Blog

The other night, K and I were sparring at bedtime. You know the drill – tired mom trying to put active 6-year-old to bed. I’m generally more impatient than I need to be, she’s generally just six. It’s a guaranteed path to destruction. After managing to escape her room, there was the inevitable waiting period to see what she will supposedly “need” in order to lure me back in. 

Sure enough, within moments,  a quiet voice emerged… “Mommy?” 

“Yes?” I replied, feeling my blood start to boil.

“I can behave better than this.” 

What did she just say? Kel and I looked at each other and I quickly ascended the stairs, my temperature suddenly cool. 

“Kathryn, what did you just say?” 

“I can behave better than this. Sometimes I just forget…” 

I can’t be sure she wasn’t stalling, but regardless, what ensued was a sweet conversation where I found myself relating to her confession. Me too, kid, me too. How often do I, a grown adult, admit that I should be able to do better, I just don’t always choose to? 

My confession to her: I can’t always behave better. Sometimes I try so, so hard to do better, and I just can’t. I need Jesus to help me. And that’s why I have to say I’m sorry a lot. 

And suddenly, the great divide between us was immediately gone. No longer was I a self-proclaimed “wise” mommy and her an unknowing ignorant little girl. Instead, we were just two people… admitting our imperfections in trying to figure life out. Together. Recipients of a grace we don’t deserve. 

True Courage

Days later, I’m still marveling at her courage in that moment. The courage just to admit that she was missing the mark. I want to be more like that. I want to be quick to admit my bad behavior, my bad thoughts, my bad words… to apologize, to beg for God to help me do better. Instead, I typically find within myself a reason to excuse the bad behavior… to justify my harsh words, my bad attitude, my unwillingness to help another. Instead, I am quick to lay blame… Well, if he hadn’t… 

To be fair, the majority of the time K is still your typical 6-year-old. And I suppose, I’m your average 41-year-old. And maybe that was the beauty of the moment. A true mirror of my own moments. That while most of the time I’m digging my heels in, there are these instances where I catch the bigger picture of how I ought to be living/thinking/being. Moments of surrender and humility, confessing that how I’m actually living isn’t always matching up to the way I say I want to live. 

Sweet moments where God reminds me that while I can’t, He can. Moments where all I can do is say, “I’m sorry”.  

The teachable moments are never just for K – it seems God always has something for me, too. May he find me as tender-hearted in those moments as she was. Willing to admit, to listen, to learn, to long for better, and to trust him when I simply cannot. 

When I took my job, close to 4 years ago now, I was coming out of a season where I had been afforded the luxury of slowing, re-prioritizing, and re-examining purpose and passion. I didn’t know much about the refugee process, but I wanted to jump in and be a part of whatever it was that God was doing in Columbia, Missouri through this organization. I remember praying a lot during the interview process. I remember Revelation 7 coming to mind – this idea of a large crowd of people, from every nation and tribe and people and language gathered together in worship. 

A glimpse of the Kingdom of God… attainable right here in the middle of America. How could I not want to be a part of fostering, fanning, and growing that? 

This past weekend we celebrated World Refugee Day – an international holiday that honors refugees all over the world. Hundreds of folks gathered in one place speaking different languages, wearing their traditional clothing, and many bringing their countries’ flavors through dishes to share. We heard stories of resilience and hope. We listened to children sing, “This is the day that the Lord has made”. We ate delicious food. We laughed as a few staff joined in a traditional men’s dance from Afghanistan. 

It was truly a multi-cultural, multi-ethnic, multi-lingual, multi-generational experience. And at the conclusion of the festivities, I wanted more of it. 

As each one shared, I thought how incapable I was of ever fully understanding their journey. My eyes couldn’t fathom seeing the things they have seen. My heart couldn’t comprehend the loss theirs has most likely endured. 

But here they are. Oceans away from home, embracing the reality that they can never return and doing whatever it takes to start over from nothing. They are brave. They are resilient. And there’s a certain joy that overrides all else. 

And as each one shared, there was always an acknowledgement of God — praise given, gratitude on display. Sometimes in a native tongue, sometimes in English. But it was a prominent part of the night. 

A crowd of people from various nations and tribes and people and languages — gathered together in worship. 

We saw glimpses of the Kingdom of God on Saturday night. 

And those of us who were lucky enough to bear witness to this unusual occurrence walked away filled with humility, awe, and gratitude. Forever changed by how God moves in the thin spaces where heaven meets earth. Where we see all that we have in common and we celebrate that which sets us apart.  

My heart was full of an inexplicable reverence — struck by how the same Jesus whom I know and love is also the same Jesus my brothers and sisters from across the world know and love. And while our stories vary from one to the next on just how we came to know and trust Him, He is unchanging in His grace and love for us. His story is the same and we each have been grafted into it. 

It’s a literal in-my-face reminder that the Gospel transcends cultures, languages, and time. Our western Christian ears ought to be perked up, listening and responding to how God is moving in the hearts of our fellow believers. Our posture should be one of humility, eager to learn from how others have been transformed by the saving grace of Jesus Christ. 

There are probably a lot of shoulds and ought-tos I could rattle off, but I think one of the easiest (and simultaneously hardest) places to start is by simply taking the time and energy and having enough curiosity to truly get to know someone who is different from you. Different background, religion, race, socio-economic status. Someone different, but someone who still bears God’s image. All of humanity. 

And when we withhold judgement, self-righteousness, and bitterness and truly look into the face of another — may we see the face of God. 

Here, there is hope to behold. Joy, that can quench all sorrow. Peace, that surpasses all understanding. 

The Last Five Years

Five years ago today, I boarded a plane to Columbia, Missouri. It was a trip I had taken countless times before… but this time it was permanent. We were officially leaving our only home we had known as a married couple and now small family, and were starting over, back in my hometown. In the middle of COVID-19. With an 8-month-old strapped to my chest. Kel would follow a few days later with all of our belongings, animals, and plants (bless him).  

We had asked my parents for a favor, “Can we live with you? It’ll only be two years…” Our plan was for Kel to get his real estate license and we knew we wouldn’t be eligible for a loan for 2 years if he was self-employed. 

But, five years later, we are still living with my parents. With a 5 year, 8 month old kid. (bless them). 

When we left our home, our jobs, our community in New Mexico… we couldn’t imagine where the future would take us. But, we felt okay about it. Sad, absolutely. But okay. We had this deep sense of knowing (and actually believing) that God had all of it. He had us.  We wouldn’t have probably chosen it for ourselves, but we knew that God was moving us to something new, something different. 

I remember that first year as an instant unemployed mom, trying to find purpose in my day-to-day existence. Life was slower, no doubt. Instead of emails to answer and people to manage, I was keeping a toddling, rambunctious, babbling kid alive. And I was both happy and perplexed. “Is this what you have for me, Lord?” 

I asked the question a lot. Probably far more dissatisfied with my situation than I should have been. I had, after all, been afforded a gift far more valuable than money. I had been given time. Time to stop, to process, to implement… time to consider priorities and how I was living out the values I proclaimed to believe. Hillsong’s “New Wine” spoke to me a lot during that new season in my life: 

In the crushing

In the pressing

You are making

New wine

In the soil, I

Now surrender

You are breaking

New ground

So I yield to You and to Your careful hand

When I trust You I don’t need to understand

Make me Your vessel

Make me an offering

Make me whatever You want me to be

I came here with nothing

But all You have given me

Jesus, bring new wine out of me

It was a prayer I prayed often. One of constant surrender. I didn’t fully know how God would use the gifts and experiences he had given me to bring about new wine, but I was praying desperately for contentedness in my circumstances, whether I remained an instant-stay-at-home mom or went back to work. This was what I wanted – for Him to use me. 

Leaving New Mexico had hurt. It had been hard. Crushing. I felt like I had moved back to Missouri with nothing except what God had given me – a truly incredible family – and I was pleading that He would bring new wine out of me. My identity had been far more wrapped up in my camp life than I had ever wanted to admit. 

A few weeks ago, we sang this very same Hillsong song at church. On my left stood my family. To my right, a group of women in a discipleship group I had been leading over the last year. New wine. My eyes welled with tears at God’s faithfulness over the last 5 years. His provision was evident to me that morning. It’s been so evident in so many ways since we moved. 

I marvel often at what’s transpired over the last 5 years. For out of heartache, He has brought a wholeness, purpose, and blessing. A new business, investing in low-income affordable housing solutions for those steps away from homelessness. A growing non-profit that serves and empowers refugees from all over the world. A family that has needed to rely on one another through various challenges. A church where discipleship is flourishing and we get to utilize previous experiences and knowledge to help fan the flames. A multi-generational home where we want to continue living together for the foreseeable future because of how sweet it is — a home where Kel and Mumsy make sure there is coffee each morning and Pops and I make sure the grass is mowed. A town where Kathryn has “sister/brother”-cousins minutes away, even though she’s an only child.

God is at work. He has been at work. Sometimes it just takes us giving a minute to pause and to reflect about how the millions of pieces are fitting together and paving a way for Him to be known, exalted, and glorified. 

You may be in the middle of the heartache right now. In the middle of the uncertainty, the unknown, the fear of what’s next. Press in… deeper. To knowing Him, loving Him, serving Him – with everything you have, everything you are. Bring Him your tears, your worries, your pain. He can handle it. One step at a time, one day at a time.

And eventually, friend, you too will look back. Maybe 5 years. Maybe 10. Maybe 30. Maybe more. And you will marvel at all He has done. 

He is making new wine.

Through us and in us. 

Hang on to Jesus. 

For He continues to be the only one who will sustain us.

I’m not sure if you’ve ever witnessed anything “miraculous” before… but, if you have… it’s worth remembering often. It’s worth sharing, writing down, reflecting on, and celebrating. 

The last few months have had me, in moments, spiraling into a pit of, “I don’t know how this is all gonna work out.” But this thought has always been quickly countered with the reminders of how God moves, works, and provides. And while I don’t know, in this particular instance, how anything will actually “work out” – there’s a great comfort in knowing that God’s provision and timing have always been perfect. Even when infertility didn’t turn into pregnancy, God provided. 

Because He who promised is faithful. 

As the non-profit I work for now faces some financial needs, I can’t help but remember a similar feeling almost 20 years ago (totally different circumstances, totally different non-profit). And while I anticipated (and prayed) that God would provide the millions of dollars needed through thousands (if not millions) of individuals, that’s not how He showed up. Instead, God’s provision came through the generosity of three individuals who not only gave, but ended up investing years of their lives into a ministry that the Lord had knowingly planted along their journey. 

I love recalling this story. 

There are so many intricate details about it that reveal God’s kindness and mercy. In the midst of our uncertainty, worry, and fear — God had a plan. He had been stirring the hearts of strangers, preparing their story to intersect with ours for such a time as this. Our needs, met with God’s faithful provision. 

It’s good for me to remember. 

It’s good for us to remember. 

And while I know very well that the current situation is vastly different from the one I just described, it’s helpful to recall how God shows up. It’s helpful to remember that He does. 

We witnessed many miracles during that season. 

I don’t ever want to forget those moments. I don’t want to forget how it feels to be facing something seemingly impossible and to be in the midst watching God make it possible. Those moments aren’t just ones to distantly read in the pages of Scripture – but they’re happening every day. 

And the best parts about all of those stories are not just that the blind see and the lame walk (although, that’s entirely worth celebrating!)… but it’s that they all point to the only One who can make the impossible possible. 

The miracles don’t leave me in awe of three men who chose to give so generously (although I am so grateful for them). But, more than that, they leave me in awe of the God who caused a million other little things to align perfectly so that those men would be connected to that organization at the exact right time so they could effectively “save” us. But it was never about them… it was always about Him: the Triune God who is sovereign in all things. 

It’s easy to hone in on the times He doesn’t feel especially present or involved in the minute details. It’s probably more normal for us to magnify those moments over any others. The hurts can quickly drown out the “wins”. The job loss can cause me to forget the miracles witnessed. The deaths make everyday living feel a little less magical. 

But I’m working on slowing. Slowing my feet enough to look up, to remember, to see the light. And when I pause long enough to do that, my perspective shifts toward gratitude — for every breath, every heartbeat, for the ways God will use even this (fill in the blank) for something good. 

And, on the flip side, I believe that when we are paying attention to the promptings to do, to give, to reach out… that God is using us in miraculous ways in other people’s lives and stories. Those men could have heard our pleas and gone on with their lives and never known the difference. But they didn’t. They slowed. They listened. Their hearts were stirred. And God is still using them to proclaim his good news through that organization. 

I want to slow my feet enough to remember.

I want to slow my feet enough to listen so that I, too, can respond.

This story has never been mine. It’s never been ours. It’s much bigger than that. And I’m so grateful to have the teeniest, tiniest part to play in it. May he find us faithful in telling others who the story is really about.

I feel like the last decade has been a series of tiny, timid steps. It’s perhaps a luxury I will no longer be afforded. 

In a constant quest for purpose, a searching to know more about who God is and who He wants me to be, I’ve been forced to look beyond the walls of what I’d always known. I’ve been blessed by the opportunity to study Scripture and grateful for the space to re-prioritize how my time is spent. Some of that was chosen, some of it was not. But all of it, I believe, was God-ordained. 

And what I found on this quest was surprising. 

More questions than answers. What I thought I knew, upended. 

A strong, steady pulse of Love revealed consistently throughout Scripture. 

It’s undeniably present, woven intricately throughout the pages. When I sat down to study and know God, what I found catapulted me into a new existence… it stirred within me new passion. 

Tiny, timid steps were taken toward foster care. All of our lives, radically transformed. An application on a website now translated into a chatty five-year-old who is fiery, brilliant, and asks questions like, “How did God make himself?” She reminds us, every day, of God’s love for us. Of how we, too, have been grafted in – adopted as sons and daughters. Co-heirs with Christ. 

We continued to dive deeper into the quest to know God. To know His heart, to reflect his image to the world. We ask questions about how we spend our time, our money — about the things that steal our attention. We imperfectly process, imperfectly work to realign, imperfectly adjust expectations for our lives. 

If life is meant to be lived for him, if we are meant to be a reflection of him… then we must continue to look different. More time spent with him — because we look like who we spend time with. We talk like them, walk like them, think like them. 

I wanted (still want) to look more like Jesus. Tiny, timid steps toward him were (are) necessary. 

The steps took us to new business opportunities, new jobs. Places that put us directly in the pathway of the people Jesus calls us to. The people God’s heart beats for — the poor, the orphan, the widow, the foreigner. Less me. More him… more them. 

We’re watching a world that’s growing in division. Instead of being peacemakers, we’re content with hurling insults. Instead of longing for unity (and learning to celebrate our differences), we rejoice in another’s defeat. Instead of viewing other humans with dignity and honor, we demean. 

Instead of moving toward each other in love, we’re attacking with hate. 

It’s everything contrary to what I’ve discovered on the quest to know God… everything contrary to the Love who died for us while we were still his enemies. Sacrificial humility, becoming less so others can be more. 

I’m praying for miracles of repentance, miracles of changed hearts. But, I’ll also settle for tiny, timid steps toward God and toward each other. And sometimes, I’ll admit, tiny steps feel like huge steps at the time. And, perhaps, they are miracles after all.

Tiny, timid steps that invite conversations with those who we’ve been hurt by or those we’ve hurt. Tiny, timid steps towards standing up for the injustices we see and experience. Tiny, timid steps toward making God’s kingdom come, here on earth. Tiny, timid steps toward knowing, more fully, who God is and what he is calling you to do/be. 

But, they are steps toward something good. Steps toward right… steps toward love. 

We will most likely do it imperfectly, but we have to be people who, together, move toward Jesus and move toward others — even our “enemies”. 

This is the countercultural demand on believers for all time. We will look different because of how we love.

I’ve been thinking a lot about “impact” lately. 

What impact we have on the world around us… what impact the world has on us. Sometimes, I’m blown away when I think about the way a decision I made has ripple effects on other people – many whom I don’t even know. 

When, as a 19-year-old, I set out to Texas to work at a summer camp that few had ever heard of… I had no idea that it would mark the beginning of a 20 year relationship between that camp and the campus ministry I was part of. No idea that college students today would be heading to Texas for the summer, just like I did years ago. 

It’s a reminder that we don’t generally make decisions in isolation. Usually our actions, our choices…they can make waves that have a further reaching impact than we often realize in the moment. And so much of the time, we don’t even know what that impact may be. 

Our decision to foster, to move to Columbia, for me to start working at a non-profit, for us to embark on a real estate/affordable housing business with our friends, what church we chose…I can trace the threads of impact that each of those decisions can/will make in other people’s lives. 

And yet, I believe, there’s also some mix of God’s sovereignty in all of it. It’s complicated. How our choices weave together with this peace that assures me: this is how it was supposed to be. 

It maybe makes the decisions feel less weighty while also reminding me that what we do does matter. Our choices do impact others, even if we’d like to pretend like they don’t. There can be a purpose beyond me that I never get to know about. I love that. And maybe I also hate it. 

We can’t live in isolation. 

We were never meant to. 

We are beings who are deeply impacted by the choices others make on a daily basis, whether we realize it or not. We are beings who deeply impact others by the choices we make, whether we realize it or not. 

There’s a tension we must live in – feeling the weight of responsibility, but also knowing other folks also have agency, and that the Triune God reigns supreme. 

But we aren’t exempt from responsibility. Our choices matter, despite how much we may try to convince ourselves that they don’t, or that the part we play is too insignificant to mean much. 

Your role is significant. 

Written only for you, for such a time as this. 

Only you can decide to do that and have it influence them in that way. Only you can refrain from that, and it will have implications for your family for generations to come. 

Only you. 

Four years ago, I wrote a piece about “A Forgotten Humanity”. We were fast approaching the 2020 election and I was struggling to know how to engage with real issues in our country as a follower of Jesus. I wish I could tell you I felt different four years later.

But I don’t.

I’m still struggling with knowing how to navigate this political and cultural moment in a way that absolutely honors God. For many years, I disengaged and removed myself entirely from the conversation. Sidestepping and tiptoeing feels easier, safer. But, today, I’m not convinced that’s the best (or right) course of action.

I think the crux of what I wrote back then still holds true today. Beyond party affiliations and who is wrong/right, I am most deeply concerned by the stripping of humanity that is occurring all around – especially by those who profess to know and believe in Jesus as Lord and Savior. It’s upsetting, because it’s so contrary to everything Jesus is about. On all sides.

It makes me wonder if we have all forgotten the Gospel. Or that possibly, many have never known it.

Because if we are people truly changed by Jesus’ radical love coming to be with us (read: save us), his enemies.. wouldn’t that change everything about how we then treat, view, and care for others (even our “enemies”)? Wouldn’t his example of grace upon grace challenge us, daily, in how we live in relationship with others? Wouldn’t his command to love those who persecute us and to love our neighbor as better than ourselves alter what words flow from our mouths or our fingertips?

If we say we believe in the saving, redemptive work of Jesus Christ – doesn’t it have to change everything about how we live, move and have our being? Doesn’t it mean we have to be different from the rest of the world (kinder, more generous, more hospitable, more self-controlled, more patient, not easily angered, not keeping record of wrongs)? Doesn’t it mean that we have much to hope in/for? Doesn’t it mean that our allegiance is ultimately to the King who rules for all time, in all things? Doesn’t it mean we have no reason to fear? No reason to worry?

And yet…

Here we are.

A country filled with people claiming Christianity who are ripe with fear, worry, hate, and rhetoric that dehumanizes the “other”. On all sides.

I can’t (and won’t) tell you how to vote (but I will say that you definitely SHOULD vote – the fact that we get to is such a privilege we can too easily take for granted). And I can urge those of you who profess to know Jesus, who profess to believe that his death and resurrection has saved you, a sinner, and brought you into new life with him…. to make it a priority to reflect on that heavily over the next few weeks/months/years (your entire life, really).

Instead of time spent scrolling, or binging, or news-watching, or worrying… make time spent knowing God the most important thing in your day. Because when we seek to know Him, we remember the gospel. We remember what we have been saved from – that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

And when we remember that, we are changed.

We’re kinder, more gracious, less angry. We live with more humility, we have more joy. We pray more, we trust more, and we have more peace – whatever may come our way. Our citizenship is secured in something beyond the here and now — and so our generosity has a further reach. We are moved to take care of the most vulnerable instead of demonizing or victimizing them.

When we press into knowing God… truly knowing him…

It has the power to change everything.