Happy Wednesday, church family! 
 

Remember that kid in school whose hand was permanently raised? You know the one- before the teacher had finished even asking the question, their hand was up, ready to spout off the "perfect" textbook answer. They'd usually sit in the front row, and once they were called on, they recited everything (and more) the teacher was looking for, they'd have that smug look on their face. My friends, I was never that kid in school, but confession time: Recently, I've tried to be that front row kid in the words I write to you each week. 

In his sermon this week, Pastor Kurt emphasized the importance of vulnerability- with ourselves, with God, and with each other. Each Sunday, I listen to the sermon, occasionally taking notes, but try to listen to what God is saying to me through Andy's or Kurt's words. Some Sundays it's like they're speaking directly to me, others, it's more vague. Then comes time to write- yes, I'm vulnerable in my words, but it's the process that I've been struggling with lately. The last handful of weeks, I've started writing the "perfect textbook" devotional. I've found myself sitting down, thinking "how can I really drive home what was preached?" Instead of "how can I share what God taught me?" I've been writing beautifully crafted words, only to have God, halfway through my writing, cut me off, delete paragraphs, and have me start over. 

When I try to write the perfect devotional, I'm performing, trying to impress, and say the right things. Those are the times I sit down to write with the mentality of regurgitating what was already said in a new way, instead of vulnerably asking God to show me what He wants me to learn. Not write, learn. That process isn't being honest with myself with what God is teaching me through Sunday's sermon. Not every week is the biggest lightbulb moment, but my friends, I guarantee each week there's SOMEthing God is trying to show me! (Spoiler, I have a lot to learn and room to grow!)

Once I delete the flowery, perfect words and paragraphs (yes, it's painful!) and ask God what He is showing me, things become clear. The harder I try to write the "right" thing, the harder it is to actually write. It's when I stop, slow down, and confess what my struggles that week have been, shift my thinking from pride to honesty, that He shows me where I can grow. For me, this looks like clearing my mind, and listening. It's asking Jesus to come into the moment, and have Him to show me what He is teaching me. It's being honest with myself, where my struggles are, and coming to Jesus with those things. It's not stressing about what I'm going to write, but focusing on what Jesus is showing me. Sharing vulnerably is the most powerful thing I can do. 

God, I'm sorry for performing, for trying to find the perfect words, instead of being honest with myself and You. I'm sorry for letting my pride try to control what You want me to learn each week. I choose to slow down, and be honest with You, myself, and my friends, and open my heart and ears to what You want me to learn and where I need to grow. Thank You for always being a place I can safely be completely raw and honest, and loved. 

May your week be blessed,

Lisa

Happy Wednesday, church family! 
 

At my mom's memorial service, one of her friends came up to me in tears. "I wish I'd told her how much she meant to me." Since that moment, I decided to make it a priority in my life to tell my people how much they mean to me, sometimes to the level of mooshy gooshy. I found a quote that pretty much sums it up:

Tell your friends you love them. Tell them a lot. Make it weird. 

It's not just one directional though. I've found the more I tell my people I love them, the more they reciprocate. It's becoming a little less weird to end time with my friends and family with the words, "I love you". My friend Debbie had a heart attack this week. Of course it was scary, but because we've "made it weird", I didn't have the fear of wondering if she knew how I feel about her. 

I don't know how much Jesus told his disciples He loved them. But I know He didn't just tell them, He showed them. Jesus talked about love so much in His short time on earth, teaching His followers how to love others. And then, He showed us just how much He loves us. "He spread out His arms and died."

The Easter message is simple, my friends. Jesus loves us unconditionally. He showed it by dying for us. In return, He asks for nothing. Yet the more I receive His love for me, the more I want to give it away to love others. 

Jesus, I love You. Thank You for loving me first, and showing me how to love my family and friends. I choose to receive Your more of Your love, so I can continue to give it away. 

May your week be blessed,

Lisa

Happy Wednesday, church family! 
 

One day when I was about 6 or 7 years old, I was at a friends house. We were playing outside when she yelled out "COOKIE!" Assuming that meant her mom had brought a plate of cookies outside for us, I jumped up, and was met face to face with the scariest looking dog, with a fiercely wagging tail, and wet tongue flapping. Terrified, I took off running towards the house. This, of course, excited Cookie the dog even more, and he began to chase me. I remember my friend's mom meeting me by the front door (she probably heard me screaming), but not before I fell, and Cookie began to devour me (yes, I know. NOW, I'm pretty sure he was so excited to play chase, and was licking me to show his appreciation, but in the moment? I was being eaten alive). I had no idea that Cookie was super friendly, and wanted nothing more than to play with me and give me slobbery doggie kisses. 

During worship this last Sunday, the words Your goodness is running after, it's running after me (Goodness of God) hit me square in the jaw. I was listening to the song, visualizing me running around, this way and that, with Jesus running after me, trying to shower me with His goodness. Kind of like Cookie, but less slobber. I thought how true it was that I was constantly running, moving non-stop, trying to do things on my own, with Jesus just waiting for me to slow down. Beautiful analogy, the end? Then Jesus said to me, what are you running from? Friends, I won't tell you how long I had to ponder this. I was hiking on the Pismo Preserve, and stopped abruptly in the middle of the trail, almost causing the runner behind me to crash into me, when it came to me. Jesus is trying to shine a light on ME, not specific little things about me, but Lisa as a whole person, and yet for some reason, I've been running from it.  

People are great, I really love y'all, but standing up in front of you, or any large group of people is not my comfort zone. Sweat happens. Stammering happens. Any time the focus is on me in a gathering, there's a good chance my face will turn red at some point. I'm quite comfortable with people, just not with multiple sets of eyes on me. I put too much pressure on myself to say the right things, while hoping my words are coming across the way I meant them.  But here's the thing, Jesus is chasing after me with His goodness in this area. He's put me in a position where He wants to use me in a way I'm not used to, and oddly, I'm okay with it in some ways, because I'm not running away physically. However, I've been letting the thoughts and feelings of insufficiency, inadequacy, and doubt run away with me. I'm still listening to the whispers the enemy hisses at me, as he tries to turn me away from my gifts, by instilling doubt. 

I've been doing the same type of ministry for quite a long time, up til now. I've been comfortable with it, I'm good at it, and I know what I'm doing. Anything new feels scary, so while I'm on board for a change, I still sometimes let the anticipation of what's coming affect me. But here's the thing- over the last year or so, Jesus has been making it pretty clear to me He's taking the gifts He gave me, and building on them for something more. Let's be honest, if you told me two years ago I'd be working at a church, writing a devotional in the email that goes out to 400+ people, I'd have laughed. Jesus is running after me, my friends. It's time for me to slow down, and accept His goodness. It's not my burden to figure things out, or worry about the process. All I need is to trust that He will guide me in a way I understand. He's walking with me, guiding me, this whole journey. I don't know exactly what is next, or how I'm going to get there, but right now, I'm just going to lean into what I DO know, that is I don't have to know it all. So be it. 

Jesus, I don't know what's next, what it looks like, or why in the world You're choosing me for whatever it is. I do know that You have a much better perspective on me and life, and I choose to continue to have the faith that You are opening doors and providing the path that's the best for me. I choose to give You all the worry that I'm not enough, anticipation, and anxiety. I choose to rest in Your peace. In Your name, amen. 

May your week be blessed,

Lisa