because I don't feel like it

I know, it's been a while. a long while. After being reminded of my favorite Bible story in worship this morning I finally decided to share this piece I wrote back in June of 2017. While not all the feelings of this post are accurate reflections of my thoughts today, the essence of this piece hit me again today when I woke up too early on a Sunday morning. But it is about time I shared about my Pilgrimage in Rome. After all, I invited you on every step of this journey.



Truth be told, I don't feel like doing the "Christian" thing all the time. 

I don't wake up every morning (or any morning) ready to read a cute devotion I tried to start last week. I don't hit my knees before bed every night in earnest prayer for the world. I don't listen to Christian radek because I find myself fathered annoyed by most of the songs. So go ahead and call be a bad Christian or whatever you would like, question if I really have faith or believe, send me the out of context Bible verse. Nothing you could say I haven't already questioned to myself.

A week ago, I arrived back from Christianity Headquarters (aka Rome) and while I would love to say I feel closer to God than ever before, unfortunately the expectations for the mountain top experience were not met. Through this last school year I have not felt like talking about Jesus, reading scripture, or singing many praise songs because I was continually required by my academics to engage in "Christian academic living and learning". I became worn down by that picture perfect idea we often pose (and post) as what Christian spirituality should look like, because I didn't feel like I measured up. I rarely open my Bible (paper or app). I mumble a few "thanks you Jesus for's" as my head hits the pillow to sleep. I sing along on Sunday because I could read the words on the screen. Call it a spiritual drought, doubt, or the Devil tempting and winning, either way I grew sick and worn out of talking about Christianity.

I set out on another pilgrimage to journey closer to this idea of what I should be doing as a Christian. I thought that another pilgrimage would convince you and me both that I am a Christian. Unknowingly I wanted that mountain top experience apart from head knowledge to "feel" God, not just know God. Instead of feeling a revived energy to fall back inline as the poster child for Christian spirituality I discovered a deeper, more wholistic, life giving understanding of Christian spirituality that does not consists of the three-part check list Bible reading, praying, and church attendance. Yes, Christian spirituality includes prayer, scripture and song but not built on some spiritual euphoria. Spirituality is more about loving God through our humanness in all of its glory and grace. 

So I am going to continue to enjoy my white wine, my binge watching, and the occasional swear word because these  do not make me Christian, but human. I think Jesus is able to speak more into our humanness than into our attempts at being divine. So when we don't feel like "being Christian" remember to be Christian is to be human, give grace, and maybe take a walk - anything near 100km helps me. 

To be honest, I still don't feel like reading my Bible every day, and praying off the cuff, or doing whatever else that would "prove" to others I'm a "good Christian". I think I'll just go on loving God and loving my neighbor and loving myself in all greatness and grace. I'll participate in community, I'll stand in awe of relics of our Christian history, I'll say Our Father, I'll even listen to the Bible verses you share, and I'll go on studying ministry. Because when I don't feel like it, I still believe that love is true and know that the words hold meaning. When spiritual euphoria wears off, I begin to enter a real relationship.

Short-term Goodbyes

I put it off as longs as I could. So now as I sit here with photos downloading, I wrap one hand around a final Old Factory mug filled with a hazelnut latte and with the other hand I pick up a pen in search for the words to help me process my week.

The biggest reason I have been avoiding my pen and journal is because I know it will hurt. But I pick them both up today because I also know it will help. In many ways that sums up my Spring break Service Partnership to small town Kentucky. Picking up 100 pound dry wall was not easy, but hanging a ceiling together helped bring the rooms closer to being finished. Picking up (and scraping the heck out of) tiled floors hurt our hands, yet it helped in restoring a historic school building. Embracing each member of a family I came to love as my own in a long hug hurt because of the goodbye that would follow, but it helped to remembered the laughs we shared throughout the week. Flipping through pictures hurts with an aching to return to the people and places, but helps as I can process and remember the ways God moved throughout the week.


As a junior, this was my third spring break spent serving on a team with fellow college students. Including my trip to Spain, this was my sixth trip of the sorts since eighth grade, never once returning to the same place or same people. To be honest, I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with short term trips. The list of pro's and con's is exhausting as I search for what good can come from a week's worth of work, relationship building and sweet tea drinking. It begs me to wonder if I am doing more harm or good. The problem goes beyond mission trips but extends to camping ministry as well. As I continue to study ministry, both youth and missions, I search for how to do both well. Do I go on SSP's, SOS's, mission trips, and work at camp to self-serve knowing that it is a way for me to experience God and his blessings?

                

2011

2012

Then I think of the week I spent with seven other college students and an advisor alongside those who bring God's kingdom to their community on the daily. The strength we had when we worked together was able to accomplish more than anyone expected. Stories shared by those older and wiser have inspired me more than I could ever express. Endless summer nights spent around a fire sharing honestly were life changing. I imagine back to my first time packed in a 15 passenger van on our way to Queens, NY and the endless amounts of laughter and bottle caps and the beginning of some great relationships. Each experience has taught me more than I expected and each led to the next, and the next, and to places I cannot fathom yet.

2017

Serving God is not about spending a Spring break immersed in a different community and ministry. No, these trips are just reminders of the daily choice I have to serve God in all that I do, to humbly learn the most unexpected things form the most unexpected of people, and to love others only because we are first loved by God. Maybe some day I will go back to Kentucky (God willing) to see those I came to love -maybe that is next year, or in a couple years or maybe not on earth again. Maybe we will meet again in heaven. It is then we will proclaim together how great is our God. 

My team member said it best when he said, "Tears weren't shed as we said goodbye because we hung a ceiling and painted walls, but because of the love we had for one another." How I remember the weeks spent experiencing God on the mountain top will continue to influence my daily walk alongside Jesus. God is at work in the world, and what a joy it is to catch a glimpse.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Lately,
I am that dumb monkey in the parable, unwilling to let go.

You see, like my mother taught me, I have a bowl of M&M's constantly stalked in my room. Until recently I kept the colorful delights in a tall wide mouth mason jar - cute I know. Every time the jar fell below half, my hand could not reach in and pull out a satisfying amount without getting stuck. In the middle of dilemma I had the choice to either loose half of the delicious handful or think skinny and attempt to yank my hand free goodies and all. So I finally got "smart" and just kept refilling the jar so that I could skim the little suckers off the top. However, soon I got tired of doing that, because let's face it I'm lazy. I soon stumbled upon my equally cute dish - that a lovely friend gave to me - with a perfect width for a healthy handful of daily (okay hourly) chocolate.

I have been holding tight to comfort inside a glass jar labeled "summer plans".  With an aching in my heart I knew I could not return to my summer home for a 5th year. so I began to wonder what this summer would hold. December came and went as did my chance to desperately return to the familiar, and still no flashing sign, no golden path, not even a whisper in the wind of what purpose this summer would have. God grew quiet, and so did I. Images of laughing campers, the smiles of a community, the beaten path of a pilgrim, the sights of a new culture cause me to long to return. Friends talked of their plans, new adventures of marriage, leadership roles, and trips. All the while my inner jealousy escalating as I remain faithful to God calling me onward, but to what?


The off chance of a weekend at home was my final attempt to hold on to comfort. I have grown to love the calm moments with my parents at the same time growing more eager to be out on my own. The words "Summer Study Abroad" jump out of my mouth as I recalled a subject line of one email  to my mother. As I waded through the flood of emails only to learn I had to apply in the next three days I began to wonder if my answer was near.

Finally my heart caught the beat of my Father as God said "let go" as I read the word pilgrimage. If I had not let go to the comfort in the jar I could not experience the life of freedom that is only found outside of the glass walls.

While it is not an answer to my whole summer, it is an exciting first step. You think after walking for seven days straight I would have understood that following Jesus is about putting just one foot in front of the other, one at a time, day after day. The cadence of a pilgrimage has become the beat of my heart as it longs to be tuned to God's. It's a humbling walk.

So I return to the path. The worn and ancient way. Pack in tow and laces tied tight, I am eager for the chance to return to the rhythm of footsteps on a dusty path - yet a new path. Letting go of the familiar tasty M&M's, I open up my hands to receive even greater treats my God has planed.

As a part of the Northwestern Summer Study Abroad I will be traveling for two weeks with four other student and a professor to Assisi, Italy and walk the way of Francis of Assisi to Rome where we are blessed to have the opportunity to attend an audience with Pope Francis. 

Reclaimed

Over the last year now my dad and I have been hard at work becoming amateur carpenters. We've successfully built a shelf for a few of my coffee mugs and a serving tray for, yes, coffee. I've learned more than craftsman skills and I've made more than just pieces of wood.


   
Each project has been unique as I spend hours doodling plans in the margins of my notes. Time flies as I scroll Pinterest and binge HGTV for inspiration and big ideas. My dad and I spend hours rummaging through piles of soon to be reclaimed lumber from the Habitat Restore, our family's farm, or the dumpster conveniently placed behind our house to find just the right orphaned piece of wood or pallet for the project. Our pieces are one of a kind for sure.

Do not be fooled, we are far from professionals. However what we lack in proper training and equipment we make up for in creativity and style points. I even sported a pencil behind my ear to Home Depot (taking the running total of trips of the current project up to 3). It's the little things our amateur eyes can't foresee that often sends us back to the store for screws, or finish, or a new saw blade. I have begun to carry a tape measure in my bag as we randomly stumble across similar pieces, such as a prayer bench at church. We measure twice and cut once, and sometimes it fits and sometimes it doesn't.


It's been a humble learning experience as a city raised daughter learns from her farm boy Dad. Apart from the craftsman skills I've been learning a lot from my heavenly father as well. I am reminded of the book, The Three Trees, you know where each tree has lived a life with dreams and ambitions only to be cut down and worked into something less grand than their expectations. The feeding trough, fishing boat, and straight pieces of lumber are eventually used as a part of a greater story, the one of Christ.

How true it is about us too. We too are being reclaimed, sometimes distressed, often sanded down but continually being made into something new to be used as a part of God's story. My Dad and I are doing more than just daddy daughter projects (although it makes a good title for an HGTV series) the stories we are building is time well spent.

my happy place

The semester has sunk it's teeth deep in my life. The colorful scribbling in my planner prove the rigor of a scholarly and social life. With junior year comes serious talk of the future. My classes blur together as I wade deeper into my major. Everyday I'm hit with words of community, relationships, growth, and authenticity until my head spins. I find myself in junior life crisis as I begin to question what the hell I'm doing. It's in these moments that turn into days of apathy, frustration, doubts, and business that I long for my happy place, for a sanctuary. Days like today.

So I ran away, well drove actually, to my happy place. I wrapped myself around a warm mug and drank in the wonders of a coffee shop. The coffee shop playlist floats in my ears as clattering cups and bits of conversations are occasionally interrupted by the sound of an espresso machine. I look deep into my hazelnut latte in hopes the foam would give me a clear sign, and I'm whisked into my day dream.


For a few years now I have joked about my love for coffee, but coffee is never really to be joked about. One day I even decided to create a blog titled the same as my make believe coffee shop. So as I hide away with the foam of my latte cooled in the bottom of my cup I day dream of the shiplapped walls that run perpendicular to the exposed brick. I arrange then rearrange the wall of funny sayings like "just brew it" and cheesy Jesus and coffee quotes. I imagine the eclectic arm chairs and reclaimed pew booths  filled with regulars and new smiles studying for their next test and catching up on life's events. Then I see a familiar face of a young woman searching for a sanctuary, momentarily escaping the pressures of life as she
pecks out a blog post.

I'm shaken back to reality as the waitress asks if I'm done with my drink. With a smile and a nod I think to myself, I'm done for now. Today, the one cup has sufficed in restoring a little clarity back into my life, grounding my soul in the things I know to be true. I will continue my studies and my social engagements as I find joy in both, but I won't quit on my day dream either.

16 Thoughts of Reconciliation

Today my feet reconciled with my socks. Rain washed over campus in waves inviting me to wear my (slightly more pink than I would care to admit) rain boots or as my favorite South African professor calls them, wellies. This decision warranted the need to pull out my sock draw and pull out a pair of tall warm socks. Of course the pair laying on top was none other than a pair of purple and grey fitted smart wool socks that had made the 155 km pilgrimage with me. In the month since I have moved back to school more than my dirty socks have surfaced from my summer spent in Santiago, Spain.

When I think of Joy, this is what I see.  

I first must ask for grace.  Grace as It has taken me this long to write and grace as I continue to find the words to share. Here are little pieces of stories.

Siesta time is beautiful time of daily rest, I now take the sabbath seriously.

Just because something has healed, does not mean that I do not have scars.

Scars are marks of the stories of life, some are joyful, all are painful - mine and yours.

We need people. Even independent people, like me.

A little bit of home can be found everywhere, Midwest nice can be found anywhere.

This earth is not our forever home, but I must take care of it, public transportation is a blessing.

Trying new things does not mean forgetting the old. I ate amazing food, mint chip gelato.

Rhythm is soothing and brings beauty to the mundane.  My steps were like music.

Being strong and courageous does not mean that I know everything.

We are not running a race, I get to take each step at my own pace.

We often miss what is right outside our windows, I almost forgot about the cathedral some days.

Drama is unnecessary for living, its a cultural choice I can choose not to participate.

Service is a state of living. I can make the choice everyday.

Help can come in many forms, for me it was two walking poles.

Living for God is sacrificial, but nothing that we have was ever ours, my call to ministry is a gift.

We truly are never alone, the wisdom, encouragement, songs, and stories that those who I love speak are forever in me.

As I pulled each sock over my freshly healed feet this morning I whispered prayer and hoped for the best. For the first time when I took off these socks I was not in pain nor greeted by new sores. My feet have the marks of a pilgrim that may last forever, but they have reconciled. I face new challenges each day as I try to integrate my experiences into daily life, reconciling old habits with new thoughts. Everyday I am in the business of reconciliation as God slowly brings heaven to earth through his people-us.

I have lots of stories to share, but there is no greater story than the one God is continuity to write, one of reconciliation. Ask me, seek me, and I will tell and listen to your story as well, over a warm tasteful cup of sweet joy. It's a date. This was just a taste of the stories and I am excited to see where my feet take me next.

An Open Letter To My Friends

I want to say thank you for your unceasing support and excitement for making the choice to go on “exciting adventures” which often includes leaving you behind.

 

But, I would not be writing this, if that is all I had to say. 

I want to say that this season of new experiences may not be what you are expecting or are imagining. It is not some star-dusted, lime light, motion picture worthy, high stakes adventure; or is it a time of grueling, dusty, tear jerking, heartbreaking story. I am just living life. While I have stories that could fall under either category, I believe the majority are adventures and stories called “everyday life”. I wake up in my own bed every morning. I speak broken Spanish and point a lot just to order lunch. I cook eggs and bacon because that is all I know how to make. I hike mountains on the weekend. I sip coffee in shops all afternoon. I can see an ancient cathedral out my bedroom window. I go to the store to buy toilet paper and laundry detergent. I meet people from all over the world. I jam and dance to TSwift and HSM. I am living life here in Spain all the same. Soon, I too, will be living back in northwest Iowa, land of churches and cornfields. Truth be told, I will take many of the same “adventures” there as I do here.

You are living an adventurous life right now also.

It is neither the view out the window, nor the language that flows through the streets that classify an adventure. Rather, it is the spirit, the mindset, of the adventurer. God called me to Spain for this season, for apparent reasons and many yet to be discovered. God called you to live summer wherever you are, too. For when Jesus commanded us to go, he meant it as an everyday adventure of engaging in the world waiting outside our doors.

I realize how fortunate (#blessed) I am to have been given this ability to travel, to learn from the world, and go on unique adventures. It is a season of new and exciting times for all of us. So do not be envious of me, of the pictures on the screen in front of you, and I will (try) not be envious of your pictures of campfires, vacations, and adventures without me. Go wherever your feet take you. Do what you love to do. Live out side the door. The adventure, called life, awaits us both.

much love,

your friend.