The Importance of Family Worship (and why we don't use the church nursery)

I've been thinking a lot about the importance of family worship lately. I've had conversations with so many parents who think of worship as "their" time with God. Week after week they leave their children in the nursery while they go to worship. If their children are old enough for Sunday school, they sometimes attend worship while their kids are in Sunday school - which means their kids hardly ever attend worship.This post was originally published in May of 2014, when we only had one child and were anticipating the arrival of our second. The words you find on this page are even more true for us today with two children than they were then. Because of that, I have posted it in its entirety without any edits.

It's a topic I thought about and discussed ad nauseum back when I was a full-time Director of Children & Youth Ministry. I was always trying to come up with ways to encourage parents to attend worship with their children, instead of without. But now that I'm a parent myself, it's become even more important to me.

Then today - I just happened to open the latest issue of The Lutheran magazine and found this article. It was, hands down, the best article in the issue. And it echoed so many reasons why I will always worship with my children - and will never use the church nursery.

Don't get me wrong - I'm thankful for church nurseries. The people that work in them offer a special ministry. They offer a safe, caring environment - and truly embody the love and ministry of Jesus Christ. And I totally get it - there are days when parents need that ministry more than any other.

I already shared with you one of the most important reasons we take our toddler to worship. There aren't many ways we can actually experience Jesus Christ through all our senses. Holy Communion allows us to do just that - to tangibly experience Jesus in a way that just isn't possible any other time in our lives. But it's more than that too.

It's the way she asks to say the Lord's Prayer and give thanks to God every night before going to bed.

It's the way she sings How He Loves and Happy Day at the top of her lungs no matter where she is or who is looking.

It's the way she wants to hold hands to pray before we eat dinner every night.

It's the way she dances to the music in that sacred worship space and says to us "Come on! Dance!"

It's the way she opens her Bible in the morning and says "Mommy, read Bible with me?"

It's the way she gets on her knees and folds her hands to pray during the prayers of the people. And how she screams "Amen" when they are over.

It's the way she reaches for the Communion wafer and dips it in the wine. And how she asks for more when she's finished eating it. Because don't we all really want more of Jesus?

It's the way she strains her neck to watch the pastor giving the Words of Institution. Just like her mama does.

It's the way she sings with the songs when I hold her close. She doesn't know the words, and can't read them on the page, but that doesn't stop her.

My two year old is an active participant in worship. Not only do we take her to worship with us every time we go, but we sit in the front row. We sit there because she can see what happens. It makes it easier for her to participate when she can see the musicians playing, the choir singing, the pastor preaching. She is probably a distraction to the people who sit behind us, but so far no one has said anything to us about it.

It's not always a typical worship experience for D & I - we often miss the point of the sermon because we're too busy trying to get A to sit still and whisper. We hardly ever actually hear the names of people that are being prayed for, because we're trying to make sure A doesn't fall off the kneeler. We sometimes miss pieces of worship because we have to sneak out for a snack (often sneaking the snack back into the pew with us as a bribery to her being quiet!)

For us, it's far more important that she experience worship with us than it is that we fully grasp the message of the sermon. It's important that she feels like she's a part of the community - no matter how young she is. It's important that she knows that worship is something we do as a body of Christ together - whether we really feel like being there or not. And it's important that she grows up knowing that the space where we worship is a safe, sacred, holy space. A space where we go when we need to feel God's presence the most.

Because one day she'll be old enough to make her own decisions about church. And when that day comes, I want her to feel such intense love for Christ and his church that she just cannot bear to stay away.

This post was originally published in May of 2014, when we only had one child and were anticipating the arrival of our second. The words you find on this page are even more true for us today with two children than they were then. Because of that, I have posted it in its entirety without any edits.

Photo Credit

What's Church Got to Do With It?

What's church got to do with it?

That's the question we've been wrestling with at church this Lent. And I have to be perfectly honest - I haven't been blown away by any of the possible answers.

For so long we have been searching for a church where we experience true community. A community of believers who really live life together - in every sense of the word. But I'm starting to believe that's an old-fashioned sense of what church is. That as much as I would like my close-knit community of people to be people I go to church with, it's just not going to happen.

So we've been struggling with church these last few months. Struggling with where to worship on Sunday mornings. Struggling with what we find to be most important when we attend a worship service. Struggling to find a balance between our deep longing for Christian community and knowing that no church really has it. At least not a church that we've been able to find in all of our searching.

Anyone who knows me well knows how frustrated I am with "church." Frustrated that we can't find a place that has good music, good community, and good theology all at the same time. In an honest attempt to let go and find where God is calling us, we've visited several churches over the last couple of months - all with different denominational backgrounds. And every single time we leave feeling like something is missing. Like that's just not the right place for us. Most often it's because they don't baptize babies or they don't have communion.

But this week - something happened that brought that Lenten study question to the forefront of my thoughts. The answer finally clicked in my head. Before I tell you what happened, let me give you a tiny bit of background. 

We bring our two-year old to worship with us. She's not always quiet - in fact, she's usually not - but it's important for us to worship as a family. She doesn't ever go to the nursery - and although we'll take her out for a cookie every once in a while to regroup, we never leave worship simply because she's rambunctious. 

Is it a lot of work? You bet. Do we worship the way we used to? Absolutely not. Do we sometimes get nasty looks when she's noisy. Yup. But we wouldn't have it any other way.

This past Sunday, as we got ready for church, she kept asking for "com-mune" (communion). In fact, she was so excited for communion she refused to eat breakfast - AND we were 30 minutes early. We reminded her that we have to sing some songs, say some prayers, and listen to some stories before we get communion. And like every other Sunday, she sang her heart out during the sermon, couldn't wait to kneel when it was time to pray, and asked for "more" when she was done eating her communion wafer. Every time it happens, D & I both tear up. Sunday, we looked at each other and said,

We can't leave this place. She loves it here.

And today, as we were listening to Pandora, David Crowder's How He Loves came on. She looked at me with her excited face and started singing ... How he loves! Oh he loves us! Then she proceeded to get on one knee, then the other, then both knees, saying,

One knee, other knee, two knees ... Like at church!

She went on to talk about praying and about communion and about cookies ... and I about lost it as I was folding the laundry. I just looked at her and said,

 That's right! That's what we do at church. We pray, we sing songs, and we get communion.

 This week, my precious toddler has answered that question for me.

 What's church got to do with it?

Church is where we go to pray as a body of Christ. Sure - we can pray in other places - but there's just something so holy about getting on your knees in that sacred place with so many other people. And perhaps most importantly for that toddler of mine - and for my husband and I - Church is where we go to receive Holy Communion. It's the place we go when we need to be physically fed with Christ.

In time, we may discover the kind of community we're longing for at church. Or, we may never find it at church. But we will most definitely receive the living Christ. And by receiving the living Christ each and every week, we are fulfilled and empowered to go create that community in the world around us.

This post was originally published during Lent in 2014. While many things in our life are different now, many of the things expressed in this post remain true for us today.

Discovering Purpose

For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life. ~Ephesians 2:10

I take the albums off the shelf, one by one. Before putting them in the box, I just can’t resist cracking them open. Taking a stroll down memory lane. One in particular catches my attention. Letters from grade school teachers during a transition from one school to another. Three different teachers all had similar things to say…

She is always reading. Every spare moment she has is spent with a book.
Out of the 125 books in the classroom collection, she has read 95% of them.
We never see her without a book in hand.

And then I come across my 8th grade writing test results.

The scoring scale is from 175 to 260. This test score is 272.

I not only topped the chart – I surpassed it. In the 8th grade. Is it possible I knew myself better then than I do now??

I cant help but think about how God has prepared me to do his work since I was a small child. I was created to read. Created to write. As a very small child, I always had a book in hand. I self-published my first book – an autobiography – when I was in the first grade.

But somewhere along the way I got distracted. I no longer read for fun. I forgot to pick up my pen and paper. It wasn’t cool to always have my head in a book. I needed to make friends – to be popular – to be “in.”

And when I started finding that part of me - when I started to revive the creativity deep within my soul - I had babies ... and I was afraid my creativity was gone forever.

But recently I've been feeling that pull to create once again. A dear friend once told me that creativity does come back postpartum ... but that sometimes it takes a year or two. So here I am - two years postpartum for the second time - and I'm once again working to rediscover who God has created me to be.

It’s like discovering a forgotten gift that has been shoved to the back of your closet. You knew it was there – but you had so many other things to keep you busy. You just didn’t have time to find a place for it.

But when you discover it – when you unwrap it for the second, or third, or even fourth time – you begin to realize how God has placed it in your life over and over and over again.

For we are what he has made us …

God is constantly preparing us to answer his call. He’s constantly showing us tiny glimpses of who he has created us to be. Quiet whispers of what he has prepared for us.

And when we answer … when we finally say yes … it feels like all is right with the world.

It’s not always easy to say yes. It sometimes means turning away from those we love. It often means saying no to things we want. There are so many things left unknown. So many uncertainties.

And let’s face it – if we’re honest with ourselves, it’s often more difficult to say yes than it is to say no. Saying yes means a lifetime of being in the dark. But yet at the same time – a lifetime of living in a light brighter than anything we could ever possibly imagine.

And so I continue to stroll down memory lane. Remembering the paths I’ve taken and the people I’ve met. Recognizing God’s presence in each and every one of them. And realizing, in a very new way, that God knew who I was going to be before I was born. He created me to do great things.

And every day I uncover just a little bit more of what he’s got in store for me.

How are you discovering who God’s created you to be? What’s your purpose?

Photo Credit

This post was originally published at Bibledude.net. It has been edited ever so slightly to reflect a new stage of life since it was first written in 2012. Because life changes, but our purpose remains.

remember you are dust…

remember that you are dust … and to dust you shall return

Today is Ash Wednesday - a day when we are reminded of this sometimes harsh reality. We are mere mortals. We begin as dust and one day we will return to the same state – nothing but dust. Growing up in a liturgical church I became familiar with these words from a very early age. Each year we are reminded that our lives here on earth will one day end. One day, we will return to dust.

It’s easy for us to focus on the beginning and the end. But I don’t think that’s what Ash Wednesday is all about. Ash Wednesday is the invitation to go on a new journey. A journey of introspection, of intentional meditation, of discovering who it is that God has created us to be.

The good news as we start this journey is that we know how it ends. We know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. We’ve heard the story before. Jesus wins! Our journey is not one into complete darkness. Instead it’s a journey to the resurrection. It is only in knowing where the journey will take us that we are free to explore and enjoy the journey in the meantime.

But again – it’s not about the end. It’s in knowing the end that we are able to live through the journey. If we focus only on the end, we miss so much. Life isn’t about the beginning or the end – life is about the in between. It’s about the memories we make and the stories we tell along the roads we travel.

I remember the year I gave up chocolate for Lent. I think I was about 11. It was awful. I counted down the days until Easter. And in my family, Easter didn’t come until after you had attended the Easter Sunrise Service at 5:30am. So you can imagine me running, as fast as I could, to the car after that sunrise service. I didn’t care that I hadn’t eaten breakfast or that it was only 6am. That Reese’s peanut butter egg in my easter basket was calling out my name.

It was only as I got older that I realized the significance of giving something up for Lent. It’s not to deny myself something that I love, but it’s to give myself a reminder of the journey that I’m on. Every time I desire the very thing I’ve given up, I remember the Israelites’ journey through the wilderness. I remember Jesus’s journey to the cross. I remember my own journey to discover who it is that God has created me to be. And instead of indulging in the thing I gave up, I have the opportunity to turn to God in prayer and meditation. Not out of denying myself pleasure, but in search of something new.

Because new is what we’ll find on Easter morning. Sure, we may be dust, and our bodies may one day return to dust. But Jesus gives us the promise of a full life in between the beginning and the end. He invites us to a journey. A journey of repentance. A journey of remembrance. A journey of discovering who we are created to me.

Will you join me on this journey?

Photo credit.

This post was originally published at Bibledude.net.

On Being Deeply Rooted

I am one of those people that is deeply grateful for the season of Lent. It comes at just the right time every year … when I’m feeling over the cold winter months and ready for the light and warmth of Spring. It is a time for reflection. For mindfulness. For purpose. And in these final months of winter, I’m in desperate need of all of these things.

Ash Wednesday is two days away, but I’m already getting a start on my Lenten journey. A friend introduced me to this book yesterday and I knew, just from reading the sample, that it is exactly what I need in this season of my life. The Introduction brought me to tears within the first few pages.

This happens to us all at some point. A crisis hits like a storm. Divorce. Death. Loss. Our stories differ, but the fallout is the same: we lose sight of who we are.

We become unrecognizable. And so we struggle to regain our footing, to find our place, to feel secure in who we are.

But no matter how we grab for a sense of significance, it remains out of reach. We’re not sure who we are anymore, and we haven’t a clue where to find the answer.

Sound familiar? What was the last crisis in your life?

Nine years ago, I lost my job as an attorney. I can remember the moment my boss let me go as if it was yesterday. “You’re doing great work, but I just can’t afford to pay you any longer.” I had a wonderful relationship with her, and she will always have a very special place in my heart. Between sobs in her office, as she was calling to get me set up for unemployment compensation, I replied, “I think you just answered a prayer. I think God has been trying to tell me something, and I wasn’t listening. And I think you just provided a big ole’ smack on the head.”

And then, just a few months later, I left my first marriage. Although I knew it was absolutely the right decision, not only for me, but for my ex-husband as well, it was one of the hardest decisions I ever made. Not because of the loss, because if I’m really honest, being out felt more like a huge gain than anything else. But because of the shame. I was only 27 years old, and already I had a big fat “Divorce” next to my name. How would anyone ever trust me again? How would I ever come back from that moment to live a full life?

One of the best things that came from those crises was that I spent intentional time in Bible reading, prayer, and writing. I would sit on my small twin bed in my tiny apartment and read, and write, and cry. I would call out for God to hold me and make his presence known. For the first time in my life, although I was deeply alone, I never felt lonely.

That was the biggest crisis of my life. And yet it was the time when I felt the most rooted in my faith.

Fast forward 8 years. I was feeling wonderfully secure. I had a house that I loved. A one-of-a-kind neighborhood where I always dreamed of living, but never expected that I actually would. I had a community of neighbors and friends that truly taught me how to be a parent. I learned so much there. How to be a neighbor. How to care for people. How to parent simply. How to live purposefully. How to eat (and cook) real food. I never dreamed I would leave.

And then we did. We sold our house, we packed up our things, and we moved over 1000 miles away. We did it because D got a job offer we couldn’t refuse. We did it because Massachusetts is, in so many ways, such a better place to raise children. We did it because we knew it was the right thing for us as a family.

But man … did it shake my world. I realized, when I read this passage yesterday, that this was my most recent crisis. My identity was wrapped up in Grant Park. I was a parent. A wife. A neighbor. I was a friend. A cook. A provider. A creator. And since that moment when we last drove away from that dear beloved house … I am just not sure who I am anymore. I have become unrecognizable. I have struggled to regain my footing. To find my place. To feel secure in who I am.

So this Lent, I’m digging deep to find my roots. I’m going to use this gift of a season to really become rooted once again. I’m going to be intentional about reading, praying, and writing. I’m sure there will be a lot of crying. Maybe even some weeping. But I know, at the end of this journey, I’ll look back and say “That was one of the most formative times in my life.”

Because We Will Overcome

As I began this article, I was glued to the television - watching results come in for the Presidential election that were vastly different than anything I expected. I went to bed before the final votes were in, and cried myself to sleep in my husband’s arms. I said all along it could happen. I knew, in my head, that this man was appealing to all that is selfish about humankind. As the results came in, I wasn’t surprised. But that didn’t make me any less devastated. My heart believed that good would prevail. My heart believed that people would stand up against hate. My heart believes that God is Love … and that Love always wins. But last night, love did not win.

My husband and I laid awake for hours last night, wondering:

How do we raise daughters under him as President? How do we protect their rights?
How do we live in a country filled with so much hate and animosity?
Where do we go from here?

And now … as the final results are in … as we prepare for Donald Trump to become the President of the United States … I can’t help but think about how we got to the place where we are today.

Yesterday, I read my daughters a story about a black woman who walked to her polling place to cast her vote. As she walked through her town, she reflected on those who came before her, and the events in history that brought her to today. She looked back on her great-grandparents, who were sold as slaves and were forced to work in a cotton field. She looked back on the African American men who gained the right to vote in 1870, and the wives that stood beside them, even though they couldn’t cast their own vote. She looked back on her grandpa, who was charged a poll tax in order to cast his vote ... a poll tax he couldn't afford. Her uncle who had to take tests before he could vote ... tests that didn't have any right answers - only wrong ones. She looked back on the first women to be granted the right to vote - her own mother included - in 1920. She remembers the angry mobs, the burning crosses, the hate and animosity. She thinks about trying to register to vote, having to write down a section of the Constitution word for word ... yet another unpassable test. She remembers the people who died standing up for what's right. John Lewis, Martin Luther King Jr, rabbis, priests, and other good-hearted Americans. She remembers the first time she cast her own vote - in 1965 - and in every single election after that. She walked and walked to cast her vote … and she did it because she knew the sacrifices that were made so that she had the right to vote.

I’ve voted in every single election since I turned 18. I don’t always make the most informed decisions, but I always try to research and vote according to my heart, my faith, and my education. I always vote for goodness. For equality. For love. I don’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t allowed to vote.

And this year, I voted for a woman. I voted for a woman who I thought would be the next President of the United States. I voted for a woman who has - for years - fought for rights for children, for women, for those most in need. I voted for a woman who makes me proud to be American. A woman who inspires me to do better. A woman who I believe in - and I think she probably believes in me. That woman lost the election, but she won my heart. And she inspired me to do better. To be better. To love harder. To rise up and go high.

Many people in my social circle voted differently than me. And while I don’t understand how they could possibly vote for someone who espoused hate at every turn, I do respect their vote. I respect their voice. I respect that they exercised their right to vote.

And now, even in the midst of our grief and despair … maybe because of our grief and despair, it’s time to move forward. If Hillary taught us anything, it’s that we are Stronger Together. It’s that we never give up. It’s that we get fired up and ready to go.

Men and women of America ... people of America, we’ve got a lot of work to do. Take a moment to grieve today, and then let’s get to work. Let’s join hands and show that united we are strong. Let’s work together to show that we will overcome hate and fear and animosity. Because we will overcome. And we will not be silenced. God is Love. And Love will always win.

On Wading

I'm not really sure what I've gotten myself into. As I pack up for what will only be an hour or two of work, I can't help but wonder if this is really worth it. It took us an hour to get out the door, with a movie, coloring books, snacks, and more in tow. And now, as I sit in traffic, in the rain (praise God for that!), I almost can't believe it.

Why are we going to church for a meeting mommy?
Well, because I'm going to do a little bit of work for them.
For what?
To help make their children's ministry really awesome.
Can we go there a lot?
Yeah - I think we will be going there a lot.

We had a feeling God sent us here for something - something more than David working at Harvard. That is a big enough reason to move - but once we got here, we realized there was something else going on. Little did we know that God would put me - a former Director of Children & Youth Ministry - at a church that was in desperate need of someone to implement ministries for its rapidly growing population of families.

And after a lot of back and forth with God about what I didn't want to do, I timidly said yes ... For now. Not forever - but for right now, okay.

So here I am ... Going back to work ... Very part time ... Temporarily. They continue their search for the right person, and in the meantime, I step in so that things don't fall through the cracks. I am exhilarated. I am excited. I am terrified.

Because even though it's something I've done before, I'm still a little bit out of my comfort zone. I'm not quite ready to "go back to work." I'm not sure I'm ready to do what it is God might be calling me to do.

Ministry was my life. It was my lifestyle - it was my passion - it was my heart's greatest desire. The kids that I worked with - they will always be forever special to me. They were "my kids" before I had kids. They taught me how to love. How to nurture. How to listen. How to pray. How to serve. They taught me how to lead. How to be a faithful adult, and at the same time, a loyal friend. They uplifted me and fulfilled me. And it was one of the most amazing times in my life.

But that was then. And this is now. Now I'm a mommy. A mommy that loves staying at home with her littles. A mommy that knows their tiny days wont last forever. A mommy that loves to spend her time cooking, and baking bread, and exploring, and teaching, and gardening, and living a simple, quiet life. And I'm just not sure how to do both. How to BE both.

But here I am - stepping a toe in it once again. God has been pulling, pushing, ever so gently. I'm not quite ready to jump all the way in, but I guess I can wade a bit. Because sometimes wading is the only way to start.

<a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/iN6FWLaWqKs">Photo Credit</a>

On Thomas ... and Doubt

Sunday was dark and gloomy around here. When I woke up and looked out the window, I discovered the ground – and my car – were covered with a blanket of snow. Because it was Sunday, and because we couldn’t imagine staying inside at home all day long, we got ourselves ready and headed to church. As I sat through the service, I couldn’t help but think how fitting it was that on this gloomy snowy day we were hearing about Thomas. The one who doubted. As I sat there, I realized that I, like Thomas, was in a serious place of doubt.

Doubt that spring will ever arrive.

Doubt that I will be happy here for the long term.

Doubt that the day will come when I no longer long for Atlanta.

Doubt that I will ever find a community that I love as much as the one we had in Grant Park.

Doubt that God is ever going to show me what in the heck She is up to.

It’s only been a week since Easter. And I, like Thomas, have already forgotten the joy of Easter morning. I’ve forgotten the sunshine. Forgotten the promise of friendships. Of community. Of a future so much greater than anything I can even possibly imagine.

Maybe it’s the weather that has me down. But maybe I’m more like Thomas than I’d like to admit.

Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.

The hardest part of faith is that it is, by definition, believing that which we cannot see. It’s believing that, even though we can’t see Jesus in the flesh, he is there right beside us, through everything we are feeling. It’s believing that Christ prevailed over all the dark and gloomy – no matter what our emotions are on any given day.

This story of Thomas … it pretty much sums up all of our lives, doesn’t it? Haven’t we all had times when we just weren’t quite sure we believed the things our church proclaimed? Haven’t we all had times when our emotions got in the way of what we know, in our heart, to be true? Haven’t we all had times of doubt?

I am intrigued when I sit down to think about just how connected my doubts are to what I’m feeling on any given day. My doubts and my emotions seem to be intertwined. When I’m feeling happy and optimistic, I don’t really have many doubts. I take things at their face value. I don’t really dive in to thinking about them on any deep, questioning level – I just believe … no questions asked. But when I’m feeling dark and gloomy, that’s when the doubt begins to take hold. It’s when I begin to wonder if all the things I’ve proclaimed for so many years really are true … or are they just empty words on a page?

The beauty of faith is that it isn’t about emotion. My faith in Christ can stand strong even when I doubt. Because this story of Thomas – this story of Christ’s resurrection – it isn’t about emotion. It’s about belief. It’s about belief in a God that is so good – that loves us so much – that He promises a good and right relationship with us … forever. This story isn’t about how we feel on any given day. It’s about knowing, deep within our hearts, that God’s word stands forever. It’s about remembering that no matter where we live, no matter where we go, no matter what we do … our relationship with God will always be there. It’s about remembering our baptism – remembering the promise that God will always love us.

It’s about remembering who we are. Whose we are.

Photo by Jake Blucker on Unsplash.

God is Here

Spring is upon us here in Massachusetts, and I couldn't be more excited about it. Good old Mother Nature treated us to a snow storm yesterday, but as I stare out the window now, almost all of the 4-5 inches we got are melted already. We are seeing green sprout up from the ground and the sun is feeling warmer and warmer every single day. I'm so ready to be able to explore the great outdoors - without having to bundle up.

We are really loving living here ... and can't imagine ever moving back to GA - but there are still days when I feel really lonely. I was talking with another older woman on Sunday who moved her family a across few states when she was my age. She said she remembers feeling so isolated, like a trip to the grocery store was so important to her because she actually saw people - real live adults - there. I nodded my head in agreement. Some weeks I'm lucky if I see a real live adult other than my husband. I didn't realize how connected to people we were in Atlanta, until we moved here and became so disconnected.

We try to have a play date once a week with a family from church, but we had a week of sickness, a week of visitors, another week of sickness, and now they have a visitor, so we've only seen them a couple of times this month. And although we've found a church to call home, we have found it very hard to plugin to do anything more than Sunday worship.

And if we are really honest with ourselves, more often than not, it still feels like we're wandering. We have been here almost four months now, but we are only slightly more settled. Admittedly, those four months have been packed full of (mostly negative) excitement and transitions. We have one more planned transition - the move to our house in May - and then I told my husband I don't want to ever move again. We are hoping that once we move in, we will start to feel like this is it. Like we've planted our roots and are ready to grow and flourish. We can plant flowers - and vegetables - and we'll have an outdoor space to call our own. We spent so much time in our outdoor space in Grant Park, and are really looking forward to having a yard that will allow us to spend a lot of time outside. A friend of mine in Atlanta told me once you have owned your own space, going back to renting is so difficult - and that has been so true for us here.

I have a framed watercolor print hanging above my desk with a quote from Sarah Bessey's latest book that says,

God is here in the wandering.

It's my reminder that no matter how isolated we feel, God is there. A reminder that we will not be wandering forever - or at least not in the same sense of being "between homes." A reminder that God is providing for us - every single step of the way.

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Finding Jesus

I am, what some like to call, a cradle Lutheran. I was born into the Lutheran church and baptized in the ELCA when I was a mere 4 months old. I don't remember missing many Sundays. We would go early for Sunday school and stay for worship, where we would sit with my mom and Grandma and best friend's family. My dad never went with us, but he never did much with us, so we didn't think much of it.

As we got older, our moms sang in the choir while we sat in the congregation on our own. I don't remember much about the messages in church back then - probably because we were too busy passing notes - but I do remember the service. The routine. The ritual. The sacredness.

I hated it. 

I wanted something more fun - more upbeat - more emotional. I wanted something "powerful" - something that would hit my heart ... the way camp always did. A place where I would have lots of friends that accepted me as I was - a nerdy, book-loving, quiet, musical girl. A place where I would gain confidence to really be the person God had created me to be. Maybe if our church was a little bigger ... but there were only a handful of kids my age there.

So in high school, taking my confirmation promises seriously, I "left" the Lutheran church for the first (of what would end up to be several) time of my life. I went to youth group at one of the huge Baptist churches in the small town I grew up in. It was in that Baptist youth group that I was introduced to a personal commitment to Jesus. Later in my life, I realized that personal commitment is also called "discipleship," but back then all I knew was "commitment." I learned about the importance of a daily quiet time. I encountered my first "altar call" - where everyone was invited to kneel at the altar and repent, asking Jesus to come into their hearts and save them. I made so many friends - I found myself getting to know the "in crowd" - and I finally felt accepted ... and maybe even a little cool.

But I will never forget the day the youth pastor took me aside and asked me if I was ready to be baptized into the church. I would love to have a picture of my face in that moment - I can imagine that I looked at him as if he had three heads. But I'm already baptized, I told him. I was baptized when I was a baby. And, I even affirmed that baptism in my confirmation. I'm not sure what his actual reply was, but here's what I heard - That baptism wasn't real. You have to make a personal commitment to Jesus, and THEN get baptized.

I left that night, never to return.

Now, some 20 years later, I can see how that Baptist youth group made a huge impact in my faith life. I see the beautiful things it taught me - how to pray, how to sit and listen, how to read my Bible and talk to God. Not only did it teach me how to do those things - but it taught me just how much I needed those things ... not for salvation's sake, but for my own sanity.

Now, I can see how that youth pastor probably wasn't trying to challenge my salvation or push me away, but was honestly trying to live out his calling as a youth pastor. He believed something different than me - and although it was a negative experience at the time, that experience helped me understand my baptism and confirmation in a way I hadn't prior to that conversation. His somewhat innocent challenge made me, in that moment, incredibly confident in the theology of the Lutheran church that I had grown up in. That challenge to my infant baptism made me realize that I did, in fact, know Jesus ... and that Jesus knew me too.

This post was originally written in response to Chapter Two of Sarah Bessey's book, Out of Sorts.