ELLIE'S AVIARY

A journal of freedom

[ellieava]

Sincerely, Your Snowflake

Hey, conservative friends and family. I know it must break your heart that we seem to be on opposite sides of things a lot of the time these days. I know it breaks mine.

For those of you who had a hand in raising me, you might be wondering where you went wrong or why I hate or have rejected everything you stand for. The answer is... I don't. If anything, I took the lessons you taught me very much to heart, and I'm trying to live them out the best I can in changing and challenging times. I hope this helps you see that we still have an awful lot of common ground. And since I know tone is hard to read on the internet, I promise it's not meant to be snide - I'm absolutely serious. And I hope it shows that we're on the same spectrum and motivated by so many of the same things, even if I express them or prioritize them differently than you do:

If I care about the widows and orphans and foreigners, it's because all the churches and conferences and concerts I went to as a kid showed me videos from Compassion International and World Vision when I didn't even know where Africa was on a map. If I care about civil rights and a free press, it's probably because you gave me a pocket constitution that I carried around as a teenager and read in my spare time. If I care about the checks and balances of government and due process, it's because the Bob Jones history class you enrolled me in made me read and summarize several dozen of the Federalist Papers (not easy when you're 12... or 30), and those are things the Founding Fathers cared about a lot. If I won't stop talking about politics, it's because you sent me to multiple training camps to learn about government and encouraged me to volunteer for people running for office in order to participate in the legislative process. If I critically analyze and pick apart every single idea I come across, even the things you wish I wouldn't, it's because when I said "I'd love to try speech since it's like drama, but I'd rather not do debate," you told me I had to learn to debate because it's an important life skill. If I care about ethics, transparency, and honesty in our leaders, it's because you had me sit down and watch Bill Clinton's impeachment hearing. If I care about decorum and decency in politics, it's because I was a chronic eavesdropper and overheard more jokes about semen in the Oval Office carpet than I probably should have when I was ten. If I care about making sure all Americans have access to a strong public education system, it's probably because I saw you sacrifice everything to make sure I had the best education you could provide. If I put others before myself and think that we should allow refugees from war-torn countries to come here regardless of the (statistically very small) risk to our own safety, maybe it's because you bought me DC Talk's Voice of the Martyrs in 1999 and I learned what it might cost to tell the world the Good News. If I care about the environment... well, that one's on me. Probably comes from studying science in college and going to an Anglican church. Sorry. My bad. (Some of the hikes we went on and all that talk about God's beautiful creation might have been part of it too, but I'll let that one go ;) ) If I raise hell when my values are violated, it's probably because I remember how we boycotted Disney, and Home Depot, and Starbucks, and who knows what else when they violated yours. If I march and protest and raise my voice for the things I think are right, it's because I practiced by holding signs with the Young Republicans and made phone calls and went to rallies, because you believed it was important to hold our government accountable. If I react strongly to even the smallest hints of fascism and authoritarianism, it's probably because I heard so much talk about the dangers of government overreach and the way power corrupts (not to mention the dangers of communism and anything related to Russia). If I want women to have the authority to decide their own medical care with their spouses and partners and families and doctors without government interference, I imagine it has something to do with how you felt about the government interfering in your financial choices and your firm belief that individuals make more responsible choices than the government. If I care about even small violations of our constitution, it's because you (and Michael Farris, and Rush Limbaugh) impressed on me how fragile our rights are and how important it is to keep the government from eroding them, because once gone, they are tough to get back. If I join the fight against words that are unkind and discouraging to minorities and other groups, it's because I remember you buying a TV box that muted swear words and paying for a service that edited movies to remove objectionable content and quoting Ephesians every time I said anything remotely out of line ("let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them"). If I care about balance, and bipartisanship, and compromise, it's because I know we no longer agree on so many issues, but you are still extremely important to me and I respect and value your opinions and experience, and I'm determined to prove there's enough space out here for both of us to make the world a better place - together. Maybe I am a snowflake. Maybe I care too much and too quickly. But if so, it's probably because of how I was raised. You taught me to always do what was right, no matter the cost. I only hope we can find room to do that together. I love you.

[ellieava]

Stories of Doubt: Ellie Ava’s Story

Stories of Doubt is a Doubters Anonymous series featuring the reflections of members of the community. Stories are shared in a spirit of understanding and healing, and reflect the personal beliefs …

I wrote this a couple of years ago after I first became agnostic. I'm not totally in that place of loving faith the same way anymore, but I thought it was important to share that it was part of my journey. I do still appreciate faith in a spiritual-but-not-religious kind of way, and I have a few people of faith I admire (Glennon Doyle Melton, Henri Nouwen), but it's less personal for me now. I have less tolerance for some forms of faith than I used to as I’ve realized how abusive and manipulative they can be. I think what I do still love is the mystery, which was not part of my picture of faith growing up but is very important to my understanding of it now. I think part of what I'm learning to love about my past faith is the passionate girl I was inside it, not the faith itself. I expressed that passion through faith because it was all I had access to, but I'm realizing I'm still asking a lot of the same questions, I'm just open to different answers.

[ellieava]

You are a beautiful writer.

Awwww :) Thanks!

[ellieava]

I’m up today at Rebelle Society (a really awesome place) with a piece exploring my history of silence and why my words are still often sealed inside.

”Words are my lifeblood. Typed, spoken, or scrawled on the space of a thank-you note, they are my connection to the world.

Some words flow easily. They pour out like water from a jug. Others are slow like molasses. I draw them out carefully, luring them into their proper places on the page.

I write about the world, about science, about the feelings of others and the ways in which they matter. I write to make things make sense.

Those words are safe. I can suit them for their audience until they fall softly.

But there are some words I do not write, or speak. The words that are mine, for me, that won’t bend themselves to the listener. These words catch like iron in my throat, bulging into the soft tissue until I choke them out.

Those are the words that did not come. They are folded in on themselves, welded tightly together, sealed inside.” Read the full piece here.

[ellieava]

Today's post was written by a young woman named "Ellie" who grew up in conservative Christianity. Please honor her bravery by leaving an encouraging comment.

If you’re a parent, please know I have the deepest respect for you as you do one of the most difficult jobs in the world. But I know my own parents hoped that spanking me would teach me positive lessons. In many cases, it taught me the opposite, and I think that’s worth sharing as an adult. I wrote this piece over at Elizabeth Esther’s place a few months ago to talk about a few of the lessons I learned from spanking. “It taught me that pain is healthy and loving, not an indication that something is wrong. I genuinely believed that everyone should endure pain patiently because it’s for our own good. I embraced this philosophy wholeheartedly and buried my emotions and feelings. I stopped listening to my body because I believed it would lead me astray. I stayed in painful situations that damaged my health because I thought I was supposed to—and because I thought the pain was making me holy. This belief was so ingrained that I didn’t even realize I was being emotionally abused by my boss. I was so trained to obey authority that I had no idea he had crossed the line from unpleasant to unhealthy. I simply wasn’t aware of the toll it was taking on my mental and physical well-being.”

[ellieava]

Ellie, Help Us Understand

I am excited today that Ellie Ava will be our first Help Us Understand interview, and help us she does! These interviews will be a bit longer than my normal posts, but these are complex subjects an…

Welcome! If you’re new to my blog, here’s a bit more about my history. Thanks to the wonderful Amy at Messy Middle for hosting these conversations! (She’s still accepting submissions if you are interested!). “Eventually, I realized that the sense of safety in my home evangelical community was only possible because they excluded people who were different or who threatened their idea of how the world worked – including people who didn’t “get the victory” in whatever their struggle was. There was no room for beauty in a messy, flawed world, only in God’s perfection, and that led people to overlook, write off, and even worsen the struggles of everyday people, especially marginalized ones. Their “toolkit” for facing the world only worked in very limited circumstances, and they fought tooth and nail to preserve those limited circumstances so they didn’t have to change their beliefs. “Once I saw that, I couldn’t be part of it anymore. That safety and certainty comes at too high a price for me now.There are forms of faith that don’t exclude other views, and those can be really wonderful. But because so much of my upbringing was focused on believing the right things out of fear, I decided to intentionally let go of belief for a while. I think the things that are real and good and healthy will come back to me on their own, organically. But I still experience a lot of fear and guilt about religion, and as long as that’s my primary motivator, I don’t think I can have a healthy or authentic relationship with faith.”

[ellieava]

Simon Says . . . Obey Your Parents ⋆ The Mudroom

How do you break free from Simon Says & Mother May I when they’re all you’ve ever known? Some have a dramatic awakening. For others, it’s a long, slow slog.

Many thanks to the Mudroom for hosting this essay as I work through my experience of control and authoritarian parenting. “I was raised in a system of authoritarian Christian parenting, the sort taught by the Pearls and the Gothards of the world, though a little less extreme. Under that system, children had no rights; their hearts were said to be full of rebellion that had to be beaten out of them with the rod (or five-gallon paint stirrer from Home Depot). Instant obedience was the hallmark of holiness.When your whole life is one big Simon-Says game, you don’t stop to question who in the world Simon is or whether he’s qualified to be in charge. You just play the game and hope for the best. Hesitation isn’t worth the risk—a lesson not easily unlearned when you turn 18.”

[ellieava]

Why I Speak

I don’t speak for clicks or glory. I don’t even have a platform.

I don’t write to score a point Or to make somebody see.

I write because I tasted the poison fruit And I must spit it out.

I don’t speak to demonize Or rejoice in the fall of those I dislike.

I don’t speak out of bitterness or rage.

I speak because I want it all to be true And I am sometimes tempted to go back.

I don’t speak out of lack of mercy Or a fear of grace.

I don’t speak because I enjoy the suffering of others Or because I imagine there’s a war to win.

I write to remind myself That despite their serenity, their smiles, their show— They don’t get to tell my story.

[molecularlifesciences]

Top 5 misconceptions about evolution: A guide to demystify the foundation of modern biology.

Version 2.0

Donate here to support science education.   National Center for Science Education http://ncse.com

Thank you followers for all your support! Love,  molecularlifesciences.tumblr.com

[Version 1.0]

[ellieava]

A Farewell to Bridges

No, not Jeff Bridges. Jeff Bridges is awesome. Never change, dude.

I used to be a bridge-runner. I lived in the space between spaces, the messy middle between ideologies and worldviews and cultures. I fought like hell to keep all parts of my world together.

I still love people on all parts of everything. But I can no longer be torn in two. I admire the people who hold space here, in the nether-lands, the in-betweens. They guard the passages from one world to another and make roads where there was only trackless wilderness.

But we are not all called to guard the passageways. Sometimes, we are called to follow the path. To make things easier for our fellow travelers, if we can, but not always to stay in the middle. For one thing, the hallways aren’t home. There are rooms with fires and food and company awaiting us if we will only open the door. It doesn’t mean we close ourselves off from everyone else – we can enter the common spaces and love those outside our enclave well. But we are not always called to be in the middle.

For another, our journeys are often very specific. The path I walked out of fundamentalism is rapidly evolving. The terrain between worlds is shifting, and even my younger siblings will have a different world to navigate. I can hold them in the journey, but I don’t know their world well enough to try to walk it for them. I must allow them their own journey, their own leaders, their own futures. And I must pursue mine.

[ellieava]

Chrysalis

I am stretching into a new skin.

The words came to me as I considered what I wanted from a retreat experience this summer.

Like an infant cradled in the womb, stretching tiny limbs into the warm body of its mother, pressing forward and preparing to meet the world outside.

I am stretching, too, after years of being constrained by too-tight suits of armor. I am shedding the old skin, piece by piece, but the new one is still pink and sensitive. It takes some getting used to as I learn to inhabit my full shape.

My armor came in three pieces: The Helper, The Perfect Christian, and The Smart One. Together, they locked my world so tight I could barely breathe. Like the Victorians, I learned to take shallow breaths so I wouldn’t pass out.

It was 2007 when I first realized the joy was missing.

It was 2013 before I started to get it back.

First went the helper, as my body weakened and I could do nothing for others.

Then life took a pickaxe to my perfect faith, wrenching my armor off in one fell stroke.

But I held on to my smarts. It was all I had left. Until a wise woman gave me the gift of seeing. She took me in her hands and gently unlaced the cords tying my rusty metal suit close to my chest. She loosened them stitch by stitch until I could breathe again.

The breathing was painful at first, cold air rushing into forgotten places, stiff muscles pushing against my ribs. I fought it. I grieved at my lost outer shell. I was still smart, but intellect was not my gift, my core. Seeing was. And that was the hardest thing of all.

But I am stretching, and the new skin is good. I still have my nerdy side, a passionate intellect that grabs hold of passing ideas and breaks them down until I can know their shape. But I also have an artistic, folksy, bohemian side that can sit and observe the world, creating space for others to share their gifts.

These I had begun to understand as the first two pieces of armor fell away. But only when the final scales fell did the third raise her wary head and begin to take her place.

There is a fierceness, a wildness in me that will not be tamed. It is the core strength that wouldn’t let me give up through five years of hard scientific labor to which I was not well suited. It saw me through the loneliness of life on another continent, emotional abuse by an authority figure and recovery from the spiritual abuse of my youth, and the many stages of chronic illness.

It is a deep kind of fierceness, silent and strong. When it rises up my eyes burn and my lips grow taut. My lungs fill with air all the way to my diaphragm and my shoulders fall back. There’s nothing smart or pretty or folksy or bohemian about my fierce wild, but it is beautiful.

This is where my “fuck you” was born. This is where I retreated when everything seemed lost. This is what stirs in me when I watch The Eagle, or P!nk, or The Walking Dead.

I do not wear this part of me on my sleeve, although I would like to stretch more deeply into this side of my skin. I am fun and funny and nice and deep and a good conversationalist. But if you mess with me or my family, the gloves will come off and the truth will come out, and it might be good to give people some advance notice about the fierceness inside.

I’m not particularly fiery or tempermental or prone to rage. But I will stand like a stone in the path of anything that threatens those I love, and I will come in guns blazing to fight beside those who are lost. I don’t give up when things get hard. I crawl inside myself to this space I barely know and find the strength to keep standing.

I cannot walk in all of my gifts until I see them truly, and know that I am complete, even if they aren’t the ones I hid behind for so long. So here is my declaration, as far as I can see it today:

I am thinker and philosopher, she-who-seeks-understanding.

I am seer and knower, she-who-watches.

I am teeth-bared fighter, she-who-does-not-fuck-about.

I can listen to Dr. Horrible one day and Mumford and Sons the next. I can rock out to P!nk or The Postal Service. All of these are me, in ever-growing and shifting proportions.

I am grateful for those who draw me into my new, raw skin, who hold me as I stretch out knotted and aching muscles, who support me as I experiment with new ways of being in this world of sorrow and joy.

I am in transition; I am in my cocoon.

But the shell is cracked, and light is pouring in.

[ellieava]

Try

Trigger warning: Spiritual abuse, sexual violence, physical abuse

I am a little in love with P!nk right now.

I love her story, her vulnerability, her maturity and growth. I love her authenticity and confidence and strength.

I love the stories she tells, of hope and change and power and defiance even in the midst of pain.

And I love her because she has unlocked the emotional side of my story.

For lots of reasons, but especially a conservative upbringing that touched on ideas like those in this post (though not quite as extreme), I learned to suppress my emotions and needs growing up. Even now, I can intellectually and analytically embrace a new idea but know at my core that I don’t really believe it yet, because my inner self is so accustomed to hiding.

This came to the forefront a few weeks ago.

I’m slowly, painstakingly starting to believe that our mistakes don’t ruin us, make us forever impure. That we can get up and try again – that life is actually ABOUT getting up and trying again, and embracing and integrating our whole selves, even the wrong we've done.

But in my heart, I didn’t believe I really had the freedom to make mistakes. I still believed that my choice was either to obey all the rules I was given, or die. I couldn’t choose my own path – even to choose to choose was disobedient and rebellious. Obey or die.

But then I found P!nk.

(Trigger warning for rape, physical abuse, and sexual violence - it's a powerful video but may not be the best idea for people who have experienced violence)

I think there are a lot of problems with the eroticization of non-consensual violence (thank you, Twilight and 50 Shades), which this video plays into some. And that is problematic.

But in watching this strong, beautiful, tattooed character come to life and begin to fight for herself, I found freedom.

At the beginning, I heard the lies that were used to control me. Where there is desire, there is bound to be a flame, and where there is a flame, someone’s bound to get burned. So don’t desire. Bury your heart until you desire nothing.

Just because it burns, doesn’t mean you’re gonna die – that would be too easy. Instead, you’ll be marked and ruined forever, shame your constant companion. So get up and try, try, try – keep trying to be perfect. Keep holding yourself to impossible standards hoping that one day God won’t be disappointed in you.

But even as the other character pursues her and desires her, his anger and violence increase. He is hurting her even while he is controlling her and wanting her.

I always heard that the danger was out there – that in here, with all our rules, we were safe. But we weren’t. They were the ones injuring us.

Ever wonder ‘bout what he’s doing? How it all turned to lies? Sometimes I think that it’s better to never ask why. Because when you ask why, you empathize with your abusers. They are people too and they need healing, but even grace can be manipulated where there are no boundaries.

I don’t ask why anymore. What they did was just wrong.

When you’re out there doing what you’re doing, are you just getting by? Yes. And I called it “abundant life,” because that’s what I was told.

Ever worry that it might be ruined? And does it make you want to cry? I had half my life, half my personhood, half of myself stolen from me by fear of ruin, fear of mistakes.

No one ever touched me, but they violated my physicality, my humanity, my soul all the same.

They deprived me of agency and took from me my right to self-determine. They subjugated me to the will of their gods and locked away my heart until I was the perfect pawn in their wars.

They said they were keeping me safe while they were hurting me. They said these rules were a shelter while they were grooming me for abuse. They said that grace was always there; but when I crumbled under the weight of their lies, they just let me fall.

We were all falling. We are still.

There were times when I railed against the limits, although they were quickly squelched by my desire to do right. I always came crawling back to their altar to an unknown God, thinking I would be purified through pain.

But now I sing their own words back to them, and they are my battle cry.

Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame, and where there is a flame, someone’s bound to get burned.

You burned us, you assholes. You burned us and then told us the burned were unworthy and you were the only fucking source of bandages. I don’t know what it was you desired, but hell yeah, it marked us forever. Burns are real and they hurt and they leave scars. I have plenty.

But I thought they also made me unworthy. And that is NOT real.

I am not unworthy. I am colored and bruised, but I own my skin, my choices, my feelings, and my heart. And they are good.

But just because it burns doesn’t mean you’re gonna die – or be ruined forever. You gotta get up and try, try, try.

I am bruised and marked, and I am fucking beautiful, alone and unclothed, showing my skin against a backdrop of barren sand.

You gotta get up and try, try, try.

You don’t have to be afraid of the colors either, you know. You fear me because I can see your failures now, too, but I know how to not be afraid of them. You are the one imprisoned.

You gotta get up and try, try, try.

But caged creatures fight fiercely, and I will protect myself. If you get in my face again, if you throw chairs and come running at me so that I can’t get away, I’m not going to hide anymore. I'm not going to play nice and tiptoe around your hurt feelings and paranoia.

I’ll be coming right back at you, full tilt, colored and bruised and burned and beautiful. You will look at me, confused, and wondering, and desiring, as I stand back up every time you try to throw me down, as your accusations melt into my skin and become beauty.

You will see my free spirit, and you will wonder, and I will hope it leads to change.

But even if it does not -

You will meet me on my terms.

Or you will get no part of me at all.

[ellieava]

The Beautiful Tension of Snowpiercer

Spoiler alert: Snowpiercer. If you haven't seen it, do. I'll wait.

I am learning to see beauty in unexpected places, and I have found it in many.

Chandler and Monica’s proposal in Friends.

Life-affirming moments in the midst of The Walking Dead.

Channing Tatum.

But Snowpiercer may be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

It’s not the easy beauty of a sunset, or the serene beauty of patterns in the sand. It is not graceful or fluidic, or even ruinously romantic as many dystopian films are.

The beauty of Snowpiercer lies in its tensions.

Between what seems to be, or used to be, and what is.

Between what is and what ought to be.

Between what ought to be and what might be instead.

Our hero has one goal: to get to the front of the train. To redeem himself and save his friends. To become like his mentor, who sacrificed a part of himself for others.

But in a movie full of tension, he is not allowed even simplicity long.

His hero lied. The selfless one was the most selfish of all, while the addicts sacrificed everything for each other.

His friends were pawns, not rebels. Their lives were chess-pieces in a game of survival.

His desire for redemption caused death. Even his goodness was twisted up with wrongness.

His whole worldview is subverted. Everything he thought was true about himself, his life, and his world were based on stories as one-sided and knowledge as flawed as the propaganda sung by the children in the school car.

He is pulled by fate and destiny to become the thing he hates.

He is forced by fear and shame into actions that only increase pain and suffering.

He is crushed by the knowledge of who he is, and who he can never be, because his hope was in a lie.

I know the strain of intolerable tension.

Things I wanted to say but didn’t.

Fears I wanted to overcome but couldn’t.

Lies I didn’t know I was allowed to stop believing.

This on top of the tension of situations, of multiple viewpoints, of many ways to see a problem, of multiple facets to the shining light in our midst. The human brain does not cope with dissonance gracefully.

I have been pulled taut, strained to the breaking point by forces greater than myself. They stretched my soul thin, like Tolkien’s “butter scraped over too much bread,” and I feared there would be nothing of beauty left.

Everyone always says to relax, to push things away, to let things go in order to see the beauty. The antagonist tells the hero, “Relax! You’re so tense. How long since you’ve gotten laid? Holding a woman is better with two arms.”

But I cannot truly relax without letting something go. And the things I still hold on to, I hold for a reason. I can’t see them coming any closer together anytime soon, but they are no less important to me.

I could let go of one or the other to ease the tension. I could relax my hold and watch as the things I love drift away. And I will let them, if they wish – I wouldn’t hold something close against its will.

But rather than dropping the things that matter to me so that I may once again breathe easy, instead, I will stay in the tension, and allow myself to be transformed.

Because here is a man stretched taut by the forces competing for his loyalty. And he is beautiful.

Here is a man crushed by the tension of puzzle pieces that will never again fit together. And he is beautiful.

Here is a man broken by the tension of his hopes and his fears, of his regrets and his compassion.

And he is beautiful, because he will let none of those things go.

In the end, we see him reborn, and relieved, as his decision is made. He almost makes a different choice – the strain almost bends him to a different place – but the things he holds on to will not allow it. His experiences have shaped him so that there really is only one choice, even if all of his circumstances have changed and all his truth has been lost.

Here, the tension is past and only the consequences remain to be seen. But his beauty in this moment comes from the moment before, from the man he was while he bore the strain of all humanity, the struggle of the whole world.

Serenity does not have a monopoly on beauty. In Snowpiercer, even while groaning under impossible strain, we are beautiful.

[ellieava]

Wholehearted, x3

I’m learning to live with my whole heart.

Slowly, it unfolds into my chest, creeping out of its hiding places and learning to beat again. It’s soft and timid, like the kitten we rescued from a car engine a few weeks ago, just learning to play and breathe and find its fierce.

I took the Enneagram from a spunky lady I admire a few weeks ago, and I discovered that I’m likely more of an instinctive creature than a thinking one.

This was a hard realization. I think my smarts were always what got me attention.  I thought if I could be smart enough, I would be deserving of other peoples’ time.

And I am smart – book smart – and intellectual. I like big words and complex ideas. It was an easy identity to slip into, like a jacket that almost fit.

But that is not all I am. I also have a way of seeing, a way of knowing, that is unique. And if I force myself to think through everything because I believe I must, because I am desperate to be deserving, I miss the opportunity to see. And it is in the seeing and the knowing that I find rest.

But the side effects of seeing are as long as those on any prescription I’ve ever received. Nausea and sleepless nights. Palpitations and dizzy spells. Anxiety and weakness and increased appetite or no appetite at all.

“Now I know I have a heart, because it’s breaking,” the Tin Man said, when he thought he’d lost his friend.

I know I have a heart, because it feels like it is beating outside my chest, raw and exposed. It is a child’s heart, like the Wizard Howl’s, and it feels soft and vulnerable.

And because I see, now I can’t help but see everybody else's hearts, tight and strangled deep in their chests or pulsating raw and bloody in their hands. I see us walking like zombies, clutching pieces of our souls as we wander from place to place, looking for someone, anyone who can stitch us back together.

Living with your whole heart comes with a cost. “Faith is expensive to taste,” the singer said.

But even a taste is heady as wine, and I am thirsty as hell.

[ellieava]

That time I got all weepy over Girl Meets World

As a friend on Twitter said, Girl Meets World surprisingly doesn’t suck, which for a Disney show is saying a lot. And with lots of younger siblings, I am quite the expert on Disney shows (plus everything Nick Jr. related from 2000 to 2006).

I watched the pilot. I laughed. I cried. It’s sweet, heartfelt, and earnest. It isn’t perfect, but it’s good, and when the alternative is Dog With a Blog, that’s enough.

I remember hearing about the original series, Boy Meets World, growing up, but we never watched it. I was probably a few years too young (I don’t think it was actually a fundamentalist thing – we watched Home Improvement, which seems similar), but even when I got older, it never occurred to me that I might like a secular show written for my age group (where teenagers, you know, dated and stuff). I was much too mature for that.

But times have changed, so when my youngest siblings were excited for the new Girl Meets World series, I joined them – and found myself enjoying it as much as they were, except the moments of nostalgia for fans of the original series.

My younger siblings had to explain the references to me. It’s a small thing, but it hurt. It’s one more moment of cultural connection I missed out on, one more thing that could have been a force for good in my life that would have been considered too secular or immature by The Powers That Be. Yes, I discovered Buffy and Angel this year too.

It makes me a little angry, and a lot sad. Sad that so many of us grew up in a system that shut out so much good in the world. Angry that we were forced to live half-lives in stifling little boxes.

It’s a lot of angst to have over a cheesy 90s sitcom full of oversized sweaters and baggy leather jackets, I know.

But it matters. Because the small things are part of what makes life beautiful – poetry, chocolate, stolen kisses, cheesy movies and pop music and TV shows – and any ideology that tries to take those things away, whether it’s fundamentalism or strict anti-chocolateism or whatever, is wrong.

Wrong.

Depriving people of beauty is as bad as depriving them of food or water. It’s necessary for life, and it is rare and precious. It takes a posture of openness to find it in the world around us. And ideologies of denial and isolation teach a closed-off, crumpled-up posture that blocks out what the world has to offer.

Asceticism can be a healthy discipline, and I’m all for reducing mindless consumption, but when it’s motivated by fear instead of love, it is never, ever good. Isolation can’t protect us. We all share the same world, with all the same risks and sorrows, and we can’t keep it out forever. The challenge is how to live well in the world we are given.

And sometimes, we find the best clues for how to do that in the most surprising places. I mean really, that child abuse episode? Tears. Boy Meets World was challenging victim blaming before I hit double digits. It took me fifteen years, an emotionally abusive boss, and two therapists to find out it wasn’t OK. We could be so much further along now if we had just opened our eyes to the good in the world and let it seep in a little.

So, I’m sad right now. I can’t get those moments back, and I need to grieve them. I’ll never get to be a six-year-old pretending to be Cinderella. I’ll never connect with Harry Potter the same way I might have when it came out. I’m still a whole person, and I have had a lot of other experiences that other people didn’t get, but I was forced to miss out on a solid decade of culture that most of my peers experienced. That’s a lot of shared moments I’m missing, and it leaves a gap that doesn’t really close.

I don’t want to make that mistake again. So let’s live with a posture of openness that searches for the beauty in the world instead of always trying to keep the bad things out – and let’s celebrate with each other as we discover the things we’ve missed. Let's make new memories together as we walk out this journey to freedom.

If you need a place to celebrate something you’ve recently discovered (or re-discovered), or be sad about something you missed out on for whatever reason, I’m taking submissions! Hit the button above.

[ellieava]

The only kind of faith that matters.

[ellieava]

Source: BookBrowse Books

Spotted in the Albion Beatnik bookstore in Oxford, UK