I grew up in a world where being right eclipsed being faithful.
Where factions and fences stood taller than following Jesus,
Where desire was shameful,
impulse was suspect,
anxiety was sin,
and the answer was a single word—no.
I was formed in a system where correctness outweighed character,
where formulations of atonement mattered more than the fruit of love,
where doctrinal precision left discipleship gasping for air.
We debated whether our neighbor was elect
while forgetting to love them.
We honored beliefs
but ignored the world’s ache.
We spoke of God’s justice
but kept our hands clean of injustice.
We drew lines in the sand,
and called it holiness.
Certainty reigned; humility was lost.
And God?
God looked less like a loving parent
and more like an anxious warden.
I didn’t know how to love myself.
I didn’t know how to love the world.
I didn’t know how to love God.
So I began to grow up.
Not by grasping tighter,
but by letting go.
By following Jesus instead of fleeing heresy.
By trusting my heart’s deep currents
instead of condemning its depths.
By confessing the sins not just of self,
but of systems.
By crossing the lines love demands,
rather than guarding the lines fear draws.
I’m still learning—
how to love,
how to follow,
even how to believe.
I’m dying, day by day,
to what I was told would save me
but only ever shamed me.
And I am discovering—
Jesus’s yoke is easy.
His burden, light.
That rest is possible
after a life of reactivity.
To grow up,
you must unlearn everything first.
You must embrace what you once exiled,
both in the world and within your own soul.
You must look up,
and see the Father’s arms—open wide—
even as you’re still clutching your last defense of being right.
You must let love reach your body,
especially when your body has lived locked and armored.
You must see:
All is love.
All is love.
And all will finally be resolved
in love.
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