commitment crisis.

So...remember a few weeks back when I said I was going to start raising questions? And some of these questions might be a little uncomfortable or seem combative? (Well, if I left out that last part, I'm saying it now.) I've been asking this question for a long time...

"What is the deal with those in the 18-30 age range and commitment?"

Now look, before I launch into this let me say that I do believe I work with some incredible young adults. And, I do believe that most of them are ahead of the pack and shouldn't be lumped in with a 'culture of convenience'. They work full-time jobs. Or they're full-time students. And they find time to serve at this church one or five nights a week. They lead small groups. Lead worship. Lead youth. Lead events. And they're like the sunset - consistent.

However, I have been alarmed by the trends of church-hopping and consumeristic worship among this age group. If "I don't get something out of it, it's not for me". I am relieved to find that many people are becoming aware of the crisis of commitment. Those responsible, self-motivated, handle-my-own-life sort of young adults are a minority right now. And they live in a culture that bathes them in consumerism, individualism and entitlement. One student, when asked what church he attended, said, "I attend church in my bedroom. I put on worship music and sing along to that and then I listen to a podcast sermon." Couldn't be more contradictory to what the Biblical Church should be.

Many are avoiding life decisions using perpetual schooling or "learning" experiences: "I don't know what I want to do with my life so I think I'll travel for a while." "I can't pay rent until I find a job I really, really like. I'll just stay with mom and dad." "I can't decide I want to marry you until I know our relationship will be fool-proof. Let's just move in together for a while."

(Disclaimer: there's nothing wrong with travel. Or education. Or multi-generational homes. Relax...)

Young adults are crazy about community. They love being together and they yearn for closeness and partners for their life journey. But so many fail to realize community cannot really exist apart from commitment. And neither can true intimacy or fulfillment in relationships.

So how do we teach faithfulness and commitment in a culture where both are unnecessary and cumbersome? The Church has always been God's channel of hope, power and truth to the world. And she has stood counter-culturally through the ages. But how does she teach truth and lead people toward Jesus when they're too busy (or self-focused) to really hear any message?

Adventures in Leftovers...

Yesterday was a great day. Until...it became a very, very bad day. If you've ever had food poisoning, you know it's a bad day like none other.

Every once in a while in our office, we do our best to be good stewards by packing lunches and bringing leftovers (often, our lives are too "on the fly" to be so prepared :). But yesterday was one of those days. We had leftover turkey from an event on Friday and so Pastor Sheri, Kristin and I decided we'd make some sandwiches and have a quick lunch together in the church kitchen. Great idea...for a moment.

We finished lunch and later, I headed to the polls to cast my vote (and ensure job security - but that's for another blog). When I returned, I found my generally poised and prepared "Pastorette" slumped in her office chair and holding her stomach. It was clear things were not going her way (refer to the link above for her account of the day). I started grabbing things off her desk and stuffing them in her briefcase between, "No...I have too much to do..." and "I think that may have been the last of it...".

We managed to get her to the car but she insisted on driving herself (Pastor Frank was working the polls and I would be the only office personnel; someone had to get some work done around here!) A while (what felt like a very loooong while) later, she arrived home and let me know she was safely embracing her very own porcelain friend.

I called Kristin, "Hey, I know you have a dentist appointment. But you may want to nix that and head home. Your mom's like, super sick and I can't leave the office."

"Oh no! Ok, going home now. I'll call her on my way."

I went back to my desk, trying to get a a mailout to the box before 4. "Eww," I thought, "I'm pretty queasy..." But I dismissed it as sympathy sickness and kept working. Eyes watering, stomach groaning and pain mounting, "This is serious sympathy sickness". Until, I was propelled out of my office chair and food poisoning was confirmed. I tried to finish what I could between episodes and finally called Kristin and said, "Girl. You better get ready. I'm sick now too...and this stuff is violent..."

"Nooo....I thought I didn't feel good but I'm trying to just breathe..." Kristin said. I could hear the dread in her voice.

I drove myself home, barely making it up my stairs and in the door. I created my own "yuck-bucket" and got myself to bed where the violence continued. I text Kristin, "Are you still ok?" "No," she answered, "I'm on the side of the road but Dad's here." Awesome. All three of us. Sick, in various locations.

I laid in my bed and felt, with each experience, that my ribs might crack or maybe my eyes would burst out of their sockets. And then, a knock came on my door. Meagan, my frister and Pastor's youngest daughter, said, "Come on. Dad said to bring you to the house with mom and Kristin." It was a looooong drive. But at least now I was in good company.

We spent our evening together, sprawled from one end of the house to the other with Pastor Frank and Meagan changing out buckets and helping us from bathroom to couch. The house was relatively silent between groans and other sounds (of which I'll spare you description). It was a great time of bonding. I'm hoping we scrapbook it sometime.

Today, we're achy and sore but not running to the bathroom...so I think we're all pretty grateful for that fact. And...I'm hungry.

Back to "Reality"

One of my very favorite things about blogging is that it gives a space to be more honest than you might in face-to-face communication. When I try to have these sort of conversations (like I'm about to have with you) in person, there are a very few people that I don't feel I've accosted and they would almost rather hear anything else!

But you, friends, take initiative to find this page and then, furthermore, take time to read it! A blessing beyond my imagination! And that is something that makes me comfortable to tell you how I really feel. I'm telling you how I feel today 1) as a method of catharsis 2) because it helps us know one another (even if we've never met) and 3) in the hopes that something I say may benefit you in your own personal journey.

Today is Wednesday. Twenty-one days ago at this time was a very hard day. For some reason, each step since then has grown more difficult and more burdened - a scenario I did not expect after hearing all the "time heals all wounds" talk.

Here I am, back in my reality, but being "present" feels more impossible than roping in the moon. Last week, as my plane took off from Phoenix International, my heart was more overwhelmed than perhaps ever before. It was the most final moment of this whole process for me. The realization that I will never fly back into the desert and see my grandmother.

Arizona has always meant "Gramma Ora" to me. And, with my family living there, I'll visit quite frequently. Which I am happy to do. But each visit from that moment of departure will be very, very different. That knowledge overtook me as the engined revved and there was no turning back: no more sitting in her room for a while, no more touching the things on her dresser, no more being in her "space" even with her gone. No, this was the real "goodbye". (I'm sure the girl in the seat beside me wondered if I had severe anxiety issues about flying when I broke out sobbing.)

God's presence is the sweetest gift I could ever ask for. C.S. Lewis said of the death of his wife that her absence was "like the sky, spread all over everything". And, while that rings so true for me right now, I am walking through "everything" with my hand in His. And I'm so thankful He understands every, little bit. Every fleeting thought, every memory, every sadness for what was and even for what was not. All of it.

We got a letter from a precious family friend who reminded us of how well Gramma always listened. He'd call her and say, "Got time for dinner?" And she'd meet him and listen to whatever he needed to say. We're all going to miss that so much...

Thanks for "listening"...

"I Got Next"

This has been burning in my heart for a few months. Many times it's come to the forefront of my mind and I've desired to share it with you, friends. And I'm excited because I know today's the day!

"I got next!"

A little over a year ago, when Roosevelt Hunter passed away, my heart was deeply affected. I remember a message he preached when I was 16 at youth camp. He talked about the "PIT" or "Prophet in Training". It stuck with me...and will stick with me forever. In fact, Roosevelt's passion and zeal for Christ have invaded my soul in a quite permanent way. A burning desire to reach the lost. To preach the Word. To be ready in season, out of season. And to be obedient whatever the season.


Roosevelt and Eileen originated a phrase which the Holy Spirit planted firmly in my heart, "I got next!". The Hunters' burden has been to inspire and pour into my generation. They knew the baton would eventually be passed from theirs to ours and they challenged us: when the time comes, rise up and say, "I got next!". When the generations before us have run their race, catch the baton and RUN! Run and don't look back!


Several months ago, I began to feel a surging in my spirit. An anticipation. As my grandmother grew sicker and weaker, I grew stronger and more determined. I looked upon her feats in life, her undeterred confidence, her resiliency, the fact that she seemed to "Take no rest and give God no rest". And as the time was approaching that she would rest from her work, I became keenly aware that my work had just started. Though our paths are quite different, the gait, the posture, the determination is the same.


As I sat beside her and our time together drew to a close, I was singing "Tis So Sweet," and "Peace, Peace". I could feel the power of the Holy Spirit in my own life in a brand new way. And, though right before my eyes a mountain was falling into the heart of the sea, it was a fact: I had no fear. More than that! I had a great sense of peace, resolve and deep, deep encouragement. "I got next!"


I've been clinging to Psalm 46 and Isaiah 6 through this time. Isaiah 6 begins with Isaiah's commission. He says, "In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord..."

When the King (the leader, the one who brought confidence and inspired dreams) died, Isaiah saw the Lord.


In Psalm 46, David says, "God is our very present help in time of trouble...therefore, we will not fear though the earth give way, though the mountains fall into the sea and the waters roar and foam with their surging".


"Uzziah" may have died. A mountain may have fallen into the heart of the sea. And now, I walk through grief. I deal with waters surging and receding over my heart, beckoning me into sorrow to which I will inevitably give way from time to time. And, as C.S. Lewis says, "Spread over everything in my life is a vauge sense of wrongness. As if something is amiss." (And, I might add, may always be). Even though these things are true...


I see the Lord. I hear Him more clearly than I feel I ever have. I feel Him more closely than I thought possible. I sing and dance and praise in the desert, for one of the sweetest things in life is to find that He truly is all you need. And the moment in which the faith you have spent your life believing was real surely holds you firm. For me, a defining moment. Is my faith made of the stuff I had hoped? Far more! Is my God true in the things He has said? Beyond measure! Is there a message burning in my spirit that the world must hear? You bet!

"I got NEXT!"

still with Thee.

"Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,

When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;

Fairer than the morning, lovelier than daylight,

Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee."

(Harriet Beecher Stowe)

The house is quiet this morning - silent in fact. And I'm sitting thinking of what my grandmother would be doing at this hour. It's 7:30; she might be out the door on her way to the office. Or, on a "hard" day, she would be in her chair, reading from her Kindle and enjoying some tea, taking the day a little more slowly before she jetted out the door. But, this morning, I can't even begin to imagine what she is doing. Singing, I'm sure. She loved to sing. And she was quite good at it until difficulty with her hearing seized that ability (it became a "joyful noise" soon after that).

Last Wednesday was such a long day for her. She was unable to do anything except breathe, and that with more effort than you or I would make after running a marathon. The day was 18 full hours of "fight". (Don't you know that someone who has never quit anything, never given up on anyone, in her life would have a hard time letting go?) As Wednesday gave way to Thursday, my heart hurt for her. How long would she be fighting this way? In the early hours of the morning, I sang to her every hymn I could think of, in my limited repertoire, as she struggled more and more. The house was quiet, except for her and I. Everyone had gone to sleep. She breathed - I sang.

And, a few moments later, I made my way through the house, gently waking up family. First Mom, then Dad and then, my big brother. And, as the sun rose, our reality was very different than it had been on Wednesday. This day was very different from every other day in all of our lives. For she had always been here. Always. To listen to stories. To say, "Let's pray". To provide comfort meals. To give great advice. Most of us had never known a day without her. This day was the first that the sun would rise to a day of missing her.

But our house was also filled with something else. Great relief fell upon each of our hearts, though accompanied by sorrow. She had fought so hard. And she was so very tired. We do not grieve without hope - though we still must grieve.

I was reminded a few days ago about something I wanted to share with you. Growing up, Gramma was here changing the world in Marana and our family lived in West Virginia. But, even in those days, she was such a presence in our house. She never missed a card - birthdays, Easter, Valentine's Day - ever. And she and Mom were constantly on the phone (for hours at a time). If I ever called out, "Hey, Mom!" And Dad said, "She's talking to your grandmother." I knew: just forget about it! She's gonna be on the phone f-o-r-e-v-e-r! But, a handful of times each year, Gramma made sure that somehow, we got to see each other. And those times, those were the best.

I have such great memories of waiting at the gate in the airport for her flight to arrive. Such anticipation! I would be pacing in circles, sometimes spinning in circles, "Mom, how long now?...Now?....Has it landed now???" And then...that unmistakable smile would emerge from the tunnel. "SHE'S HERE!!!" This scenario repeated itself as I sat peeking through the blinds of our house, waiting for her car to come up the driveway. Or, in more recent times, as I sat at my own gate in the airport waiting for my own flight to carry me to her.

I've been pondering how separation always sweetened our times together. And, the same is true now...

The poem at the beginning of this post has been tucked in my heart for the last few months. Those lines have brought me comfort, especially these more recent mornings. But, this morning, as I read the end of the poem, I smiled. God showed me the beginning but, it wasn't until now that I knew how it ended.

"So shall it be at last in that bright morning,

When the soul waketh and life's shadows flee;

O, in that hour, fairer than the daylight dawning,

Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee."

We may be separated for a while - but we share space with the same God. He is with me. She is with Him...