I wrote yesterday about choosing a Right Size Practice for yourself for Lent. We’ll shift today towards marking faith with your kids / youth. Marking the seasons of the church is a great way to practice faith formation at home. If you are part of a faith community, they may have resources to share with your family. There’s plenty of online spaces that will sell you a product to do Lent with your family. If you’re interested in hearing some of my favorites, drop a comment and I’ll share a few!

The focus of today’s post is more about tips on how to make it meaningful and not harmful to your kids rather than actual practices. It does assume some background knowledge of Lent. If there’s anyone reading this interested in a type of Lent 101 resource, leave a comment!

Before I even get to the tips though, let me say these disclosures:

1. If you haven’t ever practiced Lent with your kids, it’s okay - you don’t have to.

2. If you haven’t even thought about Lent yet, no worries - the world is crazy - no judgement here. If you’re interested, the tips may help you, if you’re not interested, that’s cool too!

3. You are not a bad parent / caregiver if you don’t want to do Lent.

4. The key to Spiritual Formation is to find rhythms that work for you (an actual human) and the other actual humans that live in your house.
   
   

Okay, onto the tips:

Be mindful with fasting

Fasting is a tricky concept to explain to your kids depending on their age. As a rule of thumb, I don’t usually suggest a food based fast for kids and youth. There is too much messaging around food that is confusing enough for them and fasting can quickly get murky or promote disordered eating. Even if it’s something like candy, dessert, or soda - it can quickly put too much focus or value on that item.

This may be shocking - but for kids 12 and under, I also wouldn’t necessarily promote a fast of any kind. Fasting is tricky for young kids because they don’t have the long term mindset that adults do. Time feels different to them and I’m not always sure the formation pay off is worth the struggle in helping them manage their desires. Especially if they haven’t developed this practice in shorter amounts of time.

If a fast is the way you want to go, there are ways to do it without confusion or harm. Maybe choose something for your whole family to fast together. Or break the 40 days up into shorter time periods. Maybe they give something up one day at a time, or one week if they are older. However you choose to do it, make sure you are clear on the why and keep checking in with them. They’ll need space to process what is coming up for them.

Let them choose.

If you’re been around me for any length of time, you’ll know that I’m a big fan of giving kids and youth agency in their faith formation. However you choose to observe Lent - whether it’s fasting or adding a practice in, let them choose.

For younger kids (Preschool - 2nd grade) this could look like coming up with a few different ideas for a devotional time and each day letting them pick which one they want that day.

For elementary kids (3rd - 6th grade) this could look like conversations on what they want to try in this Lent season. This could be a gratitude practice, reading the Bible, journaling, Prayer, memorizing scripture. Or maybe they are curious about fasting, encourage them to take it slow and try little things.

For youth (7th - 12th grade), I’d put them completely in the driver’s seat of their Lent. If you’ve never done Lent before and they aren’t interested - don’t force it. You could ask them to participate in a family practice or even set time aside for meaningful conversation, but if you want to help them find faith meaningful on their own, I wouldn’t force it.

Lent is not for Behavior Modification

This is a big one for me and stems from the “Let them choose” tip. As a parent / caregiver, it is easy to see the things we think are getting in the way of them growing into the best, most authentic version of themselves. And while you can absolutely suggest that maybe they could spend less time on their screens or journal their feelings, the practice of Lent is not the time for those things. Again, if you want your kids/youth to find faith meaningful in their own way - you don’t want to mix up the discovery of God and faith with things the ways YOU want them to be better/different.

Share your own practices

Open up about your Lent practices with your kids. If they see you modeling your faith formation, it will make it easier / more interesting to them in a natural way. If your family has never really done this before, this is maybe where you want to start. Choosing your own practice and then just talking about it.

Your whole family doesn’t have to be on board for it to be meaningful for your whole family.

(I may write more about this in the future because even as I typed it out, I was like - yep, that’s important to note.)

If you’re looking for more resources or topics like this to aide in your parenting / caregiving, drop a comment and help me understand what else you’re looking for!

I mean obviously January and the first half of February weren’t empty. There’s so much that’s been happening that has had me turning inward a little more than outward.

January started off so strongly - we had a great Christmas with family and for the first time in the last 6 years, we finished our Hello Goodbye processing before mid January - which is a feat for us.

Then the ICE occupation of MN started and I watched as my former home was (still is) being terrorized. It was heartbreaking to see my friends and former students experiencing such violence and fear. But also inspiring to see so many people speaking out, resisting, educating themselves, putting themselves in between ICE agents and vulnerable populations, singing and art as resistance. The mix of terror and pride is a strange cocktail of emotion.

To say there’s been a lot to process in our world is an understatement. And as I am continually tweaking how I want to engage with all of it publicly and who my audience is for this writing, I haven’t been quick to hit that publish button.

This season has also been one of adjustment. Coming back from the holidays, I jumped two feet into movement forward in my newish job. This job is stretching me in ways I didn’t expect, but it’s been so good. The last couple weeks the admin work has finally started to pay off with actual time spent leading groups. I’m excited for what’s to come in this job, but it has been an adjustment.

So here we are, a couple of days out from Ash Wednesday and preparing for this season of Lent. And I find myself asking, how do I want to mark this season of Lent?

My advent of writing was really good for me. It was just the right amount of challenge for me, and the ways my community encouraged me and named the good that they saw in my writing. It was good practice.

And now - we have Lent. The season where we cut things out to focus our hearts and minds on God. I’ve had all sorts of Lents in my time as a Christian:

• The church wide fast that my senior pastor made me participate in (I did the Daniel Fast with the rest of the youth staff - we were not okay)

• As a kid, we did the typical Lent of giving up something that we like a lot (mine was usually candy) and didn’t eat meat on Fridays.

• I’ve boycotted Lent and not given anything up

• I’ve added in practices

• I’ve read a devotional alongside a friend and texted every day our responses (this one was a favorite)

• One year, because of a podcast I’d listened to, I gave up a thought pattern

• I’ve given up or reduced my social media / phone time

• One year I “put myself in the wilderness” by doing an intentional time of discernment on whether or not I was meant to leave the church I was serving at the time. I thought by Easter I’d have my answer - I did not.

• One year, Jed and I gave up watching TV in the evenings during the work week

• There was one year that I had like 5 things on my Lent list, it was an overachieving nightmare

As I head into Lent this year, I am very aware that with such chaos in the world around me and the shape my life has taken - I am in need of a low pressure Lent. Maybe you’re in a similar spot, so I thought I would share how I’m thinking about Lent this year and the questions guiding me.

What’s something I do or have a lot that’s not helping me?

In thinking about something I could give up, I want to look at something that isn’t serving me. It could be an activity, a food, drink, etc. Some may call it a vice, or a coping mechanism. This year I’m defining it as something that I used to seek comfort in that is no longer serving that purpose.

For me, in this moment of life, it’s probably TikTok - something I have previously given up for Lent and had gotten a lot better at not just scrolling. TikTok has been a great tool for connection for me. Yes, it’s also an incredible time waster. When I’m engaging well with it, I’ve been able to open doors to communities that I may never have access to, it has helped me learn and broaden my perspectives. It’s also made me feel less alone in a lot of times where I have needed to connect with other people deconstructing or processing their journeys. However, I’ve noticed in the last year it has really increased to the point that I’m not sure it’s really helping anymore.

It might be time to look at my relationship with TikTok, which leads me to the next question:

Where do I need a reset?

Lent is a good time to think about the rhythms you live in during your day or week. Maybe there’s something that you want to add into your rhythm or take away. For example, the year that Jed and I gave up TV in the evenings - we had noticed that every night had become just binge watching TV from dinner until bed. We took Lent to interrupt that rhythm and try other, new things. We read, or played games, and took walks together. It was a much needed reset for our night routines.

This also could be a spiritual practice. Maybe you’re feeling mundane in how you are connecting to your spiritual life and it’s time to reset. You could try something drastically new, or pick up something you’ve put down for a while.

Am I in need of connection or solitude?

Sometimes, we feel lonely and are in need of connecting with others more. My first Lent in Chicago, I felt incredibly lonely and didn’t know how to name it. I hadn’t made many friends here yet and was missing the people who knew me well. That was the year that a dear friend of mine suggested that we read Kate Bowler’s devotional together. Every day we texted each other whenever we read the short devo with our reactions. It was exactly what my heart needed - low pressure but high connection.

Other times, especially when I’ve worked in church leadership or have felt over scheduled, I’ve needed solitude. Like the year that I “put myself in the wilderness.” I had been feeling like it was all too much and so that year I decided my lent practice would be just between God and I. I had a devotional that I was going through and I processed it only in my journal and prayer times. I spent a lot of that Lent along with my thoughts and God. It may not have given me the exact answer I had hoped for, but it did give me an intimacy with God that I needed for the next thing that was going to happen.

And lastly, is there something rising in me that makes me uncomfortable?

I’m not talking about the good discomfort that helps you grow - I’m talking about the kind of discomfort that comes from living outside of our values. With everything we are carrying these days, it’s natural for some negativity to seep into our thoughts or actions. Usually, even if in the moment it feels good, if it goes against your value system, it stings just a little bit (or a lot). We can tend to overlook that sting when we don’t want to be accountable. It’s a totally human response.

Lent is a great time to take that discomfort head on. To look at it, turn it over, find its source, and address it. For me, this year, it’s cynicism. As I work through my reconstruction of faith for my own life, I am still finding some cynicism that exists from my past hurts. I’m not a typically cynical person, so when it pops up in my thoughts or language, it stings. It can lead me to dehumanizing, othering, and isolating myself, which goes against my core beliefs.

Now, can I give up cynicism for Lent? Not exactly. But, I can pay attention to it, maybe it’ll be through journaling. Maybe it’ll be through prayers of examen. Maybe it will look like a practice I do when I feel it rising up in me. This part I haven’t really figured out yet, but I know it needs looking at.

Right Size Your Lent

The last thing I want to share with you, is the encouragement to right size your Lent. As you look at your life, your margins, your busyness - be honest with yourself about what will work for you this year. I do believe that Lent is a time to disrupt your day to day, to make changes and get unstuck. But it has to make sense for you and where you’re at in your journey / life.

All that to say, I’d love to hear any thoughts or answers to these questions! Feel free to jump in the comments or send me your thoughts as you process.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Last week I listened to Jen Hatmaker’s memoir, Awake. I’ve been a long time Jen fan, but this book really resonated with me for lots of reasons. One of the reasons I chose to listen to it was that I had heard that whenever she talked about a piece of advice or text she got from a friend of hers, she had them read the text in the audiobook.

I thought that’d be a fun addition to the experience but what I didn’t expect was to tear up every single time I heard the voice of one of her friends or parents. Without fail, every single time. I was surprised at the tears, so I dug into the why behind them, and here’s what I realized - I teared up because I was resonating with the amount of gratitude for the people who walk through difficult times with you.

So for my last post of this daily writing journey, I decided to be incredibly cheesy and highlight a few of my own people who have brought me through this year.

Our families

I am so thankful for our family. For my Denver family - the ones who built me and love me in all my bossy glory. For always answering when I call, for bringing me frozen chilis in suitcases, for pampering me whenever I’m in town, for the moments playing endless card games and trashtalking, for texts during Broncos games that make me feel like the distance isn’t that far.

I am one of the lucky ones that married into a family that accepted me from day one. I’m incredibly thankful for the support of each and every one of my in-laws. For happy hours where we dive into deep conversations and process our lives, for celebrating engagements and graduations, for all the encouragement of my writing and stepping out in new ways, for honesty and grace in moments of struggle.

Our Small Group

Every other Sunday afternoon finds us among friends around a table reflecting and sharing what God’s doing in and around us. These friends have carried me this year, they’ve pastored me, they’ve hugged me, they’ve encouraged me, they’ve let me cry, they’ve made me laugh, they’ve celebrated with me. I’m thankful for my relationship with each of them and for the space we inhabit all together.

A special shout out to the kids of my small group - they inspire me to keep going. I’ve learned so much from the ways they’ve shown up in their own little lives - growing and sharing their passions with the world. There were times when I would show up to a small group feeling less than myself, but without fail, playing with them, hearing them giggle or shout “Again!” as we play - it rejuvenates me every time.

Restore and Open Studio

Last January, Jed and I attended a workshop that partnered art with self reflection and healing. That morning led to many Saturday mornings and Friday nights around the table at Open studio which unlocked my creative side.

It also brought me a friendship that provided a safe space to unpack a lot of what I’ve been carrying. I am so incredibly thankful for this thought partner, collaborator, and friend. For all the time spent talking, dreaming, creating, and for all the ways she has challenged me, opened my eyes, and helped me unlock new thoughts and healing. I am incredibly grateful.

My Book Club

Also last January (or December?) a good friend of mine from seminary posed the idea of a book club for women of color where we only read books by women of color. I offered to host and it has been a source of deep joy and connection this year. Not only did I learn that I can and enjoy hosting, but I made some great new friends and read some great books along the way. I am so thankful for this dear friend of mine and her dream for this space for us.

Our Minnesotans

When we left MN so suddenly, we were so sad to leave some very deep friendships. I’m so incredibly thankful for those who have weathered the distance with us. For coming to stay with us, for meet ups, for the texts, for the virtual happy hours. Thanks for not letting the distance get too far.

My Fab Four Moms

There is this group of moms who I met when I served at a church out in the suburbs. Their kids have been friends since preschool (they are now graduated from college and living their own adult lives. These Moms adopted me when I was their kids’ youth pastors and have continued to be my safe space. Thanks for the pool days, for dinners, for drinks on the best deck in the NW Suburbs, for loving me and encouraging me always.

Thank you to all those who have walked with me (Jed and I) during this season. 2025 has been a doozy of a year, but as I am entering 2026 feeling more myself than I’ve felt in a long time. I’ll be taking the rest of 2025 off of writing, but I’ll be back in January. Probably not every day but hopefully a little more focused.

Yesterday I posted the beginning of a story from Christmas Eve from years ago, you can read it here before reading the rest of this story. (Please note - this story is from my perspective and how I remember it, so if you are one of those three nieces reading it and you remember it differently, this is the remix.)

So my mom says, “Why doesn’t Tia tell you the Jesus Christmas Story?”

The three girls’ heads turn towards me. The littlest, I think she was 3, says, “Who’s Jesus?” To be fair, I think she may have known who Jesus was, but she had probably never been to church before and so Jesus wasn’t a regular part of her vernacular.

The middle one, she was 6ish, points to my mom’s nativity that sits on the entry table every Christmas season. “That’s Jesus.” I’m sure the oldest, she would have been 11, also gave her own answer to the “Who’s Jesus” question - she had the most experience with Jesus and this story. Some amount of sisterly conversation begins here and fills the living room.

Meanwhile, I am panicking about being put on the spot to be the first one to share this story with our littlest Vela. I’m suddenly feeling all the pressure of “doing it right,” before I hear my own voice that I’ve used with parents and caregivers for years saying, “there’s not a right way, just be you.”

So I call the three of them over, and I start to tell them the story. No Kids Bible with bright, descriptive pictures, no adult Bible to remind me of the sequence of events, just my voice and their imagination. The littlest and the middle girls stop me a dozen times throughout the story with questions or comments - sometimes the oldest helps me fill in the blanks or answers her sisters’ questions while other times she agrees when they say it sounds weird.

The whole exercise is over in about 10 minutes. I wouldn’t say it was magical. I won’t pretend like there was any big conclusion or faith confession. I’m fairly positive they don’t even remember it happening. But for a moment that year, we paused and told this ancient story. I’m not sure we ever did it again in that “formal” way.

I think we put a lot of pressure on holidays like Christmas Eve or Christmas or Good Friday or Easter. We think that in order to be faithful we have to have the perfect faith moment in our day to commemorate these big parts of our shared faith story.

But the reality is, the story of Jesus’s birth wasn’t perfect. The fact that the God of the universe answered the people’s cry with a baby is kind of absurd. We tell this very sanitized version of events but the reality was, this little family had to flee political violence just after the birth. The people of God still had three decades of waiting for Jesus to begin his form ministry, and even then, he almost never gave them a straight, indisputable answer to what they would do next.

With one exception - his clearest instruction was this: Love the Lord your God with all your strength, all your mind, and all your soul. AND love your neighbor as yourself.

So this Christmas eve, my hope for you is that you find a quiet way to honor one piece of that command.

It could look like some moment of worship - honoring God in your day with a song, a reading, a thank you.

It could look like some moment of kindness to someone else - a hug, a gift, forgiving a slight from a family member who is annoying you.

It could look like loving yourself - letting yourself off the hook and not doing every little thing perfectly, taking a long shower, excusing yourself for a moment alone in the midst of the busy.

However you mark this Christmas Eve, may you feel the presence of the Spirit in a tangible way.

I have this memory of one particular Christmas Eve probably about 9 or 10 years ago, when my nieces were still little and our family still gathered on Christmas Eve. Back then my aunt had a tradition of reading ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas to the kids to calm them down before bed. She had started it with her own daughter when she was young and it had bled into our house as well. The kids would get into their pajamas, we’d sit around the living room near the Christmas tree. The milk, cookies, and carrots were out for Santa - it was the last thing before bed on Christmas Eve.

That year, the kids were not settling down much and needed another story. So my mom suggested we tell the “Jesus Christmas Story,” and everyone looked at me - the Pastor. Turns out, my littlest niece hadn’t actually ever heard the story before, and everyone thought it was a great idea.

The problem is - my family isn’t the kind of family with Kids’ Bibles around. We’re actually not the type of family that has Bibles around. After a series of disappointments and frustrations, they had all stopped attending church. Even though I spent all my work hours teaching the stories of the Bible to kids and youth, I felt suddenly put on the spot to put it into practice with my own family.

The truth was (and still is), I was never very good at evangelizing to my own family. I knew so many pastors who talked about their families as people to save - saddened by the apparent lack of faith of their younger family members. Those comments always got under my skin. I knew exactly why my family was no longer attending church. I knew it was not because of a lack of faith but rather because of a pastor who viewed them as a number in the seats rather than real humans with feelings.

As a Tia to these three littles, I never wanted to make them feel like they had to follow in a particular way. I didn’t want to overstep how their parents were raising them, instead, I hoped that I would share my faith by living example. I hoped that when they had questions or wanted to seek out faith, that they could reach out to me and find a safe space. Just like when they have a stain they need to get out they go to my mom - the stain queen. Or that if they get hurt they should call my aunt - the nurse.

This approach seems really hands off, but it’s worked for us, and continues to work as they grow up and as I became aunt to two more nieces and a nephew. It’s led to some really tender moments with them - some lighthearted, some devastatingly deep.

This is one of the many reasons why I’m learning to redefine how I approach ministry. The role of pastor that was handed to me all those years ago in seminary felt very authoritative. It started with pure motives - I have this good news of the gospel and I want it to spread to everyone - but over time the message got corroded - Following Jesus means this type of life, this type of college, this type of relationship, this type of gender roles, etc.

I think I always felt this tension in my pastoral ministry, especially in the evangelical church. I knew we weren’t the only ones following Jesus. I knew there were other ways to interpret, worship, pray, and experience God. But I often felt like we were stuck in these molds in order to spit out disciples that all looked exactly the same. I never wanted my ministry to look like that.

As I’ve spent this last year refocusing, the thing that remains true in my call is that I care deeply about the next generation. I want spaces for them to become who they are becoming, not who I (or anyone other than God) tell them they should be. I want spaces where they are empowered to be co-creators with God. I want spaces where they learn how to connect, how to kindly disagree, how to trust themselves, how to sense the wisdom of the Spirit already in them.

This is what I’m working to create, what I’m hoping will be born in 2026. A place for the next generation to gather where they have power and agency. Where they are walked alongside in their journeys. My role at the table is part guide (helping them to see the paths ahead of them), part coach (helping them to use their own skills and intuition to choose their path), and part pastor (sharing my knowledge and experience as applicable).

As a secondary part of that, I am also hoping to create spaces for those who are parenting this next generation. I want to share some wisdom I’ve collected as well as provide spaces where parents can commiserate, encourage, and share what has worked or not worked. We’ll tackle lots of big topics like gender and sexuality, neurodivergent kids (and parents), age appropriate ways to talk about our burning world. We’ll also talk about resources - how to talk about the Bible with your kids, tips and tricks for making the Bible feel accessible and authentic in conversation, and ways to create lasting faith memories by marking milestones within your family.

If any of that is of interest to you - make sure you’re subscribed below. In the new year I’ll launch officially with ways to get involved and some ideas for pilot groups. Please think about sharing it with your circles, consider if/how you may want to contribute or partner with me, or simply send me some encouragement!

(Tune in tomorrow for the rest of that Christmas Eve Story - it’ll be a short one, I promise)

We went to church in person on Sunday. For those of you just joining us, Jed and I decided to try different local churches for the Advent season. Week 1 we visited a Lutheran church virtually. Week 2 we visited an Episcopal Church virtually. (I’m linking the posts where I wrote about each of those visits). Week 3, we had family in town, so instead of attending a church service, we attended a performance of Händel’s Messiah that a friend of ours was singing in.

This past Sunday, we decided to go to church in person. After two late nights in a row celebrating Christmas, we got ourselves ready to venture out to the Episcopal Church we had watched online. We walked in just a little bit late and the pews were filled. It took a few moments to figure out where to sit and so by the time we got to our seats, I was feeling a little stressed.

One thing I knew about an Episcopal church in theory, but didn’t know how to go about in practice - juggling my coffee mug with the bulletin that contains all of the calls and responses. Already a little jammed in the pews, I did my best to turn the pages and read along while not spilling my coffee. Note to self, if we choose this church, we’ll need to wake up early enough to drink coffee before coming.

We happened upon a Sunday that was a bit of a celebration - the long time music director had been ordained on Saturday and this was the first service he was presiding over. The joy that emanated from him was tangible. Several times he was overwhelmed by emotions as he imperfectly led the service. It was touching to see the obvious reverence and joy in his service to the church.

As they were setting the communion table, I noticed they brought out two bottles of Champagne. They popped them as they were reading the elements and one of the bottles overflowed all over the table. As the congregation giggled, the rector quickly cleaned it up with a big smile on her face. Anyone who knows me knows I love a great awkward moment during a sacrament. I think there’s something incredibly humbling when something goes wrong in a Holy moment. Almost like a reminder that we as humans are unable to do it alone, it’s the mystery of the Spirit that actually makes the moment Holy.

As they started to serve communion, I recognized my body reacting to a trigger. I suddenly got really anxious about taking communion in a new space. Although they had given clear instructions, I was nervous about a common cup situation - especially one filled with fizzy champagne. As I watched groups of people approaching the front to partake in groups of 5-7, I felt a memory pop up from my ministry past.

My whole body felt the trigger of anxiety, but this time, I knew what to do about it. I looked around the room, reminding myself I was in a new space. I began box breathing as I told myself I was safe. I felt my body begin to relax and come back to the present.

At the end of the service, during the time of announcements, there were more remarks about the newly ordained associate vicar and I was moved by the love and appreciation this congregation had for this man. I think it says a lot about a church how they celebrate their people, the ways they hold space for those that faithfully serve in roles of leadership.

The service finished and we ran into a former mentor of mine from Seminary. She gave me a big hug while inquiring about what we were doing there in her church. We caught up a little bit and she walked us through to the little hallways to where food was set up in celebration. There we ran into another Seminary friend of mine who introduced us to a few people.

A couple of times, when people heard we were visiting for the first time, they commented that the service today was obviously longer than usual. They all kind of gave the sentiment that it was an odd Sunday to visit but that we got the general vibe of this congregation. It’s “high church” with a bit of a flair.

As we walked to the car and drove home, Jed and I processed what came up in us during the service. What we liked and what was still a possible yellow flag. I was sure I would feel out of place in such a liturgical space, but it vaguely brought back the memories I had of attending Mass at my little Catholic church on the East coast that I loved so much.

I’m not sure if we’ll land at the church or not. Or if the Episcopal church is the one for us. All I know is that it felt good to be in service again.

This Sunday I once again invite you to an advent practice:

Each Sunday of Advent I’m including one text from the week’s lectionary (in full can be found here) for you to read and a corresponding hymn or song to listen to as you sit and allow the Spirit to do their thing in your heart. This week we’ll read Matthew 1:18-25 (CEB). As we are approaching Christmas Eve, I like turning our attention towards Mary and Joseph. For this week’s song, we’ll listen to “O Come O Come Emmanuel” done by Josh Garrels. Josh Garrels’s Christmas album is listened to at least once a day (if not more) in our house. So I hope you enjoy this version.

Find a comfy seat, maybe there’s a blanket or warm beverage involved. Take a deep breath in, invite the Spirit to speak to you today through scripture and song:

Matthew 1:18-25 (CEB):

This is how the birth of Jesus Christ took place. When Mary his mother was engaged to Joseph, before they were married, she became pregnant by the Holy Spirit. Joseph her husband was a righteous man. Because he didn’t want to humiliate her, he decided to call off their engagement quietly. As he was thinking about this, an angel from the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph son of David, don’t be afraid to take Mary as your wife, because the child she carries was conceived by the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you will call him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” Now all of this took place so that what the Lord had spoken through the prophet would be fulfilled:

Look! A virgin will become pregnant and give birth to a son,
And they will call him, Emmanuel.

(Emmanuel means “God with us.”)

When Joseph woke up, he did just as an angel from God commanded and took Mary as his wife. But he didn’t have sexual relations with her until she gave birth to a son. Joseph called him Jesus.

Listen to “O Come O Come Emmanuel” by Josh Garrels here.

When we were looking for a place to live in Chicago, we landed in a familiarish neighborhood. It’s a neighborhood I knew well enough from my time in Seminary but once we moved in, we were ready to explore what all was there. The first order of business was to find a reliable, walkable restaurant where we could get gluten-free food. We used our GF Finder app and stumbled upon a bar and grille in our neighborhood that had a ton of GF on their menu and lots of good reviews about knowledge of cross contamination.

The first week we moved into our apartment, we were at that restaurant three times.

It became our go-to place. The place we’d go when we didn’t have the energy to make dinner and were out of frozen pizzas. The place we’d go to get a quick bite before getting on the El to go to a concert. The place we’d stop at on the way home from being out too long and forgetting that we needed food. Our post Sunday morning processing place.

It’s also where we found Timmy. Timmy has worked there forever. They call him the Mayor. He’s the type of server that will give you the honest review of anything on the menu. He’ll tell you that if you really want steak tacos to go to the place down the street instead of ordering them there, but the chicken ones are fire.

Timmy makes the best playlists and always is up on the latest pop music. He’s also the type of server that remembers your name, your order, asks you about what’s new in life and actually wants to know. I remember the time he found out I was a pastor and then for weeks after he was asking what my lesson was that week.

A core Timmy memory I have was from our first Advent season here. We were eating dinner there one night and Timmy told us about this caroling event happening the next week. Unfortunately, we were going to be out of town already to spend Christmas in Denver. So at the end of that night, after we closed out, he came and sat down at our table and sang us a clip of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” which just happens to be my favorite Christmas song.

Now, that may sound weird, but what I learned that night was that Timmy is an incredible singing voice. He used to sing with the Chicago Children’s Choir as a kid. This moment felt incredibly special, even though I usually would hate that kind of attention. But honestly, Timmy just has that kind of energy that invites you in. He lives his life all in and for some reason, when he invites you in with him, it feels special.

The next advent, we were going to be in town on the night of caroling, so we planned to go have dinner and watch. We were in the trenches last year at advent. The caroling fell on a night where it felt like everything was just about to fall apart. We were hanging on to hope that we were going to be okay, but we weren’t sure. Christmas didn’t feel great for us, but we were hoping that good burgers and some Christmas carols would make it better.

Turns out, Timmy’s caroling group is composed of alumni of the Chicago Children’s Choir. They’ve been singing together every Christmas season since the early 2000s. They are incredible. They enter through the back door, sing through the restaurant before posting up in the front to perform about a half hour of Christmas tunes. It is honestly magical.

Last year, it felt like a bright spot in a dark season. A reminder to us that we were in a community within our neighborhood.

Last night after dinner and a virtual hang with some dear friends, we walked down for the night of caroling. The place was packed, we snagged two seats at the bar and ordered drinks from Kelly, one of our other favorites. The place was buzzing with energy, even before the carolers arrived. It was so incredibly loud that we had a hard time even talking and we couldn’t even turn towards each other at the bar.

Then the faint sound of bells started, everyone started clapping - the carolers arrived. As they sang, the whole place was enthralled. Each member of the group had a song they were featured on, there were silly moments and there were tender moments. When one of the women belted out “O Holy Night,” I got a little emotional.

This season I wanted to see the growth of the seeds I’ve been planting all around. And in that moment, I felt like I was seeing a little baby plant, rather than a seedling. This little neighborhood bar has become almost like an extension of our home here. We are known here.

One of the things that I hear most often about what people miss about Church after they leave is the fellowship hall moments. It’s the third space that they are missing. Not work, not home, but a place where you see the same people week after week and create community. Without even realizing it, that’s what we found at our little neighborhood bar.

It makes me wonder - if you’re not finding yourself in a church community, what’s a third space you’ve found?

Last night, over a late dinner at the bar of our favorite neighborhood restaurant, Jed said to me, “I feel like we’re doing really well with Advent this year.” It took me by surprise for a moment because at that moment, we were eating out because I was too tired and overwhelmed that morning to come up with an actual plan for dinner. We were discussing the fact that we have yet to buy or send the remaining Christmas presents on the list, and talking about calling an audible for our own presents to one another.

I looked at him a little bewildered but before I responded with my list of ways we hadn’t in fact done this season well, I took a beat and reflected. We have attended (virtually) two church services. We went to watch a friend sing in Handel’s Messiah while my mom and niece were in town. We also went to the Christmas Market, took pictures with the big Christmas tree downtown, and walked blocks to visit a second Christmas tree. Jed has read his Advent devotional almost every day and I’ve kept up with my writing. We traveled up to celebrate our nephew’s engagement and spent a great night in deep conversation with Jed’s brother and sister-in-law. We called an audible with our small group and gathered around a different table to chat and laugh.

This season has been marked with lingering. We’ve allowed ourselves to slow down and enjoy the season. We’ve tuned into our hearts desires more and been spontaneous. The only thing we haven’t really done is watch a Christmas movie in its entirety - but it’s on the agenda.

This is not to say that this season hasn’t felt hurried. Plenty of times it has felt rushed, or as if it’s flying by, like we blinked and it’s suddenly the 19th. But I think December will always feel that way. What matters, to me, in this season is that when I look back on it, I feel the warmth of the memories.

After taking this stock, I looked at Jed and agreed. Yes, this advent season has been full and it’s been good. We’ve been able to savor it, even in the midst of being busy. Even as I write this, I’m suddenly remembering a dream we had for our lives a long time ago:

Back when we were engaged, we had a date night with dinner and a show. We went to this very swanky dinner in downtown Minneapolis and while we ate we noticed a man sitting at the bar. After a while, a woman joined him for a drink. We told ourselves a story about them that he had just gotten off work and she was meeting him for a drink because they lived nearby.

At the time, Jed was still on his sabbatical and we dreamed of the idea that could be us one day. He could get off of work at his fancy downtown job and I would come meet him near the office for a drink or dinner. We often talk about that and how much we still want that to be true in some fashion or another.

Well, as I write this, in real time, I realized that we lived that dream last night. Or at least our version of it. I had been at the Holiday party for my new job, Jed had finished his work day and was home waiting on me. I texted that I was going to be late because I was enjoying time with my new coworkers. When I left, I texted him and he walked down to meet me for dinner. We walked in and it was packed, so we sat at the bar. We caught up with our favorite server and then spent the night in deep conversation about the current state of our lives.

I think back to that engaged couple, dreaming a little dream of their future and I look at this couple here, six and a half years later. This life is nothing like I imagined it back when I said yes to marrying him. But we’ve pivoted together, we’ve grown together, and we are building new dreams while living out the dream we had together.

I have all sorts of expectations for myself, my life, and the way that I live and I am really hard on myself when I don’t feel like I’m meeting those expectations. But what I’m learning is that sometimes my expectations are not always about measuring the right thing. For a successful advent season this year, it’s not about getting everything done perfectly and on time. It’s about showing up as the most authentic me, doing my best at loving myself and the world around me. And so, yes, I look back on this advent and I can say that I’ve done pretty well this year.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the journey that Mary and Joseph took to Bethlehem. I’ve always imagined the journey of a pregnant Mary on a donkey towards Bethlehem to be of discomfort. Today I am curious about Mary’s experience being pregnant with the child of God. I’ve never been pregnant, but I know from my friends who have carried children, there is a presence that they feel with them in their child inside of them.

I’m sure that Mary felt that, but I’m curious if Mary also had a close communion with the Holy Spirit during that time. If the bonus of being an unwed mother to the son of God was that you always get to feel the closeness of the Holy Spirit. Was she unwavering in her faith because she felt the closeness of God wherever she went?

I want to imagine that is true. That God flooded her with the Spirit and that she felt comforted.

AND I imagine that the journey was still hard. She was still uncomfortable on that donkey. She was still aware of the way that people looked at her and Joseph. She was still unsure of all the ways her life was about to change. She still belonged to a people that were being crushed by the empire.

And that was all the things she did know. She didn’t know that once she got to Bethlehem, it would be crowded. She didn’t know that the King was plotting for the death of her child. She didn’t know how the community would accept or not accept her Son. She didn’t know that she would have to watch her Son suffer and die a really terrible death.

There have been so many moments in my journey with God where I felt that tangible presence of the Spirit.

Sometimes they were moments of joy.

Sometimes they were in moments where I was feeling deep shame.

Sometimes they were in moments when I was alone.

Sometimes they were in moments when the Spirit was channeling through my loved ones.

When I share my story of “coming to Christ,” I often share about how when I said yes to following Jesus, I was being sold a false promise of an easy life full of neverending joy.

The promise I was saying yes to was that in an instant, accepting Jesus into my heart was going to completely fix the brokenness that was all over me and the life I was stuck in. I thought that becoming a Christian meant that everything was going to start getting better. I know more now that that’s a specific brand of evangelicalism that wants us to believe that we’ll get everything we ever dreamed of simply by saying the right words to a prayer.

Thankfully, I had a youth pastor that didn’t shy away from my big doubts about how after saying yes to Jesus on that winter retreat, my life actually got worse. The floor fell out beneath me in so many ways. My youth pastor faithfully walked alongside me during this season, picking me up when I fell or joining me on the ground when I couldn’t get up (metaphorically and physically).

It took me a long time to deconstruct the lies that were sewn so deeply in me during that time. Evangelicalism wants to sell you on a picture perfect life that will deliver all that you hope for, or more accurately, all that they tell you to hope for. You have to lose your humanity. Lose the realness of the struggle of day to day life. Lose the ability to feel empathy. As a woman, lose your autonomy and leadership skills. As a man, lose your softness.

I often felt that by not becoming a Christian until high school, that I didn’t pick up all the evangelical muck that my friends did. But in recent years, I’m still discovering it in my subconscious. While I deconstruct, I’m so incredibly thankful for that tangible presence of the Spirit that has not once left me.

These journeys of faith that we are all on are not promised to be smooth, that’s an evangelical lie that you can put down. It’s okay if it’s been rocky. It’s okay if it feels like riding a donkey through a desert while in your third trimester.

It’s okay if it feels like what I sometimes think Joseph might have felt, like the loneliness of your own doubt when someone you love is so sure.

Whatever this journey has felt like for you, my hope for you in this season is that you feel the tangible presence of the Spirit in whatever way it comes to you. Through friends, through a quiet night beside your Christmas tree, through good food or drink, or through a kind moment through a stranger.

Subscribe now

A little admin before we get into today’s post: Last week I went straight from a four day spiritual retreat with my apprenticeship cohort to 4 days with my family in town and then into a full work day with a Christmas party and then therapy. I worked hard to keep up with writing and posting but alas - yesterday caught up to me and the time I had mentally put aside to write needed to be a lay in my bed in the dark and scroll hour instead. Hopefully Day 16 is the only day I miss, but I am proud of myself so far with keeping up.

I haven’t spoken much about the new job, which is slightly purposeful because I’m keeping a lot of details vague in this space. I started this job a month ago and while I am still learning all the ins and outs of our programs and how I’m going to serve in this space, one thing I will say is that my title is “Spiritual Formation Coach.”

Within my first week of training, as we were deep diving into the Executive Skills model that our agency uses, we had training on setting goals. Now, I am terrible at setting goals. And because of some outside events that were uncontrollable, I was the only person in that training. It was just me and the trainer. This meant that I was able to quietly admit to this person, on my second day of work, that I didn’t know how to set a goal. Which, basically, is the bedrock of my new job - helping and resourcing our participants in reaching their spiritual formation goals.

To be fair - I have never been taught to set goals. I’ve never been a future imaginer. I’ve never worked under someone who was skilled at helping me set goals and stick to them. In classic church ministry style, we would set goals for a year and then promptly never look at them again.

In theory, I understand goals. I understand SMART goals even - why they need to be measurable, timely, etc. But I’ve never had practice at setting and sticking to a tangible goal.

As I was in this training, I was instructed to set a goal to achieve by the end of the year. Originally my goal was to figure out how to balance my new work life with my “building a youth ministry outside of the church” life with a dash of “don’t let my personal life fall apart.” The goal was to figure out how to set aside time to focus on the different buckets and if I achieved my goal, I was going to buy myself a new planner for the new year.

Right after that goal was set, I realized that I wasn’t quite ready for the construction stage to start. Instead, this little writing project came into view and my new goal - Write every day of Advent. This goal still required the same time management skills as starting the building, so I feel like it still counts.

One of the reasons this goal was important to me was that I wanted to get back into this habit of writing. I wanted to see if it was really still a medium that I liked, that I felt good about, that I felt like I was good at. I wanted to see if it reignited something in me, and honestly, it has. It’s a slow burn. A light in the distance that I can’t quite see yet but is out there. Something is awakening in me and it hasn’t quite emerged yet, but it’s stretching, tossing and turning in the dim light.

All this to say, while I’ve never been a goal person, I’m starting to see the merit in a good, tangible goal. It’s not a “I should” but a “I can” plan.

One of the questions in the coaching process at my new job that they walk through with goals is “how capable does this goal feel?” It helps to highlight if we feel like there’s something standing in our way. At the setting of this goal, I said it felt like a 7.5 because it was my second day on the job and I hadn’t figured out what the hours were really going to look like.

Now, I’m 4 weeks into the job (one week where I traveled and didn’t even work), and I’m feeling better about the goal - let’s say an 8.5. Because I know more about when I’m working and how long it takes me to drive back and forth. I’ve gotten better at understanding the energy needed from me in this new work space and how that affects my other spaces.

Today, we’re marking that we’ve made it this far. I’m so incredibly grateful for those of you following along with me, even if it wasn’t what you expected, I mean it’s definitely not what I expected. Thanks for the likes, the text or email encouragements - it all means so much to me.

It’s so easy to get wrapped up in your own day to day and forget about the world around you. The busyness keeps you dulled to what’s going on out there on social media or on the news. These last several days have felt like that. I was on a retreat for four days where I was barely on my phone except to snap a few pictures. I landed back in Chicago and launched immediately into family time.

Family time is precious for me because I’ve not lived near family for my entire adult life. Even upon getting married and inheriting a second precious family, we aren’t in the day to day lives of our families. Therefore, when we are with them in person, I try my hardest (maybe too hard) to be in the moment of every moment.

Which is why yesterday morning, while I was side by side in the kitchen with my niece cooking brunch, Jed said to me, “Don’t look at the news.” I met his eyes and was scared for a moment and asked “Why, what happened?”

He mentioned a few headlines which were not unknown to me, and I said, “Oh, I thought it was something new.”

It sounds so callous as I write it out, but the reality of our world right now is that it feels that way. We are flooded with so much bad stuff, that we are keenly aware how much we don’t want to hear about something new, and we are slightly relieved when we know all the terrible things already.

I don’t know how many times we need to hear or say that people should be able to go to celebrations of religious holidays or traditions without fear. Or go about the semester at college without fear of a shooter that is still at large. Or High school. Or middle school. Or elementary school. Or a chapel or church service.

It breaks my heart that while we are reading all of the hate and vitriol that fuels these massacres, we recognize it as the same language coming out of the leadership of our country. And that the leadership of this country is using their power to harass and kidnap people of color right off the street.

If I’m not careful, that hate can seep into my being. It can make me jumpy and easier to snap. Or it can pull me into a deep sadness that keeps me scrolling on tiktok or numbing. It can throw my nervous system off with one headline or instagram post.

But there are times when I know I need to take a break. Which I understand is a privilege, but if I am going to keep fighting the patriarchy, white supremacism, Christian Nationalism, homophobia, transphobia, and every other time of hate being spewed right now. I need moments of respite, times to turn down the volume outside while I turn up the volume in my right now.

And so, yes, after my husband and I named the atrocities of the past couple of days, I went back to making french toast and listening to Christmas music. I spent the day playing games, watching football, and being with my family.

My encouragement, dear friends, is for you to find times in your Advent season to take a break. Focus your eyes on something that brings you the joy of this season. Something that can help you remember we, the weary world, are invited to rejoice.

Here we find ourselves already on the Third Sunday of Advent.

This Sunday I once again invite you to an advent practice:

Each Sunday of Advent I’m including one text from the week’s lectionary (in full can be found here) for you to read and a corresponding hymn or song to listen to as you sit and allow the Spirit to do their thing in your heart. This week we’ll read Luke 1:46b-55 (CEB). And since this week’s text is Mary’s song, we will be including a song by a band named Hoyle called “Unwed Mother.” I discovered this song through the Relevant Christmas albums that Relevant Magazine used to put out. It’s always been a favorite of mine and feels much more on the nose than “Mary Did You Know?”

Find a comfy seat, maybe there’s a blanket or warm beverage involved. Take a deep breath in, invite the Spirit to speak to you today through scripture and song:

Luke 1:46b-55 (CEB):

Mary said,

“With all my heart I glorify the Lord!
In the depths of who I am I rejoice in God my savior.
He has looked with favor on the low status of his servant.
Look! From now on, everyone will consider me highly favored
because the mighty one has done great things for me.
Holy is his name.
He shows mercy to everyone,
from one generation to the next,
who honors him as God.
He has shown strength with his arm.
He has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations.
He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones
and lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things
and sent the rich away empty-handed.
He has come to the aid of his servant Israel,
remembering his mercy,
just as he promised to our ancestors,
to Abraham and to Abraham’s descendants forever.”

Listen to Unwed Mother by Hoyle here.

Let me know if anything stirs in you in the comments!

I landed back home in Chicago Thursday night to the immediate arrival of my mom and eldest niece on my side of our family. We’re filling our time with games, site seeing, and eating lots of yummy food.

Which also means I haven’t had much time for writing. So today, in lieu of a full post, you’re getting a picture I took while we were chasing Christmas lights around downtown Chicago. It’s slightly blurry from too much movement, but it feels pretty spot on with my feeling of hope right now.

I have hope, but it feels a little out of focus and I’m moving to fast to really catch it in the frame.

Later that day, I was processing my tears with the dear friend who introduced me to this cohort. I lucked out when I met her last January and she has been a faithful companion to my journey this last year.

She posed the wondering that my tears are a fear of the hope and joy that I’ve been feeling lately. Because the last time I hoped, it ended in heartbreak.

This resonated so deeply with me. I feel so confident about my call in this season. So confident in my ability to do the ministry. But birthing this ministry into the world is terrifying to me. Even as I had shared with the group, I named that I was afraid of the failure that I knew I needed to go through in order to launch. Which signals to me that I know that launching this ministry won’t be easy, so what is the hold up that I’m feeling?

I think anytime we have a big heartbreak, there’s a fear that we experience around hope.

After a bad breakup, we fear that we will never meet someone to fill that space.

After church hurt, we fear that we won’t find a community to meet our needs.

After a feeling of isolation, we fear that we cannot feel connected.

After a death, we fear future loss.

Hope actually feels like a miracle - the fact that even after something bad, there eventually is a pull, a tug towards something new.It passes all my own understanding, all my own power. It’s a reminder that the God that created me, knitted me together for a purpose, has not forgotten that call. The Spirit flows into me and reminds me that I still have time, I still have voice, I still have wisdom to give.

And the reality is, God is patient with me. God is not threatened by my hesitancy or fear. God is not rushing me. God is not waiting for me to get over myself. God is not exasperated by my nonmovement.

And still, God is calling me out of it. God is reminding me over and over, “Do not be afraid” which is more of an invitation to put down my fear than it is a reprimand for my fear.

This week, being with this group of ministers and innovators has given me the data points to remind myself who I am. To remind me to see the light of God within me, to trust my heart and my story. To know that I have built skills and have wisdom to share.

And to all the friends who have journeyed alongside me and have been telling me that I had it in me already, I appreciate your encouragement. It’s only with your love and care that I have gotten through this year.

The first session of our retreat, we were asked the classic retreat question - how are you arriving? Only this time, we did it through photo imaging. Lots of global and diverse photos were laid out on tables and we were invited to choose the one that felt like it fit how we were arriving.

I immediately was drawn to several, but the one I chose had a young girl peaking out through a break in a wall. The sunlight hit her face just enough to have it be bright against the shadowed background behind her. She has a scowl on her face, just slightly, like she’s unsure about coming out into the light.

When I chose it, I thought it was the feeling of trying churches again this advent. The look of skepticism that I internally feel anytime I think about trying to find a church community again. The list of reservations that I carry with me into any religious space. That’s what I thought I was feeling when I looked at it.

But then, we went around the circle sharing and reflecting back to each other. I was the second to last person to share and somewhere in the circle, my photo started to take on new meaning. As soon as I started to share, I felt the emotion rise up in me. The tears started flowing and I couldn’t stop them.

I’m not entirely sure what it was that I shared - the feelings about leaving my denomination, the unknown of looking for a new space to find belonging, the pain of the grief in this last year, it all came out in a tangled enmeshed mess.

I was shocked by my tears. I spent the last several weeks finally feeling so good and full of hope. I felt like I was starting to come out of the darkness and into the light. But the tears made me feel like there was still grief left in me, hiding and threatening to pull me back in.

Afterwards, the rest of my cohort reflected back to me what they heard and saw. I was equally surprised by their response. Here I was feeling like the tears were pain and struggle, but what they reflected back to me was strength, wisdom, and new life. These new friends who were listening to me process, who have been listening to me for the last three months were still seeing the hope and joy that I thought I’d been feeling.

This hope and joy that has come from planting the seeds of something new.

This hope and joy that has come from starting a new job that feels both stretching and fulfilling.

This hope and joy that has come from finding a new community in this very cohort.

This hope and joy that has come from looking around my life in Chicago and feeling unbelievably content.

The tears flooded out of my eyes and still the hope and joy came through.

Part two coming tomorrow…

There’s something fascinating that happens in a room full of innovative ministers. There’s an openness to new ideas, new expressions that I haven’t been surrounded by in awhile. Or even if there isn’t openness, there is a willingness to talk about what’s closing us off.

Last night we had an improvisational music time. We were led by two musicians and a room full of instruments and voices. We were all encouraged to jump in as we felt moved to - with singing, speaking, texts, strumming, drumming, and other types of musical noises.

Before we even started, we were invited to share the messages we carry about music. I shared a bit about how I grew up with music as a constant in our house. My dad loved music, so we always had it playing in the house and in the car. I joined the band and choir throughout school. I played with our worship team in college and through my adulthood. Music comes pretty naturally to me but something I’ve realized in the last couple of years is how timid I’ve become in putting myself into the world.

Something in the last two years has rocked me enough that in my core, I am afraid to put myself out there. I’ve become afraid to be seen.

A few people in my life recently have broken through that fear and have seen me. What a gift those people have been - reminding me that I am okay. That even in the breaking down, I am still loved and welcomed with them.

But anytime I get into a new space, it takes so long for me to warm up. I find myself on the edges, watching people interact and connect. I struggle to allow myself to be vulnerable in any new situation, which used to come so easily for me.

I found that happening to me last night, I listened to the first couple of songs, hearing the other members of my cohort adding in, trying new things. At one point I even moved myself to the outer perimeter of the room, physically separating myself. I watched a member of our cohort try something new for the first time and the brightness in her eyes and excitement in her face drew me in. I found myself jealous of her openness and willingness to be seen by others.

As one song ended and we reset for the next one. I ventured around the room, grabbed a frame drum and then made my way back to my seat along the back wall. I was directly across the room from our leader, standing tall with his upright base. He was encouraging us to try something different in the next one. He asked for someone to start. Then he looked right at me and said, “Maybe something on that frame drum.” I think he could tell I was scared and wanting to not be seen because he gently and quietly said, “I’m not always nice.”

Then one of our cohort members started a very quiet stomp. From that stomp I was able to create a rhythm that then kicked us all off. Likewise, across the room, another member of our cohort asked to see someone’s hesitant writing and started to sing what was written. As the song continued, as I shifted from one rhythm to another, I felt this connectedness in our community.

I realize that cohorts like this are meant to foster community. When you gather like-minded people who are all doing similar things, a common language and connection sprouts from the fertile ground. But what’s fascinating about this group is that we all are trying new and vastly different things.

Around our little circle you’ll find a dance church, a soundscape retreat leader, a filmmaker, a pastor for the neurodivergent community, a contemplative artist, several people leading table groups with different expressions and communities, a young person leading an older congregation, a waffle church, a college ministry pastor and many more. We’re a very diverse group of people who are all imagining worship and community in new ways all around the country.

Writing is the wrong medium to try and capture what being in this room creating improvisational music felt like. However, what I can say is that even sitting against the back wall with a frame drum, I was seen and invited in. When I took that invitation and joined the creative process, even in the imperfect way that I did it, I found the connection that healed a bit of the fear of being seen.

This past Sunday found us once again on the coach for our Advent service. We can blame a late night celebrating our nephew’s engagement in Milwaukee and waking up to another few inches of snow.

This week we attended the closest Episcopal Church via their livestream. Now, I’ve never been to an Episcopal service, however, two of my favorite colleagues when I taught middle school tried very hard for me to attend their Episcopal Church while I was there. We drive past this church all the time and the building is very pretty. My only concerns going into the service was that I was going to have a bit of a hard time with the more strict hierarchy than I’m used to, that it might feel cold, and that this particular church has a lot of people from my previous denomination that attend.

This church sits in the round, which I did enjoy. They were having some sound issues, so the music portions were hard to follow along, but if I’m honest, it felt more like a charming little imperfection than a nuisance. After the service, I reflected on how I liked the written prayers of the people. I felt similarly in the Lutheran service. The language in the prayers and a communal response to each line felt as if we actually were all in it together. Even though I wasn’t live in the room, saying the response aloud made me feel connected to a larger group of people.

The priest preached on John the Baptist’s call of repentance, which when she started made me nervous. How was she going to talk about sin? What latent messages were underneath her carefully crafted words? How does “REPENT” break into our quiet, beautiful, precious advent?

But her sermon was incredibly inviting and a call to a communal understanding that while sin is never something we want to deal with, we must. She clearly talked through a vision of sin that didn’t make me feel inherently sinful or bad. The vision of grace was truly liberating rather than a scare tactic. The emphasis placed on the meaning of the word “repent” that turns us toward God. There was humor, a very detailed and clear object lesson, and encouragement. All in less than 20 minutes.

As the service then turned toward confession, absolution, and communion, I was starting to understand the flow and intention of the service. At the end, they blessed a brand new baby and had a few announcements. Overall, the service left me feeling connected, challenged, and comforted.

Today I got to share a car ride with another one of the members of our cohort. As we drove the hour and a half to the retreat center, we dove further into our back stories. He shared with me his love for the Presbyterian worship structure. He talked about the communal confession followed by the absolution which can sometimes lead to the passing of the peace. He shared that he loved this structure because it felt like we’re all saying that we fall short sometimes and need grace. We all receive the absolution of our sins, and from that place then we turn toward one another to greet and catch up.

I loved the way he talked about it. This communal acknowledgement that we are human, that we all need and get the same grace, and from that place of humility, we connect.

Growing up in my home church, we never did a communal confession. That was a personal thing that was a one and done when we “accepted Christ.” I didn’t ever do it until I was in Seminary and found out that it was actually a part of the Communion liturgy. A humbling of ourselves before we came to the table.

This exploration into more traditional service types has opened my eyes in a way that I didn’t expect. Where I used to see rigidity, I now see intention. And while there’s still a million questions that I have, and I still believe there’s room for more free flow - I’m finding some beauty behind the structure. It’s intriguing to say the least.

Today, I’m writing from the airport. I’m heading to Connecticut for a retreat with my apprenticeship cohort. We’ll be staying at a retreat center that also has donkeys that we get to hang out with.

I haven’t shared too much about my apprenticeship here, so I thought today would be the day. Last spring, as I was processing my next steps with a friend, she told me about this apprenticeship program that she joined that year. It’s out of the PCUSA and focused on an initiative called New Worshiping Communities (NWC). Essentially, the PCUSA has allocated resources towards new expressions of church. They have various grants, support systems, and structures to enable leaders to reimagine the way and spaces we engage God.

Back in October I wrote about attending their National Gathering for the NWCs. It was a really eye opening time for me as I interacted with leaders from all over the country who are leading these NWCs. I got to learn that there were leaders around the country who were creating spaces that were trauma informed with the hope to provide safe and/or brave spaces for people to connect with God in new ways. This apprenticeship is meant to equip me as I start to think about my own NWC to launch.

I know I’ve said it a ton, but my hope is to create a community for kids and youth to connect with one another and God but outside of the typical church structure. Over the years that I’ve pastored, I’ve encountered so many friends who have left the church because of spiritual trauma or deconstruction. They all say they couldn’t see themselves going back to church but most of them have kids and don’t know what spiritual formation looks like without a church.

I’ve had tons of their kids in my youth groups over the years. I’ve really tried to provide pastoral support to families like this without the pressure of Sunday morning attendance. That’s still where my heart feels a tug - kids and youth who want a sense of belonging, connection, and a space to be curious about God.

I envision this looking like small groups of teenagers that gather around the table to process their lives and God. I see it as camps for kids in the summer, maybe a fairly regular kids program? I see it as resourcing parents in their hopes to talk about spiritual things in their everyday lives. Maybe it’s also a coaching approach with older teens or even college students. There’s a lot of dreams that I have for this space.

This week, as I enter the retreat space with my cohort, I’m excited to learn from the others who are creating these spaces. I’m hoping to hammer out the name and purpose statement while I’m with my cohort in person. I’m still hoping to write while I’m there, as I’m sure I’ll have plenty to think about. But the posting may feel a little more sporadic. We’ll see!

Well, we’re one week into writing every day of Advent. First let me say, I’m proud of myself for actually writing every day this week. I’m a super star. (Please read that with all the hesitation and uncertainty that I’m feeling, I don’t do self promotion/affirmation well. 😂).

I’ve tossed around different ways to mark the Sundays of Advent. Something that honors rest and will feel a little more Adventy than the rest of the days feel.

So I’ve decided to share my love of music with you all and invite you to an advent practice:

I’ll include one text from this week’s lectionary (in full can be found here) for you to read and a corresponding hymn to listen to as you sit and allow the Spirit to do their thing in your heart.

This week we’ll read Isaiah 11:1-10 (CEB) and listen to “Lo Wow a Rose E’er Blooming” by the Brilliance.

Find a comfy seat, maybe there’s a blanket or warm beverage involved. Take a deep breath in, invite the Spirit to speak to you today through scripture and song:

Isaiah 11:1-10 (CEB):

A shoot will grow up from the stump of Jesse;
a branch will sprout from his roots.
The Lord’s spirit will rest upon him,
a spirit of wisdom and understanding,
a spirit of planning and strength,
a spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord.
He will delight in fearing the Lord.
He won’t judge by appearances,
nor decide by hearsay.
He will judge the needy with righteousness,
and decide with equity for those who suffer in the land.
He will strike the violent with the rod of his mouth;
by the breath of his lips he will kill the wicked.
Righteousness will be the belt around his hips,
and faithfulness the belt around his waist.
The wolf will live with the lamb,
and the leopard will lie down with the young goat;
the calf and the young lion will feed together,
and a little child will lead them.
The cow and the bear will graze.
Their young will lie down together,
and a lion will eat straw like an ox.
A nursing child will play over the snake’s hole;
toddlers will reach right over the serpent’s den.
They won’t harm or destroy anywhere on my holy mountain.
The earth will surely be filled with the knowledge of the Lord,
just as the water covers the sea.

On that day, the root of Jesse will stand as a signal to the peoples. The nations will seek him out, and his dwelling will be glorious.

Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming

Feel free to jump into the comments and let me know what stuck out to you or if you felt any prompting from the Spirit.