You have more time

Two years ago, I always felt like I was running out of time.

Like the whole world would fall apart if I didn’t change immediately. I read scripture constantly, prayed continuously, read every Christian self-help book I could get my hands on and went to counseling. And I saw a tremendous amount of healing. But I still wrestled with anger and jealousy, regret and grief. But I kept going. That cadence in my relationship with God would surely change me.

Do I even have to tell you how badly this ended?

I ran, I fought. I was running out of time. Well, if I wasn’t different week-to-week, I must not be a daughter of God. Or at least, I must not be doing enough. I should take more notes in church. Maybe if I worship better, pray more. Serve somewhere. Then surely, God will change me. Because it’s how hard you pursue God that determines how quickly and consistently you change. Not God’s timing. Maybe if I had a boyfriend, finally committed to someone. That would show growth, right? That would show change.

Don’t get angry. Don’t sin. You must obviously not love God deeply enough if you commit the same sin over and over. Everyone knows that.

I don’t think I have to explain how badly I had to fall in order to learn the basic truth of grace. To learn that God determines the rate of change in our hearts. I can’t earn that.

You always have more time to change and grow, because God is the one writing your story. I only started to see real change in my sin when I said no to my efforts and yes to grace. It’s not about being lazy or being complacent. It’s that beautiful, wonderful moment when you acknowledge where you must end in order for God to begin. And turn away from anyone who tries to tell you differently. Don’t add salt to the gospel. It is perfect just the way it is.

Follow the wires

I’ve spent most of my life in the chaotic. I’ve never had a boring or steady year. My life has been plagued with suffering, illness and big leaps into the unknown.

For the first time in my adult life, the dust has settled. The calm has come.

I thought I knew what I wanted. Maybe it was peace. Maybe it was more. I had this dream of planting a church, digging deeper into the bride of Christ. I wanted to be like the famous Christian women I had followed since I first gave my life to Christ.

I’ve applied for more ministry jobs than I care to admit and been just as evenly rejected from them all. I’ve cried deeper and harder over my lost dreams than any rejection I’ve received from a boy.

I’m a career woman to my core.

I thought if you had a dream, particularly a worthy one like planting a church, God was already on board.

Sometimes, you’re wrong.

I started to learn that ministry is what you do with your life, not where you do things. I didn’t need to work within the four walls of a church to be a minister of reconciliation. Or use my gift of prophecy to speak into the lives of others. I didn’t need a job in ministry to advocate for people on the fringe.

I started to ask questions of God that scared me. Questions that rattled against all my dreams, dreams I had carried since I was eight and told my mom I wanted to build a church. I wanted ministry more than I wanted to listen to the call God had placed on my heart.

That call looks a whole lot like diving deeper into the secular world, using my sphere of influence to share the Gospel with people who might not hear it otherwise. Because I’m good at building bridges with people who want nothing to do with the church.

We live in a society that tells us to follow our dreams at whatever the cost. I’m beginning to understand that it’s more important to follow the wires that form you. Be the person you were created to be, even when it comes at odds of what you (think you) want for your life.

I may never plant that church. I’m beginning to see that I may not be wired to do so. But I was created to do something wholly unique for my life, carve a different path than what I anticipated.

And that’s okay.