Tag: Christian

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It’s been a summer.

It’s been a summer. More to come on parts – Im still sifting through. We’re all OK. But, part of navigating some hard things this summer was seeing old people in my life in new lights.

I have seen the “Christians” who want to weaponize prayer and scripture to exclude others. They’ve had a very busy summer of conplaining. Keep griping. Don’t care. I will not participate in contributing to anyone’s religious trauma. I will not be loved based on who I excluded. I would rather be excluded for who I love. Your “shunning” of me is the greatest gift you could have given me. We may both identify as Christians, but we are not the same. Thank you for removing your toxic spirit from my life. Best of luck wherever you end up, I hope your heart thaws out soon! ❤️

Teachers from my kids’ schools who want to make jokes about parents’ communication with the school. That’s fine: just remember, if you all did your jobs, we wouldn’t have to follow up 🙂 Also, if anyone thinks I’ll ever apologize for going to bat for my kid, you’re actually worse at your job than I thought. (BTW, this behavior and the “how many sleeps until our next break” status updates are why your profession doesn’t get the respect those who actually do a good deserve). But, I just sent a coffee gift card to one of the teachers who I know cares. Thanks for reminding me to focus on the good ones, not the ones like you. I hope the teachers who love ALL the kids feel how much they’re loved ❤️

People in general who want to make digs and let others know they look down on them through “not-so-subtle” middle school girl antics can kiss it too. I’ll never apologize for standing up for what’s right. Keep whispering. When you find your grown-up voice, I hope we can sit down to talk so I can hear your side and you can hear mine. Until then, I’ll sit back and wait for your fit to run its course. Thank you for reminding me to still be a decent human even in the face of disagreement. I hope someone else got some peace because your anger was directed at me for awhile. I hope they know I love them. ❤️

Mostly, I’ve been thinking a lot about life and people. Its funny how some people are only meant to be in your life for a little bit while some will be with you for the duration. I’m  also wondering when it became cool to be mean. When did laughing at the end of an insult begin making bullying acceptable and how come some people who swear they support everyone are some of the most judgemental people? Consider my mind boggled.

I’m not without my faults, heck some of that up there is actually hitting closer to home than I’d like to admit. But I am brave enough for self reflection and strong enough to do the heavy lifting to improve. That’s got to count for something, right?

The saddest realization of all, is knowing so many people won’t do the same. 

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BIG NEWS

I wrote a book in the 4th grade. Technically, two because the first story didn’t fill all the blank pages Mrs. Eastman gave me. The tale of Sparky the Firedog paired with children’s poems felt like such a big, vulnerable undertaking that I did what many great authors do:

I took on the pen name of Renee’ Mctyre since I was nervous and also sure I’d be marrying Joey from New Kids on the Block someday (and learning to spell our last name correctly).

I remember finishing this book and wondering what authors who write books that are published on a wide scale feel like when they see their work in actual print.

“Someday, you could find out for yourself if you want. Just keep working,” Mrs. E told me.

I’m not sure she knew the power planting those words in me would have.

I moved schools after that school year and moved on with my fifth grade work as was expected, but the idea that I could share my words with the world continued to live in the back of my mind.

In fifth grade, Ms. Plomer pulled myself and a few other students aside to attend “Young Author Day” at Hope College. I arrived with a handwritten manuscript in hand, then spent the day learning about writing, storytelling, and the publishing process. I can’t even recall which author was there because my mind was too preoccupied with the idea of publishing a “real” book someday.

Now, nearly 32 years later, it’s finally happening. Thanks to seed planted and watered by teachers I found my voice. Thanks to the encouragement from many I was brave enough to use my real name. Thanks to my family and friends: I wrote a book that is being published.

Today, with an ever grateful heart and immense pride I am able to announce that my debut book, Sunday School Dropout, will be released on March 28, 2023.

I am excited, terrified, and proud of this book. I hope this message of struggling to live the faith you were raised in can help others to heal and grow. I know the process of writing this book and exploring my own faith has been an amazing experience for me. One of growth that never ends.

Thank you for your love,  prayers, and support so far – I wouldn’t be here without you either. As pre-orders open, I hope you’ll be moved to order and read more from me.

As always, stay tuned here (or subscribe below!) for up to date info. This is the start of something big, I’m so glad you’re here to do this with me.

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Brown Tray Christmas

All I need to learn from Jesus, I learned from brown cafeteria trays.

They take me back to my grandma’s very crowded house, filled with our very large family, on Christmas Eve. The dining room and table were far from large enough for the crowd, but it was never a problem. When the table filled up, you grabbed a tray. No one was left out or forced to wait for room to enjoy the food and fellowship. Grab a tray, find a spot somewhere, and settle in for good food with a side of familiar conversation.

It was always so crowded, so loud, and so hot, but I didn’t care. My family was all together on Christmas Eve. We were having fun, getting presents, and taking a break from the world to bask in love. Short of a small, dirty, crowded manger many years before, I can’t think of a better place for a Christmas story to be lived.

Me enjoying Christmas, with Grandma taking care of business in the back.

My heart was taken back to those Christmas Eve meals the first time I walked into my son’s Sunday school class to see many tiny people scattered about the floor in a haphazard circle-oval-octagon sort of shape coloring pictures of the good shepherd. There was no table to be seen, just brown plastic cafeteria trays filled with crayons and colorfully marked papers.

“We backed up to make room for us all,” my son shared later, “It’s nice we don’t have a table to get in the way. We can make lots of room if more friends come.”

From His birth to His work as our shepherd, the reminder of His love and promise to care for all of us is so very clear. It doesn’t matter if you are in a crowded place, without table, young, or old – with Jesus there is always room for everyone. Grab a tray and find a spot for His love to shine in on you.

Luke 2:7 says “…they placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available.

Jesus’ story started with no room. No place for him. No one made a space for Him in their homes or the inn, but Jesus’ still found a spot. They squeezed in where they could fit, filled the space with love, and the news spread from this humble small spot. The Greatest story ever told began to unfold in the least likely of places. We hear a similar story when Jesus speaks about us in the story of the Good Shepherd later in his life.

John 10:16 “…I have other sheep that are not of this sheep pen. I must bring them also.”

No room in the sheep pen? No problem! Get another. When that one is full? Get another. No one is turned away or forgotten with Jesus. He remembers all of us, scattered around the world. Like a crowded family celebration or preschool Sunday school room, there is always room for more. Grab a brown cafeteria tray, make a little room, and let everyone in. Jesus is for everyone. Jesus’ love is for us all.

Merry Christmas, I’m thinking 1983.
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Why are People Leaving Church?

I read a lot and last week someone shared a wonderful post by John Pavlovitz that I feel everyone needs to read titled “Dear Church, Here’s why People are Leaving”.

After I read it, the words kept rattling around in my head. After reading and re-reading it a few times, I came to one simple conclusion:

He nailed it.

People are leaving the church because the church is leaving them.

Instead of being a welcoming place for all kinds of sinners to gather and learn about forgiveness and love, many churches are focusing on telling people who can or cannot worship with them. Instead of loving everyone they limit who can only partially participate in services and who cannot participate at all.

The “you can’t sit with us” attitude of the modern church has created a theological Mean Girls sequel many people do not want to be a part of. Pastor Regina George, anyone?

When people are openly told they are not welcome, of course they’re not going to stick around. https://johnpavlovitz.com/2019/05/14/dear-church-heres-why-people-are-leaving/Neither are the people who love them. We are told countless times in the Bible to love and welcome all – not just those who are like us. This seems even more obvious since we are all sinners. Who are we to decide who is better or worse? We are in no position to decide who is worthy of God’s love and who is not.

People aren’t just leaving because they don’t love God or find religion outdated. They are leaving because so many in religion are literally telling them they do not belong. Church leaders can act confused and continue scratching their heads in wonder all they want. They can blame it on Satan and host all the emergency meetings they want to try and fight this evil away, but until more churches start looking inward at their actions it’s not going to get any better.

When you side with oppression, promote omission, and continue to shame anyone different than you, you will end up losing every time.

Jesus didn’t ask us to judge and exclude. He asked us to follow him, then led us straight to the most marginalized people and embraced them. He told us to love them too.

We cannot hold others to our flawed human expectations and continue to wonder why people are leaving churches.

It’s not because of a lack of faith, it’s because of a lack of decency.

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3 Prayers for Your Hardest Times

A few years ago, I started saying 3 prayers for some of the hardest parts in my life. For me, at that time, they were specifically for 3 people in my life.

I did not pray for God to change them into who I thought they should be. I did not ask him to prove I was right or to open their eyes to how wrong they were.

I asked God to change me.

I prayed three simple prayers: I wanted the wisdom and grace to talk to them without hurt feelings, leeriness, and past conflicts running the show. I wanted to see things from their point-of-view and I wanted to not just assume I was always right.

Some stay, some go

Within a few months, the first person walked away. Sometimes in life that happens. The second person unexpectedly started to meet me where I was in our conversations. We were able to approach past hurts and figure out a good path forward from a place of peace, love, forgiveness, and respect. We’re doing fine and piecing ourselves back together to this day.


The third was trickier. We’d met each other with distrust and overtly aggressive words for so long I wasn’t sure things could ever improve. However, two years ago things started to shift. Our conversations stopped becoming arguments. Even when we didn’t agree, attacks weren’t thrown out. Our last email exchange in the Spring of 2020 contained an apology, best wishes, and an optimistic plan for moving forward.

As the world shut down, life happened and we lost touch. There was no screaming fall out or Real Housewives worthy blow up, things just kind of stopped. Sometimes that happens in life. I meant every word when I wished him well and kept him in my prayers.

Sadly, he passed away last month. I was shocked. And I’m kind of mad. Just when things were finally getting to a good place, the rug was pulled out from underneath us. Nothing about this seems right or fair.

Pain is an unavoidable part of life. No matter your religious beliefs, practices, or non-beliefs we all deal with pain in our lives. Faith doesn’t promise a pain-free life (if you hear otherwise, run away – they’re lying).

Beauty from Pain

When we begin the painful process of picking up the shattered pieces of our broken hearts we have no choice but to try our best to put it back together. If you’ve ever broken something fragile, you know how difficult this is. In the end, even if you find every piece, things never fit back together the same.

We have two choices then. We can be ashamed of and hardened by the scars our hearts carry, or we can be proud of how we grew through hard times. There is beauty found in the scars of our broken hearts.


The Japanese practice of kintsugi is the best representation I’ve ever seen. This practice involves taking beautiful, but broken, items and putting them back together with shimmering gold among the cracks. The new-old piece resembles its former self, but with more beauty and value than before. It’s the best reminder I’ve ever seen of how pain can bring beauty into life.

It also reminds me of one of my favorite verses I lean on when the pain is too much, Psalm 34:18:

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”

You’re Not Alone

Even in our pain, we are not alone. Even in our broken places there is love and beauty waiting for us. Gathering the pieces and putting them back together takes time, but in the end we will become who we are meant to be if we do the work.

Asking for God’s help in becoming who you are meant to be in times of pain or struggle is not always easy, but it is always worth it. I am grateful for the peace it brought to my life and the beauty I see now in the broken places.

I hope you find peace in your struggles today.

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It’s a bit of a shock…

It’s a bit of a shock when you realize much of the theology you learned as a kid isn’t as much Biblically based as it is politically based.

Billy Graham, Dwight Eisenhower, and many denominations weren’t being led by God but by their own ego, disguised as what’s best for us.

Jesus was a migrant, hidden in a foreign land as a child…so why do the people leading us speak harshly about refugees? We LITERALLY worship one.

God never once blessed America. Do we hope he does? Of course. We all hope we are blessed…but this idea that America is some God-chosen blessed land? I can’t get behind it. Where does it say that? God’s chosen land is in the middle east. We aren’t sure exactly where, but I’m confident it’s in a nation many Christians claim are out to destroy us.

And this idea that God won’t give us more than we can handle? That’s crap too. Of course He will. Why else would we need Him? Or the church? Or each other?

The idea we should be able to handle things without help because it’s “God’s will” is preposterous. He doesn’t set us up to feel like failures. He gave us Himself, His son, and each other to lean on. Stop thinking you’re a failure because a flawed human made up a saying and keeps shoving it down your throat.

So many things I’ve questioned but been shushed on in the past are starting to make sense. But with every answer, a new question arises. I want to take the easy answers at face value… but maybe that’s the problem?

The searching continues.

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Questioning God

I have so many questions in working through and growing in my faith. As I find answers and resources, I plan to share it all!

However, my ACTUAL first question was very simple. And also way bigger than I first imagined.

Is all this questioning, digging, and learning ok? Like, is it allowed? I have some questions, but whether or not I love God isn’t one of them. Obviously, I don’t want to step on His proverbial toes.

So, of course, my Uncle Sol left behind the answer in Proverbs…. (If you’re new here, I love Uncle Sol’s wisdom) and it ABSOLUTELY is allowed. It’s even encouraged!

“Try to get wisdom and understanding. Don’t forget my teaching or ignore what I say. 

Don’t turn away from wisdom, and she will protect you. Love her, and she will keep you safe. “The first step to becoming wise is to look for wisdom, so use everything you have to get understanding. 

Love wisdom, and she will make you great. Hold on to wisdom, and she will bring you honor. 

Wisdom will reward you with a crown of honor and glory.”

– Proverbs 4:5-9

So here we go. Make sure you’re following me or on the mailing list so you don’t miss out on wherever this goes!

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Missing Pieces

This is part 2 of the October Pregnant and Infant Loss Series – please read Part 1 HERE if you haven’t already. 

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All I wanted to do when I got home was sleep. I blamed it on the leftover anesthesia still flowing through my body but truthfully, I was just trying to escape the reality of the day. I stayed in bed for nearly 24 hours until the following afternoon when I decided it was time to “get over it”. 

“Everyone will think I am crazy,” I kept telling myself, “They weren’t real babies, right? I didn’t hold them, I didn’t name them, I didn’t even ask any questions about them so obviously I just need to move on from this mess.” 

I was living on pain meds and still feeling a terrible ache as I fumbled through the day. I got my basic Saturday routine of cleaning and shopping done before falling back into my bed that evening. I thought once my body was only mine once again, things would go back to normal but I was wrong. Instead of feeling like my normal self in a bit of pain, the hollow aching left me feeling more empty than I’d ever been before. 

I was sure people were going to think I was crazy for not getting over this faster. 

Martin Hudáček’s sculpture entitled “Memorial for Unborn Children

The next evening, we had floor seats for a concert we’d been looking forward to for almost a year. We talked about skipping it, but I was determined to show the world (and myself) that I was not crazy. I was fine because “these things happen” and I couldn’t mope forever. I had planned to go to the concert with my babies in my belly, so I certainly wasn’t skipping it just because they were gone. 

It was the worst concert of my life. I’m not sure if it is because of who I was with (we divorced 2 years later), the fact that the band’s new album sucked (it really did), or that I spent half the concert running to the restroom to change another soaked pad all night. I just remember sitting in my seat and looking around at the arena packed with thousands of people wondering to myself if they could tell the pain I was in. I wondered if anyone else in that arena was feeling the same way. Had anyone else there ever felt that way? The feeling didn’t subside until I crawled into bed and drifted to sleep that night. 

When I went to work Monday morning there were flowers and a card on my desk. The moment I walked in and saw them, I turned on my heel and walked back out the door. I had said it was not to be talked about. Not acknowledged or implied or anything. I told them I’d be back Tuesday and I expected my desk cleaned and everyone else over this by then. 

How could I move on if the people around me were insisting on dragging me back into it. 

That’s the part no one tells you in the cheap pamphlet the doctor hands you when you lose a baby. For every person who tells you “these things happen” or “God works in mysterious ways” there are just as many people who want you to grieve and go through the emotions of losing someone you love. 

Both sides surround you and you’re never sure which way to go. You will alternate between both camps as you sort out the mess of emotions and hormones that come with losing a baby. You will hate your body for failing you while gingerly caring for it as it slowly heals from the physical trauma. You will feel like you’re losing your mind and not doing it “right” when really, there is no single right way to deal with this pain. You only need to do what is right for you. Lean into the feelings when they overcome and keep living your normal life when they go. How you react does not change how deep your loss was.

My babies should be turning 16 in the next few weeks. Their due date was November 11, 2005. For anyone who thinks things like this go away over time, I think about them every year on that date, even though I know as twins they likely would have come sooner. 

I think about how badly I wanted to hold them and hug them on November 11. How I had planned to cover them with kisses, breathe in their essence, and tell them they were loved as they took their first breaths. I hope they felt loved every second of their short lives with me. More than anything, I’m so grateful they had each other. Whether they knew what was happening, felt any discomfort, or worried for even a second about what was happening they were not alone. 

They had each other then and they have each other now in heaven. Someday, I know I will hold them and I will remind them they were loved for every second of their lives – and mine. They were loved like only a mother can love.

I am a mother four, who only got to hold two. 

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Life Created and Lost

This post is part one of an October pregnancy loss series.

“We can’t find the heartbeats, but that’s not uncommon. We’ll do an ultrasound and get them that way. Plus the first look at your babies.”

I was just excited as the doctor when she offered me a first look at the two sweet babies growing in my womb. They’d seen two sacs early on and my blood work numbers were off the chart; they told me there were two babies weeks before. I was equal parts scared and excited. 

Turning the corner into the second trimester had felt like a giant weight was lifted off me. I’d seen friends lose babies before and knew getting to the second trimester was a major milestone. One not to be taken for granted and one I thanked God for every night. I did it. I was in the clear. My first major responsibility as a mom and I had nailed it. 

I went to my check up that day alone, an ultrasound before 18-20 weeks hadn’t crossed my mind! The books I was absorbing every night didn’t say anything about ultrasounds earlier and I was over the moon to think I could see my little babies sooner than I ever imagined. I knew they’d look like little dough ball people, but they’d be my little dough balls and that was all I cared about. 

The next 30 minutes are still a blur in my mind, more than 15 years later. The dim room, the crinkly table, my paper gown, and the cool gooey gel started me on my happy adventure. The stark silence, the slight squint of the eyes, moving the screen from my view, then the tech leaving to get my doctor ushered me into a journey of loss unlike any I had been on before. 

I heard words like empty, nothing, lost, and gone mixed in with medical words. They asked if I could call someone for a ride. If I needed to go to work. If there was anything they could to help me then. I think I shook my head. I know I cried and slowly pulled on the maternity pants I had already needed once I was alone in the cozy ultrasound room. I walked into the room pregnant and loving my babies, I would be walking out broken and alone. Finding the courage to open that door and leave my hopes for them behind was hard. 

I went to my car, I called my husband to tell him what happened then I called work. I did not have an ounce of tact or decorum left when I spoke to my boss. 

“My babies are dead. I am not coming back to work today, I am not coming in tomorrow. I do not want to talk about it ever. Please tell everyone so I do not have to talk about it. I will be back Monday. I do not want to talk about it.”

I hung up, I drove home, I crawled into bed, and I cried until every inch of my body ached just as badly as my empty womb and heart did. 

When the doctor “catches” a miscarriage before your body does, you’re left with a terrible choice. You can walk around and wait for your body to start the painful process of expelling your sweet baby or you can go to the doctor for a D&C procedure to remove everything and start healing your body. Make no mistake, it is the same painful awful procedure as an abortion but they call is something kinder when you’re at lowest. I’m not sure why they change the name. 

I chose the D&C. Early the next morning, without eating anything, I crawled out of bed and called the doctor’s office right at 8am like I’d been told to do. They gave me a long list of things to do and don’t do before my assigned time to report to the hospital for the procedure. I walked through the house in a zombie-like state gathering comfy clothes, maxi pads, and doing a few chores I likely wouldn’t have energy for later in the day. Then we headed to the hospital. 

I recall nothing of arriving or going into the room. I do recall waking up next to my doctor in the recovery room. Visitors were not allowed back there, but doctors were. She sat by side so I wouldn’t wake up alone and empty in a strange place. Her kind blue eyes and the warm laugh lines on her face were the first thing I saw.

Immediately, I broke into the biggest, ugliest, most incoherent tears of my life. She leaned in and held me and let me cry. Everything hurt. My body was sore and I could feel it bleeding. I was woozy and dizzy coming out of the anesthesia and feeling ready to puke from the meds in my system. Nothing felt good or pleasant in that moment. From the very bottom of my soul to every corner of my body I hurt. 

My doctor remembering I was a grieving mother in a lot of pain meant the world to me. Her kindness and love got me through the few hours of recovery before I headed home for a miserable weekend of recovery.

I thought I left the hard part of the trauma at the hospital but I was wrong. 

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Broken Prayers?

Are my prayers broken?


When I pray, I find myself often asking God to make things go how I want them to. When I hear others pray, it seems like they’re doing the same thing too – so I guess somewhere along the way we must have all picked up that that’s how we pray. 


But is it how we’re supposed to pray?


Because lately, it’s started to feel like I’m a kid begging for changes because I don’t like what’s going on. Please make Covid go away, help happen, let me get this thing I want…I’m praying to Him but I’m heavily focused on me. 


It makes sense, I suppose, when you look at human nature that prayer would also fall into this me-centric way of thinking. We’re hard wired back to fight or flight to look out for ourselves and survive. I wonder if it’s possible those instincts still have more daily control over us than we realize and have now made their way into prayer. 


Instead of asking God to make things go our way, shouldn’t we be asking him to help us be who He wants us to be in a situation? Even if we don’t like it, if He put us in it there must be a reason behind it. Maybe it’s an opportunity for growth, there’s a lesson to learn, or we’re playing a role in someone else’s lesson.


Instead of asking God to improve every situation for us, maybe we should be asking God to improve us for every situation. 


This one has me really thinking about how I’m approaching my day and situations. It’s got me rethinking how I approach God. He isn’t a genie meant to bend the world to my liking – not at all. Somewhere, I seem to have borderline confused him as such. 


I’d really like to hear your thoughts and feedback on this. Anyone know of any books or podcasts about this? I could be way off base, but I feel like there is a lot of peace we’re denying ourselves here.