and sometimes it's like this...

I met a lovely woman at the "Writing and Faith" conference I went to, and we stood for almost an hour, drinking coffee and talking. We got to the bit in the conversation where I felt safe enough to mention my daughter, and her eyes immediately flicked to my left index finger.
I'm getting used to this.
It still hurts.
Only a few sentences later, she asked me if I had been a Christian for very long. I couldn't help but think, - That would explain things for you, wouldn't it? the unwed mother part, the blue hair part, the tattoo part? I think she was disappointed to learn that I "became" a Christian when I was eight.
I don't mean to sound so bitter. I really did like her. It's just that I keep getting slotted into these categories I don't belong in. I worry that people (please read Christians) categorize me and my life so that they feel in control of the world - You couldn't possibly end up in a situation like hers and truly have loved God, followed him, been sincere.
Except that I was, and I did.

I prayed my little heart out to decide if I should marry my ex-husband. I chose a man who loved God, went to church, talked about his faith, prayed with me, attended bible study, trusted God. We went to pre-marital counseling with our pastor. We led youth groups and worship services. We went to bible college together. We didn't even have sex until we were married. We did everything we could do to give our marriage a good start. We "did" all of these things too, understanding that faith was not only in the "doing".

Bloody Christians. There's a reason we believe Jesus had to die for us. It's not like he was just being dramatic, "Oh! I know how to help them remember me. I'll die like this, and then they can make jewelry of the thing that killed me and use it as a witnessing tool."
"Nice cross earrings."
"Oh, thanks. Speaking of crosses, do you know Jesus?"

Sin.
It's such a scary word. I feel uncomfortable even typing it. I feel all the history of that word upon me when I do, and yet, it's the truth. A little slip here, a little lie there, some selfishness and fast forward five years and you have a completely broken family, looking around, wondering what happened. We are all only slips and lies and selfishness away from disaster.
But.
I suppose it's easier to slot me into some category you could never belong in. Safer that way.

I love my faith. I love the crazy people that are journeying with me, in it, and I don't blame them for their assumptions. I do it too. I want my world to make sense and I want to feel safe and I want to feel in control. But, we're just a bunch of silly kids when we practice a sort of moral snobbery to explain away broken lives, instead of wakening to the fact that, "Dear God, this could be me."

Dear
God.
This
could
be
me.

Help.