My name is Wendy Alsup, and I am Deacon of Women’s Theology and Teaching at Mars Hill. Adriel, the blog administrator, asked me to write something about myself. I had a fairly long bio written out, detailing the path the Lord used to bring me from South Carolina to ministry at Mars Hill. But I’ve decided instead to write literally about who I am TODAY. In the past, the Lord has taught me beautiful things about Himself through well-defined trials with obvious beginning and ending points. But, TODAY, I am experiencing a “trial” that my husband calls “death by a 1000 paper cuts.” God has blessed me with a loving husband, 2 beautiful young boys, a nice home, and a vibrant ministry at church. And, yet, the very things I’ve longed for in home and ministry now threaten to crush me under the weight of daily responsibility.

I miscarried my first pregnancy and did not get pregnant again for a while. I immediately became convinced I would never get pregnant and began the intense emotional struggle faced by women battling infertility. We were planning Mars Hill’s first event on the issue of infertility when my pregnancy test came up positive. I was stunned. Oh how I wanted this baby!! Now, this little blessing is a precocious 2 ½ year old who was quickly followed by his 11 month old brother, who is triply precocious as the first. If there is a gate to be opened, a toy car to be stolen, or a gummy bear to be eaten off of someone else’s plate, my boys take advantage of it. My husband and I seem relatively calm people. How did we end up with 2 little guys who must touch and try everything?!

I have a master’s degree in math education. I’ve taught adults at our local community college for the last 5 years and high school students the 5 years before that. I love my tiny boys dearly, but I’m an adult educator and feel constantly behind in learning where they should be in their development. When do I switch from baby foods to solids? Do 2 year olds understand cause and effect? Does my 11 month old understand “No” yet?

So, TODAY, I am a well-humbled wife and mom. I battle feelings of failure daily. When an activity meant to entertain and stimulate ends up being the catalyst for yet another baby meltdown. When my well-planned day disintegrates into chaos because I forgot some important piece of baby gear. When my friends seem to handle the stress so much better than I do.

And, TODAY, I fall upon the gospel. I have to remember daily that my worth is not found in competing with my friends at this stage of life. My worth is not found in producing stellar little models of self-restraint. My worth is found at the foot of the cross. Jesus’ punishment on the cross has bought me peace, and by His wounds I am healed (Isaiah 53). He is the way, the truth, and the life. He doesn’t just show me the way. He IS the way. Jesus is the vine and I am the branch-and apart from Him I can do nothing (John 15). It’s not a competition. I don’t measure myself by my sisters in Christ who seem to have it all together. I am in Jesus, for Jesus, and by Jesus. “He is before all things, and by Him all things hold together (myself and my boys included).” Colossians 1:17.

Bottom line, I need Jesus. And there is only 1 book in the world that has first hand accounts of His life. EVERY other writing ever recorded on earth about Jesus is either mere speculation or based directly on the Bible. So saying I need Jesus is synonymous to saying I need the Bible. Jesus is the Word (John 1), and all we know of Him is contained in the Word.

So, right now, I daily throw myself on Jesus. Practically speaking, this means that the first semi-calm moment of the day (which I usually use to vacuum, unload the dishwasher, or check my email), I now sit down with my ESV journaling Bible and read the gospel of Luke. Since I really need the GOSPEL right now, it made sense to me to read through the Gospels themselves. When I finish with Luke, I’ll probably start John. I have loved reading of Jesus-rebuking the Pharisees, calling out to Zacheus, patiently teaching His disciples. Sometimes I only get 1 minute before the boys have lost interest in Go, Diego, Go and chaos breaks out anew. But even 1 minute spent staring up in His face makes all the difference in the world to my sanity at this stage.

Please don’t let this discourage you concerning children. This is just a particularly intense stage of life for me. In a few minutes, I’ll go up and hug my sleeping boys. The 2 year old may wake up and talk to me for a bit. I LOVE those late conversations with him that are only mildly understandable. But I do want to be honest that as a 37-year-old Bible college graduate deacon of women’s stuff at Mars Hill Church, I have never needed to daily meditate on the gospel and focus on the beauty of Jesus Himself like I do RIGHT NOW. To keep my sanity. To be a good steward of the gifts God’s given me. To fight off Satan the Accuser. To find peace and rest.

“Nothing in my hand I bring, Simply to Thy cross I cling;”

Rock of Ages, Augustus Toplady

P. S. If this resonates with you, you may enjoy listening to Pastor Mark’s recent sermon from Nehemiah on the “joy of the Lord is your strength“.

I don’t know that that is a true statement, but it might be one of the hardest things of all.

I was reminded this morning of God’s faithfulness. Of how He repeats that all throughout Scriptures (it’s like we’re slow learners or something): God is Faithful.

As of Friday I have officially moved away from Seattle to my home town on the Olympic Peninsula. The weekend has involved a lot for me, unpacking into a house that is in the remodel process, adjusting to living with people again… but most of all it has marked a year since my friend Jordan died.

As I sat in church yesterday morning, looking at God’s faithfulness, His kindness, His loving correction and comfort… as I let myself actually think for the first time in days, it reminded me of how much I just want to go Home. I believe Pastor Mark has touched on this on several different occasions, “Christians don’t get suicidal, we just think about heaven a lot” or something to that effect. This morning I thought about heaven for the first time in a long time; to just dwell on it, trusting that God is faithful. He is so good. Life is difficult, but that is OK, no matter what happens, He is faithful.

There has been so much going on I’ve avoided thinking about many things, and literally almost making myself ill by subconsciously holding things in. Stresses of job changing, moving, “leaving” Mars Hill, of trying to remember Jordan and the delight he took in Jesus.

The last year has been a lot of rediscovering my relationship with Jesus. Seeing once again how amazing He is without outside pressures, just me and Him.

And now life moves on to something different, to living with friends, being in community, of having had Jesus shape me and change me in the last two years I’ve been away and coming back to a place that expects me to be the same. Remembering in the midst that God is faithful. If I listed here all the things that He has done in the last few weeks, it’s a little ridiculous. He has corrected me, and blessed me beyond what I can comprehend. He has shown me vividly my need for other people, for their help, companionship, confrontation; and more than that He has shown me yet again my need for Him, that Jesus is. everything, and that I desperately need His love and mercy.

by Nadia

My car is an obnoxious thing. It stalls every other block. It never stays where I left it last. It’s big and ugly. It smells bad. Basically, my problem is that my car is a bus. And it’s always late.

So my first day volunteering at the front desk was last Thursday, and I was supposed to be there at 9 a.m. I got there at 9:05. I know, it’s not that bad, but for someone who has been scarred by a previous employment experience of getting the riot act for being two minutes late (no joke), it made me edgy.

The “family entrance” area looked dark and empty. Where’s Claudine? I was supposed to check in with Claudine, the deacon in charge of the front desk. I walked over and looked under the desk, just to double-check if I was alone. I know that sounds dumb, because nobody sits under desks, but if you’d grown up in my family, you’d be suspect of every “empty” and “quiet” room,  too. But no, Claudine was not hiding under the desk to scare me.

I sat in the lobby for several minutes and began to contemplate heading up the forbidden stairs to find her. Maybe she expected me to find her, I thought. But I really didn’t want to attempt the stairs.

See, a few weeks earlier, I had been helping with the Breakfast Club, and I had this cool jet-pack vacuuming gig that made me the prime candidate for doing the odd jobs. Like stairs. So I was instructed to vacuum those big stairs in the main auditorium that go up to who-knows-where. “But don’t vacuum the top,” I was told. My mistake was that I heard, “don’t bother vacuuming the top” instead of “don’t set foot on the top.”

So in search of an outlet for my jetpack, I crossed the line into . . . the world of Mars Hill offices. In the ten seconds I was up there, I couldn’t find an outlet, and the paranoid part of me somehow knew what would happen next, so I started heading back down the stairs-where I was jumped by someone who asked me what I thought I was doing. I explained, but I was told in no unclear terms not to go up there again. OK.

During the rest of the Breakfast Club morning, two more badged strangers came up to me to make sure I knew not to go up there again. OK. OK!! It seriously felt like Office Space and the TPS cover sheets deal. The Breakfast Club is really fun, but word to the wise, folks, don’t go upstairs!

So, understandably, I hesitated to go searching for Claudine up in the Forbidden City. Thank goodness she walked in the door a few minutes later so I didn’t have to. The next half-hour was my crash-course, and then I was left to (wo)man the desk and phones. By the way, Claudine rocks. She wears fishnets to church and rides a moped and she knows everything. It was the best thing ever, because even though she was up in her office, we were on Messenger, and every time someone asked me something I didn’t know (meaning every time someone asked me anything at all), I would just type my question and hit “send’ and-BAM!-an answer. Better than Google! So I’ve started calling her Mars Google.

The very first thing I did as a volunteer was flunk at making coffee. And I didn’t even know for hours because the people were too nice to say anything. Doh!

My instructions were clear: I followed the directions. I brought the carafe downstairs. Some unwitting martyrs with very nice manners took their coffee and didn’t say any bad words or spit it out all over the countertop like I did when I eventually tried it. Another word to the wise: Sometimes coffee filters collapse in the machine, and when that happens, hot water drips through and skips the coffee grounds, and a pot of burnt hot water results.

I was also supposed to answer phones.

“ThankyouforcallingMarsHillChurchthisisNadia. How can I help you?”

The thing was, all the callers were in cahoots. They all called each other first and planned to phone within the same 60 seconds. So there would be silence, and I would be cruisin’ the Members’ Website on the computer, and then-BAM!-three lines would all start going berserk.

It wasn’t really fair, but I have to admit, it was fun playing “Receptionist” and asking people to hold and transferring calls. Of course, by the time the seventh batch of simultaneous callers hit the lines, it wasn’t such a novel idea and I contemplated a new game called “Put-Them-All-On-Hold-Then-Call-Claudine-And-Place-Bets-On-Who-Hangs-Up-Last.” However, since there’s a thirty-day probation period for volunteering at the front desk, and I want to keep on playing Receptionist, I decided I should probably wait until day thirty-one for my betting game idea.

In between phone-call bursts, I was supposed to sign-in volunteers and appointments. I had become that same badguy who makes sure no strangers go up the stairs. Contrary to popular (well, my former) opinion, this is not to keep people out of a Mars Hill Pastors’ invite-only kegger. The real reason is much less dramatic, but important: personal information is floating around and private counseling sessions take place upstairs imagine someone walking in on you at such a vulnerable moment!

So the upstairs is closed for privacy and safety. Oh well. I was all pumped about being a bouncer checking backstage passes, but the only exciting thing that happened was when
one guy entered the building while I was on the phone and made a beeline through a door into the big room. I hung up, grabbed the portable line and hunted him down to find him
looking through the lost-and-found for something of his.

Other than that, I just made myself look stupid a lot, since I didn’t have the slightest clue of who were strangers and who were staff and regulars. The staff must’ve thought it was pretty funny when I halted them at the door. Some of them were one step ahead of me and ran for the login board to show me they were supposed to be there before the awkward “hi, who the heck are you?” conversation had to take place.

One lady on the phone really wanted to talk to one of the pastors and I was trying to be all consoling and suggesting she talk to someone else (since the pastors are really busy) and finally the poor exasperated woman said, “well, I’m his WIFE!” Yeah, ok, I guess I can let you talk to him THIS TIME.

Ugh, I felt like such a doofus!

My last blooper to share with you was one that I have experienced from the other side several times. A woman called up trying to get a download of the “Who’s Your Daddy?” talk, and I couldn’t find it just then, either, so I told her I’d e-mail her the info as soon as I could. Well, when I was leaving at the end of the day, I shut down the computer and did NOT save the file with her forgotten address on it. I can’t even remember her name now. She’s probably wondering, “what the heck!” just like I did, when nobody emailed me back. Lady, if you’re reading this, you know who you are and I’m very, very sorry! If you call on a day other than Thursday, you’ll get someone more competent.

At five o’clock, I decided they’d had enough of my havoc for the day, and I sayonarad. What really cracks me up is that they asked me to come back . . .

Previously published in Vox Pop’s June 2006 print edition. 

Dearest Self: Get over it.

Jealousy is ugly. It steals the joy of delighting in God’s blessings by shifting our focus to blessings God has chosen to give another. Jesus graciously revealed the depths of ugliness in my heart this week. I had the joy of getting together with a dear friend over smoothies and spending several hours with her, catching up on our lives over the past several months. My friend had several exciting new changes happening and was understandably beaming from gratitude at what God had brought into her life. He had bountifully dropped three of the core elements of life into her lap all in one month. New Christian man, exciting new job, beautiful new condo. I was thrilled for and with her. At the same time, my self was having a fit. And I knew I had no justification for it. I still don’t.

Honestly, my heart is still wrestling and very much in battle with the desires of my flesh. Desires to put my trust in myself, my strength and my wealth. Desires that would encourage me to pursue my career more intently so that I could support myself to another level of comfort. Let me clarify. I know that pursuing a career is not sin in itself; my motive to replace my reliance on Christ with a safety net of career is. To even hint that by working hard I could take better care of myself than my Creator is foolishness. And I have no argument.

Once again, Paul’s words in Romans 7 come flooding back, “But sin, seizing an opportunity through the commandment, produced in me all kinds of covetousness” and, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” (vs. 8,15) When I was younger, I thought this verse would one day not apply to me. I would somehow reach a level of sanctification where I had mastered these issues. Humbly, I realize it does apply and will until I am no longer living on this earth. Gratefully, I come to the cross knowing that Christ is continually in the process of redeeming and sanctifying me to His Image, through his strength, not my own. 

Calling all the smarty-pants, puzzle-loving women of Seattle!

Time for a break from the serious, seriously.

So the following picture is a conglomeration… of 7 photos. Of 7 establishments… you guess the neighborhood.

First LADY to post a comment here correctly identifying 4 or more of the neon-letters’ respective business names WINS a FABULOUS PRIZE.*

Seriously.

So get crackin’. It’s a great day for a walk through Ballard!

* ‘fabulous’ is defined as ‘from Archie McPhee.’ If that isn’t fabulous, I don’t know WHAT is.

Most women have a story of heartbreak they could share with you if you ask them. Our tender feminine souls can be so easily hurt, disappointed, and crushed. Stories of heartbreak are many, but each is unique and important because each tear and each dashed dream is the opportunity for redemption by a Savior who loves our delicate, sweet souls which long to be loved, adored, and cherished.

So while my story is not uncommon or special, it is my story and I want to share it with you. Because in this last year my soul has hoped and dreamed and has been disappointed and hurt. And in all that, my pain has been redeemed by Jesus who has made beauty from the ashes of my life.

My story is one probably familiar to many of you who have experience something similar. I loved a man who did not return my love the way I hoped and prayed he would. For a year and a half as I worked along side him, I had 100% - in my job and in our friendship. I wrongly allowed myself to not have clear, firm boundaries in my mind, and I hoped that someday he would recognize how much I truly loved him.

I believed that through sacrifice and dying to myself, and manipulation I could cause him to love and adore me. “I just need to be patient,” I would tell myself … but what I needed was to be honest with myself and with him about how I truly felt.

For months I let myself “read-in” to things he would say and do, convinced that despite the fact he clearly said he wasn’t pursuing me, I knew I could try harder to do, to be, and to look perfect, … or whatever it was that he wanted me to be.

To some of my readers this may sound silly and extreme, but to some I know you know exactly what I’m talking about. How easy it is for us as women to involve ourselves with a man and become deceived, thinking that if only our spirit was a little more gentle and quiet, or our figure a little more shapely, or our disposition a little more charming, then “he,” whoever “he” is in your life, would finally see us for what we truly are and realize his life is incomplete without us.

This is not easy for me to write. Even now, many months after I finally faced my emotional impropriety and my dishonesty with myself with this man and with the many close friends in my life, even now it is hard for me to look at the whole situation because I see so clearly where I was wrong. I don’t want to speak here to the role of a man in a relationship where, although seemingly innocent and appropriate physically, there is much inappropriate emotional intimacy without commitment. I do believe there is a whole conversation around that, and plenty to be said from a Biblical perspective to men who play with women’s hearts, who think that because their pants are on that no harm is being done. But that conversation is for another time and place, and not something that I even want to address.

What I would like to say though, is that heartache is real and that sometimes it can be avoided by having discernment and practicing some clear boundaries. And above all, it can be avoided by being brutally honest about our thoughts, motivations and the desires of our heart.

Beyond that, I want to share with you that even through the pain of disappointment, there can be healing and restoration and Jesus doesn’t want any of his daughters to be sitting in a place of pain, guilt or despair.

For me, the process of healing from this unhealthy relationship began by being brutally honest and forthright about my emotions and desires. I had to risk what felt was everything in order to restore first my relationship with God and second my relationship with my friend. I risked my future, my feelings, and a friendship but looking back now I can honestly say that it was so worth the risk. I sat my friend down and explained how I felt, and told him in no uncertain words what my desires were. I explained I could no longer work with him and was resigning my position. In those moments I felt as though I had lost everything. This is what is so sad to me looking back, because had I been in a right place in my relationship with Jesus I would never have come to this place where this fantastical relationship was paramount and unrealistic. When I say I was honest, I mean it. I literally proposed marriage to him, and he graciously turned me down.

So for the next few months I processed a lot. I had tried so hard to be something else, to be something better. I felt unwanted, unattractive, and unloved. I had to (slowly) through prayer and much conversation realize that I was looking for love in the wrong place and I had to let Jesus love me with his perfect love in order to feel whole again. Let’s just say … NOT an easy process!

And so I took up dancing.

I didn’t take up dancing as a way to “get over” my feelings or to fill my time so that I just didn’t have time to think about my dreams which seemed lost. I just happened to start taking salsa dancing lessons and have since realized that even this fun recreational activity fit completely into God’s plan for my life at this moment. In the midst of feeling sorry for myself, feeling out-of-control of a situation where I HAD felt some control, and feeling discouraged, alone, and unlovely, I began to dance and dance, and through dancing I began to work out and work through some of the toughest issues of my femininity and spirituality.

This form of therapy in my life came from a surprising source, a dance partner who will remain unnamed. I have a huge debt to this man who I met in my dance class because of the way he has refused to play games with my heart over the last months. I was at a point where I was sick of games and sick of thinking my feelings weren’t valid. We began to dance more and more together, outside of class, every chance we got, yet without any emotional relationship. Our relationship was, and still is, strictly dancing. We meet at our favorite place, enjoy a few hours of salsa, and part ways, sometimes saying fewer than 20 or 30 words all evening. I have never felt more respected or more feminine than when I dance with my dance partner.

The absence of games in our relationship, and the intense practice of strong male and female roles, has produced this healing process that has helped me feel beautiful, graceful, and feminine once again. Dancing takes great discipline on both parts. As a woman I find it hard to follow, to wait patiently for the subtle cues from my partner that tell me which way to turn, which way to spin, which foot to move before the other. I often want to dance on my own, out of turn, which always just results in a mess and confusion. It’s also hard sometimes to step up and respond when my partner moves one way or another. But song after song I know Jesus’ love for me more intimately than the last.

So for me, this unusual relationship has built so much confidence and humility back into my life. I have had few other relationships with any men which didn’t involve some game, flirting, or manipulation. But when I dance, I feel as though I dance alone before God, and I feel his pleasure. I sense my femininity so strongly and am able to embrace who God has made me to be, because dancing makes me feel beautiful.

I’m not approaching dancing as some women approach food or exercise after ending a painful relationship. I do not want dancing to fill a need that I have for adoration and love just as God doesn’t want us as women to try to fill our needs by over-eating or starving ourselves. But I do feel as though for me, dancing is a way to be quiet and focused, and to allow myself to be led. And so I am thankful; I am thankful for a Savior who loves me enough to convict me that I am worth more than a man who plays games with my heart. I am thankful for my femininity and emotions, even though they drive me insane when I don’t surrender them daily to the Lord.

I am thankful for the freedom to move and dance, and for the beauty of a relationship where there is a designated leader and a designated follower. And just like a line from one of my favorite movies that says “No games, just sports” … I am thankful for salsa because my experience has truly been … no games, just dancing.

Audio Resource Recommendation.

I must admit, when the women’s training day rolled around in January, I did not think that Kathryn Harleman’s talk on “Romanticism” was for me. Oh how wrong I was.

From the opening definition of “Romantic’ to the end it was a little like being pummeled; looking at many aspects of the world’s version of love vs. God’s love. I could try and do this justice here, but I wouldn’t. It is worth every minute of it to listen, even if you’re like me and don’t consider yourself “romantic.”

Saved through Childbearing?!

At our recent Mother’s Day sermon, I cringed as the pastor announced his passage-the dreaded 1 Timothy 2:15. 

“Yet she will be saved through childbearing–if they continue in faith and love and holiness, with self-control.”

Paul sounds like such a sexist here.  And, yet, on this particular Sunday, this message ended up being a real encouragement to me.  I think I finally get the point of Paul’s words.  I’m sure it helps that I’m also now the mother of 2 young boys.  As I listened to Pastor Mark’s explanation in light of my own experiences as a young, naïve, but earnest mother, the Spirit made some things clear to me. 

I grew up thinking the term “saved” referred simply to that one point in time in which I walked down the aisle of my church, repented of my sins, and publicly professed belief in Christ.  That was “getting saved.”  And once I “got saved,” that term had served its purpose in my life, and I needed to focus on other Christian obligations.  As an adult, I’ve come to understand the broader way the Scripture uses the term salvation.  Salvation is a process that follows me from the day I first understand my need for Jesus Christ until I sit at the Marriage Feast in heaven as the Bride of Christ.  Scripture uses the terms justification, sanctification, and glorification to define this process.  I was saved (justification),  I am being saved (sanctification), and I will be saved (glorification). 

The term saved encompasses our redemption from sin and reconciliation to God.  The entire process is by God’s free grace through faith in Jesus Christ.  It begins with justification-I repent of my sin and place my faith in Jesus.  God declares me righteous through Christ’s payment for sin on the cross, switching Christ’s perfection to my account and my sin to Christ’s account.  The problem is that here on earth, I still constantly struggle with sin.  That leads to sanctification-where slowly over time God roots out our sin and conforms us more and more to the perfect image of Jesus Christ.  It’s becoming in reality what God has already declared us to be in heaven-i. e. perfectly righteous.  Glorification is the end-in heaven, God will present us to Jesus at the Marriage Feast in beauty and perfection.  We will finally be in reality a Bride worthy of the Lamb. 

But here I am now, a 37-year-old mother of 2 young boys, stuck right in the middle.  I am justified-God has declared me righteous in heaven.  I am reconciled to Him through Christ’s sacrifice on the cross.  But I’m still selfish, proud, and rebellious.  And then begins the process of bearing (the Greek here indicates bringing into existence, forming, becoming, developing) our children.  For me, this process began years ago when I was a single who thought I may never get married and have kids.  God was sanctifying me back then through my fear of never bearing children.  One older single friend gave testimony to me of the great spiritual struggle she had to say goodbye to the children she would never bear.  God rooted out much sin and wrong thinking in her life through that struggle.  Pastor Mark made the point in his sermon that single and infertile women shouldn’t feel excluded from this verse-because God still uses the issue of childbearing in their lives for their sanctification. I have heard many women struggling because they are unable to bear children give testimony to this. 

Once I did get married, we got pregnant easily, miscarried, and then had problems getting pregnant again.  Again, well before I ever physically bore a child, God was using the bearing of children to reveal to me my fears and unbelief.  Then finally I had my beautiful boys.  They daily bring me great joy.  And God uses them daily to reveal to me my great sin.  Before I got married, I had no idea how selfish and self-oriented I was.  In marriage, I began to see it a little bit.  But now, I am bombarded 100 times a day with the need to die to myself.  I had NO IDEA I was so alive to myself in the first place.  I’m also becoming increasingly aware of how little I trust God.  It’s one thing to trust Him with my own safety.  Another thing to trust Him with my grown husband.  But to trust Him with my vulnerable, little boys?!  God once again is rooting out my wrong views of His character and replacing them with the truth of His trustworthiness from His Word. 

So, yes, I am being saved-redeemed from sin and reconciled to God-through the bearing, development, and formation of these boys.  I realize that for the rest of my life, I will be the mother of these 2 boys.  And for the rest of my life, God will use them to test my faith and reveal my wrong thinking, lack of trust, pride, and selfishness.  This is my marathon, which is why Paul warned of the need for perseverance.  God will use them to root out sin, but then He’ll replace it with the righteousness of Christ as He conforms me to His image. 

2 Corinthians 3:18 - “And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.”

I have laughed at Pastor Mark’s term “prom songs to Jesus” many times. I grew up singing those things. When I went to Mars Hill and heard Psalm 51 and Psalm 25, I never turned back.

I love singing Scripture with the bite of overdrive, and I would give up my pink rock-climbing stickered Nalgene to experience the inexplicable bliss of my first time singing to Jesus while my rib-cage literally resonated from the bass. My favorite song since it came out is Red Letter’s Psalm 139, I just wish they’d play it louder or that I could BE the speakers. And it’s straight from the Bible! There’s no question about its theology and it says what needs to be said. I love not repeating the same line a million times. I love that it cuts out the middle-man and goes from WORD OF GOD to MUSICAL WORD OF GOD, rather than getting all muddled in emotive paraphrasing. What an honor to sing to the Lord with my mind not having to check out!

However.

I have developed this really self-righteous and snobby attitude about other peoples’ worship music. And I have despised my past. Rolled eyes. The flush of embarrasment as someone sings their heart out to the Lord with the same Heart-N-Soul chords repeated over and over and over…

“You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary. Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love. Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first.” Revelation 2

This Scripture has stood out to me amongst others about pride and self-righteousness.
I thought about it.  You know, those songs were the ones I sang when I first met Jesus.

I sing a simple song of love
To my Savior, to my Jesus
I’m grateful for the things You’ve done
My loving Savior, my precious Jesus

This was among many that I learned to sing to Jesus, to play my guitar and sing to Jesus. And my heart was yes, naive and unlearned, and yet that is when Jesus took a hold of me. This was where I started. This is how we met. And it changed me forever. Called me. Changed my name.

And somehow I look back and laugh disgustedly, “too cool” for my roots. Too cool for place and the way Jesus first met me.

Yeah, I get that the theology on some of the pop worship is babyfood. I don’t condone the ones that are erroneous. And I certainly don’t have any desire or conviction to revert from ’solid food’ back to fluffy stuff.

Sometimes I still sing the old songs by myself. Though, you know what? It’s true; Scripture really is sufficient. It’s what stuck the hardest to me, hokey tunes and all… The ones that still come back are the old 70s ones:

I will sing unto the Lord for he has triumphed gloriously
The horse and rider thrown into the sea! (Exodus 15)

and

As the deer panteth for the water, so my soul longeth after thee (Psalm 42)

and… though I was embarrassed to death then… my mother wrote many psalms to music and (kind of) forced us to learn them as kids… and now… I am so glad I have most of the 120s and 130s memorized to comfort me when I am afraid or having a horrible day or just to contentedly thank Jesus. 

Sometimes when I am home alone, I pick up my guitar, and start plunking away at one of these less-glorious tunes and I remember my First Love…

Yahweh my heart has no lofty ambition;
my eyes do not look too high
I am not concerned with great affairs
Nor marvels beyond my scope (Psalm 131)

 by Nadia

Editor’s note: last Saturday, we republished what Nadia wrote about her experience in the Gospel Class. In this Saturday’s “reprint,” the adventure continues as we join her on the “final” step to becoming a Mars Hill member: the interview.

“I want to help serve,” I told my member-interviewer lady.
“We want you to serve, too,” she said.
“I don’t know which area really needs me . . .” I trailed off.
“What kinds of things do you have experience in?” she asked.
“Well, the main thing is that I have a heck of a commute and if I can help out from far away, that’d be best.”

We brainstormed and came up with some ideas that I could pursue from the comforts of my own home. I couldn’t vacuum the church carpets on Saturdays with the Breakfast Club, but I could offer my time doing some paper-based things from home. I’m being specifically vague, in case you hadn’t noticed. I wish to protect the innocent, which is everyone in this story except me.

And my name’s Nadia. But you knew that. Or did you? If not, hello. Welcome to my Vlog (that sounds like a Norwegian dungeon or something terrible like that, but I mean my “Vox Pop log”). Anyway, in this edition, I’m mumbling about my first attempts to communicate with intelligent life in that galaxy of Mars Hill Staff and Volunteers and Email Addresses. May I continue? Where were we . . .

So, my member-interviewer lady person took down my email and said she’d get me in contact with the appropriate persons for serving. She also said I’d get a member packet in the mail in approximately two weeks.

Let me give you the blow-by-blow, but please hold your judgment for the surprise ending: I eagerly await my membership packet. It is the late days of summer and warm optimism reigns supreme. While waiting, I get an email from the interviewer lady, connecting me with someone about serving. I send an email. I get one back directing me to another person. Who directs me to another person.

A few emails back and forth and I am told that my help isn’t needed at the moment. Um, OUCH. But then I am contacted from yet another email address associated with church. Some confusion ensues about serving projects. More emails. More confusion.

Three weeks later, I have some work to do. I complete it, turn it in, and hear nothing back. Nada. Nothing. Zip. (To be painfully honest, I entertained the wishful thinking
that one of the pastors would call back and say, “Nadia! Your work is AMAZING! We’ve never had someone so professional and so intelligent handling this! I don’t know how we even ran a church before this! We are forever indebted to you! Would you mind terribly if we made a statue of you to put out with the pyramids in the lobby?” Ok, maybe that wasn’t the exact hope, but the real one was every bit as ridiculous and self-centered, I assure you.)

In the absence of such flattery, I return my attention to my membership packet. Where is it? It’s been a month. I fume. I pout. I mean, how stinkin’ hard is it to put a packet in the mail with my name on it? But I’ve already been emailing and being obnoxious about my serving project, so I decide to let it slide for awhile, before I’m labeled as the whining member. But not because I don’t want to whine, I just don’t want people to think I whine.

Another month later. I decide to break my silence: I’m planning to move to the Ballard area to be closer to this church, and I don’t know what’s going on and can’t log in to the members’ website. Approximately five emails later (three months after my interview), I’m finally granted access to the members’ website. At this point, a major season of self doubt set in. They probably didn’t like your work. They just didn’t want to tell you and let you down easy. They don’t even know who you are. They don’t really want your help. Something’s wrong with you. You don’t fit. The pity parties were pretty much my favorite part of this season.

But there’s only so many pity parties you can attend before the company is just miserable. There may be no party like the “poor me party,” but the “poor me party” had to stop.

Humor aside, God was teaching me some humility. Life wasn’t all about me. That church wasn’t about serving me and patting me on the head. He was teaching me that I needed better motives for serving than to become popular. That I didn’t need to take things so personally. That I needed to learn persistence and grace. Basically, I learned that I still have a lot of Christian character development to go through over the next sixty or so years. It’s happening now. Slowly, but it’s happening.

In January I laid aside my wounded pride and with slightly less self-saturated motives, I started full on attacking the Mars Hill email system and phone lines to get involved. I didn’t know anybody, I wasn’t involved, I had no community group. But I’d had it with just showing up on Sunday and writing a check.

One Saturday morning I just showed up at the Breakfast Club (I highly recommend it, by the way-great food, low-key, relaxed, and a great way to get chores done and meet people). Now I’m actively involved in volunteering for the church, I have a community group I already feel comfortable in, and I’m making new friends like crazy.

I also just found out today that my original work wasn’t despised after all. It just slipped through the cracks. And these people that work and volunteer for MH are working like mad and overwhelmed. I met a whole bunch of them today-I like them. And I’m not a nice person who likes everyone, remember.

They do need a lot of help from members to serve on Sundays and throughout the week. If you’ve tried to get involved and have had similar experiences to mine, please keep trying. If you haven’t even tried, please do start getting involved. It may take more than a little persistence, but Mars Hill does need help.

It’s booming. You’ve heard Pastor Mark speak about it. Keep trying, and don’t take it personally if you’re not contacted immediately. Don’t waste time like I did.

A week ago at my community group, this girl’s dad visited and shared some deep wisdom. He put into words what God’s been teaching me the last few months. He said that here in America we are highly individualistic, for better or for worse. With that individualism comes a tendency to be wounded and take things personally. We’re big on having and defending our rights. What makes us a good church is not that we don’t hurt one another (because we do), but that we forgive and extend grace to one another, choosing to love instead of becoming bitter. The admonition is so simple, but I completely forgot it:

“Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other,
just as God in Christ also has forgiven you” (Ephesians 4:32).

This obviously isn’t the tirade it may have first seemed - against the people who didn’t answer my emails. But this also isn’t a tirade against those of you who have felt hurt by people in churches - Mars Hill or another. It’s an invitation to extend forgiveness and grace with a tender heart, like Jesus does to us every day. Beginning to live this way, by choice, has freed me up to do what I wanted to do in the first place: to serve and become part of my church for real.

I’m so thankful the girl’s dad shared his sage advice with us that evening-it struck me to the heart. It’s wonderful being in a Community Group where live discussions like that one can happen. Did I mention I love my new Community Group already? I haven’t been there long, but it’s great.

And that, my friends, is for next time. Peace out!