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When I was growing up, I dreamed of being gospel singer Sandi Patty (now Peslis). My parents bought me one of her cassette tapes for my birthday (Live: More Than Wonderful in 1983, if you must know). I think I sang 'Was It a Morning Like This' four Easter Sundays in a row. I sang 'Another Time, Another Place,' as a duet several times. I tried, unsuccessfully, to reach those stratospherically high notes she sings so effortlessly. But still, someday, I was going to be Sandi Patty.
And then -- she sinned. Not a minor sin, like coveting someone's house or car, or telling a white lie. She sinned. Big time. As in, she was rumored to be in a relationship with someone else, and ultimately got divorced.
I stopped listening to her as much around that time, but not because of that. Truth be told, I was too busy to pay attention to the gossip, the half-truths, the venom that was undoubtedly being spewed in her direction. I was going to school full-time, working full-time, getting married -- and then a few years later getting divorced.
And that's when I learned that some Christians -- albeit only a few --can be very, very, very unkind.
I went through my own divorce in the mid-90s. While the circumstances surrounding my marriage made, in my mind, divorce a necessary but painful option, I was ill-prepared for the backlash I would receive.
I got an anonymous letter with tracts about how my divorce was going to send me to hell. I had a (former) good friend tell me God told her I was ruining my life forever. I had a Pastor tell me that if I wasn't working so much and had spent more time focusing on my husband and my home, things wouldn't have turned out the way they did, and I should go home and ask his forgiveness. And I could go on and on and on.
I wasn't in the spotlight. I didn't have any kind of fame or notoriety. I was just a mid-20s small-town girl trying to take care of myself.
To be clear, I had many, many friends who were supportive to me during that painful time. But isn't it often the voices of dissension that speak the loudest? Feeling kind of beat up and abandoned, I moved. 800 miles away, to be exact. "For one year," I told everyone, including myself.
That was in 1999. It's been a long, long year in Nashville. But years I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. I've rediscovered myself. I've made even more lifelong friends. I found a job I seriously, seriously, seriously love. And I married my husband and had my sweet little boy.
But, back to Sandi. Divorce or not, and whatever led to that divorce (which was not, is not, and never will be any of our business, famous or not), she still has one of the most beautiful voices on the planet. Her voice can make me both weep and jump out of my seat, all at once. So, truthfully, her divorce and remarriage was barely a blip on my radar.
Her daughter, Jenn, is on staff at our church (and a fantastic singer and even more fantastic human being, by the way). So, last Sunday, Sandi came to our church. To speak.
Here's where it gets a bit difficult. In the interest of full disclosure, life was a bit busy last week. We returned from an 11-day vacation, to six loads of laundry, four suitcases that needed be unpacked, virtually nothing to eat in the house (unless crackers, caramel corn from the beach and 3 oranges counts as food), work to catch up on, and a house to get ready for our home study for our adoption. It slipped my mind until Saturday. And then I thought, 'I really should post something on Facebook and Twitter about her speaking at our church, in case someone wants to come.'
I probably had that thought a dozen times on Saturday.
But I didn't do it.
Because sometimes I'm just a big, big coward.
But my cowardice is not without excuses, even if they are pretty paltry. Social media, i.e: Facebook, can be one of the cruelest places. We sometimes forget that there are real people reading real words. We have turned what (I assume) was meant to be a place for friends to gather, into a divisive place where we criticize people's politics, religion, cultures, life choices, etc.
And I wanted to write it. I really, really, really, really, really, really did. But I didn't.
I didn't because I was afraid some Facebook friends would make a comment. We (and I'm sadly including myself in this generalization), LOVE to point out the sawdust in someone else's eye, while ignoring that 2 x 4 that's in our own. We forget that sin is sin, and we ALL SCREW UP. We soak up the endless pool of grace for our own lives, but pretend for others, it's a puddle.
So I didn't, because I was afraid. Afraid that someone would write something unkind. Afraid that a stone would be cast that I wouldn't catch quick enough. Afraid that I would have to defend a situation that happened so long ago and never was and never will be any of my concern anyway.
Afraid that someone would remember the sin and not the forgiveness.
Afraid that someone would rather crucify than take to the Cross.
Not my finest moment.
But I have to say, whatever I expected to come out of Sandi's mouth, it was not what she actually spoke about.
I imagine I could live to be 100 years and not have the bravery she had.
She got up and spoke about her mistake. She didn't hide from it. She didn't pretend it never happened. She didn't try to cover it up or make excuses. She talked about it.
She talked about what she learned from the mistakes she made, and how she's moved on since then. Rather than pretend that life was a big, big slice of happy, she stood before thousands of people, including some who had undoubtedly cast a few stones at her once or twice, and was very, very real.
I urge anyone who has been tempted to speak unkind of another person's choices to watch her speak below. She starts speaking at 53:30, but if you want to hear her sing, go to 42:30 on the video first.
I was afraid to post a tiny little Facebook status, while she stood before thousands of people (with many more watching online), and said, "I screwed up. Here's what it cost me and here's what I learned."
More important than her bravery, which I could (clearly) learn a lot from, she gave us all hope. Hope that whatever has happened is not the final page of our story. Hope that we can still get out of our messes, even if we made them ourselves. Hope that we don't have to wallow in self-incrimination anymore.
Hope that grace is a vast ocean and not contained in a measuring spoon.
Hope that all things -- even our mistakes -- can be redeemed.
Hope that we can begin again.
Hope.
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