pray, pray, pray, build, pray.

Every time I go back to James River, I ask God to bring me to this favorite pastor of mine, Tim Keene, and He always does. I spend a few minutes sitting at his feet, soaking in the wisdom, and then days thinking about what he said.

This time there was a lot. So much wisdom.

But there was this one moment to rival the rest. It wasn't advice, or guidance, actually. Just an off the cuff comment.

First, you have to know that Tim is a lion of the faith. He's nearing his 80s, has the craziest story, came from hardship, and let God use him to build the most amazing legacy. He is like a leaky faucet of wisdom--you can turn it on and it comes out full strength, but even when he's off, there's a steady stream of wisdom and grace and truth that just keeps coming and coming. If you just stand next to the man for like 5 minutes, you will learn something. But don't just listen, watch. You've gotta watch. And feel. See, the Spirit is so heavy on him that you'll get like a contact high just standing next to him. So you just have to stand there, and feel the Spirit rolling off of him. His blessing is so great that you will be blessed by being around him.

And so I'm sitting there with him during a break in the conference schedule, and he's answering a question I asked him about a particularly thorny issue facing my husband and I in our church, and he's, you know, pouring out wisdom. Telling story after story, and sharing truth, and then he stops.

This is a man who a few years back, well into his 70s, told me that he wakes up every day, and asks the Lord, "What should I do with my life, Lord?"

He stops, and he kinda stares off for a second, and almost wistfully he says that he wishes that he could do some things differently, that he could handle some things differently in his life of faith.

Maybe that seems unremarkable to you. To me, it was shattering. See, he had been in the middle of telling me that the way to handle strife in ministry is to pray relentlessly, to build up our leaders, to cease with gossip, and to pray again. To never stop praying. Never stop showing kindness and encouragement. Never stop waiting for the Lord to move.

There was just something so powerful about seeing him glance wistfully into his past, remember the times that he hadn't done that, and then double his efforts to me -- pray, pray, pray, build, pray.

Something so powerful about seeing this man whom I admire so greatly give the advice of his lifetime. This man who is I believe closer to God than anyone I've ever met, telling me what he would have done.

That's powerful, y'all. These words that I am writing cannot touch the power of those he spoke.

I am so so so grateful for this man's words, and the God who gave them. And most of all, so grateful that I, having been given these words, get to live differently.

in the seeing.

I was standing in worship at the women's conference at my old church in Missouri last Friday. A thousand memories came to meet me. And I started to feel that familiar mix of relief and comfort to be home, and faith in the all-out faithfulness of that place, but also timidness. Because when I went there, I was timid. I was growing, and getting stronger every day, but timid all the same. Unsure.

And a strange thing happened. I heard the Lord speak to my heart. He said, Don't you pick that up. You leave that down there in your old seat, on the ground, wherever you left it. You might not yet be a spiritual mama, but you are at least a spiritual big sister, and maybe even an aunt, and don't you pick that noise up again.

I realized He was right. That though in my daily life in Pittsburgh, I don't see the distance I've traveled, standing there in Springfield, I saw it. And in the seeing, I suddenly felt powerful in the Lord. Our lives in our church here have been so topsy-turvy, so confusing and upsetting, that I had somehow missed the fact that through it all, I have grown. I'm so used to doubting myself, and the church, and sometimes the Lord. And even as I write this, I feel doubt creeping up about who I am in the Lord, whether He is real, and whether all of it means anything.

But now, the decades of my existence are proof of Him.

The way that he called me as a young girl. I had a Precious Moments child's bible. I put it on my book shelf next to my books about greek and roman mythology because I thought they were the same. So I didn't understand the Bible. And yet...I knew Him. I felt His presence, felt Him telling me that He would make the wrong things right.

On the rare occasions that we went to my grandmother's church, the other kids made fun of me for not knowing the Lord's prayer. And yet...it was Him I cried out to when I was hurting.

And in those awkward tween years before I ever heard the Gospel, there was this empty stretch of beach on the shores of Lake Michigan next to an abandoned museum, where I never saw another soul, and it was there that I would fall to my knees in the sand and talk to Him.

As a young teen, when I discovered the church and first gave my heart to the Lord, I was honestly more conflicted than peaceful. So many questions. But there was this forgotten place up a flight of steps that lead to a door whose destination to this day I am unaware of--and there, I called upon the Lord in earnest, and often.

And when I went to college, and I drank my behind off, there was this little spot on a street that no one ever seemed to use, where I would sit on these steps hidden in a hedge, and beg Him to show me the truth.

And when I went home after college for a couple of years to figure out what to do, I spent hours in my favorite coffee shops, reading the gospels again and again--sometimes all four in the same sitting,back-to-back-to-back-to-back--writing and writing in notebook after notebook, trying to figure it all out, asking Him to help me figure it all out.

And then I showed up in Missouri. And honestly, outside of some advanced statistics skills, the only things I remember about that are the things about Him! If you dropped me in South Springfield, I could barely get you to campus, but I could get you to James River from any end of town with my eyes closed.

And even since leaving James River, trying and fumbling my way through the first years of marriage, and through this really just frankly bizarre experience with our current church, His voice is still there. His insistence on being in my life--it doesn't ever stop. For His gifts, and His call, are irrevocable.

The weight of my writing about Him, which doesn't touch the enormity of the contents of my thoughts, is too immense to point to an empty universe.

And in that moment in worship last Friday, I thought about all of this, and I came one step closer to the faith He has planned for me. It's not timid.

go and tell them.

I've been struggling with feeling peace. And compassion. And forgiveness. And humility. And sometimes just about anything good.

I mean, there are moments. I have good friends, and family, and lots of meaningful things in life, but some days, some weeks, it feels as though I am just trying to hop from one distraction to the next to avoid my fear. Fear that I am not doing enough professionally, that my cancer might come back, that my marriage isn't enough, that my husband won't get that thing that he wants, that I've upset someone, or done something wrong, or not measured up in some way.

But as I dig into his word, I have felt that God is slowly telling me one thing: look at me. As in, stop with all of this stuff about you and your feelings, and look at ME. I am peace. I am compassion. I am forgiveness. I am the antidote to fear.

Tonight, I read this, from Luke 7: "And he answered them, 'Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, the poor have good news preached to them..."

And when I can still myself for long enough to think, really think, about these realities, I see it so clearly. He is so powerful. What predicament could I possibly find myself in that is any match for this God? Not that I won't be in painful predicaments, but this story is told, y'all. And it ends with God on the throne.

I realize now that the first step in the slow slide away from the faith of my Missouri days was the step away from his word, and away from understanding who he really is. God became a concept to me, and not a very powerful one. And the world is rough, so of course I feel fear!

But all along, he's been right here. Lord, save me. 

this.

"But I say to you who hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those you curse you, pray for those who abuse you. To one who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from one who takes away your cloak do not withhold your tunic either. Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back...But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, for he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil."

Oh my God, what a God.

There are all sorts of words to be written about this--words of conviction and failure and action and hope, but for right now, I don't want to miss this: THIS is the God that I serve! This God who gives without concern for his returns, and endures abuse with love, and shows kindness in the dark, and who asks me to do the same. THIS is my God. What a God.

Though the type A in me wants to jump on to application--bags for the homeless, and maybe flowers for that sour work acquaintance, prayers for that harsh friend--I feel the Spirit stopping me, telling me to slow down, to revel and to bask in the awareness of his kindness, and his mercy.

Because after so many months of pain, and disillusionment that have lead (if I'm being honest, and I am, against my best judgment) to a near total collapse of my faith, in his kindness, he knows that I need his kindness. That I have for so long now, and with such disastrous consequences, been defining him by his church, and the world around it. So I've become totally out of touch with his love, his compassion, his mercy, his generosity. This is the God that I serve.

Could it be? It feels too good to be true. Because I am the ungrateful and evil, and yet, he shows me kindness. What sweet repose. What a God.

sweet reunion.

I read his word, and I write, and it all comes back to me. 

The things I forgot, the things I willfully pushed away, the things I thought were time-bound, and place-bound, only now to find out that they were never "culture", they are and always have been God. 

What sweet return. God is so gracious, isn't he? 

I lost my life in an instant. Had to leave my job, my school, eventually the church and town and friends I loved so dearly. I cried as we drove away from Springfield, back home to Chicago. I still remember my tears stinging my eyelids, trying so hard not to show the pain of losing everything that had so deeply changed me. But I was too weak to stay. I had to go home with family. And good thing, given the complications to come. Two months left to live. Then "nope, we're wrong." Rinse. Repeat. Until finally, it was over. They took my kidney, and I drove away from Mayo, and it was everything I could do not to tell my Dad to pull over so that I could throw myself on the pavement, kissing it and thanking God for sweet life. 

I moved to a new city. I got married. I tried to figure out how to be married. I got a job. I struggled to fit into this new culture, and new church that seemed nothing like the old one I loved so much. And in the middle of all of that, somehow, somewhere, I gave up on some important truths about God. Truth be told, I think I gave up on God. 

But as I dig back into his word-- not a verse here or there, not a devotional lesson, or a random sermon--but really, really dig in, it's all coming back. He is revealing himself to me once again. He's whispering sweet words of wisdom to my heart. He is telling me how much he so desperately loves me, and I am remembering what it was when we used to talk so closely. And we are becoming close again. 

I am remembering his power. What it feels like to believe in the God who makes quick work of our "impossible," who presses divine knowledge into our awareness, and guides us with his spirit to places we would never even dream. Anticipation. That's what it is--anticipation of what God does when we are open to his bidding. 

It's all coming back. And I have never known a sweeter, or more life-altering reunion. 

Spirit take the wheel.

It's so hard to be honest about these things, but the truth is that I have felt so bruised by the church recently.

There's a lot of spiritual warfare over the church that we go to. You can sense it, see it, feel it course up your arm when you shake hands with the pastor. When I finally worked up the courage to share that with someone else, it wasn't met with shock, or defensiveness, but with a nod, a quick dip of the eyes, and then hearty agreement. Again, and again. I am by no means alone in my assessment.

And yet, no one seems to know quite what's going on. Least of all, me. 

I was so sheltered at James River. I was the baby. The one people watched out for, and took in, and brought along. A pastoral scandal broke out, and five people called to make sure I was okay. 

And then the cancer ripped me from James River, twisting and turning my life around, and eventually setting me down in Pittsburgh, and my favor was over. Not only was I grown, but I found myself in a culture in which growth and teaching and community and rearing is regarded really differently.

I often feel like I'm just drifting, alone. Not maritally, my husband rules. But when it comes to growth, and woman-to-woman mentorship and discipleship. Drifting. I've tried to reach out, and those meetings are great. But they're just that--meetings, one-offs.

That sense of drift and isolation when paired with the brokenness of church politics has bruised the heck out of me over the last year. And for a minute, I started to think the church wasn't for me. (I know that you're never supposed to admit that when your husband is trying to be a pastor.) I started to believe again that I could never be happy in the church, and that we are all just too broken, and too sinful, to really be the church.

And then, James River to the rescue. Again. I started listening to my old pastor's sermons, which of course turn you right to scripture. And in Matthew 3 and 4, I saw the Spirit. First, in Matthew 3, the Spirit descends like a dove onto the Lord, and then just in the next book (!), the Spirit drives him into the wilderness where he spends 40 days being tempted by Satan.

Weird, right? Gentle, and then insistent. Tender, and then firm. Settling down in reassuring love, and then pushing towards back-breaking growth.

And I thought...is that what has been happening to me? The gentle, reassuring kiss from God that was James River, settling me down into comfortable and easy life with him, growing me and loving me, and calling me his own. And then, the cancer. Then the spiritual cancer. The Spirit driving me out into the wilderness. The battle for my soul, and my faith, and my husband's calling.

After Jesus was driven to the wilderness, he entered active ministry. Not for nothing. 

beseeching.

It has been so long since I've written here about my spiritual life, and honestly, so long since I've felt so alive and active in spiritual growth -- I feel like I'm shaking cobwebs off of my fingers as I type. 

I was reading in Mark 1 today, and was really struck by verse 40, wherein a leper stops Jesus to ask for healing. Specifically, it says the leper came to him, "imploring him." Other translations say the man was "worshiping" Jesus, or "beseeching," him. Then, the leper kneels before Jesus. 

So he worships Jesus. He recognizes Jesus's sovereignty, and makes physical display of doing so. And he kneels, he humbles himself, he gives due honor. The leper comes before Jesus in full knowledge of who and what Jesus is. 

Then, he doesn't just ask for healing. He tells Jesus, "If you will, you can make me clean." So he's not timidly approaching Jesus saying, "Uhh, Lord, is this something you think you can handle?" No, he boldly tells Jesus what they both already know -- You CAN make me clean -- and in so doing, signals to Jesus his belief, his faith. 

I love this. 

He worships the Lord. He humbles himself to the Lord. And he approaches the Lord with the full knowledge that Jesus is capable, entirely capable. 

Is this how I pray?

 

just ashley.

I have spent a lot of time forgetting the things that God taught me through this blog -- things about Himself, things about myself. For whatever reason, he used the writing and the time, to teach me. So, often throughout the years, when I'm confused or hurting, I have realized all over again that I need to write. That's what he had me do then, and I should do it again.

I've thought a thousand times about starting another blog. It's never happened. And then tonight I realized that I don't need another blog. This is the blog. This is the one. People say that when you feel as though you've lost your way, you ought to go back to the last thing the Lord told you, the last place you really knew Him. 

For me, that thing, that place, is here. 

This is where God took me from whatever I had been (what do you get when you cross a snobby drunk with a theologically-liberal Christian?), to what I became (a real believer). It was slowly, post by post, and painful word by dreadfully painful word, that he grew me, and saved me, and brought me into relationship with himself, and his people. 

I think it's fitting then, that this is the home to which I return . 

I'm so different now. My life is so different. I'm married. Ha! To a guy who is about to be a pastor. I have spent the last couple of years discipling younger women. Now, I lead a college girls' bible study. Like, I have been and continue to be entrusted with the spiritual well-being of a group of other people. Mind-blowing, I know. I probably shouldn't be in charge of the spiritual growth of your dog. But here I am. 

And yet. I'm not so different. I still have questions. I still feel a ferocious instinct for justice. I still question the finances of the Christian world, and its odd parallels with the secular world. (When you're right, you're right, y'all.) I still see in myself this timid little girl, approaching the chair in which her father sits, sometimes full of love, sometimes confused, sometimes in confidence, sometimes not approaching at all, but just standing off to the side, wounded and unsure. 

So maybe there's life in this blog yet. My problems are different these days (where my ministry wives at?), but I'm just me, just Ashley. Just searching. Just still desperately trying to live out the call that my God placed into my heart so many, many years ago.