Josh and I began the search for a new church home 4 weeks ago. Let me take you back a bit before explaining why this is so important.

Josh and I were both pastor's kids, both raised to know and love Jesus, both grew up in several church homes and were over-familiarized with youth group songs and common liturgy. I believe, somehow, we both maintained an innocent, dependent love for God despite our over-exposure to hypocrites, politics, and pious religious debate. We made our way through college trying to help each other answer questions about faith, doctrine, and other religious wonderings that college courses are supposed to dig up. We wandered down paths of lingering questions and human wisdom, straying from our home base of the Christian message. We did this at different times, one being the anchor for the other when we were drifting, allowing a new idea or trend serve as the current for our spiritual direction.

Somehow, even through the pain and discomfort that doubt was creating, we found solace in Mars Hill and especially our pastor (you might know of him...), Rob Bell. There were times in college when we couldn't even proudly proclaim we were Christians; but, in the gray chairs of the Mars Hill auditorium on Sunday mornings, God found us. At least, he found me. My spiritual life was dying, but I could water it just a bit, just enough, at Mars Hill. My foundation in Christ was still there, buried underneath the weight of doubt and worry.

When we moved to Colorado, Josh and I were convinced that there was no church like Mars Hill (I still believe that), and it almost wasn't even worth looking for a church elsewhere. (I don't have time in this post to address how spiritually flawed and deeply misguided that thinking is). It took us a while to land at Flatirons Community Church in Lafayette, CO. There, God opened my eyes to the Church at large and taught me that He is bigger than any one religion or institution, and that His followers are supposed to look for Him in ALL things, EVERYWHERE. Flatrions is uncompromising when it comes to the Gospel, so I was able to widen the perimeters of my heart and make more room for the Good News that Jesus was still, in fact, my Savior.

Having spent 2 years opening up this reality, learning from new teachers, and accepting more of God's grace...returning to Michigan was almost spiritually frightening. I felt as if I was going to go backwards. (Again...FLAWED thinking). Once we got all cozy in the mitten that is now our home state, we returned to Mars Hill. Except, when YOU have changed, everything that is from the past looks different, and it even feels different when you try it on. Josh and I clapped our hands to the music, prayed earnestly during church, and had a decent discussion about the sermon on the 20 minute drive home. Once we arrived, we'd close the car doors, go inside the house, make lunch, and move on with our lives.

Whatever had been alive in us spiritually was struggling to grow, merely holding on to the small drops of water we gave it each week. Josh blogged, Facebooked, and read magazine articles about religion, religious politics, a new Jesus trend, or anything else that had a spiritual echo. I completed a Beth Moore study during this time, hoping God would tear down the walls of my mediocre, controlled spiritual room. In some senses, He did. And I know that Josh's interest in religion, at its core, is/was to pursue God through examining other pursuits and understandings (or misunderstandings) of what is ultimately REAL and True. Not all good things, not all bad...but all WAY too reliant on our own interests and interpretations.

Eventually, something grew stale. When Jackson was born, a spiritual awareness shifted. (I can't imagine it NOT, considering Jackson is the most important gift God has entrusted to us thus far). The staleness became almost moldy. What was familiar and comfortable was no longer challenging. We began to talk about looking for a new church.*

This morning was our 4th Sunday at Engedi Church, and we've committed to giving each church that we "try" a 6-week period of faithful attendance and prayer. The reason I felt so moved to mention our spiritual past (which is the tip of the iceberg) is because today I felt like it was a turning point toward our spiritual future. Occasionally, even through the seasons of drought, I will have the connection with God through worship that is so beautifully intimate, I don't know what to do with myself. Literally. I want to dance, but not weirdly. I want to sing, but not loudly. I want to cry, but not hysterically. Yet my emotional consciousness dissolves into a puddle of tears, and I surrender.

Today, it was the line from "In Christ Alone" that reads "From life's first cry to final breath / Jesus commands my destiny" that did me in. We'd just heard an amazing sermon about mystic activism...the way in which Christians must have a spiritual belief in Christ as God's son and allow that belief and reliance to bear fruit of action and response. This message was powerful to me (and the congregation added it's fair share of "Amen"s!). But when I sang the line about the first cry...and the final breath...I couldn't help but--in one instant--be completely overwhelmed and overtaken by three connected ideas: 1. I love Jackson and would give my life for him 2. God loves me enough to give His life for me and 3. Jackson's existence is nothing short of a blessing given to me by my Living and Heavenly Father. As you can imagine, experiencing these feelings in one colliding second can bring a person...especially, perhaps, a mother...to tears of joy, surrender, and love.

I'm unsure what church family will eventually be ours. And I'm pretty sure I'll have yet another season of drought, doubt, and spiritual distance in my life. But, tonight, I'm so amazingly grateful for the Grace that is given to me, freely and openly. That God is patient enough with me and loving enough to provide both coves of spiritual rest as well as long, sandy stretches of spiritual endurance. I'm most especially grateful that the greatest Gift I could ever ask for is downstairs, sleeping in dinosaur pjs that say "Snore-a-saurus". And I'm grateful for Mars Hill, Flatirons, and Engedi, each for their own unique response to God's callings. It has been an honor to attend each place, watching the seeds of Jesus being planted all around. It will also be interesting to watch where God places our family, which we'll only know in time.

Regardless of where our church family is, I'm so thankful that revival is here, Jesus is coming, and while I'm here for the blink in eternity that is my life, I get to spend it pursuing God with Josh and Jack, experiencing Him in the daily miracles of making pancakes, playing hide-n-seek, and butterfly kisses. The tears that poured during "In Christ Alone" are hopefully similar to the ones that will fall at my 'final breath': tears of thankfulness, awe, painful awareness, and most importantly, tears of Love.


*This post, or any other for that matter, is not intended to--in any way--draw people away from Mars Hill. I believe it's wonderful, and I'm continually amazed by the fruit of the Mars Hill community in the world. I'm sure I'll always feel that way.