here for that.

I was talking to someone yesterday, a young woman in our church who is facing some discouragement in her professional life, and is in general just trying to figure out what God has for her.

She told me about all of these jobs she had applied to, and finished by telling me somewhat dejectedly that the real problem is that she just doesn't want any of them. She's not excited by any of these opportunities, and being offered any of them would not feel to her like a good thing. Some combination of the city she'd have to move to, the church, the role itself, or other factors had her feeling pretty sour about each of them.

There was one opportunity, though, that seemed perfect. She said she loved the church, the location was desirable, and she'd feel very confident stepping into the role. But, frustratingly, she didn't feel she was really in the running for that job.

I paused, and gently, slowly, asked her... "But if you were to get the perfect job in the place that you'd love to be, doing work that you feel wouldn't be too much of a stretch for you--work you say you'd feel completely confident doing--in a church you are enthusiastic about -- where is the space for God to grow you? What about that situation would stretch your reliance on God?"

She didn't understand the question, and I can't blame her because it was poorly asked.

So I took another pass. "Look, you've got all of these options over here that you tell me aren't so great -- you don't love the locations, or the churches, or the roles aren't quite right. And then you'e got this PERFECT job over here that you'd feel 100% comfortable doing. It seems to me that you could fit into the perfect job, and it might be enjoyable, but if it's perfect for you, and you'd feel so confident doing it -- you wouldn't need God, you wouldn't need to rely on him, you wouldn't need to grow, and you wouldn't need him to stretch your ability to trust him. But those jobs over there -- the imperfect ones -- those are really the gold. Get one of those, and you'd have to trust God, you'd have to rely on him to grow your love for the church, and the city. You'd have to believe that he will give you what you need to do the job well."

And then I found myself telling her about my cancer. About how on the surface, it might have been better to have never gotten sick, but there are things I learned in my illness that couldn't have been learned in health. Things about myself, about God, about his love for me, and what it is to be with him when you are thinking you're really about to go be with him. There are things that my family learned, and ways in which their faith was transformed that would not have happened if my cancer had not happened. So health is great, but sickness -- it is so much better. If your goal is to gain wisdom and depth with God.

I have no idea if she understood any of this, or if it had any impact on her at all, but as I heard the words coming out of my mouth, I knew they were from the spirit, and I knew that they were for me as much as for her.

We spend so much time trying to pray away the hard things, but the hard things are where the good stuff is, y'all.

I don't know whether we will find the perfect church, or the perfect jobs, or whether we will get to adopt, or become a part of a tighter community, or experience any part of our own promised land, but here's what I am damn sure about -- the harder the road, the harder I will be pressing in to his presence, and I am here for that, Jesus.

hands wide open.

God is doing this revival thing in my life. It's pretty dope.

For the first time in a very, exceptionally long time, I'm in prayer every night. Not like, quiet, polite  listicles of prayers and praises. I'm not working any acronyms here.

But like raw and real, rocking out, arms up, tears and snot, and "I will not leave this place until you give me a word, G" kinda prayer.

One of my favorite sweet jams in this mood is Will Reagan's live cut of "Nothing I hold on to." There's an extended chorus with a bunch of people in a room shout-singing to Jesus, a couple of drums, and a guitar, and a mess of grace. And in the middle, they sing the line "I will climb this mountain with my hands wide open," over and over until Heaven hears them.

I don't know what he meant when he wrote it, but what I mean when I sing it is this...

God, I will walk through this season, whether it is the very best, or absolute desolation, with my hands wide open -- I'm not going to hold too tight to the blessings, nor sink too far into defeat. Lord, I'm not wrapping my fists around the status quo, not around the pride, not around money nor stuff, not around comfort. I'm not not grabbing onto insecurity, or fear, or pain. There is nothing I hold on to, Lord, because everything I need is you.

It has taken me a long time to realize that I am in the wilderness. Really that we are, both my husband and I. But now that the scales are gone, and I see the woods, the panic has drained away. I'm not lost. God is here just as surely as the mountaintop, and this place has a kick-ass worship band, y'all.

I don't know the answers to any of my most desperate questions. Will my husband find the right job? Will we be planted into the right church for us? Will I find meaningful work? Will we have a family? Will I finally get the pergola I've always dreamed of? How long will these things take? Will I write things that inspire people? Will I ever learn how to properly use a curling iron?

I don't know. But he found me. And there is nothing I hold on to. I will climb this mountain with my hands wide open.

the shot.

I don't always understand God.

Not like, the decisions he makes to answer some prayers and not others, but, literally... who he is. I don't always understand who or what God is.

We talk a blue streak about praying to him, and spending time with him, and having a relationship with him, but sometimes that is so abstract.

Just being honest.

Is God that warm feeling I get when I'm grooving to Bethel? Is he that sense that I get that I should do that one thing, but not the other?

I was talking to him about this tonight -- whatever that actually means -- and he (whoever he actually is) pressed on me... "Tell me about Jesus."

So I started listing out the things I think about Jesus...

Jesus didn't give a fig about rules when they interfered with love.
Jesus was moved by peoples' pain.
Jesus was impervious to appearance.
Jesus spent time with real people, he wasn't too good for anyone.
Jesus didn't discriminate based on race, or gender, or status.
Jesus gave his life that we might have even just a chance at life with God.

The last one got me. Not just that he sacrificed his life. What jumped at me in this moment with God, was that as Jesus died on the cross, there was no guarantee for him that it was worth it.

He gave his life not knowing that I would accept and live eternally with him, but just so that I would have the shot.

I won't even give a dollar if I think there's a chance it won't be spent 100% appropriately.

But Jesus isn't like that -- he gave it all, just on a flier. Just in case. Just in the off chance that I would hear, and respond, and understand, and want to be eternally in relationship with him. That's how generous he is. That's how important I am to him.

And that's God. That's the God to whom I pray. That's the one with whom I am in relationship.

Doesn't that just make you rethink everything you know about generosity?

unanswered prayers.

I made a list tonight of my favorite unanswered prayers. Just to remind myself that I have been desperate before. And that thankfully, so mercifully, my desperation does not bend the heart of God.

Sometimes, we hope it does. And many of those times, it seems so cruel that in fact, it doesn't.

But in the clearer moments, like tonight, with my list -- I couldn't be more grateful.

And in the remembering, I find encouragement that God will deal as deftly with the desperate prayers of today as he has with yesterdays'.

I'm not exactly desperate right now in a material sense -- life is mostly good. We have good jobs. We want for nothing, really. Yet, it just feels like there is more. Just out of our reach. More life to live with God. Bigger dreams, bolder visions, for what it is to follow him. To pour ourselves out for him. To be more generous, more daring, more invested in his Love.

I am so desperate for that.

And so far from having any idea of what to do.

So I have a few prayers. They're desperate. I don't know whether God will answer them. But I do know, thanks to my list, that he has a perfect track record so far of knowing which to go all in on, and which to just leave where I put them.

He spoke to me tonight. Well, his spirit pressed on me tonight, that the sweetest part of desperate prayers is the resting with him after they've been prayed. He heard me. He heard me.

He's finding me.

find me.

I started writing this blog almost 10 years ago.

In some ways, those 10 years feel like minutes. In others, like decades more.

I've built a career in that time. Gotten married. Been miserable in marriage. Seen time, and God, and maturity bring that marriage through to happiness. I beat cancer a few years back, and I beat it again every day. I've gotten kicked around in the church a little bit. Made some good friends. Lost some good friends. On and on.

Through it all, until recently, I didn't realize that somewhere along the way, I had stopped letting things in. People, and God, and hope. I had become so focused on making a good life, and keeping it all together, on overcoming the hurts inflicted by life in the church, that I was no longer living with vulnerability. I'd stopped anticipating what God might do. I've become stingy with...everything.

But then, a few months ago, I discovered these sermons -- there's this guy name Matt Miofsky who preaches his heart out every Sunday at this great church called The Gathering, in St. Louis. And as I listened, something familiar stirred.

Conviction. Deep conviction. Anticipation. Closeness with God. Remembrance of what He did for me, and what He does for me, and oh my stars, what will He do next? Every sermon ignited in me an excitement to pick up the bible, to stop in prayer, to be more generous, to invite as many people as I could meet into Love.

It had been so long since I had felt these things. Which is why I jarringly realized how tightly shut my heart had become, how high I had built my walls, how completely selfish I had become.

I don't know how to be vulnerable again. I don't know how to stop putting up a facade with people. I'm not sure how I start the process of dismantling the artifices of pride and status and self-importance. I just want to be with Jesus again. Not with him because I'm standing next to my church staff husband in Sunday worship. Not with him because I'm leading other people through some or other bible study. Just with him. Just us.

I have no answers. I've just been crying out in prayer "Find me." Because I don't remember how to find him.

After all, he has found me so many times before. I have to believe he's got one more good story to tell.