An Old Emergence

Some days I cannot imagine living in this world where injustice abounds. Some days I think this faith I’ve so desperately grasped through the ups and downs of my adolescence and young adulthood is nothing but a boondoggle. I look around me and wonder why I still call myself a Christian when that term has come to mean something it never should have been to so many. I am embarrassed to say I label myself with the same moniker as Ridgedale Church of Christ in Tennessee or Charles Worley or Pat Robertson. I get strange looks from many in my larger circle of friends and acquaintances when I back out of brunch or dinner because I have commitments at my Baptist church. That is what makes days like today so special.

This morning I woke up with a sore body, feeling the physical manifestations of the myriad injustices I have seen and felt around me over the last few days. I am trying so hard to release these things because, in truth, none of them directly impacts me. But I just cannot do that. I am bearing the weight of the poor decisions of other. I am feeling the pain of grief. I am carrying the sorrow of discrimination.  This has always been an issue for me. I am an emotional being, deeply empathic. I love this about myself because I am relational person. I thrive through spending time with other people. But it is a two-edged sword. It leads to the feelings I am dealing with this morning.