Sacred Mundane: The Blog

Two years ago this week I typed Why I Write with trembling hands. It was on this post that Ann Voskamp commented, and I started crying. Two years ago this weekend I attended the first Faith & Culture Writers Conference and faced the Scary Guy who changed my life. 

At this year’s conference, which kicks off today, I’m the MC. Seriously. Let me tell you why this blows me away:

Two years ago I was scared stiff just to walk through the door.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I have a nice big dose of nervousness today. I’ll be shaking like a leaf before I walk on stage. I’ve envisioned plenty of times me tripping on a cord or pronouncing Ken Wytsma’s name wrong or dragging up toilet paper on my shoe.

But … two years ago I was almost too scared to even attend. And if you would have told me last time, that at the next conference I’d be emceeing, I would have said you were crazy. Or cried. Probably both. And you know what that tells me?

That God is able to change us. 

When I wrote the “Why I Write” post I was so afraid of rejection I almost couldn’t submit it.

I’ve now been rejected more times than I can count by agents and publishers alike. Rejection is pretty much a monthly occurrence around here, and you know what — it’s okay! I don’t even cry anymore!

There are still plenty of fears for me to face. Plenty. But looking back fuels my faith and inspires me to tackle new things because I realize, I’m not the same afraid girl I was just two years ago. God is changing me.

God is changing you.

So how do we move forward and do scary stuff? My favorite method is the Worse Case Scenario Method. In Beth Moore’s book, So Long Insecurity she discusses fear and recounts a conversation she’d had with God where she has wrestling through her own fear issues.  She very distinctly sensed Him asking her to tell Him her greatest, deepest fears.  So she did.  Then, surprisingly, she sensed Him saying, “Let’s say those things did happen.”  Then, “Picture yourself going through the whole process of one of your worst fears becoming a reality. Get all the way to the other side of it. What do you see there?”

When Beth did this, with her own worst fear, she realized that while it would truly be horrific, all that she knew of God reassured her that He would still restore her, use her, love her, and carry her through, even if she lost all else.

In most cases, the worst case scenario is that someone says no, or we don’t get the job, or we receive a rejection, or our plan fails. But on the other side of that no/rejection/fail is likely a shining lesson, a better opportunity, another open door, or an increase in courage to try again.

But better than all that, on the other side is God. 

On the other side of that fear is your loving Father’s warm embrace. His words, “Good job! You did it! You were brave!”  It pleases Him when we walk by faith. When we do scary stuff, not for our own glory, but for His, He’s happy.

And when God’s happy, we’re happy. (That’s kind of like the secret to life, right?!)

Do scary stuff for the glory of God.

But watch out, because if you do, you never know what He’ll have you do two years from now!

{Thanks for reading & have a great weekend.}

 *In honor of doing scary stuff, and in honor of the Faith & Culture Writer’s Conference, Plenty and Let In Light are FREE today on Amazon (we’re unable to offer Faithfully Frugal free at this time, but it’s only $2.99) Spread the word and snag some copies for your friends. Also, many of you have asked if paperback copies are available. We’re working on it! Hopefully within the month we’ll have paperback copies available for you at a low cost. Stay tuned and thanks so much!

So  you probably noticed a theme with the last two posts that I was feeling discouraged in church-planting. Surprise! Any challenging adventure is going to be, well, challenging.

So in the midst of this, God nailed me to the wall. The truth is, we have a fabulous little church family. I love them. I’d do anything for them. They serve and love and pray and give and are team-players to the extreme. But of course it only takes one negative person, or one critical comment, or one outsider questioning your methods to make me droop my shoulders and declare the whole thing a failure.

*Sigh*

So yesterday morning I drag my body out of bed and Let In Light and read God’s Word and only a few sentences into my daily reading, this jumps out at me:

King David had been driven out by his treasonous son, Absalom. Absalom had won over the hearts of Israel in order to take away the Kingdom from his father. Absalom was not a quality individual. So David’s driven out of Judah, and a battle ensues, and Joab–David’s commander–kills Absalom, they are victorious, and they deliver the good news back to David.

Except instead of rejoicing that the Kingdom was restored, David’s devastated about his son.  

Understandable.

But, Joab rebukes David, because Absalom was the enemy, the whole point was to remove him so that the rightful kingdom could be established. David had hundreds, thousands, of faithful followers who had been fighting for him and standing up for him, and now instead of rejoicing that all those people were saved, he’s sorrowful because this one person was gone. And Joab says this,

You love those who hate you and hate those who love you.

Joab says, “You have today covered with shame the faces of all your servants, who have this day saved your life … because you love those who hate you and hate those who love you. For you have made it clear today that commanders and servants are nothing to you, for today I know that if Absalom were alive and all of us were dead today, then you would be pleased.” (2 Samual 19:5-6)

You love those who hate you and hate those who love you.

In other words, “You only care about what the critics think, instead of caring what your faithful family and followers think.”  Or:

You put all your emotional energy into trying to please people who cannot be pleased.

We’ve all encountered someone in our lives who just couldn’t be pleased. Who did or does not accept us or approve of us. And it’s as if that person, whoever it is (and however long ago we encountered them), sits on our shoulder, every day of our lives, and watches everything we do. And we live as if we have to please or win the approval or acceptance of that person. And instead of simply rejoicing in all the people who DO love us, approve of us, accept us, and are pleased, we focus all our energy on that one problem person.

Guess what? That’s exhausting.

Even though it’s enormously difficult, we have to flick that person off our shoulder, and focus on the blessed, supportive, loving people in our lives. Sure, we love our enemies, but we don’t let them live in our shoulder and dictate all we do. When we do that, we’re simply discounting (“covering with shame”) those faithful friends and family we have who support and rally around us.

So whoever that person is who sits on your shoulder, pray God’s richest blessings on their life, then flick them off your shoulder and live for the audience of One. Value and celebrate and appreciate the family and friends you would otherwise take for granted. Don’t give the gripers more real estate than necessary. Today, take a moment to thank and appreciate those faithful supporters who give you life and strength.

And ask the Holy Spirit to fill up your heart, mind, and shoulders so there’s no room for anyone else.

{Thanks for reading.}

I was running in a dead sprint down a country road chasing after a baby goat. What am I DOING?

You just never know when the sacred will interrupt your mundane.

That morning Jeff & I had talked in low voices, quietly exchanging church-planting discouragement while the kids obliviously ate oatmeal and discussed ocean animals.

It was really my fault. I had come home in tears the day before, triggered by the most innocent question imaginable:

“You guys all gearing up for your first Easter service?”

I was caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, we’re … we’re … gearing up.”

“What’re you doing?” (Inner monologue: Kari, get a grip. This is a completely reasonable question. This is what church-people ask! Why are you about to cry?)

“Um… well, we’re going to worship Jesus together. So yeah, it was great to see you. Take care.”

I darted to my car. What were we doing for Easter?

What were we doing period? 

Well, besides fasting for 7 days, my Easter-prep included a maddening series of seeking after Julie all week, laboring in prayer that she would choose life, chasing after this one ridiculous person who can’t find her way and who WANTS life, safety, and peace, but hasn’t the slightest idea how to find it. She’s darting around, wild, lost, and I’m chasing after her.

That kind of sums up my Easter-prep. Oh, and I guess I hung out in a bar and invited my neighbors to church too but I’m pretty sure they had plans to smoke pot instead.

This was what brought on the low-voiced talk of church-planting discouragement in the kitchen. What are we DOING?

I loaded up the kids and headed out to the boonies of Molalla.

About five miles from Riversong, along a narrow country road lined with farms, I saw the goats.

Three goats outside their fence, eating grass in the ditch by the road. I pulled off and turned around, heading back to the owner’s house. (Believe me, herding the goats myself was not my original plan.) Of course the owners were not home but their FIVE dobermans (I am not joking) were there to greet us.

I stared at the five dobermans, then at the goats. Oh good grief. Here we go. 

We inched back up the road and thankfully scared two of the goats through the small hole in the fence and back into their pasture. But one little baby goat was terrified, frantic, and darted off the opposite direction. No matter how I tried to maneuver in the car, he kept going the wrong direction. Oh for crying out loud. Here we go.

I put on the hazards, told the kids to hang tight, prayed for no oncoming cars, and took off in a dead sprint for this ridiculous goat. Without thinking I started calling, “Here, baby goat! Here, baby goat!” Then it dawned on me, I haven’t a CLUE how to herd baby goats! I finally got it chased into the neighbor’s yard a 1/4 mile up the road, and since there were SEVEN old cars parked in their driveway I figured surely they were home. Surely they would help me.

No one home.

I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced anything as maddening as trying to herd a goat. Just when I’d get it near where to go it would just dart off the wrong direction. He wouldn’t come anywhere near me. “I’m trying to HELP you!” I shouted, standing like an idiot in the middle of the road. Then, just as I was thinking to myself, What am I DOING? I heard that still small voice:

THIS is what you are doing. 

The verses suddenly came to mind.

If a man has a hundred sheep and one of them wanders away, what will he do? Won’t he leave the ninety-nine others on the hills and go out to search for the one that is lost? … In the same way, it is not my heavenly Father’s will that even one of these little ones should perish. (Matthew 18:12,14)

Of course I’m chasing a goat. Of course. Because this crazy little goat can’t find its way and he WANTS life, safety, and peace, but hasn’t the slightest idea how to find it. He’s darting around, wild, lost, and I’m chasing after him.

Because that’s what The Good Shepherd did.

Because Easter is all about the Good Shepherd taking off in a dead-sprint and chasing after His lost sheep. You. Me. Julie. Because we want life, safety, and peace, but haven’t the slightest idea how to find it. We’re darting around, wild, lost.

But He’s chasing after us.

He’s chasing after them.

And He calls us to go after goats. To chase wild sheep who are darting, frantic, wild, lost.

(Just for the record, it’s really maddening work.)

After 20 minutes of frustration, the kids and I prayed: “Dada God, please help this baby goat get back home.”

And with one last try, I lured her in, hid behind a broken-down Winnebago, swung the fence closed, and got my sweet baby goat safely inside her field. 

I climbed back in the car and Heidi shouted, “Mommy! We saved the day!”

Yes, sweetie-girl. That’s what we’re doing. One baby goat at at time.

~

{What lost sheep does Jesus want you chase? I pray for grace to embrace the maddening process and go after that wild, crazed, beloved goat today. Thanks for reading.}

I hung out at a bar last night.

This may not seem noteworthy unless you understand I don’t think I’ve ever been in a bar. (I was homeschooled, for crying out loud!) Not in a bar bar. Not in a tavern. And certainly not in a seedy tavern. And certainly not in the seediest of the seedy taverns the night before Easter.

Have I mentioned my husband is a pastor?

I wonder how many pastors spent last night in a bar?

Anyway …  we’d been getting to know some neighbors of ours, and they had a big bash this weekend because a friend of theirs was playing blues at a local tavern. Jeff said, “Wow, that’s great. Maybe we’ll join you.”

So last night, we were both exhausted and Jeff had more work to prepare his message for this morning, but we both felt oddly that the most important way to prepare for Christ’s Resurrection was to go the Trails End Tavern and hang out with the people He rose to save.

I’m so glad we did.

Nothing dramatic happened. No one ran up to us and asked, “What must I do to be saved?!” No exorcism. Nothing shocking.

Just a beautiful opportunity to look, see, and enter into the world of those Christ rose to save.

It was fun to just smile. To see people interact. To see how much we’re the same.

My churchy friends and my neighbors’ bar-hopping friends are all seeking after the same stuff, really: Hope, acceptance, love, touch. We use different lingo but it’s all the same.

We all just want to belong.

The truth is, I needed to go last night. I need to be continually reminded what life is like outside Kari Patterson. What the world is living through and facing and what it’s like out there in the world Jesus came to save. I need it to better understand and love Julie. I need it to better understand and love, period.

And Jesus pitched His tent among us. He came to where we already were. He lived our experience. He felt what we feel. He frequented our watering hole so that we could see His love and be wooed. 

I didn’t do any wooing (and no, I didn’t leave gospel-tracts in the bathroom), but my simple bar-experience last night made me feel alive. Something inside me cried out, “Yes, go where people are! Be curious. Listen long. Watch them. Learn about them. Figure out what makes them tick. Pray over every place you set foot.”

We carry with us the power of the Holy Spirit, the power of the RISEN CHRIST. So wherever we go we take His presence, His love, His light.

Today we celebrate, He is RISEN. He is risen indeed!

We honor His resurrection by taking His light and His life to every corner of the globe.

Even the Trails End Tavern.

 {Happy Resurrection Sunday to you, wherever you are! Thanks for reading.}