The Mission Church of the Nazarene

     Several days ago I was teaching in a high school classroom. A female student was bemoaning the fact that when she returned home in the afternoon, she would have to clean the house. I told her, "if it makes you feel better, I also have to clean the house."
     A boy chimed in "well, yeah, of course, that's because you are the mom." To which I said "I'm not a mom."
    His response, "well, wife, whatever, it's still your job to clean the house."
    I took a deep breath for a second with a follow up statement, "I need to rephrase what I said earlier. When I said that I had to clean the whole house I meant, my husband and I have to clean the house. We are equals. It's neither my job or his job to clean the house, it's both of our responsibility because we both live there. We both cook, we both clean, we both are responsible, because we both live there. We are partners."
    The boy shook his head and rolled his eyes a bit, but the girl, her eyes got big and a smile broke out as she said "that sounds like an amazing relationship."
     It seems a bit odd to me that in 2016 I am having this conversation with high school students. This idea that women and men are equals, that our roles are not defined by some sort of biological mandate. That my husband and I can co-lead in our home, and co-care for our home is noteworthy seems strange, because to us that is life, and it just makes sense.
    This idea of co-responsibility was pronounced after hearing a pastor's spouse reference that being a pastor's wife is "the best job in the world".
    I asked my husband in the car later, "Is being my husband a job for you? Do you see being a pastor's husband as a job?" He laughed with a hearty no, to my great relief.
     Because the language of job sounds like a chore (this is also why I often refer to the work I do at church as a vocation, because it is something other than a job for me in many ways), like something one must do out of obligation, versus out of love, care, and respect. I don't want to be someone's job, least of all my husbands, I want to be his wife.
     While I am not a fan of doing dishes or laundry, and neither is my husband, I don't want those to be seen as jobs either, as much as I want them to be seen as things we do to make our lives better, to support one another, and to love one another. To be good stewards of our belongings, we take care of them. I am not always great at this and often bemoan the fact that I have to restart the washing machine, again, because I forgot the clothes while attending to the 50 other tasks on my to do list. It is a goal I strive for.
      There are issues with the language of a spouse as a job outside of these initial issues as well.
      First, there is still this prevailing issue in the church that when you hire a pastor, you get the spouse free! The old joke about asking at pastoral interviews "does your wife play piano?" still rings true in many places. This places an extreme burden on a pastor's spouse, to do just as much as his spouse does, but to get little to no recognition for it. There have been multiple articles and blog posts written (mostly by pastor's wives, I have yet to find a pastor's husband one, though I am sure they exist) about the alienation and frustrations they feel by this phenomenon. My own husband has referenced his own frustrations at times, at feeling like he in a sense has to punch a time clock, when he has been expected to show up at every single church event, and even more so, when things he says on social media are judged as being a reflection on me, without considering that he and I probably discussed the topic before it even made it to social media!
      The language of job also lends itself into complementarianism. I have heard women time and time again talk about the job of being a wife and a mother, but I haven't heard the same rhetoric used by men (the exception being that I hear men speak about "babysitting" their own children, and I don't hear moms say that.) "The most important job I have is being a mom." Is a common phrase I've heard from women of all ages. I 100% get what they are saying, raising children is an incredibly important task, but sometimes I fear the language of job supersedes the language of relationship. Where the relationship between men and women are concerned, it lends itself to saying that it is the woman's job to take care of the children, to be a good wife, to take care of the home, while the husband has a job outside of the home, to provide for the family. This really diminishes both women and men. While seeking to elevate being a wife and mother, it makes it seem the same as punching a clock each day. It does the exact opposite of what it is trying to achieve, while also placing men and women in distinct gender roles.
      I prefer to say it this way, being a wife is the most important relationship (after God) I have right now, and if I have children, they will be the second most important relationship. A relationship goes 2 ways, it must be fostered, cared for, and nurtured. There is no time clock to punch, there is no day off, because relationships are different than jobs.
     When we have relationships with friends, our expectations are that there is give and take, that we are equals, that we are there for one another, that we care for one another, etc. We would never think to call being a friend a "job", despite friendship being a less important relationship in our life than what we have with our spouse. Our expectations with our spouse should be the same, that there is give and take, that we are equals, that we are there for one another, that we care for one another, even MORE so than we do with our friends.
     It might seem minuscule or unimportant, but I realized that day in a high school classroom how closely those who come behind us are watching us. They are watching and defining their value, they are defining what relationships will look like for them, and I hope that in this small way, we will learn to think less of our family as a job, and more as... well... a family.

(This is long past overdue, but I wanted to be sure to have tons of pictures of this event. I've also been incredibly busy. Such is the life of a bi-vocational pastor! Thank you all for reading! For your patience, for your prayers, for your love. I promise to be back to blogging more regularly from now on!) 
       I lost count of how many 12 hour days I put in the 2 weeks preceding our block party event. It was the biggest event I have ever attempted in my entire professional career. I'm not a big event person, and so I tend to opt for intimate settings where deep discussion has room to cultivate, but I made an exception, because I so deeply care for the kids in my neighborhood (and city), and I know the difficulties of paying for school supplies, plus I do like a good party.
        The idea of a back to school block party was formed, in order to just really celebrate with our neighbors, to get school supplies into the hands of students, and say thank you to any teachers who might attend.
        Our goal was to see 150 people walk through the door, just to know they are loved and that we are here in the neighborhood. Filling 150 grab bags was no small feat, and I am so grateful I had tons of help to do it. We wanted to ensure that every kid that walked through the door had at the minimum, basic school supplies to start school.

 

  If you read nothing else in this blog, read the bold paragraph at the end on how sanitation is an issue globally, and how YOU can keep the generosity going, by helping those in need!

 There are certain things you can't learn about ministry from a textbook, things that must be experienced to understand. For example, the unspoken ministry law that things will not break on a normal Monday, on a week where nothing is scheduled and you have hours of uninterrupted time to call a plumber/electrician/roofer/contractor/etc. to solve the problem. Things WILL break when you have a church full of people, kids arriving for vacation bible school in just a few hours, and a big event on the schedule in just over a week. These are things they do not teach you when preparing for the ministry.
     It was a Tuesday afternoon when the missions team that was staying with us from Tulsa informed me the toilets weren't flushing in the women's restroom. I went to investigate the problem and discovered that none of the toilets were flushing. I then asked the men if the toilet in the men's room was flushing, it was not. The time was 4:30. with VBS scheduled to start at 6pm.
     The plumber showed up a half hour before 6, which meant we were paying overtime for what we hoped would be a small problem (like I said, in ministry problems don't conveniently arise, you must pay overtime). I was asked a bunch of questions I had no idea how to answer. The main part of our building is 77 years old, I have no idea where the pipes go, or what a clean out valve even is (I learned). Thus, instead of any easy fix, we scheduled for a camera to be run through all the pipes the next day.
     I got to see into the literal bowels of the church. Which was a bit intriguing (and at times a bit gross). I learned there used to be another toilet in the church under our back stairwell. I learned AGAIN that doing things the cheapest way might pay off for a short time, but costs a lot more money in the long run.
      The problem was bigger than we thought. The wrong type of pipe, installed incorrectly, and then where the clean out valve was, was covered in cement (which defeats the whole purpose of a clean out valve). It was going to take some time and money to fix it.... money and time we didn't have.
     The missions team didn't complain once about the hundredth time they had to run over to our house to use the restroom, the VBS kids ran home if they needed to go, so the week went amazingly better than it could have, but we had our huge block party on the schedule and needed our toilets.
      This is where the story gets good, so if you skimmed over the actual toilet issues, stop skimming and read this part. We asked people to pray for our toilets. It's a bit silly, because with all the issues in the world, this seems so silly, but our toilets enable us to do ministry here in ways you don't think of, until you don't have them. We asked that God would provide in profound ways, and that the pipe could be fixed before our block party.
      The total cost was $2,943. That is a lot for anyone, but especially for our little church plant.
       I said to the plumber at one point "I hate that we are spending money on this, when we could be spending money on helping people." He looked at me and said "You can't help people if you don't have toilets. The money you are spending on this IS helping people."
      I was convicted as I thought of the times people have rushed in just to use our toilets. When homeless people have come in for a cup of coffee and to use the restroom. The countless kids and adults on Sunday mornings who use the facilities. The Al-Anon ladies on Tuesday nights and Friday mornings who drive from neighboring towns. Not to mention, I use those restrooms regularly, and I am able to have office hours and hold meetings with people because I have restrooms. The plumber was right, this was important.
      On the recommendation of a friend, we put together a GoFundMe page. To raise $2500. We could handle any expenses over that, it might put our account at zero.... again... but at least the problem would be solved. In just over week, we exceeded the $2500!!! We raised $2943!!!
      God's people were mobilized, some gave a little, some gave a lot. Some were Nazarenes, many were not. They gave to help us continue our work here. God is good! God's people are good! We are grateful!
      Not only were we able to raise the funds, but the work took less time than anticipated, and we did not need to rent port-a-potties for our event.
      We have learned a lot from this experience. The first being, make sure to do things right the first time, because it benefits people for a long time to do so. More importantly, we learned again that God is faithful, and that God uses God's people to do great things. We learned that when churches aren't in competition with each other, when God's people aren't bickering and arguing, but work together on something, great things happen. It was this working together, that enable us to keep doing our ministry. That enable us to have toilets for the homeless at times, that enable me to have office hours, that enable us to host huge back to school events.
       We are humbled and stunned by the faithfulness of God, and we are challenged to never take seemingly small things for granted again. Things like the ministry of toilets, or the giving of a $10 gift. These small acts, even these small things done in great love, have potential to change the world for good.

•    Having access to sanitation is a huge issue worldwide. Yesterday was world portable sanitation day, to raise awareness for access to portable sanitation. This is especially important for our homeless brothers and sisters, but for others world wide. Learn more here! http://psai.org/world-portable-sanitation-day/  
• Also 2.5 billion people worldwide don't have access to proper sanitation. There are MANY articles and organizations that talk about this here's the stats from WHO http://www.who.int/water_sanitation_health/hygiene/en/ 
•  If you are looking for a way to help, or you wanted to help with our toilet issue but were unable, I encourage you to look into World Vision's program WASH, as they seek to provide sustainable clean water and sanitation to those in need around the world! For more info or to give check out http://www.wvi.org/cleanwater. 

As my plumber said "having toilets enables ministry to happen." I'll take it further, sometimes toilets are a ministry in themselves. You don't notice it until you don't have it. I've seen God mobilize God's people in our church, let's keep that going, and change the world!!

    The last 2 weeks are still being processed in my mind. The pure chaos of everything over the last few days, mixed with the complete joy of seeing the kingdom of God at work, is resonating in my heart as I try to find the words to describe it all. The amazement at how God has moved, has made it difficult to write about, because I am still in complete shock at times.
     We hosted our first missions team 2 summers ago. We had only been here for 5 weeks, and the church was so full of stuff and mice, that they had to squeeze into our home and sleep on the floors. The bulk of their work was just cleaning out things so that we could even begin to think about ministry.
    Last week we hosted our only missions team of the summer, and what a difference 2 years makes. They got to worship in church service with us on Sunday. A service that was only a dream 2 years ago, was now a reality, and they got to take part. They interacted with people from the community almost every day of the trip, through vacation bible school, and through the random visits I am now getting on a much more regular basis.
     The presence of God was so present in their laughter, in their music, in their love for others, it re-energized me in a way that only being in the presence of teenagers can (a large piece of my heart still belongs to youth ministry).
      They did a lot of seemingly small things, that enables us to do ministry. Because we are still a small congregation, it is difficult to stay on top of tasks outside of the most important maintenance. Deep cleaning, weeding, organizing, etc. don't happen very often, because we just don't have time or the man power to do it all. This group did so much of that, which enables us to do ministry.
     They organized , a LOT!

      I remember being about 3 or 4 years old, riding in the backseat of my brother's car on the way home from church. I was sitting pondering the world, and looking out the window, when I asked my college aged brother, "What is God?" He looked back a bit perplexed, and so I expanded my question. "I mean, He's not a ghost, and He's not a person, not with skin and a body like us. So what is God? Like, what is God made out of?" I don't remember the answer my brother gave me, but I don't remember him scoffing, or shutting down the conversation either. Whatever his answer was, it satisfied my young mind, but this memory of asking questions, of asking perplexing theological questions, is one of the earliest memories I have.
      As I grew, the questions didn't end. After Sunday morning worship service, I would often walk up to my mom while she was preparing dinner and ask all of the perplexing questions I had from the sermon that morning. "If the devil is a real person with free will, than does the devil have free will to repent and re-enter heaven? Or is it too late? Is there a point where it's too late to repent? What does that tell us about God?" She never shied away from my questions or told me to stop asking them, despite not always having an answer. Sometimes her answer being "won't it be great that someday we can ask Jesus all of our questions!"
       After bombarding her with thousands of questions she finally told me to write them down as I had them, and to ask my pastor prior to the evening church service. I did just that.
      I would walk into church on Sunday nights, and search all over for my pastor, with my list in hand. He took the time to go through each and every question I had, to the best of his ability, at times even reaching for his systematic theology notebook from seminary. Sometimes asking if we could resume the conversation after the service, which of course only lead to more questions.
      He gave me books about world religions, and helped me to delve even more deeply into the scriptures. He never turned away from my questions, but continued to challenge me in my thinking. Those questions often led to other questions, questions I'm still continuing to ask.
     Now I am a pastor myself, and I think at times that people perceive us as the people with the answers. That we sat through classes on Biblical Hermeneutics and Theology 101 to have better answers for our congregation, but I have learned that being a pastor is so very little about having the right answers, and so much more about asking the right questions.
     -Who is God?
     - What should our response to God be?
    -What is Love?
    -Is love even a what, or is love a who?
    - How do we live love in light of what/who love is?
    - What is the church?
    - Is the church a what, or is it a who?
    -What does it mean to be the church?
    - What does it mean to be free from sin?
      This is such a small sampling of questions that I ask, and that we ask as Christians. Our congregation wrestles with these questions on a regular basis, in recent weeks we've wrestled with "What does it mean to love my enemies?", "What does freedom in Christ look like?", and "What should our response to the terrorist attacks in Florida be?".
       However, I have seen people fear questions. As someone who has always asked questions, it is perplexing to me as to why? Which only leads me to more questions. Why are some people afraid of questions? Why are some people afraid of those who ask lots of questions?
       It perplexes me, because I believe that ultimately it is questions that lead us to holiness. A professor of mine used to say "you are never more holy than when you are confessing." It seems that that our questions are what ultimately leads us to confession.
      Someone asks "Who is my neighbor?" Which leads to a story about a man getting robbed and beaten on the side of the road. The religious leaders pass by out of fear of touching a dead body, or blood, making them unclean. Hoping to uphold the law. Then a man, who is by every definition of the word an outcast, an enemy to the man hurting and bleeding, and he is the one who picks him up. Who bandages his wounds and pays for his care. Who goes above and beyond to meet his needs.
     We learn from our questions that it was this man who was truly being a neighbor, which leads us to pray "Oh LORD have mercy on me a sinner! For I walked by on the other side instead of meeting my neighbor's needs. Forgive me, and help me to see those around me as my neighbor!" It is in that moment, that great moment of confession that we are made holy, as God is faithful to hear our cries and forgive us.
     It is this movement, this progression from question to confession to holiness that moves the liturgy of many of our churches. This is part of why we go from the sermon (questions and story), to a prayer of confession, to the Eucharist. It is a progression that reminds us of who we are and whose we are, that ultimately we might better serve the world. That we might ultimately look more like Jesus.
     Shutting down questions does not just shut down conversations that are uncomfortable for us to have, but inevitably it shuts down room for confession which ultimately creates roadblocks on the path of holiness.
     If we truly want to be a holy people, we must first and foremost be a people who ask questions. Who don't shut down conversations, but wrestle in the hard work of moving towards confession together. We must respond like Jesus did to the questions around him, the questions of "who is my neighbor?", "how can I be born again?", and "where can i find this well, so I might drink and never be thirsty?" not with criticism, not with an arrogance that we know all of the answers,  but with the embrace my brother, my mom, and my childhood pastor gave me. We must respond with stories and more questions, that we might confess together "Lord, I need to be a better neighbor", "Lord help me to be born again", and "Lord, I am dry, fill me again with your living water." That we might ultimately be made holy through the grace of the Holy Spirit who is faithful to forgive.
     May we ask more questions. May we listen and embrace those who are asking questions. May these questions ultimately lead us to confession that we do not have all the answers, and that we are so very dependent on the grace of a great God that we are far too small to comprehend. May that confession lead us to be the holy nation of God, a people set apart for God's great work in the world.
     

     I've written a lot about my mom. She is a wealth of stories of grace, mercy, and love. She is also, a lot like me. We are both extroverts who love to talk, we both love people, we both love to be around our family, and we both get deeply wounded when people don't notice or appreciate us. We drive each other absolutely crazy, and no one shows me how short I fall than her; moving away was probably the single best thing for our relationship. We are very much alike.
     I do not write much about my dad. It is not because there aren't stories of grace, mercy, and love where he is concerned, but rather because he is nothing like me.
     My mom once administered a personality test to my dad and I side by side. With each question we were to answer on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being that the statements sounded most like us, 1 being that the statement didn't sound like us at all. Whenever I would shout out an enthusiastic 10, my dad would say something like "Is there an option lower than a 1." We are opposites.
      Where I am loud and outgoing, he is quiet and reserved. Where I prefer to be the center of attention, he prefers to sink as much into the background as possible. When we would have parties I would seek out the action, and my dad could often be found outside, unless of course the party was outside, then he would be found inside. He is a man of few words, while I am a woman of too many.
      In reflecting on my dad, I often gravitate towards his quiet nature. He isn't one to make bold declarations of love, but I learned in college that his "I got your oil changed and put gas in your car" was just as much a statement of love as a hallmark card.
      Most people reflect a lot on the great things their dads have said to them that have molded them and shaped them, but I really think that I am equally shaped by the many things my dad never said to me. Those silences, whether intentional or not, helped to form and shape me as much as the words did.
       Here are a few of the things my dad never said:
       My dad never told me to go change my clothes. I don't know if he ever wanted to or not, but his silence on this matter gave me a lot of confidence. It taught me that I was a human being, and not just a sexual object to cover. I have a lot less baggage to work through than many of my friends, about body image, because I was never told to "cover up" or change.
      My dad never told me to change my hair. When I walked into the house at 18 with my blonde hair dyed black, my dad didn't say a single thing about it. I had no need to rebel, to push boundaries or limits, because my dad didn't make a big deal out of things like hair and makeup. He let me be my own person with very little commentary, which made me a person who is far less judgmental of the people around me, and a person who didn't need to push the envelope to feel complete.
      My dad never told me who I could and couldn't date. He trusted me enough as a young adult and adult to make good decisions. If I had asked, I'm sure he would have given his opinion, but he never came out guns blazing about needing to protect me, or the type of guy I should be with. I never had to bring a bad boy home just to frustrate my father, I never had to try and impress him, I just had space to learn who I liked without the fear of approval or disapproval from a parent.
      My dad never said "you can't do that, you are a girl". I would talk a lot about my dreams and aspirations in life. I'd talk about crazy things I wanted to do, and to this day I have never once heard my dad say "you can't do that" for any reason at all. My gender, my financial status, my personality, none of that ever came into play. I always believed, and continue to believe I can do things, partly because I was never told I can't.
      My dad never said "ewww" when I asked him to pick up more feminine products from the store. He never made my being female seem like a chore or a burden, or gross, he just did it. (Which is another one of those silent ways he let us know he loves us). One time when I was home sick with horrible menstrual cramps, I vomited all over in my bed (I know, really gross), and when I got up and told my dad, he didn't say anything, he just came in and helped me change the sheets.
      My dad never said "stop talking". I am 100% sure he wanted to a thousand and a half times, maybe he did once or twice, but I don't remember. What I remember are car rides home where I would literally talk his ear off for 20 minutes straight about all the goings on of the day, that I'm sure he cared very little about, and he would just smile and nod, probably partly happy that he didn't have to talk. That helped me find my voice, and to feel like I had something worthwhile to say. That expressing my opinion and thoughts was important enough to take the time to listen to, and if my dad is nothing else, he is a phenomenal listener.
     My dad never said "I wish our lawn was greener/ I wish our house was bigger/ I wish we could go on vacation to _________". Whenever we ask my dad what he wants for his birthday, father's day, or Christmas we usually get a variation of the same answer "nothing." One of my sister's once said "I think Dad is genuinely the most content person on the planet. When he says he doesn't want anything, he really doesn't want anything." We never had a lot, but we always had enough. He is quietly generous with what he has, and he is perfectly content spending hours reading books, playing solitaire, and drinking tea. With my outgoing and constantly trying to do more way, it is helpful to watch someone who is perfectly content to just be.
      He is not perfect by any means, and there are probably times he should speak when he doesn't, but I think as I grow older I am learning to appreciate his quiet ways more and more, especially as the world seems to get increasingly louder and louder. So I am grateful for the things my father taught me when he wasn't talking, because I know I have been shaped by so many things he never said.

  Over the past few years, I've gotten deeply impassioned when talking to young women about relationships. I did this a few weeks ago at a university talking to girls studying to be pastors, launching into a great monologue of seeking a partner and not just seeing a spouse as a weird goal.
    It's partly because I'm starting to move into that older woman stage of life, where I shake my head and roll my eyes at the youth and their crazy ways. It's really because, like all women, or men, who get some life experience under their belt, you look back with hindsight and a twinge of pain, and hope that your small words of warning will be heeded by someone like you, so they are spared some of the heartache.
     I didn't date until I was in college. Because I went to college in the early 2000's it was on the heels of the great evangelical purity movement that had taken all of our youth groups by storm. Not only did I carry the baggage from that movement, and the countless books I had read pertaining to the topic, but going to a Christian college magnified the movement ten fold.
     There were no Sarah Besseys or Rachel Held Evans, because they were still wrestling with the same issues at the same time. There were no calls for a Christian Feminist movement, at least not in the circles I ran in. There was focus on the family, purity rings, and complimentarianism in all of its glory.
     The first guy I "talked to" about dating was timid and shy, and I read him the riot act about not taking the headship in our relationship. Why wasn't he pursuing me more? Why wasn't he taking the initiative? It was his job, his role to take the initiative. My friends quickly rallied to my side, taking up my cause, quickly cherry picking scriptures and telling him he needed to lead if he wanted to actually be in a relationship with a good Christian girl like me.
     We never went from "talking" to "dating".
     When I finally went from "talking" to "dating" a guy, I was elated. I got those butterflies in your stomach, the tingles up and down your arm like tiny firecrackers. We both cared for the poor, we both were passionate about youth ministry, and about Jesus. It felt like a dream. It felt like all of those books I had read were correct, and I often told people "when you just wait for God to piece your love story together, He sends you the right person." Because I thought he was the right person.
      Then one very late night, he called me as he often did, and we were talking about a conversation he had had with someone at work about something in the bible. I said "Oh yes! It's in Romans 8." He stopped talking.
     "I wish you wouldn't do that." He said.
      "Do what?" I responded, completely clueless at what I had done wrong.
     "I wish you wouldn't just know things like that. I wish you wouldn't just tell me the answers. It's intimidating."
     It was my turn to be quiet. I never told him, but I sobbed into my pillow that night. I had been "intimidating" to boys for much of my life. I was outspoken, I was well read, I loved to learn, and I was, and am, incredibly opinionated. More than once boys and men had made comments about how "intimidating" I was, or how I wasn't "really a girl" I was more "like one of the guys." It was heart-wrenching. I wanted to be seen as a girl. I wanted to be viewed as pretty and sweet, as gentle and kind. I wanted to be someone guys wanted to date, but I also wanted to read and speak my mind, and talk about how much I loved the Bible. I cried big wet tears, because I felt in that moment that I couldn't be both. I couldn't be loved and pretty, and be outspoken and bold.
      So, I stopped talking as much about the Bible, about the books I was reading at school, and history of Christianity, and I got really really depressed. As I talked less, our physical relationship got more and more intimate, because at that point I felt I needed to do whatever it took to stay together, to keep him interested, to not be intimidating. Which only deepened my depression and the deep chasm in my heart.
      If I could tell my younger self anything, it would have been to break things off in that moment. To not compromise yourself and your voice to keep going in a relationship that wants you to be submissive and sweet, because that's just not who you are. But the older me wasn't there to tell my younger me anything, and so I kept going.
    One day while having a conversation about my dreams for youth ministry, and how I was going to balance my calling with being a mother, he stopped me and said "Wait! You don't think you are still going to be a pastor when we have children, do you!?" I froze again.
     I thought that was the straw of irreconcilable differences for us. Of course I'd still be a pastor while I was a mother! I was called to be a pastor when I was young; why would God just take that calling away from me because I had children?
     This broke me. I talked to so many friends about how I thought that was it. How we couldn't be together. In all the wisdom 20 year olds can muster, they told me to stick it out, that things can change, that this didn't need to be a deal breaker.
      It did need to be a deal breaker. It wasn't, but it needed to be. If I had allowed those red flags, those signs, those feelings of unrest to speak truth to my heart, instead of listening to the stupid books I had read, and the guilt I would feel if things didn't work out, I would have been spared a lot of wasted time, and a lot of heartache.
      If I knew then, what I know now, about what relationships can look like, about what they should look like, I would have gone into everything so differently.
     My husband is about as opposite of that first relationship as one can get. He quit a job he liked, without knowing if he'd have another one, to support my call to plant a church. We talk about each other as teammates, and he pushes me to speak my mind. I have never heard the words "you are intimidating" come out of his mouth once, but rather I've heard "you need to speak more, you have something to say". He has washed dishes and cooked me meals , he does laundry better than I do, and we have talked about managing a family and a ministry together as partners. He doesn't see my boldness as a counter to my femininity, in fact he values it, and cherishes it. He doesn't feel emasculated when I am in charge at church, instead he tells me he is proud of me and cheers me on. We work together in all things. We serve each other. We care for each other. We submit to each other. It's beautiful and life giving.
     I wish someone had told me when I was 20 not to lesson my voice to make a man more comfortable. I wish there was someone who really sat down with me and told me that submission isn't relegated to women, but to both men and women as we work as a team. I wish that my friends had said "men don't have to take the initiative all the time, we work together as equals." And those voices might have been there, but they were hidden under stacks of "I kissed dating goodbye" and purity ring ceremonies lying to me that God had created one perfect person for me, and would conveniently send him my way when he was ready.
     There isn't a one. There isn't some golden formula, and God doesn't bless us ten-fold for waiting to kiss a guy until we are engaged (These are all things I believed at one point). There are real broken people, who have to navigate real feelings, and who have to learn to live life the way God wants us to, as partners, as equals. It's hard, but it's beautiful.
     So, I get impassioned when I talk to young women, because I don't want them to walk through months or years being told that they are intimidating for being bold, or that they are "one of the guys" when they don't fit a mold. I want them to know they can be pretty, desired, sexy, and wanted AND be bold, fierce, strong, and smart. That not all men are intimidated by intelligence, the best guys definitely aren't, and that they want to be with someone who loves them for who they are, not for a role they play. I want young women to walk boldly into whatever it is that God is calling them to be it motherhood, pastoring, teaching, healing, or speaking.
       You are not less of a woman for speaking mightily. You are not less pretty or sexy because you are smart. Don't allow those lies to penetrate your heart. Don't give up who you are to play a role. Don't silence your voice. Don't sell yourself short for anyone. Not because there's a guarantee the right guy will come along and love you for who you are, but because being who God created and called you to be is so much better than being miserable for someone who doesn't value that. You can be both beautiful and bold, never think otherwise.