Our Gift //&// Our Undoing

I’m a heinous over thinker. I believe it’s a byproduct of being the oldest of 7 kids. I had no say in the matter; my parents set the stage perfectly. I over think things to the point that they stop being practical, action-oriented objective things.

I’ve spent a lot of time, angst, tears, anger and passion trying to find my ‘calling’. It’s elusive and I’ve given up. It made me sad every day I woke up and put on my (ill-fitting) khakis and went to work, so I gave it up.

Have you ever missed your face for the sake of your nose? I’ve spent so much time looking within and without myself for purpose that I’ve overlooked very obvious gifts and themes in my life.

I love to make people laugh. I recently got an appreciation card from work and I have reread the note about my sense of humor so many times that I should get it tattooed on my arm.

I like best to make people laugh with words. Oral or written. Sung or spoken. Texted or Instagrammed. Blogged or spinning around in my mind. I love to find a new way to describe anything.

I have a deep disdain for the shallow. I’m the employee you ask, “How’s your day going?” who always overlooks the, “I’m good,” answer for, “Well at this moment I want to quit,” instead. Because that’s how I really feel. I’m the over-sharer. I’m the daughter at Easter who tells her mom, “Don’t give me a package of Reese’s eggs in my basket because I’m just going to eat them all and then throw them up in your bathroom. Just give me the $4.95.” And I’m an introvert and achiever and I won’t make time for less.

Lastly, I love Jesus. And somehow in his sovereign grace and redemption He has turned my sharp sarcasm into life-giving humor, my words that used to cut into words that mostly heal, and my deep thinking into something that is life-giving to others and myself instead of condescending and self-righteous.

Before Jesus most of my ‘gifts’ were in fact my undoing.

So I’ve finally got some things stirring around in my wheelhouse. Combined with an undeniable redeemed relationship with food, and a misguided search for ‘purpose', and a newfound belief that being terrible at things is much more fun than being perfect.

I realize this post is more for me, than you this morning—but God uses lots of selfish things for bigger uses. Hopefully He’ll use this too.

9 THINGS THAT RACE THROUGH YOUR MIND WHEN INVITING SOMEONE IN

There’s nothing quite like seeing your place through another person’s eyes for the first time. Especially when that person is an attractive man you’re trying to impress.

1. Does this place read ‘endearingly cozy’ or ‘wow she’s poor’?
2. Whoa look at all my shoes. Is that too many shoes? Do they smell? What is the right number of shoes to have at your front door?
3. Please don’t let there be underwear on my floor.
4. Oh no the bathroom. Did I empty the garbage? Is that hair still in the shower?
5. Why do I only have orange juice and eggs in my fridge? I am not an adult.
6. My scale is in my kitchen. No kitchen table, but in case he wants to weigh himself we’re set.
7. Why do I have candles that have never been lit? They have dust on them. I need to dust.
8. He just opened Netflix. What was open on my desktop?! What was last on my Netflix cue?
9.   My bookshelf. What do my books say about me? FRANCINE RIVERS NOOOOOOOO.

 Hope you can relate. If you can’t, you likely started dating your significant other in high school when nothing reflected on you and it was all your parents’.  Growing up is hard.

Can I get a [WITNESS]?

If a tree fell in the woods and no one saw, did it really happen?

I’ve been chasing the tail of a feeling, an idea, a desire since I moved from my parents’ house and into my minimally furnished solo life. Solitude can be good for the heart and teasing abstract thoughts into writing. There has been no shortage of solitude the past few weeks. It’s this creeping uneasy feeling; most days I forget it’s there and rarely it wells up into full-blown unhappiness.

I figured I just needed to boost my social life. Yet weeks of reunions, lunch dates, and meeting new coworkers at work don’t seem to ease the tension.

I thought perhaps once I had more material things (i.e. anything more than a bed and silverware) it would go away but today I sit in a newly inherited chair, staring at 2/3 of an inherited knife block again realizing “things” aren’t the fix.

At this point, my usually restrained girl brain spirals into the only possible explanation—you know, where a boyfriend would fix things—because it’s so much easier to blame my problems on an imaginary person rather than the finicky heart beating in my own chest. (**Proceeds to post snarky comment about singleness on Facebook to give outlet to current frustration. Everyone likes it. Feels better**)

“God, can I get a witness?”

Finally I just blurt it out like I’ve secretly known my issue the whole time. (It sounds more like a whiny girl and less like an African-American, evangelical preacher).

And there it is: a witness.

Because even at the end of a day I have thoroughly enjoyed—unless I post more pictures/statuses/blogs/selfies than I am personally comfortable with in a day (read: 1)—no one else saw my day beginning to end. No one laughed with me while I choked on my toast while watching New Girl in a last-minute rush before work, or saw me get a PR on my three-miler, or heard me mess up the radio lyrics during my commute that blended ‘glory’ and ‘holy’ into an unfortunate mix of ‘hoary’.

And so there’s this trap in thinking that my life isn’t really happening if someone else isn’t there to verify the whole thing. And the trap gets deeper when I tell myself that I my problem would be solved with a spouse or kids or a roommate like everyone else.

God says, “I AM,” and suddenly He opens my eyes to see my heart’s tendency to put hope in creation rather than Creator. 

I’m filled with the Holy Spirit. I’m fully known by God. Christ is my Shepherd. 

Of course I have a witness.

…I just need the occasional reminder.

[Moving Days]

Gearing up for my 7th move in 3 years, it's inventory time again. I haven't decided yet if having so few possessions (read: a bed, dresser, buffet, and dog) is a grand accomplishment or a 25-year-old's failure. Probably both, let's be honest.

As much as I need bowls to eat food from and a couch to relax on, I would not be any more fulfilled than I am today if I had them. Since my inventory was quick to complete, I found myself daydreaming about all the things in my life that bring me fulfillment. I don't own any of them.


Some of my favorite things have hearts and souls and long hair and beautiful smiles. They make me excited about life's opportunities and the beauty of community.


Some have four legs and wet noses and have taught me more about what is important in life with their silence than I've learned from years of others' noisy words.


One is the Savior and the Son of God; He has given me unconditional love, a new heart and endless second chances.


Two of my favorites raised me and give me guidance for life they had to learn from experience. They both push and catch me through life.


Six are younger and share my bone structure and last name. They are unique and wonderful and trying to navigate life just like me.


There are other things like autumn sun, good perfume, a warm mug between my fingers, lilacs in the spring, hot showers, handmade scarves, the 60 minutes after a workout, surprises, generosity, folk music, and dancing like a fool. 


Thankfully, I can take all of these things with me wherever I go. No moving van required.

[UGLY] & BELOVED

I remember the first time.

I can’t recall what I was wearing but my flip-flops were a muddled blue in the weak, yellow light of the 4^th floor girls’ dorm bathroom—my feet firmly planted around the toilet seat of the corner stall. Sick from eating too much food, terrified of what it would do to my body, and exhausted from years of starving myself and over exercising, I reasoned it would be easier to just throw up. I did. That was the first time. It provided twisted relief and I thought I had discovered the solution to all my body problems.

I was eighteen and a college freshman. Now 25, I sit here a grown woman, still untangling myself from the consequences of a path I ignorantly started on seven years ago. It is a path of destruction and shame and lies and condemnation. Through my faith and belief in Jesus Christ, I can humbly say after years of growth I can now walk in victory most of the time. Still, I walked that destructive path so many times that even now I sometimes fall into the ruts, worn so deep, after years of habit.

Friday night was one of those nights. It started innocently with pizza and birthday cake, but in a momentary stumble in judgment, I found myself stuffed and headed into the bathroom.  I had done this, quite literally, over 1,000 times in seven years. It is mindless for me. But Friday was different.

In the midst of my self-inflicted misery, full of shame and food, I became aware of Christ’s immediate presence. I saw no vision, but he was there. I cringed inside as I prayed, “Jesus, I don’t want you to see me like this. I am sorry. I know I should be better. Just go away from me until I have cleaned up my mess.”

He didn’t leave. To my confusion I didn’t sense disgust from Him. He stayed and put his hand on my back to comfort me while I finished making myself sick. He didn’t shy away from my ugliness. He didn’t condemn me for my sin. I sensed him saying, “I love you. I always love you but I think you need to hear it right now, in this moment. I love you. Not after you have cleaned up. Not after you make up your mind to never do this again. But now—as you are—I love you.”

The weight of his words nearly stops my heart even now. I have been motivated to stop my sin by a great number of things—but none so much as the grace-filled love of Jesus.

But I am no exception. That is the heart of the Gospel:

“⁸ But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8.

And though I know that truth on an intellectual level, to experience His love and acceptance in my ugliest moment takes my breath away. Leaves me on my face. Makes it worth sharing my shame with you so I can share His mercy also.

I pray this week that God pins you down with His love. In the middle of your ugliest moment I hope he floors you with His grace.

Like Simon Peter we will fall to our knees and beg him, “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!” (Luke 5:8) but that is not His way. He stays and loves and beckons us into an acceptance that trumps the allure of sin every time if we let Him. Let Him!

"I can't fix anything. Or anyone."

If I have learned anything in these first 3 weeks, it’s that we people want people to save us. Sometimes we look in friendships; “Can you see me?” Sometimes in marriages; “Am I worth loving?” Sometimes even in parent-teacher conferences; “Are my kids talented enough to make me feel whole?” And lots of us look to pastors; “AM I FORGIVEN?”

It’s remarkable how many people our pastors at Embrace meet with each week.

The meetings are good and necessary and bring healing and new ideas—yet it is so evident that we all so often want other people to ‘fix’ us. I believe that God has put a wanting in our hearts, a desire to be whole and clean and free. Unburdened, unburned. Full of hope and purpose. I believe God offers us these things in Jesus Christ.

But so often we get confused because we can’t see God or His Son. We can’t feel his touch or hear his voice. So we settle for things we can touch hear and see: people. People who are, in the end, looking for people to fix them too.

We ask them to fix our problems.

Point us where to go.

Tell us what to do.

Tell us who we are.

I have done this so many times in my life. I still remind myself every morning when I walk into the church that my bosses, my pastors, can’t save me.  They can’t give me a purpose. Can’t make me feel good enough. It’s tempting to ask anyway.

And now that I am in full-time ministry the thought of someone ever looking to me to ‘fix’ him or her is terrifying…because I am so broken, too. Coming to me for healing would be like taking your malfunctioning car to a blind, thumb-less mechanic wearing a dress. No one does that.

I’ve seen pretty quickly that people come broken into the church. Myself included. We drag with us our broken relationships, habits, spirits, beliefs and bodies. I used to think that being in ministry was like being a doctor at a hospital. Stitching and setting and diagnosing and putting-right. Now I know that’s not the case at all.

Instead, I am a gawky intern in second-hand scrubs blindly running the broken on wheeled stretchers to the only Great Physician that can do anything about their problems. Maybe I whisper words of encouragement along the way...if I’m doing it right.

Running them to the only One who can make us whole, clean and free. Unburdened and unburned. Full of hope and purpose. 

Do you know that Doctor?

"Once, I thought God lived in a song."

This morning has been a morning flooded with memories. Memories of a person I used to be, a person I’ve grown out of. Today—windows down and radio up—I made my way home from work/church (what should I call it now?) the song “Better is One Day” came on the radio. I smirked as I remembered the history I have with that song. Maybe you have history with a song, too.

Stories should start at the beginning. To set the stage, in summer 2008 at the age of 20, I volunteered and was chosen to be a short-term building missionary with Casas por Cristo. After 2 weeks of on-the-site/on-the-sand-dunes training, my first team arrived in El Paso, Texas at 6 AM to meet their intern (me) and cross the border into Juarez, Mexico to build a house in 6 days for a family in poverty. After about 10 minutes of small talk and introductions, a teenage boy in the group raised his hand and said,

“So when are we gonna meet our building intern?”

Slightly deflated [but faking unaffected], I answered, “You just did!”

Puzzled but honest, he replied, “No, I mean the guy who’s going to lead us on our build this week.”

”…Yep, that’s me.” [insert deflating balloon sound here]

The poor kid didn’t know that my confidence was already hanging on by a thread. I had tried to harness the energy of my terror into excitement that morning. I had avoided sharing that fact that they were, in fact, my first solo build. I was pretending I wasn’t 30 years younger than most the adult chaperones in the group. I had made sure I looked the part in my tool belt and work boots. [Full disclosure: I had taken sandpaper to them the night before so I didn’t look like I had escaped the pages of a Home Depot ad]. I had traced the route we would take into the unmarked streets of Mexico and recounted the turns and roundabouts over and over in my mind. I had checked my radio’s battery at least 20 times.

That kid’s comment still took me from confident to incompetent in 2 seconds flat.

When it was time to leave I debriefed the drivers of the two, 16-passenger vans on border crossing, we were on our way. As I walked ahead to my truck, climbed up into the leather bench seat and slammed the rusting door closed, the tears came instantaneously. As I pulled the shifter down to ‘Drive’ I could barely see. I was terrified. I was convinced I was going to get lost, forget the fiber in the concrete mixture, not be able to translate correctly, forget how to wire the ceiling fan, and eventually die somewhere in the dunes of Juarez with all of my unsuspecting team members.

As I turned out of the lot my hand groped its way to the radio knob and I turned it on to drown the noise of my sobs. As I adjusted the volume the song “Better is One Day” began playing and I immediately felt a peace and outpouring of the Holy Spirit on my physical body. My crying stopped. And in that moment I was convinced that God somehow lived in that song. [side note: I wired the fan perfectly and no one died in Juarez that week]

For years afterward (and many times that same summer) whenever I heard that song I was convinced God was present with me. If that song was playing, then He was watching and listening. Guaranteed.

That was 4 years ago and I haven’t thought of that song in a long time. In those four years I’ve grown leaps and bounds in my faith and I can’t identify with my former self anymore; that girl absolutely convinced God lived in a song. In that song.

When I heard it this afternoon, I smirked and had a thought conversation with the ever-present, omniscient Lord….

Him: “Remember when you thought I was ONLY with you when this song was playing?”

Me: nervous laughter, “Yeah. That seems pretty superstitious looking back.”

Him: “Well, I am quite pleased we get to hang out more often, now.”

Me: “Me too."

"I'm afraid. Most of the time."

After a bike ride around Sioux Falls yesterday, I can tell you from experience that stretching is important. Exercise is to my muscles what a dryer on ‘high’ is to a 100% cotton shirt (if you don’t do laundry, or haven’t seen a word puzzle like that since the ACT, it means it causes them to shrink). Most of my stretching time is spent trying to restore my hamstrings back from 1/3^rd their regular length. And it hurts. The ‘this-will-eventually-feel-good-but-right-now-it-blows,’ kind of hurt.

Today my heart hurts worse than my hamstrings (which is saying something). I am getting stretched. Today is my last day at Paulsen and tomorrow is my first day at my new job at Embrace. I also move this weekend into a new place and will be bringing my dog with as well (hip hip hooray!). As welcome and exciting as this new change is, I can only sigh knowing all the new things I have to learn. New schedule, new coworkers, new responsibilities, new expectations. It feels like I just wrapped my head around all of things at my current position. I have established my favorite spots to spend lazy days at my current place. Sometimes it just feels good to know what you’re doing. To be comfortable.

If there is one thing I’ve learned in the past two years, it’s that God’s first priority is never my comfort. That’s not to say I haven’t experienced comfort in the past 24 months—His peace has been ever present—but my life has been in constant upheaval. If we grow in those situations, I must have some serious spiritual stretch marks. Worse than my mom’s. And she had 7 kids.

**Mom, if you read this, I love you and your stretch marks. And I apologize for my participation in their existence. :) Please forgive me?

"I doubted things were going to work out."

I cannot comprehend God’s goodness. Sometimes I get so absolutely overwhelmed by it that breathing takes effort. Last week was one of those times.

That said—last Monday was rough. I had been sitting in the throes of a job opportunity for about two months. Not your average ‘run-of-the-mill’ job but, like, an ‘if-i-could-do-anything-right-now-i-would-do-this’, kind of job. That kind makes me nervous to apply for because, if I don’t get it, it will feel like telling a boy I love him and having him stare blankly back at me in response…

*blink, blink*

As of Monday I was also in housing limbo—a 17-day window of time closing quickly before I needed to have a new place to live. Completely exhausted, I mumbled something about a “housing apocalypse” to my small group Monday night as a prayer request and tried to just pry the burden out of my own clenched, sweaty fists.

At the end of group, a woman approached me. Well, God approached me via this young lady. She had randomly joined us (for the first and probably only time) for small group and had an idea for me in light of my prayer request. The next afternoon, after talking with her husband, she called to ask me if I would like to live in her fully furnished condo, with my dog, without a formal lease, for a beautiful price. Her husband was also concerned they let me know right away so I didn’t worry, and also concerned that rent should not “strap me for cash.”

…I cannot make this stuff up.

Two hours later, if my heart wasn’t already in danger of bursting, I got a call offering my dream job.

*He said, “I love you” back! *

….

The position is full-time Small Groups Coordinator at Embrace Church here in Sioux Falls. I will be entrusted with growing group attendance, adding structure and organization to the process of new/existing groups, amassing curriculum and resources, and eventually implementing leadership training for members of the church. I thought 2 years ago, fresh out of college, that I deserved my dream job. Now I sit and tremble at the thought that God allows me to represent His Kingdom at all. It makes me shake. And cry.

My last week followed these stages:

1) Dance around in joy and excitement

2) Wake up at 3 AM bursting with ideas and usually some tears

3) Realize I cannot possibly, ever, do this on my own

4) Fall on my face telling God I can’t do this by myself

5) Feel His presence and promise to go before and ahead of me, and allow Him to help me get back on my feet

6) Fall on my face again in gratitude that He picked me up in the first place

     Return to 1) and REPEAT

Metaphorically speaking, that is.

I bruise like fruit.

"I am a whiner."

I make a big fuss about waiting. Waiting on God. I whine and moan and complain. Pretend like I’m dying. I’m such a mellow dramatic martyr.

It’s mostly for show.

Because at the end of the day I know that in that time of waiting God blesses me in ways I could never understand if I got everything I wanted right when I wanted it.

He uses the waiting time to sift through my motives. Check my heart. Test my foundation. To wriggle my utmost desires out of my tight, clenched fist. Sometimes He takes them, shines them up, and places them back in my (reluctantly opened) palm. Sometimes He takes them away and doesn’t give them back.

He’s good to me like that.

"I am a beggar."

I had lunch with a friend earlier this week. She’s a Godsend type of friend…wise and unassuming and quirky and perpetually comforting…the kind you literally thank God for every day. The conversation eventually transitioned from weekend plans to wedding dates and soon found ourselves chuckling at the awkwardness of mixed signals and shaky expectations.

At the end of our chat, I couldn’t help but think that no relationship should ever leave me feeling lacking or disappointed. Of course I don’t live this out. I do in little glimpses—just long enough to show me there’s something missing most of the time. But IDEALLY…I should be whole and content all the time. Right?

I picture myself on a corner begging for change, most days—looking for someone to fill up my ‘love cup.’ Looking in all the wrong places. Collecting the wrong kind of currency. I am such a beggar.

If you ever read Scripture you are aware of the vast number of promises God gives us in Christ. He is our Salvation, our Rock, Redeemer, Refuge and Healer.

When I focus on the promises of God, I am never left lacking or disappointed. With a foundation that secure, all I feel is freedom.

Freedom.

Freedom to care for others, to love, to show up to the party where you know no one, to be yourself, to share your feelings, to be vunerable, to ask hard questions, to forgive others when they fall short. To feel peace and contentment when your friend forgets your birthday, when your dad’s temper is short, when those feelings aren’t returned, or when you get passed over for that job or promotion.

It doesn’t happen instantly. It’s not a result of knowledge. It’s not just positive self-talk. It’s intentionally fighting for faith in the promises of God. Believing that He alone will satisfy my soul.

And when I’m already fully satisfied, everything extra is bonus. Bonus bonus bonus. Bonus joy. Bonus acceptance. Bonus love. 

Love from other people is a beautiful gift when I don’t need it. I can't help but think that's how we're meant to live.

"I don't know if I'll ever feel like an adult."

I think I am forever doomed on this earth to a sort of demi-adulthood. Mature and well-intentioned but always outwitted by naivete. Destined to be a mutant half-adult. It seems the more responsible I try to be, the more my immaturity tries to take center stage, bumbling its way to the spotlight. Or the more I forget that I don't know.


I sort, wash, dry, and fold/hang my laundry each week...but I have three categories of laundry: Clean, Dirty, and Not-Dirty-Enough (come on, everyone knows you can work out in those yoga pants at least 3 times).


I never remember to buy things in advance. Like, I remember I need to buy toilet paper as I'm staring down the empty, brown core of the *final* roll I had.


This week I baked delicious cupcakes that are a family favorite...but then felt compelled to ask my roommate to hide all 24 of them in a secret place and give me one each day for the next month. I feared I would otherwise go into "dog mentality" and eat the proverbial bowl full of kibble until it was gone. Eventually finding myself in a kitchen littered with muffin tins and my shattered self-control. 


Green tea is good for you, so I made some. It took me 30 minutes to realize I had heated the wrong burner. But who really wants to drink green tea? It's disgusting. (That one was a win).


While blowdrying my hair tonight for silky smooth hair at work tomorrow, I got so caught up peeking at the inner workings of the blower head that I effectively dried up my (final) contact in my eye and blinked it out of my eye and into oblivion. (Note to self: order contacts BEFORE I reach my last pair. See?!)




*le sigh*


I recently stumbled upon a quote that is becoming a fast favorite of mine. "I've noticed that those who walk closely to Jesus seem to be older than they are when they're young and younger than they are when they're old."


I can only hope that is true for me, too. (And that all that crap above, counts!)

"Discipleship gets me worked up."

I write because it allows me to take the wispy, intangible thoughts and intuitions of my mind and make them more concrete. More true. More applicable. Thus:

Recently I find myself in a new town complete with a new job, new house, new routine, and new budget. Most bittersweet has been the new church.

My thoughts keep drifting back to the womens' Bible study I left in Mitchell. We met on Tuesdays and went through Scripture, chapter by chapter, starting in Hebrews through Jude and skipping back to Romans. I was the baby of the group by 20 solid years. But it was a group full of wisdom, love, encouragement, laughter, and adoptive aunts. There are things I know now as a 23 year old woman that I could only have gleaned from those women with so much more life experience and biblical knowledge than me.

A mentor can be a beautiful thing; the church invented mentoring. Actually, it was called discipleship before the secular world got their hands on the idea and added seminars, internships, trainings, and succession plans to the mix. (In fact, in my own personal experience I've found the secular world to have embraced the idea and taken it further than the church, though I don't think that's universally true. Just my experience).

As a young Christian--in both years and experience--I've taken a few risks. Basically I had a lot of curiosity, free time, and zeal. I've volunteered and lived in different countries and states, taking opportunities as they presented themselves. However, many times when I stepped out on the proverbial limb...I found myself teetering and alone.

I sometimes observed people so busy applauding and patting individuals on the back for stepping out into leadership that they were too occupied to simply take the hands of those willing people and help them in the day-to-day realities of leadership. Personally this showed itself through instances like: "Kayla, that is so great you're doing a youth internship! You're going to be a great leader!," but when I walked into the classroom for Sunday School I was alone. My first times in Sunday School (I wasn't a Christian growing up) was as the teacher! "Unprepared" is a gross understatement. OR: "I can't believe you're moving to Minneapolis for an unpaid internship! God is going to use you!" But I found myself 4 hours from home with so little personal and professional direction that it left me in a significant 4 month depression.

There seems to be an assumption (especially in ministry) that zeal for the Lord is a acceptable replacement for Bible knowledge in itself.  That a profound conversion experience makes up for developed character or Scripture memorization. That if your intention is to do "good," that it will all work out--even for lack of training. I know I've volunteered like that. Feeling that since I was so eager and genuinely trying to serve God,  my lack of Scripture knowledge, feeble discernment, or inexperience wouldn't really matter. But it does. Zeal could only take me so far. The willingness to step out into leadership didn't automatically make me an effective leader. I wasn't aware of my need to spend the time under the guidance of a mentor--under my Christian elders.

Mostly I've seen my 'teetering' experiences as a result of an urgent need for volunteers and leaders. Sometimes churches and ministries and organizations are so in need of warm bodies that people are thrown into roles without adequate training. I don't think it should be like this, but I understand why it happens. When I liken it to the job market, the idea is ludicrous. When I worked for US bank for example, my manager (even though they were short-handed for a week while I sat in an office and studied my training binders) would never have said, "Hey Kayla--why don't you just skip the basic training part? See, we really need a teller now. And I can tell you REALLY want to be a teller, so doesn't matter if you make some pretty big mistakes. You'll get the hang of it."

This would NEVER be acceptable! Yet I've seen it happen in churches. Often.

On the flip side, I've received great mentoring in the church, as well. For the past year and a half I co-led a group of 8th/9th grade girls in a Wednesday night youth group under the supervision and partnership of my beloved friend, Ramona. A woman with enough experience and Bible knowledge to sit me with my nose in the corner and lead the group herself each week--but instead, she asked for my opinion, input, perspective, and ideas. She would allow me to steer the group and took the reins when I went off-track without belittling or discouraging me. She is a woman diligently leaving a legacy of faith and leadership.

I write all of the this to say that I have a holy discontent with the lack of discipleship I have experienced in the church. It's fueled by a majority of my experiences as a young adult. Because of the times of great mentorship I've been a part of, it spurs me on to see that my lackluster leadership experiences aren't repeated for someone else.

I am so thankful for time spent steeping in the wisdom and experience that can only come from a group of seasoned believers. In this new season I'm hoping to find some more adoptive aunts and uncles. I'm hoping that time spent as the 'mentee/protegé' will gradually transition into 'mentor' status in whatever place I land.

"I get stuck in bitterness."

I was blessed with the opportunity to go sailing for 11 days in the British Virgin Islands back in January 2009. On that trip, my college group and I learned how to sail. Not motor. Sail.


We learned lots of terminology, how to chart our course, read the wind, to pull and loosen lines and sails, and how cramped life at sea 24/7 on a little boat with 8 people really is. We figured out the best places to sit when the boat was keeled at a steady 45 degrees, that conch shells [though pretty] are full of disgusting bugs, and that dingy boats are fun [and tricky] to drive while intoxicated...not that we were intoxicated...but--uhhhh--one can imagine it would be tricky. Anyway, cool stuff like that. 


One thing I remember very clearly, though, was dropping anchor. Before that trip, I had always thought that once you dropped your anchor, no matter where it landed, you were "good." Set. Safe.


Wrong. 


I learned that the proper way to drop anchor was to drop it down to the sea floor, and then continue to troll around slowly until the anchor [being dragged along the sandy bottom] became lodged firmly underneath a large rock. Or a reef. The bigger, the better. That way, when winds and waves come, your boat isn't swept away. It's good and stuck. Works great as long as you're anchored where you want to be.


Fast forward: *fzzzzzzzzzwhrrrrrrrrrrrip*


...Well, I went as a counselor to a high school camp in the Black Hills this past week. One of the nights, our speaker said something that whacked a funny bone in my heart. *zing*


He said, "When you anchor yourself to a lie, you end up in a bad place."


Last week God showed me that I anchored myself to the freaking Great Barrier Reef of bitterness about 9 months ago. And like that sailboat, I haven't been able to get passed my anchor point.


A year ago I graduated college and God never blessed me with the job I thought I deserved. The position and prestige He owed me for being such a good person. A life partner like all my friends were marrying. A place to live other than my parents' basement. These things made for great crevasses and cracks to lodge my anchor in. I cried. I prayed. I lied and said I was OK with it. I tried to count my blessings. I tried to squirm my way out of the circumstances God had orchestrated for me. And I tried to listen to God and become more in-tune with the plans He had for me. But I hadn't heard anything. Like almost no life direction from Him in 300 days. 


I had anchored myself to a lie, and I was in a bad place. 


See, I was trying to pursue God...but I could only get so far because I still had my anchor dropped on ole' Bitterness Point. But just as I admitted where I had dropped anchor, God graciously swept in and cut my tethered cord and began blowing a new wind in my sails.


He released me from my bitterness. From my resentment for life circumstances. From everything [I didn't have] that I was blaming Him for. From my expectations He had failed to exceed. He loosened my death-grip on the dreams I had for myself and replaced them with some new ones. 


"Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart." -Psalm 37:4




When I let go of all that bitterness this week, moving beyond Bitterness Point, I started to hear from the Lord. God let me know that He has plans for me in ministry. Youth ministry, for now. I want to pursue seminary. I'm excited and anxious. I can see now that God wasn't ignoring me...I was just too stuck to hear what He was saying.


My bitterness for God's dreams? Wow. God's love is so unfair. Hallelujah!








Do you have bitterness? Acknowledge that...pray to God...and wait for Him to uproot your anchor and take you in a new direction.

"I finish God's sentences. A lot."

Having patience is hard.


It's the little things that creep under my skin. Like when the Internet is super slow and I squirm as I watch the blue loading bar slowly creep its way across the URL. Or when my mom spends 30 extra minutes every Sunday after church saying "goodbye" to all her friends [while I sit baking in the car in the parking lot because I thought we were leaving 30 minutes ago]. Or when I freak out because my dog has to spend 3 entire minutes sniffing every inch of our yard in the morning [5:45! EVERYDAY.] before she can decide on a grass patch worthy of her urine. Or maybe how I eat at least 3 lukewarm meals a week because I would rather choke my way through a cold-centered hamburger than wait for 150 extra seconds to go by on the microwave.


I've even been known to manually pop the toast in the toaster before it's "done."


Maybe you can relate to that. And as funny and harmless as some of those things are, I see that impatience creep into my spiritual walk ALL.THE.TIME. I don't know if I've ever continually prayed for something for longer than a week. Don't get me wrong--if I say I'm praying about it, I am--but really it just boils down to: It's a "yes" if I don't have a sinking feeling in my gut about it by tomorrow night. Maybe 2 nights from now if I'm feeling uber-disciplined. 


What's worse? 


I have a habit of finishing God's sentences. 


I'll start to sense the Lord stirring something new in my life, and I'll immediately begin arranging the circumstances of my life to support what I'm assuming God is going to do next. And then when I assume wrongly, not only have I wasted my time pursuing something God wasn't leading me to in the first place, but I spend at least a week berating myself for having screwed up...again.


So damn over eager.


Cases in point? Oh, where do I begin. I'm only going to list two examples...any more and it would be too convicting.


Roll back to last August when my summer job ended. I had a college degree but no more direction than I felt when I graduated high school. When I felt God calling me unto Himself, I decided being "closer to Him" meant applying to an obscure Bible School in North Carolina. I did the 10 page application, figured out how I would move my stuff over there, had a phone interview, and then couldn't get a loan to save my life.


As life would have it, God was calling me to my parent's basement in Mitchell for awhile. Not North Carolina.


Or how about in January when I was getting ready to return to the US after two months in the Dominican Republic? In my prayer time I was asking God for my next steps. The conversation sounded something like this...:


Me: "God what am I going to do when I get back home?"
God: "Well, next I want you t------"
Me: "To-sell-all-my-stuff-and-ask-people-for-money-so-I-can-fly-back-to-the-Dominican-Republic-and-live-here-the-rest-of-my-life-as-a-missionary! What a great idea. I'm so glad we had this talk."
God: "......"




EHHHHHH, wrong.




Yep. This sentence-finishing-thing seems to be a trend. Guessing and planning and arranging. Starting and stopping. Explaining and deciphering. Anticipating and worrying. For a girl who struggles with the toaster, I find my patience in spiritual matters is tested often. Thing is, it's tiring to fill-in-the-blanks.


The last three weeks I've been feeling the Lord starting something new again in me. And for the first time, I'm sitting back and enjoying the ride. Because [I'm learning] if I walk through today constantly straining to get a glimpse of what's coming over the horizon, I forget that He's holding my hand right now. And if I'd just hang onto that hand through enough "todays", eventually [together] we'll reach a place with a better view. 




^{Proverbs 3: 
"5} Trust in the LORD with all your heart
   and lean not on your own understanding;
⁶ in all your ways submit to him,
   and he will make your paths straight.^"








Are you trying to finish some of God's sentences? How's that working for you?

"I can't explain the Gospel better than this. So I'm not going to try."

A GREAT VIDEO ON THE G.O.S.P.E.L.

"I still get nervous explaining the Gospel."

I like to make my blog posts as interesting as the next girl, but the last few weeks I've really felt convicted to write a very plain, straight forward message. The Gospel. No frills, no funny stories, no deep metaphors [for the most part]. Just the Gospel. Who God is. Who Jesus is. Who we are. And how we fit together.


Because how SAD would it be if someone stumbled upon my blog, read all my posts about God and what I feel He's doing in my life, but never really heard the truth?


Very sad. So here it is:


G : God created us to be with Him.
O : Our sin separates us from God.
S : Sins cannot be removed by good deeds.
P : Paying the price for sin, Jesus died and rose again.
E : Everyone who believes in Him ALONE has eternal life.
L : Life with Him starts now and lasts forever.


That's the saving power of Jesus Christ. 


God is not church. He's not religion classes. He's not rules or summer camp or a self-help book. He's not interested in tallying up your good deeds, church attendance, Hail Mary's, or how much you give up for Lent. He doesn't desire perfection or sacrifice.


God is love.


He is love we can't imagine. Love we don't deserve. Love we can never earn. Love that is too good to be true [and frankly freaks me out, sometimes if I really think about it]. 


His love does not demand that we clean up our lives before we come to Him. I believe God delights in piecing back together the messes we surrender over to His capable hands. He takes the filthy rags we've been wearing and gives us dazzling, white robes instead. He can bring beauty from any tragedy. He extends his mercy, grace, and healing to everyone on this earth.


He desires relationship with us. He desires that we accept the overwhelming gift of salvation through Jesus Christ. When we do that, He grants us his HOLY SPIRIT to live within us. The fullness of God in our frail little bodies. He knows--once we get an authentic taste of His divine love--we will spend the rest of our lives attempting to glorify and draw closer to Him.


A faith motivated by love. 


Not by fear. 


Not by religion. 


Not by striving.


A life of following God is marked by adventure. Exhilarating. With purpose. And He pursues us. He pursues us despite our ignorance...disobedience...or indifference. 


Romans 5:8 "Christ didn't die for people who already loved him. He died for sinners--people whose lives were bound up and directed by sinful desires that went contrary to God's will. It was the sick he came to cure, not the healthy."



Acts 4: ¹² "Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved.”




He made you on purpose. With a purpose. And OH how He loves you.