Emily Timbol

Fiction Author. Good at making stuff up.

Christianity Today – “The Fruitful Callings of the Childless By Choice”

Sep
16

I am very pleased to share with you my first article for Christianity Today – “The Fruitful Callings of the Childless By Choice.”

Here’s a quote from the piece:

“If the essence of marriage isn’t procreation, then maybe we should re-examine the way we treat married Christians who choose not to be fruitful and multiply.

Skipping over a procreative opportunity isn’t a rejection of God’s purpose for me. When I think of what I was created for, what my purpose on this earth is, I don’t think of babies. While it’s entirely possible that my husband and I might change our minds in the future and have a child, or accidentally get pregnant and have that choice negated, becoming a mom won’t change my purpose.

My purpose is not determined by my ability or desire to reproduce.”

 

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The Power of Community

Jul
26

A love of books goes hand in hand with a love of writing. Often times, I’ve found, so does a love of movies.

I’m not sure if it’s the desire to escape into fantasy, the ability to shut off a constantly running mind, or simply the ease with which one can immerse themselves in a foreign world, but most creatives love film.  Ever since I was old enough to see above the seat in front of me, I too have loved movies.

Occasionally, while engaging in a particularly amusing or unique experience, I’ll pretend that I actually am in a movie. Or, I’ll step outside of myself in the situation, and look at what I’m doing from the perspective an audience would.

Last night was one of those times.

Left on mallory

Photo courtesy of Jared Rypkema

Sitting around me at the handmade wooden table were people so interesting, they reminded me of characters in an indie film.

There was Chris, the author in the faded boat shoes, jeans, and newsboy cap, whose long blonde hair and scruffy beard matched his outside-the-grind personality. He leaned back in his chair and spent ten minutes describing the food in each city he had lived in the past three years, chewing over the words as if they were savory morsels.

Then there was Amanda. She reminded me of a sweeter version of a character from a show about 20 something girls in a big city. Only she was in my city, which isn’t very big. Dressed in a light lace shirt and high waisted pants, she kept her hair back with a small rose pin. While humbly talking about the blog she helps write, she casually took out a flier from her notebook. It was for a local business trying to crowd-source enough money for a vegan food truck.

Her friend, also named Amanda, was brought along for moral support. Donning a large jade statement necklace, she looked every part the vegan photographer she was. Despite being the lone artist who used visuals, not words, to present her craft, she seemed at ease among the group of writers.

Lastly, there was Jared, whose table we were scattered around. Jared, who came up with the idea to start, and lead, a community of local Jacksonville writers, fueled by a passion to make the city a serious literary presence. It’s his relaxed personality, friendliness, and eagerness to learn from others, that has helped make his dream, Left on Mallory, a reality.

And then there’s me.

Me, who before, never felt “cool” enough to sit at a table full of people that could inspire indie movie characters. Me, a person who for a long time, struggled to feel like she belonged at any table, at all.

It was last night, leaving the writers group meeting, stopping for a minute to talk to Chris, that I thought, “Oh. This is that feeling I’ve been missing.”

I finally felt like I belonged.

Strange enough, this wasn’t the first time in the past few months that feeling has come over me.

While communicating with the 49 other participants of the upcoming Reformation Project, I’ve felt it too. Even though I’ve not yet met a single person, while talking to them, and reading their thoughts on the Bible and the academic papers we’re trudging through, I sense that same tingle of recognition.

What I realized, while unpacking all of these emotions, is that God is behind this new-found sense of belonging. Not in a cliche’d, “there’s a reason for everything” way. More like, “This is what you feel when you start living the life you’re meant to.”

Despite their cooler personalities, clothes, and experiences, which normally would make me feel aloof, I felt at home among the writers I met last night. And despite the fact that most of the reformers I’m going to meet in September are all gay, and have lived through vastly different experiences than me, I feel at home with them as well.

I hate that it took me over two decades to realize this, but community is not about race, or sexuality, or income. It’s not about surrounding yourself with people who look and think like you do.

Community is about what happens when people striving towards the same goal come together.

I don’t think I ever really got that before. Which is probably why I struggled with sticking with other communities I joined in the past.

God has brought me into the communities I’m apart of now, through little-to-no work of my own, to show me how powerful and life-giving it is to not work alone.

Which is odd, for someone like me, who craves solitude.

But what Left on Mallory, and The Reformation Project has shown me, is that alone, I’m rather weak. Prone to quitting. Easily frustrated.

As part of a community of others working towards the same thing, I’m emboldened. Revived. Determined not to give up.

I’m incredibly grateful for both of these communities, and excited about what will come in the future for them, and me as a part of them. And for the first time, I’m shifting my view of the future from what, “I want,” to “what is best for us.”

The great part is, there’s much more freedom from the future when the “I” becomes, “we.”

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What is The Reformation Project and Why Does it Matter?

Jul
10

logoIn about two months, I’ll be flying to Prairie Village, Kansas, a suburb of Kansas City, to attend a four day conference aimed at reforming the church’s current teaching on sexual orientation and gender identity. Forty-nine other people will be joining me there who believe, like I do, that something needs to be done to stop the mistreatment of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people within the church. 

The conference is being held by The Reformation Project, started by Matthew Vines, whose sermon about the Bible and homosexuality turned into a viral video, shared by thousands.

There is no doubt in my mind that God is at work with this conference, its leaders, attendees, and me.

Four years ago, when I first started to feel the tugging of the Holy Spirit leading me to where I am now, I had no idea the struggles I’d face. I thought, foolishly, that being motivated by a love of the Gospel, and a desire to treat people with love and respect, would be uncontroversial. That everyone who professed faith in Christ would support me.

I was wrong.

What followed my decision to become someone who seeks change in the church was attacks. Personal, vicious attacks. Aimed at my faith, my character, and my intelligence. These attacks came from friends, close family, and countless strangers.

But these attacks are only a glimpse of what my gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender friends have experienced. The more alienated I felt from the church, the more close I felt to these people, many of them Christians, who just wanted a place where they too could worship the Lord. At the same time I was feeling the pain of isolation, I was feeling the power of empathy.

When this was all beginning, I lamented to my mother about the struggles of being, “different.”

“I just don’t feel like I belong anymore,” I said.

“That’s because you’re a reformer.”

“What?” I asked.

My Mom smiled at me and shook her head, “It’s never easy for reformers. No one likes to be told they need to change. But the church can’t survive if someone doesn’t do just that.”

When The Reformation Project first contacted me, that conversation came to the forefront of my mind, and I smiled and thanked God for the sprouting of a seed I hadn’t realized was planted.

My mom was right (she usually is.) Reform needs to happen. And this project, led by the incredibly intelligent Matthew Vines, is seeking to make those changes happen.

I was wary, at first, by the word, “Reform,” used by someone seeking to apply that term to something as unchanging as the Bible, Christianity, and Christ.

But what the Reformation is seeking to change is not Scripture, or Christianity. What it’s seeking to change is the wildfire of misinformation that has caused far too many well meaning Christians to burn with hurtful words, actions, and attitudes towards their LGBT friends and family. What I, and the other reformers want to change is not what the Bible says, but what people have mistakenly taken it to mean, when it comes to rationalizing discrimination and homophobia.

This isn’t a project with the goal of twisting Scripture to fit a certain agenda. It’s a project dedicated to the thoughtful, measured re-examination of everything surrounding those scriptures that have been misused.

The other reformers and me have spent roughly 10-12 hours per week reading academic and theological articles from authorities on both sides of the issue. John Boswell, Richard Hays, William Webb, Robert Gagnon, David Halperin, to name just a few of the dozens we’ll be reading. History, literature, psychology, sociology, are all examined, interpreted, and applied to the issue of just what it means to be a Christian and LGBT.

We’re only a few weeks into our summer of learning, but so far I can say this: when all is said and done, I won’t just have an opinion on whether or not being gay is a dis-qualifier for being an active Christian in the church. I’ll have an education on it.

An education that I’m going to use going forward, in my journey to fight those who seek to use the Bible as a weapon of discrimination. That is why The Reformation Project matters, and that is why I’ve found myself falling more in love with Christ, the more I dive into this work.

The church can never stop reforming, if it wants to continue doing good in the lives of people within it. I’m so blessed to now be a part of a group of reformers who believe the same, instead of having to go it alone. For that, I thank God.

 

The Reformation Project’s Statement of Faith:

We believe in:

  • The inspiration of the Bible, the Word of God.
  • The Triune God, eternally existent as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
  • The supremacy of God the Father, who created all things seen and unseen through Christ our Lord.
  • The deity of Jesus Christ, only begotten Son of the invisible God, firstborn over all creation, fully God and fully man, head of the church, author and finisher of our faith; His death for our sins; and His resurrection and eventual return.
  • The regenerative power of the Holy Spirit, whose fruit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
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Thanks Pat

Apr
24

My favorite restaurant in Jacksonville is Derby on Park. It’s a recently renovated cafe that was converted from a greasy spoon to a gourmet diner. Last month when I got my new job offer, I went there with some friends to celebrate.

We were sitting on the outdoor covered patio, lit by twinkle lights and candles, when a group of people at the bar watching basketball started shouting. There are TV’s on the patio-TV’s that often show sports-but Derby is not a sports bar. It’s a restaurant owned and waited by mostly gay men and women. When Ryan and I went there for Valentine’s Day, we were one of two straight couples sitting at the rose petal covered tables. On most nights the atmosphere is quiet and subdued.

Not this night.

Soon the shouting turned into loud celebration. The group of men were jumping up and down and screaming as if they’d just won the lottery. My friends and I stopped talking to stare, at the same time the tallest guy turned around and looked at us, both hands raised above his head.

“I just won $15,000!!”

Before any of us could respond, he stumbled over to our table, pulled up a chair, and plopped down. “Can I have some of that?” he said, reaching for the Caprese salad in front of my friend Lisa.

“Uh, sure, go right ahead,” she said.

He did not look like the typical guy I saw at Derby. Khaki shorts, boat shoes, tucked in polo, and a baseball cap. I’d have bet half of what he just won that he was in some kind of frat in college. I looked over at his friends, who had the same “bro” style, and loud, raucous attitude. Part of me was pissed they were interrupting my celebration dinner at a restaurant they didn’t belong in. Part of me was grateful for a good story to write about later.

“So, uh, how’d you win fifteen grand?” I asked.

“Vegas baby!” he swayed a little in the chair.

“Waiter! Hey!” he gestured to Matt, our stressed out looking server. “Bottle of wine for my friends here!”

“So man, what’s your name? What do you do?” my friend Dave asked. He looked at Ryan and me and shrugged. Free wine is free wine.

“I’m Pat, and I’m in the air force!”

“Oh really, like Top Gun*?” I said. He did have a bit of a Tom Skerritt mustache going.

“Pssssshh,” he said, “I’m not that cool-but hey,” he drunkely attempted a whisper, “I might get laid tonight!”

I backed away and rolled my eyes, “Not by anyone here you’re not.”

“Nope, cus I’m gaaaaaay!”

I choked on the nacho I was eating. Met the eyes of everyone at my table and saw they were in equal states of shock.

Dave leaned forward. “Are you just messing with us? Because we’re cool with that if you are, the friends we were just talking about are gay.”

Pat nodded his head up and down. “Yep. I mean nope. I’m gay!”

I turned my eyes from my friends and directed them at him again. He looked totally different. No longer did he seem like a douchey frat guy. Now he looked like my friend Mike, who was one of the trendy “gaybro’s” everyone keeps writing about. Plus, Pat had that mustache, how could I have missed that? 

I felt like a total hypocrite.

Unlike some people, who would have met Pat, liked him just fine, then found out he was gay and felt shocked and put off, I felt the opposite. I at first saw a drunken fratty douche at a bar, and angrily judged him. Then the moment I found out he was gay, I instantly liked him more. I reverse homophobia’d him.

Pat’s friend came over, and put his hand on Pat’s shoulders. He was maybe two beers less drunk.

“Sorry about my friend here, he’s just really excited. Is he bothering you?”

By this point the bottle of wine he had bought us arrived, so we all shook our heads. “Nope!”

Pat got distracted and wandered off, and his friend sat down.

“So are you two, like, together?” I asked.

He laughed and scrunched his face up in disgust, waving his hands. “Uhhh no. He is not my type.”

While Pat was very “bro”, his friend was more easily identifiable as gay. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, showing off his waxed chest.

Eventually the conversation steered towards what it’s like to be gay and in the military, and Pat’s friends thoughts on the repeal of don’t ask don’t tell. By the time he and his group left for the next bar, both the bottle of wine and my ill feelings for Pat’s friends were long gone.

Later that night, I thought about how my impression of Pat changed the instant I found out he was gay. How what had at first annoyed me about him, became endearing and humorous. How three little letters turned him from someone I wanted nothing to do with, to someone with whom I gladly shared a bottle of wine. It wasn’t fair. It was completely hypocritical, and probably slightly offensive. But it was something instinctual, that I couldn’t help. I’ve spent so much time making friendships in the community that I can’t help but be drawn to gay people.

If Pat hadn’t drunkenly stumbled to our table, I’d never have talked to him. I’d never have known he was a part of a group of people whose rights I am passionate about. Which made me realize something. Pat was just one of many people I interact with everyday. People I, to be totally honest, usually drop into categories with nothing more than a glance.

Pretty skinny blonde. I hate her.

Ugh. McCain bumper sticker. Not letting them in traffic.

POPPED COLLAR. Oh God. I bet he reeks of Abercrombie.

Until the interaction with Pat, I hadn’t even realized how bad it had gotten. How many people I looked at and dismissed, or alternatively, decided were worth being nice to, without knowing a thing about them. I need to work on that. It’s not good.

I’m just really thankful that the person who taught me this lesson was a drunk gay air-force man with a Tom Skerrit mustache. Because otherwise, I would have had neither a lesson, or a good story.

Or a free bottle of wine.

 

*I realized later (thanks to a friend) that I was way off about Top Gun being airforce. It was about Navy. Oh well.

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Struggling With The American Dream

Apr
17

Monday I started a new job.  After working three years for a small company that exploded into one of the largest e-commerce sites on the internet, it was time for me to move on. When I started working at my old company, I knew almost nothing about IT, or the role I’d be filling. This was not something I went to school for, or ever envisioned myself doing. It was something I fell into, only because I needed a job, and a good friend of mine who was a valuable employee recommended me. Thanks to the chance his company took on me, I was able to learn skills that are worth a lot of money. These skills are what led me to the job I have now. One at an even larger company. It’s a job that is demanding, difficult, and high stress.

But, it’s a job that is paying me more money than I ever anticipated earning.

Driving home from work today, exhausted, I thought about the strange place that I am in right now. For the first time in my life, I don’t have to worry about money. That girl who grew up knowing her parents loved her, but couldn’t afford to buy her the things her friends had, now has the money to buy what she wants.

Within a couple months, my credit cards will be paid off. Within the year, my student loans. I’ll finally be able to replace my eleven year old car. I forgot when payday was, for the first time since I began working 12 years ago.

If I was someone who was working towards the American dream of getting a good job, working hard, and making a lot of money, my mission would be accomplished. All before 30.

But while I’m very grateful for my job, I’m struggling with my dream. My dream that doesn’t involve making lots of money, but making a difference with my writing. A dream that I can’t seem to make a reality, no matter how hard I work towards it.

I find myself in a difficult place. I’m so grateful for where I am financially. But I’m terrified that three, six, ten, twenty years will go by with me working towards a dream that’s never been mine. But I have no idea though how to make my dreams happen, because I am not the one in charge of their future. Agents are in charge. Publishers are in charge. And the rejections I have received so far have given me their resounding answer.

No. Or at least “Not yet.”

At what point do I give up, and let this dream die? Or do I keep working towards it, until eventually, someone says yes? Working hard at my “day job” (which is bleeding into nights) in the meantime? This is the place I find myself in, without any clear answers.

The one thing I can find solace in at this point is that this struggle is not unique. I know I am not alone, and that I am blessed to have a job at all, let alone one that pays me enough to not have to worry about money.

So fellow writer friends/artists, how do you deal with the struggle between work and your dream? Have you ever felt like it was time to give up? What keeps you going?

 

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