We gathered around the kitchen island. Friends gathered from near and far to celebrate the love of a couple.
It was the calm before the rowdiness. The quiet moments of catching up and getting to know each other. My mug felt warm in my hands and I inhaled the comforting scent of caramel. As I looked around the room it became clear that the amount of love and care that I feel for my dear friend was mirrored across the faces of all these women. Women who have walked alongside of her for months, years, decades now join together to stand beside her on this beautiful occasion.
By the end of the night I can see why each of these women are in her life. They all share her wit and kind heart. They deeply love Christ and strive to make him known. They have all endured seasons alongside of her in joy and in hardship.
It was a picture of pure friendship, mutual adoration and unconditional love. It’s the dream – the true gifts of friendship on display. Strong, passionate, loving women surrounding our friend as she says “I do” to a lifetime with her love.
if it's not too late for coffee…
Over the years I’ve had a lot of musician friends. As with any type of artistry, when a musician is sharing their passion with you, it’s a beautiful glimpse into their heart. Tiny moments where they come alive through their music or as they talk about music.
But I’ve never had a friend who is classically trained or plays a classical instrument, like professionally. One of my youth leaders plays and teaches people how to play the double bass. She is also a recent transplant to Minnesota so we’ve become exploring friends. On our adventures we often circle back to music and she explains to me how she feels when she plays music. She often tells me about playing more contemporary and abstract pieces and hearing her talk about them is so fascinating.
Last night I got the distinct privilege of hearing her play live. It was enthralling. And afterwards, as we sat around drinking coffee and eating delicious home-baked goodies, she told us about how it feels to play for people.
She said that she loves getting to share the music with others because so much of her musician life is spent alone. She plays in her apartment or in a small practice room. But sharing it live in front of people is what makes her a musician – otherwise it would be a hobby.
She has been given this incredible gift, she’s worked hard to hone it over years of practice and development but it’s a gift from God. Hearing her talk about what it feels like to share it reminds me that God has given us all gifts. And when we don’t share those gifts, we’re robbing the world of displays of God’s greatness. He gives us these great gifts and sometimes we only use them as hobbies.
How can we show off the great Creator through our giftedness in our lives?
*blog title from Copeland’s Coffee
consoled a cup of coffee…
…but it didn’t wanna talk*
We brewed a pot of coffee at work today because we were in need of a little afternoon pick me up before staff meeting. I slid open the drawer that’s filled with coffee mugs and searched for the right mug to fit my mood. Or to be more honest – the biggest mug in the drawer.
I found a mug that was covered in hearts. My mind flashed back to an earlier conversation where my colleague told me that coffee was like a mug full of love. So I pulled out the mug covered in hearts, filled it with coffee and walked over to staff meeting.
As we sat in staff meeting I wrapped my hands around the mug and breathed the scent of coffee in deeply. I thought about Las Vegas. I thought about all the things happening around our country and world that seem senseless. Violence, Racism, Sexism, Poverty, Prejudice, Natural disasters, Classism, broken systems that hold people back from becoming all that God intends for them. The world can seem so broken and it feels like there is no way to repair the damage that’s been done.
Then I looked around the table at my colleagues. These amazing men and women who I get to walk alongside and do ministry with. I listen as we talk through ministry and life. I hear their heartbeats for the congregation we serve. I hear their support of one another and I see them clinging to the Father when all else fails. I see them each as a reflection of Christ and I remember that there is hope.
Hope for repair that can only be found in Christ. That can only be found when we peel back the layers of defenses we’ve put up to shelter ourselves from the pain. Only when we’ve found the courage to lament the brokenness that surrounds us can we see through to the hope offered by the King of Kings.
*Jewel – You Were Meant for Me
about this old coffee shop
When I moved to Chicago, a friend of mine sent me a link to the 10 best coffee shops in Chicago. I made a goal to go to all 10 and blog about each of them. I think I made it through 2. In the long run I actually went to 4 of them (I think) but only wrote about 2.
The truth was I was looking for my local coffee shop. A place to frequent, to learn about the owners and baristas, to sit and do work or dream or meet people. Don’t get me wrong, I love my Starbucks and as a new Minnesotan, I’m learning to love Caribou. But what I’m always on the look out for is a great local place to spend my dollars. Local coffee shops are always filled with the most creative types. From the owners to the baristas to the patrons – you’re likely to stumble upon some amazing stories. They are a passionate people dedicated to the craft of coffee. Each one unique in their own way and living their passion out in different ways.
Last week I went to a new coffee shop. It was a recommendation from someone at church who is proving himself to be more into coffee than I am which also means he can be trusted. In one of our first conversations he causally mentioned that a certain place had a good cortado. At that point I knew he was a kindred spirit.
The moment I walked into this place I felt at home. It was a gloomy day outside and the interior was dark and homey. Lots of wood, natural light and the perfect music – the type of playlist you find on Spotify that is labeled “Coffee shop vibes.”
I ordered a latte and a scone to stay. Mounted a stool at the bar within view of the roaster. Opened up my laptop and started my work flow. Within an hour I had the outline for my Confirmation lesson and the beginnings of the talks for youth group. I wrote a few e-mails and then finished up my youth group prep. At some point I got a cup of drip coffee to taste out their roast. It was amazing.
People swirled around me, conversations buzzed sometimes interrupted by a swell of laughter. Community was happening. I would glance around from time to time watching the people around me. Wondering about this person’s occupation or that person’s stickers on their laptops – what is that sticker that I see everywhere around here?
After a few hours I left that coffee shop feeling more like myself. The thing about moving to a new place is that sometimes you feel like you don’t know which parts of yourself to reveal at what point. Just as much as you’re trying to figure out a new community, they are trying to figure you out. You’re constantly self editing as you explain yourself to people. Jokes you’ve always made about yourself or the world suddenly need explaining.
But sitting there in that coffee shop, surrounded by no one who knew me, I found myself falling into place. I was doing the things I love most – crafting messages to communicate Jesus’ love to my students and drinking really good coffee. My physical cup was empty when I dropped it in the tray, but my emotional cup was overflowing.
*title from Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop by Landon Pigg
put the map on the table
Big things have been going on in my real world this summer. Life has been moving very quickly and I’ve been trying to keep up.
One byproduct of this speed is that I haven’t written anything since May.
I don’t even mean publicly, I mean that no words have flowed from these fingers in four months. It’s the longest I’ve gone without any words to share or record in some way.
In those four months I interviewed for, got offered and accepted a new call. I packed everything I owned in a small truck and moved six hours northwest. To the land of all the lakes (like a lot of lakes).
In those four months I’ve been praying, making preparations, saying goodbye to my first real home away from home, moving to a new state, a new church, a new community. I’ve been learning names and creating rhythms.
To say these four months have been difficult would be shortchanging them. But throughout these four months I have seen and heard God in some of the clearest ways I ever have. He called me to this place and I’m starting to see why. I can feel my heart falling into place here.
Every few days I look around and think “Is this really a place I get to live?” The beauty of God’s creation is all around me at all times. It reminds me of my first job in ministry when my friend Mark and I used to look at each other and say “I can’t believe I get to live this life.”
Last night I was on the couch, unwinding after a particularly intense week. My phone went off and the message was simple, “I’m taking the kayaks out if you want to go with.” I literally jumped off the couch. There was no question in my mind that a sunset kayak trip with this new friend and colleague was exactly what I wanted to do. Sorry Dance Moms, you’ll have to wait.
And as we paddled across the lake talking about life, ministry, family and all things in between I took a deep breath in and thought, “I can’t believe I get to live this life.”
To you I'll sing my lullabies
To my Mom friends:
As a single woman there are times when I feel the long for a reality that is not yet true for me. When I feel that tension in my life I thank God for my friends with kids who have welcomed me into their lives. They’ve let me into their kids lives and allowed me to become “Auntie/Miss Alicia.” They let me play with their kids, join in family meal times and celebrations. I have watched my friends mother so well and so perfectly for their children. I watch as they grow alongside their children, learning what each new phase and stage needs from them. As they struggle through tantrums, sleepless nights, meals where they won’t eat anything, meals where they eat everything, we’ve been shopping together, playing together, walking together – I have been allowed in. I get to fill up that part of my heart with these little ones that are so dear to me. I’ve never been treated like I don’t belong, like I don’t know what I’m talking about because I don’t have kids. I’ve never felt like there was anything wrong with me when I’m with these dear friends. So to you all – Happy Mother’s Day! You are each an amazing example of what God meant for a mom to be, each in your own amazing way.
To my church Moms:
When you’re a young member of the church staff, you learn quickly that there are women in the church who will immediately adopt you into their hearts. Whether it be because I’ve lived in their houses for a season or they simply have taken a special interest in me because they love me, I have learned from these women. Women who are the strong backbone of the church, who are the first to care for you or offer an encouraging word right when you need it. Wise women who have walked through the good and the bad and lived through it to help others along the way. These women are so dear to my heart because they show me the love and care that I need when my own mother is 1,000 miles away. They never look to replace my mom but they care for me as if I was one of their own. Happy Mother’s Day to each of you – for loving and caring for those in the church that need it.
To the Fab Moms:
There is this group of moms in my youth ministry that have never failed to astonish me. They all have freshman girls who have known each other since preschool. I recently went to dinner with them and was once again amazed at how well they love one another and each of these girls. They are pillars of strength – each of them in their own way – who have created a community for these four girls. They share in the highlights and struggles of raising girls, they pray for one another, celebrate one another and share the burden when needed. They are the types of mothers and friends that I strive to be someday. I cannot count the ways this group has blessed me, simply by allowing me into their lives and the lives of their girls. So to you Fab Moms – Happy Mother’s Day. You are all beautiful examples of what it means to be in community together and I would be lost without you.
To the Moms in my Ministry:
I know that parents are very careful about who they let into their kids lives. You want to make sure that the people speaking into your kids lives are full of integrity and careful with your kids. I have always taken this responsibility with the knowledge of this weight. All that to be said, it’s an honor and a joy to serve the kids and youth that I get to serve. To be another adult in their lives showing them love and care is an amazing opportunity. I am a huge fan of the moms of my kids and youth. These kids are the best and they are total reflections of their amazing moms. I see all the hard work that it takes to get your kids to church on a Sunday morning. I see the way that you love them even when they roll their eyes at you. I see your rules and restrictions as care for what they put into their lives. I see the hugs and strong words of acceptance and love that you speak over them. I see the way your hearts break when their hearts break. I see how hard you work to give them everything they have. I know the journey of motherhood can be hard and rewarding. I see you all and I want to say this – Happy Mother’s Day! You are in the trenches and I am so happy to walk alongside of you and your families.
thank you for the wilderness
thank you for the wilderness
where I learnt to thirst for your presence
if I’d never known that place
how could I have known you better
thank you for the lonely times
when I learned to live in the silence
as the other voices fade
I can hear you calling me Jesus
I’m an extravert. I’ve always known it – I love people. I am a talker. I excel in places that are bustling. It’s partially why I get more work done in coffee shops than alone in my apartment.
But I’m also shy. If you’re reading this and you’ve spent time with me in person you are probably surprised by that statement. But I am. I haven’t always been shy. I used to be very outgoing. But somewhere along the way I lost that trait. I’m sure it had something to do with fitting it. I realized somewhere around middle school that I was not like everyone else at school. I didn’t exactly fit in. So when I am placed into a situation where I am surrounded by peers, I shrink into myself. I default to the people around me that have bigger personalities.
Again – if you’re reading this and you really know me, you’re surprised. I have a larger than life personality when I’m comfortable. When I feel loved and valued, I am a little over the top. I’m a little much – and it’s great.
But the problem is, I’ve been told that I’m a little much – and that’s a bad thing. I’ve been told I’m intimidating. I’ve been told that my confidence is off putting. I’ve been told that I feel like I’m entitled to something. These critiques of my personality have created a negative thought pattern in head. When I feel resistance, I tell myself these lies – over and over again.
In my last post I wrote about finding a way to claim the freedom that was freely given to me. I realized after I wrote it how much of my life has been spent being less free than I could have been. Because I’ve bought into these lies. I’ve given into my life circumstances rather than giving into the one who created me.
As Lent was starting, I put myself into the wilderness. I followed Jesus’s example and purposely turned down the volume on some voices and turned up the volume on God’s voice. I purposely placed myself into situations that were lonely in order to find fulfillment in Jesus.
In doing this I realized something about myself. I’ve learned to drown out the lonely with people, tv, music and other things. I’ve learned to numb the pain of feeling alone through these other things. When those negative thought patterns arise, I don’t fight them with the truth, I simply drown them out with other things.
But doing that doesn’t make them go away. It simply quiets them for now. But they will always come back.
But they don’t have to rule my life. They don’t have to be the loudest voice because the Truth is – I’ve been healed by the Healer, made new by the Creator, stronger because of the places where I was weak and needed him.
God gave his Son so that I could be free. Jesus sacrificed his life for my freedom. And as I’ve been in the wilderness this Lenten season – as I’ve leaned into the truth and given control back to God, I am thankful.
Thankful for the loneliness because it shows me I’m created for community.
Thankful for my Too Much-ness because is shows me I’m alive and unique.
Thankful for my messy story because it gave me the moxie I need to live this crazy life.
Honey, you are free…
… as much as you can stand to be
Today’s post title comes from a song by Jimmy Eat World. I’ve always had a special place in my heart for this band – they were the soundtrack to my high school years. Every once in a while when they drop a new track I download it and their sound takes me back to a time in my life that seemed easier. This song is called “You are Free” and it’s no exception. It’s undeniably a Jimmy Eat World song, but it’s also been a little bit of a soundtrack to my 2017 Lenten season.
I’ve written a little bit on the things I’ve added into my life throughout Lent but here’s the semi-comprehensive list:
> Life Lived Beautifully’s Breathe Bible Study on the Psalms <
> Reading Jennie Allen’s Nothing to Prove <
> Reading through 1 Corinthians alongside the Goddaughter <
> Journaling (almost) everyday <
> Intentional involvement in the Lead Stories Community (and Podcast) <
Throughout this time I’ve started to see some patterns come out. Some threads throughout all of these different practices. God has been tying in everything around me, He’s shown up in some pretty amazing ways and the overall message that I’m hearing him tell me over and over is this:
You can be free – as much as you can stand to be.
God’s been pouring into me and reminding me that He’s already set me free. It’s not Him who limits my freedom – it’s me.
He sent Jesus to earth for me. Jesus died for me. Jesus was resurrected so that I could have freedom. Not limited freedom – complete freedom.
So the things that I have put in the way of my freedom, the lies that have been told to me that limit my freedom, and all the excuses I’ve made as to why I can’t be free. Those are nothing for the power of the Holy Spirit.
This Lenten season has drawn me closer to the throne. I’ve sat at the foot of the cross and dug into why and how I’ve limited my own freedom.
Saying those words to myself: You can be free – as much as you can stand to be. Reminds me that I have to do the work to clear out the junk. To take the time and space to claim the freedom that was so graciously and mercifully gifted to me.
So as we step into Holy Week, how can we live our freedom out? How can we lay down the lies that the enemy has put into our heads and pick up the freedom of the cross?
Let’s remember that the story we tell and the traditions we participate in this week shine light on the one who set us free.
You are free – as much as you can stand to be.
All I need is You
I had a dream last night where I was preaching at a church about Lent. It was a really vivid dream which is why it caught my attention – my dreams aren’t usually that vivid. The sanctuary I was in was one I’ve never seen before and it was weird. On the level where I stood there weren’t really that many seats. But there was a balcony that came out pretty far that was packed full with people. After I finished preaching we went into a coffee hour and even that was clear.
I don’t know what this dream means – probably nothing, but Lent is coming up. It’s been a while since I’ve addressed Lent here, so maybe that’s all the dream mean, let’s talk about Lent.
Some background on my faith journey and Lent – in my house growing up we were always encouraged to give something up for Lent. I honestly have no idea why. We didn’t go to church regularly, I didn’t know what Lent really was other than that it meant on Fridays I wasn’t allowed to eat meat. Coincidentally the worst food poisoning I’ve ever experienced happened because of some bad fish I ate on a Friday because of Lent.
It was never explained to me what we were doing, I just knew my mom would “suggest” something for me to give up. Usually it was chocolate or soda. And then on Easter Sunday after we did our Easter Egg hunt I was allowed to consume all the chocolate or soda or whatever that I wanted.
As I grew up and started to walk with God on my own, I rebelled against Lent because of my childhood of not understanding it. When one of our youth interns talked about giving things up for Lent I would always roll my eyes because in my mind giving something up for 40 days meant nothing. So I gave up chocolate, I could still have a variety of other candy that was just as good. In my teenage youth I saw friends give up things for 40 days as a hope to be “healthier” which in teenage talk 9 times out of 10 means skinnier. Lent seemed so manipulative to me. It still had no real meaning.
Until I moved to Kansas City to start an internship. Within my first month there the senior pastor challenged the congregation to a season of fasting and praying for our church and its impact on the community. He challenged us to pick a level of fasting that would be sacrificial to us and spend the 40 days in prayer and fasting – seeking direction.
The youth staff decided to do the Daniel Fast. If you’ve never heard of it – look it up. It’s intense. Although maybe not if you have ever done Whole30 or Paleo or anything like that. But to me, it was torture. It was unbelievable hard, every bit of food or drink that went in my mouth had to be scrutinized. It changed the way our staff interacted with each other. The lack of coffee to this caffeine addicted lady was rough.
But throughout the time of Lent we were encouraged to remember why we were doing it, in solidarity with Jesus and his 40 days in the wilderness. To remember that there are times when we need to press in, to sacrifice our comfort in order to hear from God.
That season of Lent was the hardest I’ve ever endured. But it was also incredibly fruitful. I dealt with a lot of things in those 40 days and heard from God in some really tangible ways.
Since then, I’ve viewed Lent differently. I haven’t always done as significant of a Fast but I’ve always tried to challenge myself to take something up that challenge me in my faith.
All this to say, I’m not judging you if you are giving up chocolate for Lent. Instead I’m challenging you to know why you are giving it up. In what tangible way is giving it up going to pull you closer to God. Lent is not about denying yourself for the sake of denying yourself. Or to see how strong your will power is – it’s about pushing into your relationship with the Creator of the Universe and being able to hear his voice clearer, freer from the distractions of this world than you are in other seasons.
So – What are we doing for let this year? Share here in the comments and lets encourage one another!
I've learned to slam on the breaks before I even turn the key
I’ve never really had any phobias. As a child I prided myself in not being scared of things. I was in no way a daredevil, but I also wasn’t afraid of snakes, spiders, heights or other things the kids my age were afraid of. Turns out I was also not that afraid of getting in trouble either.
For most of my childhood, we lived in a neighborhood that was a big circle and at the base of the two streets was a cul-de-sac. Along the edge of that cul-de-sac was a line of pine trees that was our boundary. We could play anywhere in the neighborhood as long as we stayed on this side of those trees. Because just beyond those trees was the highway – Route 17. But, along Route 17 was a gas station and the only thing we needed to do was cut through the trees, walk along a little path and then we had access to ice cream, candy and all the pop we could dream of drinking.
But of course, the gas station was off limits unless we were with an adult – it was past our boundary. But I wasn’t scared. At the ripe old age of 8 or 9, I thought I had it all together. I could lead the crowd of kids to the gas station no problem. The reward was far greater than the risk of getting caught.
I look back now and see how ridiculous I was – in a world where we hear about car accidents, abductions and millions of other things going wrong within moments of them happening, I see now how foolish I was as a spunky little kid.
Of course I did get caught. Of course I did get punished. And the punishment worked – I never went back to the gas station just beyond the trees that became my boundary. For the remainder of my time on Sherwood Dr, I didn’t go past that boundary.
As we grew up, as we moved around the boundaries my parents put on us changed. And the spunky kid in me never really changed, I constantly challenged those boundaries. But because we lived in a small town and everyone new my mom – I got caught… a lot.
Although somewhere along the way, I started to lose my spunk. The courage that had always been inside of me started to slip away. I cared more about what others thought of me. I cared more about whether or not I was making my parents proud. My boundaries became firmer and less negotiable.
In some ways, it was a good thing. I started living in ways that would make my parents proud, never stepping out of the boundaries set for me.
In other ways, it was debilitating. Somewhere around middle school or high school I became hyper aware of what others thought of me. I think some of it was knowing that I was different from my peers in a lot of ways. All I wanted to do was fit in with everyone else. I let other people set the boundaries for my actions.
I began living out of fear. The fear of losing something that I thought I could obtain by staying in the lines. Sometimes it was stability I was craving, or approval, or to simply not be the one always sticking out like a sore thumb. That fear began to rule my life.
It wasn’t until I was in Seminary that I started to see that fear had become the ruler of my life.
I’ve started to realize that I am at my best when surrounded by the people who love me the most/best. I am able to fully be that confident somewhat crazy woman I was created to be. I think we all know that to be true, but I’m realizing that the fear that’s dictating my life has also created my own glass ceiling. It makes me afraid to ask for what I know I’m worth. It makes me afraid to put myself on the line because I’m afraid of what could happen.
I’m learning to manage that fear. I’m learning to do a gut check and see what I’m really feeling at any given moment. Am I afraid because the risk doesn’t seem worth the reward? Or am I afraid because the risk is known but the reward is unknown?
It’s easy to take a leap when we know the reward outweighs the risk. But what if we don’t know what the reward will be? Can we still take the jump? Am I capable of crossing the boundary someone else put up for me when I don’t know what’s on the other side?