There is nothing inherently magical about the 1st day of October. I don’t anxiously await its arrival as the beginning of “spooky season” and in fact, some years it passes by with my barely noticing. This year, however, as I sat in my bed reading and writing and preparing for next week’s classes I realized that 7 years ago, on October 1, I would make a decision that would forever alter my life and then 4 years later, again on October 1, I embarked on a journey that would change my life even more, though I did not know it then.

7 years ago, in May, I left the church. Too many years of being discouraged and silenced and mansplained to and forced into manmade boxes of identity left me a shell of a person and if that’s who God was I wanted nothing do with them. I walked away from what I thought was my calling and purpose, unwilling to sacrifice myself any longer. I walked away from the church, but it is impossible to walk away from God because God is wherever we are. God is before us, behind us, beside us, and within us whether we acknowledge God’s presence or not. 5 months later, on October 1, I walked back into the church…well, sort of. I verbally accepted an offer of employment at a church on October 1. I took a role that kept me far away from the front lines of ministry. Far from the people who drove me away in the first place. I kept track of calendars and receipts and and budgets. My job supported the logistics of ministry but allowed me space from the ministry. It was in the space that my healing began. It was in this space where I began to see a different way to do church. I met people who were kind and encouraging and supportive and who didn’t rush my heart or my spirit. They weren’t (always) afraid of my questions or doubts and over time I felt my heart being pulled back to the ministry. Back to the calling I knew I heard some 10 years prior.

4 years later, again on October 1, I embarked on the most life changing journey of my life (at that time). I left the safety of my beloved Dallas and stood on the shores of a new road, the waves of promise lapping at my toes. I entered into this new version of myself with equal parts excitement and trepidation. It was here, in this space, where the final strongholds of my former self would crumble to the ground. It was here, among the broken pieces of my former faith, that I would begin to recreate a faith that was truly my own — not some poor facsimile of the faith that others wanted for me. It was here, in the sifting through the shrapnel and wreckage, that I uncovered my true self for the first time. Aided by the hands of others who knelt down beside me in the dirt, who carefully and faithfully cleared the dust from the broken bits of my soul, who lovingly and gently (and sometimes not so gently) rearranged the pieces until they fit into the truest image of my calling. A stained glass mosaic of broken mismatched shards that come together to create something spectacular and beautiful when the light shines through.

This year, October 1 came and went with no fanfare. It was as ordinary a day as a day can be. Except, it was different than most of the other October 1s that came before it because this October 1 I sat surrounded by a pile of theology books. I wrote one (short) paper and began another. I read an article by a father of my faith. I did the work I so longed to do, but was denied because of my denomination and my gender, so many years ago. It was less than exciting at first glance, but upon a closer inspection it’s the most thrilling October 1 I’ve ever had because it’s the first October 1 where I was living fully into my calling and where the Light shined fully through the stained glass.