I found my way into Evangelical Christianity a broken and hurting young woman. I leave it with so much more. Hands still open to the cross, still outstretched and empty to receive Christ, who is MORE than enough.

There has been so much good in my time in evangelical circles from about 2008 until today. So much incredible wisdom. So many lifelong friendships. So many sincerely beautiful and kind people. I love them and I pray they still love me after this.

I never expected the thing that drew me in to be the very reasons I decided I no longer belonged.

I learned that I didn’t have to be perfect to belong to a perfect savior. I learned that Jesus loved me as I was, not after twelve steps of improvement. I learned that, though I may sin, Christ loved me in my imperfections, died even to cover them and to make a way just for me.

And after I confessed my need for Christ, I learned His ways. All the ways that I found so beautiful, perplexing, and countercultural.

I learned to follow Jesus was to ever stumble, to ever be reminded of Him, but hopefully also to become more like him: kinder, more servant hearted, more loving, more gracious. I learned that I needed to care for the poor, the orphan, the widow. I learned to lay down my wants and whims for obedience that I believed (and still do) brings much deeper joy. I could list for eons the things I was taught that I will keep forever whether from formal lesson, study, or watching a beautifully-lived example.

In devotion, I signed covenants to abstain from alcohol. I stayed faithful through hard things. I extended forgiveness at betrayal. I attended the services. I memorized the scriptures. I tithed. I served where I could. I left gossip unspoken. I was quiet instead of critical. I confessed my stumbling and failings in all these things to other women in my church, I asked God to forgive and to help me. I prayed on my commutes. I sang hymns in my kitchen alone. I tried to forgive the way I’d been forgiven. And when I held a grudge in my heart, I asked God to take it away.

And all of this produced just what I’d been taught to expect: a steadfast faith. A depth of conviction. Something that was more precious than even getting my way or the praise of people. I have no regrets.

And the same devotion that pulled me in is leading me away.

Because I see a great a horrible evil in our country. And I have realized my evangelical brothers and sisters fall into one of two camps: thunderously applauding and joining Christian Nationalism or staying silent in the name of unity.

I can do neither of those things.

So, when I read this statement from the President this Easter Sunday, it was the final push for me. It is not for me to convince anyone that this man and administration represent a great degree of moral failings. And far be it from me to help open the eyes of anyone who reads that message with a swell of patriotic pride or identifies it as wisdom.

The praise and applause for this man voted in by 8 in 10 evangelical Christians is not for me. Neither is the silence of those within who claim to disagree but remain quiet.

It is interesting to me that the evangelical church will call out any evil under the sun unless it is Republican.

I leave with the very strength of conviction God used the evangelical church to forge within me. And the faith that obeying His calling is worth any hard bit of earthly backlash I may face.

I don’t know what is next for me. But I do know that staying is much more detrimental to my faith than it is cultivating. And I do believe that the God who led the Israelites through the wilderness can lead me to what is best for my soul, too.

May the Lord have mercy on us all.

To my friends and loved ones who are anything this movement and administration hates: the immigrant, the progressive, those of a different political party, the transgender kid, the minority, the wrongly accused, the mentally ill, the mother who had an abortion, the scientist, the parent on welfare, the kid receiving free lunch, those with disabilities, the gay couple, the neurodivergent, those that are unhoused: there is room for you at the table. Jesus said you can come. And no one else gets to say you’re not welcome. It’s not their table, anyway.