Once upon a time, I used to write 2 blogs. This one – the one about life as a mom and a wife and about my kids and their antics. This is the one I would share on my facebook page and tell people to read. The other one, though public and accessible, was the one I kept to myself and to the people who happened to notice that it happened to exist. Every now and then I’d share something I wrote there, but nobody ever read it and I didn’t mind that one bit.
The blog was called The Jesus Story. It was the story of Jesus in my life. It started out as a series of notes on Facebook about how I became a Christian and then turned into a blog with my stories and my own probably blasphemous interpretations of Holy Scripture, may God have mercy on my soul. Not a real fan favorite. But it was my favorite. In the fall of 2013 I was starting to wonder why I was keeping 2 blogs. So I made The Jesus Story private. And then all of the sudden people started reading an old post about Halloween over here, and I was really very glad that I’d shut the other one down. Because 400,000 people reading a silly rant about Halloween was one thing. 400,000 people reading about my thoughts on Jesus and what God has done in my life and my messy marriage and all of that blasphemy – well that’s another thing entirely. And there were plenty of people who followed the links to my then shut down Jesus Story blog, only to message me asking if they could please have access to it.
Now that some time has passed, and the trolls have found new bridges under which to dwell online, I have to make good on my little promise to start spilling my guts. I feel like I shouldn’t really have to say this, being the author of a blog called The Jesus Story, but I need to warn you.
I love Jesus. Desperately. Without apology. I believe that God exists somehow, in a mystery I’ll never understand, as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And is yet still one God. Don’t ever ask me to explain that. I don’t know, alright?
The Bible is not a joke to me. I believe in the inerrancy of the Bible. I think the error comes in the interpretation of it. What I mean by that might surprise you, but as if we have time for that right now. Later maybe. Over tea, preferably.
I just thought you should know that about me.
Before I tell you how I came to believe and why. And how I’m trying and failing, and trying again, and failing again, at this being a believer thing. My story may be a poor witness, but it’s a witness to His mercy anyway.
Before I tell you about my rocky relationship with church. Which is God’s family. Which I am a part of. Which I suck so bad at. Sigh.
Before we talk about my husband the musician & pastor who is not a pastor anymore, because you can’t have a porn habit and be doing inappropriate things with women online (married or not) – if you also want to be a pastor. Well. You can. Until you get caught or confess. He confessed. (He knows I’m writing this. This is not a secret. We are not ashamed of our story. He’s going to be telling it with me.)
Yeah. Before all that you need to know that it starts and ends with Jesus for me. I don’t believe my story is about me. My story is the Jesus Story, in my life. It’s not about me getting it right for Him. It’s about Him making it right for me.
The Jesus Story is like the tv show Jeopardy! in that you begin with the answer and then start asking questions. Backwards? Yes. Maddening? Yes. Illogical? Yes. And yet. It’s perfect. It’s only way to tell it. The End is the beginning.
Let’s get started then.
copyright (c) 2014 Jenna Pelias // all rights reserved