Honestly, Sandie

DAY 6/10 OVEREXPOSED

Inspired by Counting Crows Colorblind

Today’s post was creatively inspired by “Colorblind” by Counting Crows. Push play before you read this one.

Some songs feel like memory. Some feel like standing inside confusion while your gut quietly whispers something your loyalty is not ready to hear yet.

This one belongs to the strange middle. The blurry part. The wait… what is happening? part.

Read it slow.

And if you have ever looked back and realized your spirit knew before your brain caught up, tell me I’m not alone.

—————

April fifteenth.

At the time, it felt like a weird Saturday.

Looking back, I think it was the day my stomach figured out something my brain was still trying to negotiate.

There was an artist coming through town and our church was hosting a meet-and-eat event. Not technically a church event, but church adjacent in the way everything becomes when your entire life lives inside four walls and group texts.

We were supposed to help.

Not casually help.

We had already been part of communication, planning, logistics, support. My husband had even brought up helping with setup and tech because that is just what we did. For years, we had been the people who jumped in.

The yes people.

The “tell us what you need” people.

The people who showed up.

Except suddenly something felt… strange.

A person in leadership we worked closely beside started acting weird.

Avoidant.

Off.

The kind of weird where somebody is talking to you but not really talking to you. Smiling, but something underneath feels rehearsed.

Then came the sentence.

The one that made my stomach drop.

She said she had been told not to ask anything further from us.

Not from Alex.

Not from me.

Us.

Like a decision had already happened somewhere and somehow we had missed the meeting about our own lives.

I remember blinking for a second trying to make sense of it.

Wait.

What?

Who said that?

Why?

What do you mean we are suddenly… out?

Nobody had talked to us.

Nobody had checked in.

Nobody had addressed anything.

No conflict resolution.

No “Hey, something feels off.”

Nothing.

Just… quiet removal.

And if you have ever spent years serving somewhere, you know how disorienting that feels. Because when you give enough years to something, you stop assuming weirdness means exclusion.

You assume misunderstanding.

You assume stress.

You assume someone forgot to communicate.

So I called her.

Immediately.

Not to fight.

Not to accuse.

To understand.

And if I am being really honest, maybe to offer her an out.

A chance to say:

“No no, this is a misunderstanding.”

But that is not what happened.

Instead, I got shock.

Defensiveness.

Confusion that I would even question it.

And somewhere in the middle of that conversation, I realized something painful:

This person was not speaking freely.

She was protecting something.

Or someone.

And that broke my heart more than it made me angry.

Because after years of serving beside people, you start to believe relationships exist outside the system.

That friendship survives hierarchy.

That honesty survives proximity to power.

So I made another call.

Someone in leadership I trusted. Someone close enough to the center that I thought maybe they would help me understand.

And I remember saying words that, at the time, felt dramatic.

Now they feel prophetic.

“I feel like this is how I lose you as a friend.”

Because somewhere deep down, I already knew something brutal:

People close to power usually protect power.

She reassured me.

“No. You won’t lose me.”

And I wanted to believe that.

I really did.

The next morning was a big named event – the half time show of that Superbowl moment – like the things churches to get people to come back. To get people to “stay”.

The week after Easter.

The church had spent weeks saying this event mattered, that it was huge, that it was somehow even bigger than Easter.

And the weirdest thing happened.

The vibe felt off.

I do not know how else to explain it.

Nothing explosive.

Nothing obvious.

Just… off.

Like when you walk into a room and suddenly realize your body knows something before your mind catches up.

And for reasons I still cannot fully explain, I started taking selfies. I mean it wasn’t odd behavior for me.. I was normally a selfie Sunday girly, but hadn’t been for some time.

…With people I loved.

Friends.

Students.

People I had done life beside for years.

Smiling photos.

Happy photos.

The kind you post without thinking.

At the time I thought I was being sentimental.

Now I look back and wonder if some part of me already knew.

Maybe grief had quietly arrived before I had language for it.

Maybe my heart had already started saying goodbye.

Two days later, I stepped away from running social media for church.

I blamed headspace.

Life.

Capacity.

And all of that was true.

But if I tell the truth now?

Something in me had started pulling back.

Not dramatically.

Not rebelliously.

Quietly.

Like somebody slowly walking backward trying to see what is standing in front of them more clearly.

We still thought this could be fixed.

We still thought there would be a conversation.

We still thought years mattered.

Then we sat down in an office.