I remember that morning exactly.

I remember what I was wearing – I remember that I didn’t eat breakfast because I was nervous. My mom and her friend drove down to hear me speak and took me to Potbelly for lunch afterwards. I had stood on stage at my university chapel and preached my guts out, a message I felt God had written and given me to share.

And everything went just as it was supposed to, the arrow hit the bulls-eye and God really moved. But as soon as I got off the stage, everything changed. I bumped into my favorite professor who had taught my Advanced Public Speaking class and in that fateful moment she looked at me with tears welling up in her eyes and said “Rachel, you have an unbelievable gift. I can’t wait to see how God uses it.”

My face turned flush and in that moment I took her words and planted them in my heart. My email inbox started to fill with requests to speak at churches and youth conferences. Fellow students stopped me in the hallway and thanked me for my timely words. Though I tried to display an outward humility, each of these things became fertilizer to a new weed growing in my heart: I was extraordinary, and God couldn’t wait to use me.

I was graduating soon and didn’t have a career path in front of me, so I set my eyes on self-promotion – I wanted to be the next best thing in Christian preaching circles. I was young and inexperienced – but I had the only two things I thought I needed: passion and the gift of teaching.

By God’s grace that day in chapel ended up being the ceiling, not the floor. I agreed to speak at a few different places but each of them turned out to be more miserable than the last. I couldn’t seem to put two words together and every time I sat down to prepare I would beg God to give me another inspiring message, to which He remained utterly silent. During one talk I gave at a women’s conference I barely made it through my intro and a group of women in the back whispered and quietly exited. I went back to my room after my talk and yelled at God – what is happening! Why can’t I speak??

A few months later I found myself living in the middle of nowhere North Dakota and not a single person knew about my gift. I was washing dishes and making pies most days and no one cared about that part of my life. I had a major identity crisis – who am I when I’m not on stage? Who am I when my gifts are not the first thing people see in me? (I even tried to write a book in that season, hoping it would get my speaking career back on the trajectory of greatness).

But my gift disappeared, almost as quickly as it came. It would be years before another opportunity to teach came my way.

During this time I heard a teaching on spiritual gifts that sort of blew my mind. And what was so mind-blowing about it wasn’t the depth of the teaching, but the simplicity of it.

This pastor shared about how we often hear the word “gift” and quickly think “gifted” – as if it is a quality or a talent we possess for life.

But the Bible doesn’t say spiritually “gifted” – it refers to all of these things as spiritual gifts.

A spiritual gift is simply a gift – something God gives you that He wants you to give to someone else.

It’s not necessarily something we possess (people who have the “gift” of healing aren’t always able to heal – just like those who have the “gift” of wisdom aren’t always wise). A spiritual gift is something God wants to give to someone, and He’s using you to deliver it.

That morning in chapel the Lord had a gift to give to those people, a powerful message to help them see Him in a new way – and He chose me to deliver it.

Not because I have this insane, rare talent for speaking (although I do love to talk) – but because before that moment in the hallway I genuinely knew how much I needed God’s help to be able to do something like that.

I don’t teach much anymore (but I hope to more in the future, because I do enjoy it) – but I’ve found the best question I can ask as I prepare any teaching is “God, what gift do you want to give them? I want to deliver it for you.” Because if I’m left to my own devices I will likely gravitate towards giving them the gift of Rachel Kleppen – seeing every opportunity not as an one to make God look great, but to make me look great.

And I think this can happen with any spiritual gift.

I love hospitality and having people over, but often times my heart can shift towards impressing my guests with my cooking or my cool apartment rather than simply blessing them. (God has often used burned or poorly timed food to help cure me of that one!). But when I step back and think of each opportunity as a one-time gift to be given to someone from God I feel so much freedom!

Rather than being the gift, I just get to deliver it.

What are your spiritual gifts? I hope you get many chances to give them away.

Every time I see a doctor appointment on the calendar I groan.

It’s one of my least favorite things to do in Taiwan, a place where culture shock and impatience collide for an unpleasant afternoon. When I bring Ben to get his shots we need to wait in line for him to get his measurements. And then we wait in another line to see his doctor (for 30 seconds). Once we’re finished we wait in line to pay, and another line to pick up his vaccine, and finally we wait in line to get the shot. Less than a minute of actual doctor time can sometimes take up to two hours of waiting in line – it’s my least favorite thing.

Last week when I went to the doctor to make sure my cancer is still in remission (hallelujah, it is!) I went without my trusty distract-o-matic smartphone. Thankfully I only had to wait in three lines, but it was about an hour of line-waiting nonetheless. With nothing to keep me busy I decided to play the gratitude game (sounds cheesy, but stick with me).

Two summers ago my husband and his students decided to fast from their phones for 3 days. Being the devoted wife I am I offered to join in the fast, but I felt like God was asking me to fast from something different. When I sought Him out to see what He meant, it was clear: complaining.

3 days. No complaining.

I laughed to myself – I am the pinnacle of positivity! Sure God, I can “fast” from something I hardly ever do.

That night Travis and I went to Costco to pick up a few things and I lamented about how lame the cereal selection was. Travis stopped me – “Hey, no complaining remember?” But! Seriously – Frosted Flakes or Koko Crunch? Anyone would complain about that! (Keep in mind this conversation is happening in an American store, 7,000 miles away from America that sells hundreds of American products). Ok, fine. You have a point.

Over the next 48 hours I found myself in the midst of approximately 90 conversations about how horribly hot and muggy the August weather was and I’m thinking I should probably invest in some super glue to put on my lips. That night I had ministry at The Rock (which I usually complained about) and about halfway through the night the power went out. We lit some candles, but about 15 minutes into the blackout all of the air conditioning had escaped the room and we were sweating through our clothes. We eventually had to close for the night because it was too unbearably hot to be there without AC.

And that’s when it hit me – when had I ever thanked God that the Rock has air conditioning? I’d never given it a second thought! Travis and I didn’t have much money in our first year of marriage and we couldn’t really use the AC at our house – so to be able to sit in free AC for 3 hours a night was an absolute blessing!

That day God and I started a new game. Take a crappy situation and count as many blessings as you can in the midst of it.

So here I was last week, sitting in the hospital counting my blessings.

• Thank you for a clean, safe hospital and doctors who can speak English
• Thank you that I can get my thyroid medication here and that it only costs about $1/month
• Thank you that Ben was born here and that we got to take him home!
• Thank you for health insurance, that makes all of our doctoring super affordable
• Thank you for the ER doctors who took care of Ben when he had his seizure
• Thank you that Travis is watching Ben today so I could drive the moto here and have some personal time

By the time the doctor called my number, I was still counting.

It’s amazing what God can do in our hearts when we pay attention. When we engage the moment instead of distract ourselves from it.

Not having a phone has limited my ability to text message (sorry Laura!), but it’s created more opportunities to talk about my issues with God, rather than spout off frustrated texts. Ben, Travis, and I are all sick this week and there have been many times I’ve wanted to send pity texts to my sisters, thinking their pity is what will make my day better.

But what’s cool about God is He doesn’t just make my day better, He makes me better.

And a better me is going to have better days. As my grandma Margie used to say: “the only thing you can control is your attitude.” I’d love to snap my fingers and clear up the snot in Ben’s nose and have him take a 4 hour nap (so I can take a one hour nap of my own and then have 3 hours of personal time), but that’s probably not going to happen. But I can let God change me, I can work with Him on being more patient and grateful in the midst of frustrating circumstances.

Think about what is most frustrating you today – what about that situation can you be grateful for?

Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance,  and endurance produces character, and character produces hope,  and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

Romans 5:3-5

Sometime in March, I knew I needed a change.

So of course, in late April I finally put my foot down. I was tired of my days all looking the same, using the excuse that wiping butts and cleaning up spills will do that to anybody. Sure having a child brought a sense of routine, but there was something else I lacked.

Expectancy.

I longed to live those former days of jumping out of bed, waiting to see what God would say or do before I would crawl back in bed again. I used to pray the day wouldn’t end before I saw Him move or heard Him speak.

But these days I had forgotten what that meant. As God and I had gotten out of rhythm, I started to fear what He might ask me to do or not do. I didn’t want to hear what He would say – I hoped He wouldn’t nudge me to do anything awkward. I lost sight of who God was, thinking He was constantly disappointed that I was struggling.

My phone was an excellent deterrent from these bothersome questions. I’d pop in my headphones as Ben and I went out for a walk – listening to a podcast or calling a family member while he played by himself at the park. People would notice Ben and smile, but as soon as they saw I was busy they would walk away. Thanks phone! No awkward interactions for me today!

Back in March,  I was looking through some old photos and saw the one my friend had taken when God lit the sky on fire. It was a sign of what was about to come, a flood of miracles we couldn’t wait to deliver to a hungry crowd. There was no fear of what might happen, only joy in the promises and character of God. Was I content to never feel that expectant again?

No, I wasn’t.

So I prayed a simple prayer – God I want to live expectantly. I want to see you move in my life and through my life – and please take whatever is standing in the way.

A couple hours later, Ben threw my phone in the toilet.

Usually when I’m leaving the house I always carry my phone in my pocket and sling my purse around my shoulder. But without my phone, I decided to start carrying my Bible and a journal. If I truly was expectant – maybe I’d need to be writing down what God was saying or I could use my Bible to encourage somebody else.

And that’s exactly what happened.

Each morning when I velcro Ben’s shoes on and load him in the stroller I pray for an opportunity to bless someone – and I always get one. (To be fair, Ben is easily the best evangelist I know – he has no shame walking up to people and smiling, especially if they have food).

We started making all sorts of friends at the riverside. One lady just moved back from California to take care of her dying mother – she had spent 40 years as a research scientist at a top medical research facility in LA. Her mother had recently died and she came to the riverside each morning because she felt lonely, even though she was Taiwanese she felt culture shock returning to Taiwan. It turns out she lives on our street!

Another lady just moved back to Taiwan from Hawaii, her American husband of 40 years decided he didn’t want to spend his retirement with her and left her for someone else. She was an ailing Christian looking for an English Bible study and boom! My coffee shop has the only one in our neighborhood!

Expectancy probably feels more ambiguous than daily feedings of social media, sports or Netflix – but it is so much more satisfying. I ask myself – what kind of stories do I want to tell my grandkids about the time their granddad and I lived in Asia? I want to be that weird grandma who has hundreds of crazy stories about how I’ve seen God move.

I fear some may read this and think wow this blog makes me want to be anything but expectant – I don’t want to meet a bunch of new people! But the cool thing is – God knows my personality, and those are the kind of opportunities he has provided for me. And He knows you too – He knows how He created you and how He wants to use you.

Ultimately what it comes down to is trusting in the character and provision of God. If I see Him as someone who is disappointed in me, then I will also think He wants me to do an embarrassing act to prove I’m loyal. If I see Him as someone who has given up on me, then I’ll believe only something massive and impressive will satisfy Him.

But if I believe He’s a dad…like He says He is…then I can trust He has all sorts of things He wants partner with me for – the sort of things He created me to do. Abounding opportunities to bless and encourage others – but also opportunities to receive encouragement and blessing from others.

With that kind of Dad, we can pray this prayer with great peace and joy, knowing that His character is wild but good. “God I want to live expectantly. I want to see you move in my life and through my life – and please take whatever is standing in the way.”

For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

God answers all of our prayers.

Sometimes He says no, sometimes He says yes, sometimes He says not yet.

And sometimes He uses your 18-month old’s fascination with the toilet to give clear direction.

Two weeks ago I reached an impasse with my phone. I’ve known the power it has over me for quite some time, and have tried in many different ways to limit its use. Though some of these are helpful, I still can’t escape the fact that it becomes my desire in moments of weakness (of which I have no shortage). I had been praying about what it would look like to do a fast from my phone until my birthday in mid-June. Not just fasting from my phone, but entering into a season of intentional prayer. I wasn’t hearing clearly from God so I prayed again – God what should I do?

I’ve been trying to allow Ben more freedom in our apartment as to teach him how to engage appropriately with household items that are as we say…“yucky.” We now let him into the room that stores our garbage and dirty laundry as well as occasionally letting him peruse the bathroom in a supervised manner (I cannot with words describe his obsession with the toilet brush). As I was making dinner early last week and listening to a podcast, all of a sudden the sound coming through my bluetooth speaker started cutting in and out and ultimately garbled into silence. I rushed to the bathroom to see sweet Ben standing over the toilet and giving me the proudest smile a 1.5 year old could muster, my iPhone drowning in the toilet bowl.

And so it is – I’ve been granted the gift of a phone free summer. 

I want to journal (sometimes publicly) through this process as a way of encouraging friends and readers into meaningful pursuits. It’s easy to blame phones and technology for our lack of focus or time, but in reality they are only as powerful as we let them be. A few months ago I looked at my phone and asked it (out loud) – is this the end of civilization? Will we lose this war to you? Of course the answer is no, but this pursuit of meaningful relationships and quiet space in our minds must be sought intentionally. Seeds do grow, just with more care and time than weeds need.

I was doing some writing about technology a few months back and realized that with most things, the smartphone can function in two ways for those who have one. It can be a tool or it can be a vice.

A tool is something you use to build something else, something meaningful and helpful. Who could have a house without a hammer? The smartphone is perhaps one of the most powerful tools we’ve ever seen (something even as a child I would have thought only the Jetsons would ever own). There is much good that can be accomplished with this device – good worth pursuing.

A vice on the other hand is something that is designed to hold something in place, a power created by two sides putting as much pressure on the object as possible. I hope we can all agree this is not the kind of relationship we want with our phone. Yet for a lot of us that’s exactly what it is. It grips us, locks us down, projects a life that is impossible without it. Even when we hate it we can’t let it go.

If you want to read along on this journey, I gladly invite you! But please know – my goal is not to eliminate the smartphone from my life or from yours. I don’t intend to demonize the device in any way – for everyone’s relationship with it is different and as I said, it is a powerful tool. But for me, it has become a vice. And I would like to live a life where my phone is at best a tool, and at the least not the center of my attention.

I’ve fasted all sorts of things throughout various seasons of my life, and I’ve found that successful growth usually happens not only in the absence of something – but the pursuit of something better. Now that I no longer need to focus on managing my use of the phone, I want to turn my attention to the areas I want to grow – specifically the areas I feel God is highlighting right now. (Because if I try to focus on reading, cooking, exercising, studying, writing, praying and sleeping more…I will succeed at probably none of them).

So right now, I’m working on prayer. Better said, I’m inviting the Lord to teach me again how to pray and seek.

More to come.

It’s easy to think that missionaries are the holiest kinds of people.

I can’t speak for other missionaries I know, but I can tell you as a missionary, I’ve struggled just as much (if not more) with sin and unbelief as any of my fellow Christians. And I don’t always win.

2018 felt like a spiritual wasteland. If I’m being honest, I was more in awe of sports and television than I was of God. I knew it was barely a shadow of the joy available in Christ, but I couldn’t seem to access it.

I was desperate for wonder.

In November, news broke of a young missionary attempting to engage an unreached people group and being killed in the process – sparking outrage among Christians and non-Christians alike, calling out his foolish and entitled behavior. Some even went as far as to refer to all missions work as “colonization” – which, in my own insecurity led me to doubt my own call in this season. Mission work is hard to explain – sometimes even to ourselves.

What are we doing God? Why are we here? People are paying me to be here, who am I to even call myself a missionary?

The weight of these questions felt crushing in the midst of a dreary season, one consistently lacking in heavenly joy.

On a Monday morning in early December my son invited me (through pointing and grunts) to sit on the bed and read some books (a tiring, yet irresistible activity). He insisted we read “Who Sang the First Song” a dozen times – singer Ellie Holcomb’s new book that his aunt Katie sent him for his birthday.

Who sang the first song? Who hummed the first tune? Was it the wind blowing past the silvery moon?

Later in the afternoon I dragged myself to our base worship, dreading another hour of distance with God in the presence of delighted believers.

As they started to sing I buried my head in my hands and begged God for a sense of wonder. I knew in my head that everything about Him sparks awe, but I couldn’t get there myself. I had searched for it in music and theology books and sermons and still didn’t feel joy in His glory.

It seemed odd to ask God to help me worship Him, but on this day He was abundantly willing.

As I looked up from my prayer I saw the two singers leading a song in perfect harmony.  To be honest I can’t even remember what song they were singing, but the way their voices blended together was magic.

And in that moment my vision was transported to heaven and given a brief glimpse of another song being sung. A song so glorious I couldn’t even describe it.

…and day and night they never cease to say, ‘Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty who was and is to come!’

This most precious and beautiful song was layered with hundreds, wait, thousands, of harmonies – combining to create the most glorious song.

I opened my eyes and saw my South African friend Nadia in the front row worshiping – and with joy realized that on that most dreadful day last June, her mother joined the multitude, and every day since has been singing glory to God in Afrikaans. A few rows behind her sat our base mama, Denise, whose husband is in heaven worshiping in his California English – fully in awe of God’s glory. And a few rows behind me, was my friend Grace – who’s father joined the chorus last year, singing in Mandarin Chinese.

I started to weep as God revealed a wonder too great to even conceive. A song being sung from the dawn of creation that would be beautiful with one language, but with every added language is becoming something too glorious to fathom.

God’s intent is and has always been a complete choir….from every tribe, tongue, and nation.

We often talk of Jesus’ second coming as a forfeit…a back-up plan to a world that just got too bad. Yet Scripture tells us that His return will come in response to all the nations hearing His name (Matthew 24). The time of His return may be unknown, but it is certainly not random. The song being sung in heaven today is more glorious than we can imagine, but it is not yet a full choir.

Many harmonies have yet to join, and to this end we labor.

God deserves glory from every soul in every language – can you even imagine the sight and sound of a song sung by the full choir in thousands of languages and harmonies?

And all these voices are directing the attention to Only One worthy of it.

Oh what an amazing sound, fit only for the True King.

Now we know who sang the first song. God our maker knew all along, that every voice and every thing was born with a song it was made to sing.

Travis and I decided to go all in on our New Year’s resolution this year.

Last year we each set a reading goal that was still on another planet when December rolled around. We have a kid, work a lot, and reading doesn’t usually happen until 5 minutes before we pass out.

So we decided to up the stakes this year and rearrange our living room. The TV found a new home in the closet and we covered our entertainment center with books in hopes that taking a breather from sports and Netflix might give us more time to read.

[Spoiler alert: we are CRUSHING our reading goals – but that’s not what this blog is about.]

Winter is a busy time of year on our base and a lot of us get saddled with extra responsibility and ministry. Travis has been going to our coffee bar every Friday night from 7pm-10:30 and after cleaning up usually gets home around 11. We’re no stranger to night ministry, and honestly I kind of enjoyed having an occasional night to myself at the house (because Travis won’t watch true crime docs with me!).

But last Friday we got Ben to bed and Travis out the door and after finishing the dishes I was completely overwhelmed with a whirl of emotions I didn’t know what to do with. I felt lonely…bored…homesick…sad. I sat on the couch in tears thinking about how lonely I felt – how left out – how trapped I felt in my house having to watch Ben on a Friday night.

Where was this coming from? How do I make it go away?!

I looked at the stack of books on the mantle in our living room and realized my escape was gone. Everyone in my family was still asleep (hello time change) and most of my friends were out and about doing what normal 20-somethings do on Friday nights. I was alone with nowhere to run.

As I started to sort through the mass of thoughts going through my mind (most of them entirely untrue), I realized that they weren’t as new as I initially thought. I had been feeling lonely and homebound at various times throughout the last several months, but I was quick to distract myself from those yucky and lame thoughts via Netflix or football or Youtube.

It was time to face the emotions inside I didn’t want to have.

It felt so weird to worship on a Friday night, praying and reading my Bible – Friday nights are for entertainment, not Jesus! He can have my mornings but Netflix has my nights! But as I dove into God’s Word I began to feel His healing water run truth through these lies that were clouding my mind. The loneliness was real, but it wasn’t as powerful as it initially felt. I realized I was holding grudges in my heart against friends who were busy when I asked them to hang out one time, and one by one let them all go (because let’s be honest – people are busy and that’s okay!). I realized that this season of being tied to my house was actually full of beautiful moments with friends, Travis, and sweet sweet Ben. I realized that it’s okay to spend time worshiping after dark – and that it brings great joy!

One verse that came to mind as I surrendered these things to the Lord was 1 Peter 5:17:

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.

I’d been casting my anxiety alright – but right into my TV! And it sure did a great job of distracting while it was on, but it had no healing powers whatsoever. The only “care” Netflix has for me is that I watch more!

But when we cast our anxieties on Jesus…..we find someone who cares. Someone who understands – was there ever a lonelier moment in human history than hanging on the cross, forsaken by His father? And not only does He care…He speaks…He sorts…He heals…

The bow on this blog is not that I don’t feel lonely anymore – as I type this it’s Friday night and I’ve been warring against these feelings all day in anticipation of another night alone. But I’m instead choosing to let God pull these tough feelings out of my heart and teach me how to walk in gratitude and joy, even when I don’t want to.

I once heard a sermon about Psalm 23, verse 1.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

Many people believe this was written before David was king – when he was still shepherding his family’s flocks. Being a shepherd was one of the most lonely and boring jobs known to man – shepherds would often go weeks without seeing another human being! Yet David had such an intimate relationship with God that even in the midst of lonely months talking to and chasing sheep, he was able to honestly say “I shall not want.”

David was no stranger to loneliness (he writes about it often in the Psalms), yet he was always praising God. Psalm 16:11 says “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”

I’ll wrap this up before I get too preachy, but my encouragement to you is to ask God these two questions:

1. What anxieties/emotions am I running from?
2. What have I been running to?

Processing these questions with Jesus might be the breath of fresh air you’ve been longing for. And my prayer is that it is the beginning of a season of walking openly with the Lord as He heals your heart and teaches you what is good.

May we all know the intimacy David had with the Lord, so that we may truly say:

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

This past week was a whirlwind.

What started with some lethargy quickly blossomed into a boy burning up and a mad dash to the emergency room. As we waited for them to select our number, our sweet Benaiah began to lose consciousness and we saw a part of his eyes no parent ever wants to see. We quickly rushed to the desk and within ten seconds, four nurses and a doctor were giving oxygen and IV’s to our seizing boy. Travis held me as I watched our son twitch and turn, a desperate mother wondering if she was watching her son die before her eyes.

This is the second time his life has been spared in that emergency room, and we were reminded again of God’s sovereignty – which produced a desired result this time.

Yet we know many in our lives who, though held by that same sovereignty, are receiving news that shatters. A dear friend who just received word that her missing friend is likely dead. Another friend who never got to take her baby home from the hospital. Some of our nearest and dearest watching their family be ravaged by the darkness of sin.

Suffering is as real as it is lonely.

I didn’t have cell coverage in Ben’s room at the hospital, so as I emerged the next morning my phone began to explode with messages and prayers.

“Is Ben okay? We’re praying for him!”

“Can we bring dinner? What time can we drop it off?”

“Do you need us to watch him while you sleep?”

Weary and tired, I went to our base worship time Monday afternoon – where our entire staff prayed God’s protection over our family and others on staff who have been suffering. A friend of mine came up to me and in tears prayed over Ben’s life and for Travis and I.

As we worshiped I praised God for the church….a community of people that not only loves God, but loves each other.

Many of us try to live our lives in a way that avoids suffering at all costs – I confess I’m guilty of coveting this seamless life. Yet suffering is inevitable, it is simply part of living on a planet that is disordered – run amok by forces that enjoy destruction and pain.

I can’t imagine trying to face it all alone.

Before I surrendered my life to Jesus, I converted away from the church. The critics were loud and at the time there was so much to agree with. Close-minded, prideful, homophobic, selective. I was interested in the compassion of Jesus, but to me the church was just a place for good people to celebrate their goodness (and chastise the rest of us). I was open to faith, but it was to be more private. I believed in the emergent church, one built on forsaking what had come before it.

Yet as I began to study the Bible I realized that this simply was not how God designed the Kingdom of God to flourish. And that a lot of the failures of the church had been addressed in Scripture already – but the answer was never to abandon the church.

The first time I became a member of a church I was 25-years-old, and it was (and is) a transformative experience for me. Not only am I committed to a community, but I belong to a community that desires my growth and to see my needs met. I’ve seen dozens of people selflessly give of their time, finances, and wisdom to see Travis and I flourish in the gospel and in our ministry.

Many people have been hurt by a church or maybe some members of one – some have left. These hurts are real, but they should not be lifelong. Perhaps the news make it seem like churchgoers are the most unforgiving and unapologetic kinds of people – yet within the doors it’s harder to find. I don’t agree with everything that my pastor preaches, but that doesn’t mean I’m always right either. What’s more important is that I belong to a community of worshipers of God, choosing to embrace the suffering this world has promised and letting it draw us closer to the Redeemer.

The easiest job in the world is to be a critic – everyone can find something amiss or hypocritical. Some people can even make it funny! What’s harder is to press in to our hurts and be willing to be healed by forgiveness and hope. That’s brave stuff right there.

The church is God’s gift to His people – and to a lost and suffering world.

Maybe it’s time to darken the door of a church again. For the lonely, the hurting, the empty, the lethargic, the busy – you were made to belong to something bigger than yourself.

I’ve come to learn that spaces are important.

2 years ago when my almost-husband and I were looking for our first place, I quickly realized how picky I was about my space. We looked at ones with views of the ocean (but bedrooms so tiny we’d have to store our clothes under the bed), a modern first floor flat with no windows, and even an apartment with no kitchen! (We later learned someone had recently died in that apartment and due to Eastern superstition the place was uninhabitable until every ghost hiding spot was ripped out). After several disappointing tours I wondered if part of being a missionary was settling into an uncomfortable house and trusting the Lord would give us rest in it.

We had one last visit before my extended outreach trip to Mongolia and my hopes weren’t high. I had almost resigned to the fact that I would have to let Travis choose a place while I was gone and I would have to do my best to make it feel like home. Yet as we opened the door to flat #29-3F I instantly found my space. The current tenants would be leaving in a month and their possessions were strewn all over the house and boxes were stacked nearly to the ceiling (much to the chagrin of Travis). But it had wood floors – and CLOSETS! Rather than a third and unnecessary bedroom, it had a large dining room! And while most Taiwanese apartments have a porch overlooking the busy street, ours had been converted into an extended living room (more room for friends!) with windows letting in much natural sunlight.

Travis and I sat at McDonalds later that evening in a stalemate. I was convinced 29-3F was the beginning of our journey and he insisted that once the deceased-man’s kitchen was replaced, we could get a steal over there. Neither of us liked the other’s choice, but it was time to make a decision. I made a severe promise to Travis that I could make 29-3F an adequate, if not desirable Travelodge (when your couple name is “travel” what else would you name your house?) and lovingly he conceded the apartment race.

Making this space our own has been a 2-year project, but it has truly become a delightful home for us. A generous gift from the Lord.

As I’ve struggled to write this year, I’m just beginning to see that I’ve put little effort into my writing space. I blame the busyness of my schedule and the unsorted clutter in my mind, yet fail to acknowledge writing is not something that can be done wherever and whenever.

My couch is a terrible venue, far too comfortable and far too easy to distract myself with other things. I cannot write while my son “reorganizes” my entire living room and his dresser. Coffee shops are not a thing for young moms (unless I’m missing something).

But alas, I’ve found a space.

Here at my dining room table, a candle lit, lights off save a small lamp. Jazz music playing in the background from a phone that is beyond my reach. A sacred hour in the midst of a busy day.

Today I am burning the remains of last year’s Christmas tree candle – a treat I had been reserving for the third week of December – because with my brother-in-law’s arrival last week brought a large, full, and beautiful new one from my mom!

Thank you Lord for sacred spaces and sacred moments to share and cultivate our good gifts from You.

And for the beautiful smell of pine and Christmas.

There’s a funny thing about the way my blog is designed.

With this particular template, it separates the first sentence from the body and publishes it in a larger print in a lighter color. It forces me to be meaningful from my very first word, a hook statement that will draw others into my message.

Yet it’s this opening line that often sends potential blog posts to the draft pile, never to be seen by anyone but myself. Sometimes I’ll stare at the screen for 20 minutes trying to think of the right thing to say. It’s one of the reasons I hardly ever write anymore, I don’t usually sit down to write with a heart full of courage.

While I was engaged to be married, one of my young friends lamented that she didn’t know who she would marry, or what her life would look like at my age for that matter (mind you she was 20). She hoped that for just sixty seconds she could see where she would be at 27, what she would be doing – with whom and where.

I laughed and told her it would bring much more confusion than anticipation and probably more fear than hope. Not because her life would be miserable, but simply because it would take 7 years for her to get there, and every season in that time would be important in her journey.

If at 20 I could have seen 29, I would have wondered who the man with the mustache was and how he convinced me to move to Asia. I would wonder why I hadn’t written a book yet or why people didn’t know my name. I swore I’d submit a manuscript before I had a baby, who is this wild child who swallowed my dreams?

My life looks nothing like 20-year-old Rachel dreamed it would as 30 approached. But thankfully, that’s not bad news. Back then I wanted to be famous, and today I know why I can’t be. Back then I wanted to build the Kingdom in my own hungry nation, all by myself.

Yet here I am, drinking tea (not Mountain Dew, thankfully) and writing a few words about the slowness of the season while my son takes his afternoon nap.

But I don’t fear the slowness the same way I used to. 

At times I dread it, of course, but I know that there is a time and a season for all things. And this season is about Travis, Benaiah, and that little coffee shop down the street. Damon Thompson wrote this:

“Spiritual maturity is the consistent application of elementary things.”

Consistency, the oft-unappreciated spiritual discipline. Thank you Lord for giving me the time to learn.

And with that chatter from the little boy’s room, it is time to be a mom again. Same time as yesterday.

When I found out I was pregnant, I had two major prayer requests.

Whenever anyone asked how they could pray for me I simply said: that I could have a natural delivery and be able to breastfeed my baby.

I have a funny relationship with health insurance. I found out I had cancer two weeks before my 26th birthday – the date my dad’s insurance company was set to drop me like a bad habit. And I found out I was pregnant with Ben ten months before I would be eligible for Taiwan’s national health insurance.

God somehow made a way for me to have two major surgeries before my insurance dropped me, and with that positive pregnancy test, Travis and I had to trust he would do it again. We asked everyone to pray that we could deliver Ben naturally to cut down on the cost of the non-insured birth, and we also desperately wanted to be able to breastfeed the baby because baby formula is very expensive in Taiwan.

So the story goes – Ben made a dramatic entry into the world via emergency c-section 3 weeks early, along with a night in the ICU and several blood transfusions for me. Travis and I had saved up $2,000USD for the (hopeful natural) delivery, and we found ourselves saddled with a $3,500 bill we needed to pay before leaving the hospital.

Our bank only allows us to withdraw $500/day and since Ben came so early we hadn’t made any withdrawals prior to entering the hospital. Travis (bless his heart) was desperately trying to withdraw and borrow cash from friends just to get us released from the hospital. Random friends popped in, dropping off flowers and envelopes with cards and money – each a glimpse of God’s care and grace.

Our last morning in the hospital, I found a fellow friend in the nursing room and she had an envelope she and her husband wanted me to have. In Taiwanese culture, usually people give money in red envelopes as a sign of blessing – and this one was white so I just tucked it in with our other cards to read when we got home.

I went back to our room to find Travis with thousands of Taiwan dollars scattered on our bed, methodically adding them up to see if we could pay our bill. We were about $300USD short of our bill and unable to withdraw from our bank account until the next day. We took a deep breath, praying God would provide the funds for us to leave that day. I pulled out the envelope my friend gave and saw that there was $10,000 Taiwan dollars inside – almost exactly $300USD. We rejoiced, paid our bill and used the leftover few dollars to pay for a cab home. When we got home we had thirty cents leftover, a brand new baby, and a long list of people bringing us food and diapers.

In the weeks that followed, I slowly had to acknowledge that I wasn’t able to breastfeed Ben. Due to our lack of contact with Ben in his first few days and a lapse in my thyroid medication – I was never able to produce enough to feed him. As we switched over to formula, our hungry Ben was consuming a can of formula a week – at $28 each, we quickly realized this was a line on our budget we hadn’t made room for.

But the support came. Two families joined our monthly support team and we had more than enough funds to provide his needs.

 I tell this story because God did answer my prayers – but not with a yes. 

What I really wanted was a healthy baby that we could provide for – and that’s exactly what we got. Had God answered my prayer to deliver Ben naturally, both Ben and I more than likely wouldn’t have survived.

Ben had trouble sleeping in his crib is first month of life, and that month of sleeping curled up with mom created an intimacy that we couldn’t get from breastfeeding. Formula feeding Ben has also provided Travis with many daddy bonding moments that he cherishes deeply.

Whether we want to or not, moms are naturally thrust into the mom race that every woman with kids is running. The comparison, the keeping up, the methods – it is a dead sprint that none of us can keep up with. Before having Ben (and even after), it was so easy to judge other moms who raised their kids in a certain way. There is an undeniable pressure to raise brilliant, well-adjusted, non-allergenic, and environmentally friendly kids. And the irony is it takes the attention of our kids and puts it on ourselves and fellow moms.

A few months ago Travis and I went on a retreat with his fellow teachers, and were placed next door to a couple with a daughter near Ben’s age. Around 2am I heard their baby screaming, and they were unable to console her for almost an hour. I laid in bed, sinfully proud that it wasn’t my son (who we’d been sleep training). If only they’d done BabyWise, she would be sleeping through the night.

Before I could finish my inner-chest-puff, Ben drifted awake and began his hour-long scream fest. Travis and I desperately tried to quiet his cries – not wanting to awake our co-workers.

The next morning at breakfast, the other mom came up and asked how Ben was doing. She said she heard him screaming and immediately started to pray that he would be able to fall back asleep, that all three of us would be able to get back to sleep.

Her humility in that moment was like a hot knife, trimming away at my pride.

Though she too struggles with running the mom race, she pulled off to the side and remembered me as a friend, not a competitor.

I’m surrounded by all sorts of moms – two of my sisters, several of my co-workers in Taiwan, and lots of friends my age. Comparison comes all too easy, and it is always defeating. If I’m winning the mom race, then I’m losing. If I can’t keep up, I’m losing too.

The race God has given us isn’t the mom race, but the race towards the “upward call”. All of Hebrews 12 speaks to the this, but especially the first few verses:

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

As we run this race, we must throw off the comparison tendency that so easily entangles. We are not running this race alone, but we are running with our co-heirs, not our competitors. God has freed us up to cheer our fellow runners on, and to help them get to the finish line and receive their crown!

What freedom, what joy!