45 DAY / 45 POINT PLAN - DAY SIX: An Untamed Artist

“He judged the instant and let go; he flung himself loose into the stars.” - Annie Dillard

I had a few notes, scribbles mostly, of ideas and themes I wanted to cover. My 45 DAY / 45 POINT PLAN is an intuitive project. Not meant to be mapped out in micro-detail. Art projects. Quasi-risqué pieces on the Christian culture. Thoughts and critiques on what I’ve learned over these past months and years of working in the church and my life in the faith.

At the top of the list I wrote: tell my story.

More specifically, the story of how I came to leave my former church. 

For a long, long, long time I’ve felt hemmed in as an artist. Held back as a creator. Scared to do the things I wanted to do for fear of reprimand from my parents - church - or employer (the church). ‘Good Christians don’t talk like that!’ ‘You have a responsibility to the church!’ ‘WWJD!’ ‘What Wouldn’t Jesus Do!’ I have lived most of my adult life inside a dome of self-censorship. 

It’s not my parents fault. And certainly not Jesus’.

Jesus was a whip-cracker. A cultural renegade. He’s the benchmark for creative expression! A truer artist there has never been. It was me. I put myself inside the dome with a little help from the church. Namely, the culture of modern North American Evangelicalism. But I’ll get to that another time. 

Over the years I’ve had so many art pieces I’ve wanted to make and share. So many articles I’ve wanted to write. But didn’t. Haven’t. Won’t. I am jealous of those who are free to express. Envious of their abilities to water-off-a-ducks-back their way through life. And I wish I was more like them. I even dedicated half of my masters thesis ten years ago on this very subject: ‘The Untamed Artist’. If I could just WWED. What would Elsa do? And let it go! 

Sorry. My 4-year-old still sings Frozen - almost everyday. Hand gestures and all. 

My 45 DAY / 45 POINT PLAN was a full throttle pedal-to-the-floor plan to smash out of the dome of censorship! Create and make! Fearlessly! An artist - untamed - on the loose.

But.

I felt that I couldn’t leave (or let it go) without giving an explanation as to why. Why was I all of a sudden hammering on the church"? Why was I all of a sudden railing on Christian culture? Why was I - as still a practising ordained pastor - poking at conceptions of Jesus and the Bible and Christianity? 

Hence, “tell my story”. 

Tell the story of how I left my former church and what’s happened in the in-between since: ‘How I went from there to here, and why I am going there, now.’ Spoiler. I didn’t leave my former church in a good place. I left, before I was I pushed out. And it’s been brutally painful ever since. I’ve never shared what happened ‘behind the scenes’. And nobody needs to care. Maybe it’s even totally inappropriate to share. But! In my mind, I needed to give an explanation as to what brought me here. Without a good reason I didn’t feel justified to share my art freely. So I started to write. With a plan to drop my story last Thursday. 

I was naive. 

Thursday morning came. The morning after I sent my first draft to my editor. I woke up with deep anxiety. Heavy breathing. An accelerated heart. Physical symptoms of pain and pressure in my lower abdomen. A wave of dread came over me and I feared that I was very sick, or dying. I didn’t realize until later that day that I was actually just nervous. Symptoms of fear. So I pressed on. I kept writing. Kept editing. Hour after hour. Day after day. Digging further and deeper into the pain of my past. By draft three and four I’d long missed my deadline - but I didn’t care. I was I was in the thick of it. Writing with an intensity I haven’t had in a long time. I messaged former colleagues about forgotten details. Spent hours piecing together broken timelines. I even gave a heads up to the unnamed central figures, ‘Just so you know… I intend to share my story.’ 

By Sunday afternoon it all came to a head:

“Since I started writing my story down a week ago, I’ve been bombarded with a new surge of anxiety. As if a 2-year-old version of myself came out of hiding. I was overwhelmed with memories and feelings. Physical manifestation of dread. Deep pain. Desperation. Sorrowful apologies and phrases like, ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’ All of it had been waiting inside of me. Waiting for a safe time to come out. And once I realized what was happening, I began to weep. Inconveniently. In my car. Sitting in the NoFrills parking with my kids in the backseat.”

This is a direct excerpt from draft 5 of the 6200+ word / 18 page / piece titled: PART ONE: On the Drift. 

My story. 

A story of hurt, institutional abuse, and trauma. A story that has been buried deep down for months and months. A story that has hamstrung me for the better part of two years. Stripped me of initiative. Confidence. Kept me stuck and looping. It was a story I didn’t realize was still there. Not until I discovered it. Let it out. Unearthed it. Gave it voice. 

My weeping in the parking lot was a watershed moment. A moment of clarity and self-actualization. I realized that I wasn’t simply ‘telling my story’ for the 45 DAY / 45 POINT PLAN. I was telling my story to find healing.

A most welcomed intrusion.

On the Drift is nearly finished. Spellchecked and polished. And it’s good. In a ‘that sucks’ sort of way. And I’m dang proud of what I’ve written. But I am not ready to share it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And yet, maybe I am. Maybe I’ll share it in a few days (?). Who knows. I am on a healing journey. A path of forgiveness. I never expected to be here. Who knows where I’ll be in the next seven days!

The point is, I need to move forward. I needed to get this off my chest. The story of how I told my story but why I’m not ready to share said story. 

And I feel good. 

I’m ready to make art. Ready to break out of the dome and be free. Even without a full explanation as to why. Isn’t that what art is all about anyway?!

Watch out. 

An artist - untamed - is on the loose.