The Only Thing That Belongs in a Mold is Jell-O
By: Mary Gallagher
Tags: Christianity, Religion, Self, Grace, Freedom

“Are you telling me to fit a mold of what you think a Christian woman should be?” I asked the pastor, stunned at what was happening to me at this moment.

“Yes,” he responded, jabbing a finger at me. “Fit the mold, Mary. Fit the mold.”

This was such a defining moment for me because I was Mary, the girl who never fit into any mold. As long as I could remember, I never fit.

My mom would throw her hands up in the air at me, exasperated at my never-ending questions and insatiable appetite for books and learning, not to mention the talk-back, strong-willed, stubborn personality (ok — that’s probably what exasperated her) but basically, I wasn’t fitting a mold of little girl that she knew how to raise. She was stumped.

Social groups in school? I never had any to call my tribe. I flitted between the honors classes where my grades landed me but I never fit in with my Levi’s and T-shirts and unwillingness to fight for valedictorian by packing my bookbag full of books each night (who had time for Chemistry and Algebra II when there were Robert Frost poems to read and clouds to watch on the weekends?) and the pothead group that belonged to my boyfriend where I refused to partake and was therefore labeled a nerd, a prude and never accepted (who had enough brain cells to waste on drugs and alcohol?).

And here I was again, newly married, a baby born-again believer and new to this world called “church” and I was being denigrated for not fitting into someone else’s model of what a Christian woman should be.

I wasn’t sinning some grievous sin. I was working at a Christian school teaching little ones to read and write and sing about Jesus. I was cooking and cleaning on the weekends and I even wore those gaudy flowery dresses to church like all the other ladies (complete with my leather-bound Bible wrapped up in a pretty Bible cover).

So, what was his issue with me?

His version: I needed spiritual maturity. I needed his guidance and counseling because — like all women he knew — I had emotional issues from my childhood. (Did I mention this was the ‘90s? — maybe he was getting his theology from the daytime talk shows.) I had also never heard of the term misogynist.

His version: I wasn’t reaching out to the ladies in the church and getting to know them. (Wait — wasn’t I the newcomer, the newlywed, the new believer, the young lady who needed reaching out to and perhaps a mentor?)

His version: I wasn’t spiritual because I was spending too much time on my job and career and not enough time doing things at “his” church. (Wait — I was working with impressionable first graders day in and day out teaching them the word of God, modeling Christ-like love for them, going to their dance recitals, hosting picnics at my home, making their families’ prayer requests my priorities…doing it all for a pittance of a salary because it was a ministry. And I wasn’t spiritual enough for him?)

My first teaching job in a Christian school-flower dress and all. — author’s photo

I’d like to say I stood up to this bully and I told him to take his mold and shove Jell-O in it. I’d like to say I left that church and found a place that valued my gifts and encouraged me to be all that Jesus had created me to be. I’d like to say that I never let his words or accusing finger bother me or cause me self-doubt.

I’d like to say all that but I can’t.

Pleasing God or pleasing man?

I knew deep down what he was saying was wrong, and certainly the way he was saying it was horrible, but I was so concerned about not pleasing God that I acquiesced. I went to him for his “counseling” but when it was behind closed doors with nobody else around I sensed that was somehow not right so I refused to go back.

I took my husband with me to get a perspective, to confront this man about his finger-pointing and harsh words toward me. He told my husband that he was not allowed to speak in my defense because I was “over-emotional” and that I “exaggerated everything” — therefore whatever I had told my husband about the finger-pointing encounter could not be trusted.

That didn’t seem right at all but we were young, both in age and spiritual wisdom, and we wanted to be obedient to God. We wanted to learn and grow and be aligned with His Word.

So, I tried. I tried to fit his mold and other molds in the church after that. And no matter how I squished my heart or smushed my personality, I just rolled out of the sides of all those molds and looked like a lime green, sugar-laden mess.

And I forgot about those Robert Frost poems and daydreaming under the clouds because that was not what “good Christian” women do. They bake and serve coffee, they go to prayer meetings, they sew (I tried, I really did!), they clean the church, they change diapers in the church, and they smile pretty and let their husbands lead and do the talking. Lead what?

Photo by DANNY G on Unsplash

Fitting the mold wasn’t working

I’m embarrassed to say that we did eventually leave that church only to land in a similar one with similar unrealistic standards and legalistic attitudes. I was once again scrutinized and criticized — “Mary, you don’t smile enough.” — and forced to fit a wildly unrealistic standard.

After several years of squishing and smushing, I was a mess. I was irritable, I was overly sensitive to criticism, I was trying so hard I was exhausted and my health was suffering. My marriage was suffering — who can live with a woman so perplexed about how to please God? My children were suffering — mom was too tightly wound to handle toddlers.

My heart and spirit were broken. I was wearing a rubber band around my wrist and snapping it every time I said or did something I thought “God would not like.” I cringe at these memories and how it must have grieved my Lord’s heart to see me in such legalistic bondage.

For Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes. (Romans 10:4, ESV)

I loved Jesus — oh, I hungered for Him — but the more I strived to please Him, the less joy seemed within the realm of possibility for me.

And then Jesus appeared to me.

He was standing on the other side of my mom’s kitchen on an ordinary afternoon. I was visiting with my boys and as they were playing with grandma, I looked across the room and I had a vision.

Jesus was calling to me, smiling, lovingly waving me over to be with him. And like that game Pickle in the Middle, there was the pastor jumping up and down, waving his arms and annoyingly blocking my view of Jesus.

No, a donkey didn’t talk to me but this was pretty close! You see, Jesus goes to extremes to get our attention (have you heard about the cross?) and He is a jealous God. He doesn’t want anyone or anything garnering our affection or devotion over him.

Was I devoted to this man more than my Savior? No, but I was allowing a man to come between me and Jesus. I was listening to man’s voice over God’s and I was letting the approval of man trap me. I was literally trapped, unable to see Jesus clearly.

It is dangerous to be concerned with what others think of you, but if you trust the LORD, you are safe. (Proverbs 29:25, GNT)

At that moment, in a snap of clarity, I knew I had to leave that church. I knew the teaching was toxic and it was not where Jesus wanted me.

Clarity sometimes brings closure.

Next steps

I remembered family members and friends I had known over the years that allowed the fallibility of Christians and the offenses committed by them to sour their view of God. They used the sins and selfish intentions of others to walk away from Jesus and remained bitter and empty. Witnessing these sad individuals and their excuses for losing faith, I had regularly vowed to myself and others that “I would never let anything keep me from a relationship with Jesus.” And here I was at a crossroads where God was calling me to walk in that intention.

Again, I so badly want to tell you that we walked away and “ta-da” I was set free. No, clarity brought direction this time but God had more work to do in me.

The journey back to me was long, it was mostly uphill, it was lonely, it was fraught with detours and misplaced signposts, but it was real and it was worth it.

Looking inward

You see, it’s never about what’s done to us; for me, it was about finding the thing that made me vulnerable and that led to being manipulated, controlled, or bound. So yes, those leaders were wrong, terribly wrong, but God wanted me to focus on me and he had some disciplining to do.

No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. (Hebrews 12:11, NIV)

I was grounded for a long time. I sat with my Bible and I said, “God it’s just me and You and Your word. I won’t make another move until I understand why I was vulnerable to this type of manipulation.”

It was an offer of surrender, and He delights in our surrender.

In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength. (Isaiah 30:15, ESV)

He carefully and thoroughly led me through Galatians — the Be Free book — and that showed me why legalism was destroying my soul and my relationship with Him.

Then He led me through Hebrews — The Rest Book — so I could see there was nothing for me to do to earn His favor. I was already highly favored — that’s why He died for me. I could rest completely in His love and grace.

A long way from flowery dresses and legalism…finally! — author’s photo

And grace

And grace became my word, not just for a year but for a season. Grace became so precious to me I wanted to have another baby — a daughter I hoped — so I could name her Grace. Grace became my anthem and my freedom hymn. God would have to do more work in me until I could fully enter His rest but for this season I was experiencing more freedom and grace than I had ever known.

But God also showed me the fault line, the crack in my personality that allowed the dangerous mindset of legalism to seep in. I was prideful. Pride was the root of what had attached me to these leaders. Pride is why I didn’t leave when fingers were pointed and Jell-O molds were advised.

I wanted to be a good Christian. I wanted to show the world and God that I could do this thing called Christianity and I would get an A+ on my Christian report card. I would be recognized and accepted and I would finally fit in somewhere. I was looking for approval and acceptance in all the wrong places. I was looking for approval and belonging when I already had it from God.

Imagine investing in your children, building a solid relationship with them and communicating daily that you are interested in their success and well being and yet they continually look over and around you to find affirmation elsewhere. That’s what I was doing to God. And it was binding me up in knots.

They say confession is good for the soul. And my soul needed release. While I learned about false teachers, misogynists, and abusive church leaders, I also learned about my misplaced need for approval and the pride that drove that.

I’m passionate about freedom now, so much so that I have taken on as part of my life’s mission the calling of a Freedom Warrior. Urging, supporting, and loving women into finding the freedom that comes when we understand how loved we are by a perfect God and our status as daughters, princesses, brides, and friends. I’ll fight for your freedom as hard as I fought for mine.

If you’re feeling squished, prodded, picked at, picked over, or being told you are not good enough just the way you are, let’s talk. My story isn’t unique and you weren’t created to fit in a mold. ~Mary