A Little Look Back is Good for the Soul…

Yesterday was the two-and-a-half year anniversary of my first day working at Faith Lutheran Church.

Looking back–I was a bright-eyed, ambitious, and totally overwhelmed young intern.

I shared an office with another co-worker, had about five books on my bookcase, a computer, and a whole desk drawer full of empty files.

Oh, and a pen that I had brought from home. I didn’t know where the community stash of pens was located yet.

And–I wore heels.

You’d have to work here to understand how outlandish that is. I felt like a pariah.

Beyond our senior pastor and the co-worker I was sharing an office with, I couldn’t remember any of my coworkers’ names. Which was doubly awkward, because the entire staff had peeked into my Facebook profile before I even arrived in St. Louis–so the first comment that many of them made to me was, “Gee, you don’t look anything like what your pictures looked like!”

Me with my husband, during our first month here in St. Louis...

(Note to self: don’t show up to a brand-new office with a drastically shorter haircut, when your co-workers have already done reconnaissance work on you. It’s never good to throw people a curveball when they don’t know you yet.)

Since my husband and I had just moved to St. Louis from southern California, I didn’t know my way around the city at all. My dear husband had kindly inked a tiny map of my route to work on a Post-It note, which I pasted securely on my dashboard.

Did I mention it was the first day of Vacation Bible School? The church was overflowing with people–and my first responsibility was to wrangle a class of preschool kids for the entire morning.

By some small miracle, I handled those screaming, energetic youngsters and managed to ease into my job and learn the complexities of the office copier in the course of that week.

The hard part was yet to come, though. My duty at Faith was clear: my job was to work with middle schoolers and help manage the brand-new student center that they had just built.

Beyond that, I was clueless.

Ironically, in the course of my studies in Christian education at Concordia University, I had often said that I didn’t want to work with kids any younger than high school–that my intellectual nature wasn’t compatible with grade school or middle school kids.

That’s why you never make statements like that, right? They seem to always come back to bite you.

That week, I hosted my first “official” youth event–a little pizza party halfway through the week, designed for me to meet and greet dozens of middle school kids at once. I remember being so excited to meet these kids, but so nervous that they wouldn’t like me at all–that they would breeze past me, grab the pizza, and hightail it home without a second glance. What if God plunked me right down in a place where people would hate me?

I was pleasantly surprised to discover how friendly the Faith kids were. They actually seemed to like me right away.

On day two, I was able to sit in the unfinished student center building, sipping cappuccino as I chatted with a few middle schoolers and high schoolers. Slow but steady progress.

Unfortunately, I was completely flabbergasted when I realized how many names, facts, and stories I would have to learn. My mind was spinning when I collapsed at home every night that week.

Little did I know at that time that I would spend the next few years laughing, crying, and bonding with these people…that some of them would become like my own kids…that their families would open their homes to us and take us…that I would end up thanking God for this church and the people here every day.

Oh, and I didn’t ever expect that I would find myself doing games that involved kids eating baby food or shooting cereal out of their nostrils…but that’s happened, too.

So much has happened in the last few years. I’ve met so many incredible people, and I’ve cried tears of joy upon seeing the love and generosity of so many people who so freely share God’s love with me. I’ve had doors open for me to pursue my passions in writing and student leadership development, by writing my own column at thESource, helping Lutheran Hour Ministries with their curriculum, and being a part of the Missouri District Peer Ministry Training Team. I’ve been inspired and motivated by my coworkers. I’ve made connections with great DCEs and youth workers all over the state of Missouri. I’ve loved working with incredible, devoted, inspirational leaders in our middle school programs. I’ve been blessed to be able to freely go into the public grade school and middle schools near us and simply hang out with students–to meet them where they’re at. I’ve been able to mentor a couple of students and see tangibly how God is powerfully working in their young lives.

Oh, and I’m currently on Computer #3, and have a jam-packed bookshelf and file cabinet. And I only wear heels on Sundays around here–especially not during Vacation Bible School week.

I could never have imagined all of this, back on my first day of work at Faith.

It’s easy for me to forget how abundantly God has blessed me–so this little look back is good for my soul.

Despite the many frustrations, moments of doubt and anger, my incessant questions, my wrestling with my calling as a church worker, my discontent, and my flaws and weaknesses, God has been faithful to me. He’s been my Anchor as I struggled to settle into a new marriage, two new homes in a new state, a new job, new friends and co-workers, and plenty of new passions.

Thanks, God.

Now if only He could do something about the pens that my friends seem to get a kick out of stealing…that’s a dirty (although highly effective) prank.

The Future of Our Faith–A Return to Simplicity?

Yesterday, I experienced a glimpse of heaven on earth–which prompted me to seriously ponder my faith, the spiritual state of our world, and the future of Christianity.

And no, this wasn’t because I successfully survived wearing high heels for over twelve hours without my toenails falling off in sheer protest.

I took two of my musical students to the Cathedral Basilica in downtown St. Louis, a breathtakingly beautiful monument created entirely out of mosaics. If you live anywhere in the Midwest and want to see something that rivals the grandeurs of Europe, this is the place to check out. I’ve been inside nearly a dozen times, and each time I’m stunned into reverent contemplation. It’s incredible.

We went to enjoy “Christmas at the Cathedral”, a two-hour concert extravaganza featuring two choirs, a handbell team, an organ, and an orchestra. I had been wanting to go to this concert for two years, and couldn’t convince any of my friends to go until I finally found some fellow (albeit young) music-lovers this year who are just as captivated by music as I am.

I was swept away by the beauty of the music, the strings and brass echoing hauntingly through the massive stone walls. I marveled, with tears in my eyes, as the choir sang an a cappella version of “Silent Night” from the transepts. And, when the entire crowd stood at the very end of the concert to sing “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing” together with the organ, orchestra, choirs, and handbells triumphantly blasting, I literally choked up and couldn’t even utter a sound.

Listening to the pure voices resound through the crowds as they sang classical Latin and Italian hymns and simultaneously seeing the lights shimmer and glint off the magnificent and intricate mosaics transported me back to the medieval times–a time when God wasn’t my “homeboy” or a plastic action figure on my desk, but the Creator who imbued man with the ability to create, dream, and act in ways that couldn’t help but glorify Him.

Back then, the Bible wasn’t an application on our phones–it was a life-giving message of hope in an otherwise dark and dangerous world. And back then–without the myriad of useful objects that have cluttered our lives and distracted us to the point that we can’t have a meaningful conversation with anyone for even a few minutes–people had time to contemplate how grand God actually is.

In our present day and age, I think we’ve become too familiar with God–too comfortable with treating Him like He’s just another buddy. We paste Him on shirts, erasers, and lunch boxes. Athletes and celebrities occasionally throw Him an obligatory ”shout out” and a generic, politically correct (and thus totally bland and meaningless) statement about how they “believe in Him”. We create nicknames and fan clubs of Him on Facebook, and mock Him on South Park.

More than anything, I am stunned that the God who inspires people–no, who designed people to rise up and sing, paint, dance, speak, live and love beyond their own limits–that He could possibly care about someone as insignificant as me.

It’s an ignorant and shameful idea that we can mock Him and treat Him so condescendingly and lightly. He’s not my “homeboy”–He’s beyond comprehension.

It’s an unspeakable privilege that I am even blessed to pray to God, let alone claim to be His follower.

English pastor F. W. Robertson once said, “One thing, and only one, in this world has eternity stamped upon it. Feelings pass; resolves and thoughts pass; opinions change. What you have done lasts–lasts in you. Through ages, through eternity, what you have done for Christ, that, and only that, you are.”

Lately, nearly everything I’ve read and heard about is pulling up obscure passages from the book of Nehemiah. It’s uncanny, actually–that so many unrelated sources and people are all pointing me back to this simple book.

In short, Nehemiah’s fellow countrymen, the Jews, were living in the rubble of the once-powerful city of Jerusalem. This broke Nehemiah’s heart, and he began praying for God to work mightily on the Jew’s behalf. He started planning for rebuilding the city, and as he served King Xerxes as a cup-bearer (a trusted position), the king asked him why he was so downcast. Nehemiah jumped at the opportunity to share his thoughts, offering a well-planned solution for rebuilding Jerusalem. Xerxes agreed to supply him with the materials he needed, and eventually Nehemiah inspired the people to rebuild the city–despite plenty of opposition. The gates were completed in an incredible 52 days.

Nehemiah left the city and returned after 12 years to find the walls sound, but the people in moral decay. I was thrilled to highlight Nehemiah 13:25 in my Bible: “I argued with those people, put curses on them, hit some of them and pulled out their hair” (boy, I guess I’m doing just fine with how I handle those rowdy high school boys!) Eventually, Nehemiah reestablished true worship and sincere prayer, and encouraged a cultural revival which led to the people actually reading and listening to the Word of God.

Maybe this is where God is leading His church today–another revival, a step away from the shallow, technology-obsessed, discontent world we’ve let take over our lives. Maybe the future of our faith is a return to the simple majesty and wonder that the early Christians had for their Savior.

I’m currently reading Mark Batterson’s book, Primal. In his opening chapters, Batterson says he took a trip to Rome and embarked on an underground tour into the catacombs of an ancient church, which were hidden under layers of church buildings that were topped off by a cathedral–as was the Roman habit, to build on top of preexisting buildings, century after century.

He writes, “As I tried to absorb the significance of where I was, I couldn’t help but wonder if our generation has conveniently forgotten how inconvenient it can be to follow in the footsteps of Christ. I couldn’t help but wonder if we have diluted the truths of Christianity and settled for superficialities. I couldn’t help but wonder if we have accepted a form of Christianity that is more educated but less powerful, more civilized but less compassionate, more acceptable but less authentic than that which our spiritual ancestors practiced.

Over the last two thousand years, Christianity has evolved in lots of ways. We’ve come out of the catacombs and built majestic cathedrals with all the bells and steeples. Theologians have given us creeds and canons. Churches have added pews and pulpits, hymnals and organs, committees and liturgies. And the IRS has given us 501(c)(3) status. And there is nothing inherently wrong with any of those things. But none of those things is primal. And I wonder, almost like the Roman effect of building things on top of things, if the accumulated layers of Christian traditions and institutions have unintentionally obscured what lies beneath.”

I’ve talked to a lot of unchurched people about Christ in the last several years–probably upwards of 100. And when I really think about it, their opposition to Christianity usually isn’t Christ–it seems to be an opposition to what Batterson aptly described, “the accumulated layers of Christian traditions and institutions”.

Maybe our best hope for the future is to strip away these layers and reveal the raw majesty of God, the Almighty Creator who fashioned neurons and cells in the tiniest of organisms. To show people the passionate love of Jesus, who didn’t worry about being inoffensive and politically correct, but who truly embraced everyone. To share the power and creativity of the Holy Spirit, which equips and empowers average people in incomprehensible ways.

Maybe our generation needs its own Nehemiah…

I’m 25, and Being Bullied. Seriously.

I never expected that, at the age of 25, I would experience my first real battle with bullying.

But, as I sit here in my office, surveying my desk–now devoid of several precious objects–I have to admit it:

I’m being bullied…by a bunch of guys who are bigger than me.

Oh, that’s not to say that I haven’t ever dealt with this issue of meanness. I went through middle school, after all–that horrible age when girls are ready to claw your eyes out and then pretend to be your best friend to your face as soon as you walk back to your seat from the pencil sharpener.

Or, in my case, threatened to break my legs and chop my long blonde hair off. And did things like smear Twinkies in my friends’ faces and throw sharpened pencils across the room at each other.

I first started dealing with bullies in grade school. First grade, to be precise. Somehow, I caught the attention of the grade’s biggest bully, Elizabeth–and we continued to battle like angry rams throughout the seven years I was at that school. I was pretty much the only kid in my grade that ever stood up to her–boys included–and when my popularity eventually eclipsed the web of fear she had cast over my classmates, I relished my role as the triumphant victor. My classmates were free from her tyranny, finally able to enjoy their lives, as I was the quintessential “good girl” who was nice to everyone (except Elizabeth, of course).

How did I manage this exceptional feat?

Long story short–she ended up stuffed in a trash can in the locker room.

And she never really bothered me much after that.

In the years since grade school, I’m actually surprised that I was never bullied again. Sure, there were a few isolated incidents here and there–for instance, the boys in 8th grade used to pull my hoodie over my head and tie my strings in a knot behind my back, so I helplessly flopped around the classroom like a patient from the mental ward with a few loose strands of hair and one eye peeking out between the folds of fabric.

And even now, I have to admit that it wasn’t a painful experience. In fact, it’s a prank I’ve been known to pull on some of my more aggravating students in the middle of winter. Shhh.

So you can imagine my dismay at this point, as I’m a quarter of a century old, upon finding myself being bullied.

I realize now, too late, that I’ve made several critical mistakes in working in an office setting:

• I brought cool toys in, like a glittery bouncy ball that swirled magically, a cool modern hourglass, and a special zen art board.
• I told people how much I liked these toys.
• I told people that if these toys ever got stolen, my heart would be broken.

Naturally, now my bouncy ball and my hourglass are both gone.

And when I say gone, I actually mean “kidnapped”.

You see, the thief/thieves actually took pictures of the items, created Facebook pages and have been posting updates as the toys themselves, and have been making phone calls to me frequently–calls both from the toys, telling me how much they miss me, and from the captors, telling me to follow “a specific set of instructions if I ever want to see my toys again”.

I wish I was making this up. But in all seriousness, you can search Facebook and find “Cassie’s Ball” and “Cassie’s Hourglass” and add them as your friends, too. Currently, they have about 19 friends between them.

Unfortunately, I cannot pinpoint who the thief (or multiple thieves) is. He’s tricky enough to be calling me from a computer program that both disguises his voice and shows up as various staff members’ cell phone numbers–throwing me off the trail completely.

I’ve narrowed the suspect list down to a half-dozen guys I work with. And, in the last few days, I’ve grilled them–even going so far as to yell “hands up!” and make them all surrender their phones as I’m getting an incoming call from the thief.

No luck so far. But I’m confident that my detective skills will pay off in the long run. Besides, they don’t know about all the spies I’ve recruited to work for me.

They should’ve picked an easier victim. I am not going down without a fight.

I sometimes wonder if my life is really as random as it seems when I blog about it. I guess it is. Which, again, leads me to wonder–what would our office look like as a sitcom?