Archive for the ‘kathy’ Category

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KATHY - Reflex

Tuesday, April 3rd, 2007

“Where’s Jared? You brought him home, right?” We had been home about 20 minutes from a team basketball party at a restaurant and were mindlessly sitting in the living room watching the end of American Idol when Jose looks up from his computer and asks again, “You brought him home, right?” I immediately leaped out of my seat in a complete and utter panic. No, I don’t remember bringing him home! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, I have got to go get him right this minute. My 7 year old is stranded alone in the parking lot! It’s dark. It’s cold. Somebody call the restaurant! Where are my keys? Who cares about shoes or coats or absolutely anything else in this moment. The only thing I can think about is getting to Jared as fast I can. My response is purely visceral. No words can describe my thoughts and emotions. My baby needs me. I am in a panic while I hear Jose calling the restaurant and I am almost out the door when one of our other kids says “Jared’s here. He’s asleep in Sadie’s (our dog’s) bed.” I start to cry. I am overwhelmed with relief. The fog slowly lifts, and I begin to remember he was in the car when we left the restaurant!

I know you are thinking, so how could you not remember that??? But when you have five kids running to and fro and five voices all blending together, let me tell you, it’s easy to forget. It takes hours for the adrenaline to wear off and of course we have a story to laugh about and yet another reminder that mommy needs to keep a little bit better track of who she’s in charge of.

I would sacrifice almost anything for my kids. In that moment, my reflex was go. I didn’t think “oh, what an inconvenience” or “he can figure it out on his own and doesn’t need me” or “I would rather be watching American Idol right now.” The absolute only thing I could think about was getting to him. Me, my, mine was out of the equation.

And I was reminded how little I really live in that selfless place. The place I live most is in a world of me’s. What works for me, what I like, what I don’t like. What I’m willing to do. What I’m not willing to do. My self-centeredness is more evident to me probably than anyone else but it’s there, it’s my natural bent. Sacrificing my time, dropping everything for another human being, being willing to lay aside my life, my ways, my desires to “be Jesus for someone else” doesn’t come naturally. In fact, everything inside of me screams against it. But in that moment, when I thought Jared was alone in the cold, it was a no-brainer. Sacrifice didn’t feel like a sacrifice.

In John 15, Jesus says “there’s no greater love than he who would lay down his life for a friend.” And what does it mean, to lay down my life? I think laying down my life means I’d be willing to run out the door when someone is in need, willing to give up American Idol and spend time with someone who is lonely, desperate, hurting. That I’d get beyond my to-do list and show up at my kids school unexpectedly to show them how much I love them. That I’d give up needing to win an argument or be right or be noticed or praised. That I’d get beyond just my desire to serve others and actually spend time feeding the hungry, offering water to the thirsty, giving my stuff away instead of hoarding it. That I’d spend less of my thoughts thinking about what other people think of me and pray for others instead. It’s giving up some of the me’s, my, and mine’s for my friends.

Okay, sounds good, but why is it so hard? It’s just unnatural. What comes naturally for me is to live in my own little Kathy world. And in my little Kathy world I value status, I treasure my to-do lists, I like to be in control, I like things to basically go the way I thought they’d be. Remember, I have a carnival in my head where I am the main attraction (see previous blog). Laying down my life for my friends means I have to give up these things and rely on God, to trust mystery, to do things that never get noticed, to be flexible, to give up my self-centered way for His others-centered way. Thinking about Easter this week, Jesus gave it all up for us. All of it. But what I love about Jesus is that He didn’t like every aspect of His sacrifice. He didn’t say “hey, this is the greatest thing ever, it’s a piece of cake.” He wrestled in the Garden of Gethsemene with God, crying out “do I really have to die?” knowing His sacrifice was going to mean pain and suffering.

We’re not Jesus, and in our case, the honest answer is we don’t really have to. I can live in my own little Kathy world all I want and God will keep loving me. But I’ll miss out. I won’t get to experience the joy, the hope, the freedom, the peace, the purpose, the passion that comes from laying down my life for my friends.

Posted in church stuff, jesus, kathy | 1 Comment »

KATHY - The Carnival

Tuesday, February 27th, 2007

I am tired of the carnival in my head. I cannot take credit for this thought, my good friend John Nunez tossed it out there in a wacky conversation and the idea has lingered. I guess I latched on to it because it’s so….me. Most days there’s a carnival going on in my head.

Let me help you get the picture. Imagine I’m leaving a simple conversation with some co-workers, and the next thing I know I’m whirling around on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, being tossed to and fro by thoughts like “well that was a really stupid thing to say….what were you thinking? they think you are an idiot” or spinning round and round in the teacups with thoughts like “you’re a failure. you’re a failure. you’re a failure” repeating over and over with every spin. Or maybe it’s being trashed back and forth on The Zipper, every mistake I’ve made that day replayed over again until I feel nauseous. Unfortunately, this is what the inside of my head looks and feels like a lot. No one would ever know by looking at me. I look fairly sane, basically put together. But inside my head, I’m often at the circus. Even as I write this, the carnival is just starting to rev up, the engines beginning to roar into life for the new day ahead. Here’s what begins to happen…”You can’t say things like this, you guys are the pastors and look how messed up you are. Get your act together before you lead. If you really trusted God and believed the things you say you do you wouldn’t think these thoughts. Where is your faith?” The craziness begins.

But I can’t stop thinking the thoughts automatically. I have tried that, doesn’t work. Then I just feel more guilty, like I should be doing something that makes the thoughts stop coming. I have tried applying God’s Word and taking every thought captive and make it obedient to Christ like it says in 2 Corinthians 10. Of course, that is helpful. It is definitely a start of a shift for me, a recognition that the crazy thoughts I think aren’t the truth and I need to look at it in the light of Jesus and what He says about me. But that somehow hasn’t been enough for me because it’s way too lonely. Just me at the carnival gritting my teeth through another bad ride, hunkering down with God’s truth, still just leaves me feeling a little lost. (side note: truthful statements that don’t sound “Christian” really get the whole Tilt-A-Whirl going)

What helps me the most is asking someone else to come to carnival with me so I can notice how ridiculous the rides I am on really are. A few days ago I was at a meeting with some dear friends where I was safe enough to share some of the crazy, irrational thoughts I think most days. A lot of my current weirdness has to do with stepping out to help build The Refuge but it’s not all that. I have been thinking these things long before we began The Refuge—it has just plugged my head into a speaker system and the voices are all louder than ever. My friends didn’t do much. Not a lick of cheap advice or pat answers, no telling me that I just needed to pray warfare and it would all go away. Instead, they listened. They laughed. They shared some of their crazy thoughts, too. And you know what? I felt a little sliver of peace for the moment, that I wasn’t an unfaithful person who needs to get her spiritual act together, that I wasn’t alone at the carnival, they sometimes take some wild rides, too. In that moment, I actually felt God in some beautiful, mysterious way. He was just….there. The thoughts felt less crazy, settled down a bit, not as loud. For a little while, I was off the ride, actually enjoying some cotton candy and a lemonade at the carnival instead of getting whiplash.

Posted in community, healing, kathy | 1 Comment »

KATHY - Equality

Tuesday, December 5th, 2006

Christmas. Everyone responds to this time of year differently. For some, it’s a great season filled with food and family and happy memory-making. For others, it’s a time of dread. Money’s tight or nonexistent. The reminder of losses—of loved ones, jobs, relationships, faith– sets in. In the season where we’re supposed to feel joyful we sometimes feel loneliness, anxiety and fear instead. The “reason for the season” gets lost in the reality of life and we just try to bear down and make it to the new year where our resolutions await and we might get a fresh start.

Christmas is a time, honestly, where things don’t feel too equal. Those who have money and jobs get presents. Those who don’t, can’t. Those who have intact families—or some semblance of one—get to be together. Those who have broken families, no family, exes who make things hard, or weird inlaws get to manage through that mess instead and often end up alone or angry. Some people have tried all year to get a job, keep a job, enjoy a job, to no avail while others are soaring up the corporate ladder getting one raise after another. Others are worried about gaining some extra pounds over the holidays while others are fighting for their lives battling cancer or trying to stop using drugs. Some people are happily married while others are still reeling from a painful divorce. Sometimes it just doesn’t seem fair.

In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s not fair. I don’t know where I got this crazy idea that life was going to be fair. And even though I know life isn’t, I still desperately want it to be. And fairness in my little pea brain usually means equal. Equal means we all get the same—the same blessing, the same help, the same hope, the same attention, the same _______. You fill in the blank. But of course I only want equality when it comes to the good things—money, possessions, jobs, influence, God’s “blessings.” I can do without equality the other direction…I mean who wants health issues or job losses or bankruptcy or more pain? I am learning, the hard way, that life isn’t fair. And life isn’t equal, either. Some of us have harder roads, others have easier. Some have deeper pain and loss, others just haven’t experienced some of the more life-defining struggles. One isn’t right and the other’s wrong. One’s not better, more important or more valuable. It’s just different. And to somehow try to explain why in the world God has made it so complicated is utterly impossible.

But this Christmas here’s what I keep clinging to—His ways are higher than mine and what’s unfair here on earth somehow gets made right in heaven. Jesus loves me as much as he loves the next person. And that’s not dependent on anything I do or don’t do or they do or don’t do. He doesn’t place greater value on any of us because of our looks or power or money or Bible knowledge or status or lack thereof. That’s a man-made thing. But God says to all of us that we are His treasured possessions and that when we get lost, He’ll go searching for us.

On Sunday we looked at the Story of the Lost Coin in Luke 15. It really was a simple gift from Jesus, a reminder that we are equally valuable in His eyes. Worth searching for. Fighting for. Celebrating for. Do you believe that? Most days, if I’m honest, the answer is “yes, if….”. I feel valuable when I’m doing the right things and I am staying “on top” of my life (doesn’t happen too often). When I’m lost–struggling to gain back some of my past fervor for God, controlling my life instead of trusting God, feeling sad and alone or full of shame for some stupid mistake I made–I’m not feeling too valuable.

But Jesus reminds me in this passage that my lostness has nothing to do with His value for me. In fact, it is just the opposite. He’ll turn the tables to find me not because of anything I can do, prove, muster, or mess up. It has nothing to do with my circumstances, how hard or easy my life is going at the moment. I don’t always understand His “finding”. Sometimes I’m like “hey, God, are you sure you are looking hard enough?” but then, when I take a closer look, I notice that usually it’s me that misses His looking. I am distracted by all of the things that are wrong and easily miss the things that are right—the small things to be thankful for, the simple and subtle ways God is saying “See, here I am. I’ve been looking for you.”

Posted in advent, equality, kathy | 2 Comments »

KATHY - Kind Beats Right

Monday, November 6th, 2006

The other day I was driving down the road in the lovely suburbs of Arvada and I felt like someone kicked me in the stomach. An old van pulled into the lane in front of me. It took a minute for my eyes to focus on how weird it looked. Then I got a little closer and realized that huge posters of aborted fetuses were plastered on all sides of the van. They were graphic, horrific, and personally painful. Underneath the photographs were mean and disparaging words about baby killers and God’s wrath. Honestly, the ugliness, the meanness was so shocking that I had to abruptly get off my telephone call and catch my breath. It took me a few minutes to regroup, awestruck by the insensitivity of the images. I can understand the point trying to be made, but why do it this way? In that moment, I was truly embarrassed that I would be associated with this kind of “Christian”.

Lately I have been feeling that quite a bit. In recent conversations, I have been hearing a recurring theme–mistreatment by Christians. Pain caused by insensitive Christians and mean churches. Many have witnessed a huge disparity between what is said and what is done. We know that Jesus taught us to love our enemies, but Christianity has become known in this country as the least likely help to help those with whom they disagree. Gays, liberals, evolutionists, and others perceived to have a world view other than Christian have often felt the wrath, not the benevolence, of those called Christian. Rejected instead of embraced, shamed instead of loved, ignored instead of helped is the pattern. In this past year I have become one of those people—those “wounded by the church.” Take it from me, to challenge the established, large institutional church to value kindness over growth is a sure way to unemployment. The pain is deeper than I ever could have imagined but I can tell you that thanks to the kindness of my dear and faithful friends at the Refuge and other kind Christians these wounds are healing.

This past week I was at a conference in Seattle. It was a wild gathering of radicals who believe in a different way of doing church—a simpler way more focused on what Jesus cared about–the poor, the oppressed, the marginalized. But instead of slick programming, bells, whistles & buildings the higher value is kindness. I have believed the things that they were talking about for a long time but because I was so caught up in the megachurch and all its trappings I didn’t know this crazy underground movement of simply kind Christ followers existed. I felt privileged to sit next to such dedicated people….kind, gentle leaders who didn’t care about big salaries and filling cavernous auditoriums but truly cared about tangibly loving the abused, the beaten, the broken.

In the spirit of becoming more and more like Jesus in this broken messed up world, one of the speakers shared this profound thought: Being kind is more important than being right. These words stung. How often has being right been my primary objective? I have stood on tables, shook my fists, hurt other people, all in the spirit of “being right.” And hey, let’s face it, sometimes I have had a pretty darn good point and the right to feel right. But where did it get me, really? Nowhere except maybe closer to anger, resentment, isolation, unforgiveness. I have found the need to be right to be a dead-end, a lose-lose.

I want to learn to be more kind. I want to extend to my enemies, and those who don’t agree with me, forgiveness and compassion instead of hate and anger. I want to live my life well instead of worrying about how others are living theirs. I want to continually stay in touch with Christ’s radical kindness, mercy and compassion toward me (even when I don’t really understand it) and offer it freely to others. And I guess I keep wondering—why is this so hard to do? Why is bitterness, self-righteousness so much easier for me? I am pretty sure it’s just because I am a human being and inclined toward a hard, self-protective heart instead of a soft and vulnerable one. And bottom line is that extending kindness makes me vulnerable, and I hate to be vulnerable. It’s so scary, risky. But I’ve been imagining how different my world might be if I was a little bit more kind and a little less worried about being right. What if we all were a little kinder to ourselves, kinder to others?

My friend K-Lee has a wonderful tag line on her email…”Be kinder than necessary. Everyone is fighting some kind of battle.” God, help me, help our little community of rag-tags at The Refuge be known for our kindness.

Posted in church stuff, fundamentalism, healing, kathy, theology | 5 Comments »

KATHY - Is there a Doctor in the Church?

Wednesday, September 20th, 2006

I am a broken person. I do things I don’t want to do, I struggle with things I think I should be “over” by now, I don’t love the people closest to me the way I long to, I am selfish. I had better be careful or I will self-destruct. I want to be a better lover of God & people. I want to live out what it means to be a child of God.

Is there a Doctor in the church?

Jesus made very clear that I am the kind of person he wants to help. He said, “The healthy don’t need a doctor, the sick do, and I came for the sick.” He also tells me that I should not try to hide my sickness, which all of us have a tendency to do, especially in “the church.” He tells the Pharisees, the religious leaders of his time, “you worry so much about the outside, why not worry about the inside?” You see, we have always had a tendency toward hiding, toward pretending we’re well when we’re really not. I used to be a great pretender, the master. It’s why I need people in my life who won’t let me, who know that whenever I pretend, I never, ever feel better. In fact, I just feel worse.

If Jesus came for the sick, that means he came for all of us who were willing to say “hey, I’m not doing too well on my own, I think I need some help.” And it takes a lot of courage to say this out loud: “I NEED HELP. I need a doctor.”

There are lots of calls to the Doctor at The Refuge, that’s for sure (hey, maybe that’s why I use so many cell phone minutes???) Some people get scared by us because we are so honest, so raw at The Refuge. They say: “You’re not supposed to do that in church, are you?” I can see where they are coming from because honesty, authenticity, crying out for help is scary. It scares me, too, because it’s so unpredictable, unsettling, challenging. But just because something scares me doesn’t mean I am supposed to avoid it. The world is looking at the church, wondering what it has to offer them. The current American church has earned the reputation of being a place for the put together, the neat, the tidy, THE EXACT KIND OF PEOPLE that Jesus was railing against during his ministry in the gospels. He was pretty clear that he was about the sick, the humble, the needy, the broken, the lost, the ones who knew that without him, life wasn’t going too well.

And sick, broken, lost doesn’t necessarily equal homeless, addicted, divorced, unbelieving. It has absolutely nothing to do with what’s on the outside. It has everything to do with what’s going on inside our heart. And the truth of the matter is, whether we like to believe it or not, we are all pretty messy inside. We all need a Doctor.

Our only hope, in my opinion, is that we get to the Doctor and hang out in his hospital, the real church. I can’t begin to tell you how much healing has happened in my life hanging out in the ER with real, courageous people who aren’t afraid to say “I need a doctor.” It has made me feel so less alone, less afraid of all of the “surgery” that I keep having to have. I used to avoid going to the Doctor like the plague, tried to do it on my own, keep it all together and not need God too much even though I was a “good Christian.” Yeah, it didn’t go so well.

We have a Great Physician, the Healer, the Restorer and I am certain he can bring life out of the wreckage for all of us. And I believe Jesus calls the church, is calling The Refuge, to be a really cool hospital where He can do what He does best…heal, restore, bring hope, new life.

Posted in church stuff, community, healing, kathy | 5 Comments »

KATHY - My Love-Hate Thing with Community

Tuesday, August 8th, 2006

We’ve been spending the past few weeks talking about community at The Refuge. Everyone who knows me knows I love community. I love relationships. I love people connecting with God and each other. I love to see someone who thinks they are unlovable start to feel loved because I remember how much that meant to me a long time ago. But it’s not just a love thing. Please do not think I have some crazy idealistic view of community, thinking it’s a piece of cake to pull off. Real community is brutally hard, maybe one of the hardest things we can do as human beings.

Every church values community, this is nothing new. Look on every church website and you will see a list of small groups and ways for community to “happen” at a church. Why are so many strategies necessary to pull off “community”? Why is it not just our natural bent to want to be together, love each other, share our lives with each other, and reach out to others and love them, too?

Because we are all messed up. Most of us have a love-hate thing with community. I know I do. I want it. I want people in my life, to know how I’m really doing, to care about me, to pray for me, to carry my burdens when they are too heavy for me. And I also don’t want it. Why? Because it’s hard. It’s easier to go solo. Having people in my life exposes me. They see things I don’t really want them to see. They force me to think about things I don’t want to. It means I will have to sacrifice time, myself. It means I will have to trust, risk, and I’m a scaredy-cat at heart.

Like most of us, I’m sort of in this double bind. I love community. I want it. And at the same time, I hate community.

Here’s why I hate community:
1. It’s time consuming. I’ll have to be inconvenienced.
2. I am sure to get hurt.
3. It forces me to think about things differently. Everyone won’t agree with me (what’s wrong with them?) and that stinks.
4. It messes with my self-centeredness.
5. I’m asking to be annoyed, irritated, frustrated, angered, disappointed.
6. I’ll let others down, fail them, disappoint them; I’m a tried and true people-pleaser, so this is asking for trouble.
7. I’ll actually have to ask for help.
8. I won’t be able to fake it.
9. It won’t be neat and tidy (what I’m always longing for). In fact, it’ll be messy, crazy, hard and unpredictable.

Okay, so with all of these negatives, is it really worth it? I think so. For me, the loves are definitely starting to outweigh the hates.

Why I love community:
1. It’s worth the time. Jesus was about people, bottom line. Relationships are what matter. At the end of the day I won’t remember my job, my house, my stuff. I’ll remember the people I loved and that loved me.
2. It’s a place to practice becoming a better lover—of God, of people. I definitely need a place to practice. How can we live out the 2 greatest commandments Jesus gave us…“love Him, love others” without at least trying for close, intimate relationship with each other?
3. It inspires me to keep going. The courage you have—to keep fighting, living, trying—makes me want to, too.
4. The laughter. Without it, I don’t know where I’d be. It is sustaining. Life is too hard without it.
5. I can talk grace and forgiveness until I’m blue in the face, but unless I have to give it, receive it, it means nothing. I want it to mean something.
6. It keeps pointing me toward God. The more I hang around other people and listen, I am forced to think more, ask more questions, seek, wonder, question, wrestle.
7. It is glorious to be up close and personal with Jesus moving in a life, changing a person, healing, bringing hope. Nothing is more beautiful.
8. You seem to keep loving me no matter what, and for that I am very grateful.

So what do you hate about it? Love about it?

Posted in community, kathy, the refuge | 3 Comments »

KATHY - War Wounds

Friday, July 28th, 2006

I have skin cancer. Don’t worry. It’s not serious, but I had to have this thing on my chest removed a few weeks ago. 8 stitches. It’s ugly and I’m stuck with it forever. The worst part is that it was kind of my fault because a weird combination of fear, denial & busyness led me to postpone taking care of it for over 2 years. I know, you are shaking your head. You see, I am really good at taking care of other people and stink at taking care of myself. The whole thing was fairly inevitable because years ago I was one of those people who slathered with baby oil and layed out on tinfoil. A few months ago, my husband Jose and a few good friends applied some pressure and forced me to go. When it was getting cut out I bravely told the doctor “well, no big deal, it’ll just be one of my war wounds.”

That was when I hadn’t seen it yet.

The next day, when I took off the initial bandage, I was a little stunned. It was a lot bigger than I thought and right smack in the middle of my chest. I started to cry. The war wound idea didn’t feel too glamorous anymore. I just wanted to go back to how it was before. Yes, it’ll fade. Everyone tells me that (It’s not the most helpful thing to hear in the moment. “I’m sorry, what a drag” just helps so much more). Bottom line is no matter how much it fades, I’ll always have the scar.

And I don’t want to be scarred. I think that all of the time. I don’t want the ugliness of life. I don’t want pain. I don’t want loss. I don’t want struggle. I don’t want anything bad.

I just want the good. I want Utopia. I want Mayberry. I want a steady paycheck (is that too much to ask?). I want everyone to like me and never be mad at me. I want everything to stay the way it is when I’m having a good day. I want to forget about the past. I want the scar to magically heal. I guess what I really want is heaven on earth.

But that’s not real life. Jesus made that pretty clear. He was painfully honest with us, that life on earth was sure to be hard. But that somehow it could also be good, that peace was still possible. Maybe peace would come if we’d just be willing to accept the bad better?

That’s what I want to do with my pain, accept it better. Embrace the loss of dreams. Maybe God can give me new ones? Embrace my insecurities. As much as I hate them, they always force me to go back to God because I don’t know where else to go. Embrace the confusion, that I have no idea what I’m doing but I guess this is where I’m supposed to be. Embrace that others hurt me. That’s part of risking our hearts with each other. Embrace change. It’s brutal in the moment but always moves me to new, better places somehow. Embrace that God never promised this was going to be easy. My big beef these days is why does it seem like every Christian book out there makes it seem so darn easy? “8 ways you can make your scars disappear.”

Okay so my bottom line is this. At The Refuge I don’t have to hide my scar. I showed up on a Sunday night tank top and all. It’s just part of me now. And like all of my other war wounds, I guess it what makes me, me. And at The Refuge I can be me. I looked around last Sunday and I was like “wow, there are a lot of scars in this place, lots of war wounds.” We really are battle-weary soliders on the front lines. And we’re all here for some wild reason. We’re all laughing. We’re all crying. We’re in this crazy hard battle together.

And somehow it’s beautiful. Can scars really be beautiful? Maybe so. I think yours are. They remind me that God heals. Gives hope. Makes something beautiful out of ashes. I need to believe the same thing about my scars, too. It is so hard for me to do. But I know I must try. Please, let’s keep trying together.

Posted in community, healing, kathy, the refuge | 7 Comments »

KATHY - "I Believe in You"

Sunday, July 23rd, 2006

Last week, my best friend Elaine sent me a donation to help fund my role at The Refuge. Jotted at the bottom of the sheet she only wrote four words: “We believe in you.” I immediately started to cry. I’ve been crying a lot lately; the past 8 months have been some of my hardest. I have been so vulnerable, scared, straining to listen to God but struggling with the din of the Enemy’s voice that always tells me that I really don’t have what it takes to be a pastor, that I’m all washed up and should just go try to find a real job.

“We believe in you.”

In the same group of mail was a donation from an outside friend of The Refuge. He wrote us a letter and said “Kathy and Karl, we just want you to know we believe in you and what you are doing at the Refuge.”

“We believe in you.”

A few days later I had coffee with my friend Brenda and she gave me a belated birthday present. The card said “I believe in you” across the top with some beautiful thoughts about God’s heart for me. I was a little surprised. I’m not a big believer in “signs”, but I know there was something here I wasn’t supposed to miss.

“I believe in you.”

It’s not hard at all for me to believe in YOU, my dear and faithful friends at The Refuge. That’s not a stretch at all. I can see God all over the place, at work in your life. I can see the hard work you are doing to try to find Him, God’s healing happening, changes being made, that He has a great plan for your life and wants to give you a hope and a future. I see all of your gifts and talents, all the things that could be. The beauty despite your pain. Believing in you is a piece of cake.

Believing in me isn’t so easy. I have great faith for you and little faith for me. I am realizing this more and more lately, how difficult it is for me to really believe God is going to take good care of me. Wouldn’t I live a little different if I really believed that? I would trust more. Risk more. Doubt less. Fear less. I am tired of feeling afraid. Aren’t good Christians supposed to be confident? Aren’t we supposed to have prayed our way toward perfect peace? Isn’t God’s will supposed to be more clear?

But then I think about most every character in the Bible and quickly arrive at a helpful reality–they were all afraid, too. Maybe even more afraid than me?????? They didn’t believe they could take the next step, go any further. They were often paralyzed, tired, ready to give up. But God kept pursuing them, calling them to listen and obey the crazy things He asked them to do.

He always has the bigger picture in mind. I can never see the bigger picture; I want to so desperately. I struggle to see something that I am starting to realize is impossible for me to grasp. I can only live for this moment. Do my best to stay in when I want to run and strain to listen for God’s hope, help…please, God, just something that I can hold on to.

I think God is speaking to me through my friends. I think He is reminding me that He believes in me. That He knows my life feels hard, that it’s been confusing. He understands I have doubts, fears, that I want to give up. But He doesn’t want me to miss the beauty that exists in this desert. He doesn’t want me to forget the amazing people He has put into my life that love me no matter how small my faith is.

My friends help me believe.

That’s why we need each other so desperately. I want The Refuge to be a community that believes in each other the way God believes in us. Where we see in each other what we can’t see on our own because we’re too messed up. Where we call out God’s plan in each other’s lives and remind each other that this journey is worth it. Where we show up for each other and send little notes out of the blue that say “I believe in you.”

Posted in kathy, shared leadership, the refuge | 5 Comments »

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