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The Complicated Calling of a Pastor

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Today Chad and I drove across the wide open spaces of our part of Texas, sometimes chatting amiably, sometimes watching the scenery go by in silence. He spent time listening to speculation about his beloved Dallas Cowboys on sports radio while I dozed in the passenger seat. And at one point we spent a few minutes thinking and talking about our life and the interesting turns it has taken through the years. We never knew that we would wind up here, twenty years into our marriage, happily answering God’s call in our little town. Yet, here we are. God has been so gracious to bring us here where life is simple. The commute to anywhere in our town is four minutes. Trips to our local grocery store are bound to take awhile because there will be friends inside to talk to. Our world doesn’t revolve around money or cars, fashion or fancy houses. Our life here is beautiful and small and unique.

There is a certain simplicity to it. Yet, through the years we have learned just how complicated a pastor’s calling really is.

As people, Chad and I are irrevocably intertwined with others. We are likely to hear deep, dark secrets which we hold close, not even allowed to share many things with each other. We are entrusted with some of people’s most delicate admissions and live through some of their darkest hours with them. Our life is simple in so many ways. Yet, our life is about people, and people are anything but simple. We are complicated creatures filled with all kinds of surprising and delightful and shocking and sad secrets. Every room is at the same time a crowded collection of interpersonal struggles and warm friendships, family strife and sin struggles and amazing examples of God’s grace and mercy.  As a pastor’s family, we get a front row seat to all of it.

I have seen Chad carry the heavy burden of failing marriages and sudden deaths, of children with no heat in the dead of winter. I have seen him try to be the ultimate problem solver while problem after problem is laid before him. I have heard his prayers for the many people on his heart and mind at midnight when he should be sleeping.

And while all of this is going on, still he wrestles with his own spiritual battles. Still he studies and tries to flee temptation and undertakes the difficult task of dealing with difficult people, precious people, kind people, and mean people, all while begging the Holy Spirit to keep him from sin. To give him the mind and eyes of Christ. Still he feels the weight of his next sermon, always bearing down no matter what else is happening in his life or the lives of those who need him at any given time.

These aren’t things that pastors can really talk about with the rest of us. They carry a unique load, and one that isn’t easily understood by those of us who don’t bear their responsibilities. It’s a complicated calling.

Chad and I thank God every day for this simple, complicated life. We thank Him for the complicated people who have been entrusted to our care, and we thank Him for the simple message of the gospel, which can cut through the most complicated of circumstances. One thing we have learned in these pastoring years is that every complicated situation really comes down to just one thing: we all need Jesus. Watching Him work in the middle of even the most difficult and crazy circumstances proves it to us over and over again–Jesus is the real problem solver. A simple truth for a complicated calling.

Your Tribe is Bigger Than You Think

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It’s been popular for a few years for moms to refer to their family as their “tribe.” Just look around all those boutiques that are geared toward women in their child-bearing years. I guarantee you’ll see some reference to “raising my tribe” on a t-shirt or coffee mug. It’s cute. It lends itself well to graphics with arrows and baby foxes and all of the other weird things that we women are drawn to these days. But, I think at its heart the idea of your “tribe” speaks to the deep sense of responsibility and fulfillment that women feel as mothers. Once you were alone. Now you have helped create a whole little club of people who adore you.

Motherhood is fun. Having a little tribe is comforting. Except when it isn’t. Except when you’re overwhelmed and exhausted and desperate and lonely and depressed. We don’t talk about it much, but as much as motherhood is glorious it can also be crushing in an indescribable way. It is an utter emptying of yourself for small, demanding people. Later it can seem like an endless string of worries over different children for different reasons. It can be difficult when your tribe is made up of tantrum-throwers and whiners and teens with bad attitudes. And that’s when nothing crazy is happening. Then you have illnesses and spiritual crises and friendship drama and all sorts of other things that are unpredictable and can throw your world into chaos. In short, motherhood is hard. It is amazing and beautiful in ways that can’t be explained. It is a life filled with laughter, but can also be a source of deep grief. Sometimes when we gather our kids under our proverbial wings we feel like we’re the most solitary, most forlorn fortress that ever was–just a determined woman, standing guard with gritted teeth over the little people that God gave her.

As mothers we must remember that our tribe is so much bigger than we think.

If we are followers of Christ, then our little family unit is only part of the picture. The Bible tells us that our actual tribe goes far beyond the walls of our own home. In His goodness, God provides us with spiritual brothers and sisters, mothers and grandmothers, dads and fun uncles and daughters and sons. He builds a support system for us, one devoted Christian church member at a time, and He blesses us with relationships that help to ease the burden and share the blessing of raising children in this world. All we have to do is look up and see that help is all around us.

In Ephesians, Paul writes about how God can take people of all backgrounds and turn them into a unified body that glorifies Him: “So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. In Him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit.” (Eph. 2:19-22)

As Christian mothers, we have to expand our vision of who our tribe really is. We aren’t in this on our own. With fellow believers in our local church, we are being built together into a dwelling place for God–not one made of brick and mortar, but a house–no, a tribe–where God dwells. Where our children get true family members who are listed nowhere in their family tree. Where we can mother with confidence, knowing that we are surrounded by a safety net of prayer and godly wisdom, recognizing that God dwells here, among His people. There is no more secure place to be trying this experiment of raising kids. Instead of steeling ourselves against the world, desperately trying to hold everything in our tiny tribe together, we can loosen our grip on our children and link arms with God’s people, knowing that He designed the local church to be our home and our help. Our true tribe.

Who Are You Really Complaining About?

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Some people refer to this time of year as football season. I think a more appropriate name would be yell-at-the-TV season. I watch Chad pace and fret and jump up and sink down and clap and do a little jig in the living room quite often this time of year. I joke that as a Cowboys fan he spends most Sunday nights crying into his pillow. The truth is that it’s easy for Chad and other die hard fans to sit on their couches and see everything that a football player should have done. It’s easy for them to scoff at the way a player couldn’t hang onto the ball or to hold court in their plaid pajama pants about the way a quarterback just couldn’t deliver on that Hail Mary that might’ve turned everything around. How many football fans have sat around eating pizza and drinking Dr. Pepper, hollering advice to the elite athletes of the world? This time of year, armchair quarterbacking seems to be one of America’s favorite pastimes.

Moses knew a little bit about dealing with people who thought they knew better. You might say that he was called to handle the original armchair quarterbacks. Over and over again, even after God had demonstrated His power in so many undeniable ways, the Israelites would turn to Moses and ask him why in the world he ever brought them out of Egypt. They grumbled and complained and blamed Moses and Aaron every time things got more difficult. They told him that he would be the death of them and that he should have just left well enough alone and let them enjoy their life of slavery in Egypt. Sure, they were horribly abused and mistreated and killed there, but at least they had decent food to eat.

But, Moses, who is described in the Bible as the most humble person on the earth, answered their complaints in an interesting way. Knowing that he and Aaron had no power of their own and that God was firmly in control of the Israelites and their situation, Moses responded, Who are we that you should complain against us? Your grumbling is not against us, but against the Lord. Moses and Aaron were simply servants of God. They were doing His work and operating according to His bidding. The reality was that the Israelites didn’t like what the Lord was doing with them, and Moses made it clear that their complaints were actually about Him and not Moses or his brother.

It reminds me of a story a pastor friend told us years ago. He was fairly new to his congregation, and the Lord was working. The people were growing in Christ, and a new enthusiasm was filling the church, a spirit of unity and excitement. One dear little lady had spent her life serving in the church, but she had grown old and bent and much of life had lost its luster. Unfortunately, while she seemed to like the pastor, she was soon noticeably absent on Sundays. One day he stopped in to visit with this lady, and she revealed that she was not going to come to church any more because since the pastor had arrived, the service length was causing her to be ten minutes late to lunch. She registered her complaint without much grace or care for the young pastor who had come by to check on her, and he left feeling discouraged. God was doing all of these great things in the church, yet all this church member could think about was her lunch. In truth, her complaint wasn’t really about the pastor.

We are all inclined to be just as stiff-necked as a bunch of wandering Israelites. We say we want God to work, but then when He begins working in ways that we don’t expect, we are likely to begin grumbling against our pastors. Even when there is clear evidence among us that God is showing His power, we tend to be annoyed by the way our pastors and leaders do this or that. We get together in little groups and we whisper about what we think they should be doing differently. Could it be that when we think we are complaining about our own leaders, we are actually grumbling against the Lord?

Make no mistake: if a pastor or leader is leading in a way that isn’t biblical, if they are teaching things that are contrary to God’s word, then we must hold each other accountable. As a church, we are called to spur each other on toward holiness, and we are committed to making sure that we are all living and operating according to His word. But first, stop. And think long and hard. And pray for wisdom. Consider whether you have legitimate, biblically-based concerns about your pastor. Pray about it much more than you talk about it. See if God doesn’t reveal to you that your real complaint isn’t about your pastor at all, but about God and how He is working. Wait and find out whether you are trying to be God’s armchair quarterback.

We’ve all done it. And we’ll all do it again. God doesn’t need our help or our suggestions in running the universe. Our pastors need encouragement and a willingness among the church to go wherever the Lord leads. Church leaders need fewer complainers and more workers. They need less grumbling and more praying. Save the armchair quarterbacking for that game that you had to DVR because the pastor’s sermon went a little long. And, by all means, thank the Lord for that late lunch and for pastors and leaders who fear God more than men. They are the means through which God will change the world.

Always Wanting More

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It’s a common theme in women’s ministry: Don’t play the comparison game. Don’t compare yourself to others, we often say, because you are great just the way you are. You are devaluing yourself, we claim, when you don’t think you’re as awesome as the woman who lives up the street. In most cases, when the comparison problem comes up, we think of it in terms of what we are saying about ourselves, and we pat each other and we coach and we say, Don’t do that to yourself.

But, I would argue that there is a bigger issue at stake than our own self-esteem. We aren’t just devaluing ourselves when we compare. We are turning another woman into an ideal to be possessed. We are looking at our own friends and neighbors and wanting what they have. There’s a name for that. It’s coveting.

We don’t generally think of coveting in terms of other human beings. We think of houses and cars and fat bank accounts. Yet, even in scripture when God gives the Ten Commandments to Moses, He specifically directs men not to covet their neighbor’s wife. God is speaking in terms of a man wanting to have someone else’s wife for his own. But how is it really any different to look at another man’s wife and wish that we had her legs? Or her hair? Or her talents and abilities? Think of how many women we see on a daily basis that cause an ache inside of us because we wish we could steal parts of them for our own?

The problem with comparison isn’t that we don’t think enough of ourselves. It’s that we think too much of ourselves. We want more glory. More attention. And we have swallowed this world’s lie that the way to get all of those things that we want is to be physically beautiful with talent to spare.

The world is always going to try its best to wrestle our minds away from what is true and right. It’s going to try to tell us that we aren’t enough and that we should want more than we have been given. It is trying to breed dissatisfaction in a heart that has already been perfectly satisfied by the Savior. Why do we continue to listen so intently to the noise?

In Christianity, we get the benefit of a sacred sisterhood–women who know and love our Savior, who are running this race with us, arm in arm. It would be a terrible thing to let our coveting pull each other down into the mire. Let your sister flourish in her gifts. Don’t envy her the things that God has given her. She is so much more than legs and hair and talents, and so are you. Trust the Lord in what He gives and in what He doesn’t. Rest in a satisfied heart and stop letting the world tell you that you need anything more than Jesus. He is enough.

Don’t Become Weary in Doing Good

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She is a gifted artist who has traveled all over the world, painting beauty as she saw it, an easel dug into the sand on a beach someplace or perched at the top of a hill overlooking a quaint Italian village. She is a singer, a guitarist, a devoted mother and wife, a meticulous dresser with a penchant for wearing berets. She is up in years now, but you wouldn’t guess it when you watch her bebop around the church, a smile always on her face. Enthusiasm seems to come easy for her, and it is contagious–her encouragement and her effortless laugh brighten the spaces she inhabits. She isn’t loud, but she is always there, and her expression says that she is pleased to show up, delighted to be a part of it all, this life and this church and this weary world.

I sat with her earlier this week and learned a stunning fact. This dear woman with so much life in her has been teaching preschoolers in our church for 56 years. Let that sink in. She started wrangling preschoolers in what we call “the basement” of our church in 1962. And today, on any given Sunday, if you descend the steps to that bright and cheery spot where preschoolers wriggle and giggle and get their first taste of who God is and what He does, you will find her there, singing and crafting and loving someone else’s babies just because the Lord has given her a great gift for it.

I can’t think of a better example of one who refuses to grow weary in doing good.

When rewards are handed out in Heaven, I wonder if, alongside the great preachers and evangelists, alongside the martyrs and the missionaries, there won’t be a whole congregation of women who spent a lifetime pouring God’s love into little spirits and hearts and minds. Women who determined that, while they could do many things for the Lord, they would not neglect the care and keeping and spiritual formation of those little babies who need to know just how much Jesus Christ adores them. Women who didn’t give up. Women who determined that even when they were weary, they would not, could not stop doing good for the kingdom of the Most High God. Even in the basement. Even for 56 years.

If you are one of those women, God sees you. What you are doing matters.

Do not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time you will reap the harvest if you do not give up. Galatians 6:9

Is There Room in Your Faith for Your Imperfect Child?

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I could tell from across the parking lot that she was upset. Her posture was slumped. Her head was down. She barely glanced up when I pulled the car up next to the curb–she just slowly walked to the passenger’s side and slid into the seat. No greeting departed from her trembling lips as the tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. What’s wrong? I asked, expecting to hear about the latest girl drama.

But this was different. She began telling me the story of a mistake she had made. One little bad choice that was not such a huge deal, yet surprised me all the same. The tale poured out of her while her tears flowed faster, and I couldn’t even be upset with her because I know this feeling all too well–the feeling of deep conviction over sin. The heaviness of regret sitting on your chest like an anvil.

In my younger years, I might have put on a big show of disappointment. I might have spent the next thirty minutes lecturing her. I  might have piled on her already troubled conscience. It is embarrassing, isn’t it, when your kids make mistakes? In some way it hurts your own pride when you realize once again that your child isn’t perfect, and many times in the past, I have shown my pride by thinking of myself and how her behavior reflects on me more than I thought about her and her spiritual state.

When you are parent, your faith must be wide and deep enough for the whole family to dive in. If you aren’t growing, if you aren’t gaining more perspective about how far you are from the holiness of God, if you aren’t spending time in His word where you learn again and again how much mercy and grace that it took to save you from yourself, then how will your faith ever be big enough for you to look on a child with grace instead of gall? With understanding instead of despair? How will you ever get past the position of just wanting your child to make you look good as a parent?

When parents grow in faith, children benefit. It doesn’t mean an end to punishments or consequences. It doesn’t mean letting kids run wild. It means seeing each imperfection in our children as fertile ground for growing spiritual truth. It means that even when we are shocked by some behavior that we never saw coming, we rely on the Lord for counsel instead of defaulting to our pride.  And then we, as imperfect parents, can respond as disciple-makers instead of prideful dictators.

I sat there in the car, looking at my daughter’s tear-stained face, knowing that she will have many experiences like this in her lifetime. I patted her arm as we drove away and I wondered if she feels like there is room in my faith for her precious, imperfect self. She smiled wearily at me, and I loved her more deeply than ever.

Paul McCartney, Art, and the Real Meaning of Life

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I’m a huge Beatles fan. When all of my friends were chasing after boy bands and big-haired pop stars, I was sitting in my room soaking up every sonic delight of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. I suppose all Beatles fans have a favorite, and mine will forever be Paul McCartney. A few years ago I had the chance to spend an evening with Paul in Cowboys stadium with tens of thousands of other huge fans, and I’ll never forget the way that gigantic metal dome seemed to melt into a sway as we all sang “Hey Jude” together at the top of our voices. Paul, already nearing 70 years old, performed brilliantly for hours, and to be perfectly honest with you, it was one of the greatest nights of my life.

I suppose with art we have a tendency to try to separate the art from the artist. We don’t want to go to an art museum and know everything about the artist–we just want to look at the art and enjoy it on its own merit. Yet, artistic expression can be terrifyingly revealing. The Bible tells us that out of the mouth the heart speaks, and perhaps the same is true of the paint brush or the guitar chord. Think of David’s psalms, so raw in revealing every tormenting thought and every lilting praise. We want to separate art from the person of the artist, but the truth is that art is a reflection of its creator, and, in many ways, a person’s art is a reflection of what is inside of them. Apply this concept to the Beatles and you may determine that what was inside of them was a bunch of nonsense. Yet, songs like “Yesterday” and “Let It Be” or even “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” speak to us as human beings because we know loss and pain and heartbreak, all consequences of the fall of humanity, even though John and Paul and George probably weren’t thinking about that when they wrote their lyrics.  When we hear these songs, we identify with the longing and the strife, and it moves us. Art very often disturbs or inspires us, and it’s because we know that it is an outpouring of something inside someone else, and many times we see ourselves there, too.

Paul McCartney is now 76 years old, and he is about to release his first new album in several years. In preparation for its debut on September 7, he has released a couple of singles, including “Come On to Me,” a basic rock song about seeking out a sexual encounter, but it has to be “discreet” because the singer and the object of his desire can’t be seen together. The song itself, if I may be so bold as to be a music critic in this moment, is just okay. But, something struck me about the lyrics that I can’t seem to stop thinking about. Here is Paul, a man who has lived the human life for almost 80 years. He has experienced all sorts of joys and heartbreaks, has surely learned lessons through the years, gained insight. Yet, here is his art, and we see no evidence of growth. We see no hints of wisdom gained. If he has learned great life lessons and has discovered what really matters and what doesn’t, we certainly don’t see that played out in his artistic expression here.

I sat in my car and listened, head cocked to one side in an effort to concentrate on the words that my favorite Beatle was belting out. I don’t know how much wisdom Paul has gained through the years. I don’t know how he has grown as a person or what sort of battles he has fought within himself. But, when I heard his art pouring out of the speakers of my minivan, I identified with the way he completely misses the point.

As far as anyone knows, Paul has never professed to be a believer. He has dabbled in religions, at times calling himself an agnostic, or saying he isn’t religious but is spiritual.  Only God knows the condition of his soul, but I don’t expect him to write songs that are about Jesus. Jesus, as far as I know, is not on Paul’s radar. But, without Christ it is no wonder that at 76 years old he still doesn’t have a grasp on what is really meaningful, at least according to his art.

What about me, though? What about you? What is pouring out of us? I just turned 41. As I age, is it clear that I am growing, or am I still singing about the same things that I thought were important in my youth? Do my words, both on paper and in daily conversation reveal that I really understand what this life is about, or is it all vacuous, like an old man’s song about a meaningless affair with a stranger? Those of us who know Christ are without excuse–this life is about Jesus and His glory. It’s about faithfulness, fidelity, about shepherding and stewarding well the things that God has given us. It’s about speaking words and creating things that bring honor to God.

Many times I miss the point. I focus on things of little to no importance. I worry about things that belong to the Lord. I have a heart that is so quick to stray–what is pouring out of it? What is washing over my children and my husband and my friends as I open my mouth and let my wandering heart speak? I pray that I will grow. I pray that when I am 81 you will see a different kind of faith in me, one that has lasted through every desert and every hurricane of life.

There’s still time for Paul. Through the years I have often prayed that God would rescue him from himself. From the curse that he carries around like a heavy chain on his soul. I know what that’s like, and I know that it’s only by God’s mercy that I am free. What would a Paul McCartney worship song sound like? Maybe one day we’ll know. In the meantime, I pray that the Lord would grow and stretch you and me so that whatever pours out of us is what glorifies and honors Him.

Being the Church

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A few days ago, we drove east, until the modest, stubby mesquite trees of west Texas gave way to the majestic, fragrant pines that hide the horizon and cover the eastern part of the state with lush greenery. We were home. Well, one of our homes. It was the first church that took a chance on a starving artist, turned attorney, turned pastor. This is where we remembered that life is fun, where our sweet church taught us what it looks like to be selfless, to be generous, to be patient. These people took us in and loved us well when we moved here ten years ago. And now, five years removed from these precious friends, we drove there again this past week to honor the life of a dear church member who had encouraged us many times through the years.

In the funeral home’s hallway, I rounded the corner to find a chapel filled with dear old friends, people we adore and miss terribly. I listened as one of Sawyer’s preschool teachers told me how attentive he was as a toddler, how he would intently listen as she taught and then he would open his baby mouth and ask deep questions. We talked about how he has such a tender heart toward the Lord, and I got the rare opportunity to hug her and thank her for the years she invested in him, for the ways that she helped to nurture a sensitivity to the Spirit that I see in him today.

I watched as friend after friend approached our children, exclaiming about how much they have grown. I reminisced with an 86 year old who had made sure, six years ago, that she was the very first person to come to our house to hold Emerald after she was born. One of our favorites, a tall, white-haired friend who used to keep Chad company in the front seat of the church bus while he drove all over the countryside, walked into the room, and we heard about some of the many sorrows that he has endured in the time since we’ve been away.  Still, he smiled, he hugged us, and he commented on the kids’ freckles. He has always loved freckles.

And then, as the service ended and it was time for us to say goodbye to our dear ones all over again, I walked out of the chapel arm in arm with a sweet friend who used to invite us to her home where she and her husband showed us old pictures and their beautiful glassware and made us fried catfish just for fun. One night we sat with them, just sat with them and ate hamburgers when their son passed away. We just wanted to be close to them. We sat and ate hamburgers and reminded each other that God is good. As we walked out of the funeral home, she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “You didn’t know it, but you saved our lives that night.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. It was such a precious reminder that, in the church, God has gifted us with the sweetest opportunity to experience all the joys and sorrows of life with each other. To sit together and eat hamburgers when every word you think of saying seems wrong. To sit together in solidarity, knowing that even tragedy can’t break our faith, that no unexpected heartache can loosen God’s grip on us. To sit together, remembering that Christ is enough. He is always enough.

I know we have many more moments like this ahead of us. Times when we will just hunker down with loved ones right in the middle of a hurricane of heartache. And there will be times when dear friends will do the same for us. This is the church. This is one of the many reasons that we need each other. And, I am so thankful that I got to go “home” this week so that I could be reminded that we are called to give all of ourselves to each other.

As we made our way back west, the sky opened up again. The gorgeous pinks and oranges of the sunset cast a funny hue on the wide horizon. I smiled as I watched our beloved hometown come into view. This is where we belong. This is where we are called to give ourselves away. This is where the rich, beautiful blessings of the church continue to pour out on our little family. I’m thankful.

41 Years Old

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Tomorrow I will officially turn 41 years old. I recently heard another blogger talking about how when she turned 41 she decided she was going to do all the things that she wanted to do but had always been too afraid for. She woke up at 41 and completely changed her life. Then she wrote her book and she got on all the talk shows. It’s been fun to watch it all unfold, spying on her life from a distance, seeing a whole bunch of her dreams come true.

Tomorrow I will wake up early and meet a swarm of sweet kids at the church parking lot to head to camp. I’ll get on stage and jump around and sing and I’ll dance in my awkward way, and the day will be long and Texas summer hot and oddly fun. I’m not expecting any revelations when I wake up as a 41-year-old. Here I am, with a blog that has lulled through the summer and a book that is still unwritten, dishes waiting patiently in my sink, three kids who are trying to deny the fact that school will soon be starting. Here I sit, still not reading my Bible enough, still praying too little, still fearing too much, still letting the same old sins creep up on me while I get distracted by all the things that don’t matter.

But, God never quits being patient with me. He is patient like the dishes in my sink. Like the laundry in my baskets. He is patient like that book that is still in my brain. Only with his unending patience comes compassion, understanding, and great love. He has shown me again and again through these decades marked by my imperfection that his grace never stops covering me. He is good. And his goodness keeps binding my wandering heart to my Savior.

There are so many ways I wish I were different. But, one thing I know for sure: Jesus never quits. He never stops saving me from myself. He never throws up his hands in despair and walks away. Blogs and books and even families fade and pass away, but His grip on me is sure.

So, I guess instead of deciding that year 41 will be the year that I finally do all those things that need doing, I will pray that this will be a year of remembering instead that nothing in this wide and wonderful world matters more than the love of Christ. The fact that he would stoop to love me is a miracle that I hope I never get over. Let all that I do in year 41 be for you alone, Lord. You deserve all the glory forever.

Every Testimony is Dramatic and Miraculous

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My Christian testimony is what many would call vanilla. I came to know Christ when I was eight years old. My family was something straight out of a 1950s sitcom–hardworking father, loving stay-at-home mother, two kids and a dog. We were deeply involved in the church that my parents grew up in, and I don’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t love Jesus or didn’t want to live according to His word.

It’s true that when junior high school hit I didn’t always make the best decisions. I tried out some different personas for short periods of time. But, for the most part, God has kept me on an extremely short leash. Anything I tried was immediately found out and punished. I felt humiliated by my sin, and was known during my growing up years as a “good girl.”

I went to college and didn’t experience any kind of trauma or drunken mistakes or shocking revelations. By God’s grace I made sweet Christian friends and we lived for the Lord as well as we knew how at the time. I married Chad, and he has helped lead me closer to Christ as the years have gone on.

I have no dramatic background story or miraculous turnaround to speak of. I don’t have one of those testimonies that make people say to one another, “You have GOT to hear what God has done in her life.” No, my story is simple and may not seem all that profound or even interesting at first glance.

But, the truth is that every single Christian testimony is dramatic and miraculous.

I may not remember a time when I didn’t love Jesus, but it is there in my history–a period when I was 100% dead in my sins, as dead as Lazarus in the grave. And then the Lord called out to me, and I heard His voice. How much more dramatic and miraculous can a story get? I was once dead, and now I am alive! I was bound for hell, and Jesus snatched me out of the clutches of eternal torment. May we never be guilty of seeing that kind of saving grace as ordinary or humdrum. It is the very power and love and goodness of God on display in a dramatic way, even when we forget it and we start to feel inferior to all of those with the fascinating and drama-filled testimonies.

God has worked a stunning miracle in my life. I don’t know why He has protected me from so many heartaches, but I’m grateful. If you also have an undramatic testimony, know this: there is nothing basic or boring about the life-transforming power of our Lord Jesus Christ. The angels throw a party every time someone comes to Christ, and the parties aren’t less enthusiastic for the freckle-faced eight year olds. Salvation is never small. It is big and dramatic and miraculous, every single time.

Let’s never forget what Jesus has done.

As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient. All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our flesh and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature deserving of wrath. But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved.

Ephesians 2:1-5

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