Church on the Trail

Two and a half years ago my friend Amy was getting ready for her 40th birthday. She announced that to celebrate the big day she would be running a half marathon. She then shared that she had never run more than a couple miles. Wow. Bold move. Well, always up for a fun running partner, I told her I would do long runs with her to get ready. 

Amy and I had been friends for several years by the time we started running together. We had served in all kinds of roles together at church- MOPS, Kids Ministry, herding camels while I was 5 months pregnant for a live nativity scene. You name it, we had done it. 

But training for a half marathon was very different. There was minimal distractions on long runs. Except for those coyotes we avoid in early morning, foul skunk encounters, rattle snake crossing in the summer, well ok, there are some distractions. But compared to large events, or the rush of children’s ministry on a Sunday morning, really it was just us, on a trail, for hours. 

Something you should know about me is that when I run, I talk the entire time. It is actually how I have learned to breath. When I run alone it is terrible. If I ever have to do it, I put on podcasts and talk to the people on it. Like I might say “oh my gosh Brandon Hatmaker. That is such a great point. I totally agree.” While I am running around Pflugerville Lake…alone. I know, very normal. But I can’t regulate my breathing while I run if I am not talking. 

So when you train with someone to run 13.1 miles, there is a lot to talk about. How to get kids to sleep, funny grocery store mishaps, movie reviews, book reviews, restaurant reviews. You know- super important life stuff. And although we did talk about those things, we started to use our time to talk about slightly deeper things like what God was doing in our life, our families life, and what God was asking of each of us. Our runs became more about Jesus, then it ever did about training or losing my baby weight.  

And here we are, a couple years later, still running together almost every weekend. Sometimes we are training for a race, and sometimes we are not, but still we meet very early each weekend to get in some miles. 

Through all of this, one of the huge changes that happened in my life was that I stopped attending a church regularly. (I know, all of you die hard church people are about to lose your 

$%&# on me right about now. Take a deep breath and get a death grip on your panties so they don’t get in a bunch.) I shared in a previous blog that I had started questioning the organized church setting and seeking Jesus for answers. My goal is always to press into Jesus, to know him more, and to know who he created me to be. I did not find that attending church, or even serving there, was helping me with this. (Note- this is just me personally, I am not saying everyone does or should feel like this. Nobody try to send your hate mail to my inbox)

People would always ask me “so what church do you go to now?” and I always just said awkwardly “uhh…nowhere?!?” (that was in my Best Ron Burgendy voice) They looked very concerned and I think they make a mental note to pray for my salvation, light a candle for me, and vow they will bring holy water with them next time we may see each other. But the truth is, I do have a church. I call it Church on the Trail. What does that look like? Well, I would LOVE to share.

This church does not have a tax exempt status or a building. There is no leader except the Holy Spirit. It doesn’t take up tithes (unless you run with me- then you must bring me gummy bears or jolly ranchers). There is no membership class, but there is a strong allegiance to each other and a commitment to grow together and be discipled by Jesus. Sometimes it is 2 of us, and sometimes there are 15 of us. It is nights of prayer, really fun dinners where peeing your pants is highly likely, bible studies, and cleaning houses for single moms. Sometimes it is my husband and I praying with another couple or teaching our kids about God’s love, or spending time with our family discussing all that God is doing. 

You see, I didn’t know when we started all this running that it was church. (Like I said before, church was always a building I went to) It started as a safe place for us to discuss thoughts about God, our calling, our lives. And we were able to do this without judgement, without pressure, without rules being imposed on what that should look like. Nobody telling us we HAD to do something, but discerning God’s gentle voice, leading us to do something. I learned how to walk with God in a deeper way and because of it, have been able to share that with others. But church on the trail is open to everyone. It doesn’t just happen when we are running for 2 hours together, just as we are not meant to only be Christians the 2 hours we attend church on Sunday. 

We are the church. All the time. Everywhere. How we express that, well that depends on you. Is your church (meaning YOU) welcoming? Is it encouraging others to dig deeper into God, even if that looks different than the exact way you believe? Church for me is a group of people, seeking God and praising him in all they do. Maybe you go to a church building that does just that. YEAAA!!! And maybe you don’t. It seems the more people I meet fall into that category. They have been burned by church, or just burned out. For those people, church in all that God created it to be, still exists. In people who love him. Who seek him. Who want you to find all that he has for you and all the freedom he died to give. If this is you, I pray that you find like hearted people to join together with. Whether that be on Brushy Creek Trail on the weekend (don’t try to stalk me now), a disc golf course, a living room, wherever. We were never meant to walk this life out alone. God will provide. 

If you are serving Jesus in a unique way, what does that look like for you? Would love to hear how God is building his church all over the place.  

Adopted In Love

My son Beck is 2 1/2 years old. Beck never had the chance to meet my step dad Rodger. The very last time I saw Rodger was when I was hugging him to tell him I was in labor and headed to the hospital to have Beck. Sweet Rodg was pretty sick by that point. Each day I would walk in to see him he would look at my stomach and sigh, anxiously awaiting Beck’s arrival. I sent pictures from the hospital when Beck was born and Rodger was able to see him. By morning the next day Rodger had slipped into a sleep that he would never come out of. He sure did hang on to make sure he saw Beck on this side of heaven though. 

And what is so interesting about all of this is that Beck LOVES his Papa. His Papa he has only seen in pictures. He always tells me how much he misses him. He will even wake in the morning and tell me funny things Rodger tells him. I will ask where he saw him and he says “I saw him in Heaven, where he lives.” Maybe his dreams are of him, I don’t know. As my friend Dana says “I can’t begin to understand all of the wonderful mysteries of God.” Me neither.

What I do know is that Beck has a love for the outdoors, an addiction to music, and an obsession with 4-wheelers. Pretty much his Papa in a small, Mexican body. 

Rodger was always my step dad. Meaning, he never adopted me legally. There was no reason for him to. I have a dad who is and always has been very present in my life. He is one of the greatest men I know. So I just got an extra Dad. I know- some people really are just that lucky. 

So I was not Rodger’s daughter “on paper” nor was I his daughter by blood. But in love he adopted me as his own. And because of that I grew to be more like him. I grew a love for the mountains that remains deep in my heart today, just like him. I fell in love with the country and the desire to live off the land like he did. I learned how to be more encouraging, more understanding and more kind, because of him. Some of it I learned by things he said to me. But a lot of it I learned by spending time with him. Lots and lots of time. We would sit in his workshop for hours upon hours talking when I was younger. And it is those moments that I cherish most. It is those moments my heart grew, learned, changed. I never had to do anything. I just had to be there. 

I was thinking about Rodger this morning as we near Christmas and I miss him terribly. I was thinking about how his adopting me in love not only changed me, but changed my kids. Beck has similar desires and characteristics of Rodger who has no blood relation to him what so ever. He never even met him. But love transcends all those lines. And then I realized how blessed I was to experience that twice in my life. 

Jesus adopted me as his daughter. And because of it, my life is forever changed. My kids are forever changed. The more time I spend with him, the more I become like him. The more my kids become like him. His desires become my desires. I see characteristics of him in my son and daughter. The lineage of my family goes straight to Jesus and his love that rescued me. And just like Rodger my heart changes and grows from what he tells me in his word, and from hours and hours together with him. 

Praising Jesus tonight as I look at my life, sometimes filled with tragedy and pain and yet undeniable, breathtaking, healing beauty in the middle of all of it.