“That will take at least three years.” Those were the words that came out of my mouth as I looked at the Zoom screen with four faces in front of me, including my own, which exuded 40% defeat and 60% uncertainty.
I did NOT want to start my own ministry thing.
I had a negative stereotype about it, and I remembered how much I floundered on my own in a ministry re-planting assignment right out of college.
Back then, as now, all the ingredients for something good were there, except for the one that makes me succeed: structure. Not only the day-to-day structure you create for yourself, but also the complex system of people, ideas, and programs that make up an organization.
While my husband encouraged me because it sounded compelling, I dreamed of sitting in meetings with teams, being part of something already formed. I remained lost and depressed in that assignment until three years later, when I finally got placed on the large team in the more complex structures where I thrived.
I know myself. Some people do well without answering to anyone in their day-to-day work. Not me. I would rather have a wall to bump into than no walls at all. It’s just how I function.
Not only that, but in the twenty years since my first job, I had hired many people who made career transitions and brought them onto our team, which required fundraising. I know how long it takes to build a stable budget to get the work off the ground—about 3 years.
Starting from scratch would take at least that much time, which seemed like a waste since I had cleared my calendar to be fully available for the work I wanted to do.
We’d have no wiggle room. We couldn’t carry a temporary deficit in our account like we could with my former employer, who measured by fiscal-year income, not month to month. It would be sink or swim, and since I don’t like sinking, it would be like my swim lessons as a child. I would doggy-paddle like a minnow for a long time before ever graduating to a shark, or even a competent fish.
I told those discerning faces on Zoom that I would stop interviewing for jobs and pivot to the long, slow process of establishing a 501(c)(3). If I got through one step, I would move on to the next. We had no idea how long it could take. Sometimes it takes years.
That was December of 2023.
In early 2024, I did two more pre-interviews before I fully accepted what had already been decided. I stopped interviewing for regular jobs and filed the articles of incorporation on April 29. I received an Employer Identification Number (EIN) on May 14. The federal tax-exemption letter came on May 31, 2024.
This made things official.
California tax-exempt status came a year after I forgot about it, with an effective date going back to May 9, 2024. Luckily, I didn’t wait for state approval to begin.
After receiving the EIN and tax exemption, I went to the bank to set up a nonprofit account with a $0 balance. These accounts are highly regulated and take longer to approve. I had to share my first board meeting notes and my bylaws. After jumping through all those hoops, I researched an online donation platform, recommended by other small nonprofit leaders, that charged no fees.
Finally, on July 19, 2024, All Gen launched our first campaign to raise $10,000 with 100 moms willing to back the ministry. My first tiny paycheck came that next September.
In truth, Jeff helped me see that this unpaid work had been growing for a few years. He encouraged me to try things and experiment while the stakes were low. This perspective gave me the confidence to keep going.
Since that first paycheck, the board of directors has steadily increased my hours and salary in proportion to the work and funds coming in for our agreed-upon budget. A year ago, we invested in a necessary next step: giving All Gen a visible presence with a website and logo. We are refreshing that website now.
And, as of this month, my role is a full-time job with a full-time salary. It happened. It took three years, but I made it.
We did it.
Nearly 25 years ago, I pivoted after 3 years of attempting to create structure and never quite finding my footing. But this time, the bricks have been laid step by step, and I’m staying on this journey.
Maybe I’m a planter after all. Or maybe some things we want to see require us to create from scratch, even if our main occupation has always been to improve upon what is there.
The top of Croagh Patrick, a mountain pilgrimage in Ireland.Ascending this felt similar to the process of starting All Gen.
One Friday in mid-December, I spent an afternoon in Manhattan Beach while waiting for my daughter to land at LAX for her three-week semester break. Just a few days prior, my new spiritual director had encouraged me to squeeze in a half-day of quiet retreat. I designated this waiting time as such, bringing along a book, my Bible, and a journal, and planting myself for a couple of hours at a cozy cafe.
During my time in the cafe, three separate Gen Z employees paused an extra minute while waiting on my table and asked me about the Bible in front of me. I found it noteworthy. (Especially so because I had already paid the tip at the counter, so there is no chance they were trying to butter me up.)
Late that afternoon, I picked up my daughter, and the app we were using mapped us on a two-hour drive through side streets, avoiding accidents and backups on the freeways. My daughter was, understandably, in decompression mode. She processed aloud about her stressful week — finals, packing, and traveling through one of America’s worst airports.
As we slowly made our way through neighborhoods, making small talk, I mentioned my unusual encounter in the day — people her age asking me about the Bible in Manhattan Beach. “Well, isn’t that pretty close to Trump country?” she asked. (The answer is not quite – only 33% voted for him. Her impression likely comes from further down the coast, toward Orange County, where the wealthy “Beach Cities” are notoriously Republican, particularly Huntington Beach. Several megachurches and ministry movements exist there, and it’s not uncommon to see beach rallies for Jesus as well as MAGA flags and MAGA hats, not necessarily sponsored by the same organizations.)
“Mom,” she said, about to provide a humbling contrast, “at my school, no one goes up to talk to the Christian club table.” I was not surprised. My husband and I have been lifelong campus ministers between us. I am familiar with the religious context of the Pacific Northwest, where she attends school. It is described by sociologists of religion as the most secular and post-Christian region in the US. Beyond that, I have many experiences of sitting at such a table. It’s not unusual to spend a day receiving minimal interest.
I admitted to her that being approached in the cafe in Manhattan Beach felt a bit like traveling back in time, perhaps to the late 90s when I was a student on campus. We chuckled a bit, acknowledging how times change and the distance between our experiences.
But the truth is, both ends of the spectrum represented by our two anecdotes seem to be true at once. Some Gen Z folks are adopting expressions of faith that closely reflect my experience in the 90s (Bible study, church groups, worship nights, camps/conferences). There is a resurgence that is still small, but significant. At the same time, the more broadly known trend of disengagement and disinterest in institutional faith still exists, particularly for those tracking politics or trends of abuse.
What unfolded in our car conversation is at the very heart of what can be seen among young people in the United States in 2026.
Developing Integration
With no better prospects for conversation on this long car ride, my daughter sat back and, with all the confidence of a 19-year-old who just received tens of thousands of dollars of public university education, used an inquisitive but strong voice. “Ok, Mom, what I don’t get is how some people think that Christianity is a justification for doing all kinds of bad things.” In her question, which has been asked by generations of students, she means racism, sexism, bigotry, homophobia, xenophobia, authoritarianism, colonialism, genocide, and more.
My specific answer is refined by over two decades of experience with young adults in such conversations. “Well,” I said. “They take a seed of an idea from Christianity and use it to have power over others.”
I relished her openness to discuss this with me. After all those years of working with students, having hard conversations together, mine was finally letting me use my hard-earned skills instead of dismissing me as the annoying, irrelevant parent.
“Ok, that actually makes sense,” she said.
(Gasp!)……
We were having our first grown-up conversation. She was integrating her upbringing with her current self and it was satisfying to behold. I can’t tell you how often I doubted this day would ever come.
I felt permission in the pause between us, so I continued.
“You know, Jesus is the exact opposite of all that…”
“…Jesus did not use force or that kind of power, but instead came as a baby. Many expressions of Christianity may mess this up, but this aspect of Jesus is why I would choose to follow him every time.”
She gave a subtle nod.
“Mom,” she added with a perfect blend of respect and sass, “don’t let this go to your head…”
(I paused, held my breath. Kept my focus on the road.)
“…you and Dad already prepared me for school, and the types of conversations we have there.”
When she elaborated about learning to be a critical thinker, I was pleased. I might have expected her to mention all our deep ethical conversations on morning commutes or around the dinner table. Instead, she led with, “All those audiobooks you used to play for your book club when I was in middle school…they exposed me to thinking about things.”
What she is describing surprised me a little. This was a book club of public school moms who shared an interest in fiction and memoirs that touched on family, identity, and culture. When I played Trevor Noah’s Born a Crime in our minivan while driving to art lessons, basketball practice, and the orthodontist, I did not expect this to come back to me as my first parental appreciation moment. Nonetheless, I can see how these storytellers and their stories introduced new worlds and concepts in an accessible way. After all, we discovered in early elementary school that she’s a very strong audio learner.
The conversation continued. It was going so well, I couldn’t resist.
“You know, that’s why your dad and I liked our college fellowship and made a career out of it,” I replied. “Because it was a place to grow in your faith while also doing critical thinking as a college student. The two were not at odds.”
“That makes sense,” she affirmed.
She seemed to be getting a glimpse of who we are and how we raised her while she said it.
What a gift.
Two Trends at Once
In the bigger picture of the United States, there is a reported resurgence of church attendance among Gen Z. I believe it because I have former colleagues I trust who have firsthand witness to it. Some say it’s the first spiritual swell since COVID, filling campus ministry Fall Conferences. Still, the overwhelming majority of kids raised in the pews are more like the university students my daughter described, averse to organized religion and not wanting to approach the Christian club table. Two-thirds raised in church don’t stick. How do we explain the stark contrast she and I discussed in the car that day?
In 2019, I attended a summit where we heard predictions about Gen Z. We anticipated they might feel drawn to spirituality in a structured form. Our guest speaker, who video-called in from Australia, cited Benedictine rhythms, such as the “rule of life,” as a possible draw. Predictions are only predictions, and none of us anticipated a worldwide pandemic within the year. But, perhaps the surge of faith is somewhat affected by this prediction about structure — to be in formal groups with meaning, as well as to adopt some comforts of a bygone era. Rapid change in society always carries with it a resurgence of something that feels more traditional, a subgroup’s attempt to keep things as they were.
Pop culture is also having a 90s-nostalgia phase. It shows up in fashion and television (current shows set in the 90s, as well as those filmed in the 90s, streaming with a new cult following). This past holiday season, I even saw multiple social media posts proclaiming, “All I really want is a 90s Christmas.”
It’s an era that harkens back to a simpler time. No internet or cell phones. The last remnants of an analogue life. Gen Z’s 90s throwback culture was my generation’s 1950s. They stream Gilmore Girls on their devices via Netflix; we gathered in the living room as a family to watch black-and-white classic TV programs on Nick at Nite.
Gen Z faith observers did not go as far as the Benedictine rule, but perhaps joining a third space, like the church, which has historically been a major part of American life, has a comforting and grounding appeal. The impulse to recapture something lost will always attract a percentage of society, including young people in the faith space.
The “Nostalgia” Trend
The “Post-Church” Trend
Drawn to 90s-style Bible studies & camps.
Wary of “Institutional” religion & politics.
Seeking “Third Spaces” and analogue life.
Values cultural engagement and social advocacy.
Resurgence of traditional structures.
Lack of appeal to the “Christian Subculture.”
Formation vs. Indoctrination
Gen Z’s backdrop is one of the most culturally and politically divided times in our country’s history. One of the areas where this division wreaks havoc the most is in the area of education, an area demonized by particular streams of faith in America. This is unfortunate because secular education is the space where the majority of young people in our country spend the majority of their time.
While I don’t deny that there can be valid concerns about forms of indoctrination in public education, those concerns have too often been coupled with a fear of exposure to ideas and critical thinking altogether. This fear keeps our culture war raging. It has become so absurd that even Biola University, a notoriously conservative Christian college, has come under attack by some ultra-conservative circles for being too “liberal.”
In the implied view of these critics, education in a Christian university is meant to be a direct transfer of truths and worldview from teachers and administrators to students. There is hardly any room in this view to enlarge their exposure or expressions. The claim is that Biola has gone too “woke,” even though I know multiple former professors who left the institution claiming the exact opposite.
These controversies and the ensuing battles do not seem concerned with appropriate young adult development — the need to experience the world guided by trustworthy adults and teachers while trying things out and making mistakes. Instead, it sounds as though we must protect, control, and win arguments around truth, ensuring that young people receive the version we find the purest.
I do believe in 2 Timothy 1:14 and the charge to “guard the good deposit,” entrusting it to trustworthy people who will entrust it to other trustworthy people (2 Tim 2:2). But there is a difference between training up Bible teachers, theologians, and seminarians who are called to do just that and controlling the process of faith development for emerging young adults. We can’t reduce human development, which includes spiritual development, to a simple input-and-output process.
The truth for young people, whether educated in a secular or Christian environment is this:
If you can’t question Christianity, you can’t become a Christian. If you cannot explore what a faithful response is, you cannot have a response that comes from faith.
If you don’t have the freedom to engage books that question or even challenge the Bible and see if they have any merit, then you can’t willingly choose the word of God and find it to be a lamp unto your feet. If you cannot encounter a Christian who expresses their faith differently from you, then you cannot discern a faithful response. No one is born a Christian believer or inducted into it. Neither is any new convert immediately a person of discernment.
The Spirit opens our eyes, enlivens our hearts, and allows us to see the truth of Jesus amidst the falsehoods of the world, including the Christian subculture. This does not come by strict avoidance of the whole world to make a Christian. Jesus is not afraid to go to Samaria or send his disciples to the Gentiles, so why are we so narrow and suspicious in our practices? Jesus demonstrates that he can both adhere to the truth of who God is and go to places that do not fully understand it.
This means my daughter can go to college in the Northwest with the foundation she received from us and begin to expand her horizons. Christ is there. This means students at a Christian university can comfortably expand their horizons as well. Every exploration does not have equal merit, but it does not require us to belittle and fret about exploration all together.
Letting Them Drive
There are obvious forms of control and groupthink that require submission because “we said so.” There are also more subtle forms of control that most of us dance around within our day-to-day lives. As a parent, it’s easier to set strict parameters and information sources so my maturing kid has no choice but to align with my standards.
My husband will tell you that in his years as a college pastor at a church, the families who took the hardest line had the kids who secretly had no alignment with the parents. But I confess, it’s hard not to employ these tactics even subtly. I have the power to manipulate, infuse fear, and create narratives to gain more submission from my kids to my ideals. I’ve been tempted, and at times I have succumbed.
As a child, I had an unusual arrangement: I rode the public school bus to my private faith-based K-8 school. This required first stopping at the local public elementary school, where almost everyone got off the bus. Then 2-3 of us headed to our own private drop-off.
“The public-school kids” had foul mouths, with expressions I had never heard. To my young mind, they represented bad things and bad kids. Unfortunately, this kind of thinking can become a deeply entrenched form of othering. It’s easy to live in a bubble rather than engage the world with the love of Christ. It can nurture hostility toward people outside the bubble, exchanging a faithful, loving, mission for our sense of group safety.
There’s no right answer here, but this is why we chose to put our kids in public schools. However, I admit that after having my daughter in an arts high school outside LA post-COVID, I felt like we’re living at the bottom of a cultural cesspool. I deeply regretted our choice for a season, but only because we were midway in a longer trajectory of her life. Some things came at us out of nowhere, with little time to prepare, especially given the fracture of moving from middle school remote learning to engaging with new peers at a new age and stage.
The truth is, you must get out of the driver’s seat altogether and let your emerging adult drive if you want them to become a capable driver. Faith formation is like driver’s ed. They must begin by learning the rules of the road, practice with you and other teachers, and then, ultimately, drive alone. Eventually, they will be a full-fledged adult with a car, title, and insurance.
Kids need a lot of formation at a young age, and it’s right that we work hard at it. But you can’t feed them Cheerios or Sunday School lessons forever. Adults must experience the world and find that Jesus is still the best news in it.
The more we fear that process, the more our fear brings about bad news for the culture and this generation. I’m excited that Gen Z kids in Manhattan Beach want to talk about the Bible like it’s 1999 all over again, but I am not going back to 1999. I also have to hold space for kids in the Pacific Northwest who want to study what is out there and engage in complex conversations, because they are living in a new space where the Spirit is doing a new thing (even if they don’t know it yet).
The Holy Spirit, I’m convinced, does both a new thing and brings us back to ancient, forever true things. Renewal is the meeting of the new and the old, the future and the past. It’s not making the past the future. It’s not making all new things. It’s renewing all things. A perfect ring of continuity of the One Truth.
The worst thing we can do is create a false equivalency that being a faith-filled person requires adherence to a certain bygone era or political reality. Gen Z has lived through more change and trauma in their formative years than some generations in a lifetime. Some of them will find comfort in something that feels old and traditional. Others will go on a journey to a new place.
Jesus welcomes their questions, has mercy for their mistakes, engages their curious minds, and loves them wholeheartedly.
I celebrate the resurgence of faith for some, while still waiting for the new thing the Spirit is doing, so that those on the outside can know Jesus. In the end, I believe we will see it as two points of one circle, where faith is renewed by God in every generation and time.
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.”
A spiritual director is someone trained to come alongside you as a listening companion in your relationship with God. It is an old tradition, gaining wider traction in the last couple of decades. Nearly sixteen years ago, when I moved to California, I knew that I eventually wanted to find a spiritual director.
I had occasionally met with a spiritual director in Chicago. However, at the time, her schedule was becoming complicated with caring for an ill family member. I had limited time that overlapped with her in Evanston, where we would meet. When I arrived in California, I knew I probably needed a consistent person who was very accessible to me.
Finding a Spiritual Director
While several of my colleagues practice spiritual direction, I sought out someone from outside our work environment on Google. What emerged was an eclectic list of names, ranging from New Age to Christian. I started with the most practical option, contacting a church with a reputable name down the street. I was referred to two women, the first was Julie. Since our first meeting, Julie and have met every month for fourteen years, until this last week.
Julie knows that almost nothing in my journey to California and my life here has been natural or easy. It has been uncomfortable for us at every turn. Meeting her and fitting naturally with her was an exception. She was easy. She came into my life without any trouble or barrier. Living less than two miles away, she invited me to meet at the retreat center in the next town over. She was always there, waiting for me attentively. Whether we met in the pergola, the alcove, or inside the building, she was always seated, praying for me when I pulled up, then stood to greet and hug me.
A Sacred Relationship
My relationship with Julie made up almost 1/3 of my life and nearly the entirety of my sixteen years in California. Last month, Julie left us rather suddenly. I am grieving, and so are my friends who I shared her with along the way. While she did not say that she was terminally ill at our April appointment, I had begun to reflect for the first time on how one day Julie would die. I should start to prepare myself for that day, I thought. I did not know her death had already begun until a month later when she called me to her home for our final meeting.
Julie knew what it was to suffer–to navigate call amid broken systems, deal with people who break your heart, and all the absolute junk of life. She knew how to remain a faithful wife and mom to complicated humans, including after one son had gone to be with Jesus. She grandparented with dedication. Everything she did was purposeful and a bit stubborn.
I used to feel bad that my deeply discounted 60-minute sessions rarely finished within 90 minutes and sometimes went on to two hours. Now, I’m so grateful for Julie’s generosity of time. I understand that time was limited. Like the alabaster perfume, it was so precious it deserved to be spent rather than saved. Our rhythm continued like clockwork, but it would not continue forever.
A Sudden Goodbye
Just over a month ago, Julie texted me to see if I would take my last appointment at her house, indicating that it would likely be the last time we would meet. She offered to contact a mutual friend who had been meeting with Julie for almost as long. My friend made adjustments to come to town from the west side, and the two of us met with Julie before spending the day together. It was an emotional morning. We cried, we prayed, we laughed. We got to see the dynamics of Julie expanded beyond our one-on-ones by including one another and seeing her in her home.
When we began to pray, the thing that immediately touched me and stood out the most was the gift of rhythm. Julie is a gift, but it was also the context of our meetings, a beautiful place that perfectly represented the space of spiritual direction, pulling us away to be still with God. In that space, we always began with a spontaneous appreciation of the grounds and the day, taking in the natural beauty and its contrast from the pavements where we lived just below. The grass was always green. The sky was usually cobalt blue. The deer frolicked, and the mountain and its vegetation offered a seasonal variety of orange, yellow, and purple hues. We saw bunnies, lizards, and birds. We were even there the morning of the Eaton fire before the winds began. The fire encircled the property later that evening. I am thankful that it survived.
Just an ordinaryday at the retreat center where we met.
Learning Surrender
I learned so much from Julie. In many ways, All Gen Movement, the little non-profit I’ve been building in the air, is a reflection of her presence in my life. It is about approaching the needs of the church and the generations from a posture of surrender to Jesus rather than from a position of control. Surrender is the very essence of the contemplative life learned through spiritual direction.
Julie saw me through five job changes, a three-year stint on a church search committee, and a painful rejection of my calling that led me into a season of stumbling through the darkness. She taught me so much. Her voice prepared me for my current path when she told me “you hear from God.” She knows that every day since I heard from God has been somewhat painful and confusing. Still, she has told me every session, “You are on the right track. Keep going.”
Following the Cross
Whenever I complained about pain, rejection, and the lack of alignment with the kingdom happening around me, she would confront me with a hint of sarcasm. “Ya think?” she would ask me when I told her about the parts of ministry that seemed downright idiotic, idolatrous, or disobedient at times. “How do you think Jesus felt?” she would add.
She welcomed me to the way of the cross countless times. She might add, “I hate to tell you this, but it doesn’t get better…” or “Yay, you get to be in the club of following Jesus unto death.” Julie had a way of encouraging me to continue while holding the truth that it was hard and that few would follow.
I know she died in the fellowship of Jesus and the cross, which she had followed, often alone, with her internal clarity and Christ keeping her secure along the way. I bet it felt good to lay it down now and not have to bear it. She can experience the other side, the victorious resurrection of Christ.
She always told me to write everything down. I planned to, one day. For now, I am just surviving, but I should have listened to her. I wish I had written down every appointment I had with her. Instead, it has become integrated into my life. I’ll have to do some work to excavate it.
A Pilgrimage
A couple days ago, I returned from a pilgrimage in Ireland. It was a spontaneous trip for me after receiving an invitation from a friend. I told Julie about it that last day at her house. She was so excited, offering me to look through her book collection on the topics of Celtic Christianity. I promised to send pictures, but she passed away 17 days before I got on the plane.
Dear Julie,
The pilgrimage was pretty similar to everything you’ve lived through. I visited thin spaces, walked ancient pathways, and climbed impossible mountains. Sometimes I heard the quiet voice of God. I thought of you.
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.
