God Cares About Your Reading Life

I couldn't find one of my clients last week. The prison system lost her. 

I've learned that the prison system does what it wants when it wants. It waits and waits and waits and then all of sudden, acts without compassion. The stories I could tell you. But usually when someone is transferred in the system, you can look it up in the next day or two. Usually. 

But this time, I couldn't find her. Her name wasn't showing up in the system anymore. I couldn't schedule a virtual visit with her. I wrote her a letter and it was returned to me with the words "Unknown Person" written on the envelope. I hadn't received any phone calls from her. We made a few calls to the detention center and received confirmation she wasn't there. I was starting to worry. But where was she? How was I going to find her?

I started googling anything I could find about the detention center downtown. And after several articles, I found a few sentences halfway down the page that said there were overcrowding and safety concerns and as a result, there were sudden transfers to another small local detention center several towns away. Out of the 400 people who were moved, there was room for 15 at this one detention center. I went on that website and looked up her name and there she was. One of the 15. 

I immediately wrote her a letter and stuck it in the mail. I FOUND YOU. I was looking for you everywhere and I finally found you!

I found her. 

One of the things that has been speaking to my soul lately is something I've been learning in church. Throughout the month of December, we focused on four core fears that we all have as people. 

1. We fear we are not going to be heard by God. God, do you hear me? 

2. We fear we are not going to seen. Do you see me, God? 

3. We fear God is not at work. Is God really working in my life? 

4. We fear no one or nothing good is coming for us. Is anyone good looking for me? Is anything good coming?

The beauty is that the essence of the story of Christmas speaks to all of these fears. God saw you. God heard you. God is working for good. God came looking for you. And as Eugene Peterson writes in his book "A Long Obedience in the Same Direction," "There is no reason to suppose that God will arbitrarily change His way of working with us. What we have known of Him, we will know of Him."

I'm so relieved by this. I'm so grateful for this. This changes everything. 

One of my dear friends (and fellow avid reader) was sharing via Marco Polo the other day about how she finished a book she was reading one morning and then that same afternoon, a book she'd had on hold for four months at the library became available. She said to her husband, "isn't that a cool coincidence!?" And her husband replied, "I think God cares about your reading life." 

I imagine God would go to great lengths to find you if you were lost in the prison system if He didn't already always know where you were. I imagine God cares deeply about the things that bring you joy - about the books you're reading and the things you're learning and the friends you're making. I'm believing that God sees your exact circumstance and He hears you and He knows you and He actively and abundantly cares. He pursues you when you're lost. He delights in you because He created you.

This is the kind of hope I'm walking into 2022 with. 

Church

I'm starting to look forward to Sundays again. 

I left my job as a pastor at an evangelical church in October 2020 after working there for ten years. It was such a beautiful - and hard - story of God calling me away to start something new. 

There's so much I could unpack here about this journey. There was so much I underestimated, so much I didn't see coming, so much I rejoice in, so much pain, so much loneliness, so much joy, so much beauty. But the one thing I didn't anticipate was how so very hard it would be to go to church again.

I believe in church. I wanted to be in church. But the idea of going back to church after my years spent working there seemed almost impossible.

Church has been a place of great sorrow and grief for me. I could write novels about the ways in which I have been disappointed in its leaders and the way I have seen firsthand the trauma unfold in the lives of its people. I have seen pastors do and say really disappointing things in the name of pride and fear. I have found myself in too many conversations with congregants, trying to pick up the pieces and explain the aftermath. I have more personal wounds than I can count. 

But Church has also been a place of my greatest relationships and my greatest joys. I'm the person, the pastor, and the follower of Christ that I am today because of the body of Christ that I've been privileged to be a part of. I have more riches and blessings and joyful memories than I can count. 

The soul holds space for all of it. 

I believe in the Church doing good. Church is beauty. It is so necessary to the life and faith of what it means to follow Jesus. 

It has always been a place of belonging for me and I yearned for that again. But I kept looking way down the road at where I hoped to be - in a community and place of belonging and growth - but the steps to get there felt so overwhelming. It was completely unknown territory, one that I wasn't sure anyone was with me on. 

Finding my place in the church again felt awkward. Knowing how I wanted to be known there felt so uncertain. Googling a list of churches felt so lonely. I tried a handful of churches throughout the year and one asked me to lead their student ministry and one shared their immigration policy from the stage. Too much, too soon. I was too burnt out to bear it.

My tendency is to turn my healing into a checklist. I can tend to look way down the road at where I want to be and then start formulating the steps and the action plan to get there. That way of thinking comes in handy when working on a project or when accomplishing a goal, but not when it comes to healing. Healing is too organic and powerful to be ordered into a to-do list.

I've learned this past year that when it comes to church, the call has just been to show up.

God has consistently and gently whispered to me to just show up. To show up and sit under the leadership of someone trustworthy. My counselor said that to me, my pastor said that to me. And I kept asking myself the questions, "but where will I land?" "Where will I plant roots?" "Where do I see myself serving?" And God always just kept saying, "but maybe you're asking the wrong questions. Where will you just show up now?" 

So, I decided to show up without giving much thought to what the long term result might be. There would be no more measurements or critiques, reading into what's said on stage, wondering if people are trustworthy, assuming they're not. No more making a list, googling churches, no more wondering what denomination I am looking for or what deconstruction looks like in my life. Church was a call from God to just show up. Sit. And listen.

It’s been about eight weeks and I’ve been surprisingly shocked at what has transpired. I really look forward to Sunday mornings. The church I'm going to just finished an incredible series on the person and story of Daniel and it has been extraordinary. I can’t take enough notes. I come by myself and sometimes sit by myself. And it has been really nourishing for my soul. More than I could have hoped or imagined. I can't put it into words. It is falling back in love with the Word of God and with the person of Jesus. It is having a pastor to teach me, with no expectation.

I think I’m beginning to like church again. It's being redeemed. I’m liking church and being healed by church in ways I couldn’t have seen or predicted. Sometimes the healing isn’t problem solving or making a pros/cons list. 

Sometimes it’s Jesus simply saying, “come to me.” 

But what do I do? Come to me. 

But where do I belong? Come to me. 

Maybe that’s all that grief and healing requires.

If you left church for one reason or another, I hear you. I literally see you. It is so extraordinarily difficult to even know where to begin in going back. 

I have a few thoughts about beginning again. 

1. Start small. Start with who you trust and just work from there. Do you have a friend you trust that always talks about her church? Go with her one day. Ask your counselor where he goes to church. That pastor's content you love on instagram? Show up at their church. Start with what you trust. Take it one Sunday at a time. 

2. Be so gentle with yourself. I'm not into the shame and condemnation sometimes given to those who are having a hard time with church. I'm just not into that. Everyone is doing the best they can with what they have. Instead, I'm into pushing yourself with gentleness. I'm into finding mentors and pastors and friends who ask you every couple of months, "but what about you? Where are you going to church? Have you found a place to land?" And when you say no, they tell you to keep going. Compassion is the way. 

3. Be brave. It takes a lot of courage to begin again. It's intimidating to start over and to heal. From inside the system of the church, I could never really empathize with how much courage it takes to try. Friends who are on staff at churches now, look out for us. Be ready for us. Assume the people walking through your doors have been to church before. Assume they've experienced some hard things. Invite us to come back. Kindness is more powerful than any hospitality strategy. 

4. Remember to worship. There's a part of showing up that requires the vulnerability of shedding the role or expectation of "doing" something and just coming to worship. Of bringing your whole self in worship for the glory of God. There's a really beautiful acknowledgment that happens when you begin to understand that God delights in you as a part of this community.. because He created you. And that brings Him joy. 

5. Allow church to surprise you. I met the loveliest group of people at a church in Chicago while I was job hunting last year. And while I didn't end up taking that job, these pastors played a pivotal role in restoring my faith in what a healthy church could be. I was listening to a Carey Neiuwhof podcast recently and he had this quote - "Somewhere there's a humble leader and a simple community that will embrace you. And if you can find humility in leadership and you can find simplicity in the church, that's a really good thing."

The humble leaders and the simple community. It's out there. Keep going. 

7 Ingredient Almond Butter Cookies

I love to cook.

Several years ago, I was stuck at a standstill with my meal prepping. I wasn’t thinking ahead about what I wanted to eat, so each night right around dinner time, I found myself staring hungrily into an empty fridge. Most nights I, more often than not, ended up roaming the aisles of the grocery store or ended up getting takeout. I was spending more money than I wanted and I was eating things that didn’t make me feel good.

It was around that time that I decided to get HelloFresh, the meal kit program that changed my life, and I haven’t looked back since.

HelloFresh revealed to me that I loved to cook. I loved creating something delicious with my hands and then enjoying it afterwards. It became a stress reliever, a place I could empty my mind, and a place of personal growth. It became a place where I wasn't striving or performing, but a place where I was creating. The portions of food were perfect too, so I wasn't wasting food or energy. 

I've learned that I love to cook, but I always hesitate in giving any validity to it. What makes one a "cook?" Can making meals for yourself be considered anything more than just making dinner? I'm also pretty hard on myself by nature, so sometimes I'm hesitant to consider my hobbies as more than something silly. 

But this year, I've decided to place more intention and purpose into the things I love, without label or expectation.

I discovered the Defined Dish in 2020. Her recipes are healthy and easy and full of color and flavor. They've stretched me to make new things and have brought joy along the way. Her latest cookbook - called "The Comfortable Kitchen" - just recently released and I'm making it a goal to cook my way through each recipe this year.

So, today, on my last day of Christmas break, I made her 7 Ingredient Almond Butter Cookies. They require... seven ingredients (maple syrup, almond butter, arrowroot flour, almond flour, vanilla extract, baking soda, and salt). So easy, so delicious! I baked them while listening to The Hatch - a podcast that dissects each episode of the show Lost (the hosts don't like Jack, who is my favorite character, so listening to this podcast might be short lived).

I was listening to a webinar this afternoon led by Jess Connolly and she talked about getting to the why of a goal. She said to make it a habit to ask yourself - "why is this a goal?" Power comes in holding the why up to the light. So, my why is because it brings joy. There are some recipes in there that I've never attempted before and I think there is a lot of beauty in failing. Also, who doesn't like good food!?

Cheers to all the food joy this year! 

Cynicism

My church hosted the Orange Tour this past fall. It's an exciting two days of main sessions and breakouts and providing a physical space and environment for ministry leaders to refill. It truly is one of my favorite events of the year. An honor to be a part of the hosting. 

One of the breakout sessions this time was led by Carey Neuiwhof called "7 something habits for leaders something something." Sometimes those titles are cliche to me, but I decided to sneak in and listen because I like the things Carey does. So, I snuck in the back and started to listen. 

He was talking about leadership and unhealthy habits that we don't see coming. 
And then he started talking about cynicism. 
And then I started to get uncomfortable. 
I headed to the bookstore, bought the book, and read the first chapter in the lobby during breaks.

Umm yeah. I am cynical. 

The sentence that really got me - "cynicism is born not because you don't care, but because you do care."
I CARE. I CARE SO MUCH. About the world and about politics and about the criminal justice system and about the state of our country and the influence of the Church and about my vocation and my calling and about you and about me. The tension of the news tears me apart. The frequency in which Christians turn on one another keeps me up at night. The plight of the Church is a lifelong calling. It's all so much and I care so deeply. And so, lately, the only way to survive is to give up. 

How tremendously sad. Cynicism is a tragedy. 

I didn't used to be this way. I am a natural problem solver at heart. You've heard me talk about it before - I am an Enneagram Type One and so I am naturally driven and analytical. A world set right is a dream. I thrive on creativity and using my brain space for the good of others. I am naturally curious - I believe curiosity is our most holy gift - and I am a question asker at heart. But lately, I can't find an outlet that satisfies my internal frustration. All the time, it threatens to overtake me. My personal circumstances and the circumstances of the world are numerous. LET'S MAKE IT BETTER. But when there are barriers that I feel like I cannot cross, my creativity is stifled. And then I feel stifled. It's why #thethirdthing has been so life-giving. 

All of that to say, it is a dangerous place to be. I feel it affecting every core of my being. 

Carey writes in his book that curiosity is the antidote to cynicism. I see that and I hear it and I tip my hat to it. But I think, well, curiosity is a part of what got me here in the first place.

So, maybe on a practical level, the answer is curiosity. Never stop asking questions, return to the root of how and who God made you to be, take time to dream. All good things, all great things. But maybe there's a deeper answer. Maybe it's more about surrender than anything. A conviction that we live in the "already, not yet," in the very tension of both the death of this world and the resurrection of the Kingdom. The process of refinement and rejuvenation is hard, but each moment is holy. There are parts of my story that are riddled with wounds, but I can choose. I can choose to become cold and hard or I can choose to return these things back to the One who is always on the move.

But also, there's great value in discerning when cynicism may be telling you something else. When a physical surrender may be what God is asking you to do. Maybe the roots have stopped growing and sprouting because the soil has gone dry. And that's something to grieve, but not something to stop the flow of hope in your life. 

Hope is oxygen. 
Okay, back to my book. 

A Jimmy Fallon Approach

I read an article once about The Tonight Show starring Jimmy Fallon. The article, from the New York Times, talked about how Jimmy reigned over the late night world. His ratings and his following was unlike any other late night host. 

And then, President Trump was elected... 

and Jimmy’s ratings dropped significantly. He had taken a different approach than his other late night counterparts before and since the presidential election. Whereas Stephen Colbert and Jimmy Kimmel and Seth Meyers had directly talked about, mocked, made speeches about, and took hard stances against the president and his policies, Fallon had not. He even had Trump on his show and he ruffled his bright orange hair in what was meant to be a playful gesture and mocking, but came across as acceptance and incredibly offensive to Fallon’s followers (do you remember that infamous moment?). 

Suddenly, Jimmy’s humor wasn’t as funny as it used to be. People weren’t having it. What once made Jimmy Fallon unique and special and above the rest - his games, his laughter, his childlike innocence, his creativity, his dancing, his ability to turn something ordinary into something extraordinary - wasn’t good enough. The public wanted opinions, views, a clear deviation from what was happening politically. 

It’s fascinating, isn’t it?

When push comes to shove, when the world is as chaotic as it is at right this second, we look to what is said. What will we say? It’s always about the words. What will we say, what speech will we craft, what verbal acknowledgement will we give to a situation. We all get busy on Twitter, hashtags blow up, pastors take to the pulpit, late night hosts make monologues, and then

… a few weeks later… 

it all falls silent. 

Words are so incredibly important, I am the first to say that. But words cannot be void of action. I read a lot of tweets after the tragedy in Charlottesville, Virginia a few years ago that went something like this - “if your pastor doesn’t talk about what happened tomorrow morning in his sermon, you should leave your church.” 

And then I read one that said - “if your pastor doesn’t talk about what happened tomorrow morning in his sermon, don’t leave your church - stay and be the church.” 

Yes. I like this. I think this is on to something. 

Maybe, instead, what will we do? Who will we invite over for dinner? Who will we ask how they’re doing? Who will we invest in? Who will we empathize with? Who will we sit next to? How will we give our lives away? How will we bring creativity, joy, and light into this world? How will we leave this place better than when we found it? These things influence more than we think they do. 

Beauty, beauty, beauty. We have a choice in that. 

Love, love, love. We have a choice in that. 

So Jimmy, keep on making the world laugh. It’s a nice break from the words.

Ones and Nines

I've never quite understood myself. 

I often respond differently than others and have always wondered why. I feel deeply - for myself, for others, for the world - and never could quite understand what it meant or how to use it for good. Things frustrate me more than they seem to frustrate others. Why? 

Ian Morgan Cron, author of The Road Back To You, says this - "The greatest mystery in our lives - next to God - is ourselves." 

So, I began to study.. the mystery of myself. 

I discovered the Enneagram. Type One. The Reformer. These titles and labels and numbers simply speak of a God who delights in His children as unique, wonderful, and rare. 

My brain is wired to try to understand. I pick things apart and strive for improvement. I see things through the eye of an observer - driven passionate uncompromising conscientious. I toss and turn something over in my mind, looking at each angle and analyzing each perspective. At my best, I am wise and discerning. At my worst, I am critical and resentful. And the road in between health and un-health is littered with grace. 

The podcast Sleeping at Last described this about the Type One: 
"Folks who are dominant Type One are some of the most principled people that you know. Because their standard for integrity is set so high that it leads to this inner ache of frustration. And that frustration comes from the idealism that the world needs to be perfect, that good needs to be celebrated, that every thing that should be aligned must be aligned. 

Folks who are dominant Type One actually take a lot of the pressure and the responsibility on themselves. They try to be better, they strive harder to improve themselves and everything they're a part of. 

It's hard for Type Ones when they are in relationship because when someone doesn't live up to their role, when someone drops the ball, when someone fails to contribute their best, the Ones actually even over-identify with that malformation or diminishment and they take it upon themselves. 

It's hard for them, this personal sense of moral duty and obligation. It becomes this voice, this loop, in their mind which is enhanced and turned up by their inner critic, their super ego. Their "oughts" and "should" sound like criticism because they're constantly second guessing the words they use, the quality of their performance. They are always criticizing themselves. 

And if we know this about Type Ones, it should lead us to feel a tremendous sense of compassion for them. Because they are really are the best people we know. They really are some of the most integrious folks who have such clarity, who really manage their own emotion, for the good or bad of it they repress their own anger. But it's that frustrated idealism that really is their invitation to rest. 

If you're dominant Type One, you need to let yourself off the hook. You're the one that reminds us of what is good, you're the one that brings the serenity of that goodness and excellence and integrity and principled vitality forward. And you can really trust yourself."

I read that over and over again and it makes me feel like someone is inside my body and my mind and I cheer at who I am.

But the best thing that has come out of this ride is that learning myself = learning others. 

One of my friends and I - I am a One, he is a Nine. The One - Reformer, the Nine - Peacemaker. I am loud, emotional, doggedly committed to knowing and chasing right. He is patient, kind, peaceful, committed to people. We get along well and believe in the same things, but in moments of conflict, stress, tension, or crisis, we are - quite possibly - the very opposite. I want to dissect it, find who or what's at fault, put the eye black on, fight to the end, declare a victor. He is slow, wise, thoughtful, willing to let things go for the sake of peace. 

The dynamic between a One and a Nine as described by The Enneagram Institute is one of start and stop, pause and go, of compromise, humility, grace, and trust. 

But here's the cool part, the really amazing part. 
Neither of us are wrong. 
Neither of us are right. 
We have to give each other permission to feel how we are each wired to feel, knowing that the more or less does not mean right or wrong. 
There's actually a generous and courageous complement that exists in those who fight and those who choose compassion. The Nines calm the Ones, while the Ones drive the Nines. 

I can't think of a better team. 
And the same goes for Ones and Sixes, Ones and Eights, Twos and Threes, Fives and Sevens, and on and on.. 

When we begin to understand ourselves, we begin to understand others. And when we begin to understand others, we begin to live in harmony. And when we live in harmony, we begin to live as the Kingdom designs us to live. 

There's a gracious God who delights in us. He delights in the way He knit us. Because of this, I have to come to understand God in a richer, holier, and much larger way. 

He above and intentionally beyond measure walks us down hard roads to shape us and craft us before He positions us. He is faithful, He is kind, He has never abandoned us because we are too complicated or not what He imagined. 

We are knit for high and holy purposes, intentionally where we are for such a time as this. And it's allowed me to lean into the holy mystery that is humanity. Every one of us. 

To the Family Ministry Team

This summer was crazy.

At the beginning of the summer, our Kids and Student ministries combined into one giant team called Family Ministry. It was a complete change, restructuring, upheaval. What used to be was no longer. Everything was new. It was the best change that could have happened for the direction of our church and our ministries and our campuses, but - in short - it was hard. 

That was it. It was hard. 

There is one important lesson that has emerged as the dust on this summer has settled...

My people. 
I work with the very best people. 
My people were there when life was only one foot in front of the other. 

I saw grace and kindness and community and humility unlike anything I’ve experienced before. We weren’t just a group of people who worked side by side and then quietly packed up at the end of the day. We slaved together, we cried together, we checked each other’s pulses (literally), we asked the questions that needed to be asked. We listened, we grieved, we celebrated, sometimes we didn’t need to speak at all. It was the most tangible example of grace I have ever experienced. 

I saw it when my co-worker, instead of going to the gym, drove back to the church to sit with me and celebrate a minor but significant moment I had accomplished earlier that day. 

I saw it in the constant phone calls and texts that asked a simple question - “I see you. Are you okay?”

I saw it when my friend meant to give me a gift, but ended up giving me a nickname that has spanned the entire summer and beyond. You know how much I love a good nickname. 

I saw it in safe places of conversation and vulnerability.

I saw it in the genuine concern (which turned into genuine laughter) when I fell out of an eno in Haiti and had a bruise the size of a small child. 

I saw it when a friend looked me right in the eye and didn’t shield or move away from the heaviness of grief. 

I saw it in the mantra of “we’re going to make it,” in the firm and steady belief that transition is temporary and this new season was going to be greater than anything we ever could have hoped for. 

I saw it in the seeing, the recognition of one to another, of the Deep in me encouraging the Deep in you. 

I saw it the opening of our homes to one another, no matter the time or day or hour. 

I saw it in “read this book, this book reminds me of you."

I saw it in the commitment of these people to be where God has called them to be, to do the work God has called them to do. 

I saw it in approaching the throne of grace with confidence for one another and finding mercy and grace to help in a time of need. 

I saw it in a friend who stayed on the phone with me for an hour and a half one night as I cared for a student, just so I wouldn’t fall asleep. 

This is all grace to me. 

I am convinced that when we get to the end of our lives, if we have stood for people, we will have stood for something. This is much more powerful than I think our finite brains can wrap its mind around. Love has the power to do much more than we give it credit for. Love is such a long game. Love - over time - has the power to do what we underestimate it to do. 

Bit by bit, step by step, coffee by coffee, word by word, laugh by laugh, we survived. And we not only survived, we survived together. And we not only survived together, we thrived together. 

You guys, ministry is the good life. You are dedicated to Kingdom work, to helping students and kids and families see Jesus differently. You help point people to hope, to a new story, to a Gospel of Grace. You help people see that the Church, that God, is for them. WHAT COULD BE BETTER. And even more so, to have people to recenter you and encourage you and keep you moving one foot in front of the other, well, this is my feeble attempt to articulate that it has the power to save lives. 

So, friends. Thank you. This is such a sweet season. We are at the beginning of something so good. I read a quote from Michael Gungor once that I’d like to quote here - 

“I hope to help you step back and see more clearly what you are trying to do with your work. To those with weary and blistered fingers, this is your invitation to hike with me back up to the ledge, take in the big picture, and remember who we are and why we do what we do. After we’ve remembered and drawn in a few deep breaths of that crisp desert air, may we be filled with courage to descend once more into the valley where the work gets done.”

Team, you have been my invitation. You have been the hike. You are my sight of the big picture. You are my remembering. You are the crisp desert air. You are the courage to turn around and walk back into the valley. 

Onward and upward, together!