Let’s Have a Grand Adventure

“When you see someone putting on his Big Boots, you can be pretty sure that an adventure is going to happen.” –A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

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I was driving the now familiar route between Cedar Falls and Waverly a few days ago when I had a moment of deja vu. My mind went back almost two years to the moment when our family was driving that same stretch of Highway 218, headed into uncertainty and possibility as we went to interview at Crosspoint Church. On that day, Oceans started to play on the radio and as the music filled the car and my heart, Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders…take me deeper than my feet could ever wander, and my faith will be made stronger in the presence of my Savior, I knew that whatever happened when we got there that I wanted to live those words.

See, two years into this adventure of pastoring at Crosspoint I’ve had the joy of getting to know some of the most amazing people and calling them friends. But on that day two years ago, I had no idea what was ahead. There were any number of good reasons not to even interview. What if my kids didn’t adjust well to a new school? Would we be a good fit for the church? What if we move there and then they decide they don’t like us? We love what we’re doing and it’s going really well. Why should we give up the certainty of Chi Alpha for the uncertainty of church planting?

All I knew for sure was that I saw God opening a door, and I had a choice whether to walk through it or stay rooted in my own comfort. I don’t believe it would have been disobedient for us to continue in Chi Alpha, but I do think we would have missed an opportunity to go on another adventure with God, missed a chance for our faith to grow deeper and to be stretched in new ways. I’m so glad we chose to open the door to adventure.

Is God calling you on a new adventure with Him? Are you willing to step out into uncertainty with Him?

Leave me a comment and let me know what you think!

 

Hello 2016

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Over the holidays I discovered something, or more accurately, someone, new. Long-time fans of said person will roll their eyes and think, how could you just be hearing about her?!  to which I will now say, “I know! Where have I been?” Under a rock, clearly.

But right before Christmas I crawled out from under my rock and purchased a copy of For the Love by Jen Hatmaker and, after finishing it, proceeded to devour every book she’s written like the sugar cookies and cinnamon rolls that I only make at Christmastime for obvious reasons (my scale will rudely testify as to how many of those goodies I actually indulged in this year). I laughed, I cried, I looked like a lunatic laughing out loud all by myself in the pickup line at my kids’ school. Such were the emotions I experienced while reading her words. And then I came upon a statement that stopped me cold.

Here’s what she said in 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess: “At some point the church stopped living the Bible and decided just to study it, culling the feast parts and whitewashing the fast parts. We are addicted to the buffet, skillfully discarding the costly discipleship required after consuming.” (p. 172). Ummm, yikes! That made me a little uncomfortable. Okay, a lot uncomfortable.

She went on in Interrupted to say, “There will never be enough knowledge to fill the cracks of Christian maturity without the fruit of selfless service manifested in our lives.” (p.228) All of this got me thinking about all of the consumption I’ve done over the years, the countless bible studies, the Christian books I’ve read, not to mention all the Bible reading, and how much of it has actually changed me–made a real impact on the way I live my life. I asked myself, do I really live it? And my honest answer was: just the convenient parts. Just the parts that don’t require me to get messy or be uncomfortable, or that make me feel good about myself.

So in response, I’m declaring 2016 to be the year of living it! No more sitting belly-up to the table, shoveling it in, and then walking away and leaving it all at the table. Don’t get me wrong, studying and learning are important (how else will we know what to do) but I don’t want to be guilty of knowing what to do and not doing it anymore. This is the year of being uncomfortable in the best possible way. Of doing the hard stuff. Want to join me?

Leave me a comment and let me know what you think!

 

 

 

Tears That Will Change the World

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Recently, midway through the ten hour drive home from our annual summer pilgrimage to Memphis, buns numb and legs aching to be anything but bent, I was devouring Shauna Niequist’s book Bread & Wine (if you’re not a fan of Shauna already I highly recommend her lovely, honest writing) when I stumbled on a phrase that got me thinking. On page 74 she says these words, “…tears are a guide…when something makes you cry, it means something. If we pay attention to our tears, they’ll show us something about ourselves.”

I don’t know if you’re like me (probably not, I’m pretty weird), but I don’t really enjoy crying. And I definitely don’t like for other people to see me cry. I know, I know, sometimes it’s therapeutic and you just need a good cry. But generally speaking, I just don’t like it. So I’ve spent years ignoring my tears, and I’ve certainly never allowed them to be a guide–using them to help me find my passion and calling. So this was a revolutionary concept indeed. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought, Um, yes! How could I have been so dense all these years?

Back in 2009, when we were missionaries to India, a group of young adults came over on a short-term trip to work with us. While there, they visited a school that was located in a heart-rending slum and for many of the children the only food they received for the day was what they got at school. When the team arrived the well the school had been using had run dry and the children were going hungry because the staff couldn’t prepare their meals. Instantly, the team got together, each person gave, and they raised the money to dig a new well. That act of generosity still brings tears to my eyes.

I don’t like to think about children going hungry or a mother having to bury her child because she doesn’t have access to clean water. That makes me cry and it makes me angry.

A few days earlier on our trip my husband, Jonathan, and I had sat down with our two kids to present an opportunity. He had earned some money mowing lawns with his brother and we wanted to instill some principles of giving and generosity in the hearts of our kids. Eyes wide, they yelped when he said he wanted to give them each one hundred dollars. Their smiles flickered a little when he said, “But…this money is for you to give away, and we want you to pray about what God wants you to do with it.”

The next morning they came to us, wearing smiles as wide as stretched taffy, and said they wanted to start a family savings account to raise enough money to dig a well in Africa. That, my friends, brought tears to my eyes. 

What makes you cry? Have you thought about your tears being a guide before? Could they be leading you towards what God has uniquely gifted you to do? Leave a comment and let me know what you think.

Look at Me

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Summertime, for all it’s lovely qualities, can get a bit frantic. Daylight hours stretch and expand giving me endless opportunities to stretch and expand our schedule to fill the sun-soaked hours, baseball games and practices, camps, play dates, the list goes on and on.

As I head into this frantic season, my heart keeps circling back to something that I read several months ago in Exodus, something that brings a sense of calm in the chaos. Moses was heading into an overwhelming season that would begin with the frightening prospect of ordering the Egyptian Pharaoh to release God’s people from years of slavery and then leading them through the desert to the land that God had promised to give them. And at the end of chapter 6, Moses is arguing with God, explaining all of the reasons why he’s not good enough for the job, and maybe God would do better to find someone else, thankyouverymuch. But the words that God utters to Moses have stuck with me, and keep rattling around in my brain. I want to share them here, so maybe they can rattle around in yours too! 🙂

Exodus 6:30 (The Message) says, “And Moses answered, “Look at me, I stutter. Why would Pharaoh listen to me?”

Um, yes. I can relate to Moses, I’m a pro at finding all sorts of reasons why I can’t (or won’t) do the things God’s asking me to do. Stuttering sounds like a pretty good excuse to me. And yet God says three words that stopped Moses cold, and it stops me too. Every time. Whether I’m obsessing over a schedule, event, or writing. He says in Exodus 7:1 “…Look at me.” And just like that, the argument’s over. If I’m looking at Him the impossible thing I’m facing seems plausible and miniscule, but if I’m looking at me…well, let’s just say things aren’t nearly as comforting.

So right now, in this moment, I’m refocusing, making space to look at Him instead of me and some things in my life that seem too big for me to wrap my head around. Taking time to breathe and read things that turn my eyes towards God, and quietly reminding myself when I get off track to look at him.

What about you? Do you find yourself overwhelmed, looking at what you need to accomplish, or feeling the narrow pinch of a harried pace? Have you been telling God, “but, this and this….,” making excuse after excuse about why you’re not good enough or up to the task he’s given you and God is saying to you, “Look at me”? Do you need to refocus today? I’d love to hear from you, leave a comment about what God’s saying to you!

The Long Pause

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Some of you may have noticed I’ve been absent from the blog for a bit–taking a long pause. Rebooting. Catching my breath. I’ve been reading and thinking, wondering and questioning. Mostly about the journey of life and how we can’t control or predict any of it. And how much, sometimes, I wish that weren’t true.

In the vein of adhering to the new tagline of my site, finding beauty in the brokenness of life, I have to be honest. I don’t have it all figured out (insert gasp of surprise here). Lately I’ve been searching for some beauty in my own situation, and realizing that sometimes honesty is the most beautiful thing I can give to you and to myself. When I entered my book into the Re:write writing contest I prayed that God’s ultimate purpose and plan would be done in the process. And I meant it. So I didn’t feel immediately disappointed when I didn’t win, because I trusted that it was God’s plan and he had other things in mind. But as I was coming down from the high of the writer’s conference, some questions and doubts began to nudge their way into the back of my mind, just like a rude line crasher that pushes her way into the line that you’ve been waiting in for 20 minutes while your kids beg you for every piece of candy in the bins by the checkout. Questions like What if I’m just not good enough? or Maybe I’m not ready, or What the heck do I do now? Seriously, what do I do now?

As I pondered these questions one thing became abundantly clear: this writing path is not going to be an easy one. And if I’m being completely transparent I want the easy path, the road with the least amount of roadblocks and hurdles. The one that gets me to my destination without my ever having to break a sweat. Where every door I come upon is swung wide in promise of grander things. The road where I don’t have to pick myself up from the floor most mornings and talk myself off the ledge of despair. What I’m learning is it’s always easier to trust God when it seems like everything is going my way. But this road, the difficult one, where I’m sweating it out like a P90X devotee, is the one where I’m learning even more about trust and I still believe that God has a plan, even if he hasn’t shared it with me yet.

Maybe you can relate.  Maybe you feel stuck and don’t know how to move forward, and if you’re honest, a little (or a lot) disappointed that you have to take the difficult path. How is God building trust in your relationship with him through this? Leave a comment and let me know what you think.

Because I Was Scared

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I was scared this past weekend. I sat down with a lovely woman at the Re:write conference I attended to gather some information about possibly self-publishing my book Holy Doubt. She looked at me and uttered these words that sent ice through my veins: “What’s your vision for your book?”  Seems like a rather innocent and obvious question to ask, doesn’t it?

But I sat there speechless. I couldn’t answer intelligibly. I’m pretty sure only gibberish came out! Because up to this point I was just being obedient getting the words on the page and hadn’t given much thought to what would happen with it afterwards. I think I imagined it dwelling in some nebulous cloud and then magically dropping into people’s hands at the right moment. Great marketing plan, right?!

Her question sparked something in me though. I went back to my room and asked God for his vision for my book (because I wouldn’t even have a story if it weren’t for him).  And then I remembered why I hadn’t done this before! Um, Scary. The same kind of scary that made me scream at a decibel that would shatter glass and (maybe, possibly) piddle on the carpet when my husband burst out of my daughter’s closet yelling “Boo!” while I was tucking her into bed a few weeks ago.

God’s vision scares me. It overwhelms me. I hadn’t asked, because I generally like my own smaller vision better. The one that I can control and manage myself. I rarely realize what a control freak I am, but I’m human and I like to know what the end game is, calculate my risks, weigh all my options. But how much are we missing when we don’t ask God what his vision is for our lives, including the specific things he’s given us to do?  I had been obedient up to a certain point and then I chose to leave God out of a process that he had been integral in from the very beginning. Wow! Not what I had intended to do at all. Funny how God can use a single question to rewrite our lives!

So now I’m choosing to step out of the fear and into God’s vision.  What about you? What has God given you to do that scares you? Ask him to help you move beyond the fear.  The world is waiting for God’s vision to be lived through you! 

Putting it in Words

In case you haven’t heard yet (if you’re friends with my husband, Jonathan, on Facebook there’s no way you haven’t!) we had some exciting news a little over a week ago.  I’m on the list (#7)!

At the beginning of December I submitted a book proposal for a writing contest associated with the Re:write conference I’ll be attending in February.  The book is about my struggle with doubt as a missionary in India and the way it has reshaped my faith. And incredibly, I made it into the top 10.  They’ll announce the winner at the conference (February 27th, to be exact).  But I wanted to thank everyone who has prayed for and encouraged me along the way, and ask you to continue to pray that God would place the message of this book into the hands of those who need it–however he chooses to do it.

I feel a little like I did on Christmas when I was 7-years-old, holding my breath, hoping, as I ripped off the wrapping paper from the box that held the white fringed cowboy boots that I’d been asking for forever.  I remember walking around the house in an almost dream-like state, heels clicking on the tile floor.  I’m pretty sure my mom had to pry them off my feet that night when I went to bed.  I’ve had to pinch myself almost every day since the contest announcement and I still don’t think it’s sunk in.  It’s almost too much to comprehend. That God would allow a girl who’s believed most of her life that she didn’t have anything valuable to say, to write a book proposal that is being looked at by Tyndale publishing is humbling to say the least.  I guess we’ll see what God has in store.  But thanks for being on the journey with me!

R-I-S-K

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In 2001, my dad called me at work and said, “I signed us up to go skydiving on Saturday.”  Before I could get a word in he delivered this ultimatum in his best “Dad tone” that allowed no room for arguing, “You ARE going.  There’s no backing out.”  It was a wonder I could even get the phone back on the receiver the way my hands were shaking.  But I promptly hung up the phone, went straight to the bathroom, and felt like I was going to throw up.

The day (of my impending doom) finally arrived, and after numerous reminders about the “extremeness” of what we were about to do and the “possibility (or in my mind, likelihood) of death” was reiterated several times we piled into the airplane and made our ascent.  When I climbed out on the wing and let go, free-falling through blue skies with the wind rushing in my face, it was a feeling like I’d never experienced before.  It was incredible! 

Skydiving is considered by some to be a risky undertaking (thankfully it turned out alright for me!).  And our culture has all kinds of plans and professions designed to help us mitigate risk.  We have risk managers, risk assessors, and people who will analyze our risk, and the list goes on.  While those things have their place and can be very helpful and important, sometimes we want God to do a complete risk analysis for us before we’ll step out in faith.  We want to be sure that there is no risk involved in what He’s asking us to do, or at least a very minimal amount.

It can be really easy in ministry, or anything really, to become comfortable and forget that God hasn’t called us to comfort, he’s called us to obedience.  Sometimes he asks us to take a risk for him.  I’m not talking about cliff diving at Niagara Falls, but simple obedience to God’s voice when we can’t predict what the outcome will be and it would be much easier to stay where we are.

This past spring, as Jonathan and I were looking at making the transition out of campus ministry into the local church in Waverly it didn’t make a lot of sense for us to take the risk.  We had a great job and we loved what we were doing!  But we sensed it might be God opening a door.  We’ve never had audible direction from God as we’ve made transitions and changes in our ministry journey, nor have we had any guarantees about the way it would turn out.  We’ve simply walked through the doors he’s opened and trusted that whatever we would face behind those doors, he would be there to guide us through it.  And he’s always come through.  When we’ve taken the biggest risks for him, he’s shown up in the biggest ways.

What about you?  Is God asking you to step out in faith and do something for him that seems risky to you?  

Are you scared because you don’t know what the outcome will be?      

Worth it?

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I had a theological discussion with my plumber last week.  As he was bent over my porcelain commode he explained that he had been raised in a very traditional religious environment, one that he still faithfully adheres to.  But he looked at me and said, “Reading the New Testament, I saw all of these people willing to give their lives for the Gospel, and I thought I must be missing something because I’m not willing to do that.”

His words stopped me cold.  It reminded me of a question that’s been looming in the back of my mind, a question that makes me extremely uncomfortable, and I’d really rather not answer.  Am I passionate enough about Jesus that I would literally lay my life down for him and his message?

It’s an easy question to dismiss sitting here in the comfort of my leather chair with blankets tucked tight around me and snow swirling outside my window.  Without any thought or contemplation I would flippantly answer, “Yes, of course I would.”  But when I really think about it, about the way I live my life, my real answer, not with my words, but my actions and attitudes, has been no.

I hold things back.  I decide what’s most comfortable or safe for me and my family.  In general, I give very little thought and devote even less prayer to asking Jesus what he really wants from me because I might not like his answer.  I want to do what’s most convenient and comfortable for me. 

It’s very easy for those of us who “give our lives” to serving Jesus in a church setting here in America, where we don’t face the daily reality of martyrdom that some followers of Jesus do, to forget how high the stakes really are, about the level of commitment that Jesus calls us to and why (hint: it’s because he’s crazy in love with us and wants us to love him that way too).  Please understand, I’m not belittling the American church at all.  But I do believe that God is calling us to a deeper love that will happily sacrifice anything we can to get closer to him and to draw others towards him as well.

I’m learning he is worth so much more–of everything that I have, my time, my money, my talents–than I can ever give.  But that’s not going to stop me from trying to give it.  I want my words and my actions and attitudes to scream, “Yes, I’ll give it all–whatever you ask!”  Because he is so worth it!

Have you asked yourself that same question?  Would I really give my life for Jesus? 

What is your honest answer? 

 

Confessions of an Imperfect Christian–#6

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So…I’ll be honest.  I don’t want to write this blog post.  In fact, I haven’t wanted to write it for about a week now :).  I started reading Francis and Lisa Chan’s new book You and Me Forever: Marriage in Light of Eternity, and it’s wonderful!  Really good stuff, I highly recommend it.  But round about page 116, I started to get a little bit uncomfortable.  He said, “Christians in America have become experts at conviction–and failures at action.”  He went on to talk about an article that he read about people that weigh in excess of 1,000 pounds and that it made him think of the church.  Interesting line of thought, huh? 🙂  Chan went on to say:

It (the article) reminded me of a lot of people I find in the church.  They are fed more and more knowledge every week.  They attend church services, join small group Bible studies, read Christian books, listen to podcasts–and are convinced they still need more knowledge.  Truth is, their biggest need is to do something.  They don’t need another feast on doctrine.  They need to exercise.  They need to work off what they’ve already consumed.

Yikes!  I don’t know about you, but that hit me hard.  As someone who grew up in church every Sunday and Wednesday I’ve accumulated a lot of knowledge.  But often I don’t apply it, especially the hard stuff (and boy did Jesus have some difficult things to say, definitely counter-cultural!).  I read those passages and think Whew, that sounds really hard, surely Jesus doesn’t expect me to do that?!  And I give myself a pass.  The trouble is, he actually means what he said!  Well, it’s trouble for me, not for him! 🙂  And the good news is that he’s promised that he will do it through me if I will just allow him!  So today I’m praying that God will help me to examine my heart and stop ignoring the difficult things he’s asked me to do, and submit to his promise to work through me.

Is there anything that God has been speaking to you through his word that, like me, you’ve been ignoring because it seems too difficult or painful? 

Unexplained

underground cisterns beneath the incredible city of Istanbul

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For those of you who have been following the “beauty in the brokenness” thread and have been left hanging all summer…sorry!!  I’m back now and the saga continues 🙂

If you can’t remember where we left off start here…

Upon arrival in Turkey I was overwhelmed by how Western it felt.  To my surprise, they even drove on the same side of the road!  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it shattered all of my expectations, and was a much welcomed respite from our life in India.  It was gorgeous!  And the history!  And did I mention, it was gorgeous?  Oh, but I digress.  In case you can’t tell it’s one of my favorite places.

Almost from the moment we arrived, my children no longer had diarrhea and my daughter didn’t have any more of the frightening spells that terrified me beyond words.  After six long months of constantly battling mystery illnesses that no doctor could explain or treat all traces of their sicknesses ceased.  Seemingly overnight.  No explanation except the hand and goodness of God.  All I felt was an overwhelming sense of relief.  But little did we know we were about to be introduced to a new reality upon our return to India…

I’ve Never Seen That Before

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I wouldn’t say I ever got used to being gawked at like an animal at the zoo while we were living in India, but it happened far less when we moved to Delhi.  Outside of the village, in a city that’s home to thousands of expats, we were no longer a novelty that could potentially cause a ten rickshaw pile-up!

With that said, I had one of my funniest encounters with an ogler while we were living in the city.  On MG Road in Gurgaon there are several metal fabricators advertising their services from roadside stalls with simple white signs.  We had hired one of them to make three metal bed frames for us.  (Getting slightly off topic, the beds were lovely.  They looked just like some pictures that I had brought from an Ethan Allan catalog for FAR less money! *Sigh*)  Anyway, when the beds were finished they delivered them to our apartment.  That’s where things got interesting.

Jonathan, my husband, was not at home that particular day.  When the crew arrived, they scurried from room to room carrying metal pieces to each prospective bedroom and assembling them. Everything proceeded in a very professional manner until it was time for them to leave.  As I handed each worker a tip, one of the guys was clearly gobsmacked.  He walked backwards, a goofy grin on his lips, staring at me with each step, across my living room.  In fact, he was so oblivious to everything else that he didn’t even realize when he reached the front door, which had been left ajar by his exiting friends.  Somewhere near the entry, he finally spun his body towards the door but kept his face turned towards me.  The next thing I knew he walked straight into the side of the door that had been left open!  I’m pretty sure it left a mark–on his face, and his pride!  I had never seen anyone do that before in real life, and as I closed the door behind him I burst out laughing.  Pure entertainment!

Helpless

Beautiful Turkey!

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The testing on our daughter’s ears didn’t reveal any problems.  So we steadily moved through a battery of testing, each test designed to eliminate yet another possibility.  Each more terrifying than the next, as all of the simple things were being eliminated.  We had x-rays, EEG’s (that’s what the picture from the last Missions post was), and at the end of it all we still had no answers.  While it was a relief that the tests didn’t reveal anything serious, it was unspeakably frustrating to experience these spells and wonder what could possibly be going on…

When we moved to the Delhi area I thought I was going to be able to breathe–catch my breath.  Wrong!  Almost from the first day in our new apartment both of our kids started having diarrhea from the wee morning hours until they went to bed at night.  This went on for six months.  Never. Missing. A. Day.  Between our daughter’s symptoms and both of the kids’ diarrhea it felt like we lived at the hospital or in the bathroom.  And we could never pinpoint the source of the diarrhea either.  Clearly, we were under attack, and my weapons were prayer and ampules of electrolytes!

As a parent, nothing gets to you like something happening to your child.  So to say I was stressed didn’t really scratch the surface.  My children were suffering and I couldn’t help them.  I was helpless, and it was not a good feeling.  A few days after our daughter’s EEG test we were scheduled to fly to Turkey for a conference.  With leaden hearts, and our eyes on the nearest bathrooms, we boarded the plane…

 

What if I Mess it Up?

One of my favorite pictures of me and my daughter.

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Today I’m doing something you won’t find me doing often on this blog…talking about parenting. But in honor of Mother’s Day yesterday, I wanted to say a few words. Actually, what I want to say is less about parenthood and more about the pressure we put on ourselves to be the perfect parents–or at least reasonably sane ones 🙂

It’s a pressure I feel almost daily. In the moments when I lose my temper and yell at my kids, (like this morning, when I yelled at them for yelling at each other!) or when it’s time to paint my daughter’s face and fix her hair for her upcoming dance recital (my internal monologue sounds something like this: am I doing this right? How does the glue go on the fake eyelash? She’s 8, why am I painting her face like a streetwalker! The other moms know exactly what they’re doing! Ahhh, her daughter’s make-up looks perfect. How did they get those eyelashes on? I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Just give up now!!….) Really, my insecurities are endless, and are in no way limited to these two examples (I wish!).

What I’ve discovered is that most of my insecurities come from a place of wanting to do what’s best for my kids and not letting them (or my husband) down. These are good goals, so how does it become a warped pattern where I end up beating myself up for every perceived failure? For me, I think it’s because I’m still waiting to see the finished product. I want to know that I’ve not done irreparable damage to them by all of my flaws and shortcomings. But the jury’s still out on my kids–they’re 8 and 10. We have a few short years left with them before they become adults and I get to see what my parenting has done to (I mean, for!) them.

In all seriousness, I saw the movie Mom’s Night Out last night (which I highly recommend) and it was a great reminder that God has given me my children for a reason, and he also gave me to them. So for all of my flaws (of which I am well aware of each one) I am still the mom that God chose for my two kids. What a comforting thought. God chose me to be the mother of Jacob and Juliana, and he will help me with the job. He must have confidence that I can do it–and he doesn’t expect me to be perfect! That’s exactly the vote of confidence I need.

Do you struggle with insecurities as a parent? (What a silly question!)

Spend some time letting God restore your confidence as a parent–because we all know it’s a fragile thing often in need of repair!

What I Wanted to Be When I Grew Up

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When I was about six-years-old I declared to my mom, as we drove down the street with the wind in our hair (probably because the A/C didn’t work!), “When I grow up, I want to be a mom and drive a blue convertible.”

Over the years, the answer to the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” has changed and evolved for me.  Although I stuck with about half of that original declaration–being a mom–I decided the blue convertible might not be that practical.  But there were other dreams and loves that I had as a child and teenager that I had forgotten about, or shelved, in the busyness of fulfilling my dream of motherhood.

In a previous post I mentioned the book Quiet by Susan Cain and promised some follow-up on my blog about introverts.  Well, I came across this particular section of the book where Cain gives some very practical steps for introverts to discover where they fit in the workplace (but it translates to ministry just as well).  I thought it was fantastic!

Cain says: “First, think back to what you loved to do when you were a child…the answer you gave may have been off the mark, but the underlying impulse was not.  If you wanted to be a fireman, what did a fireman mean to you?  A good man who rescued people in distress?  A daredevil?…If you wanted to be a dancer, was it because you got to wear a costume, or because you craved applause, or was it the pure joy of twirling around at lightning speed?  You may have known more about who you were then than you do now.

Second, pay attention to the work you gravitate to…

Finally, pay attention to what you envy.  Jealousy is an ugly emotion, but it tells the truth” (218).

Good stuff, right?  Like I said, it got my wheels turning and I remembered, for me, those things I loved as a child were writing and creating things.  Making things with my hands.  Creating beauty with words or objects.  Those were the things that brought me joy–and really still do–I had just forgotten.  I’m so glad that God has given me the opportunity find the joy in these things again.  I’m pretty sure he’s delighting in my delight! 🙂

What did you want to be when you were a child?  Why?

How can you find an outlet in your life and ministry for the things that bring you joy? 

 

Finding Hope

Our daughter having tests run

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Our daughter’s stroke-like episodes continued intermittently for several months. Every time they would come on suddenly–and then disappear–and she would seem just fine a few hours later. It frustrated and scared me not knowing what could be happening in her little body. And, after our first encounter with the doctors in India, I wasn’t feeling very confident about finding the answers we so desperately wanted.

We talked with several trusted friends from the States who are wonderful doctors, and they shared our concern over her symptoms, but without seeing her, they were at a loss to help us.

As a last ditch effort, we took her to Max Super Specialty Hospital in Saket. Over the course of the preceding months, with each unsuccessful and bewildering doctor’s appointment, we could feel our hope draining out like air from a tiny pinprick in a balloon. But walking into the cavernous glass lobby, I had just enough hope (and mostly desperation) to propel me to the pediatric wing.

We, once again, took our seats in waiting room chairs and waited to see the doctor. When we finally found ourselves face to face with him he began to ask us questions. Questions about our daughter’s symptoms. Behind his glasses, I could see his concern and his mind working out the possibilities.

He said, “I think we will begin with an examination of her ears. Often, the source of balance issues can be found there.”

With that one statement, I could have reached over the desk and kissed him! Finally, a doctor who was employing logic and making sense!!  Relief (from a tension that had been mounting for months) washed over me, and the feeling that, if there were answers to be found, this doctor would find them. So the testing began…

 

I am not a DIY project

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Whew!  Ok, I’m back!  I’m just going to chalk last week (only 1 blog!) up to a fluke thing, move on, and quit beating myself up about it.  I got a new computer (yay!) but was nearly off the grid for an entire week trying to get it up and running (boo!).  Let’s just say technology is not always my friend!!  But I’m using it now, and it’s fantastic!

Alright, enough of that…on with the blog….

Our culture is fascinated with fix-er-uppers. We love a good makeover. If you’re in doubt, just look at all of the shows on HGTV, or the home and personal makeover shows that have taken over primetime. Personally, I love to see a good transformation, and I love to watch a lot of those shows. So I understand the attraction. Culturally, we’ve become rehab junkies, (I’m pretty sure I ran across a blog the other day where a woman identified herself by that very moniker) going from project to project in search of the next Cinderella story.  Or as my grandmother always liked to say, “trying to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear (a strange mental image for sure).”
While it makes for great television, sometimes it creeps into our lives and shows up as a desire to  “fix” people. I’m not talking about a new haircut or pair of pants here.  I’m talking about when we  want to “fix” the sin we see in people’s lives.

Right after graduating from high school I worked in my church’s office as a receptionist.  There were a group of ladies that organized bridal and baby showers for people in the church and, one day, one of the ladies came in and was sharing that they had been asked to throw a baby shower for a young unwed mother.  I still cringe thinking about what was said next.  “We just can’t do that,” she said with a hint of exasperation.  “What kind of message would that send?  We just don’t condone that behavior.”

This lady, as well-meaning as she was (and she really was a sweet lady, just a little misguided), was trying to “fix” a sin that she saw by setting up her own form of punishment.  This was her avenue for expressing her disapproval.  And she was using it.  The trouble is: Jesus doesn’t ask us to “fix” sins.  He invites us to come to him and then–here’s the kicker–he fixes the broken things in our lives.  It really takes the pressure off.  I’m not very good at fixing things anyways, but Jesus always knows just what to do.

I guess the reason I still get upset thinking about that story is because we missed an opportunity to show the love of Jesus.  Instead, we made a young girl, who was in a really tough spot and could have used some people to surround her with love, feel rejected, shunned, and judged.  All things that Jesus never does!

People are not DIY projects.  We can’t “fix” them (nor are we expected to, and that goes for us too, thank goodness!).  Only Jesus can.  Let’s make sure we’re inviting people into his transforming presence.  That’s the best place to get a makeover!

 

New Post on hergreenroom.com

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Hi friends!  I’ve been having some technical difficulties the last few days, as well as some big life happenings (we sold our house!! Praise the Lord!!).  I’m also in the process of getting some upgrades that should improve things around here, or at least make them a little faster 🙂  In the meantime, check out my latest blog on hergreenroom.com!  See you tomorrow…and if you’re in the Pleasant Hill/Des Moines area, stop by my neighborhood’s garage sale this Thursday-Saturday, 8AM-12 noon.  I’ve got some great stuff I need to purge (because I don’t want to pack it!)

Stereotypes

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As a mom, I’ve been involved in many conversations about children. Sometimes they’ve been about weird or wacky antics (and boy do I have a few of those stories, many with pictures that may come in handy later!), or the latest virus making the rounds and its (ahem) symptoms. And, occasionally, the topic turns to only children. I usually just listen quietly, and it doesn’t take long until the familiar stereotypes pop up–self-centered, spoiled, unpleasant–or someones expresses the idea that being or having an only child is less than ideal. It’s always an awkward moment for me, being an only child myself. Do I say something and risk embarrassing them? Or do I keep silent and let them continue to hold their opinion? Each time I’ve chosen to speak up they’ve always said something like, “Oh, I never would have known you were an only child!”

I suppose I should be flattered, and it makes me feel good to bust the only child myth, but it got me thinking about other kinds of stereotypes. Especially ones about followers of Jesus. We’re often labeled as judgmental, hypocritical, exclusive, or elitist. While I know so many Christians who don’t fit that description at all, as a whole, our society has chosen those labels to define us. And sometimes, as followers of Jesus, we give credence to their labels with unthoughtful responses.

I was listening to a local Christian radio station the other day and the DJ was relating a story about a woman he had seen (or more accurately, heard) recently in a store. The woman was using some very colorful language, and there were lots of children around, prompting the DJ to express his disdain for her behavior over the airwaves. I know the DJ didn’t intend it to come across this way, but his comments smacked of judgment. Do I want my children exposed to an expletive-ridden tirade? No. But is it right for me to expect someone who is not a follower of Jesus to act like they are, and to cast judgment on them when they don’t? Jesus calls us to love people. And he draws people to himself through kindness.  Let’s start busting some stereotypes by letting God’s love and kindness shine through us.  Let’s surprise them when we don’t fit their stereotypes! 🙂

The Search for Significance

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Living cross-culturally is a challenge (and all of you who have done (or are doing) it are laughing at that gross understatement!). Equally challenging is living cross-culturally with two small children. We had finally settled the problems that we faced living in the mountain village and moved to the Delhi area where I was finally able to devote some of my energy to something other than mere survival.

However, as I began to get healthier I started to feel like my ministry role was very insignificant, even non-existent, and a deep dislike for my “gifts” was beginning to bloom in my heart. Jonathan was thriving, learning language and participating in countless ministry opportunities, while I stayed home with the kids. Now, don’t get me wrong, I strongly believe in ministering to my family. I know that’s hugely important, but I had come from a place where I had been able to do both, and I was feeling frustrated. Many of the places Jonathan would go were just too difficult to take a two and four-year-old along, and while I knew that I was part of everything that he did by making it possible for him to go, part of me longed to be an active participant in a much more tangible way.

During this time, our house turned into a bigger hub than Chicago O’Hare. Being in the Delhi metro meant that people were constantly coming in and out and needing a place to stay (nice hotels were/are ridiculously expensive). Our house was that place. The entire time we lived there very few nights didn’t include guests. And I loved it, but I didn’t feel any sense of significance by providing a place of rest and rejuvenation for weary travelers.

Delhi was also the entry point for many missionary families coming to minister in Northern India. One of the things I loved to do (and still love to do!) was shop. I knew where to find just about anything–at the best price. A giant Pottery Barn rug for $25, I had you covered. Gap kids clothes for super cheap, I knew exactly where to go. So one of my ministries was to help women find things to help them feel more at home in India. But who really considers shopping a ministry? I sure didn’t.

Having the benefit of hindsight, I can now see that much of my frustration was just the season of life I found myself in. Being a full-time mom to toddlers is hard work.  Sometimes certain things go on the back burner, even good things, so that we can take care of our families. And God honors that. While I didn’t feel like either of my gifts were significant, they were significant to the people who were blessed by them. It wasn’t necessarily what I wanted to do (or at least all I wanted to do), but it was what God gave me at the time…

 

Wait and See

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“Wait and see!” I repeated over and over to my kids as we watched a particularly suspenseful Road to Avonlea episode. Like any good story, it was presenting conundrums and dilemmas that hadn’t yet been resolved, and my kids wanted to know what was going to happen. They wanted to know if everything was going to turn out alright.

Whenever my daughter gets worried about a character’s fate she always asks, “He’s a main character, right?” When I reassure her that “yes, he is,” she can generally finish the story without any other questions, because, in her mind, surely nothing really bad would happen to the main character. She’s settled the most important question. Now she can trust the process and let the story unfold. Her literary experiences have taught her that while the main character can, and usually does, face some peril they, more often than not, emerge on the other side transformed in some way and have learned a valuable lesson.

I have to admit, I often find myself asking God much the same questions that my daughter asks me when she’s worried about a movie or book’s ending. “What’s going to happen now?” “Are they going to be OK?” I want to know if everything is going to turn out alright in my life and the lives of the people I love. But often the only response I get is a loving, “wait and see.” Every good storyteller knows that they can’t answer every question at the very beginning. And God is the ultimate storyteller, using our lives to tell his story. So he patiently tells me “wait and see” when I want to skip ahead to the end.

I could smile and say those three words that frustrate my daughter because I knew the ending. In a much greater way and on a much grander scale, God knows the ending too and the answers to all of our questions. While I might not like the process sometimes, I’m learning to trust and let the story unfold while I “wait and see.”
Is God telling you to “wait and see” about something in your life?

How does that make you feel? Tell him.

Great Expectations

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Some of you may have already heard, but my family and I are embarking on a new chapter in our lives. We’ve spent the last four-and-a-half years ministering to college students with Chi Alpha, but last Sunday my husband was elected to be the new lead pastor of Crosspoint Church in Waverly, Iowa.

In some ways it doesn’t feel real yet. I mean, our house is on the market, and we’re in the process of looking for a new one in Waverly, but we can’t move there until June when the kids get out of school and fulfill the commitments that we made to my son’s sports team and my daughter’s dance recital that she’s worked towards all school year. So it feels a little far away, literally and figuratively.

If I’m honest I know that the role of a lead pastor’s wife comes with a certain level of expectation (really, nearly everything in life does). Some of those expectations will be clearly stated and others I’ll figure out as I go. 🙂 I’m sure there will be times when I fail to meet someone’s expectations and we’ll have to navigate that as best we can. But I don’t like to fail (who does, right?), so the very idea causes me more than a little stress.

I think that’s why I’ve been so comforted this week by what I read in John 1. The scene unfolds with the Pharisees trying to define John the Baptist. They wanted to determine his identity.

“When Jews from Jerusalem sent a group of priests and officials to ask John who he was, he was completely honest. He didn’t evade the question. He told the plain truth: ‘I am not the Messiah.’
They pressed him, ‘Who, then? Elijah?’
‘I am not.’
‘The Prophet?’
‘No.’
Exasperated, they said, ‘Who, then? We need an answer for those who sent us. Tell us something–anything!–about yourself.’
‘I’m thunder in the desert: “Make the road straight for God!” I’m doing what the prophet Isaiah preached.‘“ (vv. 19-23 The Message)

John knew exactly who he was (and who he wasn’t–sometimes that’s just as important!) and what he was there for. The Pharisees undoubtedly had their own expectations and desires for John to fulfill, but he was focused on what God had asked of him.

Later in John 1, Jesus comes on the scene. The group of disciples is beginning to take shape, and when Jesus and Peter meet this is what Jesus says:

“‘You’re John’s son, Simon? From now on your name is Cephas‘ (or Peter, which means ‘Rock’).” (v. 42 The Message)

Jesus immediately gave Peter identity. He defined Peter and, in that simple statement, gave him purpose. Being in the presence of Jesus allows us, as leaders, to let him define us and give us our identity. It’s in that place where we learn Jesus‘ expectations of us and realize that those are the only ones that really matter.

 

I Am Not A Camel (But I’ve Crossed a Desert or Two)

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Today I have the privilege of introducing a guest blogger, Jan Soults Walker, who is not only an excellent writer but a fantastic encourager and friend (and mom to two of the best ladies around!).  She leads a thriving ministry called The Living Room geared towards young moms at Eternity Church in Des Moines, and does a fabulous job!  I know you’ll enjoy her humor and insight.

 

Bunny trails. Take my hand and I’ll blithely lead you down a few—slightly crazed conversational detours so convoluted that Google Maps would tell you that you can’t possibly get there from here. What may begin as banal chitchat with me about wild Iowa weather careens to tantalizing details of a friend’s blueberry-packed muffins to suddenly swooning similes of strappy sandals on sale at Kohls—all within, I unabashedly admit, just a few short minutes.

So now that you understand the ADD side of my vernacular self (nice to meet you, by the way), you won’t be surprised that as I was planning a recent women’s event at my church, my thoughts turned to—big breath—camels. I know.

But I couldn’t resist the temptation to follow this latest meandering, and so I fed my gray matter a few fun factoids about these desert-dwellers:

· Camels can indeed survive for long periods without food or water, storing energy in their hump (or humps) for as long as six months with nary a drink.

· If the camel can’t get to water, he simply uses up the supply handily stored on his back and the hump deflates like a spent balloon.

People, of course, cannot mimic this remarkable feat, surviving only 3 to 5 days without water. As you dehydrate, your body quickly sends out distress signals:

· Dry mouth

· Wonky eyesight

· Cloudy thinking

· A failing heart

· And ultimately, if no kind soul brings you water, someone will likely find you in a lifeless heap.

 

Water is vital. You were not designed to live without refreshing, cool water everyday.

 

So no wonder Jesus chose this very analogy to drive home a critical spiritual truth. John 4:14 records: “But whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again.” And later on, in John 7:37-38, Jesus makes another startling promise: “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.”

That speaks volumes (or liters?) about the importance of spiritual hydration. Go several days or more without trips to Jesus’ well in prayer, worship, or Bible reading, and you’ll experience symptoms eerily similar to a week without water:

· Words from your DRY MOUTH aren’t refreshing to anyone.

· Your VISION skews and you can’t see yourself or others as Jesus does.

· Your MIND is not the mind of Christ—it’s difficult to think on whatever is pure, noble, lovely, and true.

· And your HEART—your enthusiasm and courage—begins to fail.

· When you’re spiritually dehydrated, you soon become a lifeless heap.

At least, this is what happens to me when I allow the busyness of life to steer me away from Jesus’ Living Water and into the desert.

I AM NOT A CAMEL—and neither are you, of course. So DRINK DEEPLY DAILY, friends. You’ll be so wonderfully refreshed that Living Water flows from you.

Now, about those blueberry muffins…

 

BY:  Jan Soults Walker

The Living Room Women’s Ministry

Eternity Church  Clive, Iowa

 

Wounds and Scars

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Wounds. The word conjures up all kinds of images in my mind of gaping sores and oozing gashes. Ugh! Not something I like to think about. However, sometimes the ugliest wounds, the ones that leave us gasping for air, are the ones that aren’t visible to anyone else–they’re the hurts that bruise our hearts and minds. For me, my wounds were slightly self-inflicted when I began to believe that God had abandoned me, and the loss of innocence that I felt when I was forced to confront the brokenness of a world outside of my privileged upbringing.

A band called Point of Grace sings a song called “Heal the Wound.” The chorus repeats these lines….
Heal the wound but leave a scar,
a reminder of how merciful you are…

What a powerful sentiment, indeed. We have to get healing for our wounds, or we’re likely to wound others. But the scars? That’s another story. I have scars from all sorts of experiences in my life. Bike accidents (that’s a tale for another day–suffice it to say, if you ever need a laugh just come watch me ride a bike), chicken pox, and child birth. Obviously, I look more fondly upon the scars that brought me my children than the ones from a clumsy attempt to ride a bike down a large hill with bramble bushes at the bottom. But each scar tells a story, and usually the result of the story is worth remembering.

For my 30th birthday, as a present to myself, I gave myself a visible “scar” to remind me of God’s mercy and goodness in a time when I doubted those things. I got a small tattoo of the hindi word for love on my wrist. Because my scars gave me a glimpse of the depth of God’s love, I never want to forget them, or how God is redeeming and using them to help others.

Do you have a wound that needs to be healed?

What might God be wanting to do with your scars, what story is he telling through you?

Language Barriers

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When the white-coated doctor emerged and called our names my heart lurched.  I scooped my daughter up and hurried into the glass-walled office.

In a thick accent, he asked, “What seems to be the trouble today?”  Describing as best I could everything that had happened over the past hour, I waited as he performed a perfunctory exam.  After this short once-over we went back out into the lobby where he wanted to “observe” her symptoms.  We stood, watching, as she stumbled and weaved around the lobby like a wounded bird.

My anxiety was mounting with each passing moment, not knowing what could possibly be causing such a strange and sudden illness.  Finally, the doctor turned to me, like he’d just discovered penicillin and said, “Maybe she was not walking so well before today?  Maybe this is how she walks?  She’s not been walking long, no?”  I wanted to scream!  I thought Are you kidding me?  She’s been walking for over a year–and just fine–before today.  My confidence was waning as I realized that he should’ve been aware of the normal age for children to start walking.  But clearly he wasn’t.

There’s nothing more frustrating than a language barrier when the welfare of your kids is at stake.  While this doctor and I were technically speaking the same language–we were definitely not communicating effectively.  After several unsuccessful attempts at convincing him that her behavior was abnormal, he finally said, “Watch her today, and if she gets no better, bring her back tomorrow.”  At that point, there was nothing else to do, so we loaded up and headed home…and a few hours later her symptoms disappeared.  She showed absolutely no signs of anything having ever been wrong.  But a nagging feeling deep inside my heart told me that this was not the end of it…

 

The Freezer

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I came crashing through the doors of Max hospital in Gurgaon on that Sunday morning, cradling my little girl in my arms.  I could barely think to fill out paperwork, and the familiar fingers of panic began squeezing my heart and mind as I watched her stumble around the waiting room.  Fortunately, by this time, I had been on my anti-anxiety medication long enough to at least remain functional in the face of the crisis.

Under normal circumstances I am, what you could call, a freezer.  I become immobilized when faced with a disaster or crisis.  I stand or sit, stock-still, mouth hanging open with “Whaaa?” on my lips.  (Now, whenever Jonathan has to tell me something shocking or disconcerting, he has to say, “Don’t say ‘what?'”)  And that’s how I remain.  I wish I could say that I snap out of it, but that’s not usually the case.  That’s why God gave me Jonathan–so our children would survive their childhood!  He springs into action while I stand there looking shocked and befuddled.  It’s also why, to this day, our son is not allowed to ride his dirt bike if Jonathan’s not home.  It’s a disaster waiting to happen, and I would probably just stand there gaping, wasting crucial minutes of reaction time if he did hurt himself.

Well, there I was, in the middle of one of the worst moments I could imagine, and I was being forced to react.  I passed the paperwork over the desk and waited for the doctor to come out and get us.  It seemed like an eternity before he finally stepped out and called us to his office…

 

 

 

This is War

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So often in India it felt like we’d take one step forward only to be knocked back ten.  It was spiritual warfare on a level I had never experienced before.  And one of the battlegrounds, that was particularly distressing to me, was our children’s health.  Our kids were two and four-years-old by the time we finally found a home in the Delhi area, and as we settled in, things took a sharp turn, seemingly overnight.

One of our first Sundays in our new home city Jonathan was out of town in a remote village with our friend *Mark, so *Melissa and I took the four kids to church.  We were out in the lobby/restaurant area of the guest house where the church met watching the children weave in and out of the empty tables and chairs playing a game of tag.  They were laughing and having a great time.  However, as I watched my two-year-old daughter, I noticed that she was walking strange, dragging one leg, and bumping into the tables.  I grabbed my friend, Melissa, confused and nervous, we both watched her stumble around.  She looked like she’d had a stroke!  She finally couldn’t keep herself upright anymore and sat with a thump on the floor.  I flew over and scooped her up.  My mind started racing, filling with terrible thoughts.  One thing kept echoing over and over: something’s wrong with my little girl!  But how could this be?  She was completely fine just five minutes earlier!  I couldn’t wrap my brain around what I was seeing.  All I knew was my husband was far away, barely accessible by phone, and I was terrified.

We gathered up the other children, loaded into the car, and headed straight to the hospital.  We were fortunate to have one nearby, but what they would tell us would not be welcome at all…

*not their real names

 

 

Scarves

My daily wardrobe in India consisted of jeans and a long kurta (tunic-style shirt).  And I loved it.  It was the epitome of ease and comfort.  On the somewhat rarer occasion that I had to wear a full suit, also known as a salwar kameez (think kurta and churidars–leggings), I relished that as well.  They were fun to wear–and did I mention how comfortable?

Well, if you’ve been reading my blog for any amount of time you already know where this is headed. 🙂  That’s right–a cultural blunder!  Scarves, or dupattas as they’re known in India, how I love scarves.  I assumed that in India, like the States, scarves were a fashion statement, a nice piece of added stylistic flair, but not a necessity.  I was wrong.  I quickly learned that wearing a salwar kameez  without the dupatta was culturally akin to walking around topless.  Who knows how many places I went “topless” before someone was kind enough to fill me in on my faux pas!  🙂  Hope this made you laugh today, and if you’re in India, or some other South Asian country–don’t forget your scarf!

Confessions of an Imperfect Christian–#4

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Confession #4: I Don’t Trust God

T-r-u-s-t. Five simple letters spelling out a very risky and complicated idea. Some synonyms for trust are: certainty, assurance, and confidence. Right there, with those words, is where things started getting a little muddled for me. Did I feel confident, assured, and certain when it came to God? Not so much. I mean, he’s God, he doesn’t have to operate the way we do. He’s unpredictable. A mystery. And I didn’t understand the way he worked. When everything that I cared about was on the line, and the stakes were high, (for more about this read Holy Doubt) I realized that I didn’t trust him. I thought I did. But I didn’t.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the root of my distrust could be traced to my understanding (or lack of understanding) of God’s character. The problem wasn’t with God, it was with my view of him. I didn’t believe that he had my best interest at heart or that he truly cared about what was going on in my life, and sometimes I thought he sent trouble and suffering my way just to “teach me a lesson,” like some sort of twisted schoolmaster. And when life was good I was always waiting, with bated breath, to get what I deserved and have it all snatched away.

I’ve been reading the Gospels over and over in an attempt to “see” Jesus as the Bible says he really is, as opposed to how I’ve been taught or what I’ve always believed. What I’ve found has been eye-opening. While Jesus usually didn’t do the easy thing, or sometimes even the most likable thing, he truly cared! About us. He healed, forgave, and wept over us! This Jesus that I’m finally “seeing” is worth putting my trust in. I now see that even though God makes beauty from the ash in our lives, it doesn’t mean he sent the fire.  And that makes all the difference.

 

 

Calling All “Loners” and “Oddballs”

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I could feel twenty pairs of eyes boring into my skull as my third-grade teacher said, “Erica, could you please read that again. Louder. The class couldn’t hear you.” A barely audible collective groan escaped from my classmates’ throats, and a few of them rolled their eyes. My cheeks flushed in utter humiliation. Swallowing the hard lump in my throat, I tried to keep my voice from wobbling as I began reading the passage for the third time because my teacher said I was reading too quietly.

Fast forward a few years to high school where I was conveniently ill on speech days, preferring to take an “F” over standing in a room full of my peers with all eyes on me. Horrifying!

All those years I thought something was wrong with me. I silently berated myself for being so shy. Why couldn’t I just get over it? Why couldn’t I be like the other kids who gave flawless speeches with nary a flub or stutter? I wondered why I wasn’t good enough, and I began to develop an extreme dislike for my personality.

I’d be lying if I said the feeling hasn’t followed me into adulthood. We live in a culture that rewards outgoing, socially-polished individuals, and is a little suspect of the person who enjoys solitude, generally labeling them as “loners” and a bit “odd.” It’s hard not to feel inferior when you don’t fit the mold. However, the older I get, and the more I get to know Jesus (who loves me just the way I am! Imagine!), the more I realize that I am not a mistake. My personality is not second-class. God can use me–wants to use me–just as I am, the way he created me.

I’m reading Quiet, by Susan Cain. The tagline of the book is “the power of introverts in a world that can’t stop talking.” I was intrigued. Introverts, powerful? Interesting. Cain says, “Extroversion is an enormously appealing personality style, but we’ve turned it into an oppressive standard to which most of us feel we must conform…there’s zero correlation between the gift of gab and good ideas.” Wow! If you’re an introvert, let that sink in. God’s not asking you to conform to something you’re not. You have something to offer just as you are. It might not look or sound the way the world expects it should–and that’s okay.

Since the focus of my blog is ministry and missions, in future posts I’m going to talk about some challenges and strengths of introverts in ministry. My hope is that all of us can find a way to thrive by not only accepting the way God made us, but embracing it.

What are some unique challenges that you face as an introvert in an extroverted world?

How do you overcome them?

If you’re an extrovert chances are someone you love is an introvert. How can you support and encourage them to embrace that?