Hey guys, I am posting over on Deeper Church today.
A few weeks ago, I attended the last ever church service in Cross Point’s Charlotte Avenue campus. I got teary-eyed as I sat sandwiched between two of my best friends’ families and belted out the words to “One Thing Remains.” I was heartbroken to leave the worn in pews and the memories behind. Click here to continue reading…
I have been in a kind of funny place lately. I have been looking beyond the basics for Truth. Trying to decipher what I believe and why I believe it. Needing a little more depth to my theology. Today I tried to put that struggle into word over on Deeper Church. I hope that you will go read it and comment if it resonates so I don’t feel quite so naked.
Lately I have been trying to reconcile what I believe about well, things. You know? Things…big things, spiritual things, God things.
Heaven. Hell. The Father. The Son. The Holy Spirit. Sin. Grace. Atonement. The Nature of Man. The Nature of God. Read the rest here.
You know the old adages…
There are two sides to every coin.
There are always two sides to every story.
At some point between adolescence and adulthood, these ‘truths’ because so engrained in each of us that we often neglect to see the error in their simplicity. Quips that were created hope of advancing our perspective on life, and love, and conflict, left us believing that only two sides, two opinions, or two extremes need to be accounted for. Click here to read the rest at Deeper Church.
I’m posting over at A Deeper Church today. Hope you’ll go check it out.
I have had a long year. The last 12 months might have been some of the best, and the worst, I can remember. Back-to-back-to-back transitions, a crazy travel schedule, and reacclimating to life in Nashville has worn me out. And then yesterday, I learned of the passing of a dear friend’s mother. Friday, I hit the road again, four days in the Dominican Republic to see the work of Food for the Hungry first hand.
Needless to say, my typical Christmas-Countdown-December-Frenzy has been interrupted by pain, poverty and large dose of perspective. Read the rest of the post here.
Another place I’m honored to contribute monthly is Prodigal Magazine. I will be writing on their Social Justice channel. Here’s some more information about the site:
Not everyone has the power to live a good story. I know that sounds unfair and the truth is, it is. Some good stories are blocked by injustice. There are people in this world who’s story is being stolen from them because of racism, slavery, injustice or abuse. They could be living a good story, but they’re not. They need hope. There are people out there who are rescuing these individuals. They’re using the resources they have to go to war against injustice, so that the victims can be set free to live a good story.
Be sure to go check it out! It’s a great collection of writers and stories. This month I shared a little bit about doing justice as a biblical calling. Here’s a quick preview:
I don’t get it. People who believe but don’t do. People who study the Word but don’t live it out. People who are comfortable asking for their salvation but are not willing to sacrifice for their neighbors, down the street or around the world.
I just don’t get it.
Yeah. I know. I’m no biblical scholar. Truth be told, I should be spending a lot more time There, with Him. But how some folks insist on a complete separation of faith and justice, well, that confounds me. Click here to continue reading…
Do you believe that as Christians we are called to do justice?
Today I’m blogging over at a newish channel of Deeper Story, A Deeper Church.
Lately I have been pondering grace.
And truth.
But mostly grace.
I wonder if I truly appreciate it.
One of the things I am really excited about in this season is contributing to a new channel of Deeper Story, A Deeper Church. The writers that will be contributing monthly are friends, old and new, who love wrestling, engaging, and exploring stories to find common truths. I hope you will take this opportunity to follow along.
I was one of those kids who grew up in the church. Literally. Sunday School. Big Church. Summer Splash. Mystery Trips. Lock-Ins. Communicants Class. I grew up in The Church.
But in college, I began to wrestle. Not literally. The church lost its authority, its familiarity, and its appeal. I didn’t need the rules, the judgement, or the guilt. I figured that I could keep God around, but not necessarily as a Savior, more as a wise bet, a guarantee, that I wouldn’t spend an eternity down under.
Special Note: Today I am taking part in a blog series on Prodigal Magazine. You should check out the other articles from a list of incredible bloggers. You can submit you own article there as well. Just go here.
If you have been around here before you probably know that I am a huge fan of Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years and the concept of living a good story. I’ve credited all three with changing the way I think, and the way I live. So when Darrell mentioned this Prodigal Magazine series on what it means to live a good story I had to say ‘yes.’
“A good story helps us answer the question: Is life worth engaging?” — Donald Miller
An element that has appeared throughout my story {more so in recent months and years} is suspense, intrigue, and the disarming appearance of the unexpected. No one could call my path predictable. And no one would find my story engaging without its twists and turns.
Last Monday, I announced that I will be leaving California to move back to Nashville. When I made the decision nine months ago to pick up and leave the home where I felt so safe, secure, and comfortable, I thought my Orange County adventure would be a lot more…permanent. Truth be told, I thought I would settle in, meet a kind man who liked the way I say ‘y’all’, and slowly but surely embrace the lifestyle, the culture, and even the vernacular, but what I expected wasn’t what was in the cards.
My California adventure wasn’t the fairytale I had assumed, instead it was a much-needed season of restoration and reflection.
And now…unpredictably, unexpectedly, intriguingly, I’m scheming the second cross country move in less than a year.
And so…as excited and as hopeful as I am about the future, I know I can’t even fathom what’s next. But that’s what makes life fun and that’s what makes my story engaging.
The epic stories that I want to read, and watch, over and over again aren’t boring, predictable, or comfortable, so why should my story be?
What’s a recent twist and turn in your story? Have you learned to appreciate the unpredictable-ness of life, and of God?
And a special announcement…
As a part of my new unexpected adventure, I get to travel to Ethiopia {my first trip to Africa EVER – insert squeal here} from July 9th through the 16th. I can not wait to travel with some old friends and meet some new ones, to see firsthand the work of Food for the Hungry, to interact with a little boy I just sponsored and his family, and to blog stories so you can all share in this journey with me. So please go here to learn more about the trip and the incredible bloggers that I am traveling with. And go here to consider sponsoring a child with Food for the Hungry in Ethiopia. We’ll be meeting these kids so if you do choose sponsorship prior to the trip, shoot me an email to lindseyrnobles@gmail.com so that I can keep an eye out for the new additions to your family.
Today’s post is from Amanda Williams. I met Amanda about 18 months ago when I was in desperate need of a running partner and she innocently tweeted about joining the East Nasty’s, an East Nashville running group. And while our running has lagged, our friendship has continued to flourish. Amanda is smart, funny, but more importantly she’s a great mother, wife, and writer.
Read Amanda’s blog here.
Follow her on twitter here.
Confession: This is my fifth attempt to write this post.
I normally don’t have this problem, being that I am so verbally-inclined (read: long- winded). When Lindsey asked me to write a post about dreams, I jumped at the chance. I read the email in the Target parking lot and my mind raced with ideas the whole drive home. Who doesn’t love to talk about their dreams? Me, apparently. I couldn’t seem to put the words on paper.
Dreaming used to be easier. Giving a name to that magical intersection of the heart and the head, that sweet spot where talent meets passion, was deceptively simple in the first two decades of my life. If I had one dream, I had twenty. Naming a dream was as easy as cueing up my imagination.
It is not so simple now. I’m still trying to figure out why.
The landscape of my heart has changed a lot over the past fifteen-ish years. There are new people and new places, new hurts and new hopes. Sorting through it all to find what matters most is easier said than done.
I am a wife of eight years. I am a mother of three kids under age five. I am a daughter. A sister. A friend and a neighbor. An aunt and a niece. If there are dreams in my heart, these people are a part of them. The experiences we’ve had are the threads that runs through them. I’m not sure I can tell one from the other any more.
And this man I’ve vowed to love all my years and these children who grace all my days, are they not my dream? Often in the chaos of an average day I breathe in sharp at the realization that this is my life. They are part me, the twin boys with the ice blue eyes and the little girl with the razor-sharp mind. They call me Mama. It is a very real dream come true.
So shouldn’t that be it? Shouldn’t my family be my dream?
Isn’t it unfair, ungrateful, unloving to want something more than what they give?
Even as I type the question I know the answer. Even as it wells up inside, I know the guilt I feel is a lie.
I am a Christian; I suppose that should have gone at the top of my list. I am a believer in Jesus which means I am a believer in grace, in hope, in a good God who uses our weakness to work redemption in a broken world. And if I’m being honest? I think the idea that I am disqualified from my dreams is a lie sold by Despair and peddled by Shame in hopes that I will listen and walk away.
Lately I have been listening, and I’ve been tempted to believe it.
But then…
If I squint my eyes shut and listen hard for Truth, I know. I know that my desires are not accidental. I know that my gifts are not in vain. I know that those other things that make me come alive inside, they were put there on purpose, too.
When I was knit together, they were knit into me.
I sit outside alone in the dark, a string of lights overhead, a cat and two dogs curled up at my feet. There is a single street lamp within view that illuminates the top of a big oak in the neighbor’s yard. A steady breeze blows through as I write, making the leaves whisper loud and the branches dance in the light. The choreography makes me wonder:
What if my dreams are not mutually exclusive, demanding that one suffer at the hand of the other?
Perhaps they were meant to weave together, not to detract from each other but to strengthen one another, to breathe life into the branches and song into the leaves. Perhaps they were always written to be part of the same story.
Tonight, in a symphony of leaves, I find a gentle new resolve. To stop listening to the lie and cling harder to the truth. To remember that the desires etched on my heart were put there with purpose. To trust that loving well means daring to be the person I was created to be.
To believe not in my dreams but in the One who created them.
This is my prayer. What’s yours?
Today’s post is from Bianca Juarez Olthoff. ‘B’ works for The A21 Campaign as the Chief Storyteller. And she is believes in me, and my dreams, even when I can’t believe in them myself. Bianca dreams and she dreams big. I am immensely thankful Bianca and her husband Matt and how they have welcomed me into their life and their family.
Read Bianca’s blog here.
Follow her on twitter here.
In a pivotal moment of life, I had the opportunity to connect with a brilliant man who challenged my dreams, my aspirations, but more importantly, my fear. It went a little something like…
Me: I want to do [______________] and I can’t.
Him: What’s stopping you from doing it?
Me: I don’t know. I can’t explain it…
Him: I don’t know you well, but I can tell you know what it is. And I’m pushing you to articulate what’s holding you back.
Me: Okay, okay. I’m… I’m so… fearful.
Him: You’re fearful of being fearful?
Me: Yes.
Him: What’s the worst possible thing that could happen? What’s the worst case scenario? Lay it on me!
Me: I’m fearful of the consequences of following my heart and failing. I fear losing money on empty pipe dreams. I fear poverty. I fear inability to change what everyone seems to believe cannot. I fear failure and embarrassment and humiliation. I fear being a neglectful wife and poor step-mother and failing homemaker. I fear dreaming so big that I’m lost in the orbit of a universe outside of our galaxy… floating past the point of no return where I can’t come back and live a life I once did. But most of all, I fear the audacity of believing I can change the world and feeling ridiculous for believing I can.
Him: If all those things happen, are you still alive? Can you still dream? Will your family still love you? With all due respect Bianca, I don’t think your fear is of failure. No, your greatest fear is that you will succeed. And you don’t know what to do with that.
In pursuing the calling God puts in our life, what can fear kill? Everything. Fear will inhibit and thwart us from being the person we sense in our hearts we truly are. The one who is talented and compassionate and gifted. The one who is smart and logical and able. The one who is called and predestined and confirmed.
Me: What are you dreaming of? What is stopping you?
You: _______________
