Sensemaking
I’ve been writing a bit in my “sensemaking” process and wanted to share some of it with you today. Here’s a glimpse into some background that answers the question of “How did Amy end up doing a podcast and talking about uncomfortable things?”
______________________________
January 2012. I am thirty-five years old leaving behind rural life. It’s a mild Minnesota morning, but my husband, Nathan, and I are still eager to leave behind the too-long winters for the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it winter in middle Tennessee. We’ve survived our first 8 years of marriage, brought three children into the world, watched my mom die, and mourned the loss of a career and community that we had hoped would turn out differently. Disappointment, loneliness, and too many missed toddler nap times to count. Two more days and life will be better. My dad climbs into our van, crammed with all the crap that didn’t fit into the moving truck. He had volunteered to help us get our vehicles to our new home. He and our puggle, Max, settle in for day one of two days of listening to Neil Diamond and conservative talk radio. Nathan and I, along with our three kids, load into the Taurus. That’s three kids in car seats if you’re counting. Ethan is 6 ½, Audrey is 5, and Isaac is 2 ½. Right on time, we pull out of Dad’s driveway as the sun rises over Cottage Grove, Minnesota. I feel hopeful. (I’ll make sense of all I’m running from later.)
It’s 2016. I am just shy of 40, embracing middle-age, early peri-menopause, and homeschooling my 6th grader, 4th grader, and 2nd grader, loving our life in Nashville. I know I’m meant for more than teaching math and reading. I have what I’ve always wanted, but I’m restless. I’m a year into spending dedicated time writing. It feels so good to craft words and use those words to attempt to make sense of the thoughts that swirl in my head. Who could have guessed this stereotypical mid-life yearning would take me down a path that could change everything? I don’t dare try on the title of “writer” for real. Stay-at-home suburban life is what I thought was my calling, and I loved 70 percent of it, but that last 30 percent was hungry to be fed and given space to use words and thoughts and somehow come up with something that made sense.
Around this same time, my friend Lydia realizes she has a book in her. Providentially, she sees an invitation to a writing group. It was an invitation from Melissa. I had seen it too. We both decide to join. This decision starts us on a three-year path of sharing our creative ideas and our lives. Every month, on Melissa’s couch over brownie bites, cheese, sparkling water, and wine, we become more than writing critique acquaintances. We talk about writing and politics, and what in the world is happening with Trump and the evangelical church. To be honest, I mostly languish feeling stuck in my writing. We’re all working on different projects, but we show up for each other.
And now, I am forty-six and I’m unlearning and re-learning all the things. I’ve learned that so many people and institutions I thought were good weren’t. I’ve learned there is no pain quite like the pain that comes from your own faith community. I’ve learned cognitive dissonance is sometimes trying to save me from a broken heart. I’ve learned that dear friends can be walking through hell and you might not know until it’s almost too late. I’ve learned that a monthly writing group can be the catalyst to growing friendships strong enough to cause a powerful millionaire to have a temper tantrum that gets covered by national media.
I’ve learned that ordinary searches for meaning change everything.
Sensemaking.
It’s not just me, Lydia, and Melissa that long to make sense of what’s broken. It’s not just Nashville. I hear it messages from you— from Minneapolis, Atlanta, and Dallas. We’re all asking the question, How did we get this so wrong and how can we make sense of it? And where do we even start?
Sensemaking gathered the journal pages, the Battle of The Bands t-shirts, Financial Peace workbooks, the women’s ministry planning meeting notes, and my Christian Character trophy, poured gasoline on it, tossed a match, and watched it burn.
___________________________________
This week’s podcast episode is a solo show with just me. I’d love for you to listen if you haven’t. I talk about how I miss the me that hadn’t seen some of these hard things. I’ve heard so much feedback that says, “me too!”
You can listen here or anywhere you listen to podcasts by searching for Untangled Faith: 53: I Miss The Before-Times Me – Untangled Faith Podcast
Thanks a million for listening and reading.
Amy