Have you ever tried to create something out of nothing?
I usually avoid anything of the sort.
Even with my family, which is perhaps the greatest creation of my life, I cannot say I created them out of nothing. The entire time, I referenced the love and nurture that went into making me.
I remember being a 22-year-old new hire for a campus ministry organization. I resented being placed on a campus where I would have to (re)create something from near nothing. While I met some beautiful people who have enriched my life, the process of it was nearly soul-crushing for me.
Similarly, creating a life in California without any roots here has been a constant struggle. I find myself constantly comparing it to where I was from and the circle that surrounded my life until I left.
Last year, I took a pilgrimage. More than two years into leaving the old, I needed a break from the work of creating from nothing, to rest and make space in my lungs for deep breaths.
On the other side of that pilgrimage I have become something new and I have made something new. Both were processes already unfolding, but the trip was something of a marker.
The last pieces of the old were tearing away and needed to release in order for me to take flight.
When I finished climbing Croagh Patrick, a 4.3-mile ascent and the most challenging part of our journey, I was met with the news that my husband had planned a surprise for me. He gave me the chance to choose a piece of art in a studio near our accommodations in Westport.
This was an especially sweet surprise because he was not on the trip. He had worked from home with multiple accomplices to determine the best time and place on the journey around the Emerald Isle to give me a special souvenir.
On his end, the details were flawless. On our end, as pilgrims, our legs were jello, my sweat was stinky, and I had less than an hour to get to the art studio and choose a piece of art. Still jet-lagged and constantly on the move, I had not yet had the opportunity to really take in Ireland and consider how I wanted to remember it. The limitations forced me to make a quick decision in the moments before the studio closed.
I thought of what Tracey, my leadership coach, had said about other decisions.”Go with your first instinct.” She was reminding me to trust my gut.
It seemed silly, but my instinct was drawn to a woodcut hot-air balloon with the words “Up, up, and away in my beautiful balloon.” Apparently, it is a lyric from The 5th Dimension, a band I had never heard of. It was the colors, the fun and whimsy, and perhaps, subconsciously, this idea of taking flight that caught my eye.
I was ready to take flight, to leave behind the things that we were weighing me down. To launch ahead with my new endeavors unencumbered, embracing the process of creating from nothing.
And thankfully, by God’s grace, it’s not nothing anymore.
Summer ended in the blink of an eye, and my 10-day trip to Ireland feels like a mirage. Before I forget the details, I believe it is time I introduce you to my new friend from the journey, Brigid.
Brigid has fiery red hair and a personality to match. Rejecting her culture’s customs, she refused to be married, costing her important father a slew of cattle, weapons, and land. Instead, she took up vows to God. I wonder if her father saw it coming. After all, as a child she did give his sword to a beggar. No wonder she developed the controversial habit of taking from the wealthy for the poor.
Her cloaks, in sapphire and emerald tones, are alluring. Mysterious and majestic, they convey warrior meets wizard, while her pursuits are all peaceful and scholarly. A leader for all, she established monasteries in Kildare for both men and women, known not only for prayer and learning, but also for hospitality to any person in need. As if the mystique of channeling Robin Hood, Mother Teresa, and Disney’s Merida, were not enough, she is also known for her discerning ability to settle disputes, like King Solomon.
Brigid is a new friend of mine, but she’s not my contemporary. She lived in the mid-400s to early 500s. Some might say she colored outside the lines. I would say she lived beyond the confines of family, culture, and the religious establishment in her time. Her story shows that God was with her “out there.” For example, she boldly asked the King of Leinster for property for her monastery, of which he offered her “whatever her cloak would cover.” It sounds like he expected to give her a piece of land the size of my local community garden plot, but he was about to learn the mystery of abundance. Brigid and her companions unrolled her cloak over the acres that would become the borders for her new monasteries. Like David, she could say her boundary lines fell in pleasant places (Ps. 16:6).
Greater yet is the mystery of her ordination. As a woman, Brigid was restricted to particular vows for religious life, but during her ceremony, the priest “accidentally” read her the vows for a bishop. Some called it a mistake that stuck, while others said it was the work of the Holy Spirit. Either way, it was another example of abundance. The containers created by humanity put the world in categories that keep things orderly and clear for us, but the Spirit of God operates freely (Jn 3:8). Bishop Brigid was given a wide open space (Ps. 18:19) both physically with land and spiritually with her unconventional title as a woman. Out of this, she lived a faithfully expansive mission, reflecting God’s expansive world, without knowing it would earn her a seat as a patron saint of Ireland.
Beyond Domination
Initially, I perceived Brigid was something of a maternal guide for men and women alike. But, there was something about her leadership that begged for a wider lens. Hers is not only a story about female leadership in patriarchal times. These categories alone shrink the picture of Brigid among the sweeping green fields of Kildare. The way she carried her Holy Spirit-entrusted authority into her expressions of peace, hospitality, and care for the poor and creation invited us all to do the same. She is more of a model than a reformer, a be-er instead of a fixer. For no other goal, she existed from her God-given authority, extending God’s goodness and love in her space.
Like Christ, Brigid brings a non-dominating leadership and spiritual authority in a world stuck on tools of domination. Perhaps what draws us to Brigid is as simple as that–Christ in her essence and ways. She was born under the protection of the sword, but sold that sword to a beggar. She should have been wed in exchange for land, but instead received her land at the hand of God. Her womb was to be a future king-maker, but she was made a bishop and given children of all kinds. She did not use tools of domination, nor worry about their forces. She walked differently, in the opposite direction of systems of domination, and the Lord provided.
While our impulse is often to reject the vulnerability encompassed in following Christ’s non-dominating example, when I meet a friend like Brigid, I become reacquainted with our soul’s deep desire to live in a space like hers. Containers of identity try to lay claim on me, but in the endless expanse, I am free to delight in God’s creation from a posture of sharing and flourishing. There is nothing to hoard in this space. This was humanity’s first relationship with creation in the Garden of Eden.
Domination, on the other hand, is a human tool for wielding power and control. It is a product of the fall, giving rise to all sorts of evil. While it’s true that God gave humanity a part in God’s shared authority over the garden, sometimes referred to as shared dominion, our human capacity for keeping this sort of stewardship pure is quite limited. This is seen in the trajectory of dominion theology (or dominionism) whereby the ends justify the means and human domination over earth, animals, and people is permitted. Deep down, while our flesh wants to control someone else, our spirit wants to live in a space where we are neither dominated nor dominating others. Our innate programming from our Creator points to this desire.
Bishop Brigid invited all of us weary journeyers in Kildare to a world more real than the one her clan members shed blood over. She invited us into “earth as it is in heaven.” She did not need the title of bishop, saint, or chieftain’s daughter to do it. Rather, she lived according to God’s ways, without striving for those other systems to give her approval.
Confidence in my Own Calling
Brigid reminds me that God is not only with us in contained spaces where we can see and define everything. Our calling is not ultimately informed by the titles and accolades bestowed upon us by institutions. God is present there, but God is equally present in the expansive outside world–spaces too vast for us to hold in our minds, let alone our hands.
How else should we understand the hidden places of God’s creation? In the Kildare oak grove, we learned that below the surface, root systems communicate with one another, reflecting God’s artistry and order. Why do we try to dominate something so beyond us? Lord, have mercy on us for our pride that causes us to believe you have called us to lead things so that we can build something great. Our never-ending vocation is to worship you, not ourselves and our creations.
In contrast, I like the way Brigid followed her desire to live a life for God and let God take care of the rest. After all, we now know the Holy Spirit unfolds cloaks to cover acres, illuminates words to bless and commission. Those who would otherwise be overlooked, passed over, or forbidden are welcome and provided for at both God’s table and Saint Brigid’s monastery.
And, wouldn’t you know it? On the day we arrived in Kildare to learn about Brigid, there had been a miscommunication. Twelve of us arrived just in time for lunch to two sisters who had no idea what time we were coming and no lunch. In keeping with the tradition of their patron saint, they did not bat one eyelash of condemnation or inconvenience and kindly left to purchase lunch, bringing it back to feed us.
And so, in the spirit of my new friend, I say, “Weary travelers, have a seat.”
I left this story hanging in July, right before things began to take off. You may remember that all I had was a picture of a tunnel with some light at the end. Step by step, I hoped I might get out of the darkness and into the light.
A few weeks after I posted that story, everything changed.
Within two days, I had a 501(c)(3), a firstborn to launch, and I picked up a contract. I had to laugh, but I wanted to cry. I felt frustrated by everything happening simultaneously instead of bit by bit when I had ample time.
Thus began the project of building the plane in the air.
First, let me back up.
Shortly after I sensed that I needed to take steps toward the light, I met with a small team of friends who were praying for my next steps. At that point, it was clear to me that turning in resumes for jobs as a method of discernment was not working.
My heart knew what I needed to do. I just really wanted to find someone to pay me to do it.
The discernment team asked me if I felt ready to start my own ministry organization. With reluctant clarity, I said yes. I was hesitant because I still did not like the idea. I was clear because I had to admit the fruitlessness of the four months prior. The best I could do was to take one step at a time and see if there was confirmation down this road.
Slowly but surely, there was. It would be hard to recall all the steps in detail now. In short, I spent early 2024 consulting with a few churches, leading local prayer groups for parents, speaking at retreats, and gradually filling out paperwork for a non-profit in the cheapest way possible. (Because the nearly $1000 of upfront costs to start the ministry were $1000 I did not have at the time.)
Still, I felt unsure of precisely what I was building. Was it a prayer movement for the next generation? Was it a consulting ministry for healthy churches? (Why would churches pay me to help make them healthy?) Was it a ministry to families? Would I be speaking and teaching? As it turns out, it’s a little of all those things. I am trying to find all the appropriate words to describe this succinctly on a forthcoming website. That feels vulnerable too.
It seems obvious, but I had no idea that following Jesus’ call to ministry in a renewed sense of vulnerable dependence would require building every piece like I got a new Lego set with a step-by-step manual. In other words, none of the who, how, or what would come primarily from my strategic gifts, which I had relied on my whole career. Instead, it would be a process of following directions, even being willing to experiment with ministry ahead of knowing everything I wanted to do.
So many of the concerns I had been expressing in my prior senior ministry management role were obsolete when I considered created something new. The choice was mine to do ministry more organically and trust the Lord to provide.
I have a big vision for this little airplane called All Gen Movement. We are living in a time when one could easily say that God’s promises do not seem to be true for our kids, the Church, or the future. But I believe the Spirit has been doing a work of renewal before the crumbling even began. Like the twelve getting sent out with the bare minimum, I feel like I am on a journey to share Jesus’s healing ministry.
This healing is what we need.
Falling off a cliff with no one to catch me was painful. Getting scraped off the pavement was not much better.
But as these stories go, the longer the time passes, eventually, we get a broader perspective of why it had to be this way.
My work requires freedom to operate away from systems that do harm.
Outside the constraints of a management job.
I am used to being a loyal employee who tries to bring up concerns in the context of values.
Now, I am creating with the Creator.
Being an employee was much easier.
But right now, for me, this feels much more sacred.
And, yes, on most days, the whole process feels a bit insane too.
Photo taken after speaking at my last work conference, flying home into the unknown.
