Woman on the Front Line

Eaton Fire (Part 1): Basic Background Info from an LA Transplant to Those Watching

January 12th, 2025

Los Angeles Landscape

In spring 2009, when I learned that our midwestern life would involve a cross-country relocation to Pasadena, I called a colleague who had made the same journey. As a courtesy, he began to explain to me the landscape of the area. While describing the location of Fuller Theological Seminary, where we would study, and the surrounding towns he had lived in, he explained that this area sits at the base of a “foothill.” As a lifelong midwesterner I had no idea what he was talking about.

First, what is a foothill? Second, how can you have a town right up on the edge of one? Google maps was not what it is today with satellites and “street view.” Even when we came twice to visit that summer before our move, it was hard to fully grasp the landscape. There are months of the year when you cannot see the mountains. We call this “June Gloom,” but it can occur any time a marine layer of clouds and fog sets in. We also have smog, which is fog made heavier by pollution. And, as you know, we have fire season, which means smoky air obscuring the mountains, even when it’s miles away.

Often friends around the country are surprised to hear that in the urban environment surrounding Los Angeles, we live near mountains. Most people come to Los Angeles for the beach, Disneyland (technically in Orange County), and Hollywood. The mountains are probably more important to the locals who live by them than to the tourists traveling from site to site. And depending on the month of your visit, they may stay hidden the whole time.

Everyday Commute

The truth is, even though I live near the foothills, I do not often find time to hike them. I enjoy the times that I do (especially in cooler months). Day to day, they primarily tell me which way is north. They greet me as I do my errands and drive my kid to school. They hug all of our towns together with their towering presence, enclosing us in their embrace.

Because we moved to this area during a super-drought it was quite a while before I observed their beauty. I first observed dry, brown stuff and experienced hot Christmases. I am glad we lived here long enough for some of the seasonal variety of the area to return in the last couple years when precipitation was abundant.

January is typically a bright, crisp month with a clear view of the mountains. The last few Januarys we even had snow at lower elevations due to a heavy rain season. Whenever we have a clear or partially clear view, I am the person in my family who says, “Wow, the mountains look so pretty today!” It brings me joy.

I find it hard to convey to midwesterners what it is like to have mountains in your backyard while living in an urban environment. It still surprises me when I step out my door and turn the corner to walk my dog early in the morning. The mountains greet me, looking different everyday. I never know what they will be wearing until I leave my home. It is a special treat to drive home from the east and watch the sunset with brushstrokes of pink and orange running into them.

I’ve included two pictures below to show you the kind of variety (good and bad) that comes with living near these mountains.

Fire-covered mountains from our balcony in September 2020.

Snow covered mountains as seen from our balcony in Dec 2020, three months after fire.

The San Gabriel Valley

When we initially moved across the country, we lived for three months in Glendale (8 miles west from the center of Pasadena) while we searched for a home to buy. That was our first experience with fires as the Station Fire started 3 weeks later, the largest of that year’s fire season. It did threaten Glendale, but not where we were located. New friends went through mandatory evacuations.

To understand the area where we live and how the Eaton Fire spread you have to have some familiarity with the foothills and how multiple cities are connected together within them. Together our cities make up the San Gabriel Valley because we sit beneath the San Gabriel Mountains (the green area north of the cities on the map below, and the mountains you can see in my balcony photos above). “The 210 corridor” is the section of the freeway that serves as our passageway from east to west. As a ten lane highway (five lanes in each direction) it juxtaposes our natural backdrop to the north.

For fifteen years, my family and I have lived in Monrovia, 8 miles east of the center of Pasadena. On this map the city where we first had an apartment, Glendale, is represented by the GLN evacuation zones. Glendale is technically where both the San Gabriel Valley and the San Fernando Valley meet. The city we live in now, Monrovia, is represented by the MRV evacuation codes. The San Gabriel Valley extends beyond us to the east and below us to the south.

Explaining Evacuation

The damage caused by Eaton Fire which is still active has occurred in four cities, Altadena (ALD), Pasadena (PAS), Sierra Madre (SMD), and Arcadia (ARC). The primary damage is almost the entire municipality of Altadena, which was hit particularly hard in the Northwest, a densely populated residential area marked by historically black home ownership.

The zones in red on the map (this map is 2 days old) indicate mandatory evacuations and the yellow indicates evacuation warnings, which means to be ready in case your yellow zone becomes a red one. For those concerned for us, we live a block south of the 210-freeway, and our zone has no evacuation orders related to this fire.

At this point, as far as I understand, the evening of January 7 and morning of January 8 when the winds got up to 88 miles an hour was the most threatening and devastating time for this fire, resulting in the worst of the damage to structures in towns. Reports state that an estimated 7000 structures have been damaged in what is largely a residential area.

While the fire remains largely uncontained, it is not currently engulfing further parts of the town. It moved up in the forest and the ridge. On the map below, the black lines indicate the points of containment. As you drive along the 210-freeway today, you cannot currently see that there is a fire except for a few smoky areas.

According to our Monrovia city manager, “When dealing with wildfires, the word “containment” describes how much of a fire has been surrounded with a control line. That control line is a barrier that incident managers believe the fire will not cross.” It does not mean the fire is actively growing along the red lines around the neighborhood; it means they have not declared that it’s under their control.

I hope this helped give an introduction to our geography so that you can understand the situation if you are unsure how it affects people you know in the area. I will continue to write as I am able in the coming week.

I did not touch on the details of the devastation in this post because I wanted to give some backdrop to make it more understandable first. But it is beyond anything we could have imagined.
The Pain of Healing

December 30th, 2024

The last few years have been a plot twist for my family. If you had asked me to describe my life prior, I would have called it complex. Even so, within complexity, we had few curveballs until the recent season of life hurled a number of them.

When your prior structure and framework for your life becomes a rug pulled out from under you, first, you will experience disruption and disorientation. Then, there is an opportunity to go through a process of healing. The healing has to do with figuring out what is accurate and true. You must dig deeper to discover what was false or faulty about your previous operational mode.

My conclusion about such healing is this–it feels like dying.

In other words, there is a lengthy stage in the healing process where you shed the old and do not yet have the new. This process is a slow, pronounced kind of dying. It is hard to explain unless you have gone through it because it is a dying into health, putting to death things that you will not bring forward with you.

This phenomenon is well-documented. You can read Richard Rohr’s Falling Upward or St. John of the Cross’s Dark Night of the Soul to think about this on a spiritual and soul level. Or, you can think about it on a medical and bodily level. If you have surgery and a serious recovery process, you may feel temporarily worse before you feel better. The passageway between what was and will be is both painful and inconvenient.

A Real-Life Metaphor

The latest life-inspired metaphor to help ponder this is an appliance flood in our home on December 2nd.

We had just finished a lovely Thanksgiving weekend with our college-age daughter home for her first break. It was the Monday after. She was back at school, my husband was on a plane for a work trip, and I was on my morning Zoom call when I stepped out of our home office to make tea. What greeted me was a washing machine failure from the load I had thrown in just before the call.

Initially, it looked like an inconvenient derailment of my Monday morning, but when I saw the extent of the nooks and crannies the water had flowed into, it became a disruption on a much larger scale. By that evening, insurance had sent a water remediation company to tear out our floors and cut into our walls. They removed any damp materials and left us with eight industrial fans blowing at a deafening frequency.

The beginning of the demolition

What began as a hopeful Monday morning for quiet work and a peaceful start to the extras of the holiday season turned upside down. I asked the contractor for his honest timeline estimate. He told me two months. Four weeks have passed, and his estimate seems accurate. We have made it through the worst. The contractors patched up our walls the day before Christmas, but our possessions and our dining table continue to sit in the garage. Rugs cover a pathway through the rooms so we do not have to stand on hard, cold concrete.

I am seeing in a new way from this unfortunate experience.

Quick Break, Slow Repair

Damage happens relatively quickly. (It took less than 1 hour for the water from one load of laundry to damage half of our first floor.) The demolition is less instantaneous but also relatively quick. I had no time to waste as I pulled every towel out of our linen closet and got to work in back-breaking labor, even pulling out the heavy washing machine that I have seen contractors struggle to move in a moment of Herculean strength. Then, without delay, insurance made sure to do damage control by tearing out every area of dampness and throwing it away.

The process gets slow once the damage is done and the demolition is complete. The rebuild does not begin or proceed with the same sense of urgency.

It would have increased the cost of the claim if the insurance were to act slowly, allowing the water to do more damage. But in rebuilding they take time to negotiate with the contractors over every nickel and dime. They make slow determinations between their other urgent jobs. Then, the estimator finds contractors that can do the work within the parameters of the insurance claim. Because it is the holiday season, the progress is even slower.

Living in Between

On the other end, you have us, the homeowners. We have to live in a state of disrepair. It looks bleak and requires a lot of patience and renegotiating what life looks like daily as you try to cook and live in a disrupted environment. If someone were to walk into my house on the day all those fans were blowing (as several neighbors did), they would say what a disaster (as they did). However, as awful as it looked, those were the first stages of the rebuild. We were preparing a dry foundation.

One of my least favorite days. Living in a state of mayhem as repairs were underway on Dec. 23.

It looked better with the floor in tact, but underneath, dampness was going to mold. The day the floors were left bare and the concrete exposed was the first step in creating something new.

In other words, when it most looked like a catastrophe, the rebuild was underway. Likewise, there are moments that most look like death, where healing is underway. I could see the rebuilding stage in a new way and understand my life in the last year or so.

Hope in Rebuilding

Rebuilding is disruptive but promising. If damage happened without your agency, it is not your chosen path. The only way out is rebuilding and in that stage you are about to experience a good thing.

Things will go wrong in the process. It will feel like chaos and disorient you again. (I have never heard of a rebuilding process for anything without setbacks, mistakes, or delays.) However, brick by brick, you are headed in the right direction.

It feels terrible when you cannot appreciate the progress. When things are incomplete, it can facilitate despair. But when you understand the small steps with gratitude and keep your eyes on the bigger picture (we are getting new floors, new paint, a new washer, new floorboards, etc.), you can persevere. You can have some hope.

If the rebuild process is causing you despair, I understand.

But, I want to offer a perspective I am learning: you deserve to be congratulated. You already made it through the damage and the demolition. You are on the road to something better, something new. Not every day will look like any amount of progress. And some days, nothing truly advances. But you have every right to have hope. This stage is not a teardown. It is a piece-by-piece renovation.

If you are like I was last year, in a season of despair and disorientation, you may not have the capacity to hope (yet). I just want you to know, I have hope for you. From where I stand now, I empathize with your pain, and also see the potential for a significant rebuild in your life–one that will give you what you need for the future rather than keep things as they were in the past.

A Quiet Rebuild

The same principle applies on a macro level. Individuals have been experiencing damage, demolition, and rebuilding, but so has our society. Rather than living in rubble, we can clear it away and build something new over time. The other side of collapse is the first stone being laid.

Christmas is the beginning of a renovation phase. Christ came to earth as a new beginning, the second Adam. The first man and woman acted in ways that brought about damage to every generation. Subsequent generations, like Noah’s, had to deal with the demolition that followed.

The incarnation is a quiet rebuild, a flutter in a young woman’s womb that became light and hope for the world. It looked like nothing, but it was quite something.

You may be engulfed by atrocious damage done to you and others. You may be watching the rubble pile up in the teardown, debilitated like I was a year ago. But if you know the Christmas story, you know the angels, shepherds, and magi were the early witnesses to humanity’s rebuilding.

It did not look like much when he was born among the animals to unimportant people in a tiny city. The threat of more rubble came in the form of edicts for infanticide and crossing borders seeking refuge.

Rebuilds are long and slow. What looks like wreckage today is a new beginning for our home and family.

I believe the same for you. Where you are is not where you will end up.

Damage comes with the loudest bang but is the shortest visitor.

The teardown may take a little while.

But the longest leg of the journey is the rebuilding. And building is good. Piece by piece, you will get there.

We will get there.
Resist the Splitter

November 14th, 2024

As an American, 9 days after the 2024 election, I sit here with three posts written in my drafts folder. None seemed quite right. I told myself to sit at least a week, to be silent and see what rises up. My unique experience is going to inform my response, as it does for each of us.

Whereas Americans (including Christians) have generally moved further from those with differing political views and closer to those with the same, my story is different. I upended my career because of a sense of call away from ministry in the university (where political views trended more similar to my own) to church and local ministry (where political views trended the opposite of my own). That is its own story.

The results have been varied; some surprising miracles have happened and some repeat, stinging heartaches. I share this for context. My worship spaces are still with a majority of people who vote differently than me, more so than in the last two elections. Various push factors have caused others of my ilk to find new places of worship.

Of course, this goes deeper than politics in the sense of which candidate you would vote for in a Trump era. It goes into how we order what is most important, which scriptures are key in shaping our political and social imaginations, and which threats to the gospel we identify as most imminently harmful. But, this piece is not going to dive into that. My only goal is to share an operative principle I am taking into our new reality.

A few years ago, during the height of political tensions in our country, I was given an online sermon to listen to as an assignment for a committee. I do not remember most of the content or even the passage the pastor expounded in the recording (possibly James 4:17). I remember one phrase, the sermon’s main point.

“Resist the splitter.”

The splitter, in context, is the devil. The devil’s one agenda is to destroy the work of God by any means necessary, including one of the most effective ways, which is dividing the church so that we hate one another. In the Christian faith, we are brothers and sisters. We share a humanity-healing meal of one broken body, which we equally do not deserve. If the splitter can break up this family table, bought with Christ’s shed blood, there are few things more effective for his destructive purposes.

A few days ago, it just so happened our monthly Bible Study came to John 13, when Jesus takes the position of a servant and washes his disciples’ feet. In this scene, Jesus gives us a commandment unique to John’s gospel. In short, his disciples are to love one another as Christ has loved them. The command is to be a new family–Jesus’ family–together.

We know that Jesus’ chosen brothers included Simon, a zealot who wanted to take the kingdom by force and Matthew, a tax collector who betrayed his own people to make a little money from the occupying empire. It is a peculiar bunch to be sure. Before the Last Supper, Jesus washes the feet of all twelve of his new family members, including Judas (his soon-to-be betrayer) and Peter (his soon-to-be denier). John tells us he loved them well until the end.

As a reformer by nature, I can get caught up in change that needs to happen, becoming so angry and disillusioned that I fail to obey Christ’s example to love his whole family until the very end. It is not easy. It is extremely costly to have this kind of servant love. But it becomes an example to us for the betrayals we have and will face. And, while there is room for making bold decisions about right and wrong and false teaching from my conscience, I do not get a pass on sacrificial love even if/when I am right.

It is not my goal to try to express what that should look like. We cheapen God’s grace and love when we programmatize it. It requires deep discernment from a life of prayer, connected to the vine (John 15). It requires supernatural help to carry on in the face of evil, fear, and pain. (And sometimes, because we are only human, carrying on requires taking a break to get off the frontlines so we can heal and rest).

Jesus’ final acts of love and his new commandment to his disciples compel me to make this my goal. Resist the splitter.

Because the splitter is so effective, I know I will feel like I am being stretched until I tear in two with one foot each in places being pulled apart. It will be painful, but I will make it my mission to resist him anyway. Because the splitter is so cunning, as I work for the purity of the bride of Christ with my family, we will likely continue to be called names, misunderstood, accused, and scapegoated by brothers and sisters. I will resist the splitter anyway. Because the splitter is so deceptive, he will continue to turn the lies inward on me and make me feel rejected, worthless, and unloved. I will call upon the name of Jesus to resist the splitter anyway.

Photo by SteveBuissinne from Freerange Stock

If I make it my main mission to resist the devil, I will cover all my bases.

I cannot be naive. The scripture tells us he is the ruler of the world. He is our #1 enemy. He is the master of deception and we cannot fight against him while participating in something he loves (fracturing the church and despising one another). We cannot love our neighbors in the name of Jesus and power of the Holy Spirit if we succumb to rejecting our brother and sisters, who are together with us in Christ. How could we then drink of the communion cup from Christ who taught us how to be a neighbor? But the splitter is busy, always at work, prowling in the darkness, using our self-righteousness to hijack our righteous indignation.

I could write pages and pages on the things I think about this moment of time and what we should or might do as Christians, but the pastor who preached this sermon was right. There is something fundamental about resisting the force that is feeding off of it all. He loves exploiting our vulnerabilities to make sure we go into separate spaces where we can demonize one another, instead of stand together against his demons.

Perhaps you are still discerning your acts of Christian faithfulness after last week’s election. If so, I humbly suggest that resisting the splitter might be a good foundational commitment for all of us.

It wouldn’t make sense to feed the hand that bites us.
What Makes a Great Leader?

October 10th, 2024

Upon leaving my last job, I am sure that all my weaknesses and flat sides that had not already been obvious were exposed. That is how the cycle of leadership works. God is gracious to use a healthy rotation of leadership so that teams and organizations do not get stuck with the same blindspots as their leaders.

Yes, it is uncomfortable to sit in a senior leadership position where you are under constant scrutiny before, during, and after you occupy the role. But, this comes with the territory. You can either resist or embrace it. One path leads to destruction and the other to health.

Expect your weaknesses to be visible and known.

Unfortunately, there are many fakers out there. They ride the wave of charisma without a lot of depth to fall back on. With a thin sense of security under the surface, they receive praise for being good leaders, fearing the day that they don’t. Their house of cards is flimsy with leadership energy constantly used to maintain the delicate balance of perception and performance.

It hurts any cause when we calibrate our leadership expectations to this model. We would be better off looking weak than to feel compelled to conceal our vulnerabilities to be strong. After all, Christ is made perfect in our weaknesses. Christ can work with that. Hiddenness that leads to shame is not Christ’s domain. We know whose it is.

Resist the temptation to spend your energies hiding your weaknesses.

Even as we expose our weaknesses we have to be careful not to exploit them or the people around us because of them. If you want to be a good, potentially great, leader I will share with you what made my leadership worth anything at all. It is simple, yet unexpected. I had at least one person on my team who would never tell me what I wanted to hear. Her insight was spot on and she always told me the inconvenient truth. I knew she was watching me and would not tolerate just a little fudging on integrity.

This is highly inconvenient. The external trials of leadership combined with the internal insecurities that arise tempt us to line up “yes-men” around us. But that instinct is dangerous and foolish.

Receive truth-tellers, forgo yes-men.

You are better off having someone on your team who refuses to let you get away with anything and does not turn a blind eye to your inconsistencies or missteps. You need someone outside of your peer friendships or spouse to hold you accountable. Someone who will not err on the side of giving you the “benefit of the doubt,” but will give you holy interrogation. Someone who will not “believe the best about you,” but will make you aware of your sin disguised as good deeds. All because they want to protect you and your ministry from the worst.

It will be a pain in your neck, slow things down, and cause anxiety to know you have to hear hard things. The alternative is that once you have someone (or heaven forbid a whole group of people) making accommodations for your blindspots without letting you know, you are in both leadership and spiritual trouble.

Invite and appreciate a team member who is unafraid to shed light on your blind spots.

Whenever I tell people that it is possible to have integrity in a complex, high-level position of Christian leadership, they seem skeptical. It is a unicorn most have not seen. Likely this is because we are taught to make excuses and accommodations for ourselves and the leaders around us. We call this grace, but it is really no grace for anyone in the long run. Rather it is the kind of thing that damages and destroys all of us.

The greatest grace that I had in my senior leadership role was one colleague who I was close to before my promotion. She would not let our prior relationship create a slippery slope for my integrity and values. She let me know out of the gate that friendship was not going to give me a pass. Any time you make a leap up the ladder, the temptation to make excuses because your job is harder and onlookers do not understand what you are going through is looming.

Get yourself a team member who will not let you off the hook, always demand that you show up in alignment with your values, and call you out if you slip. If you do not have this person, get them on your team right away. Empower your employees this way and resist punishing them for the inconvenience and ego bruising it causes. Make sure they have some real power to evaluate you to a boss or board so that there is a real consequence for your failures and inconsistencies. Resist the temptation to choose a peer who will scratch your back if you scratch theirs.

Receive hard truth as grace.

I can predict the quality and fruit of your ministry today based on whether you open doors for truth tellers.

Today I want to thank my dear friend and colleague who gave me the holy inconvenience of accountability and truth-telling. I believe it saved my leadership. Your presence and your insistence on high standards was a grace that keeps on giving in my life.

Nathan and David, Original Source: The Easter Gift
PAINTED BY B. WEST F. R. A. ENGRAVED BY S. SANGSTER.
When You Need Supernatural Help

August 10th, 2024
The woman spent twelve years of her life as an outcast, suffering from incurable bleeding which cost her life savings while searching for solutions. Hers was more than a medical problem. Bleeding had social, spiritual, and personal ramifications.

She was watching her best childbearing years pass by while remaining in a perpetual state of ritual uncleanliness. She was physically and, therefore, socially untouchable with no way to change her status. She would be useless to any man as a wife. No friend would accompany her. No mikvah could offer her cleansing.

With the search for all human solutions exhausted and healing eluding her, she hides herself amongst the crowd in desperation. “If I can just get close enough to Jesus and reach out to him–the healer,” she thought. It was worth the risk. She overcame her fears to be there, to reach out, and, eventually, to tell the “whole truth” of her vulnerable story in front of everyone gathered that day.

The account of this brave woman, found in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke reminds me of the many accounts of wilderness survivors I have encountered over the years. Trapped and alone without food or water, under exposure to the elements, the survivor does not pause to think whether his last action to fight for his life will prove effective. He simply musters up the strength, against all odds, to put out one last SOS, take one more stroke to swim, or call out one last time for help.

If he’s lucky, the last-ditch effort will make the difference between life and death.

This woman’s arm stretched out through a crowd to Jesus’ hem was her final SOS. It was worth the effort.

She knows that when you come to your end, there are no ordinary solutions that will do. We know from the story that she exhausted her religious, expert, and relational options finding no answers, power, or help there.

When she, or you and I, come to this point, two final options remain:
1. Succumb to despair. If there is truly nothing left, there is nothing to live for.
2. Turn to the a supernatural power, help, and answer–Jesus.
In her case, with all ordinary means of grace exhausted, there is yet one extraordinary means to reach towards. Jesus proves himself effective for the healing when power goes out of him and vibrates through her.

I’m with her. This woman.

In the past few years I have become so disillusioned with human solutions to the problems that are beyond us. I have faced too many things in my own life that do not seem to be solvable. Too many impasses.

Strengthsfinder 2.0 tells me that I excel in strategic thinking and problem solving. I have worked in a job with complex problems and found ways forward for people, never struggling to find at least small solutions that can help move the needle. I can muster the patience to persevere in that process.

Not so these last few years when my best assets and efforts left me powerless. Helpless. Impotent to change the situations around me. In these moments and circumstances, things felt primal. I was just trying to survive.

And when I looked around at society, it seems to be a theme. Can we really solve the things that trouble us?

Stop gaps? Yes. Solutions? Not really.

Accepting this is part of the solution.

A couple years ago, I had to turn off the news notifications. I could not take the noise anymore.

No organization will cure it.

No political party will fight it.

No charismatic leader will rescue us.

I want to wave the white flag and ask for supernatural intervention. I just think it’s that bad.

But I can accept that premise because it is a necessary one for receiving the gospel. We, as humanity, bring nothing.

At the end of the day, all our efforts do not improve our situation. I believe God equips us as image bearers to enact all kinds of wonderful efforts that generate goodness and kindness. But, without supernatural intervention they will never end the cycle of shattering brokenness in our world.

Our ability to harm is just as strong as our ability to do good. Every well-intentioned effort is likely to have an unintended consequence. This is a point proven by every loving mother and father on the planet and their offspring.

I used to think that I had a lot of power and agency to create a good (near perfect) family because of my values, my chosen spouse, and my faith in God. More recently, I realize the naïveté in that. When Paul writes about knowing the good he wants to do, but cannot, we can read it as an individual internal struggle. But, zooming out, Paul, and all of us, are complex creatures with habits and programming from our broken ancestry and society. We are all products of who we came from, both generationally and socially and have far less individual autonomy than I thought. We all think we will do better than what we experienced, but our demons catch up to us. Those demons go on to plant seeds that will haunt our children, who will try to do better than us.

I do not mean to be depressing. This, for me, is about laying aside idealism, not to accept fatalism, but to embrace reality. That reality helps me to surrender to the only one who can handle problems so big.

At the end of the day, when I cannot enact the kinds of outcomes I desire, despite my effort, I surrender to a power greater than my own. It is the only power that can lift us from the ashes and bring hope. It is a supernatural resurrection power, not a natural power. It is not based on my efforts or my outcomes.

Despair visits me, but it cannot help me live another day.

Like the bleeding woman, I overcome my fears just enough to extend a hand through the crowded chaos and try to grab the hem of Jesus’ garment. Even if we have to tell the whole truth of our stories in front of everyone, the possibility of healing is still worth it.

So take heart, my friends.

The worst situations are the best opportunities for this kind of extended arm posture.

Jesus made it clear, if we want to be perfect, good luck. If we are sick and need help, he is here–for us.

If no one can lift you up, you need rescue and supernatural lifting. While a desperate and unenviable spot, there is clarity here. No illusions. Just feel your desperation…and reach…

Despair is only necessary when you are out of possibilities.

As for me…All of my hope, is in the name of Jesus…God, turn it around…God, turn it around…
I Surrender All: What Began in Oregon

August 3rd, 2024

Calling the Twelve to him, he began to send them out two by two and gave them authority over impure spirits. These were his instructions: “Take nothing for the journey except a staff—no bread, no bag, no money in your belts…” (Mk 6:7-8)

2022

The loud pounding inside of me from early in the year was deafening by October. I would agree to speak at a faculty and staff conference in Sisters, Oregon, with no idea whether I would still be working for my employer. The clarity around leaving was so strong going back to March. But, I said yes. It would help me end well to prioritize a trip to see my newest staff in Portland. We could travel together to the conference.

I was just beginning to learn to do the next thing without being sure what was ahead. To give my “yes” unless and until I had to give a “no.”

When it came time for me to prepare my opening talk, my heart was exploding with new lessons and ideas. I had so many possible things to share and say. My spiritual life was growing and stretching. I had a pretty comprehensive set of notes on my phone for a scripture that I thought I might use to build a good talk. It was Mark 6 where Jesus sends out his disciples to begin the ministry he has modeled for them. I knew I should speak on the theme of vulnerable dependence out of this passage.

There was just one problem. Whenever I would begin to think about the message, something was blocking me from prepping. I do not mean that evil was causing the blockage. I sensed an intentional barrier. It was like something was preventing me from shifting over to my notes in my phone or preparing something new. I sensed God was taking ahold of my mind and asking, “Would you be willing to do this without relying on your intelligence, your preparation, or your polish? Would you be willing to move backwards in your sense of professionalism and expertise?”

This was new. I kept hoping that as I got closer to the moment to deliver the talk, I would feel permission to open the notes. But, in my spirit, I sensed that I was supposed to do what I was willing yet not eager to do. I was to obey the passage on vulnerable dependence by living it out and modeling it. The speaking was not going to matter. It was not going to be a great talk. I was going to be the object lesson. I would have to surrender measures of success and believe in the invisible fruit of obedience, nothing else.

You might think that surrendering ego and letting God speak through me would make for an excellent talk. It was not that. I could not think clearly. I fumbled on my words. With all the awkwardness of an amateur taking the stage to audition, I took a deep breath, exhaled and tried not to think about how this “performance” reflected on me. It may as well have been my first talk as a student from 2001.

Nothing was familiar. I was learning a new skill of minimizing myself and depending on God live in front of an audience. In a room full of university professionals, I did not even have a Power Point to try to cover me. Listening to the Spirit with nothing on the agenda was peculiar. They could have saved some money by not flying me up from Southern California for this.

Moments before, knowing what I was about to do, I had kneeled down in my beautiful, pristine speaker cabin in the woods of Oregon and sang with full gusto, “I surrender all. I surrender all. All to Thee my blessed savior. I surrender all.” This was my only and final preparation, and I knew it.

Performance. Ego. Polished Slides. Respect. I surrendered all. And it was not comfortable because I was doing it as a guest of someone who had invited me to bring something. Instead, I was showing up with nothing and practicing letting the Spirit work in spite of me.

It was not outwardly beautiful. But it was important. Thankfully, the second day I had permission to bring my best. I was not ready to go back to back in that kind of humiliation. In the end, I think the Spirit showed me that the Spirit worked equally the day I did my best and the day I brought very little. It was a reminder that the Spirit’s work and effectiveness are not up to me. All we can bring is obedience.

The day before, I still had 24 remaining hours to write the first talk. With all the time in the world I went to dinner, came back and stared at my computer screen.

I just can’t do it.

It did not make sense because I already had notes written. I went to bed and hoped the next morning there would be a lift to move ahead. Maybe God was holding me back until the last minute to see how much I trusted. Maybe God would flood my mind with new information about the talk I should give.

I woke up. Nothing. Still felt the same barrier and sense that I could not cross it.

With no talk writing to do, I walked down the Willamette River on my way to get coffee and doughnuts for my first time in Portland. Maybe God would speak to me as I moved instead of sat. It was raining.

Typically while on the road doing ministry, I would send a WhatsApp message to my colleagues and ask them to pray for me, especially if something felt stressful or difficult. But, I did not know what to say. It was our job to plan and perform well and I was planning to not perform.

Instead, as the weather fogged my glasses and the raindrops wet my light jacket, I took out my phone and texted R . I was attempting to get clarity in case I had to write the talk on the long drive to the retreat. It would not be the first time that clarity came on the journey to a speaking engagement.

R is the kind of person who I believe is sent into my life to help me through this kind of moment. I don’t remember what I wrote, probably something like, “I am here in Oregon to speak at a conference, but I do not have anything prepared. I keep feeling like God wants me to just show up, but I am wrestling with this.”

What R wrote back began like this:

“Lisa, I’m very happy for you…”

A remarkably different response than I could have received from most anyone else.

As soon as I saw the opening line, tears streamed and joined the rain drops on the soggy overcast morning. I was not crazy. Or, at least if I was crazy, there was one friend cheering me on. He remarked that this was a deepening of my trust in God as well as God entrusting more to me.

The text was the confirmation I needed. The tears flowed because I knew.

I arrived at Stumptown and enjoyed a sacred moment replying to the text on my phone and warming up with my coffee. Whatever happened next, at least I had this.

Fortunately, after I had obeyed the first night of the conference, I went back to my cabin and immediately typed out my slides for the next morning’s talk. As I suspected, all the material was there. With the barrier removed, it gushed out of me in record time. Mercifully, God allowed me to show these faculty that I wasn’t some ill-prepared crazy person and better meet the expectations of my colleagues.

But, it was not until after I took myself out of the equation. No ego. If I am going to be so bold as to show up with no notes to do a half baked job and claim it was God and not me, then it is also God and not me when God helps me do an excellent job.

I learned that day that vulnerable dependence results in a surrendered outcome. After all, just before Jesus sent out his disciples in all authority, he went into the temple with that same authority and no one believed. He also told them that there would be some homes where they would have to shake the dust and keep moving.

Obedience is not about outcome. When you obey, you surrender the process and the outcome, trusting the Spirit to work in ways that bring fruit we may not otherwise measure.

A month later, I sent an email to resign from my job. Oregon had given me one practice round in vulnerable dependence before doing so.

Last week, I returned home from another trip to Portland. This time, we were taking my daughter to college orientation.

As the plane descends to Oregon soil, I am keenly aware that my vulnerable dependance has been continuous from my trip in October 2022 to today. Instead of moving into a secure job, I find myself in a very exposed state, starting a ministry. I feel just as much like the disciples now as I did then.

I meet Donan for coffee in Downtown Portland while I’m in town. She is the staff I hired in 2022 to cover the Northwest. We are just a few blocks from where I wrestled along the river in the final hours before she drove us to the retreat. Amidst cozy Portland vibes and coffee, we joyfully ponder the Spirit’s unexpected work in the Northwest. We hope together for new fruit in the mystery of the place.

My daughter’s decision to go to college in Oregon surprised everyone, including her. Though she has shown little interest in faith in her teenage years, she will land where my faith was tested and tried before I set off on an arduous prolonged season of trust. It was during a month and a half of weekly fasting (a practice I never do) that I felt confirmation to send her here—one of the least churched areas in the entire United States. Another opportunity for surrender and trust.

As we send her, I know that God is present there–along the Willamette River, in the woods, and on the campus. Oregon has become a sacred pilgrimage for me and it is fitting for me to return on the cusp of another new season. It is the flight of my firstborn and the anticipated flight of a new ministry.

Last week, I felt like I completed a full circle. It was a journey around the same town, same people, same river, and same coffee shop that punctuated my last visit. And when I return in a few weeks, I have one more big surrender ahead.

God, I am struggling. Like the disciples paddling in the dark storm after you told them to pull out in the middle of the water. It’s the last watch of the night. I am exhausted and scared, but I think you are here. I believe you have a purpose.
French Fries with Steve

July 17th, 2024

Originally written October 19, 2021

In summer 2020 when the world was still in the early stages of COVID-19, my friend, Steve, was navigating his fair share of challenges. In a season of unemployment and between homes, prospects looked poor on both fronts. If I knew then what I know now, things would have been different.

I would have taken Steve into our home, risked exposing my household to COVID, and let him stay indefinitely. But at the time, there were no vaccines. We knew relatively little about COVID-19. With kids in virtual learning and Zoom work-from-home, I was at my limits.

I told my spiritual director, who listens monthly to my narration of my life as we look for God together, “Every Sunday, I drive to the park, pull out my lawn chair and pray with Steve and Jonathan.” I went on to explain Steve’s situation. I met him when he had come back to church fresh out of incarceration and rededicated his life to God. He had fallen on hard times, losing his job and home just as COVID hit. And, he lived out of his car.

I described how, with a sense of urgency, Steve asked me and Jonathan to pray with him in-person. For some reason, we both said yes without hesitation, never missing a Sunday. On the best of days in a pre-pandemic world, it could not have been planned. But, somehow, in this alternate reality, there was a portal to this possibility and the three of us stepped inside.

We coordinate by text, show up, talk and pray, usually for hours, until well past summer sunset. At the end of our time, Steve gets into his car. Where will he go? We never know. How long will Steve be gone? When we will hear from him? These are all mysteries. But as sure as the mid-2020 morning starts on Zoom and the evening ends at home without any organized activities, every Sunday night I spend with Steve and Jonathan.

She gave me a look of bewilderment. This was a new and odd turn that even my trained spiritual director scratched her head about. At the time, we kind of shrugged at the senselessness of it all during the upheaval of the pandemic year. A couple months later it became more than a passing shrug when Steve died alone in a motel room.

My friendship with Steve was not new. My family and I had known him for several years. But Steve, Jonathan, and I were in a new situation, working together on a committee with an important spiritual task to complete when COVID hit. Steve felt strongly that some of us needed to pray in-person. Thus, our Sunday night prayer meetings began in early July, lasting through mid-November.

It is easy to forget how slow and uncertain time felt during this season of the pandemic. While my family stayed home following safety orders, Steve and Jonathan were the only people I intentionally left my house to see. If I can go back and channel the feelings of those early months, it is astonishing. With all worship centers closed, Sunday nights in Library Park became my new rhythm. This togetherness during isolation amplified everything—the prayers, the community, and the bond.

When we met in person, we masked and sat six feet apart. This was inconvenient for Steve who did not have access to hygienic health and safety options and seemed to want to experience closeness.

Only on the very last day that I saw Steve did we unmask and “break bread.” In fact, it was french fries, Coke, and a chicken sandwich, but it felt as sacred as the Lord’s supper. Our fellowship of three huddled together around a space heater in my open garage on a rare, rainy November night. Fries dipped in ketchup were our intinction. Coke and lemonade tasted refreshing like living water. Steve was so excited to eat with friends. Looking back, it may have been his only shared meal in eight months. Little did we know it wasn’t a typical Eucharistic feast, unless you count the very first. We were offering Steve last rites.

Photo credit: Jeff Liou

When we didn’t hear from Steve for six weeks, Jonathan and I were not concerned. Steve, peculiar as he was, had made it clear to us that he would turn off his phone and drive across the country to secure a van that my husband had planned to build out for him as a mobile home. He even took down our addresses and warned us that if ever we didn’t see him for a while, a letter would arrive. When the page turned to 2021, I believed that I would receive Steve’s letter any day or a sudden text asking us to find a mutual time to gather again when his phone was turned on.

But on January 11, 2021, I learned that Steve died on November 27 about 100 miles from my home. He hadn’t been in any known communication by text with any of his friends for about ten days at the time of his death. The news was devastating.

In one phone call, the cord of three strands broke. We lost our friend and leader of our prayer group who had kept us moving with faith through the pandemic. There are “prayer groups” and then there are prayer groups. This was a prayer group. The spiritual atmosphere was vivid. Steve was as strange of a leader as John the Baptist must have been while wearing camel skin and eating locusts. He lived on the margins of society and met us at the edges to pray before he ventured back out.

Often one or more of us felt desperation with a challenge in front of us and then we would walk away from the prayer time and see God answer in an unexpected way. I remember one week where we conducted two prayer times over the phone together, which was not unusual. This week, I was away, borrowing a friend’s mountain cabin with my family. Every aspect of the prayer time is vivid in my memories– where I sat, what I wrote in my journal before and after, how God spoke to me in my dreams, and the exact words that Steve spoke. I can even hear Steve’s voice in my head.

The cause of Steve’s death was still inconclusive at the time of his memorial service in late January. At age 43 he had developed a recent health issue with his pancreas, but that didn’t show up in the initial autopsy. A bit like Elijah, he seemed to be here one minute and gone the next. At the time, I could barely process his death. It was a shock, and we were living shock upon shock in a sort of time warp already.

About seven months later, my body began to release and I grieved more deeply. It was when our committee work was coming to a long-anticipated crossroads and he was not there for it, that I was finally able to cry. During this time, his absence became sharper for me and all the prayers we prayed together flooded my mind. I do not believe in communicating with the dead. But his death was so sudden, I sometimes wondered if he was trying to tell me anything.

Could he see me tossing and turning at night, crying, sweating, wrestling spiritually or was it just my memory of him visiting me in that heavy hour? I remembered his prayers and knew they were effective beyond his living days. I strangely sensed that some of his connection to the Spirit of God was passing on to me. Like John the Baptist, he prepared the way, but he was not there to see it through. The only small comfort at this time was reaching out to Jonathan knowing that he was holding Steve’s memory as well.

There’s no ending to this story because what do you write about unsolved mysteries? The story of Steve is the story of multiple mysteries–a strange fellowship, answered prayers, and Steve’s death. And the mysteries continue because none of this was as strange of an outlier in my life as I originally thought it would be. All of this was absolutely central to everything God was and is doing, even if right now I do not know all that means or entails.

Rest in peace, Steve. As I turned 44 last week, I remember and honor your 43 years, mindful that you did not make it to this one. Thank you for everything you taught me about longing for revival, persistent prayer, trusting God for daily bread, and believing God’s work at the margins. You were one of the best leaders I ever followed.
Mystery and the Voice of God: My Story (Part 2)

July 11th, 2024

[Link to Part 1]

Day 40

Back to early-mid 2023.

I was waiting. Everyone who knew me was waiting too. They checked in with me moment by moment, which was kind, but very similar to being nine months pregnant. You have no control over when you have the baby, but feel like a watched pot that never boils.

Then it finally happened. The first glimmer of progress. A job posted that I had been waiting for.

As summer progressed I was in a lengthy process for this role, which I felt passionate and excited about. It clearly aligned with God’s calling and words for me. From the outside looking in, it was like the job had been created for me. It fit the scope of my life and ministry experiences well—so much so that my former colleagues called it a “no brainer.” Jeff and I felt anticipation for what God might do as this application process unfolded.

Prior to the posting, other opportunities came my way. Early on, I was even given the opportunity to write my own job description out of my sense of call, but something did not feel right. I held it in prayer until I finally got a clear answer to wait and take this other emerging path instead. A team of people praying for me through my transition asked, “What will you do if you don’t get this job? Are you applying to other jobs?”

I responded, “It feels like the Holy Spirit is stepping on my neck and telling me there is only one path to take. If I do not get this job, I will have a lot of questions for God. It just will not make sense.”

I should pause and say that I never heard God promise me this job as an outcome. God did give instructions to exclusively wait on and apply for this specific role. One might assume that would mean a positive outcome. This was my assumption. If, for some reason, God did not give me this job, we believed there must be something better that would soon become obvious.

As the summer went on, I made it through every hoop and stage of the process down to the final two candidates. I was eager and ready to resume work. I went in for the final interview early in the kids’ new school year–perfect timing for something new for myself. The following day, Jeff and I celebrated our 21st anniversary, anticipating a long-awaited season of change. That next morning, I received an email that gut punched me so hard it knocked me off the face of the earth. They had chosen another candidate who “God had been preparing for the job.” I have no doubt that is true, but what on earth had God been preparing me for?

The process was over.

Eight months dragged out in waiting came down to a swift rejection. Despair moved across my entire body. I had walked out to the edge, jumped off the cliff, and no one caught me. I plummeted. Like a cartoon from my childhood, I had crushed myself into a puddle at the bottom.

My husband encouraged me about all the possibilities at my fingertips, but all I could feel was beautiful clarity from the voice of God ending horrifically with a heavy door slammed abruptly in my face. Even then, I sensed how seemingly impossible it would be for me to move forward from this place apart from a supernatural lift.

In a normal application situation, at this point, you work through any disappointment, assume the best about doors closing and opening, and keep dreaming about what the future might hold. You move on to the other logs you’ve thrown on the fire since this one has burned out. But, just as I told my prayer team, I did not have any other logs on the fire. God only gave me one log and it just burned its last ember.

In retrospect, I was expecting God to bring me to door #2 if door #1 closed. If I really got this far out into two years of obedience and then this was not the final destination, surely God would provide for our family by quickly showing us the real thing we had been waiting for. Right?

At this point, I did what any person who had already been several months without income waiting on a specific process would do, I began applying to all the other jobs. In so doing, I tried to approach it with an open mind and choose jobs that overlapped with at least one clear aspect of my calling.

Day 150

In a short matter of time, I began to have interviews almost every week, a process that was like goldilocks trying porridge. Everyone I knew had desires and opinions for me about the bowls I was tasting.

A large ministry’s development director.

A director of church partnership for an institute of higher learning.

A Dean of Spiritual Development at a college.

A Discipleship Pastor at a megachurch.

A CEO of a local ministry home.

A high profile family’s covert charitable foundation.

I took the approach that if God opened doors, I would walk through them until the processes closed. I was curious as phone calls and emails came so quickly in comparison to the long, slow slog I had just gone through. But, each time, a sadness and concern would come over me. I knew that this path did not match the clarity God had given me. The unmistakable clear trajectory that began when the Holy Spirit spoke to me and sent me on a new journey never lifted.

It would have been easier if it had.

Instead I found myself in daily and nightly despair about the disorienting process I had just been through. Then, for a few hours I would have to dress nice, throw on a blazer, put on makeup and perform to my highest abilities. It was brutal.

This interview season spanned six months and yet I was no closer to my calling than before I began. In fact, I always knew in my gut that I was not supposed to be on this journey. God never asked me to leave my job so that I could go on a wild goose chase. There was no reason to leave the previous job for this kind of a journey. I just did not know what else to do.

I tried to keep an open mind in the event that momentum would start to build and God would give me a clear direction or nudge. Mostly I just found myself panicking when I became a final candidate for jobs. The morning before the Dean interview, which seemed like the best fit for me, I abruptly awoke at 4am, sweating. I was thinking about a church up the street going through a season of scandal.

“Churches…making churches healthy. I’d rather work for myself if I have to.”

I tried to show up for every interview and bring my best, but the truth is, I felt locked in to the original calling God had given me. It just would not let up.

Having interviewed dozens and dozens of people for ministry jobs in the previous decade, I knew my problem. A) I wasn’t called to these jobs B) I was aimlessly looking for work C) I had a specific vision and calling that was coming through more strongly than the work at hand. Jeff and I both agreed. We wouldn’t hire me for these jobs either.

As each door closed, I felt relief instead of sadness. But, I also felt confused and aimless.

Day 260

Sunday morning comes and Jeff and I decide to take our son an hour away to the megachurch where I will be interviewing. It is Christmas time.

A famous worship singer and songwriter comes out on the stage. Jeff and I look at one another with the same knowing chuckle. We were not expecting that!

As the worship plays, I merely close my eyes and God begins to speak to me with direction for the first time since the early part of the year.

I receive a vivid picture. Standing outside the door of my calling, I am weeping. I feel sadness all over my body as I stand in a sewer tunnel staring at a door vaulted shut like you might see at a bank. I see I am at the end this tunnel and notice there are other doors along the sides. With no other choice, I begin to ponder these other doors. They are not welcoming but they are not vaulted shut either.

I could knock on these.

But, in the distance, on the other side of the tunnel is a sense of heat and daylight. Reluctantly, with curiosity impeded by sadness, I sensed an invitation to start to take steps toward the light.

The image panned out again and I saw that the path toward the light would also put me over and above this sewer. A different access point to my calling would become available. I would be above all these doors instead of knocking on them.

I thanked God for speaking. The slow pursuit toward heat and light had begun.

[To be continued…]

Photo credit: The City of Toronto
Mystery and the Voice of God: My Story (Part 1)

July 9th, 2024

2021

My spiritual director, sitting with me in our usual meeting place of over a decade, declares with confidence, “You really hear from God! When I make reference to you, I tell my husband, she really hears from God.” This was news to me. I never thought of it this way. As far as I knew I was just minding my own business in my faith life. I had never claimed to anyone that I heard from God. God made things clear to me as circumstances lined up, as I looked at how things had worked out in the past, or in my gut. I never heard a voice that I connected to God’s. How interesting that this was my descriptor–the one who hears from God.

This was a little external reinforcement to look back upon for the road that I would soon begin to travel.

Days later, I found myself in the midst of a profound supernatural experience that brought me to tears. I had never experienced anything like it. I was wrestling in mental frustration about a particular circumstance when, out the blue, God began to show me how he saw me by providing clarity to a longtime question which was related to my struggle.

What exactly is the thing that I have been made to do, no matter the job or the season of life? It came through crystal clear. I sensed it all over my body along with God’s presence as I was driving down the road. It took me by surprise and was so powerful that after I pulled into the garage and parked the car, still weeping, I walked into the house and wrote it all down. I was very clear on what was happening and I knew I would not be the same.

Like Moses and Mary, while minding my own business, carrying on with my daily life, an encounter changed my life without warning.

From there, I began to grow in new and deeper ways in my relationship with the Lord. I also began to know my time in my current career was ending because what I was made to do and the current reality of my job was no longer in alignment. This visitation was the beginning of a redirection.

In the process of redirection, at times it feels like I have the faith to walk on water. Other times, it feels like I am sinking.

2022

12 months later, I am sitting in a room at church where a meeting has just wrapped up when my Facebook messenger makes the distinct noise of an incoming message. “Hi Lisa, I promise this is not spam, but have you ever thought about a career change?” How curious! “Why, yes. Funny you should ask,” I answered the friend on the other end. “I am thinking of leaving my 20-year career. Why?” What followed was an incredible opportunity that I should have/would have jumped at if I did not have so much specific clarity on what God had called me to. Nonetheless, it was exciting, tempting, and flattering.

The next day I got on a plane for London for a work trip. This new job option would be a nice pay bump. It would open doors to a new world. And, it would be local, an important component to my sense of redirection. But, it would not check the main box. That entire night as I was bouncing my head forward and backward, sleeping and waking, in my economy seat, I would hear over and over again, “Church, not non-profit management. Church. Not non-profit management.” It was persistent and clear. Take the opportunity as a sign of good things to come, but do not take the bait, I decided.

I would stay the course and wait.

Six weeks later, urgency was growing in me. The end of the calendar year was drawing near, but no opportunity to follow my new sense of call had materialized. I told God early in our conversations about new beginnings that I could by no means afford to lose my salary or go backwards in progress after all the early years of ministry penny pinching and struggling to advance as a woman, so I was sure that God would honor my bargain and there would be no gap from one job to the next.

Eventually, I had to pay attention to the pounding sound in my chest. It was sounding an alarm of release from my job. It was not that I did not like my job. I had felt excited and called to that job. In so many ways it was the best job ever. But just as easily as God had given me a call to the position out of nowhere, I knew God had taken it away. God had been preparing me to go where God sent me. I did not know where I was going, but I was no longer sent there.

One night, as I lay in bed, I felt the Holy Spirit again. This time it was an urgent, clear, step-by-step plan. The instructions included exactly what date to leave my job, a volunteer ministry assignment to step into, and a financial plan to cover our family for two months after my last day of employment. I sent the appropriate emails to enact the plan and went to bed with peace.

Since God led me step-by-step and I followed all of them, I naturally expected there would be more instructions by the time the plan ended. The last thing I expected was a gap, let alone a long gap.

2023

Early in the year, I worked one final month in my career, completed my volunteer assignments, and then came to the end of the lit path of instructions. It was difficult. What lay beyond was darkness. It was terrifying. In the beginning, every calendar day was excruciating. One day out in the wilderness…two days out in the wilderness…

Over 400 days out in the wilderness…

At this point, I have learned to walk with a very tiny headlamp on a very dark path, sometimes making no steps of progress on the path, and often taking the tiniest step imaginable. I cannot see far enough out to take any huge steps. Every day is an act of trust and obedience.

[To be continued…]

Photo by Trygve Selmer
10 Habits That Harm the Soul of Your Ministry and 10 to Aspire to Instead

July 3rd, 2024
Culture-making and culture-shaping are important tasks. Often, with ministry, we lose sight of the cultures we make on our way to produce outcomes. The problem is that our habits produce cultures which can deform the soul of ministry into misalignment to God’s character and purposes. It is a sad cycle. In our effort to make something great for God, we make some not-so-great and even terrible things along the way. For me, it is joyful and holy work to shape or re-shape the culture of a ministry to better reflect God’s purposes and bring healthy alignment to mission.

While some skeptics will call certain habits inevitable, as a leader, I have tested and learned that we do not have to accept them as reality. We can resist the urge to give into these habits and aspire, through the hard work of changing old policies and habits, to replace them with practices that better reflect God.

The following are some aspirational habits to replace unhealthy ones. To help elaborate on each, I have included an example and a danger to be avoided. Let me know what you think.
1. Instead of fostering and acting out a scarcity mindset,
  - foster and act out of God’s abundance.
    
    Ex – ministry resources, pay, treatment of people
    
    Danger – Believing there is not enough = God does not have enough
2. Instead of using positive testimonials to sell an outcome,
  - let authentic testimonies shape God’s people in joys and trials.
    
    Ex – real testimonies aren’t for announcements or donations but to help others see God’s work in another believer
    
    Danger – Manipulating people with our goals instead of letting the Spirit speak and transform
3. Instead of relying on human strength,
  - turn to prayer.
    
    Ex – pray more than you plan
    
    Danger – Believing we are primarily responsible for our work and the outcomes
4. Instead of overworking your people,
  - make rhythms for rest and sustainability.
    
    Ex – make sure people take sabbath, vacations, have boundaries around work hours, and invest in sabbaticals
    
    Danger – Ignoring human limitations and acting God-like
5. Instead of over-scheduling employees and participants in your ministry activities,
  - give them time to love their family and neighbor by being present at home
    
    Ex – family and neighbor interactions should be a barometer of how well pastors/ministers are doing
    
    Danger – Incongruence between personal life and public
6. Instead of upholding policies that reinforce individualism,
  - consider policies that uphold the communal good.
    
    Ex – reward teamwork and model sharing of resources
    
    Danger – Mirroring worldly frameworks instead of the communal nature of God
7. Instead of underpaying your employees,
  - consider how your pay structure can reflect generosity.
    
    Ex – start by paying fair wages for the geographic area with opportunities for raises under a structure of pay equity across your organization
    
    Danger – Unsustainable and harmful working conditions, which reinforce scarcity for doing God’s work.
8. Instead of labeling opposing voices from within as enemies,
  - keep your eyes on your duties as shepherds caring for sheep.
    
    Ex – pay attention to injured and ornery sheep as a shepherd given oversight over a whole flock
    
    Danger – Treating sheep under your care as enemies because they cause you discomfort.
9. Instead of over-professionalizing the work,
  - remember the call to Christ’s ministry and the need for Spirit-led discernment.
    
    Ex – embrace professional characteristics, but not at the expense of recognizing the peculiarity of the call to ministry and the necessity of being led by the Spirit
    
    Danger – Becoming an organization of professionals instead of an extension of Christ’s earthly ministry, made up of sent-ones.
10. Instead of relying on secular business principles,
  - operate in the economy and currencies of God’s kingdom.
    
    Ex – the meek, the weak, and the marginalized have more to teach you than the business world does.
    
    Danger – Driving toward growth based on a system of meritocracy rather than inward growth and transformation patterned after Christ’s death and resurrection.
Picture by Tambako the Jaguar

A Real-Life Metaphor

Quick Break, Slow Repair

Living in Between

Hope in Rebuilding

A Quiet Rebuild

Day 40

Day 150

Day 260