like a child

To get the obligatory statement out of the way: 2020 has been weird.

Did you guys know we’re going through a global pandemic?

As Charles Dickens would say, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”

We all kinda know why it’s the worst of times. But in so many ways, it has been the best of times for my lil heart.

When all of this started going down, I was so scared. Scared of being alone. Scared of losing momentum in relationships. Scared of tiny virus particles that seems to have 8947208 different narratives on what to believe about it.

But in the midst of my fear, Jesus is showing up. He showed up initially through relationships saying, “No, you’re not going to be alone, we’re ordering dinner so come over.”

He showed up through the slow process of digging in the earth and watching what was planted bloom.

He’s showing up through a renewed rhythm of time with Him.

And in that rhythm, He’s teaching me what it is to come to Him like a child.

People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them, but the disciples rebuked them. When Jesus saw it, he was indignant and said to them, “Let the little children come to me. Don’t stop them, because the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” After taking them in his arms, he laid his hands on them and blessed them.

Mark 10:13-16 (CSB)

Receive this like a child.

Kayla, watch the little children that are in your life.
Watch them go directly to their mother and ask for exactly what they want.
Watch their parents interpret the barely-there words and the points and grunts, and know exactly what their child needs.
Watch them get hurt, and unashamedly weep in the shoulder of their mom until it all feels better – whether that be 5 seconds or 5 minutes.
Watch them be told no, and still find their comfort in the one that gave them that answer.
Watch them find joy just by looking at your face.

Receive Me like these children.


I have tattoos. One of my favorite things is when the little guys in my life notice them. One tried to blow the candles out on my newest addition and it was the most hilarious, sweetest thing in the world. Then he tried to peel it off like a sticker and we had to talk about gentle hands.

I digress.

Tonight, a little one caught the word “Beloved” peeking out of my t-shirt and asked about it. I slid my sleeve up and before I could say anything he asked, “Does that say ‘Kaka’?” (That’s my name – don’t wear it out).

And, going against every instinct to correct him, I simply answered, “Yes, that does say my name.”

Because I’m learning to listen to my God call me Beloved.

I’m learning to receive the kingdom of God like that sweet little child.

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thirty one.

Today is not my birthday.

I really love birthdays, so I just want to be super clear about that.

Today, however, IS the one year anniversary (can we call it that?) of the surprise party that my dearest friends planned and schemed and threw for me to celebrate my 30th. It was the greatest, most beautiful Saturday surprise a girl could’ve asked for. I still have the balloons hanging on my apartment wall.

Exhibit A – taken 5 minutes ago.

I thought I was going to help my friend’s mom with a technological task, and then people started yelling at me. It was amazing. And terrifying. If you’re actual friends with me, you can see pictures and video of said terrifying evidence on my social media. If you’re not, well, then, just picture the most uncomfortable-in-their-skin person you know. Now picture them being the center of attention for a significant amount of time.

Needless to say, I took a really good nap after.

But that’s not what this is about. This is about now. Thirty one. Well, at least, entering in to 31 and saying goodbye to 30.

The distance between July 13, 2019 and July 13, 2020 seems immeasurably more than 366 days (thanks, Leap Year). There has been so much undoing and putting back together. So much hoped for and so much lost. So much despair and so much longing. So much mourning, and yet, so much joy.

I thought I knew exactly where my life was heading. I literally had the Pinterest board to press go on and release the planning for the rest of my life.

And then it all just kind of unraveled.


Late last year, I came across this image:

By Scott Erickson. Click here for his Instagram & art!

It’s from an artist that practices a form of prayer called vision divina – essentially, we look at an image and allow Holy Spirit to speak to us through what we’re seeing. The caption/prayer that goes along with this one is: May I be gifted with loved ones who remember who I am when I forget; because I will forget.

There was a lot of forgetting who I am over the course of year 30. Not in a dramatic pre-midlife-crisis kind of forgetting. But a slow, opening of my hand, letting go of tightly held beliefs about myself and my convictions. Nothing that anyone on the outside of my life would have really noticed. Just a steady drip of giving up what I had hoped for in lieu of a fine-enough replacement.

For those that care, I am an enneagram 6. I question everything. But I don’t think I’ve questioned myself more than I did in 2019. The fact that my friends are still my friends after all of the merry-go-round conversations I had with them is a testament to their kindness toward me. Because y’all, I know I was not awesome to be around at times.

And yet, they said hello to 30 with me and will say goodbye to it with me as well.

More than the forgetting of who I am, they were there to remind me. To double down and say things like, “You are brave. The Lord has good things for you. You are not alone. You have a crew of people of your side. You are loved. You are seen. You are God’s Beloved.”

They were there to help set me on the path to what continues to be a better version of Kayla than a year ago.

While a surprise party to kick off year 30 was truly the best of times, the best part is what it continues to be: an ebenezer stone to commemorate a room full of people that remember who I am when I forget; because I forget.

May we all be gifted with the Lord’s kindness through His Spirit and His people to be seen, known, and loved in all of our glorious mess. And may we all be willing to lean in and let people remember and remind us of who we are when we forget; because we will forget.

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a time to sow

A few weeks ago a friend asked if she could call me her farmer friend. “If someone asks, ‘Where’d you learn that?’ I can say, ‘my Farmer Friend Kayla told me!'” To which I said, “Absolutely. I am your farmer friend.”

My parents may get a kick out of that one because the 14 year old that complained every time she was told to weed the garden did not expect to ever lay claim to the title of ‘farmer friend’ in adulthood. She wanted to flee the 90+ acre plot of land and make sure she always brought her nice jeans back with her whenever she visited so she wouldn’t have to do ‘farmer friend’ type of work.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve given quite a bit of thought to farming and planting and growing and all the outside things that I grew up around. There is definitely something spiritual about getting your body outside and your hands in the dirt.

Scripture has a lot to say about the agricultural process. Historically, it makes sense, because the people the words of the Bible were written to were agricultural people. They didn’t have Twitter or blogs or digital billboards. So, good on you God for meeting Your people where they were at!

Books can be (and have been) filled with the connection between the land and our spiritual lives. It is good – as a farmer – to let your land rest so that it can replenish and continue to produce. It is good – as a human – to let your body rest so that it can replenish and continue to produce. See where I’m going?

But the earth-to-spirit line that God keeps bringing into my mind is that there is a time to sow and a time to reap. A time to plant and a time to uproot.

Right now, seeds and plants are in the ground. A few weeks ago, all you could see was the dirt that covered them. As days progress and the seed dies in order to reproduce, tiny sprouts begin to emerge. It will be quite a while before any of the things that went into the ground give us something that we can pick, wash, and eat/enjoy.

In many ways, this is exactly what is happening in our lives. Right now is a time to sow into our hearts/bodies/minds/spirits/homes/etc. I feel so deeply that Jesus is inviting us to plant Him into the soil of our lives, cover Him up with dirt, and let Him do a work. What better time than now – the season of spring, where new life is budding up all around us – to let our Redeemer bury Himself into us and see what happens. As we will do with our plants, we check in every day: How’s the soil? Does it need water? How are the plants? Do they need pruned? What do the leaves look like? Are there bugs? Disease? Things that need to be guarded against?

And as we put in the time to tend the earth around us, as well as tend to our own lives, we will see a harvest. It won’t be tomorrow. I can promise that. Nothing real and valuable grows that fast. But we will see a harvest.

So, sow. Press in. Let Jesus take root in your life and see what kind of fruit comes to the surface.

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easter sunday

Well, team, we’ve made it. It’s here! Easter Sunday! Christ has risen from the grave, crushing the head of the enemy, defeating death and conquering the grave once and for all!

The reality of a Sunday Kingdom – where life wins over death – is upon us. We are a people that belong to the One who is found among the living.

Yet, this morning, as I read through and thought about the Gospel accounts of the third day, I couldn’t help but hang out with Thomas for a bit.

“But Thomas (called ‘Twin’), one of the Twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples were telling him, ‘We’ve seen the Lord!’ But he said to them, ‘If I don’t see the mark of the nails in his hands, put my finger into the mark of the nails, and put my hand into his side, I will never believe.’
A week later his (Jesus’) disciples were indoors again, and Thomas was with them. Even though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ Then he said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here and look at my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Don’t be faithless, but believe.’
Thomas responded to him, ‘My Lord and my God!'” – John 20:24-28 CSB

If you’ve spent about 2 minutes in a church, you’ve probably heard about Doubting Thomas. I grew up picturing him as this snotty dude that rolled his eyes at his fellow disciples and was about as sarcastic as I hope to be when I grow up. He just has a bit of a bad rap with the church folk.

But over the last few months, and especially today, I find myself seeing Thomas in a different light, having more compassion for the guy.

Today I read these verses with a little color commentary in my own mind that went a lil somethin like this: “Guys, I can’t. I have put too much hope into this to be let down. Please do not fill my head and my heart with this if it isn’t true. I cannot continue to put hope out there and get hurt again. Friday crushed me. He died. Unless I touch Him, I can’t put myself out there for Him again.”

And then, a whole friggin week later, Jesus shows up (JUST BY WALKING THROUGH A WALL MIGHT I ADD), and gives Thomas what he needed.
“Here, Thomas. Put your finger here. It’s me. Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

Thomas’ response hits my heart today. He needed the physical Jesus to ease his pain and fill his heart with hope again. He couldn’t just take someone else’s word for it.

And the most beautiful thing is that Jesus does show up again, and gives Thomas exactly what he needs.

He didn’t give him a 45 minute sermon on doubt and disbelief.
He didn’t tell him to find an accountability partner to ask him how he’s doing with trusting the Lord on a regular basis.
He didn’t shame him for having feelings that Christians “aren’t supposed to have.”

He gave him the Messiah he needed.
He gave him the Bread of Life.
He gave him his Resurrected King.

And that’s what I’m leaving Holy Week with – a Resurrected King.

But I’m also leaving Holy Week with a little bit of Thomas, asking Jesus to renew my hope by showing me Himself.

And I have no doubt that He’ll do just that.

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silent saturday

Picture it. Jerusalem. AD 33.

Did you read that like Sophia from Golden Girls? Because you should have.

There is no recorded account in Scripture about what happened today.

Jesus has been mocked, humiliated, abused, crucified, and buried. The tomb sealed. His disciples scattered. And the Sabbath day underway.

Today is a day of silence and hell.

Can you imagine being one of the twelve? Or one of the women that was present as He breathed His last? Or Joseph of Arimathea, “who himself had also become a disciple of Jesus” (Matthew 27:57), who just took the lifeless body of the Messiah off the cross and laid Him in his own tomb?

Oh and right, now it’s Sabbath. You do nothing until this day is over.

I went to a conference a few weeks ago, when going to conferences was still a thing we did, and the speaker talked about becoming a Friday, Saturday, Sunday community.

He talked about this cycle of death, burial, and resurrection, but specifically about how we have a tendency to skip through this day of hell. We have to be formed by all the days, yet we try to create resurrection Sunday without sitting through a silent Saturday, a day of hell, and allowing that to form us just as much as the new life that comes on the other side.

In a real big way, we are living a Saturday life right now. We are sitting in unknown territory. What we thought was secure and safe has been taken from us. We do not know what is going to happen tomorrow. We are a lot like those close to Jesus 2000 years ago.

I imagine that the thoughts going through their minds were not along the lines of, “Oh, but Sunday’s a’comin!”

I imagine they tracked a little closer to, “What.just.happened. He’s dead. What do we do? Will they come after us now? Are we safe? I just gave this man 3 years of my life! How dare he! Was none of it true?!”

And, honestly, I have similar thoughts myself.
“I’ve given this Man my life! Are you kidding me right now?”
“Am I safe?”
“Is none of this true?”
“Will He ever show up again?”

Yes, Christian, I know that Christ has the victory. I know that Sunday is coming. But I think we all need to tell our Saturday stories with a little more honesty going forward. We need to tell each other that sometimes, God is silent. Sometimes, we sit through days of hell and we have no clue if Sunday will come. Sometimes, Saturdays stay Saturdays and we don’t see resurrection for certain things.

Yet we can trust that even on a silent Saturday, God is still sovereign. Today is not out of place nor is it out of His control.

But it is Saturday.
For all they knew, He is dead.

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