My housemate recently became my roommate.

She grew up sharing a bedroom with her 4 siblings and after having 19 roommates in college, I was finding having my own room a bit eerie. In addition, it seemed like a necessary step in our journey. A primary enemy of community is isolation (which is the evil cousin of “solitude”), and I find it all too tempting at times to withdraw. Sharing your personal space with another person makes isolation nearly impossible.

(Sidenote: we don’t have a bunkbed yet, but if anyone would like to build us one like the one above, we would welcome it).

As I’m sure most married couples experience, sharing space (and life) brings about a lot of unexpected frustrations and insecurities. About a week into our new partnership, I was waking up at my normal time (which God and I have agreed upon) and realizing Becca was always up and going before I even rolled out of bed. Not only that, but I’d come into the kitchen to find a note or a missing pair of shoes indicating that she was taking her morning run. My wake up time had never bothered me before, but all of a sudden I felt like I was lesser than.

Earlier this summer, Becca indicated she’d like me to join her on her morning run sometime. I’m sure I made some funny joke or proved that my schedule didn’t really allow, hoping she would never ask again.

I don’t really enjoy running. I can run (I say that because I have two working legs, not because I am good at it.) I like to exercise, but I avoid distance running at all costs. Becca and I usually work out a few times each week together, but we do our own thing (actually, she usually does my thing – that’s kind of her lifestyle, it’s how she loves).

A few weeks later, she invited me again. I declined with some half-worthy excuse, hoping she would get the hint. After calculating the amount of time she was gone, the amount of sweat she produced, and the local landmarks she mentioned running past (that are miles from our house), I made sure we would never be running shoulder to shoulder. She politely accepted my rejection, but informed me that we would  be going on a run together before I left for Canada. In 6 days.

Who does she think she is?!

Does she realize I probably could not run for a consecutive mile?

Why does she even want to run with me?

Maybe she wants to prove that she’s better than I am at running? Can’t I just tell her that?

My morning anxiety increased. She’s training for our run – she wants to show me how far she can run. She’s so in shape. She must think I’m such a slob that I didn’t wake up at 7 and exercise. Gah, I want my own room back!

Canada was quickly approaching and I realized there was no way I could get out of running with her (unless I moved in with my sister?). I needed to get my oil changed, so I told her we could go on a little jaunt from there (it would cut about a mile off of either end of her proposed route.. genius, I know). As we were falling asleep the night before our running adventure, she asked what time I wanted to go.

I don’t want to go, Becca.

Oh, okay.

It’s not you, it’s just that I don’t run with people. I don’t run fast and I don’t want to hold anyone back. I want to be the person pulling others forward. You don’t want to run with me, trust me.

Rachel, we’re going running tomorrow. And if we run for 100 feet and walk the rest of the way, that’s okay. But you need to do this.

We got up the next morning and after some Jesus time found a running trail on the other side of the Minute Lube. We ran for a few minutes, then stopped and walked for a few. We ran for a few more, and walked for a few more. This went on for the next hour, and though I was extremely out of my comfort zone – I survived.

It was Becca’s turn to pull me forward.

Truth is I haven’t run with anyone since I was 12, when I was the last kid to finish the mile in my 6th grade gym class. After that, I had a doctor write me a note that said my asthma was too severe to run under pressure. I switched from being a forward in soccer to being a goalie – I traded laps for diving exercises.

It’s been 13 years.  All because I was the slowest kid in 2nd period gym.

Becca and I have all sorts of activities we like to do together. It’s not like running was the only way I could connect with her. But she knew my lack of desire was more than just laziness – she followed a prompting and invited me to overcome.

My definition of discipleship is simple: there’s more. As we invite others into the glorious journey that is following Christ, we must constantly preach to each other – there’s more. Enough with that sin – there’s more. You don’t need to be a slave to your fear – there’s more. That’s not who you are – there’s more. Get out of that pit – there’s more. Step out of your stagnance – there’s more.

With each step of that morning run, chains from a silly moment in junior high were loosening.

All because she had the courage to say “there’s more.”

I wish I could post an epilogue saying I signed up for a half marathon with 8 of my closest friends. I haven’t. I still fear running with others – truth is, I’d preach a sermon to 5,000 people before running a mile with one. But I’m taking it one step at a time. Freedom comes piece by piece, and then all at once. I dread Becca asking me to run again, but I know she will.

I hope she does.

As I sit at my desk this morning watching my students do a worksheet, I am keenly aware that the “summer of the monkeys” has come to an end. But I don’t say this because I am sad or disappointed – I can honestly say the last six weeks has exceeded my expectations in just about every category (namely: adventure, community, joy, and intimacy with Jesus).

I meant to post a blog every few days during this journey but I could hardly find the time. If I wasn’t driving or eating Chipotle, I was playing my guitar with little kids or hiking up a mountain – all good reasons that these blogs will be written weeks later.

Which brings me to perhaps my favorite weekend of the summer. On July 26th, my dear friends Josh and Elie hosted their wedding in Eagle River, Wisconsin.

I met Josh 2 summers ago at a beach party. At the time in our group of friends we had 4 Josh’s so we had to use adjectives to distinguish them (brother Josh, dancing Josh, Mormon Josh, and fishing Josh). It would take you two seconds to realize this Josh was undoubtedly “fishing Josh.” His passion for fishing was second only to his passion for Jesus – which wouldn’t take you long to discover either. I have met very few people who are quicker to share of the hope they have than Josh is.

A few months later I met Elie. I wasn’t sure about her at first – she was college roommates with a good friend of mine from Williston and had recently moved to our city for a nursing job – she was a bit reserved, and kind of blunt. But it didn’t take me long to realize she would be a lifelong friend – truly a treasure. Thanks to our abnormal work schedules, we have an abundance of quality time together (read: she gets me to the gym). She has helped me walk through seasons of sorrow and of joy in our few years of friendship.

They’re embarrassed to admit it – but they officially started dating on Valentine’s Day. (And by that I mean, she agreed to his query at the end of a 7-page letter). They had spent the last several months dancing around the idea that they liked each other, and it was time to say “Hey, let’s see where this might go.”

What an honor it was to watch Josh lead Elie well. Over the course of the next year we would all see a glimpse of a man seeking the Lord as he pursued his future wife. He didn’t just pursue Elie, he pursued her family and her friends – and most importantly took every step with the leading of Christ.

It was of little surprise to us when the hunt for the ring began last fall. 3 months later, with that ring burning in his pocket – he asked Elie to be his wife. (With another really long letter and lots of rose petals – take notes, male readers). It took her about .01 seconds to exclaim “Yes!” In fact, I’m not sure he even finished asking before she accepted.

For all of these reasons, their wedding was an extravagant celebration. I banked on the waterproof mascara as I watched the ceremony from the back. Josh’s love and passion for Elie mirrors the passion Christ has for the church – and I can’t help but share this video of him as Elie walks down the aisle.

Before the vows were read, Josh and Elie turned to the crowd and shared the gospel message with everyone in attendance. Josh stated it was the most important thing he and Elie could ever share with anyone, and he’d be honored to share more with anyone wanting to know Christ.

It would’ve been impossible not to hear that gospel that day – by my count it was preached about 30 times.

Josh’s 4th passion is probably GoPro video cameras. So of course, he had two of them hiding in the arch – poised to capture the pinnacle of the ceremony:

What an honor to be a part of your special day, J & E. Thank you for reminding me of Christ’s passion and the power of the gospel. Elie…we gotta hit the gym on Monday morning. No excuses.

Endnote: They are back from the Costa Rican honeymoon, and Josh’s response to every circumstance is “Pura Vida!” (Translated: full life, and praise God!)

Zechariah 2:8

“…the Glorious One has sent me against the nations that have plundered you—for whoever touches you touches the apple of his eye.”

A year ago, I was intermittently watching the Home Run Derby on TV between serving my customers at the restaurant.

I had taken the next  night off of work to watch the All-Star Game, but I knew I couldn’t manage taking off two nights in a row. Tough going to miss the Christmas Eve of the greatest week of the year in baseball world.

When I heard that the next year’s All Star Game would be held in Minnesota, I promised myself I wouldn’t be watching it on TV.

My sister and I planned and plotted and convinced my dad this was a much better alternative than a family vacation (because who likes airports, airplanes, and hotels anyway?). We tried in earnest to get tickets to all of the events (I must have entered my name and the name of every person I’ve ever heard of in 19 different drawings), but we had to go about it the civilian way.

Thanks to my dad’s generosity we were able to make it to the Futures Game, Celebrity Game, and the pinnacle Home Run Derby. What a BLAST to be in the midst of thousands of people who share my passion for Twins baseball. I’m excited to watch the main event on TV tonight with my mom – the most passionate baseball fan I know. (For those of you that don’t know her, this is not a joke).

People ask me all the time why I’m so passionate about baseball. Here’s the thing:

I don’t know.

I don’t know why I can watch 9 innings of any game – even if my team isn’t playing. I don’t know why I care about players who play for the Miami Marlins or the Los Angeles Angels. I don’t know why my sister and I can have an hour long conversation about slugging percentage or heat maps. I don’t know why I’ll go to a little league game at the ballpark by my house when I don’t know any of the players.

I just love the game.

So for this baseball fan, attending All-Star Week at my home stadium was a once-in-a-lifetime experience I will never forget. Here’s a picture from our seats on Sunday night:

Oh, and sidenote! I’ve decided this “Summer of the Monkeys” is full of planned adventures, but I’ve also left plenty of white space for unplanned ones. I wasn’t able to get tickets to the free Imagine Dragons concert kicking off All Star Week, so I thought I’d check to see if anyone had any spare tickets (the night before the concert, no less). Turns out my friend Liz from high school had 4 extra tickets and gave them to me for free! I was blessed to take 3 of my favorite people from Minneapolis and enjoy the view. It never hurts to ask!

I really enjoy reading.

There’s something about a book that’s so complete – such a whole picture of someone’s thought or idea. I love watching how they introduce it, how it unfolds, and how they bring it together. Reading someone’s writing gives such a glimpse into their heart and their mind.

With our house we inherited 311 books. (Yes, I counted them). Everything from Biblical commentaries to Hemingway to Kissinger’s “Diplomacy.” As a lover of books, I was thrilled to have immediate access to this wealth of truth and knowledge (in my pajamas). A few months ago I picked “Company of the Committed” by Elton Trueblood off the shelf.

The synopsis simply read:

“Despite the popularity of churchgoing, millions are only back-pew Christians, Dr. Trueblood declares. What is needed is a task force of committed men and women who truly care for God, for the church, and for other people. Such a ‘valiant band for Christ’ would revitalize the church and transform society.”

I added a few chapters each day to my morning routine and found myself reading the most radical, spot-on book about community I’d ever come across (no offense, Bonhoeffer). By a guy I’ve never even heard of! (I’ve now learned he is somewhat of an American contemporary of C.S. Lewis).

I could write a blog series about the different themes of this book, but the one that has been the most transformative for me is his idea of “meekness.”

Prior to reading this book, I always associated the word “meek” with “weak.” Quiet, passive, humble. I wasn’t quite sure why Jesus was calling us to it, but I was positive  I did not possess it. With my tendency to speak out and fight for what I believe to be true (read: foot-shaped mouth), I didn’t think meekness would ever slip it’s way into my toolbox. (I was shooting for at least 60% of the beatitudes by my funeral – ambitious, I know).

Trueblood quotes Gerald Heard’s definition of praos (greek for meek):

“They used it for wild animals which had been tamed, trained, for wild horses which had been made able to work with men. There is then in this definition, nothing weak or spiritless but rather the description of an energy which, instead of exploding, is now channeled and directed. The tamed are not the tame… The trained are those whose powerful impulses have been put into understanding service.“

Whoa.

It’s not about rejecting  power, it’s about channeling it.

As a young Christian I was “explosive” – effective in some ways, but falling so short of my Kingdom potential in Christ. It wasn’t that I was young, it’s that I was undirected. My passion was firing arrows in every direction, hoping to hit a good mark. I wanted to change the world, but I had too much potential for collateral damage.

I had passion, a platform, and boldness. But I lacked the strength that resulted from meekness.

This summer marks 2 years on the bench from vocational ministry, and I’m thankful this time has been anything but wasted. God is refining me in the fire that produces meekness, and I’m growing in strength. I want to change the world, but I don’t want to be a loose cannon. I’m so ready to bring the love of Jesus to every corner of this city – but I want to represent Jesus well.

I want to be intentional and effective. Wise and bold. Strong and gentle. Responsible and radical.

Strategic and wild.

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

[Matthew 5:5]

It’s Friday! Congratulations all you weary travelers – unless you work in the restaurant industry it is the weekend for you! I will be facilitating celebrations all night long. (Don’t feel bad for me, I’ll be watching the Twins game out the corner of thine eye).

I’ve decided to start a new “Reading Rachel” tradition called The Friday Five. In an attempt to help you finish strong, here are some awesome things I’ve discovered this week(ish):

1. If you’ve glanced at my Twitter account in the last half-year, you’ve probably noticed I’m a bit obsessed with the new Needtobreathe album. These guys are the real deal. If you like Mumford & Sons, Jesus, or South Carolina – look no further. If none of those things interest you, you should still check out their album Rivers in the Wasteland.

Here’s a link to my favorite track: “Brother”

Bonus: Relevant Magazine wrote a great article about them in their latest issue, check that out too.

2. Okay, world. I’m apparently behind the times – but if you have not yet picked up on “Humans of NY” today is a new day. Brandon is a photographer who walks the streets of New York City collecting portraits and stories. Every person has a story – and we are all profound.

You can find his photos on Facebook, Instagram, or his blog.

3. I wouldn’t say I’m a Pinterest wizard when it comes to the “Food & Drink” category. So I’m going to take this chance to say I nailed this one. Here’s a recipe for a “Smoky Corn Chowder” that will have men lining up at your door (even if your ratio isn’t quite 15:1). I made this when I got home from work Tuesday night at 1am and completed it in less than an hour (which is a feat for this frozen pizza).  (I had to do the blender part in the laundry room as to not wake my sleeping roommates). We devoured it last night and still had room for a dessert clementine. Nothing like a simple recipe with few ingredients to make you seem like a local Giada.

4. Jimmy Fallon. I have loved this man since his awkward SNL days and could not be more happy to see him lighting up the stage on the Tonight Show. As the “remote controller” at the Bakken Club, you best believe TV #4 is always on NBC at 10:30pm. If you didn’t catch his lip-sync battle with Emma Stone, it’s time. All she does is win, no matter what.

5. Guys, it’s the NBA finals. What is it that can make my sister and I yell “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! THAT WAS A FLAGRANT 1 AT THE LEAST – DO YOUR JOB!” at a ref in a game where our team isn’t even playing  (because the only winning record we have is longest playoff drought). There’s something about the postseason. Not to mention baseball is back and the Minnesota Wild are in the SECOND ROUND of the playoffs. What I’m trying to say is – did you see Kevin Durant’s acceptance speech for the NBA MVP? Check out his shout-out to his mom at 23:30. He is a truly humble and genuine man. (PS when did NBA stars become such hipsters?)

Enjoy your weekend! Tip your servers.

The day before I moved to Williston I realized I had forgotten to say goodbye. (Read: avoided at all costs).

I sent out a few texts and within an hour, 9 of my closest friends showed up at my door (a major benefit of camp friends – we thrive on spontaneity). We played a few board games and reached a natural lull at about 11. My friend Alex asked if anyone would want to go downstairs and worship together. One by one we filed to the basement and I grabbed my guitar out of my packed Mazda.

For the next four hours we prayed, sang, and shared. We had stumbled upon authentic community (koinonia) and time practically stood still. We were this odd group of misfits that would rather pray than party on a Friday night. We never gossiped about each other because we loved one another and were fighting our brokenness shoulder to shoulder. I looked around at our group and felt an inner anguish as I silently cried out, “Why me?”

Why do I have to leave? Why do they get to keep this while I move to a land of strangers? I was living the kind of community I’d always dreamed of and God was asking me to leave. I had fought so hard to get here – so much vulnerability, so much time, so much prayer. I didn’t want to start from scratch. (In a land rumored to have no women, no less).

Yet the grace of God got me into my car for the 500-some mile journey the next morning. I spent the next several months comparing every person I met to my friends back home – and they never measured up. I counted down the days until my next trip home – and I spent thousands of dollars trying to live in two cities. In just a few short years I’d be able to move back home and resume the perfect life I left behind (with season tickets to Target Field, of course).

Yet as time progressed, God called me to surrender that life. Not because it wasn’t real or that it didn’t change me – but because it was time to move on to the next thing. I was missing out on the next dream because I had glued my feet in Minneapolis.

This fall I challenged myself to go from September-December without going home. I needed to start using my days off to build community here.  I made myself go to local friends with my struggles and not quickly dispatch a phone call across the border. I needed to question if working 60 hours a week was really God’s best for me. It was time to pick a church and invest in it.

It was time to stop seeing Williston for what I could get out of it, and start praying about what I could put in.

I stopped expecting Williston to be Minneapolis, and I discovered an incredible community of fellow imports fighting the same nostalgic battle. People just like me that God called to leave everything and move to the oil patch. (Many of whom understand the pain of not having access to Chipotle). I’m learning that gospel is everywhere, and the brotherhood of Christ is exclusive to no zip code.

It’s funny as I approach my goal of being debt-free (less than 50 days people!), I’ve never been more sure I’m supposed to be in Williston. I have made some of the most intimate friends from all parts of the country. I live in an incredible house with two women who will change the world. I’m part of a church that is so on mission for Christ. And my small group is literally going to flip this city on its head and make disciples by the dozen.

Last night we met to study the Word together and decided we need to stop talking about changing the city and start praying and doing. We brainstormed where we can start and came up with a few tangible (weird) ideas to proclaim the Kingdom and share our love with the lost. (Ironically, I was kicking myself because I’m going to Minnesota this weekend and I’m going to miss some of it.)

We were saying goodbye to two of our crew last night – one headed to work in Yellowstone for the summer and the other to Dallas to work at their local mission. As we prayed for them (and armed them with the new Needtobreathe CD for their travels), I couldn’t help but think: “I’m so glad it’s not me.”

I’m living in the last place I wanted to go, and now I can’t imagine how painful it would be to leave. I was laying awake until 5 this morning dreaming about what’s going to happen in the 58801, and I so badly want to be a part of it. I’m so thankful to serve a God who can see miles when my eyes are wide shut.

One of my favorite songs is from Needtobreathe’s album The Reckoning.  It talks about “leaving home, letting go, and making it to the great unknown.” It’s amazing what we can see when we keep our eyes open.  Here’s a link to the song – have a listen and be encouraged.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6eLg4DFO6Ek

I love wacky traditions. And by wacky, I mean non-traditional.

When I was 8-years-old, my sisters and I decided to pull a prank on my mom on Easter’s eve. She is a classy lady, therefore all of our holidays are celebrated with a certain aesthetic style. Though we appreciate her classy demeanor, we also like to keep her on her toes. (Read: buying her a “hot dog cookbook” for Mother’s Day).

After she went to bed, we began to plot our transformation of the table she had set for dinner the next day. We piled into Sarah’s Plymouth Sundance and headed to Walmart for decorations. We walked right past the “classy” decorations for the cheap stuff – and it was there we found the infamous “Cowboy Tablecloth.” (Nothing screams “Resurrection of Jesus” like a $2 southwestern tablecloth.)

We rearranged all the plates, making sure to place mismatching napkins all over the table. I took giant post-its and wrote “Happy Eatser” all over the sun window in the dining room.

The next morning, my mom opened the rolling doors to the dining room and quickly shut them in shock. (Which of course was followed by giggles from her four daughters watching from around the corner). Once her eyes adjusted, she began to laugh with us. She had officially been Eatser-ized.

That afternoon we dined at the ugly table and stumbled on the simple truth that traditions are only real when they’re ours.

My family is anything but traditional, but we’re finding our own DNA. With abnormal work schedules, most of us end up working holiday weekends. Throw in a few husbands and it’s hard for us to find all of us around a table on a given holiday. But we make it work – whether we’re celebrating alone or with just a few of us. This past weekend, my mom took the train out to Williston and we had a Good Friday pizza party at Sarah/Gary’s place in Montana (at 2pm because Laura had to work at 8) . They pulled out their “egg” grill (retails for $1,000+ but Gary acquired one in exchange for some cement work) to make the most delicious grilled pizza. My favorite was the Basil Pesto/Asparagus/Feta/Bacon combo – or as Sarah likes to call it “Ultimate Pesto Asparagus” (Food Network should contact my sister, for real).

We like to bring the cowboy tablecloth out from time-to-time (even though my mom has tried in earnest to destroy it). It always makes us laugh and makes my mom cringe. Most recently (and notably) it made an appearance at Sarah’s wedding rehearsal. My mom’s face says it all.

What are some of your Easter traditions?