atticus got baptized!

Atticus decided a few weeks ago that he wanted to get baptized, so when it was announced that baptisms were being held this past weekend, he was quick to want to sign up.  We invited family down, and spent the weekend celebrating this major milestone in his life!

He spent weeks working on the outline for what he wanted to say, and it was incredible.  It was also especially exciting that Todd got the privilege of being the one to baptize him.

He was so excited.  Todd said that afterward, while Atticus was getting changed into dry clothes, he just kept saying, "I can't believe it!  I'm baptized!  I'm so excited!  I'm so happy, I feel like crying!"  It was so sweet.  I am so very happy for him, and proud of him.

Congratulations, Buddy!

church in the park! (And what, exactly, Todd does for a living.)

Yesterday, in the ninety-seven degree heat, we had church in the park.

Oh, yes, my friends.  It was hot.

Normally, our services are held in the conference room at a hotel in town, but there are occasions when the space is rented to another party and we have to worship somewhere else.  In the winter, we often go to another hotel's conference room.  In the summer, we have services outside, and follow things up with a potluck lunch.

The last five years of church planting have offered ample opportunities for church in the park.  In fact, our very first official church service in Cedar Falls was outside in a park.  It always holds fond memories for me.

Five years ago!  Whoa.

This weekend was extra special, though, because it was the first time the teaching schedule has ever lined up for Todd to be the one teaching on a park Sunday.  I always love the Sundays that he teaches, and yesterday was no different.

Which brings me to a question that I know has been burning in your gut for a long time: What, exactly, does Todd do?


I mean, we move around a lot for church plants, he's on the teaching team and the elder team, and he preaches regularly.  So... is he a pastor or something?

The quick answer is no, and yes.  No, he's not paid to do ministry, and never aspires to be.  He works full-time as an insurance claims adjuster, just like he dreamed of doing when he was a little boy, dressing up in his dad's polos and sitting in front of a cardboard computer, answering the phone on his Fisher-Price headset.

But also, yes, he's a pastor.  In the Bible, the Greek word for 'pastor' and 'elder' is the same.  In a Biblical model, church leadership is overseen by elders - men who meet specific spiritual, moral, and logistical qualifications laid out in Scripture.  In our network, elders go through a training and vetting process, followed by a vote by the church members, and go up for re-vote each year.  They're responsible for watching over the life, doctrine, spiritual health and shepherding of their local (independent) church.

So in short, that's why he was up there teaching this weekend.  (Not all elders are regular teachers, and not all teachers are elders, but Todd's lucky enough to do both.)  I love getting to sit under my husband's teaching, and I love that the kids get the opportunity to see him in this role.  They seem to be pretty thrilled about it, too.  We're all big fans.

Anyway.  Long story short: after Todd's teaching, we all hung out and ate lunch.

She insists on having her arms hanging out the top of the Ergo, which always makes her look so uncomfortable!

The end.

teaching the liturgy to our kids.

I didn't have a strong church background before I started attending a Lutheran church with a friend in middle school.  While Todd and I haven't chosen to be part of a traditionally liturgical church in our adulthood, we have a really deep love for church history and the comfort that believers have found for hundreds of years in the creeds of orthodox Christianity.

Earlier this year, I was prayer journaling, and suddenly a Lutheran confession of prayer immediately rose to mind - a prayer I had recited dozens, or maybe even hundreds of times in my pre-conversion days without giving much thought to it.  But in reciting it recently, I found so much comfort in the deep truth I had unknowingly and almost effortlessly stored away in my heart and mind in those years.

Most merciful God,
We confess that we are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves.  We have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done and by what we have left undone.  We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.  For the sake of your Son, Jesus Christ, have mercy on us.  Forgive us, renew us, and lead us, so that we may delight in your will and walk in your ways, to the glory of your holy name.
Amen.

It got us talking about the importance of liturgy, tradition, and rote memorization in the life of faith.  While I don't think it should make up the entirety of our interactions with God, it is so helpful to enter into words and actions that have been clung to for generations.  So because our church isn't liturgical, Todd has really started making it a priority at home to help our kids memorize and understand some of the creeds and foundational texts.

One thing that has really helped us is finding resources where they're set to music, to make it easier for the kids to enter in, and quicker for them to memorize.  Here are a couple of our family's current favorites!

In Wednesday's video post, I'll be talking about other ways we initiate faith discussions with our kids in our everyday lives, so make sure to check that out!



*Unrelatedly, just a reminder that today's Marriage Boot Camp vlog will post today at 10 a.m. CST on my YouTube channel.  (Will someone let me know if that link works?)  I'll be talking about one tiny, seemingly insignificant word that has made a huge difference in my communication with Todd, and can likely help you, too - I bet you'll be surprised to find out what it is.

january and new churches.

Four years ago, we had just moved into our house in Cedar Falls.  Laurelai was about five months old, we were neck-deep in new ministry, and I was in the throes of a serious health crash and likely some postpartum depression.  (It's hard to know: church planting and postpartum depression feel kind of the same a lot of the time.)  And it was January.

To clarify, it wasn't just January.  It was January in Cedar Falls, where ice goes to cool down.  It was a record-breaking January in Cedar Falls.  The temperature gauge literally did not budge above zero degrees the. entire. month.  That's not an exaggeration.  It was so miserable.  I was so miserable.

Fast forward to last January.  It was our first January in Columbia, and it was gorgeous.  There was one day I got in the van to run to the store, and I was like, "Dang, it's cold out!"  So I looked at the temperature gauge and it was forty-two degrees.  Apparently it didn't take me long to get acclimated to the weather down here.

But even though it was warmer than Iowa, it was still the first winter of a church plant, and it was dark.  I so desperately just wanted to go home.  I wanted to throw in the towel and turn around and be done.

If I'm being honest, there are still a lot of days where I struggle.  If I'm being honest, life down here has been hard in a lot of ways.  Good, but hard.

But yesterday, I found myself in another January, with another new baby, in another somewhat new season of ministry, and in another new postpartum season... and I was outside in a Tshirt, grilling burgers for dinner.  And it hit me how 'the same' and yet how different our life is here, and how every place has its hardships... and every place sees its moments of just reveling in being where you are.

So I got to revel a little yesterday, and it felt good.

how we got involved in church planting.

Once, when we were in Cedar Falls, a lady in Lowe's started up a conversation with us, and eventually asked us why we had moved to the area.  I got to tell her we were church planting, and had been there for however long it had been at the time.  Her face went totally blank for a second, and then she said truthfully, "I'm Catholic, and I have no idea what that means."

Well, sure.  That's understandable.  Church planting isn't exactly a hot topic around the generalized dinner tables of America.  It's not even a commonly recognized ministry pursuit in all Christian circles, unlike, say, missions.  So I think there's a lot of ambiguity surrounding what it is and why we do it... and even what, exactly it is that we do.

So, first, here's the main gist of how we got involved.  Our original home church, Cornerstone, is a nondenominational, Bible-believing church that holds as a central core value the ministry of reaching the next generation (college students) with the gospel.  We were living in Ames, Iowa, where Iowa State University is, and our college ministry was really thriving.  Students were being reached, and lives were being radically changed by the good news.

Cornerstone started feeling a pull to reach not only its own community with the gospel, but other communities as well.  (Think about it like domestic missions, if that helps.)  So they decided to staff and fund a start-up church in Iowa City, to reach the students at the University of Iowa.  Todd and I were sitting in the Members' meeting the night they announced the plan, and watched as about eighty community folks and students volunteered to uproot their lives to help.  We looked around us at the volunteers, and were like, "That's all fine and good for them.  Glad they're going.  We, however, are never ever leaving Ames."

We ended up having a couple of kids, and buying a house.  (Our "forever" home!)  We got more and more deeply rooted in our community.  And then they announced they were planting another church in Cedar Falls, at the University of Northern Iowa.  And we were like, "Great for them!  Hope everyone who goes has a great time."  We clearly felt no pull to a life of church planting.

It was kind of a weird season of our lives, and long story short, the pastor leading Candeo (the Cedar Falls church plant) asked Todd if we would come.  I still don't really know why.  It was kind of out of left-field, but maybe that's what we needed.  We both realized pretty quickly that this was what God was asking us to do.  And it was the easiest and hardest decision I think we've ever made.

Todd isn't on staff with the church (he works in auto insurance), so he had to apply for jobs, and when he got a job that started before we sold our house, he had to move up there without me and the kids for a while.  We sold our beautiful big house and bought an adorable, tiny (1100 square foot!) crackerbox of a house for all of us, and we were thrown into more intense ministry than we'd previously ever experienced.  I can talk about it more later in the week, but I can say this now: it was hard.

So why on earth did we do it again a couple years later when Candeo decided to reach out and plant yet another church?  I still don't really know, but I can explain it the best I can tomorrow!

not to brag or anything.

Luther nailed the 95 theses to the church doors 500 years (and one day) ago!  Fast forward to four days ago: Todd got the privilege of preaching the topic of the Reformation and the timeless Gospel...  and he killed it.  If you have the time, you really should listen - it was so good.

To listen for yourself, go here and click on the most recent listing.

what it (sometimes) really feels like to church plant.

Last week was hard.  The students are back, and the church officially launched, and homeschool is in full swing.  There are things vying for my time and attention, and on the one hand it feels good, because I feel productive, and I feel most confident about myself when I'm actually accomplishing something.  But I think this church plant is exposing the lies I most readily believe: that I am only as valuable as my contributions.   That I stop existing when I'm no longer offering anything to anybody.  That I'm only worth as much as I can accomplish.

I think that can be the hard part of semi-nomadic ministry for me.  I feel like I pour myself into the ministry God gives me in a given spot, and then we're uprooted again, and I have nothing to show for it.  A few people have touched base since we left, but not many.  Almost no one asks, genuinely, how I'm doing with everything.  And if I'm being honest, I have been dealing with some hurt feelings and bitterness in response.

If I were to answer, genuinely, the question of how I'm doing with everything, I would say, "Not that well."  I hate our house, and I feel like a total ingrate because I can't just buck up and change my attitude about it.  I miss friends and family who don't seem to even notice or care that I've left.  I'm already drowning in homeschool and we're only three weeks in.  I think I may be in over my head with some of the outreach opportunities I've been given.  I get up at 8:00 in the morning, and by 10:30 I have to take a nap because I can't function.  And listing it all out makes me look like a sad-sack who can't get her crap together.

And I would still tell you that I wouldn't trade this life for anything.  I would still tell you that I'm absolutely convinced God will show up in this in amazing ways.  That he will use even this for my good.  These things are still true.  But it's hard.  It's lonely.  It's messy.  And I'm really tired.  These things are also true.  

perfect storm.

It has been a full couple of weeks.  School has been running smoothly, but it makes for very full days, which I'm still getting accustomed to.  I don't love having every second of every day dictated by a schedule, so that has worn me down.  Although, I did wait until yesterday to come completely unhinged by it, so in a weird way, that's a win.  I mean, I held it together for two full weeks.  That's progress, friendo.  That's growth.  However, I'm going to need to figure out a way to protect some QuietIntrovertSilentFunTime each day, or we're in for a pretty rough ride.

In addition, Connection Group has started up, and Anthem's soft launch was last night.  It's really exciting to see this thing we've been working toward finally get off the ground, but it comes with the knowledge that things are probably about to get really busy and really difficult. 

I think one of the hardest things about the pace of life over the last few years has been trying to achieve balance.  I need a lot of alone time and a lot of sleep in order to function like a decent, non-mutant human being, but I also have kids to raise, and teach, and enjoy the heck out of.  So... balance.  And I (have grown to) love ministry and having people in my home, but I'm also a deeply sweatpanted hermit with one million kids.  So... balance.  And we have moved to Missouri, where the homeschool laws are a pain in the tuckus, but I don't want to make our whole life revolve around school at the expense of our, well, whole life.  So... balance?  Maybe?  Hopefully?

I think yesterday's mental breakdown, and last night's soft launch, came with the sobering realization that this is it: this is where it gets difficult.  We will walk through trials.  We will make mistakes.  We will come unglued.  The straw that breaks the camel's back in this season will end up being a kid who put so many carrots in their mouth that they can't swallow any of the chewed up carrot-bits, or something equally ridiculous, and we will feel certain that we can't do any of this. 

It is coming.  We are not naïve this time.  We are standing on the porch in the middle of the tornado, and we already know what it will feel like when it hits us.  And maybe we're just idiots who should be hunkering down and hiding from the storm.  But maybe we'll know something more about awe and miracles and provision and faithfulness because we're willing to stand on the porch.

I don't know.  Maybe it's just the idiot thing.

so, i'm a podcast personality now. which is weird.

Last weekend, I got a chance to get together with my friend Tori, who discipled me when Atticus and Penelope were really little.  She's now doing a podcast for the women's ministry at Cornerstone Church of Ames, our church home when we lived there, and the hub of our church planting network.  She asked me if I'd be up for talking a little bit about our experience church planting, which is how I found myself doing my first-ever podcast.

Crazy.

As it turns out, I like to say the word, "yeah" a lot.  Like fifty bajillion times in any given 20-minute segment.  It's super annoying.  But I also said some other stuff, too, which hopefully redeemed the whole endeavor.

So, if you're up for reading listening between the 'yeahs,' or you just want to scratch that curious itch you've got about what my voice sounds like, you can listen to the podcast here under "The Church Planting Wife."  (That's me.)

as it turns out, we're church planters.

Five years ago yesterday, we purchased our first house in Story City.  Three years ago today, we left that house to move to Cedar Falls to help plant Candeo.  And today, we find ourselves nearing our move date to leave Cedar Falls to help plant Anthem in Columbia.  That's a lot in five years.

If you would have asked me a few years ago if I could see us being church planters, I would have said absolutely not.  If you would have asked me last year if I thought we'd ever plant a church again, I'd have said absolutely not.  It's crazy what God can change in a short amount of time.

A friend recently asked me if we're planning on staying in Columbia for a while, and I've come to realize that I can't answer that question easily.  Would I love to put down roots somewhere, and fall in love with a city that we're able to call home for the long haul?  Absolutely.  But probably more than anything else we've learned in this process, we've learned to hold our plans with very open hands.  God has plans for us, even now, that we can't possibly imagine.  Maybe that means another church plant, maybe not; I don't know.  I just know that I don't want to miss out on what he has for us by trying to direct my own life.

I have no idea what our future will look like, and that's cool with me.  I'm not even a little worried about it now.  Because I've seen God move in ways I could not have imagined, and I wouldn't have known to ask for.  I didn't ever think this would be a life I'd want.  And it's true, it's definitely not always an easy life.  But I've seen God move.  I have seen God perform literal miracles.  I've seen God change me into a person I definitely wouldn't be if I was still safe and comfy at home in Story City.  And I wouldn't trade any of it for that trivial safety and comfort.

So I urge you now: if you feel God is calling you to something, jump into it.  Even if it wasn't in your plan.  It will cost something, but it will pay something bigger.  Just do it.  Just follow.  Just obey.  Trust him to take care of you, even when it's scary and seems hopeless.  Give up whatever you need to give up, just pick his life for you.

If you want to see God's hand move in huge, obvious ways in your life, it is as hard and as easy as that.  I've heard it said that if you follow Jesus at a safe distance, you will stay both safe and distant.   Ask him where he wants you to go, and then just follow, whatever the cost.  As much as I can tell from my own experience, you won't regret it.