it’s unavoidable
I’ve always loved the story of the woman with the issue of blood. It vividly reminds me that God is passionate about healing my heart and not just my body.
Reading through that passage in Mark again recently, I noticed something new. Or rather, I saw something familiar in a completely different way.
The woman pressed through the crowd on her hands and knees to get to Jesus. She reached out and grabbed the hem of His garment, and in that moment she was instantly healed.
And in that moment, Jesus felt power go out of Him.
That’s what made Him stop and look for the one who touched Him. That’s what prompted the dialogue that brought healing to her heart. That’s when He looked her in the eyes and called her “Daughter”.
I’d never thought too much about that moment for Jesus, until now.
There He was… Walking with a synagogue ruler as a large crowd pressed all around Him… It was noisy and busy and… Suddenly He felt something…
He felt power go out of Him as soon as she touched Him.
It’s unavoidable: Ministry is draining.
If Jesus felt the effects of it, I sure as heck will.
Serving others, speaking God’s truth, and sharing our lives, tires us out. Physically, emotionally, spiritually. We feel it when we spend ourselves for others.
Even when we are doing what we love.
Maybe even more so when we are doing what we love. Because then we have to force ourselves to take a break.
At least I do.
I’ve been going non-stop for months now—doing exactly what I love doing. And I’ve felt the “power” go out of me in every way possible. I’m exhausted inside and out. So I’m taking some much-needed time off.
My heart is so looking forward to this selah.
I need to start paying more attention to what (and who) drains me, as well as what (and who) refuels me. I need to be more intentional about creating margin in my schedule and my life.
I want to be more proactive about letting Him fill me up than I am about sharing Him with others.
Maybe that sounds backwards or selfish. I just know that when I’m not overflowing, I really don’t have much to give anyway.
So I’m taking some time for me. (Which, I should point out, is never an easy thing for me to do.)
But I know it’s needed. And I know it’s right.
Selah, friends. Selah.
What does “selah” look like to your heart?
What and who refuels you?
the face of leadership
This is what leadership looks like:
And that is exactly why I’m passionate about leadership development!
[Shout out to Matt who serves with me at Thrive
for putting together this fandamntastic video!]
i’m tired
I was reading along in Isaiah when I tripped over this phrase: “You have not wearied yourselves for Me, O Israel.” I brushed off my knees and copped a squat right there. I knew exactly what God was talking about. And I knew I was just as guilty as Israel was.
After over eleven years in full-time ministry, I know full-well what it’s like to weary myself. I’ve put in the ridiculously long hours. I’ve juggled an impossible schedule. I’ve reached the point of burnout and lived to tell about it.
And as I fall in bed exhausted at the end of a long day week month year decade, my heart sighs, “I’m weary…”
If I listen closely enough, I hear God’s voice, ever loving and gentle. “But you haven’t wearied yourself for Me.”
Without even realizing it, I’ve been wearing my exhaustion like a badge of honor. My demanding schedule and ever-growing to do lists became my identity. As if fatigue is the mark of an accomplished missionary.
If I’m most honest, I wearied myself because I thought my value lay in my productivity. I mistook accomplishments for significance. I bought into the lie that busyness is the telltale sign of successful leadership.
But while I was getting stuff done, and even—by God’s grace—impacting lives, I was ultimately toiling for the wrong reasons.
The work of discipling young leaders in Africa is worth every ounce of my effort and energy. I want to tire myself out doing what I love. But I need to keep the motives of my heart in check. Wearying myself for some self-serving purpose is just plain tiring.
I want to weary myself for Him.
Then and only then am I strengthened.
souvenirs from cali
My time in California was bittersweet, and filled with a strange mixture of emotions. But underlying all of that, it was a wonderful gift to be with April for her wedding.
Being able to help with last-minute details—from late-night Walmart runs to putting on her veil before the ceremony—made my heart feel full. I’ve never gotten to help any of my friends with any part of their weddings before. So every moment made me feel very blessed.
Though I don’t have children of my own, I think I know what parental pride feels like. I felt it in a thousand different moments over the past few days. I am so proud of April. For her depth of character. Her resolve. Her patience and grace under pressure. Her wise choices.
And while there is a lot about April’s year in Africa that I wish I could change—for her and for me—I am unbelievably grateful I had that time to get to know her and pour into her in some small way.
I know I often begrudge the revolving door of my life. But after a week like the one I just had, I can’t help but lift my eyes and thank my Jesus for bringing so many people through that door.
My life is certainly richer for it.
i choose hard
I only pretend to be brave.
I’ve been known to say that. A lot. But a friend helped me see how untrue that really is.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve desired to follow God courageously. While I’ve never been very self-assured or confident, I’ve often made decisions that fly in the face of all logic. I’ve chosen not to play it safe.
I’ve always known that God’s called me to hard. I knew it when this suburban girl spent two months in rural Africa as a teenager and loved it. I knew it when my passion to return there seemed illogical to everyone else. I don’t like extreme temperatures, bugs, or even the outdoors… and yet I wanted to live in Africa!? It didn’t make sense; it still doesn’t.
My own pastor told me that being a missionary was the worst thing I could do with my life. And yet, at 19, I up and moved to Africa. I’ve been told over and over again that I’m too young, not educated enough, lacking experience. But I’ve shrugged it off and just kept right on going.
I’ve chosen hard over safe.
And if that’s not brave, I don’t know what is.
I don’t say that to pat myself on the back. I say it simply to acknowledge the truth that I’ve exhibited more courage than I ever realized.
I needed to discover that about myself. Because as difficult as this past season has been for me, this next one isn’t going to be any easier. And seeing past courage more clearly helps steel my heart for what lies ahead.
Once again, I choose hard.
And even though I still don’t feel brave, I’m gonna do it afraid.
And trust that He will be faithful to carry me through it.
Just like He always has.
mentorship
Mentor and mentorship seem to be real buzz words right now. But I’m not sure I really know what they even mean. I understand them in theory, but not in practice.
I’ve never had a mentor.
Many leaders who’ve earned my respect and admiration have poured into me—some I know personally and some I don’t. I love learning, so I often seek out opportunities to glean from others—by asking questions, by simply observing, by engaging in open dialogue. But never in a formal “will you be my mentor” kind of way. And I don’t know that I’ve ever had someone take me under their wing by their own initiative either. But that could be just my fuzzy brain talking.
While I desire to be a leader who’s quick to notice and develop potential in others, I don’t know that I can honestly say I’ve mentored anyone. There are many I’ve intentionally poured myself into. But because it wasn’t specifically asked for or labeled “mentorship”, can I really say I was mentoring them? If my mentee (don’t know what else to call ‘em!) doesn’t say I’m their mentor, does it still count? I don’t know.
I’d love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to answer any or all of my Qs—
- What does mentorship mean to you?
- Do you have a mentor?
- What does that look like? How formal or informal is it?
- How did you find/get your mentors?
- Are you a mentor? To whom?
- What does that look like? How formal or informal is it?
- How did you find/get your mentees?
love/hate relationship
I have a love/hate relationship with asking boomerang questions. You know the kind: questions that invoke open criticism of yourself.
We just finished up the debriefing session that is always the hardest for me. We gave the interns time to share any suggestions they have for improving the program. We told them we wouldn’t defend ourselves or even explain why things were done the way they were (unless we felt it was absolutely imperative ). So the interns had full permission to just say what they disliked about their year.
I love it and I hate it all at the same time.
I love it because I always want to get better at what we do. I want next year’s interns to have an even greater experience than this year’s. I want to learn from our mistakes and make things more effective as we go forward. I also just love giving someone the “ok”, and making them feel comfortable enough, to share this level of honest feedback.
I hate it because it’s hard to hear that sort of honesty about how I’ve failed. It’s difficult to not defend or explain myself, but to simply listen for the issue that underlies what’s actually being said. I hate it because I find it so hard not to take this kind of criticism personally.
In the long-run, I know that this morning’s challenging conversation will lead to an improved internship program. This is the sort of thing that makes me a better leader. Even if I hate it while I love it.
What do you have a love/hate relationship with?
burden of leadership
I’ve been pondering the burden of leadership. Let me explain…
A lot of people have come through the revolving door of our ministry in the past decade: interns, mission team members, staff. Many others are tied into us through their support. All in all, we have a huge spiderwebbed network of people that are connected to Thrive Africa. And that makes them connected to Niel and I.
While I don’t personally stay in touch with every single person in the Thrive spiderweb, I correspond with as many as I can (and as many as want to write back!) and we pray often for our entire extended family.
The past few weeks have unraveled some heartbreaking things that are going on in our family members’ lives. It culminated this morning with the news—before 8 AM, mind you—that two people had just lost loved ones.
And it’s left my heart feeling heavy.
So I’m wrestling with this whole burden of leadership thing. I know I’m not responsible for people, only to them. I know I can’t carry the burdens that others carry in their lives. I know that allowing myself to get “emotionally involved” with even a fraction of the thousands of people that are connected with Thrive is more than I could ever handle. I know that I can’t be everyone’s fixer, that I can’t always have the answer, that I can’t always be there for people. I know all of that.
But that still doesn’t make it any easier to hear that people I know and love are facing
- the deaths of two family members within 9 months
- sexual abuse at the hands of someone they should’ve been able to trust
- unceasing physical pain
- emotional scars and hurts that have festered for years
- inexplicable health problems
- a long road ahead due to horribly wrong life decisions
What are your thoughts on the burden of leadership? Where’s the line between compassion and an unhealthy taking-it-on-yourself-ness? How much caring is too much, and how much is not enough?
sometimes
I just wrote probably the hardest email I’ve ever had to write.
It was slow-going. I stared at the blank email box for a long time, trying hard to formulate words that could somehow capture my heart. I came up empty handed. I started with that admission and then basically mumbled and fumbled my way through it. More than ever before, I wished I could crawl through the internet and have a face-to-face conversation rather than responding in email form.
But I did it. I found words and I hit send.
Sometimes, being in leadership just sucks.
lessons (5 of 5)
Maintain a teachable spirit. A humble leader is a learner.
When asked what skill would be best in a staff member, I’ve always said “teachability”. When someone has a teachable spirit, their fault and flaws don’t seem as hard to deal with. Although I’ve lived here for ten years, I still have much to learn. As often as we can, Niel and I spend time with other ministry leaders. We ask questions, we listen well, we ask for advice. We are learners first, leaders second. In the seasons where my learning has slowed up or even stopped due to busyness or arrogance, my leadership always takes a nosedive.
Burnout is real. A burned-out leader no longer leads; she just maintains.
I know this all too well. My wick has been burning on both ends for far too long. I have a lot of theories and even practices I’ve done over the years to prevent burnout, but nothing with enough consistency and commitment to really make an impact. I’m in a place of being tired and drained, and I know—I know—I’m no longer leading the way I should be, the way God wants me to be. I’d appreciate your prayers for inner strength and true rest.
How teachable are you? (How do you handle correction?)
What insights or thoughts do you have for battling burnout in full-time ministry?
