{And by ‘here’ I mean the Tennessee farmhouse, the ministry, the dream. This first part of our story represents 12 years on the timeline. I’ve condensed it dramatically, so you’ll have to do some reading between the lines or question asking, but please consider this your personal invitation into our story. I welcome your thoughts and questions, and especially your own stories of dreaming and simply saying YES.}
“Whose kingdom are you building? Your own, or Mine?”
That was the gentle question. The one that changed everything. And for the first time in my 30 plus years, I could humbly and honestly say, “Yours, Lord. Only Yours.”
When it comes to ministry, there are few roles my husband and I haven’t known. In our 13 years of marriage we’ve been youth pastors, we’ve traveled the globe doing mission work, we’ve scrubbed toilets after hours and bounced babies in nurseries. We’ve stood before thousands across the country speaking and teaching, put on conferences and concerts and prayer meetings and assemblies. We’ve been interns and ministry assistants and Sunday school teachers. We have ordination certificates, years invested at private Christian Universities, lists of impressive connections, and enough scars to prove we’ve witnessed and experienced both the beautiful and the ugly of ministry.
But if I’m gut-wrenchingly honest, though our efforts were always sincere and genuine, there was an underlying essence of something else present, too. The building of our own kingdoms. The one where all was done in the name of God, so long as our names were included in the acknowledgements.
And so in the devastating and loving way that only God can, he took us on a decade-long journey of learning what it means to ‘die to ourselves.’ And die we did, many times over. Our own idolatry cost us a number of relationships and indescribable amounts of heartbreak, almost our marriage at the climax. But like the harlot Gomer in the book of Hosea drawn away into the wilderness, God lovingly stripped us of all our idols before declaring, “I will betroth you to Me forever, I will show you righteousness and justice, unfailing love and compassion. I will be faithful to you and make you mine, and you will finally come to know me as the Lord.” Hosea 2: 19-20
He goes to incredible lengths to win us.
And when all of our selfish desires and aspirations finally burn away, something else quietly begins to rise from the ashes of our brokenness. His desires. His plans. His heart. And that’s where things begin to take off. Like black smoke billowing into a blue sky, it cannot be ignored.
Josh and I have long known we are called to feed people, mind, body, and spirit. We’ve known it from our very beginning, in fact. But the enormity of that task can and has been paralyzing. It requires time, lots of it. It requires energy, resources, and space. It requires vulnerability, integrity of heart, willingness and wisdom. And more that anything it requires selflessness. Giving ourselves away. And that is a humbling and sometimes painful calling.
So early last year after a long season of wrestling, God spoke a clear objective to my heart: “Give everything away. Withhold nothing. And give your best.” I knew that meant literal stuff, but also time and energy, my heart even. What it practically looked like was spending long hours with friends far and wide, listening, encouraging. It was delivering dozens of prized backyard eggs to our neighbors. It was cooking beautiful meals and inviting people to the table. It was emptying closets and mailing packages. It was hours spent with virtual strangers, hearing their struggles, offering prayers. It was baking muffins and cookies and dropping them on doorsteps with notes of encouragement. It was late night conversations until I couldn't keep my eyes open. It was taking care of kids I barely knew so struggling parents could run a few errands. It was up-all-night praying instead of sleeping, very, very often. It was delivering meals to new moms in the neighborhood. It was stopping long enough to get to know my local cashiers, hear their stories, their struggles, their dreams. It was my heart broken open.
And it was stretching.
We had just come out of an incredibly intense season and I felt as if I needed rest and tending. I needed ministry. (I’m still learning that the most authentic and effective ministry happens at the end of ourselves. That place where we run out, and God steps in.) There were oh-so-many tears. It exposed ALL my insecurities and fears. As a new mom myself already feeling vulnerable and exhausted, I had already been required to shelf my personal aspirations. Blogs went unwritten, book proposals unfinished, speaking engagements declined time, and time, and time again.
But little did I know it was a practice, specific preparation for what was coming. Not only the giving, but the chicken tending, the gardening, the ‘pretend B&B’ we jokingly operated… the cooking and sharing of meals, the intentional meeting of strangers, all of it.
I also found myself struggling more and more with fully letting go of my own aspirations, primarily writing and speaking. Intro: The Intention Project. It was a simple exercise in awareness intended to halt the chaos of obligation and expectation that kept me running endlessly but going nowhere. Insanely hard to admit at the time, but I wasn’t confident my personal aspirations had a place in this particular season. What I did know was the incredible urgency and importance of my daughter. My husband. My neighbors and friends. And my calling to be present with them. To serve them. Undistracted kind of presence. Intentional presence.
The simple practice of intention brought such peace and joy into my life over the months I began to wonder if I’d ever return to anything different. Would I ever accept a speaking invitation again? Would I ever finish the first of several book proposals? Amazingly I found myself uncaring either way. Sweet freedom. Sweet joy in simply being. No striving, no achieving, no doing. Freedom to simply serve and love well. I never could have imagined how fulfilling it would be.
A profoundly important detail of this entire story was our knowing that Nashville was looming in our sights. Like a quiet melody humming in the background, we’d known with incredible clarity for the last several years that Tennessee was our next step. We didn’t know how it would or even could come together, and for a long while we stormed heaven with questions of, “Show us how, Lord. We are willing. Just show us how.” When your heart is so willing and no movement happens, it’s easy to become frustrated. And we did. Until one afternoon sitting in my studio while Everyn napped, His gentle response finally came. “Don’t ask me how. Not once more. The how is not your business, it’s Mine. The what is yours. Ask me what, and I will take care of the how.” The insight silenced me, in a good way. Convicted and provoked me to a new kind of courage.
A few weeks later we sat sipping coffee in our backyard in Dallas, our tiny urban homestead as we lovingly called it. Chickens pecking around, toddler playing nearby amidst pots of peppers and tomatoes, we sat in the shade of our ancient oak. Despite fears and unknowns, despite lack of resources and past failures whispering their taunts, we said yes to the what. To the dreams both small and large seared into our hearts over decades. To all of it…
To orphans. To homesteading. To sharing all we have. To long meals and celebrations and opening ourselves and our home to both give and receive. To building a place where people come far and wide to birth dreams, write melodies, hide away and experience God. To honing a certain kind of atmosphere where both healing and inspiration happens, where books are written, where broken hearts find hope, new life, and purpose. To garden-tending, bee-keeping, and egg-gathering for the simple sake of sharing. To providing rest and respite for exhausted pastors and missionaries. To working the land, to building cabins and cottages, to sunny picnics that give way to worship beneath star filled skies. To a place of safety where God is present, His goodness on stunning display, His voice heard. To washing the feet of those He sends. To dreams we’ve yet to dream even, but mostly, to giving ourselves away on a grand and terrifying scale.
We confessed we had zero idea how any of it was within the realm of possibility, but He had made it clear that was not of our concern. So we looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and said YES.
And just like that, the first domino clinked forward…
{Up Next: And then the story gets crazy...}