The Wind

Alias prevails again. 1st episode of season 4 featured this song by legendary musician Cat Stevens.  In the youtube video he says, "It's about the journey."  Someone else said, "it talks about instinct and thirst for knowledge.....that's what the water part is about."   Of course, you'll have to decide for yourself what it means.  A beautiful song that deserves to be played in a silent house or car with the volume on high.

____________________________________

I listen to the wind

to the wind of my soul

Where I'll end up well I think,

only God really knows

I've sat upon the setting sun

But never, never never never

I never wanted water once

No, never, never, never



I listen to my words but

they fall far below

I let my music take me where

my heart wants to go

I swam upon the devil's lake

But never, never never never

I'll never make the same mistake

No, never, never, never

__________________________________

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wf0VP01JauQ&feature=related

The Lotus Blossom

I found a card from my "Relax Deck" and thought I would post the quote, along with a photo of lotus flowers that I took on Mother's Day at a local garden.  One of the things I like about the lotus is that it opens and closes each day.   In Nepal, and in Hinduism, the lotus flower is a very symbolic flower. Here is one quote I found that is pertinent to Liberated Menno Momma's:  "According to Hinduism, within each human inhabiting the earth is the spirit of the sacred lotus. It represents eternity, purity and divinity and is widely used as a symbol of life, fertility, ever-renewing youth and to describe feminine beauty, especially the eyes. One of the most common metaphysical analogies compares the lotus' perennial rise to faultless beauty from a miry environment to the evolution of woman's consciousness--from instinctive impulses to spiritual liberation." 

Another quote . . .

"'I am the being, who in spite of my miry surroundings, have remained untouched and stood up to be the exemplar of beauty and purity.'" If the lotus could speak it would have said these words and bragged about itself which is so unlikely for the humble lotus. It has been the symbol of detachment from worldly desires and illusions according to the Hindu religious scriptures. It symbolized purity in the true sense of the term in spite of its seed being the stagnant water. Lotus symbolizes Life ever renewed and revitalized when it peeks out of the muddy waters every morning."

"The lotus flower, even though has its roots in the muddy waters, blooms above the water without becoming dirty by the mire below."

From the Relax Deck:

"Amid the frantic pace of modern life, it is easy to get caught up in material concerns and to neglect your spiritual side. To get in touch with your inner self, visualize a lotus blossom in a pond and imagine light pouring outward through the petals, filling you with radiant calm. Just as the lotus shines out from its muddy surroundings, so you will find that focusing on your inner self will restore harmony in your busy life."

God be with the Mother

God be with the mother.

As she carried her child
   
      may she carry her soul.

As her child was born,
    
      may she give birth to her own, higher truth.

As she nourished and protected her child
    
      may she nourish and protect her inner life
    
     and her independence.

For her soul shall be
    
     her most painful birth,
    
     her most difficult child,

     and the dearest sister to her other children.

                                                     ~ Michael Lunig

Fishbowl Metaphor

by Sue Monk Kidd, Dance of the Dissident Daughter

“But it came to me suddenly and without question that I must leave the Baptist world. I sat still on the little chair and breathed in and out very slowly, taking this in. A goldfish bowl sat on a piano across the room. It was empty of fish and water, but I saw almost immediately the metaphor it represented. For so long the Baptist world had been both my goldfish bowl and the water I swam in. I’d come to think of it as the whole realm. I’d grown used to seeing everything through that water. It had never occurred to me that it was possible to leave. At a deep level, I’d not known I could make such a large choice.

“It sounds silly, but at the time leaving this realm seemed as daunting to me as leaving the goldfish tank might have seemed to a goldfish. I wondered if I could survive outside the safe perimeters I knew so well. And I was not even thinking at that point about taking my leave from the entire church. I wasn’t yet thinking about learning how to breathe in brand new spiritual environs, in a feminine realm where the old breathing mechanisms don’t work at all.

“Despite the growing disenchantment women experience in the early stages of awakening, the idea of existing beyond the patriarchal institution of faith, of withdrawing our external projection of God onto the churn, is almost always unfathomable. It’s that old the-world-is-flat conviction, where we belief that if we sail out on the spiritual ocean beyond a certain point we will fall off the edge of the known world into a void. We think there’s nothing beyond the edge. No real spirituality, no salvation, no community, no divine substance. We cannot see that the voyage will lead us to whole new continents of depth and meaning. That if we keep going, we might even come full circle, but with a whole new consciousness.”

Something Else

I just started watching Season 3 of ALIAS.  In general, they have amazing music selections.  This was no exception.  I was even more amazed when I read the lyrics.  I just started reading Sue Monk Kidd's "Dance of the Dissident Daughter" which happens to be amazingly timely in relation to the journey I'm on right now.  I'll write more about it sometime soon, but I will just say that this song resonates with me in a very real way.  It also happens to be a lovely song.  Enjoy.

Something Else by Gary Jules

They never tell you truth is subjective
They only tell you not to lie
They never tell you there's strength in vulnerability
They only tell you not to cry


But I've been living underground
Sleeping on the way
And finding something else to say
Is like walking on the freeway


They never tell you you don't need to be ashamed
They only tell you to deny
So is it true that only good girls go to heaven?
They only sell you what you buy


And I've been living underground
Sleeping on the way
And finding something else to say
Is like walking on the freeway
I've been living underground


Trying not to burn
And finding something else to learn
At Hollywood and western

Listen to this lovely, amazing song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gpvGsNCBRz0

How I thought I lost my faith…and why I am thinking of making it official!

Note: I actually wrote this about 4 months ago. At that point, I wasn't ready to post this.  Now I am.  And, I've come to a conclusion and will be posting that soon. Until then, read on...

__________________________________________________

I’m not sure I’m ready to go in depth about how I lost my faith. That is still a pretty touchy issue with me. Though I had some significant faith experiences in my teens and 20’s, I think now I can fairly say that my faith wasn’t very deep. Otherwise, why would I feel like I just wanted to ditch it? So, before I have to think too deeply about why I lost my faith, let me just cut to the chase and tell you why I’ve been debating about leaving it.

For the past 3½ years, I have been contemplating withdrawing my membership from my current church. This church, while I didn’t grow up in it, felt like home in many respects. Despite the fact that it felt huge and somewhat snooty, I liked it. I developed wonderful relationships with the children that I taught in Sunday School. I developed relationships with some of the older ladies that I led in Bible study. I was frequently called upon to read scripture, or help out with this or that type of thing. I had good relationships with the pastors. People liked me.

After the relationship that changed my life…I slowly began to distance myself from my church. I still taught Sunday School (and if I was there now, I’d still be teaching…it was the kids…I loved the kids! They loved me. And I loved making things interesting and new and exciting for them!). But things changed. Things changed even more drastically after the event that changed my life. Many of my relationships at church changed. After all these life changing things, I thought about writing a letter which would essentially say, screw you. It was after a public “confession” of sorts that I really had it in me to do it. But something kept me from composing a letter and withdrawing my membership. Even after no one offered to bring me meals after the birth of my first child (wait, that’s not true, no group from my church offered, no Sunday school class offered, but three or four individuals from that church did). Even after I was no longer invited to read scripture, I still couldn’t bring myself to write the letter. So, it's three years later and I’ve still been thinking about it. So why haven’t I done it? Let me count the reasons:

1) I still want to be on the email list to get bulletins and prayer updates

2) I’m afraid that it will somehow erase the impact that I had on the children that I taught in Sunday School. I know this isn’t true. But I feel like it.

3) I’m afraid

Hmmm. Is that all?

Maybe everyone else at that church has totally forgotten about this.  The reality is, if I ever (and I really doubt I ever will) move back to that particular Menno-bubble, I will not go to that church. I would want to go somewhere, but I don’t think I could, in good conscience, take myself and my child there as full-bonafide members. Hmmm…I think to myself, then do it! Withdraw!

“But,” I retort! “What if I want to get some sort of Mennonite job? They always need to make sure you’re a member of a Mennonite church.”

“Do you really want to work in a Mennonite institution anymore?”

“No, probably not, unless it’s Ten Thousand Villages, that’s different.”

“Fine, but I don’t think you need to be a member of a Mennonite church to work for Ten Thousand Villages.”

“True.”

The enormously ironic point of this whole thing is that when I was in high school, I delayed my baptism because I did not want to become a member of my then-home congregation. There was nothing wrong with the congregation. In fact, it was a wonderful congregation. I don’t know if it was partly adolescence, or the sense that I wasn’t going to be there my whole life (so why become a member if I wasn’t going to be there?). I just knew that there was nothing in the bible about having to become a member of a church as a result of baptism. (Let’s not get started on how baptism as John the Baptist and Jesus did it, was simply for the forgiveness of sins…something we should probably do yearly, not just once in our life.) After a year or two of struggle, I finally said, “Well, I want to follow Jesus. And I want my faith community to know that I am making a commitment to follow Jesus. So if that means I have to become a member of this church, then so be it.”

What’s ironic is that now I find myself at the same question, and even the same reasoning, but leaning the other way. I mean, I did this whole faith thing because something inside me told me, or rather believed, that Jesus, that God, was – IS – real. Jesus is a person to be reckoned with…a person worth studying, questioning and even emulating. However, over the past 3 years, I am not sure what to do with Jesus! I know God is with me, sometimes…but that is my logic (history… a kind of “institutional knowledge” that God was there 20 and 15 and 10 and even 5 years ago, God surely has to be here with me now) and the occasional serendipitous occurrence that tells me God is still somehow involving Godself in my life. Basically what I’m getting at is that church is now getting in the way of my relationship with God…my desire to have anything to do with, let alone faithfully follow, Jesus. At least, that’s what I think. Who knows, it could be that I’ve just been away from church for so long that my faith is slowly corroding. But I think it’s more that I assume my church felt like I was being “unfaithful” to it (by doing the unimaginable in an unimaginable relationship), I also feel like they were unfaithful to me. Jesus said to welcome back the sinner and I felt like I got stoned. What Jesus does and says is sometimes quite a bit different from what happens inside the church. And maybe this was the shove I needed to experience and follow Jesus outside of the confines of my denomination.

I have no idea if and when I will be in proximity to a Mennonite church again. If I find one that I want to be a part of, I will. My best support, spiritual and otherwise, in my new home half way across the world are in fact Mennonites! I don’t think I will carry this baggage with me all my life. If I find another, non-Mennonite church that I want to be a part of…well that would be good too. I’ll leave that for the future. My point is I was born and raised and chose the Mennonite faith . . . but it’s not serving me well. And I’m not serving it. Either I’m being a slave to it, or it’s being a slave to me. So, if I embarked on this journey to serve Jesus…why not ditch the baggage and serve or at least attempt to follow Jesus.

And this brings me back to my opening. In all honesty, I’m not really ready to leave my faith, now, am I? I do in fact want to find it again. I’ve told my dear mentor/spiritual director/amazingly wise and Jesus-like woman, that if I had to choose a Biblical analogy for my life right now, it would be of the Israelites wandering around in the desert. You know those 40 years post-exodus, post-slavery (hmm...), pre-paradise. They were learning to follow God all over again: away from the confines of everything that they knew, away from everything that was safe, comfortable and familiar. Moses was essentially setting up a new set of membership guidelines. The most basic of which could ensure a fairly sane and just life.

Lately, I often feel like I’m in that desert, wandering: around the same parts of this stinky underdeveloped city half-way around the world, dreaming of the day when I won’t have to look at cement walls and trash and mangy dogs, when I can be independent and drive myself to the mountains for a hike, when I can talk to people and understand what everyone around me is saying. I sometimes feel like I’m living on manna…the same foods day in and day out, dreaming of the day that I’ll be able to eat ice cream out of a box (and not get sick). I miss my former life. Like the Israelites, I have the same desires for aspects of my former life and “culture of origin”. It looks so much better than this! But maybe God is doing something with me here. I’m not sure what and I sure hope it doesn’t take 40 years.

Brain, Child

For the Faint of Heart . . . read Brain, Child. My new favorite magazine. The magazine that actually gives me things to ponder. When I’m done with the articles, I lay them on my chest and think. I often feel like I’ve had a really good, deep discussion with a friend. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I just wonder. And I usually put it away feeling a little lighter and much more refreshed. Thanks Brain, Child. Maybe one day, I’ll write something for you!

www.brainchild.com

Have I Lost my Sense of Style?

This is the question I've been asking myself lately. Have I totally lost it? As a mother of a two-year-old and living on the other side of the world, it can happen. I came to this country and was initially shocked to see fashion faux paux like white socks with black pants and shoes, mismatched pants and shirts, socks with sandals, you name it. Slowly, I’ve learned to appreciate the ease in which people create their fashion ensembles. Some people really don’t care what they look like when they leave their house. The main staple of women’s wear here is often an interesting coordination of 1) similar colors with various patterns or 2) similar patterns with various colors or 3) similar patterns and similar colors. Recently, I purchased one of these staple women’s wear outfits for an employee and was proud of my coordinated efforts. I thought of keeping the scarf for myself when I threw it on with a black t-shirt. “Hmmm, not bad. Actually, kind of nice,” I thought. “But not my usual style.”

Besides the fact that I’ve gotten used to the funky fashion here. I’ve also been away from American fashion for long enough that I have NO IDEA what is in style. Long or short shorts? Long or short t-shirts? Tight or loose t-shirts? What, t-shirts aren’t in style? Bummer, I’m screwed. What about my 4-year-old gray Gap sweater that, besides a hole near the neck, just formed a hole on the bust. I will wear it here, I will. With a gray t-shirt underneath. And no one will care, or notice for that matter. But if I return to the US, I will leave my favorite gray sweater behind. I know not even Goodwill will take it. But, despite the fact that my fashion is suffering, no one seems to know or care here. In that, I find comfort. I also find comfort in the fact that I can wear my clothes until they wear out or go out of style, whichever comes first. And if need be, I can give my clothes away to people who will be appreciative.

But back to the women’s wear. Two months after I purchased it (and the employee departed), I tried it on. “Oh, Lord,” I thought. “I could definitely get away with wearing this here, as long as I never see any of my embassy friends.” But after a few seconds of looking in the mirror and throwing the scarf over it, I realized something. The pattern looked vaguely familiar. Definitely something I had seen before. Then it hit me. Something like my grandmother would have worn in the 1970’s.

That’s it. I have totally lost my sense of style!

Poetry

I just discovered this poem and love it. 

I realize that I really need to read more poetry. 

I especially like the last 4 1/2 stanzas. 

It could speak of momma-hood and other types of -hoods.

In Blackwater Woods

by Mary Oliver

Look, the trees

are turning

their own bodies

into pillars

of light,

are giving off the rich

fragrance of cinnamon

and fulfillment,

the long tapers

of cattails

are bursting and floating away over

the blue shoulders

of the ponds,

and every pond,

no matter what its

name is, is

nameless now.

Every year

everything

I have ever learned

in my lifetime

leads back to this: the fires

and the black river of loss

whose other side

is salvation,

whose meaning

none of us will ever know.

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go.

Now I know how it feels

Living half-way across the world, I’ve learned a few new things. Like how to look right, then left, before crossing the road. How to decontaminate vegetables and fruit so they are (relatively) safe to eat raw. And how to make all my favorite things – from scratch.

Perhaps most relevant to this blog, though, is that I have learned how it feels to feel left out. I’m specifically referring to Mennonites who are not “ethnically” Mennonite (see January 27 blog, "A crass explanation of Mennonites"). Let me explain.

My friend circle here is much different than it ever was or could have been when I was living in my Menno-bubble in the United States. I have some Mennonite friends, and as my husband says, they keep me grounded and humble. They live modestly: 2-3 bedroom apartments with one part-time house employee (to clean and cook). They might have a motorcycle, but otherwise, use public transportation to get anywhere. Then there are my other friends…my ex-pat diplomat friends. These friends are employed by you-name-it government or international non government organizations and live the life of luxury – not only by these standards, but even by standards in the US. (Most of them would readily admit that they wouldn’t be able to afford this type of lifestyle in the US.) 5 bedroom, 4 bath, 3 floor homes. 3-7 house employees (cooks, housecleaners, nannies, drivers, gardeners, guards). Memberships to their respective you-name-it government exclusive (if you can afford it) clubs. Their life is relatively easy.

Now, I can’t complain. We live in a (Menno-like) modest apartment (2 bedrooms/2 baths), have a good supply of water (even though the landlady is a water-Nazi) and have a full-time house employee (cleans, cooks, babysits my child). I would have an enormous amount of freedom and faux-independence if we employed a driver, but that’s not the point of this blog. The point of this blog is how I sometimes feel left out. How I feel like I don’t totally belong.

I feel a little like a lawyer right now, which I’m not, as I am trying to draw up my case. I wanted to point out the “us vs. them” scenario here (“us” being modest Mennonites, “them” being wealthier ex-pats). To my credit, despite the fact that I’m not in the “ex-pat diplomat club” they include me in it a fair bit. However, I will NEVER feel like I am a part of it – even if I became one of them (by say, becoming an Embassy employee), I still don’t think I would feel like I was really a member of the club. I’d feel like a phony, like an imposter, like at any moment someone might realize that I’m pacifist and was taught NOT to participate in government, let alone work for it.

Case in point…today I was at one of the embassy clubs. The modest affordable club that has a children’s park, a huge lawn and a café. The only one that we DO have a membership to (only because it’s $15 per year as opposed to $1,000 per year – guess who’s country makes you pay $1,000/year even if you’re a citizen of that country?). Today there were tons of ex-pat diplomats and ex-pat spouses of foreign aid organizations at the club. Besides the fact that none of these people are from MY country, I felt way out of my league. I felt like I had a right to be there, I mean, I paid my $15 fee just like everyone else. But I felt like I would never be one of them. As for the American club ($1000/year membership)…I have to rely on my ex-pat diplomat friends to take me there and sign me in as their “guest.” (Sidenote: Today, as my daughter was finishing up her single-serving of fruit yogurt, she asked me to go back to the expensive club and get her more yogurt. Unfortunately, we are at the mercy of these friends to invite me to the club where I can get imported yogurt (that’s kind of sort of like Yoplait) which you can’t find anywhere else in this country. End of side note : ) In the US, we might be on more equal footing, but here, these ex-pat friends are always more privileged than me, more “in”.

But yogurt and membership to the expensive club is not the point of this blog. The point of this blog is that today I felt for all those non-ethnic Menno’s who want to be a part of the Mennonite bubble or just the Mennonite faith, but feel like they are constantly outsiders…that they have to wait to be invited in…that they can get membership, but never really feel like they are a full-bonafide member. Who feel a little bit like imposters. Who feel like their children too deserve to get yogurt whenever they want but realize that there is a high price to pay to get access to it and they probably won’t ever be able to afford it.

DOES THIS MAKE ANY SENSE AT ALL?

I think I’m airing two things at once, but I hope you get the point. If you’re not “ethnically-Mennonite”…I’d say, screw them! Screw the ones that make you feel like you’re never quite going to belong. Belong, for Menno Simon’s sake! You do belong. You have every right in God’s green earth to not only belong, but to FEEL like you belong. Don’t wait to be invited. Just go. And if people ignore you or stumble over their words or can’t think of anything to say once they hear your last name or where you’re from, stay put. Don’t move. You’re not an imposter. You have every right to be there and to claim the Mennonite vein of Christian faith as those who have roots that twist through the earth’s core over to Germany or Switzerland or Russia. You belong. And don’t let anyone tell you, or make you feel, otherwise!

Tonight I felt liberated…

…when I had this delectable meal.

North African Cauliflower Soup, a recipe from Moosewood Restuarant Cooks at Home, made with cauliflower from my in-laws garden. Cheese from the German Bakery (which is rare commodity for us, simply because this bakery, which sells THE best locally produced cheese in our city is so far away from our house). Fresh french bread. Green Salad - fresh from my friend’s garden - complete with fresh broccoli from my same friend’s garden topped with homemade honey mustard dressing. This was the most organic meal (in that I know where the food is coming from) I’ve had in a long time. And this is only the second time in at least 4 months I’ve had a green salad (not because we can’t get lettuce here, it’s just one of those things I steer clear from). All this to say …Tonight this delicious, fresh, raw, European-ish meal made me feel liberated!

WHY YOU DON’T HAVE TO PANIC IF YOU’RE 30 AND NOT MARRIED

I will go ahead and tackle one of the more pressing issues that many single 30-something Mennonites face. The fact that they are, duh, not married! More importantly, the fact that they are at, near or over 30, and not married! In Mennonite world, 30 is the new 50. You may as well count your eggs as shriveled and your sperm as spent. If you live in a Mennonite community, people might look at you and wonder . . . “What is wrong with her?” “Why isn’t he married?” “Is he gay?” “Is she a lesbian?” Maybe you are. But you’re sure as hell not going to tell anyone in your Mennonite world that, unless of course they are the more liberal types. But even then, you are selective about who you tell. But we’ll save that discourse for another time. Let’s get back to the point: those Mennonites who are 30, or thereabouts, and single and, well, let’s be honest, searching. If you are Mennonite and live in a city, you know full well that 30 is the new 20. You are surrounded by “young professionals” who are content to be single or in their new or long term relationship – live-in or otherwise. You’re not feeling the least bit strange because, well, in the city, you’re normal. Now, drive down to your parent’s or grandparents or aunt’s or uncle’s or 23-year-old married cousin’s house and it’s a different story. They begin to wonder and hint, as does every relative over the age of 35. (Reiterate statement about eggs shriveling and sperm being spent.)

For those of you stuck or rather living in a Mennonite community…30 IS NOT OLD!!!! 30 is like the beginning of life. You had a blast in your 20’s didn’t you? 30 CAN BE EVEN BETTER!!! Trust me. I know there is a ton of pressure, both internally and externally, to find your perfect Menno-mate. But don’t rush it. Don’t worry. Don’t think that your eggs ARE going to shrivel up and die or your sperm WILL indeed be spent. THEY WON’T!!! Not for another 10 or 15 years (more if you have sperm..though research now shows that the older you have children, the less intelligent they are)!!!

Since this is the first time I’ve lived outside of the Mennonite Bubble, I feel like I’ve had a reawakening. I can now better understand my Mennonite friends from the city. Case in point: my (American) friends in my new little part of the world are all my age and just now having babies. Granted, a few of them rushed into marriage (i.e. got pregnant then married, or got married then pregnant, all within a few months). One of my friends, a very successful woman in the field of journalism and development (she worked for NPR if that tells you anything), is in her mid 40’s. She has an 8 year old and an adopted 2 year old. Another friend is 46 with a 2 year old (her own flesh and blood)…and is married to a 32 year old. You heard it. You think these women aren’t totally happy? At least they didn’t freak out about the fact that they were OVER 30 and not married with child. Well, maybe they did. I haven’t asked them.

It wasn’t until I was in my mid to late 20’s that I realized a number of my aunts didn’t get married until their late 20’s and had children in their mid 30’s (over 35). You have to understand that I grew up thinking that I needed to be married by the time I was 21 (following in the steps of my mother and a few of my aunts!) and with child by 25 AT THE LATEST!!! Do you know what would have happened if I would have done that? NOTHING! I never would have traveled all over Europe and led study groups to Africa and sat on the beach every year with friends and lived with fabulous, inspiring girlfriends and redefined my fashion and started an exercise regime and did I say travel? Now, all of this changed when I met someone. And let me tell you did it change. My only vacations are to go home…to my family or his. Nothing else. It is really quite depressing, but don’t tell my significant other that. All I’m saying is, 30 is not the end of the world. And don’t make it yours. Don’t make it your secret deadline for…well, being dead if you’re not married or pregnant or in a significant relationship. 30 is definitely the new 20 and by the time you’re 40, 40 will be the new 25. So you definitely have a good 10 to 50 years under your belt before your eggs shrivel and your sperm is spent.

A Crass Explanation of Mennonites

This is the only blog entry that will be dedicated to giving a brief explanation of Mennonites and how I fit into the scheme of Mennonite-ness.

For those of you who are reading this and are not Mennonite, I will clarify one of the never ending questions about Mennonites, namely, who are we? No we are not Amish, though we politely say we are “related” to the Amish. Historically, Mennonites were a more “ethnic” based Christian protestant denomination. Meaning, Mennonites came from Germany, Switzerland, and Russia. While there are many “non-ethnic” Mennonites involved in the Mennonite denomination today, this “race thing” is still a point of contention. (The “Mennonite Game” is a case in point: When "ethnic" Mennonites meet each other, they will often try to figure out how – not if – they are related!) For an interesting article about the interplay of "ethnic" and "non-ethnic" Mennonites read and article by Janet Trevino-Elizarraraz: http://www.themennonite.org/issues/13-1/articles/Where_faith_and_culture_intersect

Allow me to be crass. Mennonites are a little like Jews: We are from a certain place, adhere to certain beliefs, and were persecuted for those beliefs (and still like to use the “persecuted” card). There are many Mennonites who are not “ethnically Mennonite” but practice the Mennonite (Christian Protestant) faith. There are also many Mennonites who are “ethnically Mennonite” but are not in the least bit Christian. (Kind of like the ethnic, non-practicing, even atheist, Jews.) There are many veins of Mennonites ranging from uber-conservatives who still ride in horse and buggy or who only ride black vehicles and wear dresses and head-coverings and beards (not simultaneously of course!!). And then there are your average to liberal Mennonites who, on the street, you cannot pick out in a crowd. There are even uber-liberal Mennonites who are fine with same-sex marriage, vote for the president and live in cities.

I used to fall into the “average Mennonite” category. You wouldn’t know I was Mennonite if you saw me in the grocery store or Metro station or PTA meeting. Though I had some gay friends, I was still “weirded out” by same-sex marriage. I thought the “live simply” values were noble and tried to live them. But I rarely voted in political elections. Since moving out of the Mennonite Bubble, however, I would put myself more in the liberal category. I find it appalling that the United States, the country with the oldest constitution in the world, is still hesitant to grant equal rights to ALL its citizens (gays and lesbians, Native Americans, migrant workers). My child is being raised in a “mixed-religion” home, so God has become much more expansive (by say, 1 million times). Jesus is an amazing person and I seriously think he was influenced by eastern religion. (King Xerxes – husband to Queen Esther – did attain rule over like the entire eastern hemisphere you know.)

Now that we have that clarified...let's get down to more interesting business!

The Journey Begins

Hello and welcome to my blog. As you can gather from the name, this is a blog by a Mennonite Momma who thinks she has become liberated (you can be the judge of that). This is a blog by a first-time mom who is living far off, away from her safe and sheltered Mennonite community. This is a blog by a woman who loved the Mennonite church, then left it and is not sure if she’ll ever return. This might be a blog for you.

First let me tell you about myself. I’m a Gen-Xer who grew up in a predominant Mennonite community in the Midwest of the United States. I went to a Mennonite high school, much to the happiness of my Mennonite father, but the chagrin of my Mennonite mother. After I graduated from my Mennonite high school, I traveled to the other side of the world with a legitimate Mennonite mission agency. I “felt called” to go to a Mennonite college far from my home (and at the same time, desperately needed to avoid my hometown). Four years later, I graduated with a little more life experience, handfuls of wonderful friends and a curiosity to take on more of the world. I took that curiosity to two more stateside “volunteer” assignments, thus fulfilling the unspoken “call of duty” towards voluntary service.

Then I made “the leap” and moved to a predominant Mennonite community in the east coast. I worked for several years in Mennonite institutions, traveled the world, was deeply involved in my new church, developed wonderful relationships with fellow Mennonites – my age, and younger and older than me – and thought that’s what life would be like. Then things took a drastic turn. I won’t go into what was involved in that drastic turn. Not yet. I can’t give it all away. I’ll just say that one relationship totally changed my life…and my life as a Mennonite.

After the onset of that relationships, I moved across the world. And that’s where I am writing this from now. I’m more settled, I’m less angry, I have perspective that I didn’t have when I was immersed in the Mennonite Bubble. And that’s why I’m writing this. To share what I’ve discovered outside of the Mennonite Bubble. For some of you it will be shocking. For some of you it will be refreshing. You tell me.

So, that’s me and a bit about me. I will post as the spirit of inspiration moves. I welcome your comments, and in fact need them, otherwise I will seriously think I am writing into a black hole.

So, I hereby christen www.LiberatedMennoMama.blogspot.com to begin. Actually, Mennonites wouldn’t christen now, would we? : ) We would dedicate…so I hereby dedicate this blog and bless it! Amen.