Arrows

Welcome back Friends! I’ve missed being in this space with you. My time away was so full - of family, of dreaming, and of new possibilities. It was such a crazy idea, to take a month long break from writing and building community here. But that month was so very needed. It helped me to process where I’ve been and imagine where I am going. Here is what I’ve been up to:

My family - all of the Rickleses - were able to be together for the first time since Christmas of 2019. SO much had happened since we were together, and our two weeks were full and joyous and like coming home to one another.

I have recently been given an amazing opportunity to work on a freelance project with my sister. Y’all - I am getting paid to write words! I cannot even stand it! It is truly a dream come true, and it has opened my eyes to the possibility of using my full self in my work.

I also spent a lot of time visioning and processing the next season of my life. I have known for a long time that God was moving me toward something new. But I had grown frustrated because I can’t yet see the end of this journey. I have prayed and planned and prepared and researched and experimented, but I didn’t have a detailed sense of what I am heading toward.

It has been like getting on an airplane without knowing my final destination. How do I properly prepare and pack? Do I need shorts and flip flops or boots and a heavy coat? What do I need to understand about the culture I will be immersed in? How many pairs of socks do I need to pack? Honestly, I let the uncertainty and the lack of control get inside my head.

During the past month though, I took a deep breath - several deep breaths actually. I refocused and returned to a practice I learned from author Emily P Freeman - “following the arrows.” She shares in her book, The Next Right Thing, about a time of uncertainty in her family’s life. When they looked for answers, all they could see were arrows, and so they began to follow them. The arrows led them out of the uncertainty and into their next season - but it took time.

When I moved to the Birmingham area in 2019, my path was paved with arrows. I longed to know the ending. Could I get a mortgage by myself? Could we find a house I could afford? Could we start over again? So I followed that first arrow - it’s time to move closer to your family. I shared with the boys my longing, and they wholeheartedly agreed! At that time, it was entirely too early to begin looking for houses for my schedule. So we followed that next arrow - begin preparing AS IF the move would happen. Boy that was a scary one! But we started clearing out and packing up what we could. When the time came though, we found a mortgage company and a realtor, and I got preapproved. Then came the struggle of finding a house in the neighborhood I wanted. I looked at and fell in love with multiple houses in a market that moved very quickly (although not as crazy as the market now!) Then my parents heard of a house in their neighborhood that was about to go up for sale. And we followed that arrow and put a contract on the house before it ever went up for sale! Trusting and following the arrows God put in front of us led us to our new home - one that I bought and owned all by myself.

Seeing evidence of God’s guidance and delight in surprising us with good gifts has been a grace story I’ve told ever since. And now I am again following arrows. I know God is drawing me toward purposeful and fruitful ministry. I just can’t see it yet. And so I am following the arrows - the discovery of spiritual formation as a lens for ministry, the mentorship from my former pastor, the hope*writers community, the spiritual direction program at Metagem Institute, learning to teach in a whole new way, and a calling to pastoral ministry that I cannot ignore.

The arrows are there, God is working in me and, I think, through me. I can’t see how the pieces will all fit together, but God is a master artist.

I will leave you with a question and a quote. First, the question: what arrows are you following today as you move forward into an area you can’t quite figure out?

And now the quote, from Emily P. Freeman’s The Next Right Thing:

When you catch a tiny glimpse of the future, be sure not to smother it with your own agenda. Let it breathe. Let it grow at a healthy pace. Admit it’s both delightful and terrifying. As you take your next right step today, trust that God won’t let you miss your own future. Follow the arrows.

Rooted

I am fascinated by trees and their root systems. Most gardeners and home owners are frustrated when the roots of trees spread and ruin the look of their well manicured yards. Tree roots are unruly and unpredictable. They go where they want rather than where we would like them to go. To me, they feel a bit like wild and joyful chaos.

A couple of weeks ago I shared the naming of my progress - the ways I have grown and transformed over the past few years. My faith was, and is, the center of my life. And yet, I realize now how small and neatly ordered it was. That sounds counterintuitive, doesn’t it? How can my faith be the foundation my life has been built upon and still be small and tidy? Let me try and flesh out what I mean.

I grew up in the church. My Pawpaw was a Baptist pastor and my Mawmaw, the perfect pastor’s wife. I remember sitting in the front pew behind the organ (where my mama, who was the organist, could reach us if we started misbehaving) watching Pawpaw preach. He was 5’6” and he commanded that pulpit like he was 7 feet tall. He was gentle in daily life and a force of nature when he preached. Mawmaw was grace-filled and truly gifted in hospitality. I remember watching her take notes in her well-worn Bible every week during the sermon, and when the service was over, she was the loving presence that made every person there feel personally and truly welcome and cared for. They were the ultimate power couple in ministry.

Pawpaw retired for the first time when I was in 5th or 6th grade. He went on to retire 2 more times as the retirement never seemed to stick. My parents found a larger Baptist church near our house that had lots of opportunities for children and youth, and we continued worshipping every week. We were literally there every time the doors opened. It was such a part of my life that I can’t separate my childhood and adolescent memories from the memories of the church.

As an adult, my faith remained the well-conceived structure I built my life around. I have a seminary degree. I was a pastor’s wife just like my Mawmaw for 20 years. I can quote parts of the Bible and most of the order of communion. I can even tell you about the Hebrew people’s cycle of apostasy and the Wesleyan quadrilateral. And yet my faith was too small and too tidy.

For so long, I believed my faith was what I did and how I loved God. I had the answers to all of the questions, and I felt pretty sure my answers were right. And I have always been pretty outspoken about my faith. Absolutely, I felt shaken to my core when we miscarried our first child; when my dear friend was nearly killed, and her fiancé was killed, in a terrible car accident; when my son nearly died when he fell into a ketoacidotic coma and was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at age 5. But my faith never wavered. Even when my husband died and everything I knew crashed into a million pieces, God has been my comfort and my hiding place.

And I think that is where the shift started. When none of my answers fit the questions I was asking, I fell into God’s presence. My neatly trimmed and well manicured faith felt like a binding around me, and all I could hold on to was the promise that God was near. I found that the answers and the certainty and the trappings of religion felt shallow to me, and they began to fall away one by one.

My faith had always been about what I could do for God, and when I had nothing left to offer, God quietly whispered to me that I was still held - I was still loved - I was still called.

I am learning to let my faith grow and transform now. I have spent the past few years deconstructing and reconstructing my theology and my understanding of how God works in the world around me. I am a lot less sure about the answers, but I am more certain about God. Here is what I know for sure:

God is bigger than I can imagine. I am never going to understand all of who God is, and so I am learning to be ok sitting with the questions.

I am more loved and treasured than I can understand. This has been a tricky one for me. I struggle with unworthiness. But God’s love for me is sure and true. Even when I don’t feel lovable, I am certain that the Creator who made me, loves me.

God is present with me always. There is a mystery here. God, who is big and perfect and Creator of the entire universe, is very personally present in my good days, and especially in my dark ones. I have known the presence of God most closely in my suffering.

God is a bit like those tree roots I love so much - unruly and wild, never following the rules I think are best, but always surprising me with joyful chaos and steady presence.

These few things I know are true, and they are enough. I am rooted in the wild and holy presence of God.

Love and Hate

I have the bravest children in the world. I think it’s important that you know this. They have been through more in their respective 20 & 15 years than any human should have to endure.

They lived most of their lives in a spotlight that only a pastor’s kid can understand. Church members often believe that they get to have an opinion about how the pastor’s children dress, how they speak, and who their friends are. They are constantly held to a higher standard while living in a fishbowl where everyone can see them.

My boys have dealt with life altering diagnoses and learned to thrive.

They endured things behind closed doors that no one could imagine, given the image that was held up in social media and from the pulpit. Their stories were never as simple as they seemed.

When they were 16 and 11, their father died suddenly and unexpectedly. I watched them wrestle with a grief so profound and paralyzing that I feared we would all be swept away by it.

Over the past 4 years, we have all been in counseling. We have learned to communicate and be vulnerable. We have learned to trust our own voice. And every day I have been in awe of their courage and resilience. They are amazing, wise, and kind human beings.

Today I have the absolute privilege to hand over the keyboard to my oldest son Caleb. He has always known that when he was ready, he would be the one to share his story with this community.

He is being brave and vulnerable, and I am asking you to hear his heart and celebrate his voice. He is my world and I am honored to have him as a guest writer. Be kind, Grace Seekers. You hold his heart and his faith in your hands today.

These masks were designed and painted by my youngest son Cole.

Written by Caleb Perry, June 26, 2021

So for those of you who don’t know, June is Pride month for the LGBT+ community, which is where we celebrate how far we’ve come, and often acknowledge how far we have to go. This is a truly deep (and often difficult) place for so many. Gay marriage is an admittedly touchy subject, and everyone has an opinion. Some people affirm and support, others put down and say “it’s only a phase” or “God bless that poor soul.” For me, I can’t understand a God that would be so willing to cast away his beloved creations because of who they love. I grew up seeing and hearing a very one-sided view of faith: Gay people are sinful and going to hell. Now, often it wasn’t said that directly, but I have seen people that I love abandoned by the church, by people who claim to love them as family, and by a community that doesn’t stop to consider that maybe God’s love is infinitely bigger and more accepting than we could ever comprehend.

In the last few years, I have been on a long and often painful journey - that of discovering my true self. I used to have a very clear picture of who I was “supposed” to be. I was meant to be the perfect pastor’s kid, one who didn’t make “mistakes” and always had the right churchy answer. Truth be told, that’s not me. I make mistakes, and I don’t have the right answer, because often there isn't one. Life is rough and messy and that’s ok. Sometimes the only way to get around the mess is to go right through it. I’ve certainly had to wrestle with my own self-worth and acceptance of who I am to get to this point.

When you stop and listen, Spirit’s still, small voice says: Love. This is the ultimate endgame, nothing more, nothing less than love and acceptance. Spirit moves so that every single one of us could not just hear, but truly believe that they are loved and treasured and precious exactly how they are - no matter who they love, what gender, or pronouns they choose, or any of the dozens of other ways that people use to justify their bigotry or cruel comments.

I want to say to anyone who feels abandoned, alone, unlovable, or like a mistake: you are not. The angry crowd may be the loudest voices we hear, but no matter what they say, you are beloved. I spent my childhood being afraid of who I was, who I wanted to be, who I wanted to love. I know the exact things you feel and hear. I know firsthand how it feels to wonder: if I tell someone the truth, will they still love me? Will I still have a home? Will I be safe? If this feels familiar for you too, know that it gets better. You will find your people. You will find love and belonging. You will find a home. It won't be easy, but it will be worth it.

It has taken me an incredibly long time to get to the place where I can say and believe that I am both Bisexual and deeply loved and treasured by God. I have seen grace and love in the family that has come around me and through the people that I know accept and support me unconditionally. I have seen love and family in a way I've never known or had before. I know now what I couldn’t see before: we are ok to love who we love and we aren't broken or wrong. I want to share a quote that I absolutely love and has helped me through a lot in recent years. It is from a Captain Marvel comic issue written by Kelly Sue Deconnick.

We’ll get where we are going you and I, death and indignity be damned. We'll get there, and we will be the stars we were always meant to be.

Artist: Dexter Soy

This is Renae again:

Thanks for reading this far. I have readers on both sides of this issue. Please let me remind you that my son is not an issue. He is a human with real feelings and a real story. If you want to talk to me more, please email me or private message me on Facebook or DM me on Instagram. I also ask that no one presumes to guess and discuss what Caleb’s dad would have thought about who he is. That is not relevant or kind. If you are interested in hearing more stories of kids of faith who have wrestled through understanding who they are and how God feels about them, or if you’re a parent and you want your kids to feel safe sharing who they are, please listen to this podcast by Jen Hatmaker and her daughter Sidney.

Caleb and I would also like to share this link for a safe space to talk to a trained counselor 24/7. If you are a young person in crisis, feeling suicidal, or in need of a safe and judgment-free place the Trevor project is created for you. You are loved. You are not a mistake or a problem to be fixed. You are created perfectly in the image of God.

progress

When I was a kid, I wanted to be Wonder Woman. I adored Linda Carter. She was smart and beautiful and strong and a complete badass. Who wouldn’t want to be her? When she was incognito, she wore those big glasses and seemed mild mannered and kind of nerdy (that sexy kind of nerdy though). But as soon as she needed to be more than Diana Prince, all she had to do was take off those glasses and turn in circles with her arms out, and suddenly she was Wonder Woman. I can’t tell you how many times I spun in circles hoping…

Four years ago. when my husband died, I felt as dizzy as those days from my childhood when I would spin in circles wishing I could turn into someone else. His death was sudden and disorienting, and many days I did wish to be someone else. But instead of turning suddenly into someone else, I was just me: afraid and lost and grieving.

As I look at myself today, I don’t see that same fearful, lost girl. Most of the time, I can see a new person. It didn’t happen with just a spin, and it certainly wasn’t easy. But I have changed. I think I am still changing.

I shared last week that this year has not been easy for me. I am in a season of health challenges and decisions and overwhelming days. It is easy to get discouraged.

My counselor has spent these 4+ years teaching me to give myself credit for how far I've come though. Because it is too easy to focus on the difficulties right in front of me, and because I often discount my own victories, I am going to spend some time here naming my progress and sharing the things I have learned. Maybe it will encourage you to do some soul searching and see how far you’ve come too.

1. My faith and my view of spirituality were too small.

2. God is so much bigger, so much more compassionate, and so much more present than I believed.

3. I am braver and more resilient than I thought I was.

4. I don’t need anyone to rescue me - or take care of me.

5. Things don’t always look the same behind closed doors as they do on social media.

6. I can trust that nudging voice that says things are not ok.

7. My voice matters.

8. The calling on my life is deeper and more layered than I believed it could be.

9. Strength is not the same as perfection.

10. Not everyone can handle my grief or my growth, and that is ok. My family and a few friends have never left my side.

11. I get to ask for what I need.

12. Healthy boundaries have saved my life.

What has walking through this life taught you? Where have you surprised yourself? Where do you need to name a victory?

I want to share my favorite Brene Brown quote in closing:

I now see how owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we will ever do.

Go own your story and love yourself through it. And don’t forget to give yourself progress for your growth and the lessons you have learned.

forward is forward

I have a picture of a turtle on my home screen on my phone. It is a green cartoon turtle and underneath, it says in cursive script, “your speed doesn’t matter, forward is forward.” As I typed that quote, I had to look a second and then third time because I have been under the impression that it said “progress is progress.” It has been the home screen on my phone for nearly 4 years, and I was quoting it wrong in my head. How did I miss the actual writing on the phone?

I have been thinking about small steps lately. I’ve been meditating on the idea that even small steps count. I am not very patient with small steps though. I want to move in big ways and feel accomplished. I want to fly and not crawl. I try to be grateful and grace-filled toward myself and where I am. But the voices from my past whisper to me that my worth comes from progress and big things. It is challenging for me to put those voices to bed and believe the picture that is on my home screen.

Even the way I misinterpreted the message speaks of productivity. Progress indicates activity & accomplishments. Forward is more about overall direction & movement. It is a subtle difference, but I hear Spirit whispering to me that this matters.

I am in a season of doctor visits and endless procedures, of processing new diagnoses and overwhelming information, and of making big, life-changing choices. Some days, steps are impossible. Some days, breathing is all I can do. Some days I am having to sleep off sedation from a procedure on my back. It is hard to make steps when my body and my mind are screaming for rest or silent spaces or centering prayer.

So what does the real message mean? What does it mean that, “your speed doesn’t matter, forward is forward?”

I think what Spirit might be saying is that these days of stillness and waiting count. Rest is moving me forward. Making decisions, large or small, is moving me forward. These procedures for back and neck pain are moving me forward. Tiny steps, even when they don’t feel like steps - and they definitely don’t feel like progress - do count. Perhaps I need a new definition, a new understanding, of what it means to move forward in these spaces.

I came to the computer today to write about the small steps I need to acknowledge. I wanted to use that home screen image to launch the idea. What I found instead is a gentle reminder that forward isn’t always active and productive in the ways it is usually defined. Sometimes forward means looking at the bigger picture and seeing the grace in all of the days and not just the busy or active ones.

So today, I am choosing to believe that I am moving forward. I am acknowledging that sometimes forward is found in being still and processing when everything around me and in me wants to push for productivity. Today I am grateful to have quiet spaces in a difficult season. Today I am honoring where my heart and my mind and my body are.