautiful. I have tons of them here in my backyard, and I absolutely ADORE them and the moments of joy they bring me each day. As I considered the definition of what a weed is, it reminded me once again of how many of my fellow Christians see me. Not valued where I’m trying to grow.
And then I was reminded of the tagline for this very site: God does not see me the way you do. He sings over me and rejoices at the sight of me. Yes, even when I encroach upon some carefully-curated place that’s focused on looking holy and put-together. Even when I fail, even when I produce fruit that isn’t healthy or Godly. His joy in me is absolute.
Scattered over this post are some photos of other “weeds” where I now live. They are a delight to me, as I am to him. It’s a matter of perspective, and as I’ve said before, it’s his perspective that matters, not yours.
The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing. –Zephaniah 3:17 (KJV)