“You have become the thing you hate” read the message in my inbox and I hung my head and sighed that it was true. I have become again a fundy.

Oh, it was a slow and subtle change to be sure but all the signs are there if you only know how to read them. My dictatorial airs, my refusal to listen to any opinion but my own or see another’s point of view, my insistence that all of you dress and act and believe the exact same way that I do. I’m back to fundy.

I was aghast when I realized that my home has become filled with only books by Christian authors and that I had burned my copy of The Phantom of the Opera along with all my Obama/Biden posters. I was dismayed to find myself judging all the others who don’t wake up early in the morning to curate their blogs the way I do. At least three posts a week to thrive, my friends! Alas, I’m fundy.

And then the most unkindest cut of all was realizing that unawares I’d started a Bible college in my basement. There huddled around the furnace were six young men all dressed in suits and ties and waiting patiently for me to teach them the ways of the world and make them versions of myself. Worse yet, stacked around the sump pump I sadly discovered a library of books all with my name printed out on the outside and signed by me on the inside. What a blow to unexpectedly find my fundy.

I went straight away to my wife to ask if these things were so. Am I fallen so far? She smiled meek and gentle and would not dare to speak lest she accidentally usurp authority over me. Me the fundy.

Fundy is as fundy does
Fundy is and fundy was
So I’ll leave it up to you
Set me straight and help me through
And I’ll gladly judge you too
Are we fundies?

I don’t write funny stuff very much anymore. You may have noticed.

Part of this lack of humor is due to time and distance that have removed me from the halls of fundamentalism and worn smooth the hard places needed for creating cutting satire. These days I curate more than I create and that’s ok. I couldn’t possibly write parody that is crazier than the real life examples we see all around us.

There is another reason, however. It’s rather hard to write humor when you’ve been battling depression for years. And I have been in that fight for longer than I’ve been willing to admit for reasons that are many and deeply personal. I’ll tell you all about it the next time you buy me a cup of coffee or a glass of brew.

There are still flashes. There are moments when the old fire burns bright and the words flow. Those are the good days and they’re often few and far between.

I’m not fine.

But here’s the beautiful thing about not being fine — it puts you in some of the best company in the world. I’ve called and e-mailed and texted and PM’d dozens of people over the last few years who aren’t fine either. They’re people with lost identities. They’re families with financial issues and relationships that seem beyond repair. They have old cars that won’t always start and old anxieties that always seem to. They lose sleep. They lose their jobs. They lose their tempers. Sometimes they’ve all but lost hope.

I’ve learned a lesson in those conversations. Somewhere along in the darkness I found this thought and wrote it in lines:

Beyond the years of pain and bliss
The “Why?” of life is only this:
To love someone and be loved too.
The Why of life is me. It’s you.

Maybe you’re one of the fellowship of unfine souls. Maybe in the words of song you don’t have dream that remains unshattered or a friend who feels at ease. If that’s you then you’re in the right place.

Six years later this is what SFL is to me — it’s where nobody has to be fine. Whether ex-fundy, never-fundy, sort-of-fundy, or just plain confused you can feel free to set down the mask and gently fall to pieces.

Welcome. Grab a plate and find a seat. You’re home.

Here there is love. Let it always be so.