I identify as a church kid from the 80’s and 90’s. Specifically, a Mennonite Church, where Four Square, Spoons, Capture the Flag, rubber cement, double-Dutch, and sitting in the back pew reigned supreme. My brothers and I would awaken on Sunday mornings to dad calling out “Rise and shine!” and to the buttery, citrusy smell of Pillsbury Orange Cinnamon Rolls in the oven. The moment of dread would invariably arrive when I would squeeze and shimmy into one of the pairs of sheer, shiny, brown panty hose that were stuffed into my dresser drawer. Why did they always smell like feet? If, and only if, I finally got into them without having a complete psychotic meltdown, karma for some unknown horrible thing I had done would appear in the form of a run that seemed to grow by the second.

By some miracle and abundant prayer, the five of us found our way to the front door through the thick haze of Bath and Body Country Apple body spray, Aqua Net hairspray, Old Spice aftershave, and Avon perfume, into the oversized gray conversion van for the eight-minute drive down country roads to church. All in all, we may have been late, but no one killed anyone, so I’m pretty sure my parents considered it a win.

If there was a musical backdrop to this period of time, it would have been played on cassette. A plastic rectangle housing a fragile brown ribbon that would float away on a sigh and had the strength of a wet paper towel. Yet it stored the music of our lives. I wonder where Gen X anxiety came from? These iconic historical artifacts held the music of Carman, Rich Mullins, DC Talk, and Michael W. Smith. A fusion of songs describing cosmic battles of good and evil, story-driven anthems, and abundant guitar. Contemporary Christian artists were on a relentless creative streak, unleashing a torrent of new worship music in a multi-genre blend of hip-hop, alternative, and grunge. This was the season of synchronized hand motions during worship songs. I’m looking at you, “Lord I Lift Your Name on High.” A time when being a “Jesus Freak” wasn’t an insult. It was an identity we wore with joy, conviction, and maybe a little too much enthusiasm.

This era is represented by purity culture, True Love Waits commitment rings, and shame. We accessorized with colorful “What Would Jesus Do?” bracelets in case we were ever in a position that required a Jesus-like decision (like whether or not to love and accept every human being for how God made them), and the Left Behind book series by Tim LaHaye (nothing like some good ol’ eschatology to keep you on the straight and narrow). Parents sought advice from James Dobson’s Focus on the Family, Republicans claimed on the 700 Club that the President’s character really does matter, and Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber were trusted to lead children to God more than the godly women sitting in the pews every single Sunday morning.

Let’s not forget the Mennonite Youth Fellowship (MYF) lock-ins, conventions, and Freshman initiation. I mean, we all remember that, right? As a Freshman entering the MYF, you were initiated into this elite group of teenagers by participating in a mix of embarrassing games and activities that were kept secret until that pivotal night. In all honesty, it wasn’t the actual games that induced the anxiety and panic, it was the anticipation and the stories from the ones who had survived. But alas, we all made it to the coveted ranking of MYF’er. Once we were in, it was the normal juvenile hierarchy, popularity showdowns, quiet crushes, and subtle bullying that came with every group of high school teenagers that met on a regular basis.

The culture of evangelicalism in this era and even more recently has been steeped in ‘us versus them’ mentalities, correct thinking, prosperity gospel, and patriarchy. But, underneath these cultural layers of rules and legalism were the people. The amount of Godly people that took time to pour into my spiritual life fills my heart with joy. My youth sponsors opened their homes, spent time preparing events and studies, stayed up all night at the lock-ins, and chaperoned groups of teenagers to national conventions. I met my high school bestie, Stacey, at MYF. She loved me for the messy, sensitive person I was. She lovingly told me what an idiot I was for dating certain guys, and spent hours and hours laughing and cruising the strip with me. I would not be who I am today without her presence in my life during those formative years. You know, hilarious and successful.

And the hugs. Those church women knew how to hug. It’s like God specifically made them to squeeze comfort and sense into broken spirits and questioning minds. Mary Zehr would take one look at me and hold her arms out. I would practically fall into her arms, and somehow, as she held me tight, I could finally breathe. The church is filled with loving, faithful, messy, judgmental, and beautiful humans. I may have always felt just a little to wild and free to be contained by the church, but I’m grateful for it still. Here’s the church, here’s the steeple, open the doors, and see all the people.

Beneath the weighty blanket of nostalgia and snark, I remain profoundly grateful that my parents gave me one of life’s greatest gifts, a foundation of faith and an introduction to God. I learned of my empathy, my sensitivity, my need for belonging, my questioning mind, and my spiritual discernment in the years that I attended my origin church. Unfortunately, I hid them well, probably behind thick glasses and bangs, see: need for belonging. There were tender moments and harmful theology all mixed up in a grab bag of memories. There were times that I couldn’t see past the humanness of the church to see God, but other times I felt His divine presence the minute I walked through the doors and inhaled the scents of old hymnals, past potlucks, and peppermint-scented breath.

I am continually reframing my years attending that church. I am learning to see it less as a rigid box that I was forced into, and more like an opportunity to view my faith as ever evolving, growing, and progressing. I’m learning to use wisdom to take the ideas and faith that I adopted there, and replace, restructure, and reconstruct some of the inherited beliefs that were sold to me as certainties. Some of those beliefs I’ve had to discard completely, like the obstinate belief that women are meant to only nurture and serve rather than lead (see the 1963 Mennonite Confession of Faith, Article 14), and others I’ve been able to take my experiences, knowledge, and relationship with God and mold them into beliefs that fit what I’m reading in the Bible about Jesus. I can feel the Spirit moving me to see new perspectives, ideas, and paths that have been hidden from sight.

Looking back at all of it, the good, the cringeworthy, and the sacred, is part of how I keep making sense of who I am now.

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

Considering and understanding the past provides a foundation. When we take a genuine look, it reveals God’s faithfulness, patterns of thought, challenges we’ve overcome, and identity. This complicated journey takes time, intention, and courage, but it’s worth every bit of effort. The ancient paths we have walked and stumbled upon will eventually intersect with the new. We will have the strength to turn from ideas, beliefs, and habits that harm, endanger, or distract us, and turn instead toward growth, regeneration, goodness, and fulfillment.

Friend, if you’re reading this, and you’re on this messy, disorienting, and transcendent wandering journey, I look forward to crossing paths. You will recognize me by my hastily bandaged, scraped knees and weathered, tear-streaked face, but also by my liberated soul and gentle resolve.

If you’re questioning whether or not the invitation to join us on this winding trail is for you, I can assure you that God is welcoming you into our little party of traveling misfits. Our journeys will differ, but when we find each other in the hills and valleys, we will clink our ice-cold beers to untamed love, unburdened faith, and unbound kindness. It’s there that we will find conversation, peace, and friendship.