The Wait

The last two years, like for so many, have been some of the most heartbreaking and painful. I had reached a point in my life, just before quarantine began, where I resigned myself to the fact I would never be allowed to do ministry in the way God had put in my bones to do. I was tired of the abuse, tired of being lied about, tired of being seen as a threat to the kingdom. I was tired of having seeds of doubt sown into my heart, by men of God, being told that if God had really called me then he would have opened doors for me. I was tired of being told my questions are divisive and subversive to the message of the gospel. I was tired of the millstone of the “curse” of Eve being tied around my neck, when in the death and resurrection of Christ I am no longer tied to the curse of sin and death. I was tired of man made ministry philosophy being the bedrock of theology instead of looking to God’s original intent for his kingdom as found in the Garden. I was tired of the cowardice of some with claims of affirming women with zero guts to show up when it mattered. I’ve spent the last two years largely quiet, prayerful, learning to forgive and then forgiving again, learning what it is to mourn and grieve and to heal. The Lord called Todd and I out of structures and places that have oppressed, abused, maligned, and wounded to find healing, wholeness, and freedom for myself and our daughters. My years in those spaces taught me a lot about resilience, perseverance, and the faithfulness of God. Who I am today is because of God’s faithfulness to me in those spaces. I had faithful parents who modeled for me real faith, standing for what you believe is right, resilience in the face of adversity, Godliness in the face of abuse, to run hard after God even though that meant our theology would not align at times, and so much more. There were other faithful men and women who tried to give me space to run, but at the same time were limited in their own beliefs about women in ministry or by the structures in which they occupied. So I waited, prayed, tried to walk away more times than I would like to admit, but time and again he met me. He met me, at the age of 14, in the pain of being told I cannot be a preacher because of my gender. He met me in the joy of sharing the gospel, as a young adult, to crowds in Belize. He met me in the eyes of those sweet kindergarteners I taught in Sunday School. He met me in the sheer excitement as a I preached my first sermon at a women’s event filled with some of my dearest friends. He met me in the suffering of having a pastor tell me how arrogant and self-centered I am. He met me in community group as I taught and led alongside my husband. He met me in the sheer exhaustion of being used for my abilities but dishonored for my gifts. He met me in deep despair and grief as we left a church we loved because it was no longer safe. He met me in finding a place with people of God who love Jesus, love others with a radical love, and seek the justice and redemption of heaven on earth. He met me in every moment in between, every step of the way. I began writing this song in the Spring of 2021. It is a song born out lament. Lament is not without hope. Lament holds onto hope even to the point of agony.