February

Stories are the reason I live. Well, there’s Jesus, but even Jesus tells the story of our redemption and reconciliation to Him.

Stories are the reason I write. I write to express the way I live in words and sentences and metaphors. I live and breathe for a good metaphor.

Stories are the reason I sing. Well, and Jesus, but usually when I worship it’s to tell Him a story about how good He’s been in my life. Or to tell Him a story of mourning or questioning.

If I may, I’d like to tell you a story this month. Seven days late, imperfect, written at the coffee shop bar with a lovely gin and tonic espresso on my only day off in two weeks. Those fourteen days of work, either pouring lattes, running after kiddos, and leading with our campus ministry, have led to both the delay of this post and many good stories. Or, if I dare, great stories.

Take the Saturday that we were unexpectedly slammed at work. I pulled shots of espresso for six hours straight and an unsuspecting past team member, on her day off, ended up dosing coffee to save our lives.

Or how about the story of a twenty one year old girl, posing as staff, taking four younger leaders under her wing, faking her way along and leaning so hard on the Lord that she has to remind herself every morning that He can’t fall over. I had to pray and process through every single girl, every single encounter, and every single lesson. Trusting in God has become more than a thing I should do and has filled into the basis of my existence. In July I posted a photo, pink hair, bright yellow chair in a cheery grass field, oversized kimono, and those iconic Vans. The caption read, “if ministry were all about what you wear, I’d be full time” - not realizing that within six months this would become more of a reality than I could have even imagined. If I were to post a photo today I would be wearing a black beanie, black jeans, and some neutral colored tee, pretending to be cooler than I am, and the post would read, “If ministry is all about what you wear, I’m feigning my way in” - describing more of my reality than I had pictured in July.

But faking it with God is fun because it’s more like revealing a little bit of what is to come.

When I decided to leave school last October the next step was never anything other than vocational ministry, so I moved towards that. And what I’m quickly figuring out is I’m young, I’m inexperienced, I’m out of my league, and I’m in my lane. This is where God has called me and I’m not going to back down just because it’s scary or really really hard.

What about the story of the girl sitting on the floor at the monthly worship night. Crying so hard she had to get up in the middle just to blow her nose. Given the revelation she didn’t want to hear, but knowing it was so good and so right. Her gut hurt with the loss of what she was giving up while her shoulders simultaneously lifted with the release of a weight she hadn’t realized was holding her down. Leaving with no clue where this loss would lead her, but trusting in the provision of a Creator who can create better than she can.

Here is the story of February, in as few words as I can figure: I’m letting go. I’m letting go of what I imagined ministry to be. Working for God’s kingdom has moments of being anything but glamorous. It’s messy, hands on, and unexpected. Leading women who are younger than you, who look up to you, is nerve-wracking and gravity-defying. It’s creating studies at midnight because you work two other jobs but want to create content that will lead them into a deeper relationship with Christ. It’s not going to the staff meeting because you need to rest in order to be fully present at your small group meeting. Sometimes it’s an empty wallet, an early morning, and not enough coffee. And sometimes it’s too much coffee.

I’m giving up friendships. I’d like to be able to say I know exactly what my friendships will look like in the next year and a half but I also may want to move across the country. I’m not exactly sure how I can know what my friendships will look like if I move twenty two hours away, because I can’t. And I don’t think I even want to, so I’m not really sure why I was holding on so tight - but I was, and I can’t. It was a gut wrenching, room spinning, I’d rather get sick twenty times over kind of pain. Letting go is hard, and while I knew that I’m not quite sure I knew it could be that physically painful.

I’m letting go of what I expect out of life, my life and others. I’m letting go of what I thought I knew about God and about how He works, in my life and others. I’m letting go of where I want to go and where I thought I’d be going. It’s March seventh and I’m letting go of my personal expectations of when I should have had this blog post done - February 28th - because maybe I wouldn’t have written the same stories and maybe someone needed to hear one of these stories. My life is a series of glimpses, to myself and others, and I hope that as I write they become more and more coherent and cohesive - to both myself and others.