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)
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.
