You Won't Want To Instagram This

What if Christmas was more than the Hobby Lobby decorations and the traditional yearly photos with Santa? The Christmas light competitions, the recipes we only make once a year, the holiday craft ideas that we can't stop pinning on Pinterest...what if it was all part of what is really taking away from what Christmas is about? What if Christmas wasn't even about the mandatory family get togethers, who brings what dish to the Christmas meal, or even those cute holiday photos that we are all guilty of posting on Instagram and Facebook for our friends to see? 

Ten years ago I decided that I hated Christmas. I hated the music, the lights, the smiles on peoples faces, and even the promise that Christmas was supposed to mean something that felt good on the inside. On the night before Christmas, my world fell apart. Ten years ago, I slept through the entire day of Christmas on purpose.

Everyone remembers their first winter break as a college freshman. It meant pure freedom from studying and clean laundry. My countdown for winter break had started the day after classes began that semester. I came home from school in enough time to join my family at our church's annual Christmas program. It was a pretty typical family outing. Our family could barely get to church on time and it was an added bonus if we could walk in with everyone in the family smiling at each other. That night I stayed up late talking to my Dad about all kinds of things, catching him up on my latest drama and even falling asleep on the couch because I probably talked myself to sleep. 

The next morning my mom woke me up on the couch telling me we needed to call 911. My dad had a seizure and needed to get to a hospital. Although he said he was fine, they told us they wanted him to be evaluated at the local ER. After scans and tests they found out that he had a brain aneurysm. They were going to have to put a stint in his brain as soon as possible to prevent any future anerysms from happening. My dad had cystic fibrosis and was a recipient of a double lung transplant just 4 years prior. What would be a basic procedure was never just basic. It was extremely complicated from start to finish. As they made plans to transfer him to a hospital that specialized in brain surgeries, I made plans for my little brother to stay with a friend. They were prepping my dad for surgery and my mom had to battle the nurses to have them wait to take him into surgery so that I could see him before he went in. I sped all the way through downtown and made it there just in time to see him before the wheeled him down the hallway. The nurses were not very happy about having to wait for me to get there, but I am so glad that I was. I had no idea that would be the last time I would ever hear my dad talk to me. There was nothing profound or picture perfect about it, he was all looped up on surgery meds and all I can remember is him asking for a coke when his surgery was over. 

The surgery didn't go very well and because of some pre-op things that had gone wrong with my dad's body they decided to keep him sedated and try again in a few days when things had leveled out. They eventually performed the brain surgery and we entered into a very long week of post-op nightmares. They couldn't get him to come out of his anesthesia without some major complications, so the next decision was made to keep him in a medically induced coma until things could calm down. Each day stats were changing and medical terms were being thrown around so quickly that no one could keep up with what was really going on. Every day we were told by the doctors & nurses that my dad might not make it through. See, I grew up with that phrase because cystic fibrosis is terminal. I was told on a quarterly basis that my dad might not "make it". I taught myself that it was normal to live like that and to constantly be aware of what a worst case scenario might look like. I was a professional at worse case scenarios, and I still am.

When they told me that each day might be his last, there was a part of me that didn't really believe them. I had heard doctors tell us that so often in the past, and somehow my dad always did the opposite of what they would predict. I slept in the ICU waiting room, going in every day to talk to my dad and not so sure that he could even hear me. I went in and talked about the Cowboys game, prayed, and even at one point begged him not to give up because my family couldn't handle it. We would hang out in the lobby like it was a normal thing to do, and even hang out with relatives that I hadn't seen in a long time like it was a mini family reunion. We would hear codes called over the intercom for the nurses and doctors, and never know if it was related to my dad or not. It became my daily routine for ten days straight, and I was exhausted. 

Christmas eve morning I was back at my usual spot in the waiting room. I was making phone calls to family friends and relatives letting them know that the nurses didn't have a very good report from the night before. He wasn't doing good. The code came across the intercom, and I was alone. My mom had to run to the local pharmacy to get a prescription, and it was just my uncle and I. The doctors called me into that special room that you get to visit when someone passes away, and asked me what to do next. They had explained to me that he had coded and they had been trying to resuscitate him for a while and wanted to know how much longer I wanted them to go on for. I was 18, and all of a sudden I was making decisions much bigger than who I was dating and what I wanted for Christmas. I knew before my mom came back that he had died. My uncle and I sat in that room with the doctors I had known for years watching them cry and saying they were sorry, and we just sat there. I had my strong face on, and I called my mom and told her to come as fast as she could. 

I didn't want anyone coming to visit me at the hospital that day. I had already told the lady at the reception desk not to let anyone come visit, but she let one of my friends stay and came and got me. She told me she thought I needed my friend. There were no words, just a hug. And at that moment, thats all I needed and all I could handle.

I only had one thing on my mind when I came home that night, I had to get my brother and talk to him. My brother had been at his friend's house all day and he was so young that had absolutely no idea what had just happened that day. I took him back to my room and talked to him about the day's events. I finally told him that our dad had died and that he wasn't coming home. His response was something I will never forget. After processing it for a minute he looked at me with both hope and sadness in his eyes and said "thats ok, I'll see him in heaven one day".

Waking up on Christmas morning was not easy. We woke up and watched my little brother have the Christmas joy that I could probably never find again, and he opened each present one by one. He was so excited to open them and he thought that all of the presents were from my dad, which means he held onto those gifts a little tighter that day.  I hit a point of pure exhaustion on Christmas morning and I couldn't keep my emotions in anymore. I went to my mom and dad's bed and cried myself to sleep and slept the entire day. Christmas was awful that year. And the year after that, and even the year after that. I would cringe when I heard the holiday music playing, Christmas decorations being put out, and even hearing people talk about how excited they were that Christmas was coming soon. Christmas was no longer about what I wanted to put on my Christmas list. Christmas reminded me of how messed up things really are. 

Even though its been ten years since that day, I am more and more aware every year of how far away we've gotten from why we even celebrate Christmas. My Facebook is full of hyper-spiritualized blogs about the "reason for the season", plenty of Pinterest ideas to keep you busy for years, my never-ending checklist of things to get done before the holidays, and yet somehow we've still missed it. 

Its taken me a few years to like Christmas music, and now my husband actually has to set a date to when I can start listening to it. I might have tried turning it on in October. Don't judge. I've had to adjust to all of the over-the-top decorations and holiday parties, and even the Christmas services in church with the cute caroling melodies they want you to join in with. I'm still not a huge fan. I can't say that Christmas has been easier to celebrate because of my circumstances, but I can say that my entire belief in why I even celebrate this holiday has completely transformed. I'm not just celebrating the fact that there was a story that happened in the bible thats cute to act out in a play. It's a time when my heart hurts deeply with how messed up our lives and world really are, and I am without words when I think about the redemption that comes with the birth of a little baby boy who later died for us. It is the hope and the promise that is spoken in God's word that this is not the end of the story. This messed up life, the drama, the death, the illness, the hurt..its not the end. 

Every Christmas I'm tempted to get resentful, and some days I am, but I also remember that even though catchy Christmas music is playing in the stores and decorations are covering houses from top to bottom, people are hurting badly. Just because the calendar says December 25th does not mean the hurt stops, or that the world lives in peace for one full day. It doesn't even mean that family members will get along that day. But it does mean that the story doesn't end there. 

I am so thankful for a faith that isn't dependent on my circumstances. I would buckle. Every year on Christmas I remember a day when I had no strength in my body or my heart, and I was carried. I was held up, comforted, and given the strength to get out of bed when I didn't think I could. Its in the messy parts of life that you have to decide what your hope is in. If my hope was in my dad, in my circumstances, or even what I felt at that moment I know I would never be where I am at today. I don't think I would have ever gotten out of bed. 

My hope and truth is this: 

Romans 5
Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, ² through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. ³ Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance;⁴ perseverance, character; and character, hope. ⁵ And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.⁶ You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. ⁷ Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. ⁸ But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

So this Christmas Eve lets stop making a big deal over the cute decorations or the catchy music and making sure we check everything off of our to-do list. Lets just all agree that this is one messed up world and if we don't share our hope in Christ with others, what hope do they have? I am challenging you to go to a Christmas eve service this year. Even if you've never been to a church in your entire life, go and try it out. What do you have to lose? Let go of the expectations of how pretty the decorations in the service will be, or how it will make you feel on the inside. And for those that attend church weekly, lets go together and lose the personal expectations and just worship. Lets go and be thankful for a Savior who didn't look at our filth and say that we weren't worth it. Celebrate with me this year, that this isn't the end of our story. Let's celebrate and sing together, and acknowledge that we are some messed up people who need God now more than ever. Because with tears in my eyes and memories in my heart Im going to celebrate that death has no power over my life, the birth of a king made sure of that.

Merry Christmas.

About that . . .

Im still working on this blogging thing. Something about sitting at a computer brings me right to Pinterest and hours of inspiration (can I get an Amen?). By hours I really mean hours I should be sleeping, and by inspiration I really mean things that I can drool over and requires zero brainpower. And lets be real, a "to be continued" sometimes just means I don't have the words yet. I was still waiting on those extra words and even today Im not so sure how I would choose to "continue" my last post. As I was processing what that looks like to bring two newly married individuals together, give one a strong vocational calling to ministry and trying to figure out how to merge the two worlds together, the words still would not come. Because Im really not sure how you do it well. Guess I should start that next chapter in my new book http://leadingandlovingit.com/equip/book/  I've been procrastinating on that focuses on this very thing.

After 2 big moves, lots of goodbyes, and a whole lot of new beginnings, its been harder and harder to embrace this "ministry" life. I keep wondering if this is what it is supposed to look like, if it is supposed to be this messy. We wouldn't normally choose the messy parts for our life and call them good. We really wouldn't even voluntarily walk into those messy parts and say "yes, this is where I want my family". Ministry gets messy regardless of where you are, and the longer my family was committing to this ministry life the faster my attitude was going downhill and questioning this calling for our family. And if were being real about it, even for my husband. Yep. I felt like we were running in this race, and I was in the back dying for a breath and considering pulling out all together. And then we moved again. 

Whether or not I felt like I was called into ministry, I was completely ignoring the beauty of letting my husband lead our family. I wasn't trusting that God had something in store for us that would remind my family and I why we love ministry, even the messy parts. There were so many days where I felt like my prayers were completely ignored and things might not ever slow down for us. I am so thankful I can now look back on those years and realize that it took me way too long to learn some tough things. While I was trying to figure out what it looked like to be a wife that didn't feel that extra strong calling into ministry, I was forgetting what that really meant.

And ya'll, when I say ministry, its really simple. It means my husband is on staff as a pastor. So where he works, is where we attend church. Its a 200%, we-are-all-in kind of thing. Its where my kids get to run the church halls Monday through Friday, and Sunday. It means my kids will grow up watching up close and personal what it is like to work at a church and really live it out on a daily basis. It means my kids will learn what real authentic community can look like, and loving on those who do and don't know Jesus. Its an up-close-and-personal kind of life. Our deepest desire is seeing our community transformed by the gospel. Its nothing super fancy, it just means he gets paid for doing what he loves the most in this entire world. Its a true privilege. 

I had so many different things in my life trying to tell me what that was supposed to look like, and yes (Im spilling it) I even got called out for not going to church some weeks! I had expectations, offended multiple people, and didn't quite match up to what many people were trying to tell me to be like. So while I was trying to figure out how I fit into this ministry thing and how I could be this "wife" in ministry that I never imagined I would be, I was listening to everything else around me telling me that I wasn't measuring up on a weekly basis. I didn't say hi to someone, I didn't invite so-and-so over for dinner as a "thank you" for what they did for me, I didn't make someone feel acknowledged, and I was way too busy with my two young kids to keep up with the social calendar I was supposed to maintain. I was letting everything around me tell me that I could never do this, and I wasn't meant to do this. And y'all, I can't make this stuff up. These things were confirmed verbally to me on an almost weekly basis.

Good thing I'm not! I really wasn't meant to do this, and I think it even makes me & God crack up every time I hear someone reference me as a pastors wife. But Im so thankful I can't, and I am so thankful that I don't meet every expectation. I am called to love well. To use my gifts, my talents, and what I can offer. My ministry is my husband, and as that overflows and my boys get older that might look different at different times. For now, its to love my husband well, to love my crazy little boys well, and to love others around me. A lot of times I won't do it very well, but being in ministry life challenges me to try again each day. I may not ever "feel" a calling into ministry, but I do know that you can't do it without your spouse. So while I was trying to figure out how I could fix this for myself, I was forgetting to just walk beside my husband. I forgot that he could walk through this with me instead of being my extra punching bag for why our family was so exhausted.

Im thankful I don't have it quite figured out yet. I have that special ability to be so hard headed that it takes a few tough lessons to really drive in a point, or to create a heart change (egh!). So through the ups and the downs I have to keep reminding myself to walk beside my hubs, and not in front or behind. And although I might physically cringe when I hear the phrase "pastors wife", don't think too much of it. Im healing from my past expectations, and looking forward to what the future holds. 

Since our move I have been told weekly by my husband and other pastors and families alike that there is no expectation on me as a ministry wife. And you know what? It makes me want to do more. It makes me look into the future with unending ideas on how I can use my gifts, because no one is telling me I'm not doing it good enough, or often enough. Its simple and so complicated, and Im starting to love it. Being a ministry wife means people watch you and your family, and thats ok. It means God has given my family an extra platform for His story, and I can either chose to resent that or I can chose to run with it. I wonder if there is a couch to 5K plan for that? I should Pinterest it. I think Im going to run with it. 

"oh, and this is the youth pastor's wife"

When I was halfway through my college degree I decided that my family's plans for my future didn't exactly align with the direction that my heart was being pulled. Believe it or not law school actually sounded fun to me and although you will never burn away my passion for law, or arguing for that matter, my heart was pushed more and more towards the field of education. Thats right, I changed my life plan of going to law school to pursue a degree in elementary education. Imagine my family's surprise. Their idea of what my retirement (or theirs) looked like didn't exactly align with an elementary school teacher's salary. Listening to my objections and closing arguments as a teenager were not going to pay off like they thought. I had to decide whether I was going to allow other's opinions of what my future looked like to shape who I would be, or if I would refuse to ignore that gut feeling in my stomach that told me that education was my heart. Im so thankful that I continued to pursue education, because sometimes you can't ignore your heart and your happier for it. I was born to be a teacher. I love being a teacher. And even though Im at home with my sweet babies right now, I still teach. You can't ever take the teacher away from me, and I love that.

The whole point of that was to remind you (and me) of that time when you knew, you just knew where you should be in life. That feeling inside that tells you "yes, this is it" and that if you don't pursue something that your feeling led towards you would be ignoring something huge inside of you. I won't get all crazy spiritual on you but I live my life by praying through major decisions and trusting that my first step taken in fear usually results in a peace that blows away anything I could ever imagine. A peace that speaks to my heart and says "keep moving forward, this is where you are supposed to be". Im so thankful for the moments I actually choose to pray and pursue God's word about small or large decisions, and have such a clarity on the direction I should take. But not every moment feels like that, Im there right now. And because not every moment feels so secure to me I have to remember the times when I was sure, and I felt it fully that I was moving towards a place where I should be, fearful or not. You might know it as a "calling". I feel called to teach. I feel called to be a mom, and to be a mom that's at home with my littles during this life stage (even if the pay cut makes me cry daily). But in this very moment, Im praying that I begin to feel called to areas of my life that I might have never predicted, or chosen for myself.

I don't ever remember praying that I would grow up to be a ministry wife, I may have actually prayed that I would never grow up to be that. I was that high school girl talking on the back row of youth group with my friends about what our plans were for the weekend. I remember looking at people in church during college thinking how exhausting that must be to try so hard to be so good. But I do remember loving the ministry wives that I was surrounded by. I remember every single youth pastor and his wife, and the role she played in my life whether I knew her personally or not. I remember my pastor's wives, because they always seemed to be smiling the biggest (I have no idea how they did that) and loving the most. I remember my small group leaders in high school who poured into my sassy attitude every Sunday whether I was listening to them or more concerned about the boy at the next table. I remember.

When I met dh waaaay before we were engaged and learned more about his desire to pray about pursuing seminary post-grad I had no idea what that really could mean for my future. It seemed natural, and everything from applications to acceptance went faster and smoother than the actual time it took for him to pray about that decision. It was perfect really. It was everything my parents, or I, could dream of finding in a guy who wanted to pursue God and learn more about His word. When I heard that, I don't think it really, reaaaallly registered in my mind that pursuing an education from seminary usually went hand-in-hand with pursuing a position in ministry at the same time. I mean, its one thing to work at a summer camp in between college semesters but once college was over there were major decisions to be made about what "forever" really looks like, for both of us.

Somehow in between my decision to pursue education, and my then-boyfriend's desire to pursue seminary we collided our lives together (he put a ring on it) which meant it was time to decide what "our" life looked like, not just mine. Youth ministry was first on his radar as I finished up my student teaching. Sounded fun, and it fit his personality almost perfectly. He was hired, and so it began. He was called to do youth ministry. He was called to pursue families of kids in junior high and high school. He was called to disciple them along those 7 years of navigating a life through school and peers and learning how to love God and live that out.  He was also called to begin seminary. But I was still missing my "calling" for ministry. I didn't think I really needed one, I was perfectly happy teaching. Actually, nothing could make me happier than to teach. So I taught, and he ministered. We were really good at keeping the two separate. My life, and his life. My calling, and his calling.

(to be continued..)