Rooted? Most Definitely
Everyone has their own roots, the places that they call home. It might be a certain neighborhood in a big city, a house in the middle of nowhere where you can have bonfires at two in the morning, causing a royal rumpus and not have to worry about having the cops called on you for disturbing the peace, or even a small town that you hated while you were living there. But the fact remains that we all have those roots. For me, it's a tiny town called Northport. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northport,_Washington
I grew up in this spit-and-miss-it town, and most of the time I wanted to scream and pull my hair out because I couldn't stand the drama and everything else that came along with living in a town with a population smaller than most graduating high school classes. But now that I have a child of my own, whenever I come back to visit, I can't help but realize that this place was a great place to grow up. Sure, the economy isn't ideal (but where is anymore?) the job opportunities suck, and you have those people that will always remain in the high school mentality even into their senior years. But this place gave me so many different experiences, and I can't say where I would be now if I didn't acknowledge my roots.
So even though I grew up in a God-fearing family, I did become the black sheep. I was the first child to lose their virginity, the unwed mother, the child that even considered stripping because she felt like she had no other option left. In any other family, I think I would be a lot worse off than I am now. My brother promised to kick my ass if I ever degraded myself to stripping, my parents were ready to drive down to Spokane and drag my ass back to Northport just because I applied at a strip club for a waitressing position. My home church...well, what can I say about that?
I feel like the biggest let-down and hypocrite ever when it comes to my home church. I was the youth that was going to change to the world, then I went and lost my virginity. So I was going to become the reformed youth that let her life be a testimony to the masses. Now, I'm the mother that doesn't deserve the grace being offered. I find it very hard to believe that I'm called to be an evangelist, especially considering the background I'm coming in with. I can identify with Hosea's wife, with Rahab, and with the prostitute that Jesus forgave. But I'm worse, in some way. I knew what it was like to be on fire for Christ, to enjoy praising him, even now I know the love and forgiveness that he offers. But I also know that I don't deserve it. Even if it was offered to me on a silver platter, I wouldn't be able to accept it because of the rags that I wear.
But I want to, so desperately. Here, there is no judgement. There is only acceptance, beyond understanding.
This is what keeps me rooted.
I grew up in this spit-and-miss-it town, and most of the time I wanted to scream and pull my hair out because I couldn't stand the drama and everything else that came along with living in a town with a population smaller than most graduating high school classes. But now that I have a child of my own, whenever I come back to visit, I can't help but realize that this place was a great place to grow up. Sure, the economy isn't ideal (but where is anymore?) the job opportunities suck, and you have those people that will always remain in the high school mentality even into their senior years. But this place gave me so many different experiences, and I can't say where I would be now if I didn't acknowledge my roots.
So even though I grew up in a God-fearing family, I did become the black sheep. I was the first child to lose their virginity, the unwed mother, the child that even considered stripping because she felt like she had no other option left. In any other family, I think I would be a lot worse off than I am now. My brother promised to kick my ass if I ever degraded myself to stripping, my parents were ready to drive down to Spokane and drag my ass back to Northport just because I applied at a strip club for a waitressing position. My home church...well, what can I say about that?
I feel like the biggest let-down and hypocrite ever when it comes to my home church. I was the youth that was going to change to the world, then I went and lost my virginity. So I was going to become the reformed youth that let her life be a testimony to the masses. Now, I'm the mother that doesn't deserve the grace being offered. I find it very hard to believe that I'm called to be an evangelist, especially considering the background I'm coming in with. I can identify with Hosea's wife, with Rahab, and with the prostitute that Jesus forgave. But I'm worse, in some way. I knew what it was like to be on fire for Christ, to enjoy praising him, even now I know the love and forgiveness that he offers. But I also know that I don't deserve it. Even if it was offered to me on a silver platter, I wouldn't be able to accept it because of the rags that I wear.
But I want to, so desperately. Here, there is no judgement. There is only acceptance, beyond understanding.
This is what keeps me rooted.
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