On Growing Up in a Pentecostal Church

I grew up on an orange pew in a small Pentecostal church.

I grew up with tongues-speaking and large women running aisles whenever the Spirit fell. We called each other brother and sister. I looked forward to my weekly welcome from Brother Sid who always had a smile and a Werther’s Original to share.

My mom made sure we were at church every time the doors were open which happened to be twice on Sunday, Wednesday evening, and Tuesday mornings for prayer.

My pastor was a gentle man. He was a Missouri boy who loved down-home cooking and blue-grass music. Everyone knew biscuits and gravy was his favorite meal.  He frequently mentioned his favorite singer: his wife. I think I heard the story of how he met her at church and how he kept going to that church so he could date her no less than 198 times in my childhood. If I am honest, I don’t think I remember a single one of his sermons, but I do remember how he would tell me every chance he got: “Amanda, you know God loves you? There isn’t anyone that He loves more than you.”

My pastor’s wife was an adamant woman. She was adamant about my worth, she was adamant about purity, she was adamant about making a way for me. I remember her confessing to me that she had a sharp-tongue, and maybe it was true, but she also knew how to wield her words as a sharp sword against the enemy. I probably had a healthy dose of the holy fear of God and of my pastor’s wife. She played the piano and sang with a big voice that could fill a room all by itself. She battled her weight and lost it and gained it a few times, and maybe this sounds funny, but I can’t even tell you how much I appreciated that she gave the softest hugs… I probably couldn’t count how many times I buried my face right into her shoulder and cried. I might not have been her daughter, but I always felt important to her.

I remember being 10 and desperate to go to summer camp. My pastor’s wife might not have wanted to sleep in an un-insulated cabin on a cot, but she wanted to be there for “her kids.” So she volunteered to run the camp store.  I remember being shy, not knowing anyone, not quite fitting… but I could always escape to the camp store. She was a safe place. She went every year that our church sent kids up.

One night at that camp when I was 14 or so, I had a really bad asthma attack that led to a really bad panic attack. I started to go into shock. I was laid out on a bench, head in my pastor’s wife’s lap, terrified, tears streaming and the talk of calling for a helicopter to fly me to the hospital in the background. My pastor’s wife prayed down the heavens. Her voice was loud and full of authority. She fought for me till the airways opened. Honestly, if I was asthma, or even God for that matter, I don’t think I’d bother with contradicting her.

I remember having church in a tent for almost a year. I had wanted to sing so badly. The first night in that tent, she called me to the front before service started and told me and another girl she wanted us to stand next to her and sing. We did almost every week. Church shoes on a dirt floor, under canvas before metal folding chairs, we learned to lead worship. She always made a way for people. I remember going and visiting that church years later and enduring a sweet older lady doing a special song. I don’t know how else to put this other than to say it was terrible. My pastor’s wife smiled big and warm the whole time. She knew it was worship.

(And for the record, there is a very strong possibility I sang that terrible.)

In my adult years I can say that I am really glad God has been bringing down denominational walls in my heart. If you believe Jesus Christ is the Son of God who came and died on the cross for our sins and rose again… you are my brother and my sister—Pentecostal or not, Baptist, Evangelical, Episcopalian, Catholic, or Seventh Day Adventist… Really, all other matters pale in comparison to the salvation we have been freely offered.

But still, I am proud of my Pentecostal upbringing. This woman, now the wife of a cop, knows spiritual warfare. I know how to pray down the heavens. I desired to speak in tongues before I knew how weird or controversial it was. I’m glad. I love my prayer language, and like Paul, I use it daily. I know what it is to have the joy of the Lord bubble up and out uncontainable, to be undignified and dance before my God… before I knew about things like “order in service.”

My church might be a good deal more "conservative" now, but I can’t even put into words how grateful I am for that small Pentecostal church and the pastors that served it.

I so appreciate you, Pastor and Sister (we’ll keep your last name between us, but you know who you are).

Thank you for giving and giving, for making a way and a place for me, for praying, for loving.

You are so dear to me and so very loved.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

I'd love to hear if you grew up in church? What was one outstanding memory from it?

Since I brought up some Christian topics that have historically brought controversy (and no doubt, still do), I would just like to make mention of Shawn Grove’s article. It gives an analogy about similarities and differences between Christians that I do believe encourages unity in spite of doctrinal difference.

Oh and here's another hint of what's coming next week: 

I am really excited for Monday's kick-off post. I do believe it is a message God is burning on my heart for me and women everywhere. Maybe grab your girlfriends?

Sharing in Community:

When You Just Have No Clue Where You Are Going

Photo Credit

One night I was driving home from work. I had worked late, waitressing well past closing at a restaurant in the city. I was 20 at the time, living with my parents. They lived in a small town with zero stop lights and a liquor store named “The Boondocks.” (The name of the store might be a good indication they were at least one half hour from a real grocery store and modern civilization).

This particular night was foggy.

The fog had rolled in thick. White clouds like swamp monsters clung to asphalt and farmland. Visibility: the end of my nose. The stars weren’t visible. The ground wasn’t visible. The fences surrounding the pastures weren’t even discernible.

I felt claustrophobic. Trapped. Just me and my thoughts and this hope that there wouldn’t be a stopped car in front of me or a stray cow in the road. Something about not being able to see made me feel desperate, irrational, like I wanted to put the pedal to the floor and get out of there as quickly as I could. I longed for a break in the fog. CLARITY! To know I was where I was. To see something familiar.

The only way I could see to drive was to open my car door and find the middle line. If the middle went from being one solid and one dashed set of lines to being two solid I knew there was either a stop sign, a cross street, or a sharp turn just ahead.

Yes. It was that bad. And I had to get home… unless I wanted to sleep in my car in eerie swamp-monster covered land. I didn’t.

My 30 minute drive became a 100 minute drive.

(I wonder if one realizes when they think of glorious California with its ocean sunsets and ski resorts and Napa wine country, the low lying areas of California have a slight weather problem from October to March: fog.

It’s okay though. I’ll take fog over 95 degrees and 100 percent humidity any day, Midwest. Amen.)

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Has your life ever felt like this?

Groping through the dark? Swimming in pea-soup fog, completely unsure of what God is doing and what you should be doing?

My life has felt like this since March—when we moved, my church moved (and merged with another church), and my husband starting working as a cop.

I have no idea what God wants me to do, where He wants me planted. And I don’t know what He wants to do in my family.

I’ve been antsy. Claustrophobic. I want the fog to clear and to just know. Wouldn’t it be great if God always spoke through writing in clouds and a booming voice, “Thus sayeth the Lord, thou shalt walk in this direction, go to this church, make this your ministry. Amen.”?!!

But He usually doesn’t.

Sometimes God is the yellow line on the road. Go slowly. Lean in close and I will guide you… one step at a time.  I want you close so I can work on you, heal you.  And I want you close so we can be close. I am doing a work I don’t want you to see just yet. Would you trust me?

Would you trust Him?

I sought wisdom a few months back from a life coach. (Um, can I just highly recommend this if you are ever in a confusing season of your life? If you live in my area, I’d be happy to share mine! She’s amazing.) She gave me this bit of wisdom, probably more eloquently, but it was something like this: Stay where you are. Walk slowly. Lean in to Christ. It might take weeks, months, maybe even years, but I promise the fog will clear. Get to the places where you find healing, hold onto the things that give you life. And wait.

Wait.

It’s hard, right? I want to know, and now, thank you. I’d like to plan for tomorrow, God, so if you could just kindly clue me in?!

I keep thinking I know what God is doing so I jump ahead and then find myself realizing I just need to walk in step with Christ. I am learning how much I like to be in control and how little I have, in fact, surrendered to God. The thing is: I don’t need to guess what's ahead. I don’t even need to know what’s ahead.

I can trust God.

And really, if I learned one thing that night in the dense fog it’s that the only way to get through those places where you can’t see 3 feet in front of you, is to move slowly and look at where you are now--those yellow guiding lines. God will guide you. You might not see what’s in front of you, but I promise you He is right beside you.

Photo Credit

Have you ever been in a foggy place where you just had no clue what God was doing? How did it turn out?

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Pssst… Dude. We are doing a one-week series next week. I am excited for it. Hint: I am bringing in the professionals for something I really need help with (and maybe women everywhere.) More hints and details to come! 

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Just Catching Up {Alternately Titled: Me in My Comfy Pants}

I just want to sit down and talk like we are friends. No formal post, no over editing, just talking: friend to friend. Not even anything super heavy. Just catching up, you know?

Sometimes I think in my love for words, painting pictures, and editing, I can kind of get lost back here. I am always me, and I am always me when I write.  But sometimes, I think you need to ditch the Sunday clothes, and put on your metaphorical comfy pants and t-shirt and just hang. 

So here's me, in my comfy clothes. (Well, the writing. That's my daughter in the picture.)

Mustache Mantis.

And here’s the current happenings in my life in no particular order:

1. My husband is now a solo deputy. Training is done. Mike is less stressed. We have a schedule, and the same one till the end of the year. He doesn’t have to be at work quite so early, and he has to stay over less frequently. We have the chance to sit down and eat as a family. My husband even has time to help with baths or dishes now. Friends, it is a beautiful thing! It feels like we can breathe again. {Deep breathe, hold it, and exhale. Ahhhh!}

2. We are starting to get the hang of homeschooling. We have had some rough days, and sometimes it seems like we might be a little crazy for doing this. But I love it. I get to watch my daughter learn to read, light up with wonder when we do a project or experiment, and let all this learning flow into our lives. I so value this time and that I get to be so apart. I also value things like awanas and gymnastics where I get to drop her off and have a little time to myself or with just my son.

3. I went with a dear friend and her kids to this local and awesome fall place last week. Apple picking, AMAZING pies, pumpkin patch, hay maze, petting zoos. We went on a weekday and called it a field trip. Two things I am learning: One: Fuji apples eaten right off a tree... I don't think anything compares. I've eaten plenty of apples in my day, but mini Fuji's, right off a tree... beautiful. Do it, friends. Two: Homeschooling is hard work, but there are some serious perks to it... like visiting a really popular (read: crowded) attraction on a weekday. 

Apple-picking, Pumpkin-patching with friends.

4. My gramps passed away a month ago. It felt like I was grieving his death, my granny’s all over again, and the sun setting on a generation and rising on a new one. That combined with some different changes in my life, and I just couldn’t get many words to form, like I needed silence to grieve—silence to feel the emptiness, the things that are no more. (I think I only made a peep or two on facebook and nothing here for three weeks straight.) I don’t know what it is about stillness and silence, but healing seems to be there.

I got to write up my gramps’ biography with my dad. It was just priceless to get to go through his life and learn about him, the Great Depression, World War 2, the Korean War, his and my granny’s love story, their many cross-country moves… I might have known who he was, but I felt like I got a glimpse into why he was. I can’t even tell you how proud of my heritage I was when we showed up to the funeral and the Navy had sent a few of their officers to honor him.  My aunt was given an American flag and Taps rang out after guns were fired. I just wanted to shout, “You did it, Gramps! You lived and breathed. You fought and you overcame. You provided for your family. You left behind an inheritance richer than your savings account and property. And now you are at peace. I am proud to be your granddaughter and so very thankful.”

5. My son wanted to wear his Thomas the Train underpants five days ago. He’s been in underpants ever since. He’s had a few pee-pee accidents, but he’s got it. We are over the potty training hurdle.  It’s so funny though, I think I might need to invest in a magazine rack or something because the boy really likes going to the bathroom and taking his sweet time. This morning we had the certified teacher over to check in on us (with the charter school) and Jed decided that was the time to go… for 20 minutes, shouting his play-by-play from the bathroom the entire time. Your welcome CT teacher for all the TMI going on in our house this morning.

Besides bedtime, there are no more diapers in this house. (Shout it with me: YAY!) But for some reason that seems very strange… like I need another baby. {My husband doesn’t agree (yet).} :)

Overalls on my Jed. Swoon.

6. I am bursting at the seams with all kinds of posts I want to share, maybe even a series or two.

October and November might have more posts than normal, folks. (Did you notice this is the 3rd post this week?! That hasn't happened in months.) And I am excited about it. I sorta love this writing thing, this organizing of thoughts, this key-tapping word-dance between me and my Friend Jesus. 

I also love connecting with you all. I can’t even tell you how much richer my life is because of this beautiful blogging community. Thank you!

So, what's going on with you? Chat with me in your comfy pants in the comments? :)

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

The Greatest Work

When I was 21, I moved to Los Angeles for an internship with a missions organization. It was an amazing time in my life, and it left me forever changed. I still remember showing up to skid row dressed in plaid golf pants, red sneakers, and a matching bow in my hair. One black woman dressed in rags walked towards me shouting to her friends, “Oh! Look at the cute little white girl!” All I heard was, “Little girl, who do you think you are coming down here in your matchy outfit thinking you gonna save me?!”  This small-town girl felt so out of place.

I gained a vision for evangelism that summer. I ditched my suburban worldview and traded it for a heart that bleeds for people. I have never been the girl that could talk to complete strangers about weather or gas prices. But I learned to sense the Holy Spirit and hear the words He did want me to say. I learned obedience and all about God's faithfulness.  I led worship for the first time in my whole life, me and my acoustic guitar with much fear and trembling. God you have to show up because if you don’t and it’s just me up here, it’s going to be all bad. I talked to addicts about the Jesus who was Hope, always Hope. Even though I didn’t know what it was like to sleep on the streets or to be high, I knew what it was like to be without Hope and how there was no pit so deep that God’s love was not deeper still. I connected with a 6 year old in Tijuana. I called her Liliana Chistosita, “Silly Lily en Ingles.” She was the oldest of 4 and while her mother worked, she looked after her siblings. She had a smile that was brighter than the desert sun and freckles on her nose.  I told her “JesuCristo te ama, Liliana. Recuerde por siempre.” Always remember Jesus loves you. I still pray for her.

A year later, I married my hunk of a husband, and we immediately stepped into children’s ministry. We made slime, gave away a whole lot of candy (your welcome, parents) and told church kids and neighborhood kids alike about the love of God. We lived on the poor side of town, on a street that had plenty of gang activity and drug deals… and a whole lot of children. My street was my mission field. A few months of living there and just about every kid on that street knew I had candy, random kid’s games and if they were bored or mom or dad were high or fighting they could hang out at my house.

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Sometimes, if I am honest, I look at all that back-then stuff. Sometimes, I feel useless, like “just a mom.” Is this what being a housewife is? I can’t shake the knowing that God wants me here, all here, not working on children’s ministry props, meeting with staff, or writing lessons. I know I am living in the neighborhood He wants me in, where people hurry to work and complain about the poor pulling cans out of the dumpster.

God can you still use me? Are you still speaking? Am I not listening? Am I so wrapped up in life that I have forgotten that you are the Hope of the world and I have been given the ministry of reconciliation?

I grabbed my Bible tonight. Today’s reading started off with a thought about making the most of every opportunity especially as moms with our kids. And then I read this: “Live wisely among those who are not believers, and make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be gracious and attractive so that you will have the right response for everyone.” (Colossians 4:5-6)

Live wisely among those who are not believers…

And then it hits me.

My kids.

Kids are not believers by default. Parents cannot carry their kids to cross, they can only point the way. Growing up in a Christian home usually yields a great foundation for a relationship with Christ, but it does not equal salvation.

I am living with precious, very moldable, very impressionable children.

And, I am essentially living with “those who are not (yet) believers.”

I don’t want to argue at what point a person is saved or whether Jesus living in one’s heart is Biblical or at what age someone reaches accountability. It’s just not really the point. My kids might know Jesus. My daughter might have even professed her desire to have Jesus live in her heart. But she hasn’t outgrown my care. I still make decisions for her. At some point, my kids are going to grow up and they are going to have to decide for their own selves what they believe and how they are going to live.

Right now, the first place I need to pour out my salt and light is my home.

Perhaps, I am a bit dense and some of you are going to read this and say “Duh. Amanda.”  But my kids are my greatest mission field. They are my highest and greatest calling. And if there is one thing I learned from doing children’s ministry, it is this: children’s parents will make the biggest impact on their life, for better or worse.

Paul says to live wisely, to make the most, to extend grace.  Instead of attractive conversations, other translations say “seasoned with salt.” Paul is saying to let your words draw them in, enhance the flavor of the conversation, and make them thirsty for Christ.

And now I am looking at myself. The way I carry myself in my home, around my kids. Do I do that? Do I live thinking of the long term ramifications of my words and actions on their beliefs? Am I alert, ready, always making the most of every opportunity to share my faith with my kids? Does the way I parent reflect the way God’s been so gracious to me, or do I get lazy or let myself get frazzled and just do what makes for the fastest results? And my words… Do I draw them in, make them thirsty for Christ??

My kiddos in the pool with a lizard they caught.

 I think in some ways, there’s this part of me that confuses bringing glory to God with bringing glory to myself. I want these amazing stories, these grand pieces of God-obviousness to string up through my life. Look at what God did through me. I led this many souls to Christ.  The day-in-and-out grind of motherhood yields slow results… and not even guaranteed results. But it’s a grand work—that God would take your hands and place them to soft clay.  Molding and shaping, giving and giving more, living poured out. 

Your purpose, their soul.

Is there a grander work you could be a part of?

By Grace,
Amanda Conquers

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Psst.... And don't forget. This mom devotional is still available for $3.99 using the code: UMLAUNCH20 and a full of great reminders to live "all-in" with your kids. Affliate link used.

On the Tough Business of Motherhood {Plus, a Deal, a Giveaway, AND an Awesome Resource}

“Just a mom.”

I have thought this phrase, said this phrase. As if somehow the entire calling of motherhood is part-time or not enough…

Because, you know, having life form in your body, changing your body for nine months and then pushing that life into the world through much pain is no big deal. And I suppose all that time where your life revolved around feeding schedules and naptimes and all the sleep you lost was just a small matter. The way you worry about busy streets, strangers, and hazards everywhere you go, the way you feel like your heart might burst when two chubby arms squeeze your neck, the way you wipe noses and bottoms, the way you agonize over whether you are doing what’s best, the way you bathe and read bedtime stories, the way you mold and shape the lives that have been entrusted to you… eh, anybody could do it.

Um…

Mom. You are kind of a big deal. And being a mom is your highest and your greatest calling.

I know it’s tough. The way you long for just five minutes of quiet, the way you feel under-appreciated and like you just fall so short of what you think a mom should be. The way you endure stares from strangers when your kid decides to throw the temper tantrum of the century in the middle of the store. The way being a mom requires more sacrifices than you might have realized. The way you long for something that you feel good at…

Because I know, some days you probably go to bed feeling like you have no clue what is best for your child and like you completely stink at mothering.

Motherhood shows you how much you need Jesus like nothing else can.

These are the hard years. The in-the-trenches years. The years where you do the most molding and the most shaping. The years where your time and attention do the most and mean the most.

I don’t know about you, but “I don’t want to look back on my life in twenty years and

realize that I wasted the precious time I had with [my kids] by living in a state of perpetual distraction. I don’t want to be ruled by all of my 'supposed to’s'; I want to walk in Truth, with a purpose.”

Yes. Please.

My friend Kayse just released her ebook Undivided Mom today. That quote is from her book and one very good reason to read it.

Can I tell you about it?

Undivided Mom is a 14-day devotional for moms. Each day is either based on a passage of scripture or a real-life story. The Bible passages are relevant and the stories, well, I felt like they could have been written from my own motherhood experiences.

Kayse writes like she’s your friend, cheering you on, in the trenches of motherhood with you. The ebook is packed full of easy-to-digest truths and easy-to-put-into-practice wisdom.

I loved reading it so much, I sorta just read the whole thing in one sitting because I didn’t want to stop reading. And then I went back and read it again so I could highlight all the truth and wisdom (and not because it was given to me to review. But because I needed to hear so much of the stuff that was in there).

It’s easy to divide our attention and not do the thing God has put before us because some days (most days), it’s downright hard to be a mom. This book will remind you of the high calling of motherhood and challenge you to live an undivided life. To be an all-in mom.

I want to be that kind of mom. An Undivided Mom.

So, here’s the deal:

I get to offer my readers a coupon code for 20% off!! That makes Undivided Mom only $3.99 (Psst... that's less than thirty cents a day for each devotional.) Offer is only good until October 13, 2013. 
Coupon Code: UMLAUNCH20

Maybe get it now?

I do want to let you know, I am an affliate. That means if you click the links from this website to make your purchase, I receive a percentage for the referral. But can I be clear? That's not why I am mentioning this book. I believe in it. And I believe it's needed (I needed it anyways). But, you know, I totally wouldn't mind a little coffee money. :) So, if you read here and want to buy this book, please use the links provided here. That's all you have to do to give me credit for the sale. Just follow her instructions to make the purchase from her site. I'll still get the credit ;)

Also! I need to let you know, Kayse has an awesome give away going on for the book launch. Starbucks Card. Purse. Travel Bag. Coin purse. Cute. (And did I mention the Starbucks card?) Book or not, maybe put your name in the drawing?

Also! (another also!) There is a twitter party going down tonight. Want to come hang with me? Be brave with me? (Twitter parties totally scare me, but I do believe this one will be fun... and there's prizes.)

What's your current parenting struggle, Momma? Maybe be brave and share in the comments? I'd love to pray with you.
And since I'm asking you, I'll be brave and say I am struggling with navigating my daughter through change. Perhaps I will write on this more later, but she seems to have as much difficulty with change as I do. She's been having nightmares and been extra emotional :( I could use God's wisdom.



By Grace,
Amanda Conquers


By the way, I also need to let you know, I was given a copy of this book in exchange for my thoughts. The thoughts and opinions are entirely my own.

Also, (there are a lot of "also's" in this post!) I miss you guys! I am hoping to be back at least once more this week with a "what's been going on round here" type post... and maybe one more. AND I have an exciting series in the works full of FUN girlie stuff for us women. More info to come! 

How Does Salt Lose Its Saltiness?

It’s 2 pm on a weekday and I’m driving to Walmart. I have a list of groceries, and an hour to myself. It’s been a week since Mike completed field training. He is a cop. This is our life now—crazy schedule included. There’s the budget that we just can’t seem to meet. The house we wish we owned. The longing to establish some kind of routine for my kids. The college fund that hasn’t been set up. The hand-me-down couch. The two cars that are both over ten years old. The door I wish I had a fall wreath for.

A thousand ways to be distracted. A thousand things that seem necessary.

And yet, I can’t shake the story I read yesterday. The headline: “A Global Slaughter of Christians but America’s Churches Stay Silent.” And inside the article: the story of one woman, Rasha, who called her fiancé’s, Atef’s, phone. Instead of hearing the voice of the one she loves, an unfamiliar voice told her that Atef’s throat was slit for refusing to convert to Islam. Before that voice ends the conversation, he mocks her with these words: “Jesus didn’t come to save [Atef].”

Atef lived in the reality that he would have a choice, to deny Christ or to live for him. A choice that might cost him his life.

A choice he made at knife-point.

And really, I have that same choice every day. That decision might not cost me my life… but it might cost me my soul. Will I deny Christ?

The decision is subtle here between Newport Beach and the Hamptons with our strip malls and freedoms, where we sing of blurred lines and how we can’t stop and we won’t stop. Where there is worry about housing prices and the job market and the government shutdown… will I deny Christ or live knowing that He is my Daily Bread? Where I get wrapped up in schedules and how my life has changed… will I deny Christ or live knowing Him as my Center, my Constant? Where there are things like Miley Cyrus spinning out of control and whether transgender should be allowed to choose which locker-room they prefer… will I deny Christ or live knowing the God who IS Love? Will I live distracted? Will I live for stuff? Will I hide my head under a pillow and pretend there aren’t Christians who are being martyred and imprisoned daily because that reality is terrifying?

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This Saturday we went to an evening service. The pastor spoke on salt and light. In the passage Jesus poses this question: “If salt has lost its saltiness, what good is it?” (Matthew 5:13)

How does salt lose its saltiness?

I think Jesus was intentionally asking something that would baffle. Salt doesn’t lose flavor. It isn’t natural or normal, just like light doesn’t fail to change a dark room. So what is a Christian that denies Christ? That doesn’t change their environment? That doesn’t make someone thirsty for the only One who really satisfies? That doesn’t live in the reality of who Jesus is and what He promised He’d do?

Syria seems like a hard place to be a Christian right now, but I think America might be harder.

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As I was driving feeling both convicted and burdened for my brothers and sisters on the other side of the planet, I turned up some Delirious.

“My heart, it burns for You. And my heart burns for You.”

I belted those words through stinging hot tears, as though my words could be the fireplace poker awakening a barely-smoldering fire. My heart burns for You. Not for stuff. Not for home-ownership. Not for an earlier bed-time or better routine. Not for stability. But You. The desire of You. The holy pursuit of friendship with You.

Just give me Jesus.

I don’t want to live denying Christ. I want to live like He’s changed me to my very core… because He has.

I arrived at two conclusions today:

1. I have no idea what the proper response of the American church is to the slaughter of Christians in Egypt, Kenya, Pakistan, and Syria. But I do believe prayer is the one clear thing we can do… the one clear thing we are called to do.

2. The only way to make it as a Christian in America is to realize we are deciding whether or not to deny Christ everyday. Perhaps this a simple truth, but I do believe we need to meet with God daily… to burn. To light the fire afresh. To burn away the cares of this world, the distractions, and remember the one thing that really matters: Knowing Jesus. Not knowing about Him. But Knowing Him as friend.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Here’s that Delirious song, Obsession:

Linking up with the #TellHisStory community

Hide It Under a Bushel.

Yesterday I had one of those terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days.

You know the ones: you run behind for the first day of something, and you promised yourself you would be on time. You forget to put on deodorant. You drop your cell phone in the toilet. You blunder your way through a lesson for preschoolers in front of first-time parents. You notice the subtle signs that someone in your circle of friends probably doesn’t much care for you. You attempt small talk with a new friend and end up bringing up a painful topic that you really didn’t want to talk about, and all of sudden you feel incredibly awkward and embarrassed. You feel the sting of someone carelessly mentioning how they can’t believe anyone actually has the time to blog and, with all the other social media outlets, why anyone would want to.

Today, yesterday tormented me. Amanda who is terribly awkward and clumsy. Amanda who can’t do something simple like small-talk. Amanda who is still grieving. Amanda who is apparently hard to be around. Amanda who does weird things like make time to write on a blog. Amanda who actually thinks she could write a book.

So, here I am sitting outside of Starbucks, laptop out, tapping keys, unable to produce a decent thought because I worry about what people think of me and what I write. I am uncomfortable in my own skin. In my moment of self-deprecation, I glance over and my eyes catch the sight of fountaingrass dancing in the glow of the setting sun.  The foxtail ends look lit from within, fluttering about like fireflies through a sticky July dusk.

Immediately, I want to pull out my camera and capture it. And as soon as that thought enters, another one follows: busy street, busy Starbucks. People will see. People will think I am weird bent over with my average camera snapping pictures of a strip mall planter.

That moment presents me with a choice, the same one that presents itself everyday: to live worshiping my Creator with the passions He placed in my heart or to live stifled under the expectations of others.

Because really, if you are going to live lit up with your passions, people will notice. Worship calls out the greatness of the Creator. Worship reflects His greatness too.

The worshiper gets lit up like a foxtail in a setting summer sun.

Somedays, I feel awkward in this skin. The girl who desperately wants approval, who doesn’t want to color outside the lines of the housewife role, who doesn’t want to draw too much attention to herself because some of that attention might look like rejection... she picks on the girl who takes great delight in putting beauty within the four corners of a lens, who likes her big-frame glasses and her purple pants, and who somehow comes alive when she is organizing her words and thoughts on the screen of her laptop. She might even feel like sometimes her fingertip-to-key tapping is really a dance of passion between her heart and God’s.

And really, it's the fight of pride: to bring glory to oneself or to God. Self-glory looks to people for approval. God-glory seeks only God's approval. And isn't it strange how self-glory--how pride--wants to deny oneself of who they really are? And isn't is a grand thing that God delights in the very thing that brings us delight?

How will I live? How will you live?

Will you do your worship dance in the passion that lights you up… behind a camera, pen to paper, in front of a black board before little faces, hands to dirt raising plants from the ground, covering miles of nature trails in running shoes, touching paint to canvas, strumming guitar strings, singing, baking, cooking, creating, organizing…

Or will you worry what people will think?

And just like that, I push my chair back and walk toward dancing reeds and a glowing sun.

Here I am: awkward, silly, occasionally clumsy and learning to care less… learning to like God’s creation (me)… learning to worship.

I will not hide under a bushel of worry or expectations. Oh no, I am going to let it shine. 

Since I just gushed about some of my passions, I'd love it if you shared with me: what passions do you worship with? What makes you come alive? 

By Grace, 

Amanda Conquers

Psst... My beautiful inside-and-out friend Becky posted earlier this week on a similar topic. She addresses comparison and the reason why we as women sometimes hold back when it comes to our passions. It was well-written and pricked at my heart. You can find it---> HERE.

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