I rarely write posts here about my spiritual journey, but in this case I have chosen to share a deeply personal experience that addresses why I have left The Episcopal Church. Whether or not that’s a temporary decision, I can’t say.
Below, I am sharing an edited version of a Facebook post I wrote on March 29, 2019:
I have been quiet.
I have been quiet this week, but I have also been quiet over the last year and a half about a life calling I was responding to after years of holding off and saying, “No. Not yet.”
This is long. You might want to get tea before reading. I’m serious. Also, this post mentions topics and words related to Christianity, disability, and trauma.
When I was about fifteen, a dear mentor and mother figure was dying. Marny was a saint whose gifts were more powerful than a single person could hold. I was so intimidated by her holiness that I was afraid to ask her about it. Something about her goodness opened me up to my own light, giving me permission to grow into whoever it was that I should be. I wanted to be like her, but with a collar. At the age of fifteen or sixteen I realized a calling to the priesthood in The Episcopal Church. I couldn’t express what my call looked like, but I could feel it.
My community was supportive of me pursuing it and provided all the necessary details, should I move forward.
In the end, though, I decided to wait. To grow up a bit. To learn more about life. To see if, down the road, being a priest was really my calling. I pushed it to the back of my mind. Every few years I’d get a reminder to think about it again, but I’d keep it to myself. I’d push it back again to the back of my mind. And I would say, “No. Not yet.”