Fellow Workers

Since attending and becoming a member of the Lutheran Church, I have been privileged to witness dozens of baptisms, including those of my own children and godchildren. Every church has their own personality when it comes to baptisms, and our fieldwork church here in St. Louis is no different. Following the baptism but before singing the doxology, our congregation corporately speaks these words to the infant or adult just baptized.

"We welcome you into the Lord's family. We receive you as a fellow member of the body of Christ, as a child of the same heavenly Father, and a worker with us in the kingdom of God."

A few weeks back, a month old baby was being baptized. Baptisms happen to be Emmylou's very favorite part of church and it is such a joy to watch her engage in the service. This particular week, Emmylou's excitement and questions drew me into the baptismal service in a new way. And as I spoke the words "a worker with us in the kingdom of God", my heart illuminated. I saw my children in a new way and those words gave renewed meaning to my discipling role in their lives.

We didn't say: "a worker in the kingdom of God once you are mature or able." We said: "a worker". Now. Already. Not because a child on their own can serve Jesus; but because, a child, with the help of the Holy Spirit, can show love and kindness and bring joy to people's lives.

I have watched my children light up the faces of countless cashiers and greeters in stores. I have watched my daughter bend down to ask a smaller child what she could do for them. I have watched my daughter help a scared little girl out of a Chic-fil-a playplace. And lately, I have been watching Eli, one-year-old Eli, wave, smile and smirk at everybody he sees.

Recently, following one of Eli's fits of compulsive waving, we stopped our shopping cart and spent a few moments chatting with this beautiful woman. We learned of her grandchildren and her children; and as we listened, those four beautiful words - a worker with us - flashed in my mind.

I am privileged to spend my days walking beside these two little people, learning my own lessons about what it means to be a child of God and a worker in His kingdom as I watch them learn theirs. Most days, I spend my time discipling them and some days feel long and hard; but every so often, and probably more often than I realize, I have the even bigger privilege of being a fellow worker with them. Together, we slow down, look strangers in the eye, throw our plans aside, and spread the love, joy, and hope that is only found in Jesus Christ.

Embrace

The month of January 2016 our family was sick. We spent nearly everyday in our apartment. The month felt long and I have to admit that I was welcoming February with open arms. Then I took the kids to the doctor again. This time there were ear infections to go around and a sinus infection thrown in for fun. I felt defeated and as I drove to the pharmacy I repeated two verses over and over and over.

"I have told you these things, so that you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." (John 16:33)

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Driving home, I felt ready to face another ten days of antibiotics, Daniel Tiger, and general quiet. Because the thing about being forced to live a quiet existence for an entire month is that it gives you a lot of time for reflection.

I spent January reflecting on 2015, as many people do, and the things I learned about myself. I prayed, pondered, and imagined about 2016. What exactly will happen this year? What will Jesus teach me - about Himself, about my kids, about my marriage, about myself? And how will I handle these things?

I have heard of people choosing a verse or a word or a theme for a year. Something they feel the Lord is calling them to. I have never thought about doing this. I didn't even consider doing it for 2016, because well, the calendar rolled from 2015 to 2016 with snotty noses and ear infections and a mom functioning in survival mode. But all of a sudden in the middle of January I couldn't get a word out of my head.

It all started with an idea for a blog post titled: "The Things I Learned About Myself in 2015". Here are the highlights:
 * I learned that I am not a good plant parent. In 2015, I killed four house plants. Okay, between September and December, I killed four house plants which makes this even more impressive. One plant is still alive, though barely, and it suffers from over-watering quite often. (Update: this plant is now dead.)
* I learned that I love to cook.
* My favorite craft hobby is sewing. Though I like the idea of knitting and crochet, there is something about a beautiful fabric and hum of my sewing machine that both relaxes and energizes me.
* In 2015, I challenged myself to read books again and loved every minute of it. (In large part due to the Modern Mrs. Darcy Book Challenge.)

As I tossed these thoughts around in my head, I realized something: I didn't learn these things about myself in 2015, I embraced them. It was strange for me to admit how much I love to cook because in many ways it is just a task I have to do each day. But spending an hour or hours in the kitchen chopping, dicing, simmering, and sauteing is enjoyable to me. This might make total sense to some of you and seem crazy to others.

In 2015, I learned that blogging is hard work and people who write everyday are impressive. I learned that blogging scares me. I also learned that I really love to write.

So here I am, learning to embrace blogging, good books, half-finished knitting projects (that may never be finished), my wall calendar, and all of the other crazy, wonderful things 2016 promises to throw our way.

The Delight of Living

Nearly a year ago now, I started reading a book titled The Lost Art of Dress: The Women Who Once Made America Stylish by Linda Przybyszewski. The book discusses the history of, not only fashion, in the United States but also the history and decline of home economics, the rise of ready-to-wear clothing and department stores, and the relationship between art and dress. The book was fascinating, at least to me. But there was one page, one paragraph, and really one phrase that stuck with me for over a year, though I couldn't put my finger on why.

"Too much interest in fashion and too much shopping also bothered Ellen S. Richards, the mother of modern home economics. Richards shook her head at the "large crowds of women seen daily on the shopping streets" at the turn of the century. She would prefer that they find "the delight of living" in their homes, not in rifling the bargain counters at the department stores." (page 136)

I took a picture of the paragraph on my phone and continued to turn over the phrase "the delight of living" in my mind for, well, nearly a year. There was something simple and charming about those words. As I scrolled through my Instagram feed the other day, I saw a photo selling shirts and mugs. They read "yoga pants, messy bun, target. #momlife". I chuckled to myself, thinking "How true". And there it was, the connection, the lightbulb moment. Moms, people, defining their lives by the frequency with which they wander those wide, shiny aisles lined with beautiful things.

In that moment, I felt a pain of guilt and shame. I would be ashamed to count the number of times I have put my kids in the car with the end goal of a Target shopping cart, popcorn for Emmylou, and a large cup of coffee for myself. You know, a well-deserved treat. In that same moment, I thought not only of Ellen S. Richards and her hauntingly accurate prediction of the dangers of consumerism, I thought of another phrase containing the word delight.

"Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart." (Psalm 37:4)

And then came another wave of guilt, a good guilt, a guilt that sent me running to scripture. My thoughts and prayers were raw, honest, and desperate. What was I teaching our children? Was I really teaching our daughter that Target, popcorn, and coffee could solve a bad day? That an item marked with a red and white striped sticker could make us happy? Was I somehow, unintentionally and unknowingly, teaching our daughter to delight in Target instead of Jesus?

The words of Ellen S. Richards cause my mind to flood with images and memories of our home, of the life that happens here. Dance parties, board games, pots of chili large enough to feed the 12 people crammed in our small kitchen, bedtime prayers whispered for loved ones, mealtime prayers of thankfulness, middle of the day prayers asking for strength, energy, wisdom. This, this is the delight of living in our home, the delight of living in community, the delight of Jesus, this is what I want to teach our children.

When It All Feels Ordinary

Our days and weeks here in St. Louis are all fairly ordinary. My time is spent cooking, cleaning, and caring for children. Tea parties are an everyday occurrence. Forts are built and taken down. The laundry piles up and diminishes and somehow piles up again just as quickly. We visit the zoo and library, and Emmylou looks forward to Sunday school each week. Sam goes to class and studies and visits the hospital. We have a somewhat peaceful rhythm to our life at home - minus Sam's frequently changing class and church schedules. But in a world that thrives on "more"; our ordinary days can quickly seem boring, lazy, and disappointing.

That last one is particularly hard to deal with. The notion that my life is somehow disappointing. I have wrestled with this thought before. Lately, I have found myself wrestling with it again. And I have a sneaky suspicion that I am not alone; that this struggle is not because I am a stay-at-home mom who lives relatively ordinary days. This struggle, these thoughts belong to the enemy. An enemy who would love nothing more than to have us keeping score, running circles, and searching for the ever-elusive "more". I suspect the banker, CEO, pastor, secretary, doctor, nurse, and teacher have felt this way before too.

As I drove home from the grocery store, I poured my heart out to God. I desperately tried to articulate the feelings I was wrestling yet again, feeling worn out with the struggle. Then somewhere in the very depths of my heart was this thought:

 "There are no unimportant tasks in My kingdom."

I suppose this is what Paul was saying when he talked about the body of Christ to the Corinthian church.

"For the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot should say, "Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear should say, "Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would be the sense of hearing? If the whole body were an ear, where would be the sense of smell? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, yet one body." (1 Corinthians 12:14-20)

In His kingdom, every task, gift, and position is not only important, it is absolutely necessary. It is vocation. I spent the next several days reflecting on this verse; still wrestling thoughts of being ordinary, boring, or disappointing. Later in the week while washing dishes, I began to recall words, people, names, tasks, and stories from the Bible: 

Fish. Loaves. Water. Wine. Five stones. A manger. A cross.

Mary, a girl. David, a shepherd. The disciples, fishermen. Elizabeth, a mother.

Noah built. David fought. Mary obeyed. Disciples followed. Martha served.

Because, you see, our God is the champion of the ordinary. He transforms ordinary people, ordinary moments, ordinary objects, and ordinary tasks into something sacred.

So maybe it isn't about working hard to make my life extraordinary; because there is nothing I, in my own strength, can do. Maybe it is about going gently through my days, constantly handing over my ordinary circumstances to an extraordinary God. Maybe it is about humility, about contentment, about knowing, in the very depths of my being, that there are no unimportant tasks in the kingdom of God. Cooking, cleaning, reading; these tasks, when performed in His name, they matter. And as I nestle into this truth, I see God transform my ordinary moments into something sacred.

Go Gently.

On Friday the 13th of November, Sam finished the second of his Biblical languages classes. This summer he powered through Greek and in the fall he championed Hebrew. He studied intensely, and we intensely supported him. Our family traveled to Tennessee and then to Michigan for Thanksgiving. We came home to St. Louis on the 28th, and on the 30th, Sam began his first full-term here at the seminary. Basically this means a lot of reading and a lot of writing, and a new transition to a new schedule for our family. It hasn't been easy.

Our post-travel week last week had me in a tizzy. The kids were slightly out of sorts, and I was working hard to re-establish our normal patterns of eating and sleeping and disciplining. Sam's new class load was already overwhelming, to him and to me. And then there was Advent and Christmas to be thinking about. You know, the season of joy, of expectation, of reflection? But this was not the season I was experiencing. I was anxious, overwhelmed, tired, and busy. I was thinking of gifts - the ones to be bought and the ones to be received. I was thinking of traveling to North Dakota and making a mental list of everything I needed to pack and a second mental list of the things that we absolutely couldn't forget. I hopped on Amazon and accomplished the last of our shopping, talked to people about gift ideas for my children and my husband, and I started packing a box of the things we absolutely could not forget to take to North Dakota. I survived the week. But that's about it: I survived. I didn't enjoy. I didn't reflect. I didn't surrender. But suddenly, I remembered.

I remembered a line from my devotional: "Go gently through this day, keeping your eyes on me." I read that line on October 26th, and it has been lingering in the back of my heart ever since. "Go gently." This phrase is so simple, so ordinary, and so profound. It is also in complete contradiction to how I was living. I wasn't going gently. I was trudging. There is nothing gentle about trudging.

We live in a world that champions the notion of business. Busy is a sort of status symbol, a marker as to the success of your day. If it wasn't a busy day, it couldn't be productive or meaningful, right? If your life isn't busy, you must be doing it wrong, right? This sort of thinking leaves us frazzled and exhausted, because trudging is exhausting and time-consuming and leaves little time for peace and reflection. Especially this time of year when our calendars are covered in plans to party and bake and create and attend.

"I am not sure I know how to go gently," I humbly admitted to a God who already knew. "What would that even look like?" I wearily asked. Here is what He said, "To go gently is to invite me into every moment." Going gently involves constant conversation with Jesus. These conversations appear simple, almost unnecessary but are in fact the most necessary of all. I ask Him what is next. Sometimes the answer seems almost silly. "Well, dear child, laundry. Laundry is what is next." Other times, He tells me to rest, sitting in a chair reflecting on Him or snuggled up with my kids on the couch watching a movie while a mountain of dirty dishes sits on the counter. He also tells me when to deal with the mountain of dishes.

The verse from Isaiah 9 comes to mind. "For unto us a child is born, to us a Son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace."

I smile to myself. I should have learned this lesson long ago. I smile again, knowing I will learn this lesson again at some point.

He knows what we need exactly when we need it. He knows when we need quiet and when we need loud. He knows when we need to be near friends and when we need to be alone. Because He knows us. He created us. He came to this world for us. He left His Spirit with us. He desires our hearts, our lives, our days, and our moments. He reigns, and when Jesus is reigning over our moments, there is balance, order, peace. Even in a world plagued with violence and tragedy, a world where tension and arguments run rampant, He is here. And He is saying, "Go gently, dear child. I am here. I am reigning. I bring peace to your weary heart and to this broken world. I bring joy to your days and clarity to your moments. Go gently with me."

A Case of the Weevils

We drove to St. Louis on a Tuesday. We moved into our apartment on a Wednesday. We frantically worked to get as settled as possible before Sam started a Greek Intensive course on Monday. We did fairly well. We even visited the zoo that Saturday. Sam’s parents came to visit. The kids and I traveled to North Dakota for several weeks to visit my family. My mom stayed with us for a week after that. The dust began to settle and our apartment started to feel like home. I grocery shopped and meal planned and worked to make a life here for my people. Things felt slightly strange but each moment brought a new sort of normal to our world. The boxes were unpacked and pictures were hung and I felt relaxed.

While my children napped one day, I worked to bring a little more order to our kitchen. As I was doing this, I spotted a tiny bug crawling across our kitchen floor. I took care of the bug and moved on. Until I found more and more. I kept thinking I had defeated them, but they kept coming back. After finally discovering what they were – a weevil, a type of bug that breeds and lives in rice and flour – I came up with a plan of action. My strategy involved lots of vinegar, bay leaves, and freezing our rice and flour. “There,” I thought, “we did it”.

But we hadn’t. There were more. And I cried. Goodness, did I cry. Wasn’t it just days before that I finally felt like the ground beneath my feet was solid for the first time in months? Hadn’t I just finished figuring out my kitchen?  And now here I stood, at a complete loss, tired from scrubbing and spraying, my nerves shot, my anxiety levels high as the contents of our pantry lay scattered around our home.

I finally admitted defeat and threw out almost our entire pantry. (Read about weevils if you dare and you will understand the necessity of this step.) I had fought to avoid this step; because you see, when your husband quits his job and you move several states away so he can attend school, money can be a major source of stress. And throwing out over $100 in food hurt, and to be completely honest, it terrified me.

I was frustrated, tired, and a little angry with God. I feel silly even writing this now, because to be angry over bugs seems a bit ridiculous. But I was. I was angry. My anger ebbed and flowed while I anxiously waited to see if we had really, truly, once and for all, taken care of the bugs. As I waited, I would hear: “Do not be anxious.” “Right, I’ll work on that”, I would think quite sarcastically. “Sure, I just won’t be anxious about these bugs or money or food or how my home feels turned upside down... again.”

We beat the bugs. We moved on with life. And my anger dissipated. I slowly refilled our pantry and tried very hard to not be anxious about money or food. And then one day while my children napped, there was a knock on our door. I looked down and there sat a box from Omaha Steaks, a box filled with meat. And then came that small voice: “Do not be anxious.” Tears welled in my eyes as the words of Matthew 6 flooded my heart:

“Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?”

This generous gift was in every way undeserved. This person didn’t know about our bugs. But God knew. And isn’t it just like our God to replace rice and flour with steak and burgers?

I pray this post finds you in a place of peace; but if not, I pray that you will hear His voice – “Do not be anxious” – for He knows every need.

The Thing About Following Jesus

This morning as we strolled through Target, the four items we needed already in our cart, Emmylou said, "Mama, I am ready to get Dolly back from Colt's house now." Tears welled in my eyes. My first thought: "Pull it together, Kelsey. You gave that dog away in January." But she wasn't just some dog, she was our dog, Emmylou's best friend and my constant companion. 

As we stood in the checkout line, I desperately looked around for something that would make me feel better. Coke... No. Chocolate... Maybe. A new magazine to mindlessly page through... And then somewhere in my head or heart or wherever those words come from, I heard, "Come, follow me." In a moment, I was transported to another place. The place? The Sea of Galilee. Jesus is walking beside the sea and he calls out to two brothers.

"Come, follow me," Jesus said, "and I will make you fishers of men." At once they left their nets and followed him. Going on from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John. They were in a boat with their father Zebedee, preparing their nets. Jesus called them, and immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him. (Matthew 4:19-22) 

Our family spent the better part of a year preparing to move to St. Louis, MO, so Sam could attend Concordia Seminary and pursue a Masters of Divinity with the purpose of ordination and full-time pastoral ministry. That year consisted of excitement and grief, fear and lots of physical preparation. But those four fishermen? They left at once, immediately. They left their nets, the very things that defined who they were. They left their families - at once. Because the thing about following Jesus is that it requires sacrifice and sometimes it's hard and sometimes it is even harder because you don't know the final destination. 

I wonder. Did the disciples have questions? "Um, sir, uh, Jesus, where exactly are we going? Do you have a long-term plan here?" I imagine Jesus calmly handled their anxiety. He wasn't afraid of their questions or fears and He isn't afraid of mine.

Because the other thing about following Jesus? There is hope and there is purpose for He is good. There may not always be concrete answers, but those days when all I feel is the sacrifice of it all. On those days when obedience only feels hard - He is there. And He is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us. (Ephesians 3:20)