GABRIELA YARELIZ

Safe

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I was late. If you know me, you know I hate being late. I am never late, so I was also mad. I pulled up my tights a little too hard while exhaling loudly toward no one in particular and slipped on my ribbed black dress. Boots or loafers? I didn’t know or care. I chose the loafers. I couldn’t understand how I was late, but I was going to miss my train. It’s the last train I can take to still be on time. The 8:13 train. I had eaten breakfast and read my Bible and prayed for a bit. I stretched a little to avoid cramps. I made sure to pack my lunch. I threw my umbrella in the paper bag because it was cloudy (and I was sure Alexa was right this time– it was going to rain). I slung my keys into my left hand, locked the door and ran down the stairwell like that rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. I’m late!

The sky got darker, and I walked past a fast-food place where there was a fat pigeon sitting like a little king in one of the letters of the sign. How cute! I thought. I was going to stop and take a photo, but screw it, I was already late, so I ran past it toward the train stairs that take you underground.

At the stairs, I pulled out my phone to have my wallet ready to be scanned at the turnstile. I use my hips to push through the turnstile, lifting my paper lunch bag. As I go down another set of stairs taking me deeper into the underground belly of the subway system, I see the crowd of people. Yep. I am on the 8:30 train. Damn, I think to myself. My mind is racing, thinking of how I can get on an express train up ahead. I try to breathe to calm myself. I pull out my Kindle and start reading from it to distract myself.

It was April 12, Tuesday. I was on my way to the office that morning. I lucked out because I had been in court all day Monday. Another colleague was covering in-court appearances. You will get there when you get there, I told myself trying to convince myself that I was cool. Oh so cool.

The train pulled up, and I got lucky. I scooched into a small spot by the rail. At least I got a seat, I thought. Always a plus when you have period heaviness and pain. Thank you, Lord, I thought.

When you commute, you sort of see the same people around you on your usual train. I looked around and didn’t recognize anyone really. I continued reading. A few stops down, and we were stuck in a dark tunnel. The conductor apologized for “any inconvenience.” Ha, I thought. These people are going to make me even more late. I am visibly annoyed. I text my dad and wish him a good morning and tell him I am currently stuck underground. My dad is very punctual, so he gets my agitation. In a few moments, we start moving again. I start to ease back into my seat.

We stopped again, and this time, we are there for a while. The doors are closed. I get nervous when I feel trapped. The conductor tells us that there is now an investigation up ahead, and we have to stay put. Great, I thought. Someone tried to jump onto the tracks or something. God only knows.

I am reading my Lisa Whittle book. The last thing I read is at the top of the page. It reads, “I am safe with Jesus.” I stop reading and look up when I see police officers running down the train platform (the train doors are still closed). I slap my Kindle shut. This is not the typical run-of-the-mill investigation I feel. I put away my Kindle and pull out my work phone. I tell folks I am running late due to train delays.

There is smoke. “There is a fire up ahead,” the conductor says. A fire? I think. Oh no, probably some piece of trash or debris, I think to myself, rolling my eyes at whatever idiot is causing this delay.

I am nervous after seeing the police run toward the tunnel. I text my fiancé:

“Stuck at 45th Street. There is a fire in Sunset Park and an investigation at 36th Street. No power. We are stuck here. If more time passes and they open the doors, I may turn around and go back home. Waiting to see how this plays out.”

“At least I have signal,” I text minutes later.

“WE ARE NOT MOVING. PLEASE FIND ALTERNATE TRANSPORTATION,” I hear over the loudspeaker. “THERE ARE MULTIPLE INJURIES AT 36th STREET” (the next station up). “WE HAVE NO POWER,” the conductor states. I can hear the alarm in his voice. I clutch my bags closer to my chest and almost start to stand up. The train doors open, and I run out with the floods of people who start flocking toward the stairs. There is a weird haze in the air that adds to the confusion. Old ladies are complaining in Spanish that they can’t get to 36th Street. No one knows what is happening.

As I am going up the stairs, I am texting my fiancé and emailing my mom at her work email to tell her what is happening. What happened at the next station is still unclear. The masses of people walk out and of course there is no other transport. Some folks gather and call family members, others look at their Uber app and realize that won’t be helpful. People just line the avenue. Firetrucks are rushing past us, police, ambulances, a tank looking vehicle that has NYPD Emergency Unit splayed across the side of it drives like wild past me. It’s pouring rain. I struggle to open my umbrella and stand there for a minute. I walk a bit. A school guard looks at me sympathetically. “You just got out of the train, sweetie?” she asks me. I nod, still looking around at all the people emerging from underground. “There was a shooting.”

“A what?!” I ask. She nods. I stand under the covering and pull up Citizen app on my phone. It reads, “Five People Shot at Train Station Undetonated Devices Located.” I shiver. I email this to my mom, and she calls me. I start spilling what I know, which is nothing, to her in an erratic and emotional fashion. I can’t remember what I said. I just know I was shaking and wet.

On a typical morning, I am at the station where the shooting happened, at the exact time the shooting happened. I am usually crossing the platform from my slow-as-hell train to the express train to another station where I make another switch. Had I been on time, I would have been there.

We later found out more. More people had been shot. Smoke bombs had been released. A manhunt began. I walked from 45th Street more than 50 blocks, home. I walked in the rain with my broken umbrella, shaken up. Some blocks, I felt disoriented. I tried to get away from the constant traffic and sirens. Some blocks, I just sobbed. I cried for my fellow commuters who had been hurt. I cried with anger at myself for my stupidity. I was so angry that morning because I was late, yet little did I know that had I been on time, I would have been in the middle of the insanity and crisis. Somehow, I was spared from that madness.

That morning, I was so sure of where I would be, when, and all I would do. Silly, right? The day and week, to be honest, ended up being so different from what I had envisioned on Monday. As I wandered through Sunset Park with a scab starting to form where my ankle met my loafer, I saw a man leaving his apartment. He reached the gate and stopped. He then crossed himself, as Catholics do. He bowed his head for a moment, and then opened the gate, ready to face his day. He has no idea what he is about to see out there, I think to myself. But he is ready.

I got home soaked by the slanted rain and my own menstrual cycle that had managed to escape its confines. Maybe it was the stress from the morning. Weirdly, I didn’t care. I stripped off my dress and tights and showered quickly. This would have upset me on another day, but that day, I was just grateful I wasn’t shot. Perspective does that to us.

Tuesday reminded me of God’s infinite wisdom and protection in spite of the evil that surrounds us, continually. God is behind the scenes when all is chaos, trying to guide our paths. He is also in the midst of the scene. He is everywhere. He is accessible. He is found when we seek Him. He listens. I was humbled. On most days, I do the impossible to get somewhere. I am pushy and stubborn. That day, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. And I just wandered back home like a zombie.

Later that day, I reopened my Kindle and saw the last line I had read. “I am safe with Jesus.” I got a chill up my spine. No matter what happens, I know this to be true. I am His and He is mine.

March 2022 Favorites

Happy last day of March! It’s the warmest it has been all week and the sky is cloudy. Maybe it will rain. Here are some of the things that caught my eye in this last month:

“Good writing is always about things that are important to you, things that are scary to you, things that eat you up. But the writing is a way of not allowing those things to destroy you.” John Edgar Wideman

For those of us who write to process things, this quote rings true. Writing is like a purge or a cut that lets out “bad blood”. We release our poisons and unwrap the cord that threatens to suffocate the heart. Pure release.

There are people who write very mechanically and in a calculated fashion. I have always found this to be so interesting. There is no right or wrong way. But for me, writing has always been emotional.

“He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” Jim Elliot

A solid reminder that our focus is often so much on clinging to the temporary, when we would be wise to trade off its importance for that which is eternal.

“It is the creative evolutionist, the Bergsonian or Shavian, or the Communist, who should tremble when the looks up at the night sky. For he really is committed to a sinking ship.” C.S. Lewis

This month, I have been reading a devotional made up of C.S. Lewis compilations called Preparing for Easter. I am an avid fan of C.S. Lewis since I was a child and my dad would read me the Narnia series before bed. He is a wise soul. This quote was more political in nature, but it drew my attention. C.S. Lewis was no stranger to war and conflict, and he had a lot of wise thoughts about it. Thoughts still relevant to today.

“The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed.” Ernest Hemingway

Wisdom from Hemingway that speaks for itself.

“Labels are a way of filing people. I resist closed boxes. The reason I resist closed boxes is nature does not deal in closed boxes. I really do believe we all contain multitudes.” Margaret Atwood (in conversation with Tim Ferriss)

I loved the Tim Ferriss-Margaret Atwood podcast. It was a gem. I believe in what Atwood expressed. No one of us is just one thing. It’s terribly boring. This is part of the reason why the topics on this site run the gamut. We truly contain multitudes.

“Perhaps, indeed, that is what ‘holy scripture’ really is– not a calm serene list of truths to be learned or commands to be obeyed, but a jagged book that forces you to grow up in your thinking as you grapple with it.” N.T. Wright

I just finished N.T. Wright’s book/biography on Paul. It truly expanded my vision on who Paul was, why he was how he was (his incredible courage, vulnerability, passion and how he was so misunderstood), and the Jewish worldview and how it connects to Christianity. The book has many incredible themes running through it. One is that Christianity was not a new and separate thing from Judaism. The early church did not see being a follower of Jesus as something separate from being Jewish. Instead, being a follower of Jesus was seen as the fulfillment of Judaism. It was Judaism’s fullest expression. The Messiah had come. God had kept His promise. I love in this quote how N.T. Wright forces us to look at Scripture perhaps differently than how we typically categorize the book. It’s not rounded, it’s jagged. The letters it contains are often written in a way that is not to instruct us plainly but to provoke us into new thinking and living. And in this process, we mature.

“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, many are strong at the broken places.” Ernest Hemingway

This is a reminder to anyone who feels broken or is hurting.

For a good laugh, Steve Harvey’s DMV rant:

This piece on Charles Dickens (and his contemporaries).

It has been a busy month that at times felt fast and at times felt slow. Maybe we will get lucky here and April will be ushered in with warm rain. Wishing you a happy start to the new month. Keep thinking and walking toward the light.

Passport Photos

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I greet my friend at the pharmacy. (He works at the pharmacy, and we always say ‘hello’.) He asks me my last name as he logs it into the photo printer computer in front of me, and we find out we have the same last name. Something we had not discovered yet, despite us talking every time I set foot in there. He is a nice middle aged Hispanic man who is always by the photo area and magazines. When we see each other, we chat politics, life in the neighborhood, etc. “Maybe you are my long-lost twin sister,” he says to me. He sets up the chair I will sit in for my set of passport photos. He looks at me, and we both laugh. “Maybe,” I tell him smiling. He gestures for me to sit and starts telling me, “Chin up. Ok, now down a little,” he says with slight irritation toward a man who is tapping the plexiglass divide at the photo booth. “Sir, can you wait a minute? I will be right with you,” he says to him.

He gives me a look that says he is gonna knock the other guy out clean and wanders over to the photo booth. I see their tense interaction and also see my photo pop up on the screen behind him in the booth. He starts clicking.

“Make me look like a celebrity,” I tell him, joking. “I gotchu,” he says laughing as he clicks. I look at my photo, and there is something interesting about it. Passport photos look so stripped, you know? I am sitting there with a psychiatric hospital white background in a Steve Jobs turtleneck, with just my features. I cringe at the wisps of baby hair near my sideburn area. They were all messy. Grr… What gives? My eyes are naturally downturned with zero lift, as I am not smiling. My skin looks good. It looks just like me, but also not like me. Maybe it’s the fact that I am expressionless that makes it look unlike me. I am very expressive.

Looking at a passport picture is like when you hear your own voice in a recording. It doesn’t feel like you, but it is you. It makes you immediately think, “Is this how the world sees me?” Not that this would be a bad thing– it’s just different. Self-perception is interesting. I am not sure we ever see or hear ourselves the way the world does, but it’s interesting to try.

La Vida Alternativa

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Aveces, cuando nos pasan cosas que nos cambian la vida, uno se queda preguntándose si hay una vida en un universo alternativo que le tocaba a uno. ¿Es que me tocaba otra vida y termine aquí?

En estos días observando a desconocidos, me he preguntado si ellos se preguntan cómo hubiera sido la vida de otra manera. Si no hubiesen cometido ciertos errores o si no hubiesen sufrido ciertas desgracias.

¿Será que la vida era otra ausente el engaño, la cobardía, y la confusión?

¿Es que hay un bolsillo en el corazón que contiene todas esas emociones o los anhelos por esa vida que se perdió?

¿Se va ese sentimiento de que nos estamos perdiendo algo o nos sigue por el resto de nuestros días? ¿Olvidamos a las personas o será que en parte las seguimos esperando?

¿Será que la otra vida posible es un invento, similar a la nostalgia? ¿De verdad nos tocaba otra vida o es eso otra mentira que nos hacemos creer? ¿Hay vidas que siguen el Plan A y nunca llegan al Plan B?

En un salón lleno de personas presentes en cuerpo pero ausentes en mente, busco la respuesta en las miradas perdidas y en las tensiones oscuras que noto en los gestos.

Quizás hay cosas que no nos toca saberlas. O quizás hacemos preguntas ya sabiendo las respuestas.

Spring State of Mind

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I laugh as I ask Alexa whether it’s raining. She says it won’t rain tonight and a downpour begins simultaneously. Guess she didn’t get the memo. It’s the first day of spring tomorrow, and it sure feels like it. Today was a sweater only day, filled with sunshine and a lovely cool breeze.

I woke up itching to be outside. I slipped on my favorite yoga pants and walked some donations over to a drop-off bin I frequent for seasonal cleaning before remote church started. I wished a local church was open. I was in the mood to just sit a while in the sanctuary and watch the light come through the windows. Just sit and pray. My soul really yearns for that. I used to do that like every other day when I lived in the Village. It was a special time I really miss. Nowadays, churches are bolted shut or checking papers. (I hear thunder at a distance!)

March always makes my mind wander to literature. It’s like the world is one big book. The grass looks greener, and the buds on the trees are ready to burst. I think of that scene in Amazing Grace when he wanders his own garden and stares into a spider web. I think of the walls of the secret garden, and the mysteries behind covered walls.

My mind is like a maze of those Cotswolds cottages soaked by torrential rains.

I think of that scene in P.S. I Love You, when she is lost in the national park, lost in wonder and amazement.

My mind goes to the wet Michigan springs and every corner filled with daffodils. I think of the worms that would writhe on the running track in the back of the school, bright pink against the soaked black pavement. I would tiptoe around them and sometimes move them with sticks.

For some reason, my mind remembers the exact smell inside of the house when my mom would make bread in our 90s bread machine. The way the butter would melt on a slice from the giant square loaf– it’s vivid.

I remember late nights in my room in Florida, where I would tune into the Moody Radio show called Himscapes (I believe that’s what it was called). I can’t find a trace of this show, but it was my favorite segment on the radio station. This segment was at like 11 p.m.-12 a.m. It was mostly instrumental music and soft hymns (think Fernando Ortega), and it was typically Celtic instrumental versions of old hymns. I loved this show. Sometimes, I would listen to it to fall asleep. My favorites were the ones on piano, guitar and bagpipes. There was a calming energy to this segment. I don’t know why on earth someone would get rid of it. Sometimes, I would record songs on my MP3 player right off of the radio. Maybe it was all the Scottish and Irish sounding music– but that music always comes to mind when spring comes around. I wish I could still tune in and let the music transport me to fields of flowers and green. Few things can match the sense of peace I felt when I would listen to that music, and I am not someone who listens to music very often.

I felt like the winter was a bit stagnant and slow; I wasn’t very energetic. But these brighter mornings and rainy nights have started to fill me with that wonder that accompanies spring. I hope that as we embrace the new season, you too are feeling renewed and filled with energy. If you are looking for me, I will be in my maze of cottages.

This kind of song would have been played on Himscapes.

The Flaws in Our Requests

By: Gabriela Yareliz

What does it mean to ask for forgiveness of our sins? I found C.S. Lewis’ reflections on this so on point that I wanted to share his thoughts. He says that we often think that this idea of forgiveness of sins is pretty basic to our faith (and we gloss over it), but in practice, we are terrible at it. We often approach God with our excuses and extenuating circumstances and think that a request for forgiveness is a presentation of why we were justified in our mistake(s).

His thoughts:

“If you had the perfect excuse, you would not need forgiveness; if the whole of your action needs forgiveness, then there is no excuse for it. But the trouble is that what we call ‘asking God’s forgiveness’ very often really consists in asking God to accept our excuses.”
C.S. Lewis

I found this to be a very powerful thought. A thing to reflect on. When we approach God for the forgiveness of our sins (forget everyone else, and we focus on ourselves), what does that look like? Am I presenting excuses and anxiously pointing out things He already knows and sees through? We try to overcompensate and cover up our mistakes by making it seem like it was ‘inevitable’ or ‘meant to be’, but God isn’t fooled by any of this.

Asking for forgiveness is not a form of self-preservation. Instead, the key ingredient is always humility.

Change in the Air

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Change is in the air, I was telling my friend Nikki not long ago. Sometimes, you just sort of feel it. We have had sunny days that hint at spring. They remind me of the hours I spent wandering the West Village toward the library on Leroy St. to go watch the shadows as the sun hit the corners of the sidewalk and public pool just right.

Last Sunday was cold. The kind of cold that settles a blanket of stillness over everything and ends in magical dancing flurries as the gray sky turns black. But then, the weather fluctuates, and it’s sunny. The influencer wives of rich old men wear their trending cat eye sunglasses as if a memo has been sent out. There is a warmth that makes me dizzy and makes me regret wearing the leggings under my pants while I ride the subway, pressed up against a flimsy door and a woman clutching a bunch of plantains in a clear bag.

Do people sense the change in the air? I wonder as I sit on the train next to someone in a shiny plastic coat that squeaks every time she or I moves. We all do our best to ignore each other, except for the man sitting across the way from me, who has decided to make me his focal point. Maybe he is dizzy, too, I rationalize. Maybe he is trying hard to focus or not throw up. I shift my eyes back down to my Kindle, feeling his eyes on me, still. I look up again and make direct eye contact as an act of slight defiance. (Very me) I then turn my attention to a group of children with geriatric parents. (Very Brooklyn)

Thank God for the warming weather. There is no place I have seen more than NYC where people underdress their children. I can’t count how many children I see wandering around in frigid temperatures without a jacket or socks. It’s a strange thing. The kid will have a hat or a t-shirt but no jacket. Now, nature will help keep these children warm. I think about this as I spot an exception to the general observation. A little child bundled like the Michelin Man.

Some people jump into the train without a mask and then fumble to pull one over their faces. Others step on confidently without and smile. Some are masked up to their eyeballs, and they judge those who step on without and use their eyes to direct the object of their judgment to the advertisement/propaganda banners above us, hanging like gargoyles, that have been vandalized and covered with inappropriate stickers. The air is thick with psychological warfare, silent but loud communication and irritation. More people step on, and others step off. A door closing warning is issued.

When I reemerge for air, the sidewalks are packed with women bagging cilantro and produce. The air smells like fish. I see buckets filled with ice sitting on the sidewalk. There are more people out than I have seen in recent time. A drunk man walks into the gate of a notary service/psychic storefront that is currently closed. He hesitates and then tries again.

I shuffle into the intersection and feel the sun. Every day, we face different weather but so much more is fluctuating. Spring, our new beginning, is just days away. I glance into a sneaker shop that has its gate half up and see its colorful spring merchandise in the window.

It’s clear we are all stepping into something new.

Accountability and Abuse in the Church

My question is, how can we hold abusers in leadership accountable and also make it so that there are less vulnerable people falling prey.

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I won’t forget the day the bombshell regarding Ravi Zacharias’ sexual exploits became public. The board of his ministry, RZIM, released an open letter regarding the investigation. The truth was that this person who was a global speaker, teacher and frequent guest at Oxford through his center for apologetics was a sexual predator who committed sex crimes against vulnerable women around the world. All of this exploded shortly after his death, sadly, because everything was covered up for years until then. I wish his victims would have gotten what they strived for. They should have had their day in court. Someone should have listened. Accountability matters.

I addressed the fall of Ravi Zacharias quite extensively on the Modern Witnesses Instagram around that time. I realized not long ago that I don’t think I mentioned anything here, and it was worth mentioning as I have probably hundreds of posts that quote him or were inspired by things I learned from him and his books. When it came to asking hard questions, he was a hero of mine. (Sadly, he lacked the guts to face the hard questions directed at him for his actions). And it’s odd to think that someone like that can shape us so deeply, but he shaped me deeply and nothing takes that away. He taught me how to look at faith and Scripture critically, and that doesn’t invalidate the lump in my chest that I felt when I heard the horrors he committed. His life just goes to show that an intellectual knowledge and pursuit of faith is not enough. We must be transformed by it. I was and am heartbroken for the women who had tried to seek accountability and were ignored.

Even before Zacharias, due to my own personal experience, I have always known that people are deeply flawed and can appear to be one thing and then do unthinkable things. I have known this deeply in my bones. My life has been shattered by it. So, when Zacharias fell from grace, he didn’t fall too far down in my world. (This is when trust issues come in handy). I didn’t hold him on a pedestal, but I still was disappointed. Mostly, I just felt angry. I felt angry that someone would hurt the cause of Christ in such a shameful way, because unlike us fallen and wretched creatures, God is good. He is loving. He is pure. He is just. He is a protector and healer. He redeems. Those lives harmed by Zacharias’ actions are precious in God’s sight.

There has been a lot of talk about abuse in the church, and I have noticed it has been framed in a way to write off the church as a useless, outdated and harmful institution. I feel that I see more about abuse in religious circles than I do about abuse in secular environments, where abuse happens equally or more so. I think it’s because we expect more from people who claim to be something, but it’s a weird thing to do that knowing what Scripture says about our shared nature.

Being a victim these days can mean many things, and I don’t minimize any of it. As an attorney, I believe in accountability, justice, and I believe in trying something, weighing evidence and testimony and having people pay for their actions. One hundred percent. We need consequences.

No matter what setting it’s in, if someone with more perceived or actual authority/position/status takes advantage of someone in a more vulnerable state, it’s wrong.

Something I find interesting regarding the Zacharias investigation is that women came forward and did seek accountability, despite their poverty, lack of status (one could say for lack of a better term) in ministry and vulnerability. This got me thinking about how do we stop the rampant abuse in the church? What makes us members vulnerable to this and to certain types of engagements and dynamics?

I think when it comes to abuse in the church and elsewhere, we need to shed a naivete that we tend to carry around about who people are or may be. This may sound harsh, but in the words of Bobby Sausalito, “the world is trash,” and you know what? Many people behave like trash, too. I think that the accountability we need to have to end abuse in the church setting needs to go all the way around. We not only need to hold leaders accountable (which is happening more and more and being ignored less and less, thank God), but we need to hold ourselves accountable and need to educate ourselves more. This isn’t victim blaming, it’s just using our God given abilities.

I don’t minimize abuse in the church. I have my own stories of pastors (married, mind you, but trash is trash) who only wanted to meet with me in private settings, who vengefully passed out my number when I declined, leaders who told me I would go to hell and was behaving unChristian like when I declined advances, churches I left because leaders had mental health issues– I got stories. I think part of it is the way I was raised, but I have always had a strong sense of self. Listen, I am petite, had no family nearby, hadn’t had a relationship with my father in a decade and was a young and naive country girl who looked like a ripe target. But even if you are vulnerable as most of us are when we go into a house of worship (we seek community, healing, guidance and other things), even if you weren’t raised to have a strong sense of self that isn’t afraid to tell someone where they can go, God still offers us all discernment.

And I am not saying in this post, be like me. No, I am just stating I am not blind to the depths of the trash that poses as leadership out there. I am saying that I know God has shown me many a red flag, and I had to make some hard and sometimes swift decisions. In all these cases, I fled these trash leader environments and had some firm ‘no’s. I attribute this to God not myself.

I think that just as we are taught to take responsibility for ourselves and how we position ourselves in other aspects of life, we need to teach people to do the same in the church. We need to stop idolizing people and putting them on pedestals. We need to stop expecting the super-human from mere humans who are often hungry for all the wrong things. We need to be in environments because they make us holy, not because of friends, ambiance, distance, tradition, music, a nice time or a false sense of security or community. We need to get police and authorities involved. Call the district attorney’s office; let’s go. We need to evaluate the fruit in people’s lives and listen (really listen) to those around us. We need to stop seeking from people the things we can only find in God’s presence and through relationship with Him.

I think that if we started raising children like this and started empowering members like this, our churches and what happens in them would look differently. Let’s stop acting though, like the church is the only place abuse happens. Unfortunately, it’s not. The world is filled with abuse, and the unsanctified lives that wreak havoc in churches reflect the mainstream exterior. We do not control what is done to us, like someone assaulting us, but we often do control a lot of the response. (And I recognize that there is a lot of psychology involved, here. People respond differently to trauma, but this is why we need to educate people to seek help because this is empowerment. God can do the impossible and give us the courage we need to move forward). We can talk to someone, we can report it, we can flee before anything happens, if circumstantially that is possible. We can seek help from someone else, if we don’t know what to do or feel trapped (and this someone doesn’t need to be a “leader”. In fact, it’s often better if it isn’t).

As a church body, we need to take accountability for what we are bringing into the church. Our attitudes, our family dynamics and our addictions. This is just one example– I can’t tell you how many times I have seen or heard messages (or posts) about sexual abuse or violence against women (and I support anti-abuse messages) from people where I see a pretty clear acceptance of pornographic type materials (photos, literature, etc.) or an acceptance of nonbiblical sexual standards and values by the way a person lives, etc. Not saying this to judge but to simply ask the question, what makes one better than the other? (Especially, when so much of pornography involves exploitation of women and children). Studies have shown that many who are perpetrators of abuse have similar addictions or enjoy similar content. I can talk about this at length in many examples and ways. I know of places of worship where members were having affairs with other people’s spouses, leaving an insane tangled web of families and brokenness. Perhaps something that hinders accountability in churches is the fact that there is rampant secretly held sin. Who in their right mind, knowing their secret vices, will go and report someone else? Will they even have the sight to see it? My point is: what are we bringing to the church as a church body? Are we connected to God in a way where we really can discern His voice and hold ourselves accountable?

It’s important to hold the church accountable. I vocally do this. I write here and speak to leaders about things I observe all the time. But I don’t do it to write off the church. WE ARE THE CHURCH. I talk about these things because I love the church. Despite every church I have had to flee, every minister creep I’ve had to block, and the church that turned its back on me and my family in our greatest time of need– I love the church. Christ died for this church. I am an active part of the church. And with every bad thing that has happened to me in a church setting, I recognize the grace and help God granted my family and me by members of that same body of Christ followers. The church has been a source of deep rescue, as well.

The church is deeply flawed, and yet Scripture tells us that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8)

For every person who has been deeply hurt by the church, my heart breaks. I am sorry. The church needs you to shape it into what Christ wants it to be. You aren’t alone. I pray that you find a community that can uplift you and help you find the healing you are looking for. A place where you can serve safely. They are out there. I know it. No one deserves abuse or betrayal of trust. No one. I will add that I promise you, you won’t find anything better in a world that glorifies and celebrates sin. The flaws and unholiness we see in ourselves should make us hate sin that much more, knowing the pain it causes. I pray for restitution and justice. Nothing will escape God’s justice. A thing that brings me so much comfort. God is not mocked or fooled. I pray for discernment.

And whether we have suffered abuse or not– I pray we can each look at our lives and before we hold another accountable, let’s hold ourselves accountable. What are we bringing to the table? Have we led with Godly example? Have we bestowed unmerited trust in someone? Do we see or sense things that are off? Do we know it’s ok to say ‘no’? Do we know that it’s ok to leave everything behind and run? Do we know someone we should encourage to seek help or justice? Can we be a voice for someone dealing with trauma?

Let’s ask these questions more. Christ said the wheat and the weeds grow together, but at the harvest, they will be separated. The weeds will be thrown into the fire. Let’s seek wisdom and discernment, which He gives liberally to all who ask. (James 1:5; Phil. 1:9-10) I know this to be true.

People close to Zacharias said he justified his actions and felt no remorse. I’d say that’s chilling, but we humans have a way of doing that. We excel at this. We are really good at justifying our own actions, lifestyles and conclusions. We forgive ourselves so easily (or feel there is nothing to be forgiven); it’s everyone else who has the problem. We are humble like that. (Sarcasm noted.)

Christ said, “Look, I am sending you out as sheep among wolves. So be as shrewd as snakes and harmless as doves.” (Matthew 10:16) It’s time we really accept the fact that the church is not some “sheeps only” pen. There are wolves. We should beware, and we should also make sure we aren’t one of them.

The Thing with Dark Ponds

“People are like that, too, you know. They start over. They find a way.”
Celeste Ng

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I am not going to lie– I can be an annoying person to watch something with. I dislike things that resemble the harshness of our reality. Don’t sit me down to watch some war film when there is an actual war happening out there (if I wanted to see a war, I would turn on the news). It is not my jam. I am a rom-com type girl. Give me a funny protagonist in some faked-up version of NYC with an unrealistic wardrobe, and I am there.

My movie and show preferences have come to my attention extra when my fiancé and I sit down to choose something to watch. He likes a good drama, and the movies I like aren’t always his jam. By now, I have watched a good handful of movies I would have never chosen on my own to watch. (And he has watched two handfuls of movies he likely would have never watched had I not picked them). Many of his picks are good and interesting; worth the risk and time. I have been pleasantly surprised. But when it’s choosing time, I can be picky.

Recently, I got to pick Pilgrim’s Progress as one of our films. It’s a beautiful film (in my opinion). Today, after a hearty meal, we were deciding what to watch to relax since neither of us has time to watch anything during the week, and he mentioned a newish show. It looked like a drama (with great actresses), and I pushed back. Eventually, at an impasse as he still refuses to watch White Chicks (LOL), we settled on The Office, a safe mutual favorite.

I reflected, though, and realized I wasn’t fair in my assessment of the new series. I hadn’t watched a minute of it, and he had watched a favorite of mine, so I decided to give it a shot. Guys, all my trigger fears were realized immediately. In the first 20 minutes, I kid you not, I saw a piece of my past unfold as we were watching. I saw the houses on the show looked exactly like houses from an Ohio neighborhood where I lived for several years. The mom and daughter are close, and the mom is a single parent. The show opens where the mom and daughter are sleeping in their car, and then, they go to a public restroom at the grocery store where they proceed to take a refresher bath with wipes and brush their teeth. The protagonists have moved a million times. I have shared all of these experiences with my own mother. As I watched on the screen so many things I have lived before, I was stunned. It was triggering. So much so, that tears sprang to my eyes without warning, and to cover up my emotional reaction, I laughed. (Not a normal laugh, but like a nervous crazy laugh– I am being honest here).

I still can’t really believe I have seen scenes of my life sort of play out in front of me on some random Hulu show. (It’s fresh, y’all). But I learned something important today, I’ve been repelled by and shut out many things that made me feel like I might be reminded of something or because I am afraid certain emotions will be summoned from some dark recess of my soul. Today, it was like that fear came true– and pretty dramatically. It was bizarre.

What we watched was interesting and intriguing. Maybe we will watch another episode some other time, or maybe not. What I did find interesting was that on the day I finally decided to give something a chance, it ended up being some weird recounting of maybe some of the most strange and unrelatable moments of my life. It was almost too on point (to the point of being creepy). Creepy and all, I survived it. The tears came spilling out in a weird reactive moment of realization, but I was able to then sit back and detach from it. Part of me has felt like, This is why I don’t watch dramas or things like this. Another part of me felt less alone. Seen, almost.

It intrigues me to think that maybe the things that have the biggest potential as art are the things that make us feel deeply. They make us shifty in our seats and make us laugh and look away as we discretely wipe away tears. We all, in our own little ways, avoid the things that make us uncomfortable.

We avoid dark pond waters, sometimes, as we don’t know how deep the pond actually goes. At times, we don’t want to know. We pick the clearer light distractions, but these distractions, like clear water, reveal a shallow bottom. Sometimes, in our quest to avoid pain, we forget that it’s when we look into the dark pond waters that we can catch a glimpse of our own reflection and see ourselves.

Olvido

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I heard Erwin McManus say that when cultures do not change, they repeat behaviors. We see this in how the world operates. Political systems showcase this.

Just the other day, I was looking at an article in The New Yorker which reminded me of the Pacto del Olvido (the pact to forget), which was Spain’s way of trying to move on from Franco’s rule once he died in 1975. The truth is nations have their spiritual and political baggage. We don’t just shed that baggage by pretending nothing ever happened. I mean look at the way nations governed people throughout the pandemic and the policies enacted. Has anything really changed? Many countries’ policies mirrored roots from the past.

While reading Eric Metaxas, he brings the great point that we often think ourselves more superior and sophisticated than people in the past. Not sure why we think of them as dumb peasants or something, but the truth is we are no different. Granted, the things available to us are different, (technology, abundance, etc.), but our propensities, emotions and our nature remain the same.

Clearly, the Ukraine-Russia conflict is front of mind. My heart aches for all who are suffering. As I have thought about the conflict and had discussions about it, I couldn’t help but think about history. What makes what Putin is doing different from what all empires and imperial powers have done in the past? (Note this doesn’t justify it at all). But my point is, just as people see Putin as the devil incarnate, plenty of invaded and subjugated peoples and lands see the U.S., Britain, France, Spain and other world powers in a similar, if not the same, way. Humans don’t change in the way they operate.

This led my thoughts to, Why do people invade places or conquer people? When we look at history, we could just say power and wealth and move on. The answer, however, has always been more complex. (Note again that this doesn’t make it right).

What does power mean? If we look at history, it has not been just the ability to hold onto something, and pillage or annex it. The reason power means so much to us (as humans) is the implications of it. It’s influence and a legacy of strength (and often cruelty). As humans, we are all seeking influence. Both Putin and Zelenskyy are not only fighting a fight of land and sovereignty but one of influence. Putin comes from a power that once had more influence than it does now, and he is on a mission to restore that influence.

When it comes to world powers, influence has always been key, and its effects last for generations. It not only means a political ideology– it means language, religion, and lifestyle/culture. Lifestyle (food, conflict, behavioral responses, traditions) has such far-reaching effects that it affects our epigenetics. It has an impact on our health and DNA (how we process foods or respond to trauma), and we pass this on to our children, and they pass it on to their children. It’s wild when you think about it.

Just look at Spain and the impact it had in the Americas. It brought with it architecture, foods and ingredients, language, religion, and traditions. It’s undeniable, regardless of how one feels about it.

We all wonder what is next. Will China make a bold and swift move toward Taiwan? Does anyone else in Europe have eyes set on neighboring land and people? To be honest, Hitler, Mussolini, and Franco were not that long ago. There are generations alive who have vivid memories and feelings about what transpired and how to move forward. Colonialism isn’t dead. Puerto Rico is the oldest colony in the world, at the hands of the U.S. We humans subsist on incredible double standards in how we analyze the world and world leaders.

Societies change. The fierce attitude of the Roman or Greek empires has passed away. I’d say that by comparison, our countries are led by men of weakness, but ambitious men, nonetheless. Will history repeat itself? It feels like the inevitable answer is ‘yes.’ Further, now that attacks are cyber and nuclear, it feels like all of us (and our bank accounts) are dragged into this.

As we watch how things continue to unfold on the world stage, we must remember what is at stake. Every time influence is won, its impacts reach beyond present times and influence shifts history.

Empires rise, and empires fall. And unfortunately, we are all just in the middle of it. No one can ignore it, and the ones of the past cannot be forgotten.