Happy Hearts and Big Adventures

I'M SO FULL RIGHT NOW.

Not my stomach (the last meal I ate was in Ohio ten hours ago), but my heart. The conference I just attended was designed for youth workers, to deepen their knowledge and widen their abilities and grow  in faith and be refreshed in mind, body, and soul. I learned a lot - the knowledge and abilities and faith part. But that heart part...ahh.

That's what full right now, my heart. Even though...

I arrived back in Florida to my trusty Roxanne the Mini Van (which pretty much contains the contents of my life) breaking down two miles out of the airport.

The tow truck driver's truck broke down (ironic) and we waited over two hours for a tow.

I get home to a messy house that I had zero time to clean before I left, so now in addition to the previous mess there is luggage strewn all about.

My smoke alarm beeps every thirty seconds. Beep...beep. I took it off the wall. STILL beeping. I took out the battery. STILL BLEEPING BEEPING. What?!

I have one student job shadowing me tomorrow and two more students expecting me to take them to the beach (fun job shadow day, right?)...which is gonna be SO awesome considering my van is in a lot in ORLANDO!

Did I mention I haven't eaten in ten hours?

But as I type there are two bracelets on my wrist. One says "joy" and the other "love does." And those things are why my heart is happy tonight.

My heart is full because I had to friends willing to drive out (after they both took NyQuill - remind me to check that next time) and hour to come pick up three stranded women. Love does.

My heart is full because being stranded meant two more hours with some of my favorite ladies and another hour with my favorite guys. Joy.

My heart is full because my messy house is a sign of LIFE! Someone real lives here. Someone that is full of adventure and travels and lets laundry pile up for too long because there's not enough time to do that when there's a hammock and Donald Miller or Shauna Niequist calling your name! Or a high school softball game. Joy.

I'm still trying to find the joy in the beeping smoke detector. My love does not cover that. That's just annoying.

My heart is full because...let's be real here. Take a look again at my job description for tomorrow: "two students expecting me to take them to the beach." Who gets to do that for a job? Especially after six cold days in the north...joy, unspeakable JOY.

My heart is full because even though I'm hungry, I'm remembering back to that last meal in Columbus. Columbus, Columbus...where love does and joy wins. I ate with Jordyn, my #reallybuddy*, before we boarded a flight where we talked and dreamed and got crazy off Sprite. And it was the last meal of many we shared that weekend, meals that fed my soul as much as they fed my body. Jordyn makes me want to live bigger adventures. She volunteers me for rap-offs (bad idea) and thinks an ice cream run on a freezing night is a great idea (it is). We stayed up till 2:30 this morning giggling. She gets why it's important to be real and authentic, and she is both of those things, and I love her.

I'm full because I was fed this weekend. I was affirmed. I was encouraged. When I'm called by name from the speaker on the main stage, and she speaks of the transformation she sees in my life, and how I inspire her, and tells the crowd, "Sarah, you're my hero," that's encouragement. That's affirmation. It's undeserved. SHE is a rock star. SHE is my hero. Brooklyn has the same realness and authenticity that Jordyn has, and I hope I have. Love does.

This weekend was about people. Not just Jordyn and Brooklyn, but everyone I met. In the youth ministry world, we're all a team. We're family. So whether I'm hanging with Jordan Howerton who's about to go lead worship, or Cameron who leads kids in Canada, or Brandon who has a sweet job in my dream city, I know they get me. We're in this together. In sessions, hallways, restaurants, airplanes, and hotels, I met the most incredible people this weekend. Our conversations and interactions shaped me. I'll be forever grateful for that. I don't want them to end!

Pure hearts. Authentic lives. True desire for transformation. Laughter. Story. 

That's what I saw this weekend. That's what I experienced. And now that I'm back in Lakeland, that's what I want more of. It's what I'm striving for in my life, and maybe you want to join me. Let's keep being real. Let's keep listening to people's stories. Let's make sure we get enough time with our #reallybuddies and call out words of affirmation and encouragement upon them. Let's care about what is important and let go of what's not. Let's keep the conversation going. And let's remember that we get all of it because God is SO GOOD. It blows my freaking mind. God's just...he's got it going on.

Let's let love do its thing and be joyful as we watch it unfold. This vapor of life...breathe it in. Let's be full.



*reallybuddy: a shortened way of saying "good buddies for a really long time," coined by the Skit Guys this weekend. It's okay if you don't get it...Jo Mil knows what I'm talking about.

It's Where I Learned to Love Jesus

This was supposed to be a post about story. A post about how we are all living a story, and it has characters and setting and plot twists. And how some of us settle for a lesser story when our story could be filled with adventure and spontaneity and whimsy. So the plan for tonight was to write about how to live that bigger story, the one where we do cartwheels on the beach and go on road trips and meet fascinating people at quaint little diners.

Enter the plot twist.

7:30 PM, the phone call. The "did you hear what happened today?" "oh no who died..." phone call. But it wasn't the death of a close family member or friend, it was this:

Shock. Disbelief. Awe. Last week, a fire took out a bathhouse that was a memory machine. I colored my hair purple in there. I sang Britney Spears in the shower. I did free laundry there. My favorite 4th-of-July clown costume is in a box somewhere in that room. I rinsed with Suave Green Apple conditioner after way too many 7am polar bear dips in the big lake.

And now this. Where to start? My mind went to the lip sync. Multiple lip syncs. How many hours did I put in that building, in ridiculous late night heat, rehearsing and decorating? Middle schoolers and high schoolers and fellow college students, dancing and emceeing and singing?

How many church services did I attend, at 10am and 6pm, sitting in the second section, second row, fourth seat in? I counted kids during the children's message (110) and sang on the praise team (I Stand in Awe of You) and wondered if they would ever get rid of that ugly brown panelling. I ran out the screen door (use the right one, the left one sticks if you push instead of pull) to get the first glass of pink lemonade.

I secretly never returned a key after it was issued to me in 2005. It's still on my keychain, sitting on my table right now. Which is silly, because everyone knows the door unlocks with a woodchip.

And how many hundreds of kids did I teach about Jesus? Bible School, wow. Puppets and skits and setting up crafts every day. Let's not talk about how long it took to organize that ridiculous craft corner on the other side of the garage door from the infamous and mysterious Glory Hole (the curtained-off section of the building where "things die and go to glory"...aka stuff we don't need but can't get rid of)!

The garage door. STOP BANGING ON THE DOOR!

That's just high school and college. It hits me. Not only did I work here, teach here, and light up the stage with my mad lip sync skills...this is where I was taught. This is where I learned about Jesus. This is where I sat on the stairs as Jerry Vreeman sang to us "Samuel, Samuel, God is calling on you...Samuel!" Fuzzy Floyd taught us that "they who wait upon the Lord will renew their strength, they will mount up on wings like eagles. They will run and not be weary, they will walk and not grow faint," and told us to meet him at the Big Rock after the service to take a picture (and it was SO big back then!). 

This building is where Jenni and Teresa and Angela and Julie (in polyester robes) marched around the walls of Jericho and they came tumbling down. It's where Miss Henny and Mrs. L (aka Mom) talked with Fuzzy and Granny and Jake and the gang. It's where I learned I don't want to be a Pharisee (they're not fair you see) and if I had wax for my board, it would keep me surfing for Lord. Sauce for my taco would let me witness in Morocco. It's where I was interviewed daily by Josh on the markerphone.

It's where I learned to love Jesus.

And this is all just me. For others, it's the place where they attend Saturday night concerts or play the piano or store their trailers in the winter. It's where they circle up to pray before Sunday service or drop their kids off during Bible study or vacuum. It's ridiculous black plugs all over the floor because seriously, how do you just leave them in the back of the chairs and NOT pull them out and play with them?!

But today it was gone. In the midst of the most intense Michigan winter, the roof couldn't take it anymore and collapsed under the weight of the snow, taking with it the 40 camping trailers stored inside (summer homes to my friends and family), piano, sound equipment, Bible School supplies...and the contents of the glory hole :)

It was a physical loss...and also a sentimental one. I guess I always thought one day my daughter would sit on those same steps and hear a children's sermon from Grandpa Randy, and my son would be the one banging loudest on the garage door just waiting for 9:45 to get his little hole-punched cardstock-and-yarn nametag. 

It seems to odd to be sentimental and torn up about a BUILDING. It's bricks and paint and wood. But it's not odd to be sentimental about the memories made inside it. It was a piece of my childhood, my youth, my young adulthood. Shoot, I was even still speaking on that stage this summer! (I'll just pass the mic to Mike...oh geez.) And it's gone. But in my processing tonight, I've realized this:

Buildings don't make memories or write stories. They're just the places memories are made and stories happen. PEOPLE make memories, and GOD tells the stories.

And so we're back to what we all love about the Conference Grounds. Did we lose a building last week to a fire? Yes. Did another building collapse today? Yes. But does that same God who wrote so many stories in my life at that place still want to write more stories for others to come? YES!

And he doesn't need a building to do it. 

I hate to be all cliche and say "I know we can't see it now, but it's part of God's plan and something good will come out of it" but...

I KNOW WE CAN'T SEE IT NOW, BUT IT'S PART OF GOD'S PLAN AND SOMETHING GOOD WILL COME OUT OF IT!!!!

I honestly believe it. That's why I wrote it in caps lock. 

Wow, it's a confusing time. Do I want to hop the next flight to GR or pack up Roxanne the black and tan Mini Van and head north tonight? Duh. But in all honesty, what good would it do? Let me cry over the building in person instead of over Facebook photos? Productive.

I think instead what I need to do is be thankful. I'm thankful that 18 years ago my parents decided we were going to live in a camping trailer. I'm thankful that other kids were jealous of me growing up because my summer home was AWESOME (what up Lisa B...LaFumfe here). I'm thankful that I grew up with SO many college students to look up to and more sets of grandparents than I can even name anymore. I'm thankful that I can grow up and leave and come back without feeling like I've ever left at all.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: the buildings and everything in them are a tremendous loss. My heart is so sad for the people who lost their summer homes and belongings. The loss hits them on even another level. But God is still writing the story of the Conference Grounds. This was a hard chapter to get through, and it's not over yet...but maybe it's just our inciting incident. Maybe this is the turning point, the part of the story that we all point back to as "when everything changed." Maybe this is happening so we can see God at work in even bigger ways in 2014. 

Maybe this is God reminding us that we don't need buildings, we don't need stuff...we just need Him.

The ministry of the Grounds will go on, buildings or not. This is home. We are family. If you're reading this and think I'm ridiculous and you just wasted your time and have no idea what I've been talking about, you've probably never worked at the Grounds. But those of us who know it best know that at the heart of it God's given us an incredible cast of characters in the story set at the Conference Grounds. 

Here's how I know. In the midst of a burning building and a collapsing building, this is going on too:

Breathtaking beauty. Summer or winter, I'm in awe of the setting of this story. In the midst of chaos, God is still showing his beauty in awe-inspiring ways. Despite this tragic chapter, I love being part of this beautiful story. And if this is the inciting incident, the story only gets better from here. This is the time where we get to see God at his best work. Knowing that if even if I was there right now, there is nothing I could do to fix things only reminds me that this truly is God's work. This is His camp. His story. How blessed we are to be a part of it!

"All of my life, in every season
You are still God, I have a reason to sing
I have a reason to worship
And I will sing praise
I will sing praise
No weapon formed against me shall remain
I will rejoice, I will declare
God is my victory and he is here."
- Desert Song

"Then I said to them, 'You see the bad situation we are in, that Jerusalem is desolate and its gates burned by fire. Come, let us rebuild the wall of Jerusalem so that we will no longer be a reproach.' I told them how the hand of my God had been favorable to me and also about the king's words which he had spoken to me. Then they said, 'Let us arise and build.' So they put their hands to the good work."
-Nehemiah 2:17-18

Why I'm typing by candlelight.

So our 30 Days to 30 Hours kicked off today. If you’re not familiar with 30x30, it is essentially a prep tool for the 30 Hour Famine, an event where our youth group (along with thousands of other youth groups in the country) will spend a weekend fasting to raise money awareness for World Vision, an organization that helps end the cycle of poverty by providing food, education, medicine, and small business start-ups in developing countries. Leading up to our fast, each day we will be giving up a different item to raise our personal awareness of what others deal with on an everyday basis.

So now I am at approximately hour 23.5 of day 1, and the task? Fast from electricity. No biggie, right? I’m a camper. I’m own a flashlight and a headlamp and a couple candles. And of course I get to cheat while I’m at work. The first 10 hours were GREAT. Ok...I was sound asleep. But when that alarm clock went off (battery powered) my brain was wired to send my body straight to the Keurig. Shoot. Ok, instant hot chocolate in the microwave? Still electric. Hmm...boil water on the stove, then make hot chocolate. Dang, that’s electric too! What if I built a fire outside quick and warmed my water on that? True pioneer woman status. Ok, who am I kidding. That’s ridiculous. Starbucks it is. (I’m real impoverished, right?)

Thankful for my large windows and abundant Florida sunshine, I made it though my morning routine without needing to turn on any lights...winning! No shower meant no need to blow dry or straighten either. This isn’t half bad, and I’m ready in five minutes! 

Let’s be real. The day didn’t really get much most difficult from there. It was dark when I got home so I spend the evening by the campfire and when it was time to go inside, lit some candles. I really didn’t have to sacrifice much today. But what is so awesome is that God still had some teachable moments in there.

1. The things I NEED really aren’t NECESSITIES. The instant morning coffee, the straight hair, the obsessive desire for background music...I don’t need it! The 25% of the world without electricity doesn’t even know such luxuries exist. Yet I take all these things for granted. Each and every day I take for granted the ability to sleep with a fan on, make food hot in thirty seconds, or see the stairs I’m walking up. It’s the little things.
2. Going without leaves room for creativity. WOW. This one is HUGE! Normal evening routine? Locked inside my room, tv, Pinterest, puzzle, Facebook, link Facebook led me to, Netflix, laundry, more Facebook, and about 17,000 more links Facebook led me to. No reading. No writing. Nothing outdoors (which is most ridiculous of all, because I LOVE being outside and THIS WEATHER IS AMAZING!!!). But tonight? Instead of iTunes radio, I played the piano. Instead of Gossip Girl, I enjoyed the simplicity of reading a book fireside. Instead of Facebook chat, I invited some friends over and relished in conversations of futures to come and memories shared. It felt peaceful, unrushed...simple.

I want more of that in my life - the creativity, the simplicity, the awareness of luxury in what I take for granted. Life problems are mended and my soul is still when I stare at the flames of a fire. I have room to breathe when I sit in my candle-lit quiet bedroom. The stars outside shine brighter than the computer screen that always seems to be in front of me.

So with that being said...for the last 12 minutes of my day...it’s time for the computer going away. Also I only have 8% battery and certainly can’t charge it till the clock strikes 12! I want to relish in this still night. I’m thankful for this day. The quiet, the change from the norm...it’s cool how God gets us thinking. Poverty is inconvenient. I’ll gladly accept the inconvenience just for a taste. I’m excited for the next 29 days! Who’s with me?!

P.S. Tomorrow night, we sleep on the floor. Get excited!! 

More than Enough

A couple week ago, I blogged about the joy that followed our peace-focused worship stations. This week, we tied the concept of LOVE into peace.

One of the worship stations was to write your complaints in a journal, as a way of giving them up to God and leaving them in the room. My heart broke the next day as I read the journals and was reminded again of the things my students struggle with. I knew I had to address it in my next lesson, which is exactly what I did last night.

God is so cool. I took what the kids wrote and made it rhyme. I took my thoughts, mixed with a few words of Bob Goff's "Love Does"-inspired wisdom, and here's what came out.

Spoken Word: More than Enough - YouTube

Let the kid out.

It's been a rough couple days. The kind of week that makes me SO thankful I'm going on vacation this weekend. And tonight looked like it was going to follow suit. Low attendance, students not paying attention...you know, typical Wednesday night.

We did some creative prayer/worship stations tonight, all centered around the concept of peace. And my night began to shift as I stopped letting external things infect my thoughts, and started intentionally filling my mind with knowledge of that peace that passes understanding.

Then the night ended, or so I thought. But my lesson wasn't over. You know those lyrics "there may be pain in the night, but joy comes in the morning"? I found that joy follows peace. What happened next was beautiful like unicorns prancing through a field of wildflowers. At least in my mind, that what I looked like as I showed off my best dance moves in the impromptu dance party that broke out.

And ok, let's be honest, me dancing is probably uglier than crocs, but none-the-less, it provided everyone with a great dose of the best medicine - laughter. I recall Andy Mineo, line dancing, square dancing, break dancing, irish jigging, something involving a pole, interpretive ribbon dancing, the Judy, the Katie, the Michael, a couple wigs, a gray jumpsuit, a cape, a creepy mustache, and some neon crop tops. Sounds magical, I know.

But what struck me at the end of it was just what 45 minutes of silly dancing could do for my soul. For that period of time, I didn't care what anyone thought of me. I didn't care that my shirt was riding up and my pants were falling down. I didn't care that I didn't know the lyrics and definitely don't know how to dance. I felt like a kid...innocent, carefree, in it to make everyone laugh and have a good time.

And it was amazing! When was the last time you did something just completely uninhibited, for no reason other than sheer laughter and enjoyment? I think back to Julia's wedding this month, where Taylor and I held hands and skipped through the golf course under the stars. Why? No reason. Other than we did it at the last wedding we went to and will probably do it at the next. It's fun. Why not?

It's like when Beth and I had dinner at the Pate's house, and checked out the backyard. They have REAL grass, like thin, soft, northern grass, not the scratchy kind we're so accustomed to in Florida. We threw ourselves down in it and rolled around, just because. Because it was lovely and lush and felt like home.

At SEU a couple weeks ago I drank water from a sprinkler.
Last week I drew sidewalk chalk pictures all over my driveway.
Last night I had ice cream for dinner.
I played baseball in the backyard.
I drank a kiddie cocktail at the last wedding I went to.
I ran down the sand dunes at Carter Road.
I make up songs with Lou when we clean on Friday mornings.

This weekend I fully intend to jump on hotel beds with my little sister.

And I definitely plan on having more dance parties.

The kid in you needs to come out. In the grown-up world of bills and mortgages and jobs and car insurance, it's so easy to get tied up things that just weigh us down. It's important, but it's not all that's important!

So tonight, tomorrow...invest in some bubbles. Buy Andy Mineo's new album, scour the garage for sidewalk chalk, or borrow my wig collection. Build a fort out of blankets or round up some friends and play kickball. Let's let the kid out and experience some joy together :)

How Zumba and the New Kid Could Change the World

When the last time you did something for the first time? Something new and unknown and potentially awkward? A situation where you weren't in control and didn't really know what was going on?

In my world, that doesn't happen often. But tonight I attended my first-ever Zumba class. It was slightly terrifying. About 45 minutes into this craziness of loud music and more coordination that I can every hope to attain, it dawned on me that I was getting in more than just a good workout - my eyes were being opened to a person in my youth group I don't often think enough about - the new kid. The kid who has heard about our youth group, but has never shown up. The kid who wasn't raised in church, doesn't know his Bible, and doesn't think he belongs in a group of kids who do. The kid who isn't sure how to act, where to sit, or what to do when he leaves.

Tonight...I was that kid. Here's how it goes in five short acts:

Act 1: Roll your windows down and cruise.
It wasn't the first time I'd ever heard of Zumba. It wasn't the first time I'd been invited. It wasn't even the first time I'd had intentions of going. But it was the first time I actually went. I called the BFFL, made sure she'd be there, climbed in the Jeep, and hit the road.

Chances are that new kid has heard of your youth group. He's been invited a time or two, and maybe legitimately planned to go before but didn't make it. But tonight he decided to go to church with the guys, and now he's here, so what?

Act 2: Shake what your mama gave you.
I walked into a room of seventy women, a sea of neon tank tops and spandex pants and hips that don't lie. Yikes. I was extra thankful that BFFL came along. She's attended Zumba at other churches before, but never at this one. We grab a spot in the back of the room and try to keep up. My motha-from-anotha-grandmotha is in the room too, but she heads more toward the front...the last place I want to be when I have no idea what I'm doing. I want to hang in the back where I can watch everyone else, don't have to worry about being seen, and can fake it till I make it. Or break a hip.

That's where the new kid is at, too. A mass of people he doesn't know, dressed in a style other than his own. He's clinging to the one person he knows, and taking everything in from the back of the room where he can see and not be seen.

Act 3: Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, yeah.
So we begin. I feel ridiculous. The only dance I'm familiar with is Dutch clogging, and let's be real, I moved out of Holland when I was 5. I can't see the instructor, so I watch everyone else and try to keep up. Sometimes I've got it, sometimes I could not possibly be more off-beat. I get in the groove and it's fun. Between songs I chat with a few acquaintances I haven't seen in a while. And then we hit about minute 45, and I am DONE....except we still have fifteen minutes left. At this point, my arms are doing their own thing, and all my brain power is concentrating on is how Zumba is like youth ministry, and how that would make a great blog post. Clearly more of a writer than a dancer...

The new kid feels about the same. A little silly, a little unsure, but he's having fun. He's having casual conversation with a few students and feeling a little more comfortable. But then we get to the heart of the message, and he's having a little trouble tracking. He's wondering if he made the right decision in coming tonight. He could have been out skating...

Act 4: Leave some butt sweat on the seat.
Class is over. I'm one of those girls who just can't break a sweat for the life of me, but that is not a problem tonight. I sneak into the back of the congregational meeting going on in the next room. I catch up on all my social media on my phone while the pastor talks, and then I decide to peace out. But oh no, on the plastic seat beneath me...that lovely line of butt sweat. Gross.

The new kid takes off when the night is over, but chances are he's headed somewhere. And maybe where he's going, something the youth pastor said is sticking with him like a pair of sweaty yoga pants on my tush. And when he leaves that place, he's made a mark. He didn't even realize the night impacted him that much, but now there is a seed in his heart that is changing the way he looks at people and places, changing what he does and where he goes.

Act 5: I like to move it, move it.
And so then I get a call from my tall friend. He's going for a run, and I decide to join him. The fact that my five strides equal his one doesn't matter. Zumba kicked my butt, but that's a moot point. I'm dressed for the occasion, the adrenaline is still pumping, and it's a beautiful spring night in Michigan. Let's run.

The fire in the new kid is sparked. Another "churchy" friend calls him up and wants to hang, and this time the new kid is all over it. Whatever it was that just happened felt good, and he wants to feel that again.

When was the last time you did something for the first time? Throwing myself in the world of Zumba served as an encouraging reminder to me of what it's like to be the new kid, and what an impact can be made in his life if we do things right at 901west. I'm probably never going to become a Zumba instructor or run a marathon. But new kid? He might just change the world.

Staying and Stereotypes

Tonight as I was driving home from what feels like my 1000th high school sporting event of the year, I had an amazing conversation with a student. We talked about how just one decision can change the course of your entire life, and how your changed life has the potential to change so many others.

It got me thinking to just what an absolutely crazy blessing it is that I am here, in Florida, doing youth ministry. It's something I ran from for so long, and ultimately God just got through to me. As she got out of the car, she said "I'm just so thankful...that you stayed." There was more in between there, but those words will always stick with me...because I stayed.

STAYING...it's hard sometimes! It's hard when your dream job opens up 1200 miles away and you don't know if you should jump on it or not. It's hard when your family has so much going on and you just want to be near them. It's hard when four out of five of your staff members leave in the same year and you shoulder so much responsibility. It's hard when you feel alone because you're the only single one...the youngest one...the only woman.

And so let's look at that last one for a second - three things that kind of go against the mold of the stereotypical youth pastor. Because the stereotypical youth pastor is a plaid-shirt wearing, video game playing, goatee sporting man with a super hot wife, right? That's what I thought, or at least that's how I feel when I read youth ministry articles and attend conferences.

But then I did a Google search, and I found these youth minister stereotypes listed...
The stereotypical youth pastor...
- has an unorganized office and car
- can't be apart from his iPhone
- is super competitive in sports
- has some hebrew/greek/fish/cross tattoo
- is a constant ten minutes late
- is terrible at responding to emails and voicemails
- never updates the youth page on the church website
- eats half his meals on the church budget (and most are fast food)
- has a frisbee in his trunk

My little research experiment caused me to do some serious self-evaluation. Today I had to empty the fast food wrappers out of my unorganized car before we could drive to staff lunch. And all the junk in the backseat had to move to the trunk, already filled with about every piece of sporting equipment invented. This quick clean caused me to be late, and as I drove I tried to catch up on emails and voicemails on my iPhone. I played tennis with a friend last night so that I can dominate a student when we play next week. And this morning I emailed our IT guy yet again, trying to remember my username and password for the church website. And then there's that star tattoo on my foot...

I realized that maybe I'm not as alone as I thought. Maybe I'm young and single and female, but I can still rock a plaid shirt and Toms like the best of them. I can't play Super Mario for the life of me, but I can work iMovie like no one's business. I don't have a goatee...and that's probably a good thing. And I definitely don't have a super hot wife...but maybe I'll be one someday. 

Pretty much I AM the stereotypical youth pastor...and I'm okay with that. Because in addition to all the surface level things above, and more important than any of them, I share two things that are so much more important: a love and passion for the Lord, and a love and passion for students. 

It's a love and passion I would have never known if not for that one decision six years ago. One decision that changed my life and as a result, so many more lives as well. I'm so thankful for each and every one of these struggle and stereotypes, blessings and joys. Student ministry is a crazy world...but it's my world, and I'm so glad to be a part of it.

And Kandace, I'm glad I stayed too :)