I was recently asked whether my ability to throw off childhood rules (patro-nationalism) and strict religious standards is a matter of rebellion against a childhood that was rather strict.
It has been a sobering question.
Does rebellion fuel my actions? I have to come a serious and honest understanding that yes, rebellion has found its way into my actions.
Rebellion. A scary word for someone like myself who has viewed such a severe fight as wrong, who has hated that label for years. Rebellious. Rebel.
That is me, if I stop to think and allow myself to understand what it is that I do every day when I wear jeans to church, listen to Maroon 5 or a local pop station, have a glass of wine, or wear a shorter than knee-length skirt. I’m rebelling.
Yes, I’m a rebel. There I said it.
I’m rebellious. And proud of it.
I’m rebelling against legalism and embracing Grace.
I’m rebelling against facades and calling for vulnerability.
I’m rebelling against tradition for tradition sake and following Biblical mandates alone.
I’m rebelling against religious-correctness and finding joy in the uncomfortable.
Are you a rebel?