How the Heck Did I Get Here? The Unlikely Road to Urban Missions

Hello fellow 31 Day-ers and anyone else observing this crazy ride!

Like many of you, I've gone back and forth about my topic for the month. The possibilities are endless! Meeting God in the Mundane is my tagline, and my writing tends to focus around that theme. I'm ever intrigued by the fact that Jesus persistently longs to be involved in our mundane, ordinary, walking around life (Romans 12:1-2) and what it really looks like to follow Him in the practical everyday. 

My family and I recently took a step in faith to pursue full-time missionary status and are in the process of raising funds. It's become increasingly clear, as we reflect on the past, that the Lord has been preparing us for this, but even still, there are often days where we wonder, how the heck did we get here?? I mean, really...

How does an upper middle class country girl who never really wanted kids wind up twenty years later in the inner city as a missionary and mother of five? If you find yourself intrigued, you'll want to stick around and watch the story unfold. 

Because the short of it is, God has drastically changed my heart through this imperfect city and its people. The longer I've lived here, the less I know for sure. Black and white issues like poverty, addiction, homelessness, prostitution, and teen pregnancy fade to grey when you're no longer merely staring at a label but an actual human face with real emotions, pain, potential, and value.

This month I'll explore some of the key moments God opened my eyes and heart toward missions, interactions with people that shattered what I thought I knew about myself and others, and snippets of the upside-down truth I've learned along the way.

And my hope is that as you journey along with me, God will open your eyes, widen your arms, and expand your infinite potential to love your neighbor. Even more, that He would instill in you a fire and conviction to act on your heart change. Because our world would be a better place if more of us had hearts like Gods.

Join me?

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How the Heck Did I Get Here? The Unlikely Road to Urban Missions

Hello fellow 31 Day-ers and anyone else observing this crazy ride!

Like many of you, I've gone back and forth about my topic for the month. The possibilities are endless! Meeting God in the Mundane is my tagline, and my writing tends to focus around that theme. I'm ever intrigued by the fact that Jesus persistently longs to be involved in our mundane, ordinary, walking around life (Romans 12:1-2) and what it really looks like to follow Him in the practical everyday. 

My family and I recently took a step in faith to pursue full-time missionary status and are in the process of raising funds. It's become increasingly clear, as we reflect on the past, that the Lord has been preparing us for this, but even still, there are often days where we wonder, how the heck did we get here?? I mean, really...

How does an upper middle class country girl who never really wanted kids wind up twenty years later in the inner city as a missionary and mother of five? If you find yourself intrigued, you'll want to stick around and watch the story unfold. 

Because the short of it is, God has drastically changed my heart through this imperfect city and its people. The longer I've lived here, the less I know for sure. Black and white issues like poverty, addiction, homelessness, prostitution, and teen pregnancy fade to grey when you're no longer merely staring at a label but an actual human face with real emotions, pain, potential, and value.

This month I'll explore some of the key moments God opened my eyes and heart toward missions, interactions with people that shattered what I thought I knew about myself and others, and snippets of the upside-down truth I've learned along the way.

And my hope is that as you journey along with me, God will open your eyes, widen your arms, and expand your infinite potential to love your neighbor. Even more, that He would instill in you a fire and conviction to act on your heart change. Because our world would be a better place if more of us had hearts like Gods.

To read the rest of the posts this month, subscribe HERE! You can find the series in the Write 31 Days tab in the Menu or HERE.

Enjoy!

xo

Jacqui

P.S. If you have friends who might like the topic, invite them to join us! To receive these posts directly in your inbox every week, subscribe below!

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Walking in Humility: The Angry Stress Monster

I have this thing my son calls the “Angry Stress Monster," an apt description, as it will suddenly rear its nasty head without warning, much like I imagined the monsters under my bed would when I was young. 

Usually, the symptoms have been festering below the surface long before they're noticed by the droves of screaming and fighting children running about the house, but they all notice when the switch flips--a maternal Jekyll and Hyde with a messy top knot, yesterday's sweatpants, and crazy eyes. Or maybe it's more like mommy Frankenstein, who, after having all her brains removed by a litter of children, can only scream, growl, and try to kill things. Little things. More specifically, little people.

Some days, I don't do a very good job of containing the monster.

The offenses against sanity begin to stack up the moment we walk in the door after school. It’s the pent-up cackling crazy they’ve had to control all day. It’s the running and fighting and making each other cry. It’s the deafening noise level composed of mommy look at this and mommy we did this and mommy sign that and mommy I want a snack and mommy I need help….all at once.

I’m on the edge. On the verge of losing it. Lately, I’ve gotten to the point where I recognize this edge, the ledge from which I plunge head first into the oblivion of rage and overwhelm. The fall is incredibly hard to recover from.

I know what it feels like, the tightness in my chest. The mental jitters that make it impossible to think. The overloaded circuit of my faculties, sparks flying, fires starting, the whole thing burning down.

I can feel it begin, and I try to breathe deep. To take a step back, calm down. But sometimes life keeps assaulting me, and I can’t keep it at bay. The Angry Stress Monster emerges from the flames of spontaneous combustion, and everyone nearby gets burned.

Sometimes I don’t recognize this woman, this angry monster in the mirror. I hope to find the calmer, more patient person I once knew, I really do.

But I guess until then, I’m sorry.

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!

Walking in Humility: Where Division Exists So Does Pride, and Other Thoughts on Loving Well Post-Election

I will admit that I had some choice words for America when I awoke to the results this morning.

My children did, too, as neither of the candidates they voted for at school took the election.

It was an impossible choice, really. On one hand, we had the embodiment of everything that is wrong with politics, and on the other, the epitome of everything that is wrong with us as a people.

And so today, I grieve with and pray for our country. Because, although someone did win the election, there are no winners here.

I think statistics are so interesting, because they tell a story.

Not always the story we'd like to hear, however. Not the details as we ideally wish they were.

But rather, the way things are.

And in this case, the white, heterosexual, rural-residing, self-identified Evangelical, non-college-educated majority has spoken. I know our form of government is deeply flawed, but no longer can we deny the fact that it's those with privilege who get to decide the fate of our country.

My hope is that in our own little corner of the country, we can start writing a different narrative. 

May we remember that we are the UNITED States of America and get back to the hard work of loving one another today. Especially those who are different than us. Especially those who are marginalized and oppressed, backed into a corner without a voice. 

Because where there is a lack of unity, there is often a lack of humility. Pride and love cannot coexist, so choose wisely.

May we rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn. It's so hard to rejoice with others when you're the one in mourning, but do it anyway.

May we be kind, always. 

May we remember that the change we wish to see doesn't begin in the Oval Office, but it starts with you and me.

And so today, I'm going to snuggle with my daughter on the couch. I'm going to enjoy my kiddos and laugh with them when they get home from school. I'll go to church and worship a God who wasn't caught off guard, a God who is still on the throne, and a God still worthy to be praised. 

I'll text my black friends and my gay friends and remind them that regardless of who gets to decide the fate of this country, they can never decide the worth of their souls. That they are still wanted, welcome, and loved. I'll hug my refugee friends, because love is a universal language which requires no translator.

Love well today, friends. Especially when it's hard, because that's precisely when the world needs it the most. 

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!

Walking in Humility: Ministry is Messy...and It's Supposed to Be

{This post was originally published on September 23, 2016}

Between the not-quite-housetrained puppy, the 7 month old baby, who still spits up, and the random 10+ children who are in and out of the house on any given day, our carpet is, in a word...GROSS.

Even still, we try to do what we can to keep it from getting worse. We take the dog outside often, wipe up accidents/spills as best as we can, and encourage everyone to take their shoes off at the front door. In typical kid fashion, though, they're forgetful and don't always remove their shoes. Other times, they just plain don't want to listen. Because it's inconvenient, or they think they know better. Rules can be hard and stupid. So along with "buckle your seatbelt," "pick up your garbage," "dirty clothes go in the basket," and "don't fart on your brother," I've added "take off your shoes" to the soundtrack that plays on "repeat all" in our home. 

It will come as no surprise, then, that one day we discovered someone had dog poop on the bottom of their shoe. Unfortunately, that shoe had already made its way around most of the first floor, particularly the carpeted area. The kids were disgusted and screaming, the little boy felt terrible and was crying, and Ben, of course, was in disaster mode and calmly doling out instructions to everyone. He functions much better in a crisis than I.

"It's ok. It's not a big deal," he said to the little boy. "We can clean it up. Why don't you give me your shoe and I'll wash it off in the bathroom."

I took a kid into the living room with me and we started on the carpet. The little boy was sitting at the table with his sister, just sobbing, and both Ben and I kept assuring him it was ok. I can only assume he must get in a lot of trouble at home for making a mess.

The child who was helping me was indignant. He was mad that the boy didn't take off his shoes, mad that he didn't notice the poop sooner, mad that he had to help clean it up--and he kept loudly voicing his grievances. For as often as he wears his own shoes into the house, it could've just as easily been him who tracked in poop, and I encouraged him to be gracious.

I have to admit, I was frustrated, too, but trying really hard to maintain a poker face. This is why we tell them to take off their shoes, I thought. We have rules for a reason. I gently reminded the crowd of that fact and went back to cleaning the carpet. And as I was kneeling there, scrubbing the filth away, my husband quietly said to me, probably sensing my irritation, "this is the cost of doing ministry, babe. It's ok. It's just carpet."

See what I mean about calm under pressure? But I knew he was right. This is the cost of doing ministry. 

You see, ministry is messy...and it's supposed to be.

It's supposed to be difficult, frustrating, annoying, and even loathsome at times. Ministry isn't heart-eye emojis and feel good music and the, "we're all doing fine," business. Because the reality is, we're not all fine, and certainly not all the time.  

Ministry is being "Christ with skin on." That's how my husband describes it, anyways. 

It's easy to think, and I've certainly been guilty of this myself, that "ministry" is a rosy, glorious, wonderful thing. Like we're going to take all these lost people in our neighborhood or workplace and we're going to listen to them, we're going to feed them, we're going to tell them how much Jesus loves them, and wouldn't that be just grand. Maybe they'll start coming to church with us on Sundays, and if we're really lucky, we might even be able squeak out a sinner's prayer. And then we can check them off our list. Mission accomplished. Job well done, good and faithful servant.

But if you sit with that phrase for a spell and dig in to what that really means, I believe you will find this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. {Romans 5:8}

Ministry, in the truest form of the word, is entering into the mess and filth of broken lives and loving well enough to stand in the gap between them and God. It's the privilege of being able to stay, with arms outstretched, that it's okay. Regardless of the mess they find themselves in right now, they are loved. They are wanted, valuable, and important. Not in spite of themselves, but because of Christ, who died for them. In their place. And there's nothing more they need to do, because it is finished. 

It's the gospel in the flesh.

True ministry exists in the gap between sinner and Savior. We must be willing to enter into the mess, to kneel down alongside them in the filth and start scrubbing. In order to become Christ with skin on, we need to hang our desires, our possessions, our control, and our pride up on the cross and let them die.

The carpet cleaner washed the dirt away, and the stains were barely visible by the time we were done. It was like it never happened. The little boy finally calmed down and realized he wasn't in trouble, that everything really was okay, and they all went back to running and playing as usual.

Only in the paradox of Christ is it possible that out of death flows new life and from surrender, victory. That he who loses his life will save it. The gap in between death and resurrection is a holy one--it's where God does His best work. 

Every time I give a gentle reminder, change a poopy diaper, scrape gum off the basement floor, scrub dog dirt from the carpet, shuttle a child to the doctor, or help a teen sort out a tricky relationship issue, I'm standing in the gap. A witness to impending new life, both in my heart and in those around me. That's ministry, in all it's messy glory. 

And God is glorified in this holy obedience to the ordinary. 

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!