A couple years ago I posted this photo on my Instagram account.

The caption read: “I will give you they keys of the kingdom of heaven; whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.”

I had just received this key, and it opened the door to this house. God had given me a word to plant a community house in America’s greatest housing crisis, and this furnished and beautiful house practically fell in my lap – bought and paid for with the purpose of furthering God’s kingdom. I was so excited for the incredible ministry and growth that would happen with this 5-bedroom house in the years, perhaps even decades, to come.

The year that followed this picture looked nothing like I dreamed. I summarized it this way in a previous post:

The rise and fall of “The Orchard House” was one of the most painful things I’ve journeyed through in my life. Every day was a fight for glory to break like dawn. Yet the harder we pushed to move forward, the darker it became. Our house became a place of isolation and unrest, misunderstanding and pointed fingers. I kept hoping one day it would all make sense, that we’d look back at our story and laugh. But it never happened, and I was finally asked to leave after a year’s worth of painful months.

I moved my final box out of the house on Thanksgiving Day and rented a room from a friend at the bar I worked at. For weeks I could hardly get out of bed in the morning – I had never felt so defeated and confused.

Over time, I realized putting clothes on and getting out of the house was good for the soul and I started to see pieces of myself resurface after a long season of dormancy. I slowly started to heal and forgive, and realize that my soul didn’t die in that house.

But I wasn’t the same person. I became cautious and negative. I would evaluate leaders for their flaws and offered trust on a limited basis. I had experienced the annihilation of something I thought was good,  and it was a pain I did not want to experience again.

This Spring I did my 5-month missionary training in Taiwan. And this darkness within me overtook me. I would hold the teachers to impossible standards in my mind – desiring no change in my life from their words. Submitting to my outreach leader was painful and difficult, I couldn’t bring myself to trust her. Every day felt like a fight just to get to bedtime.

One morning during lecture, a pastor from San Francisco gathered us in a circle. He and his wife had been praying for each of us individually and wanted to share what they felt the Lord was telling them. Many of my classmates cried as they received their words – as if it hit the bullseye of what God was doing inside of their hearts. But my word was vague and made little sense to me. He shared a picture of a padlock and a key – one in each hand. He said I had the key and I needed to open the lock. He saw a picture of me running through a field, finally free. I prayed about it for a few days, but it still didn’t resonate and I forgot about it.

This past Sunday we had a guest speaker in church talk about the Bible passage I captioned that picture with so long ago. She called her sermon: “You’ve got the keys!”

She said: “Have you ever had the key to a door, and every single door behind that door was locked?”

It didn’t feel appropriate to stand on my chair and raise both hands, so I did an internal nod and shifted in my seat.

She shared the story of finally marrying at age 40, only to lose her husband suddenly a few years later. The week before he died he had just cleared his upcoming schedule in order to finish the book God had given him to write. And on a Tuesday night, he was gone.

“The key God has given you isn’t a doorway to perfect circumstances. The key is access to the kingdom of God within you. It is the key to know there is purpose in your suffering. The key to knowing your journey doesn’t end in darkness.”

She asked us to close our eyes and picture a room. Instantly I was brought into my bedroom at Orchard House with the white carpet and four windows. I saw my bed and the chair I spent so many mornings wrestling with the Lord in. I saw my roommate Becca and her never-ending encouragement. I went into the hallways and stopped in each bedroom and paused in the kitchen – smiling at the dozens of good memories that had taken place there. I went downstairs and reflected on what a great house this was – and what an honor it was to live there for a season. I journeyed to the front door, and stood in the majestic front entry and experienced a deep gratitude for this space and all that I learned from it. I walked out the front door, and felt a heavy weight lifted from my shoulders.

There was purpose in it, in all of it.

I had finally put the key the Lord had given me to use. Because of His goodness I was not done for – I was better for it. By the power of His Spirit I could replace all of that bitterness with gratitude – I could replace all of the dark memories with the bright ones. I could remember Orchard House with joy and not regret.

I remember telling Becca the night before I moved out that if I had known it would end this way, I would never have pursued the vision. (Well, obviously.)

How many of us can say that about something in our lives? If I had known that friend would betray me, if I had known I would lose my child, if I had known it would end in divorce…I would have never…

But God is too good to let us determine our own circumstances. And He’s too good to let us define them, too.

The keys of the Kingdom redefine defeat. They let us see tough circumstances as means, and not solely ends. The Kingdom of God within us allows us to experience extreme darkness and not be overcome by it.

Last week I got to Facetime with my sister Katie and her 7-year-old daughter Emmy.

Emmy was home sick from school and it was a rare and blessed window for me to connect with them (time zones are hard). In my sister’s house, they’ve erected a prayer wall. Whenever they see or hear of a need, one of the family  members writes it down on a post-it and adds it to the wall.

Emmy asked me if I had anything she could “post-it” and I shared my big request with her: Travis and I were in the process of buying very expensive plane tickets. She put her artistic hands to work while Katie and I continued on in our conversation. A few topics later Katie was asking me what I wanted for my birthday. I told her it didn’t make much sense to send me anything since I will be traveling through Asia for most of the summer before I come home. I said I would gladly receive some salad dressing when I come home though – as it seems to be the most impossible thing to find in Taiwan.

As we were finishing our conversation Katie looked over at Emmy’s post-it project and chuckled. Her second note said “Help Rachel & Travis find salad dressing.”

We had a good laugh even though to Emmy it wasn’t a joke at all! In her eyes, it was a need and needs go to the prayer wall.

Recently we were reflecting on our relationships with our earthly fathers in my DTS class. If I could describe my dad in one word it would be intellectual. Though he denies it, he has some form of a photographic memory that is able to scan and download information at exorbitant and super-human rates. Bring up just about any topic in foreign relations, politics, or horticulture and you’ve tapped into a walking encyclopedia.

As a kid I remember trying to fight for his attention. He always had a book in one hand and the remote control in the other. He was so caught up in his learning that he rarely had time for my 5-year-old conversation topics. After awhile I just quit trying to talk to him because I never felt like I had anything interesting to say.

Our connection has grown leaps and bounds in the past years as my brain can somewhat engage on one of his levels. He even asks for my blonde opinion sometimes!

But I realized that this fear of being uninteresting has spilled into my relationship with God. I have to fight to believe He’s interested in my life. I rarely pray about small things because I picture Him tending to other more important things. I’m afraid to involve Him in my daily life because I can imagine He has a billion other things to do (like deal with poverty and ISIS and stuff).

But God’s not like that. Not at all.

Psalm 65 says “Blessed are those you choose and bring near to live in your courts! We are filled with the good things of your house, of your holy temple.”

God says “I choose you Rachel – please come dwell with me in my house. Talk to me! Tell me what’s going on in your heart. Tell me what you’re afraid of. Tell me what you’re excited about. I want to spend time with you – all the time in the world.”

I think my niece Emmy gets it. One of the things I love about her is that she never believes she’s a burden to anyone. When Katie switched jobs a few years ago Emmy exclaimed “this means you get to spend more time with me!” in a way that implied Katie was an incredibly blessed woman. (We love Emmy, we do – her enthusiasm can drain at times).

God wants to know what you need – even what you want. Better to pray for salad dressing than to not pray for it – who knows! We serve a creative God who delights in His kids.

A few months ago I saw a childhood friend post something simple online that struck me. Essentially she said “if you’re ever stumped on how to bless me or what to get me for a gift, I love sugar snap peas!” I thought to myself, that is such a manageable gift! It’s inexpensive and something that will bless her every time.

I gathered with a few close friends on Friday night for a dinner party and after much meaningful conversation I posed the same question: “What’s a simple thing that blesses you?”

(Yes, I realize it’s bad timing to learn how to love my friends 4 days before I move to another country – I wish I had run this exercise years ago).

“It blesses me when my friends pursue and acknowledge my kids.”

“I love notes, I keep every one.”

“I like it when people invite me over to their home for dinner.”

“I like getting a personal invite to an event, even if I was part of the mass text.”

“Chocolate chip cookies!”

These are people I’ve been friends with for years – and I didn’t know many of their responses! All simple and manageable ways to love them, I just never thought to ask.

It’s an awkward thing – telling people how to bless you. In some ways we feel like it’s prideful to say we need to be loved. We often define humility as never acknowledging we have needs.

Yet I think it’s one of the most humble things we can do to say “I need you.”

My roommate left on a trip this weekend and won’t be back until a week after I’m in Asia. She had a busy week last week and so did I – much of our interactions were passing each other in the kitchen while the other was brushing their teeth, either out the door or off to bed. She got home from work Friday afternoon and went upstairs to change for her afternoon run. I knew this was my last chance to see her and it took all my courage to run upstairs and say “Can you hang out with me?”

She smiled and put down her running shoes. “Yes, Rachel. I’d love to hang out with you.” And here’s the thing: it didn’t just bless me, it blessed her too. It blessed her to be a good friend and that I told her how.

Here’s what I think you should do: throw a dinner party. Ask your friends what blesses them. Make it your icebreaker at small group. Talk about it during your morning workout group. Ask your family the next time you’re together. Educate yourself in the art of blessing :).

Yesterday I stopped to pick one of these friends up for an afternoon walk. I was waiting in the driveway for her to come out, and I saw her little boy in the window working on a puzzle. And I thought – I could wait here for a few minutes, or I could bless her by asking her son about his puzzle. Cost me nothing, and brought a smile to my dear friend’s face.

My former great blessing doesn’t quite translate to Taiwan (unless the Twins want to schedule a few games in Taipei…), but I do love books! Amazon has a cool feature where you can send someone a book on their Kindle. And thanks to Travis’ mom – I now have one!

Man alive, what a year.

As I was entering 2015 I had one goal: to be brave. I don’t think I knew what that meant at the time, but I’m thankful it was a pursuit on day one – for I would need a lot more than I ever thought.

As January came into focus, two things were on my radar: opening a bakery and dating my friend Travis. Travis and I had been on a date or two the Spring before but the timing just wasn’t right. It took me several months to realize this guy was the real deal…and I finally had the guts to tell him in December that I was interested. He pondered the thought for two weeks and asked me out (again) on January 8th. Our time was limited as he was moving back to Taiwan (for 5 years!) in 4 months.

My two sisters and I were going full steam ahead on our business plan and project. We had a space picked out, and I spent most of my days and nights sorting out the little details about what this little restaurant would look like. Yet we kept hitting walls. We couldn’t get the right paperwork from our realtor and by the time we passed our initial opening date, we hadn’t even signed the lease for the space. Winter turned to spring and we weren’t much further than when we had started. We were stuck.

I had quit my job in October in order to work for the bakery full-time, but two months later there was still no job to speak of. I got an opportunity to sub full time at the Middle School and I told them I’d take it for as long as I was available. I had no idea I would become the 7th grade health teacher for 5 months! Speaking of bravery…my first teaching gig required me to teach sex ed & all about pregnancy and birth. Add it to the resume!

Sometime in April we had a meeting of the minds and decided it was not the time for us to open a bakery. Our investor was worried about the financial forecast of the oil industry, and boy was he right. We could’ve never anticipated the downturn that came with a flooded oil market – and though we may have survived the economic drought, it would have been a tough time to build a new and thriving business.

Travis left at the end of April after a whirlwind 4 months of dating. Our last adventure before his departure was a 3,000 mile roadtrip down to Arkansas to catch a few of our favorite bands on tour. We saw the Twins beat the World Series champs and met a few friends along the way. We rolled into town 2 days before his departure and after a going away party with our friends and his parents, it was time for that fateful flight. Yes we were that cliche crying couple in the airport (I judged me too) – and at that point there was nothing on the calendar for us. I hoped to make it to Taiwan at some point, but I didn’t know when or how God would make that happen.

May disappeared quickly as I finished up the school year with my 112 junior high friends. I had a few summer jobs set up to pay off the debt I had accrued while preparing for the bakery, and then I would set my sights on trying to get to Taiwan for a visit.

The day before school was out I got a phone call from my clinic. There was nothing subtle about it. You have cancer. And you need to start treatment immediately. Within 48 hours I had moved out of my old house, into my new one, and was on a train to Minnesota to meet with my new doctor.

I spent the majority of the summer either in the hospital or asleep in my mom’s house. It took me all of July & August to recover from two major surgeries and I hardly worked a day over the summer. But thanks to the generosity of both of my parents and “Bras for a Cause” (local cancer foundation in Williston) I was able to make it through the summer without getting buried in medical bills and overdue living expenses.

I found an affordable ticket to visit Travis at the end of August for a few weeks and it was thankfully during a break in my treatment. It was good timing for me to experience his life over there and ask myself if I could truly see myself fitting into his world and the ministry of YWAM. As he dropped me off at the airport two weeks later, I wasn’t dying to get home. I loved the people he worked with and the culture of Taiwan. I knew I would be back – and I hoped for more than two weeks.

It was on the way home that I had my “moment.” My connection was in Tokyo, and my next plane would take me to Minneapolis. Currently I was about 2 hours from Travis by flight, but it would soon be 14. I didn’t want to get on that plane. It was flying in the wrong direction. I didn’t want to continue pursuing a life that kept me thousands of miles away from him. It was time to start making steps towards Taiwan and a life that would include Travis Kleppen. Always.

The months to come included a few more cancer treatments, lots of time hanging out with Base Camp (my church’s youth discipleship program), subbing at the middle school, and just enjoying the place I’ve learned to call home. I set aside the beginning of March as the time I would transition overseas, but I wasn’t ready to check out just yet. This place is too important to me to not enjoy every single minute God has allowed me to stay.

Travis and I reached an awkward stage of our relationship when it was time to start making our future plans, but there was no opportunity to exchange a ring. With the timing of things it made most sense for us to get married in September of 2016, but it felt strange to plan a wedding without an engagement. He told me to trust him with the timing of that – and I must confess that was hard to do! (I am the planner in our relationship….)

The year ended with the best surprise – he had been plotting for months his Christmas proposal, with a secret flight and all! With the company of our friends, he pulled it off – getting down on one knee to a very shocked Rachel on December 17th! We spent the next two weeks celebrating our engagement and the holidays with our families and friends. Truly a joy knowing we will be together for many Christmases to come!

2015 was a year of many discoveries and changes, and it looks like 2016 won’t be much more ordinary. I have a cancer scan January 27th that will reveal how effective my last radiation treatment was – I am praying there is no cancer to speak of! Feel free to send up a prayer too, I’d appreciate it!

I have a plane flight on March 7th to Taipei to begin my Discipleship Training School on the YWAM Taipei base. I just had my Skype interview last night with my school leader and received my acceptance packet this morning! It will be a busy 5 months – 2 of which will be spent in another country on an outreach.

Travis and I will head back together after my graduation in early August to prepare for a North Dakota wedding! I’ve always dreamed of a Minnesota wedding, but getting married in the place we met and fell in love just makes all the more sense. We’re excited for a weekend long party with all of those we love.

Thanks for taking an interest in my life…most days it’s an adventure, though it can be dull or stressful at times too! I hope you had an exceptional 2015 and that you’re not the exact same person you were 365 days ago. I know I’m not!

Peace out, my friends. Cheers to another year of chasing glory!

I’m a few medals short of an Olympian.

In other words, “athlete” usually isn’t the first descriptor to come to mind when people think of me. To get me to work out usually requires a high amount of social stimulation and community, and even then I only have about 15 minutes before I’m tired or bored. My definition of playing a college sport was getting a C+ in “Beginning Volleyball” my senior year.

But the reality is, I can be athletic – but I’m never the most fit person in the room. I don’t want to run with friends because they are faster and their lungs are bigger (better? stronger? super-human?).  I usually just go for one round of group sports so I can do something funny and head back to the sideline with my diet coke. I don’t like exercising with people who are better than me.

So I don’t.

I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer at the end of the May and it sidelined me for most of the summer. Two major surgeries kept me in bed for a month and recovering from a month of sleepy time took another 2 months. As I began to recover, I had to prepare for my next treatment which induced some serious fatigue and consumed any spare energy I had. I was on these meds that were zapping all of my thyroid functions in order to kill the naughty cells in my body. I could only make plans for 4 hours at a time before I had to come home and rest up.

After my latest treatment, I woke up one day and just decided it was time to get outside. My new regulating meds were restoring my body to normal functions and I had a newfound energy. I stepped out the front door and decided I was going to run a mile. I didn’t care how long it would take, but I was going to run the whole thing. As I was rounding the third corner of the block, I realized it was actually possible without stopping. I could see the mailbox and I could get there. I didn’t have a timer on me, but I’m guessing it took about 15 minutes.

But I got up the next morning and ran another 15 minute mile. After a few weeks, I ran two of them…this time they were 13.5 minutes. Last Saturday I ran 4 1/2 miles in less than an hour (with one stop for that giant rock face on the east end of town).

Just like that, I became a runner. I tend to say I’m not a runner because I don’t run fast or I don’t run marathons…but that’s not the definition of running. Picking up your legs in rhythm is running…and I can do that.

I think we can get this way with just about anything. I’m not Julia Child, so I’m just going to make all my meals out of a box. I’m not Led Zeppelin so I’m not going to try make any sort of music. I don’t want to read War & Peace on my free afternoon, so I hate reading.

But we have to start somewhere. And give ourselves the grace to be below average. A 15-minute mile is about twice what the average runner takes to run a mile – probably 3x an Olympic-qualifying mile. But it’s where I’m at. It’s the best I can do today. And it’s 15 minutes faster than sitting on the couch.

Having trouble reading? Don’t jump to the NYT bestseller list right away, go to the library and get a book you can read in a day. Get something that was written for kids or teenagers – finishing a Harry Potter book in a week makes me feel like a million bucks and it doesn’t require every cell in my brain to get through it.

Find a recipe online and read it closely, following everything it tells you to do. The secret to making good food? READ THE DIRECTIONS. Heck if you have a covered pot, here’s my secret to people thinking I am the Barefoot Contessa: http://steamykitchen.com/blog/2007/09/10/no-knead-bread-revisited/

Maybe after you gain some confidence that you are not disabled in a certain category you can step up your game. If you feel overwhelmed, obligated, or just dread doing something – you’re probably aiming too high. You’ll get there someday, but give yourself some encouragement in the meantime.

YOU’RE AWESOME! Get out there and try something new…join me in being below average, and maybe someday it’ll turn into something great.

Nothing prepares you for the cancer call.

Mine came on May 27th, a Wednesday around 4pm. I was juggling final grades for my 7th graders and preparing to move to a new house the following weekend. I was helping a friend tidy her house for girls night (with my one spare hour), and an incoming call from my clinic didn’t concern me at all. I had been going through a variety of tests over the past few weeks for a tumor on my thyroid – but the same tests done in 2008 were resoundingly benign. Just one day earlier I was venting to my sister that I was having to pay for these tests that were completely unnecessary. I didn’t have cancer, and I couldn’t keep missing work for pointless and painful exams.

“Yes, hello Rachel. My name is Dr. _____, Dr. Wilson is on vacation. I’ve received your biopsy results and they are malignant. This needs to be taken care of immediately. Our facility cannot treat you, I need you to tell me whether you’d like to be treated in Billings or Bismarck.”

As one who is rarely short on words, 8 million thoughts traffic-jammed my brain and nothing was coming out. He didn’t have time for my silence and informed me a nurse would call me in the morning, and I should have my decision ready.

Click.

I froze. My friend was changing a diaper in the other room and I made a rushed excuse and ran out to my car. Who do I call? What do I do? Am I going to lose my hair? Will I spend the summer in the hospital? Am I going to die?

I felt like I should call my parents, but I didn’t know anything. How do you tell your parents this sort of thing? I felt like my boyfriend deserved more than a text, but I didn’t want to send him into an anxious spin cycle halfway across the globe in the middle of the night. I quickly googled “Cancer + Minnesota” and found a treatment center about 25 miles from my mom’s house. I knew next to nothing – but I did know I didn’t want to walk this journey alone in an unfamiliar city.

I called my mom and burst into tears. I didn’t know why I was crying – I think I was becoming aware that I was not in the driver’s seat of my young and adventurous life anymore. The unknowns began to pile up in my mind. I was turning 26 in two weeks and my dad’s insurance was just waiting to drop me like a bad habit. I didn’t have enough in savings to pay for my rent and bills this summer without a paycheck. Am I going to be fighting for my life in a matter of weeks?

I had an appointment scheduled with an ENT specialist in Minnesota the next Monday – leaving me with 24 hours to pack up my old place and unpack my new one. I was supposed to be dog-sitting for my cousin and my new landlord (who possessed the only key) was still in Denver waiting for our new shower door. I sat with all of my possessions behind the new house as the sunlight faded and wondered how my perfect life had unraveled in just a few minutes. It was then I remembered what had seemed to slip my mind: prayer.

I sat on the back stoop and told God this journey was impossible without His leading. I didn’t want to rob Him of any glory with a negative attitude or a submission to fear. I gave him the keys and saw what had been true all along: He was the captain of this voyage, and I had nothing to fear.

An hour later, the neighbor boy snuck through the kitchen window and I was in. A quick text brought 4 friends within minutes and we were moving furniture, unpacking boxes, and scrubbing surfaces. I pulled out a suitcase and threw a month’s worth of clothes into it – not knowing when I’d return. And just like that, I was on a train headed into the nucleus of my cancer story.

Little brings more relief than a doctor who calls your case a “blip on the radar.” I had thyroid cancer and it was in stage 1 – perhaps the best type of cancer to have. The treatment was straightforward: remove the thyroid, take a radioactive pill 6 weeks later, and be on your merry way (with a lifetime supply of medicinal tic-tacs). There was a 97% chance I’d enter 2016 cancer-free and never have to look back.

My insurance wouldn’t drop me until July 1st and I was able to have both of my thyroid surgeries covered. $50,000 of medical treatment cost about $800. My usual voice was a casualty of two throat surgeries, but with each day I’m sounding more and more like myself (and a female). My doctor made it possible for me to go to Taiwan at the end of the summer, and I’ll even be able honor my longstanding date with Taylor Swift the day before my last treatment next month.

One of my first thoughts after the initial phone call was “why me?” I’m young – I have purpose and passion, I don’t want my life to be cut short. I gave up gluten for pete’s sake – shouldn’t that win me a lifetime supply of health points? I have a million better things to do than spend my summer in the hospital.

But as I look at this journey in the rear view mirror, I can’t help but think: “why not me?” I’m a teacher, and I got this call a day before summer break. I have two parents who had the time, finances and space to take care of me while I was recovering. This came at the tail end of a cadillac insurance plan that has graciously covered me for years (helping enormously in my debt-free mission). With the exception of a bum thyroid (R.I.P.), I’ve always been a healthy kid. I have no reason to fear any outcome, having seen God work miracles in my life on a regular basis.

I was only supposed to have one surgery, but the results of my first surgery called for a second. At first I was discouraged to go under the knife a second time, but then I started to think about my friends at the hospital. The nurse who stayed up with me late into the night to watch Game 7 of the NBA finals. Two parents who sat with me as I drifted in and out of sleep and could only whisper in conversation. My surgeon was excellent, and it was a miracle she had space for a new patient from North Dakota on such short notice. I wouldn’t change a single character in my hospital story, and if I had to do it twice – it was good to do it with friends.

I’ve quietly struggled with lethargy for many years. It’s a hard thing to identify – as waking up tired after several hours of sleep leads one to believe they are simply lazy or unmotivated. My metabolism has been inconsistent, even as I make steps towards a healthier diet. Though this cancer derailed my summer, I’m hopeful that it will awaken my future life. Already I’m seeing signs of energy I’ve not seen in years. I’m finding motivation to pursue daily goals and feeling discontent with days that pass by with little more than naps, caffeine, and scattered social encounters.

What I hope this all points to is a God that scatters suffering with grace. In no way does God delight in the suffering of His people, but sickness and imperfect circumstances are necessary in this redemption story. And if I’m being completely honest, the suffering in this season was minimal. I was gifted a month of rest. I was able to connect with a few long-lost friends from college and read a handful of books. I watched the Twins soar through a summer of greatness (that might end with an autumn of we-came-close). Phone calls of dear friends and family poured in with prayers and encouragements. I am continually astounded at the people that take interest in my life.

I just want to say THANKS to all of you that pray for me and believe in me. I’m thankful for a story that continues on this planet, and I don’t want to waste it. I have one more date with that radioactive pill on October 16th and God-willing I should be off into the sunset.

I was born into extroverted chaos.

The youngest of four sisters and two popular parents, I can’t say I remember too many quiet moments in our household growing up. As family member #6 entered the world, we were currently living in a 3-bedroom farmhouse with one bathroom. (We actually have a photo of my sister Laura eating her lunch while going to the bathroom – she didn’t want to miss a precious opportunity at the wiz palace.)

My dad talks for a living and could probably strike up a conversation about politics or gardening with a tree. My mom is a queen bee who has to manage her social engagements with a desk calendar. My sister Katie would classify having any less than 20 friends over as a mere “gathering” when she was in high school. Laura speaks so loudly sometimes that her voice echos off of the wall and creates a ringing in the ears (in these moments I like to say “what?” and hear her talk even louder until she catches on). My sister Sarah is absolutely an introvert, but she has always had the best boundaries. When she needed space she’d disappear to her room with a book for a few hours or turn up her Sandi Patty CD. She was usually able to enjoy our gatherings because she had been preparing for days in secret.

Needless to say, heading to college I had no idea what an introvert was. Well, maybe I thought I did but I didn’t. My primary hours of operation freshman year were from 11pm-4am. Electric guitar, ramen noodles, card games, Lost marathons and every boy and girl living on freshman hill were all friends in the late hours. It took about 6 weeks for my roommate to unfriend me on Facebook and storm out of the room whenever I entered. (What is wrong with this girl? Why is she so anti-social?!).

I went to a personality retreat my junior year of college with a ministry group I was a part of. In one of the sessions they divided us into two groups based on our Myers-Briggs Introvert/Extrovert score. I huddled with my enthusiastic tribe while the “quiet” kids sat on the other side of the room. One of our tasks was to write a list of words describing our perception of the other group. The proctor encouraged us to be honest in our assessment, using the first words to come to mind. Thinking we were being funny, we wrote down words like “boring, doesn’t like people, always annoyed, socially awkward…” The introverts opened their ceremony with their extrovert list: “loud, needy, attention-starved puppies, never stop talking…”

If this exercise taught us all one thing it was this: the people across the room were a foreign species.

As we listened to their assessment of us we thought “that’s not why we do that.” As they listened to ours they thought “there is so much of me you don’t understand.”

I found introverts interesting, but I didn’t have the time. As someone who interacted with dozens of people on a daily basis, only the loudest ones secured a spot in my busy schedule. I left college with a few lifelong friends and for the most part they were all just like me. There was a whole half of society I wasn’t letting influence and participate in my life.

When I first met my friend Becca 2 years ago I thought “oh no.” We were moving into the same house and I was sure we had absolutely nothing in common. I took her out for coffee (extroverts love that) in order to begin our best friendship. I left that meeting not with a new best friend, but with wide-eyed confusion. Why does she talk so quietly? Why is there more than a .05 second gap between my question and her answer? Everything she is saying is so abstract and confusing! As we settled into our new house I mistook her quiet, observant nature for “extreme-judger who could hardly see me from her high horse.” (Keep in mind she hardly ever talked and when she did it was in the most gentle and soothing voice, saying the nicest things).

Thankfully God had set the doors on fire in that house and we were stuck. I had to overcome my intense fear of awkward situations and she learned to speak up when she felt afraid. After about 6 months the strangest thing happened: she knew me. She captured the spirit of my life and could come alongside me in my journey. And ever so slowly, she started to make sense to me. That summer we spent almost all of our days together and even earned the couple name “R&B.” Fitting title for two very different styles that can make some great music.

Then came the next step: an introvert asked me on a date. Still in semester one of introvert school, I didn’t give him a second date. He was nice, and I knew he loved Jesus – but we didn’t have a 9-hour conversation about our passions and dreams and Strengthsfinder like the first date I was sure I would have with my future husband.

8 months of semi-oblivion later, this introvert began to capture my attention. After a few conversations (it turns out introverts don’t word-vomit their life stories the first time they meet you) I realized maybe there was a lot more to Travis than I realized. We liked the same music, he was the only guy I could talk to about the Vikings, and we had oddly read a lot of the same books. He was also moving to Taiwan in a few months and even though we were pretty good friends I had no idea why.

Fast-forward a few random details and a middle school variety DTR (define the relationship), we were on date two. This time I decided to leave my expectations at the door. He isn’t like my dad really…he is totally content with enjoying time together quietly. He appreciates simplicity and lives for long road trips with people he knows and likes. His ideal evening is a cup of tea and a game of cribbage (with an episode or two of the Office). He doesn’t force conversation or find himself extremely bored if he’s been alone for 30 minutes. He enjoys sharing who he is with others, but he needs time and space to do so.

I can’t help but think what would have happened if I had just left him in my little box at that retreat all those years ago. He is one of the most kind, brave, and deep people I know…and well worth the time invested. He’s the best guy friend I’ve ever had and I hope that remains true for a long time.

Maybe if we find ourselves on the opposite side of the room with a pen and paper we should be taking notes, not drafting indictments. There is something so marvelous about a diverse body…I’m never running out of things to learn about beauty. For a girl who tends to operate on over-drive as a default setting, I’m thankful to be surrounded by characters who enjoy life at a different pace. I’m infinitely more effective in my pursuits when I slow things down.

To introverts: yes we’re loud and we’re busy, but we just love things so much we want to consume them at an efficient rate. Give us grace as we verbally process and strive to meet every person in the room. Let us go to Walmart at midnight for no reason other than to get out of the house. Know that beneath our intense desire for stimulation there is a hungry heart longing to be known.

To extroverts: introverts are worth your time. They have some of the best observations and habits, but you might not gain access to them right away. They are loyal, honest, and smart. Let the awkward silences hang in the air for a minute – it’s typically a few seconds after uncomfortable that they’ll say something profound.

I just turned 26.

[Insert your favorite celebration emoji]. 26 is just a number, and seemingly another year. But why does it all of a sudden feel like my life is a spinning top – busy but going nowhere?

I think 22-24 is designated for “figuring things out” or paving the way for your soon-to-be obvious and holistic calling. 25 is just awesome because you’re no longer young, but you’re definitely not old. You’re so aware of the oyster-shaped world in front of you and you’re just deciding how you’re going to seize it.

But then there’s 26. It seems to me (via Instagram) like most people are on the right track at 26 – married to their best friend, owning their first home in an ideal neighborhood in the perfect city, and waking up every day to go to a job that fills their cup to overflowing. My lack of clarity in those areas brings a lot of doubt into where I’m investing my life.

It’s not that I feel discontent, but I wonder what purpose I serve in a city I don’t fully know my place in. I’m a substitute teacher (on summer break), I lead a Bible study for teenagers, I play guitar at my church sometimes, and I’m in love with a guy who lives 6,872 miles away from my house. I’m financially stable, I have good friends, and my Jesus tank is relatively full – but it’s like I’m terrified I’m not doing something important enough.

I stumbled across a magazine ad for a grad school in Seattle a few days ago. In the ad there were six pictures of current students and alumni with a short blurb underneath describing who they are. Stephanie Berbec graduated in 2013 and her current job description is “Connoisseur & Advocate.” Naomi Wachira graduated in 2010 is a self-described “Musician & Story-teller.”

What? Is that allowed? Can we just label our lives by what piques our interest and put it on a business card?

Wait a second. Why not?

I’ve met a writer, but I’ve never met a professional storyteller. I’ve met a chef, but I’ve never been introduced to a Connoisseur. Perhaps I’ve been in such pursuit of a sensible answer to my vocational identity that I’ve missed an opportunity to share who I really am. And maybe my paycheck comes from being a substitute teacher – but it couldn’t possibly tell you why I’m here.

What if we Christians got really good at this? What if we had a better answer than “Pastor” or “Small Business Owner” or “Waitress”? What if we were able to share our DNA with an authentic verbal response to a common inquiry that expects very little in return?

Can I practice with you? Okay, thank you. I really do appreciate it.

“Hi, I’m Rachel.”

“Hi Rachel, so what do you do?”

“Well, I do a few things. I’m a wordsmith, an ethnographer, and a vocational catalyst.”

“You’re … what?”

“Well, I’m a wordsmith – words are a bit of an art to me. I like to use my words with intention. I prefer to use unique words that describe a situation almost perfectly. I intend for the words I write and speak to captivate and challenge those who hear what I’m saying and make them want to pull out a dictionary when they get home. I read and re-read the things that I write to make my stories come to life.

And ethnography, my interest for that vocation was sparked in college. I never knew how important understanding culture is to a full life. I know if I’m to bring life and depth into my community, I have to understand what it needs. It’s not a waste of time to sit in coffee shops and watch strangers interact. Sometimes I ask local politicians questions about what they know. Occasionally I just go for walks and look at how houses are designed and arranged in each neighborhood.

And as far as vocational catalyzing goes, that’s what makes me feel the most alive. It wasn’t until I was 21-years-old that I could name one thing I was good at. I had no direction or language for what made me the only Rachel Nancy Woltjer in the world. But when I did begin to stumble upon my own beauty, getting out of bed in the morning was less of a chore and more of an adventure. Building friendships with others was less taxing and more invigorating. Imagining the kind of job that would suit me and my potential employer wasn’t so ambiguous. If I could spend all of my time doing something, it would be helping others see their own loveliness.”

Perhaps I have more direction than I realize at 26. Maybe if I stopped defining my life by the name of my employer but instead the pulse of my heart, feeling purposeful won’t be so complicated.

Who are you and what makes you feel alive? Do you need help figuring that out? – link to my email is just on your right there. I’d love to help.

Wednesday was one of those terrible horrible no-good very-bad days.

I don’t mean to sound dramatic, but by the time my clock said 10am I was ready to charter a private jet to the Alaskan wilderness. Anything to get away from PEOPLE. (Mostly 13-year-old people). It seemed everything I tried to do that day backfired. And on top of my failures, a smattering of scheduling conflicts and an untimely email invited my tired body into the fetal position under my desk. (I didn’t have time to accept the invitation, though it was very enticing). I think I consumed a gallon of Diet Coke instead.

I budged my way through worship practice (NOTE: HYMNS ARE IMPOSSIBLE TO PLAY ON THE GUITAR SO DON’T EVEN TRY), and was ready to face plant into Cloud Bed when I remembered I had made late night dinner plans with my friend Becca. Becca is a good friend, a professional listener (all of my former roommates that survived the year are knighted in that category), and she has this calming presence that subsides even the worst of storms for a few minutes. As we sat on our favorite hill overlooking the legion ballpark, I vomited all of my frustrations about the spinning top my life had become.

She listened and nodded occasionally. We tossed out some rhetorical questions and hypothetical adventures to an imaginary land far far away. But then we climbed down the hill and walked back to real life, where the discouragement and closed doors seemed to reign supreme.

I stumbled into my house after my bedtime and noticed a letter on the counter with my name on it. As I looked at the return address, I saw the name of a former camper I counseled 4 years ago. What in the world was she sending me?

I opened her card and a sheet of paper fell to the ground – enclosed was an essay she had written about me in Bible school. She said she hoped it would “encourage me.” After finishing the note, I picked up the typed thesis. In a few short sentences, she wrote about some of the qualities she saw in me, and how they influenced her. There was nothing surface about it, this essay wasn’t generic. As I read those sentences, I felt so known – so honored.

Why this strikes me is that I told Becca that night (in tears) that I just needed a little bit of encouragement. Just even a small sign that God sees me and knows me, and that there is a plan to redeem this season of dead ends.

I asked for it on Thursday. It was postmarked on Monday, three days before the request left my mouth.

I share this mostly because God is a good Dad. And He knows His kids, He knows what they actually need. But I also write this because I’m challenged. So often I see someone and think “wow, they are so good at this” or “they are making such a difference in their world,” but I forget to tell them. Sometimes their beauty is so obvious I assume they must know! I’m so slow to encourage or exhort.

But that letter I received was an injection of hope to my foggy forecast. Days later, I’m pressing forward because of her words.

I’m going to make an effort to verbalize the splendor I see. Everyone needs a little encouragement – something to spur them toward love and good deeds. Let’s not hold back.

Hebrews 10:24-25

²⁴ And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, ²⁵ not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.

I love a good baseball game.

I’ve probably attended somewhere between 30-40 professional baseball games in my life. I love getting out of class or work, putting on my jersey, and parking it in my designated seat for a perfect night of baseball. There are few summertime traditions that top a good baseball game on a beautiful night in Minnesota.

I’ve seen a lot of good games, maybe even a great one (more often for the other team), but when I purchased my ticket for April 17th, 2008, I had no idea I was about to attend the greatest game at the Metrodome since Game 6 of the 1991 World Series.

I can guarantee I had no idea, because I left the game in the 7th inning – when it was just an ordinary game.

What you’re about to read is a story I try to forget. It’s the stuff that holds you just below the bar of superfan, the stories that make your fellow diehards shake their heads and question your allegiance. But it happened, and it’s the reason I’ll never leave a game before that final out again.

I would like to dedicate this post to my dear friend, Kelsey Jass, who sulks every 17th day of the 4th month, remembering what we did. Here’s to you, my friend: and to staying for 27 outs for the rest of our lives. 

Seven years ago today was just another day when I woke up. Just another day for me and just another day for Jason Kubel, an outfielder for the Minnesota Twins.

That was all about to change.

I went to my classes like usual and made a late afternoon decision to go to that evening’s Twins game at the Metrodome with my dad. He brought his wife (who hates sports more than my oldest sister, if that’s even possible) and I brought my fellow superfan, Kelsey.

We had pretty crappy seats in the upper deck, but I was just happy to be at a game for free. The game was fairly uneventful and by the time we made it to the middle of the 7th inning, we had dug ourselves into a 3-8 hole even I didn’t think we could get out of.

My stepmom wanted to leave because she had finished her book and wanted to the get to the “Holy Land” restaurant before it closed. My dad said if by the end of the 7th inning we were still down by 5 we would leave. Kelsey and I were annoyed (mostly because we didn’t like Middle Eastern food), but we halfheartedly agreed. The game was a tough one to watch.

The only notable thing happening was that Jason Kubel (our hefty, inconsistent right fielder) was having a good game. So far he had hit a single, a double, and a triple. But that kind of stuff doesn’t matter when you’re losing by 5 runs.

They scored one, but we (read: they) decided to leave anyway. As we were driving away, Kelsey’s boyfriend (now husband!) started texting her – “Twins are making a comeback in the bottom of the 8th!” Denard Span had just hit a two-run double, narrowing the score to 7-9. We were getting hits and hits, and with 2 outs the pitcher intentionally walked our MVP slugger Justin Morneau to load the bases. (We were getting all of these updates via text because we couldn’t find the game on the radio).

Up walks Jason Kubel with the bases loaded.

He let the first pitch go – a curveball, strike one. But the next one stepped right into his office and he launched it into the upper deck.

Cool – good for him, right? Twins win. No, this was so much more than a comeback win. This was a historic event. 

Ya see there’s this thing in baseball called a “cycle.” It’s an almost impossible feat to accomplish – because you need to hit a single, a double, a triple, and a home run. In the same game. It’s only happened 282 times in the history of Major League Baseball. That might sound like a lot but when you consider there are roughly 2,500 games played in a Major League season (with 18 batters given a chance each game), that’s 45,000 chances per season to get a cycle. (End baseball nerd rant).

The point is: this hardly ever happens.

But Jason Kubel didn’t just hit a cycle. He hit a cycle with a grand slam. This has only happened seven times in the history of Major League Baseball. And it hasn’t happened since.

This story stinks, and I wish it was the end. Because it was truly one of the greatest games of the 2008 season – and probably in the top 3 games ever played at the Metrodome. But my blunder that day doesn’t end with that game-winning grand slam for the cycle.

The following is why Kelsey and I have an annual grieving session on April 17th every year (which we can’t forget because Bert Blyleven never ceases to replay the clip during that year’s game):

The next morning Kelsey and I were in the commons area outside the dining center at a work event. A friend of ours who was at the game came up to us to console us for missing the end (he saw us leave and rightfully judged us).

“Dude, I caaaaaan’t believe you guys left that game.”

“Yeah we know. We’re planning on burning our jerseys later.”

“No, you guys don’t understand – I can’t believe you left early.”

“Yeah, we get it. We’re traitors and deserve to be banned from watching baseball.”

“Listen. That grand slam ball flew into our section and hit your seat. Nobody was sitting there so some random guy came and picked it up.”

Jaws dropped, Kelsey and I realized we had committed the greatest crime in baseball history since Smalls stole his dad’s ball signed by Babe Ruth (later eaten by a giant dog).

We spent the next few hours in the first stage of grief: denial. He was just making it up – it couldn’t have hit our seat. Nobody hits a home run that high.

But our curiosity got the best of us and we looked up the video online.
 
As we saw the ball land in our section, on our seat, we didn’t speak a word.

We knew this was a day that would live in baseball infamy.

But that’s what baseball is all about. The grueling 162-game season, the endless fruitless at-bats – all for that one moment you can’t believe. Hoping one comes my way again some day, I won’t miss it.

Endnote: I later learned that the guy that got the ball was a schoolteacher of one of my summer campers. It’s probably a good thing he did, otherwise Kelsey and I would have had a “Solomon-cut-the-baby-in-half” dilemma to resolve. Joint custody would have probably worked too.