Shocking news

This week I took time to remember a friend as I ran alone on the trails.

I heard the news towards the end of March 2015. It was as though time stopped and all sound disappeared from my world. She was gone: found in a hotel room abroad.

We were the closest of friends before her short and intense courtship began. They met in May on a Christian dating website and got married in September. I didn’t go to the wedding. Our friendship had broken down, because I could not be happy for her about this relationship. I feared for her safety and spoke honestly to her. She confided in me about his outbursts of anger and controlling ways.

Then the story changed. My negativity had disturbed the peace in their relationship through some spiritual mechanisms. I was devastated at the loss of our friendship and doubted my own position with regards to their relationship as well as the Christian faith.

Spiritual mechanisms

At the time, we were both part of a local Christian Church. The church could be described as ‘charismatic’ and ‘evangelical’. I was in a deeply unhappy marriage and generally disappointed in how my life had unfolded.

Despite my dedication to God, studying the scriptures, praying, going to church, loving my husband (who believed that he was the head of the house – that’s standard Christian teaching), the promised blessings that would follow remained ever elusive.

Things just didn’t add up. I started to question the absolutes of the Christian faith. This felt very courageous and scary. I had been brought up in the Christian faith. Today I would call the process indoctrination. I gained more access to my rational and reasonable mind by questioning religious absolutes. The process took a number of years and resulted in my rejection of the Christian faith.

The loss of a friend

I lost my friend and I was losing my faith. I was ostracised by the community. It was a painful, lonely and confusing time. After all, some of our most primal needs are for belonging, love and acceptance. These needs have drawn me into faith communities since my early twenties.

My honest concerns were unacceptable. I was expected to simply be glad that my friend had finally found a husband. What’s more, he was a ‘man of God’, a prophet and a pastor. He travelled abroad to preach and oversaw his own congregation in London.

Those who had appointed themselves as ‘shepherds of the flock’ were cheering my friend on. Were they not concerned at the breakneck speed at which the relationship was moving? Were they not concerned that he had not spent any time here in Swansea, meeting her friends and getting to know more about her life?

The requirement is to simply believe and trust. In whom? God, or the men he appoints over us? A questioning woman is also more troublesome than a questioning man. Someone even suggested that I needed to have a demon cast out of me!

Sadly, we will never know what happened. The coroner’s case was left with an open verdict. I can only testify of our friendship journey.

Disturbing memories

One of my most disturbing memories is of the prediction of these tragic events by another pastor and prophet. I was still half believing at the time, but this felt like a step too far. He also predicted that my ex-husband and I would be ignored and ridiculed for anything we try to say and do to help our friend.

I don’t think there were any ‘spiritual gifts’ involved in this ‘prophecy’. The prediction could have been made through pattern recognition, knowledge of a sinister system, or both.

The meaning of friendship

And yet, I never lost our friendship. I will always remember the warmth and honesty of the friendship we shared. I am sad that I could not do more.

During the lonely and confusing months that followed, I treasured memories of our friendship. We shared loads of laughs, heart-to-heart chats into the night and even went away on a few trips. We minded each other’s boys and baked cakes for each other’s birthdays.

A catalyst for creativity

My friend was the one who cheered on the frustrated creative in me. Ironically, it was her who drew out my withered soul to dream wildly and imagine freely again. She painted my grey world with colour with her friendship.

I started my first blog in remembrance of her. Her memory spurs me on to speak, to write, to run, to campaign, to keep calling out the narratives of misogyny and patriarchy upon which our societies are built.

The stories go on

The stories continue everyday. There are stories of true love and honest friendship. There are stories of betrayal, exclusion and violence. Many stories are never told and never heard. Other stories are told, but not listened to. There are voices that are dismissed and invalidated. This makes for angry, hurting, lonely and disconnected people.

Let us try to listen. We need to learn to listen truly and deeply. Then we will be able to hear ourselves and those we listen to, even the monstrous ‘other’.

My journey from there

I continued to question and explore. I had been running regularly for about two years by this time. Running gave me time to be alone, to reflect on thoughts and process emotions. My confidence gradually grew….

When I left my marriage, a ‘well meaning’ man from church felt it was his duty to remind me I was breaking a covenant made before the living God.

I bought a house that I could now afford because I wasn’t giving 10% of my income to the church.

I joined a running club, just because I like running. In addition, I started practicing yoga, despite warnings from church friends that this might lead to demonic possession!

During this time, I filled multiple journals with writing. My first project was to make a list of the things I could be grateful for. This project took several months and it transformed the way I felt. It was inspired by a book a friend lent me: ‘One Thousand Gifts’ by Ann Voskamp.

Then followed multiple rants, some morphed into a sort of rhyme or poetry. I might do a series called ‘Long Run towards Freedom’, so watch this space!

Fearfully I close

That’s just the way it is. I am conditioned to be afraid to speak, still. I am afraid of being misunderstood, of having my words twisted or misquoted. How many others are afraid to speak? It was difficult to remember these times and read through the newspaper articles surrounding my friend’s death. A WordPress post from 2009 popped up. It made me cry…. You can read it here.

I have determined to live my life as bravely and honestly as I can. Therefore, I will speak and write anyway. I do not want fear to shape me or the world I live in. Much better to choose hope and love, forgiveness and new beginnings.