RRS Faith Story

I grew up with Jesus in my house. My father was in his sixth year as an American Baptist Minister when I was born, 1979. We lived in a small farming town in south-central Idaho, Castleford. My parents were providing for three foster boys at the time of my arrival, so the house was full. To see the pictures and slides from that time, you wouldn't suspect how much Dad was working or the stress my mother felt with a houseful of prepubescent boys and a new infant. That craziness only lasted a short time though. The boys' mother came back for them and we moved on to another church home.

I started school and learned how to read. When my parents told me I would have a sibling, I prayed for a baby sister instead of a brother. (One of my friends had a younger brother and he was always doing annoying 'boy' things.) Early in the morning, November 1, 1985, my sister was born. I rejoiced that she shared my gender.

After another move, I made my first best friend, received a 10-speed bike to ride to 3rd grade classes, and memorized the books of the Bible in order at VBS. Mr. Robinson was my first male teacher; he was kind and a very good listener. I remember reading the gospels of John and Matthew with Dad before bed out of my first real Bible, the Good News version with a shepherd on the cover. My parents were so proud when I recited the Bible books in order. I still use this knowledge every time a pastor says, 'turn to the Book of....'Those times set the stage for my love of Scripture and my attitude of looking to God for guidance and comfort.

Mom was always singing and teaching us praise songs, the words and promises from Scripture etching on my heart. To this day, I cannot help but sing those portions that I learned first in songs.

Fourteen months after we started pastoring that church, we were asked to leave. Some very powerful church lay leaders had been communicating all along with a different pastor. He wasn't available when the position opened up, so they accepted my family, but never mentioned that the assignment was temporary in their minds. My father was devastated by the betrayal. It was a large, but final straw – we left the pastorate.

Just before we moved, I asked to be baptized. We talked about it at home and the next time Dad gave an altar call, I went.  Recently, I heard that my parents hadn't decided whether it was the right place for me to show my step of Faith and were surprised that I came forward. But, I think it was God – He knew I would need that seed of Faith for the coming years. If I had not been baptized, years would pass before I had another opportunity. [If I had not been baptized, the turbulent years ahead would circumvent other opportunities. ]

We moved to Washington State, where my parents' first pastorate had been. My mother found a Presbyterian Church close to our home and we started attending, but Dad only came once in awhile for several years after his traumatic exit from ministry.

The next two years were some of my life's hardest. My Dad was shaken to his core and at his weakest when his junior-high girlfriend sauntered back into his life. We were still unpacking the moving van when she waltzed up the driveway and created havoc. Two years later, we started putting life back together. Mom clung to her hope in God, knowing and asserting that God would take care of us. Her ardency embedded seeds of Faith in me and I leaned on my Heavenly Father, the most Faithful One. (God brought great fruit from those hard time and my family's choices; my faith would not be where it is without those painful experiences. Not every wound is healed, but I pray we will continue on the healing path.)

Junior-high and the beginning of high school were traumatic for me in all the normal ways. I continued to attend the youth group at Cascade Presbyterian Church, helping at events, joining the choir, and aiding at summer camps. Although the friendships were not deep, they were constant and predictable. I needed that. I could live with the steady, low-grade animosity from the girls; I got along pretty well with the boys because of my athleticism.

Sophomore year of high school, a friend and I started attending a Bible club after classes where I met the core group of friends I would have until graduation. I experienced another burst of insatiable thirst for God's Word and received my 'adult,' leather-bound Study bible for my 16th birthday.

Some churches are really good at what they do, but eventually you can out grow them. We changed churches again and I was finally ready to move on from the Presbyterian youth group. My relationship with Christ grew steadily but not fast. My academics, music, and sports commitments, as well as my first serious relationship, consumed a lot of my time.

That relationship lasted over two years of high school, although it ceased to be healthy long before that milestone. His insecurities and stubbornness pushed me deeper into myself but also underscored my uncertainty of who I really was becoming. He accused me of being wishy-washy, but he didn't realized that we fought every time I expressed an opinion different than his. I was going with the flow because it was easier at that point. Fortunately, he and the group we spent time with professed Christ, so we didn't get into much real trouble. However, it took me several relationships throughout college to figure out who I was, what I wanted to become. The damage was emotional. Thank God that my family laid the foundations for honesty and intimacy early on. My parents placed a high priority on talking about anything and everything, even if it was uncomfortable. I know that is a rare gift in families and think that it's an important trait to carry forward in my own family.

I continued in the same vein of busyness – college, sports, working on campus. College was a hard time for me – my family changed churches again, in search of a smaller youth group for my teenage sister. I attended with them, but also got wrapped up in the desire to find some independence by moving out and closer to the University. I made some friends, but not any that stuck beyond classroom chat. I started dating a guy from work who was raised Catholic. We spent a lot of time together, but after a year, I was ready to move on again. I think I was more ambitious than he was and certainly more interested in growing spiritually and mentally. He indulged me by going to church, but his faith was juvenile and I needed another growth spurt.

In September 2001, I quit my administrative job to focus on my fifth and final year at college. I transferred to the university, lost credits, fumbled around for a major, finally decided on Geography/GIS and was getting into the swing of it. In November, I took a 12hour-each-way road trip with some high school buddies and their roommates. Through circumstances, I rode in a car with the two guys I didn't know. By the time we returned to Seattle four days later, I'd made two close friends, one of which would become my husband 14 months later.

Bryce attended a small church not far from his house and I eagerly went with him. I met several other college girls right off and started meeting with the college group. Finally, another place where I could be fed by good teaching and good fellowship. Although not everything was smooth-sailing, the next year, I graduated and planned the wedding. A new women's Bible Study started on Monday evenings and life was sweet.

We got married in January 2003, busy at church groups 3-4 nights per week and on the music team most Sundays. We were challenged spiritually and pursued practical applications for what we learned.

In May 2004, we purchased a condo inbetween church and Bryce's office. Gradually, the college group members graduated, moved away, got married, and stopped meeting regularly. A few of us remained, but the other groups at church were established and we didn't have an easy place to transition into. Worship pastors turned over a few time and for all the Senior Pastor's pomp about raising up new leaders, we did not get the leadership training we asked for. We eventually left that dying church. It took us six months to land at a larger-than-desired new community, but the teaching was exceptional and we found a small group that is still part of our lives four years later.

BCC exploded in attendance. We got involved with the music team again, but after 18 months, the group never developed cohesiveness. In the spring, the decision was made for us that we would leave the team – another church wound. Just one of these two very hurtful rubs with church leadership could have convinced some to never come back to the Church. And they darkened my hope and countenance for awhile...but God is a Healer and He is the reason I go back. When His people witness to His mighty acts of compassion and provision in their lives, nothing else is so encouraging to my spirit. I believe deeply that we are made for Relationship with God and with others. I adopt that belief so deeply that I continue to go to church. I have left those hurtful communities, but after another year of searching, we finally found a church home that seems to be growing in the paths God has led us in over the last five years – social justice, compassion, enjoying the moments/details/diversity of life, pursuing Him and others, blessing others with the blessings God has given us.

Since my married life began, I have walked with God in more regular intimacy, finding that writing prayers in journals focuses my heart and gives me tangible evidence of His answers and fingerprints. I started volunteering with a hunger relief organization on a weekly basis in 2007 and continue to go regularly (as of 2011). In addition to a new Bible Study group and two small groups (from different churches), I continue to be a Stephen Minister, since 2008.

Stephen Ministry is the best way God uses me right now. In two years, I have been privileged to come alongside two women, walking with them through deep times of loss, grief, and fear. Many times I was speechless at the heartache they endured and could only pray that they would be sensitive to the Father's presence and great love for them, trusting that His healing would come. And it was amazing to watch its relentless approach.

Along with Stephen Ministry, another deep influence on my spiritual life has been one girlfriend. We have met almost every week for over six years now. We share everything and have experienced highs and lows with each other, other relationships, and with God. We remind each other of the hope we share in Christ and process through the joys and sorrows of this life, struggling to keep an eternal perspective, and encouraging each other. I'm so thankful for such a sister in Christ. I know my growth would have been slower and tougher without her.

Finally, I come to where I am now. Several ideas combined in my mind to bring adoption to the fore-front. First of all, adoption allows me to evade pregnancy. I am deeply afraid of the physical changes pregnancy, and its aftermath, ensue. My genetics predispose me to a food addiction and diabetes and I keep myself on a short-leash. Gaining weight and not being able to lose it is terrifying. It is much easier for me to maintain, to stay where I am, to resist the uncertainty of change. God has used my husband to heal parts of my flawed body-image, but I am still very much a work in progress. Only recently have I come to a marginal acceptance of a possible pregnancy. I am worried that by the time I'm ready, it might be too late physically.

Second, God embedded His adoption of me into His family down in my spirit's core. He made a way, although deeply painful, to be with me. I wonder why Love always has to involve such pain. But that is what makes it Amazing and awe-inspiring. I believe that He calls every Christ-follower to walk in His steps. Adopting others into the family, treating neighbors as yourself, doing justly by the foreigner – these are all characteristics of God and His calling for His people. If I am to model Christ in compassion and mercy, it makes sense to also follow Him in bestowing grace (something undeserved) onto another. My husband and I both sense that direction for us. Our unity brings increasing certainty of the path.

Thirdly, my family-in-law already includes an nontraditional mix of parentage and marriages. I feel that those children are loved deeply regardless of whether the both biological parents are in the picture or not. My parents-in-law do an excellent job deliberately loving all their grandchildren.

Finally, my spiritual gifting of Compassion brings: sensitivity to the lost, the needy, the broken. My life with God, and Scripture, teaches me that He is the champion of the weak and the vulnerable. Although I cannot save the world, He has and is faithful to work out His salvation. This calling of adopting a child is easier to grasp than pregnancy, but scarier also. It is way too big for me and my husband. We are keenly aware that we cannot do it alone. It's easy to think that biological parenting is all up to you as the parents. It's easy to put all the pressure on yourself; it's your fault and you have to pay the consequences (the hard work of parenting) now. But adoption is a choice – a crazy choice. And I am not a crazy person, except when I think of how crazy-in-love with me God is. And then I get a little more courageous.