Tag Archives: grace

Aug 22 2025
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wildflowers don’t care where they grow

I’m a person that loves a good routine. Rhythms and rules have served me well over the past 10+ years of my life, and have set good boundaries in place that built a lovely playground for me to frolic in. And the frolicing has been delightful!

So imagine my surprise when those routines, rhythms, and rules stopped working. I can’t pinpoint an exact date, but over time life became stagnant. The workouts stopped serving me. The mornings got dull. The literal path I would always walk lost its luster.

Amy Poehler writes in her memoir, “Yes Please”, that significant life change is like, “spreading everything you care about on a blanket then tossing the whole thing up in the air.”

Amy was specifically talking about the process of divorce for her, but the image rings true for me. No, I wasn’t going through a significant life change. Mostly everything was as it had always been*. Sure, some things had shifted around, but the foundational level of my life remained intact.

And yet, everything was on a blanket being tossed in the air.

It’s a strange thing when the systems you’ve built to support your life stop serving you out of nowhere and without warning.

Insert a sabbatical after nearly 13 years of full-time ministry.

This was definitely not part of the normal rhythm of my life.

I’d planned and prepared for my sabbatical for a few months before June 2nd actually came around. On that Monday morning, I was on a plane to a week long retreat for rest and care at a center whose mission is to serve those who serve.

I arrived and my host for the week showed me to my room. The Flower Room. Little did she know that I’d had the song Wildflowers by The Greatest Trio of All Time** stuck in my head for the last 8 months.

The refrain of the song that had been front and center of my mind, that Dolly, Linda, and Emmylou so effortlessly sing is, “Wildflowers don’t care where they grow.”

I’ve always loved Missouri wildflowers. I grew up with a grandma that would drive along dirt roads just to look in the ditches during a very specific two-to-three week period in June. She wanted to look at the wildflowers. And so I wanted to look at the wildflowers. Don’t tell her, but I wanted to look at them so much that I recently got a tattoo of a flower so I can see one anytime I want.

I got back from my week away and went to visit my family in Southern MO. I took a ride along the gravel road at the perfect time and wouldn’t you know, the wildflowers were growing in the ditch along the field.

You can’t convince me there’s a more beautiful sight than a Missouri ditch in June.

And again, that line – wildflowers don’t care where they grow – would not leave my head.

In the midst of forcing the same routines and rhythms into my life and seeing no change, God met me in the beauty of His creation with the invitation to let go.

Let go of what I’m “supposed” to do.
Let go of what used to work, but doesn’t anymore.
Let go of the old wineskin.
Let go of the expectation that I should be_____(fill in the blank).

If wildflowers don’t care where they grow, I don’t have to either.

My favorite Doctor of the Catholic Church (as a non-Catholic) is St. Thérèse of Lisieux. She saw herself as a “small wildflower, simple and hidden but blooming where God has planted her.” She believed in the simplicity of doing ordinary things with extraordinary love.

She didn’t care where she grew. But she grew. Being watered and tended to by a good Gardener. She didn’t need routine or rhythm. She simply gave herself over to Love and let Love do His work.

And that’s what 40 days off work and a ditch in Southern MO taught me.

My responsibility is to give myself over to Divine Love. Sure, I’m rebuilding some rhythms and routines and rules, setting up a new playground to frolic in. But I’m (hopefully) doing it with my good Friend Jesus, a kind and careful Gardener who tends to my soul.

I hope and pray that the ditch of my heart (can we take the metaphor there?) doesn’t look like it did 10+ years ago. I hope there’s a more vibrant ecosystem of wildflowers that have taken root and display immeasurable beauty. Even if it’s just for two or three weeks a year.

And I hope and pray that the ditch of my heart only continues to gather more life and beauty as the years and seasons come and go.

I hope this wildflower learns to not care where she grows. Only that she does grow.

*I did write a book during this time and if there’s anything I know about putting yourself out there and being vulnerable, it’s that the enemy will come for you. So I guess I should recognize that there was *some* change going on 🙂
**my personal opinion, but it is the correct one

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Apr 03 2024
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disruptive peace

First off, yes, I know it’s April and no, my Christmas tree is not still up. And B) for all the liturgical nerds out there, yes, I know the third/pink candle represents joy and I’m here talking about peace, but

(I’m not starving, but this is accurate)

If anything, this pic is a representation of how long I’ve been thinking about this idea of disruptive peace. Two words that typically don’t go together.

They’ve been stuck in my head for months.

This weird idea of disruption throwing you out of sorts, but peace bringing you…well…peace, and how weirdly, peace has disrupted my life.

I love lighting advent candles. I love the glow of the tree (obviously), the early morning light, staring at the flame with a cup of coffee in hand.
I love that week by week, we add more. The anticipation of all four candles being lit is such a delight to me. I love that by the fourth week, the first candle is burned so far down, but still lights with its companions.

The advent candles represent a journey for me. And this year the journey has been specifically toward peace.

You see, I’m a person that can get really worked up. Walking out of the gym and seeing a vehicle parked in a spot that the driver just decided to make into a parking spot, when it’s clearly not a parking spot, works me up to the point that I say something to my friend multiple days in a row and finally got the chance to make very aggressive eye contact to which I took FULL advantage.

Again, I can get really worked up. And it’s often over dumb stuff like a parking spot that has no actual affect (or is it effect?) impact on my life.

But it can also be about relationships, or lack thereof.
Job performance.
Health issues.
Car trouble.
Etc.
Etc.

It’s very easy and natural for me to lean into anxiety. To give myself over to the negative and worrisome storylines in my head that may or may not be true.

So a few months ago when I started having issues in relationships
Job performance
Health
Car
Etc.
Etc.
and I wasn’t getting worked up, it was disruptive.

I’ll spare you all the details, unless you want to buy me a beverage and do nothing but listen to me ramble for 2-6 hours, but let’s just say 2023 was a doozy. She was not my favorite. The ending of 2023 was quite frankly:

Yet, it was peaceful.

It was peacefully the worst.

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your graciousness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Don't worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." - Philippians 4:4-7 (CSB)

"Don't fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God's wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It's wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life." - Philippians 4:6-7 (MSG)

This peace that I was feeling in the midst of a hellish season was disruptive.

It disrupted my normal thought patterns.
It disrupted my anxiety.
It disrupted the way I typically deal with stressors in my world.

Now don’t get me wrong – I had plenty of breakdowns and tears and commiseration sessions with myself and others. It was not a sunshine and rainbows kind of hellish season.

But not once did I wonder if the peace of Christ was near. I knew in my bones that it was. I knew that Christ peacefully held my breakdowns and tears and commiseration sessions. In fact, I believe He was right there with me. I believe Holy Spirit – the Helper – was helping me breakdown and cry and commiserate, to put to death the pain, disappointment, anger, and so much more that was inside.

And before I knew it, a sense of God’s wholeness settled me down.

I don’t think when Paul was writing to the Philippians about the peace of Christ he was talking about a hunky-dory, whistle while you work kind of life.
I don’t think he was talking about nothing every bothering you or causing you stress or worry ever again for the rest of all time.
I think he was talking about life with Christ that settles your mind, heart, and soul even when everything is falling apart.
Not to dismiss the falling apart, but to acknowledge that Jesus disrupts the destruction as things fall apart and holds you near.
I think Paul was talking about what happened to me over the last few months, and I sure do hope this peace keeps disrupting my life in the best of ways.

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Feb 09 2024
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honoring where you are, today

I never in my life thought I would be a group fitness class girlie. So much so that I loudly declared in August of 2019 that I would **never** go to a gym that only offered group fitness classes. The ego of a former collegiate athlete is so cute sometimes.

Cut to 3 months after that declaration, I was in a group fitness class. And I have quite literally never looked back. I can’t get enough.

Side note: I’ve learned to stop saying I’ll never do something.

One of the things I’ve come to deeply appreciate about these classes is that instructors/coaches/hype girls will start the class with a standard rundown of what’s about to happen and wrap up their intro speech with a version of, “Every day is different, so honor where you are, today.”

While their encouragement is to engage in the class the best way you and your body can for that day, it struck a different chord with me last week.

One of the downfalls of being a person in the world today (I think I can generalize what I’m about to say…) is that we’re expected to beat yesterday. “The only competition you have is yesterday’s version of yourself!”
“You’re only as good as your next rep!”
“Last quarter your numbers were higher than they are currently…”
“You were fine last week and nothing has changed, so what gives?”

The hustle lyfe tells us that our growth patterns have to look like this:

When realistically, it looks like this:

I think we all know that the point of life is progress, not perfection. I think we all know that it’s not linear. But the stories I often tell myself communicate that if I’m not winning the day, then I’m failing. And not only failing, but potentially a failure. If I’m not better than I was yesterday in all aspects of life – spiritual, mental, physical, emotional, financial – then I’m not trying. I’m lazy. I’m wasting what God has given me.

We don’t leave much space for grace, and growth, and learning.
For ourselves and for others.

Some days we need a breath. Our bodies, our minds, our relationships, our pocketbooks (do we still call them pocketbooks??) need a chance to rest. To settle for ‘barely getting by’ instead of a PR.

In even writing ‘barely getting by’ I feel like I’m missing my own point.

A break, a breath, a rest is written into the fabric of the universe. 

"By the seventh day God had finished his work. On the seventh day he rested from all his work. God blessed the seventh day. He made it a Holy Day because on that day he rested from his work, all the creating God had done. This is the story of how it all started." - Genesis 2:1-4 (MSG)

It all started with honoring the day, today.

In honoring where I’m at today, I’m admitting my humanity and the reality that I cannot live a life of striving. I’m honoring the holiness of the opportunity to rest and trust that God holds all things together by the power of His Word. I’m admitting that I have limitations, and that I, in fact, am not God. It’s not a failure if you don’t win the day.

I want to celebrate when I crush it, because I love crushing it.
But I also want to celebrate that I remain whole and held when I don’t.
I want to honor God’s great and abundant love for me that I have simply because He said so, not because I beat who I was yesterday.

Instead of asking myself what can I accomplish today, I want to start asking how I can honor who I am today. How can I honor where I’m at in the story of God’s love. How can I honor the world that God has placed me in. Do I want to grow spiritually, mentally, physically, etc? Yeah. Of course. I’d love to use a heavier kettlebell sometime in the future. But if that gets in the way of honoring the story I’m living in, then nah. No thanks.

I’m sure there’s more to say, and different ways to say it, but this is what I have for today. Honoring where we are starts right now.

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Oct 11 2020
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bear the burden

I’ve been thinking a lot about burdens this year. 2020 itself has been one of the biggest burdens most of us have faced in our lifetimes. I’ve been thinking about how we are so quick to do everything we can to alleviate all burdens, to throw off everything that is hard and painful and takes some work to deal with.

The word “burden” as defined by the internet mean: “a load, typically a heavy one.”

So, by using context clues, we can arrive at the conclusion that burdens are not fun.

Everyone has burdens. Sickness, loneliness, financial stress, a job they don’t like, a bad piece of meat that gave them stomach cramps…you get it. Anything that we can say is hard or heavy is a burden.

Burden is also, apparently, a movie released in 2018 starring Usher. You’re welcome, I think?

And typically, we work really hard at skirting the burden. At the first sign of something heavy, we run in the opposite direction, often (for me) using coping mechanisms that I think will take the burden away.

We accumulate wealth to ease the burden of financial want.
We drink to ease the pain of another night alone.
We numb out on any form of entertainment to disengage from the world around us.

And the funny thing is, those things just become another burden.
We cannot live a life burden-free.

I’ve been reading through the Gospels this summer on a loop and I can’t help but notice that as Jesus is introducing the Kingdom of God, He isn’t introducing a Kingdom of absence. He is introducing a Kingdom of abundance, yet that requires some work.

He says in Matthew 11:28-30 (NLT), “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.”

Did you catch that? Jesus isn’t removing every burden. He is giving me His burden.

A light one.
A burden that – rather than being heavy – actually gives me deep, soul rest.

Too often when things get heavy I keep the yoke of my own burden on my shoulders. And, even though I’ve got those solid outfielders shoulder-arms, the weight becomes too much. My soul gives out, falls over, and can’t go on.

But when I intentionally take upon my shoulders the burden of Jesus – the burden that declares the work is done, the penalty of sin is taken care of, and the grace for each moment of my life is freely given with no strings attached – when I put that burden on my shoulders, it is light.

It is easy.
It is good.
Because it’s from Jesus.

Don’t eliminate the burden.
Bear the burden of Jesus.

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Nov 30 2019
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proudly humble

Sometimes the hardest part of writing is figuring out what to title the blog post. Is this one click-bait worthy? Or just a horrible attempt at wordplay?

Either way, here we are.

I’ve been slowly making my way through the Gospel of John over the last couple of months. A couple weeks ago, I re-read John’s account of Jesus washing the disciples feet in chapter 13.

If you grew up in the church, or have been around for a hot minute, then you have undoubtedly heard this story. Jesus shows us what true humility looks like by washing the feet of his disciples.

Yadayadayada. Heard it a thousand times. Cool, thanks John. Moving on.

Except this time **cue the Word of God being living and active…** I didn’t read the same story I have read/heard hundreds of times. This time, I saw Peter.

Peter asks, in what I assume is a confused and rhetorical tone, “Lord, do you wash my feet?!” Then I continue his sentence in my mind, “Ah, heck no!” And after Jesus gives an answer that I can only imagine Peter doesn’t hear/listen to, he replies, “You shall never…“

When I read that, it hit me – this seems to be Peter’s attempt at humility. He cannot imagine the man he has been living with and watching work miracles for so long bending down to wash his feet. How could this man – the man that Peter declared as Messiah, the One that had the words of eternal life (John 6:68) – how could he ever wash Peter’s feet?

It’s as if Peter, in the most backwards way possible, was trying to protect Jesus from the humiliation of wiping the bottom of his gross feet. Again – Peter’s false humility.

Peter had no idea what he was denying himself by not wanting Jesus to wash his feet. Peter was fighting against the opportunity to allow the Savior of the entire world – past, present, and future – to literally wash over him with water AND the Word. Because, honestly, he was probably too proud.

Sometimes the stance of humility is not not receiving something, or putting yourself down, but rather allowing others to serve you and lift you up because you are incapable of knowing/doing/being everything.

We try to put off this air that we are here to help everyone but that we never need help. We’re the servants, never to be served. But the truth is, we do need to be served.

We need people to tell us the truth.
We need people to remind us of who we are.
We need people to pick us up when we are down.
We need people to wash our feet.

May we never be too proud to say, “You will never wash my feet.”
May we, instead, be people that say, “Thank you for seeing that my feet are dirty and for offering to help.”

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