A few months back, my fourteen-year-old and I were driving somewhere when some “political topic” entered our conversation. After a short pause, he said something to me that has been playing in my head ever since:
“Mom, your political views have changed a lot over the years, haven’t they?”
He wasn’t wrong. My political views have changed. My theological views have changed. I have changed.
In that moment I affirmed his observation. I explained some of the core things that caused some of those changes. I also talked about some of the fundamental beliefs and values that have never wavered, yet when embraced more fully and more whole-heartedly, have led me to different conclusions. It was a good and important conversation. And I was thankful for it.
But in the months that have passed since that conversation, those words have rolled along, like a small snowball being pushed by a small child along a deep path of freshly fallen snow. At times the child went inside for some hot cocoa and the ball sat there the same size, not causing any real stir, or drawing much attention. But then something would happen: words would be spoken, and the child would reemerge, decked in his full winter gear. And as he rolled, the once small snowball would grow larger, the words would become bigger, more robust, more difficult to ignore. So here we are with a snowman, dominating the yard, impossible to overlook.
“I changed my mind.”
These are four simple words that are packed with a weight nowhere near as small as the words themselves.
“I changed my mind… about my favorite kind of ice cream.” This seems acceptable. Our taste buds change over time. Nothing in our universe fundamentally changes because Cookies and Cream has been knocked off the throne and replaced by Mint Chocolate Chip.
But change your mind on something more fundamental: on global warming, on economic theory, or heaven forbid on anything theological, and it is as if the earth itself is knocked off it’s axis and spinning in some awkward way that leaves everyone in your vicinity as nauseous as a grown up standing on solid ground again after disembarking the Tilt-a-Whirl.
When someone speaks these four words, you cannot help but tune in with antennas straight and high. This isn’t something small. This is an about-face. And in our society, it seems more and more infrequent that someone would dare utter such words. In recent years especially, it seems that the only direction most people are going is deeper and deeper into what they have always believed. They believe with greater passion and greater certainty the things they have always held to be true. They come up with more reasons, more judgments for those who believe differently and thus dig holes that are deeper and deeper, to the point that they are so far into their convictions they literally cannot even see those around them that believe anything different.
They are strangers to them—aliens who no longer even live on the same planet or share the same humanity.
I cannot seem to shake these four small, yet mighty words. Every time I pass my computer, I feel compelled to sit down and write about something I have “changed my mind” about. You see, for years, I was digging my own ditches. I didn’t realize what I was doing. I thought it was faith. I thought it was growth. It felt good and strong and wise. But then one day I looked around and realized where I was. I looked at the dirt on all sides that I once thought was there to protect me, and instead it felt like the walls of a grave. Is this really life? Is this really freedom?
And so, with great trepidation, it is with these four scary, powerful words, I plan to return to this blog, bravely sharing some of things I have changed my mind about. In doing so, my hope is not that you would necessarily come to see things my way, but rather, that you would be given permission to question, to doubt, to listen differently, or to listen to different people. My hope is that no matter how deep our holes are, we would never let them get so deep that we cannot see those around us. And perhaps there may be a hole or two that you find no longer feels like one you want to live in any longer. And if that is the case, I hope my words might give you the courage to claw your way up and abandon that hole for new pastures.