We're Not That Different From Each Other

Hebrews 12:1-3 (The Message)
Do you see what this means—all these pioneers who blazed the way, all these veterans cheering us on? It means we’d better get on with it. Strip down, start running—and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we’re in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: Cross, shame, whatever. And now he’s there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. When you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility he plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls!

Hebrews 11 
1. Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for.

By faith Abel..
By faith Enoch..
By faith Noah..
By faith Abraham..
By faith Sarah..
By faith Isaac..
By faith Jacob..
By faith Joseph..
By faith Moses..
By faith the walls of Jericho fell..
By faith the prostitue Rahab..

I walked through the front door of my house and had already changed my mind. I had already doubted, I was sinking in fear and all of the lies that I allow to direct my thoughts on a daily basis and they had all consumed me. I wasn't sure I wanted this as badly as I had thought I did before. 

Surrounded by 1,200 women in downtown Austin this weekend we were filled, challenged, and sent forward to run our race. We watched leaders hands trembling on stage, admit to standing on a rock unsure of what the future will hold, but completely in assurance of who holds our future. We were reminded that we are the generation who can either choose to shrink back or to get in the race and run hard. We can run this race together. 

Its amazing what being around other women who are authentically processing inwardly and outwardly how God is changing their hearts can do to your heart. It gives you strength, courage, and fills your heart with an authenticity that seems to be missing in daily life. It gives you real people to run your race with. You know that you are not alone. 

And then I walked through my front door. 

I remembered that I had valued an easy paycheck over my dreams. I remembered that there were bills to pay, nice furniture I dreamed of owning one day, and a plan for my future that had no place with these dreams I had thought about all weekend. I was still processing what I was carrying on my heart this weekend and the more I thought about it, the more it became much easier to set those dreams aside as "crazy" and be done with it. 

I feel absolutely crazy. Dreaming big dreams feels so unnatural. My deepest insecurities are rising to the surface. And then I remember....

I remember that this hall of faith we read about in Hebrews was made up of sinful, insecurity-filled people who chose something different.. obedience.

They put their toe in the race, not even running full speed, and God did the rest.

They decided that crazy was going to have to be okay with them.

They trusted in a God that was greater, that His promises were stronger, and they may not even get to see the end result of their obedience and faith in their lifetime. They trusted, and they obeyed.

By faith, they obeyed.

My dreams feel absolutely crazy. They feel impossible. I am writing them down, because tonight Im doubting. Tonight I tried to convince myself that it was much easier to ignore this dream, and it probably is. I keep remembering my insecurities, my past, the lies that tell me I will never be good enough..and I am ready to shrink back. I keep telling myself that this isn't part of the big plan. It isn't part of my plan.

I am burning with an unfulfilled responsibility to challenge our generation to get real with their life. To get real with where they've been, and where they are going. To throw off the shame, the regret, the judgement, the fears that come with telling our stories. Because stories can change lives. Stories reveal what is true, what is tough, and what God will always work through.

Stories change people.

Somewhere along the way we've make it seem okay to tell ourselves and the generations coming up behind us that our stories are something to be protected, to be hidden, and to pretend like they never happened. Stories are not valuable to us, they shame us.

These stories, these people we read about in Hebrews, their stories are real. The prostitute, the crazy man building a boat because he heard God tell him about a flood coming, the murderer, they were all used by God in these amazing ways because He redeemed their story. They could walk forward because they refused to be defined by the shameful parts of their story and they were confident in their future.

Its time.

Its time to start dealing with our past, and our future. Its time to start telling our stories. Its time to stop hiding from the shame, the approval of others, the hurt and the time it will take to really deal with what our life from birth to now might have looked like. Its time to start getting real with the people around us.

If we can't show people a God who works through real life, through our sins and imperfections, who takes whats disgusting and completely redeems it, what can we show them?

The funny thing is, once we start sharing our stories we begin to realize that we aren't all that different from each other. The stories may be completely different, the circumstances, the words we use, but at the end of it all we find this common thread. We are all imperfect people searching for what our purpose is. We are empty, and need to be filled.

I listened to two women share their stories this weekend, and not even their complete story. Just a part of it. It was just enough to show everyone listening that a former prostitute and a girl growing up in a safe and encouraging home life could both find themselves at the same exact crossroad and a deep need for Jesus.

You see, we're not that different from each other. So let's stop hiding our stories.

Let's stop letting Facebook and Instagram be a substitute for real life.

Lets get real, because how will others see a real God in our fake stories?

If God is Real, Then What?

In less than 24 hours I will be sitting in a venue with one thousand other women who are expectant, terrified, and ready to unleash on dreams that feel way too big all at same time. I can say that because for weeks and months leading up to this event I have been hearing and reading their stories of how they found a ticket, how they felt called to come to Austin, how all signs have pointed them to this place. These are women who know that there has to be more, that dreaming bigger isn't breaking any special code rules, and that dreaming bigger is meaningless unless we move forward. We have to move forward.

We are grouped into a generational stereotype that says my generation of women, or 20-30 somethings in general, are self centered and the most over parented generation of our time. While those may be true, generalizations are what gives us a good excuse to sit on the back row. It gives us an "out". But this weekend, and from here on out, we refuse to sit on the back row.

This twenty to thirty-something generation, including these women gathering together tomorrow for a weekend of who-knows-what-will-happen, are ready to show others and the generations coming behind us that we believe God is real, He is moving, and that we are a part of that story.

This is not by accident. Our stories are not by accident, and we can chose to get on this train or get off at the next stop. But I can't miss this, and I don't want to miss this.

So as the true introvert that I am, afraid to talk to strangers because of another new conversation that takes so much energy to have, I am going this weekend expecting nothing and everything all at the same time. How could you not? Surrounded by dreamers, by visionaries, by ordinary and imperfect women who recognize that we can either sit around and watch others live out God's purpose for their life and cheer on the sidelines or we can jump up and run with them. We can run our guts out, because we are doing it together. We were made for community.

This weekend we are meeting together, regardless of whether you are watching the conference on a computer screen, a church venue thats hosting the simulcast, or if your sitting on the front row at Austin City Music Hall  .. this weekend is about community. This weekend is built on knowing that God's story and our story..it isn't for nothing. This weekend is a reminder that we can't do this alone. This weekend is a visual example that every single individual, uniquely made with gifts and stories, with hurts and hopes, will have to recognize that we can't do it by ourselves.

I'm going this weekend knowing that I am a sinful, imperfect person with a story full of pain and promises, and I know my story wasn't an accident. I know my story was meant to be used for God's glory. I have no idea how, why, or when. I have no idea whether that means it will affect one person or a thousand. I don't even care. I know that there is purpose, there is promise in pain, and there is a God who is real.

And if God is real, then what?

What I Didn't Know a Year Ago

Im doing that awesome thing where you copy the idea of someone else.

It's allowed, I think.

That someone else is another piece of my heart who lives in Africa, and after reading her blog post What I Didn't Know Four Years Ago I couldn't stop thinking about how absolutely crazy it is to look back on this past year at all of the details of my story that have all led up to this very moment. I think I taught myself how to fear looking back into my past, and believed that looking back would keep me from moving forward. Its almost embarrassing to recognize the casual lies we let ourselves believe, and ultimately we let those lies turn into truths. We let those lies hold us back.

The farther backwards I began to look, the braver I felt. The farther back I began to remember and to process, I was willing to move forward. I was ready to move forward.

I didn't know a lot a year ago. I still don't know a lot, but looking back makes it a lot easier to walk forward with blindfolds on. I couldn't be more excited, terrified, and open to what this means.

A year ago I had no idea how God would redeem my moments of pure burnout and exhaustion and turn them into fuel for my dreams.

A year ago I didn't know that my deepest hurts, the things that were said about me, the things that I let define who I was, were the very things that I can now look at and squelch with the truth of who I am and who I was created to be. I didn't know that I would be able to believe that with confidence.

A year ago I didn't know that I could keep doing ministry. I didn't know that I could smile on a Sunday, or any other day really. I didn't know that it would get better.

A year ago I questioned every day that God laid out in front of my family. I questioned the big and the small, and I doubted. I doubted that there was more. I doubted that God knew how I was really feeling. A year ago I believed that every feeling I had was insignificant.

A year ago I wasn't sure what God was doing to my story, and I was so angry.

A year ago I could not have imagined that I would be find myself surrounded by challenging and encouraging movers and shakers who were ready to run full speed ahead with me. People who were ready to run forward and still be willing to look back at the same time.

A year ago I had no idea I would be up until 2am talking about my dreams with my husband, and that my mind would be spinning with this stirring inside that told me I was ready to move forward. I didn't know that this year I would be dreaming big, without limits, and be willing to throw my hands in the air and say yes. I didn't know that the word dream would even be in my vocabulary.

A year ago I didn't know that I would find myself sitting in a book study that would rattle everything inside of me. A study that is keeping me up at night, reminding me that we were created for this very thing, and one that might change the entire course of what I thought my pretty planned out life would look like.

I am so ready to dream.

That was all a year ago. This is now.

That year that I doubted, that I hated, that I cried and cursed, that year was meant for this very day. Without that year, I wouldn't be able to dream. I wouldn't be able to look forward.

Its easy to say it on a mountain top, and its hard to believe it in the pit. But those years and those days that feel absolutely impossible, they are all part of your story.

Your story can help you dream. Your story will be why you dream.

Ivy League Parent Confessions

I know it's not just me. It can't be.

In the past few weeks I have found myself swimming under the insane pressure to decide what my child's future will look like at the sweet little age of five. Yes, five. Call it crazy mom syndrome or call it real life decisions..I'm really not sure just yet.

The educational options within a fifteen mile radius of our home are unlimited. The schools, the curriculum, the teachers, the classroom size, and the tuition. Oh. my. lawd..the tuition. The thoughts of whether or not a year surrounded by twenty-two new tiny little strangers will scar him for the rest of his ever-loving educational life, or if you'd rather work three full time jobs so that your child can have educational possibilities that you never dreamed of having at the age of five. That my friends is what my poor husband is listening to right now.

Call me crazy but its a trap I am already finding myself falling into and my little man still has another six months to go before he stands tall as an official kindergartener. The trap begins with that insane fear that every decision you make for your child's future will ultimately screw. them. up. and leave them laying on a therapy couch in a few more years blaming it all on mom and dad. I'm sure it's more like a first-child, momma's boy, control-freak type of fear..but whatever it is..its for real.

The best part about these bizarre conversations I'm having with myself (and my poor husband) on a daily basis is that I am a teacher! All of these years I thought to myself that by the time my child would be ready for "big-kid school" I would handle that situation with calmness, ease, and even a slight arrogance that comes with "knowing" exactly what kindergarten looks like, because I taught it. Put motherhood into the equation and it turns you into a complete lunatic. Im not kidding. There is something about those momma emotions that just suck the fun out of some things. Maybe it's just me, and if it is..don't tell me.

Crazy aside, I am so thankful that I have the time and resources to sit down and read pure wisdom from other moms just like me when really all my mind can think about is making a t-chart of pros and cons of schools. I am absolutely in love with Jen Hatmaker's devotional Out of The Spin Cycle, and although its intended to be a 30 day momma devotional, I've cycled through it multiple times. I mean multiple. It might actually be an issue. There is just so much goodness and so many momma confessions that remind me that I am not alone. In one specific devo she talks about some momma moments that weren't exactly her proudest, and it was tempting to let those isolated events define how she viewed herself as a parent. But in true JH form, her words right after those hilarious stories hit me across the face.

"The right schools, the right clubs, the right teams... not enough. Perfect systems and by-the-book methods...not enough. Superior advantages and strategic positioning..not enough."

Yes. Yes. Yes.

They will remember how we lived in community, or how we chose not to. They will remember whether or not we chose to respond like Jesus, or if we chose to respond based on what they might have deserved. Sure, choosing the right schools, clubs, and sports will all influence our kids in different ways but allowing that to dominate my thoughts and parenting is beyond what God ever desired for me. I believe that God gives wisdom in those decisions, big or small, and I also believe its easier to try to control the situation as the momma-in-charge instead of waiting for that wisdom. I can let the ivy league parenting take control over my thoughts and decisions, or I can choose to remember the bottom line....I want my kids to grow up knowing how to love people, and love Jesus.

Thankfully, I also don't think that I am the only momma who struggles with this way of thinking. Its easy to get swallowed up in ivy league parenting mode. We put ourselves in the middle of these mom circles where we find ourselves in conversations that are swallowing us and sending us home re-evaulating all of our parenting choices because someone else isn't doing things the same way. We find ourselves second guessing decisions we've made or might make in the future because its not exactly aligned with the kid down the street's family. Or even better, we start reading things on Pinterest or other blogs that that steer us in a different parenting direction and has moms everywhere wondering if they can ever do "enough".

Its time to breathe, throw away the t-charts, get off of Pinterest for a while, and remember the bottom line. Am I showing my kids what living and loving like Jesus is about? The big stuff, the small stuff...it will all fall into place and most likely not on my time schedule. I can chose to pursue ivy league parenting, wear myself out, and try to control every external situation possible so that my children have the best possible life ahead of them, or I can trust God. I can love my kids well, and love God even more.

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..)