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My friend and I were huddled over our laptops, hands hugging mugs of black tea as we worked on a shared Google Doc.

We share quite a bit in common, this friend and me.

We are both writers by profession, aesthetically-oriented and motivated by stories, people and faith. We see metaphors throughout life’s ordinary moments, and we practice similar rhythms when it comes to church and prayer.

But as with many friendships, our differences are also important. The things that we don’t share in common have become opportunities to learn from each other, challenge each other and deepen our understanding of the world.

Our most notable difference is that this friend and I aren’t from the same generation.

She was the one who first introduced me to the idea of cross-mentoring. We unpacked it one sunlit afternoon at a coffeeshop, like so many we have shared. 

“It’s the idea that we all learn from one another,” she told me. “When we form friendships with those of different generations, the older ones are not simply teaching the younger ones. Cross-mentoring is a posture that believes everyone is a teacher, and everyone is a learner.”

As I have done my own research about the phrase, that definition has held true. Cross-mentoring is more of a posture than a prescription. It’s a means for cross-generational friendship to form, but it’s also a living belief that everyone we encounter has something to teach us.

It’s living with the posture of a learner.

In my friendship with Carol, and in all of my relationships in life, I am finding that the idea of cross-mentoring is really life-giving when we give it the opportunity to influence how we live.

When we have a posture of a learner, the world opens up to us in all of its beauty and potential. We start to see benefit and opportunity in our differences with others, rather than arguments to be made or ideologies to defend.

It’s a practice that has affected my cross-generational communication at work, how I work with my manager, and how I relate to friends who are different than me, no matter their age.

And in today’s workforce, you are just as likely to work with a Baby Boomer as you are a Generation Z up-and-comer. For the first time since the 1940s, people of retirement age outnumber teens and young adults in the workplace. Older people are working longer, and retiring later, so the trend is likely to continue.

Do you work with people of other generations in your day job, and your church, or in your community? Have you had those moments of tension that come when people of different ages disagree on the best way to do things? Have you heard coworkers bemoan your “Millennial” attributes?

I have too. And in the spirit of learning, Carol and I have compiled a few suggestions to help people of all ages build bridges with one another, rather than remain silent or caught in misunderstandings.

We got to share them with a small community of business owners last week, so I am sharing them here too.

• Embrace the opportunities. When you work with those who are older than you, you can help them stay up-to-date on new ideas. In turn, they can pass on experience-based wisdom to you. Embrace the opportunity to tap into the knowledge and stories of those that have come before.
• Remember that challenges are natural — but we don’t have to stay there. When you are working with others and your focus shifts from objectives into frustrations, take a step back. Staying stuck in the difficulties costs efficiency and rapport. Do you have negative assumptions about the other party that are affecting your work? How can you learn more about them as a person – or the generational influences that have shaped them – in order to move forward more productively?
• Set aside time to learn and re-learn. It has been really helpful for me to research strengths of Millennials, Generation X, and Baby Boomers. Write down the positive attributes of each and what each contributes to a team. You may find that you have a healthy lineup of diverse talents that are all needed in productive teams, and this practice is effective for building cross-generational friendships.
• Make time outside of the normal workday to be face-to-face with those of a different generation. When you need to communicate with teammates, start by learning how they prefer to be approached. Communicate more in the beginning until you know how best to work together. It may also be helpful to go through a communications training or activity as a team to better understand one another.
• Focus on shared values. As in any relationship, there are probably things that you have in common with the other party, and you likely have the same goal in mind when working together. Focus your energy there. Write down the values you have in common and your end goal, and post them in a place where they are easy to see and reference. Focusing on what you have in common will direct your energy in a positive, forward-thinking way.

Here’s to living with the posture of learners and friends in 2019 and beyond!

In the past few years, I’ve gotten to meet several writers I admire, and I am so grateful for what the craft of writing teach me.

Writing is a formative part of my life, and writers are big influences. Well, more like friends. A friend and I have joked that we would rather have our favorite authors over for a long dinner party than have them autograph something.

When we read the words of great authors and creators, it feels like we get to know them personally. We want to host them in our homes and feed them comfort food. We feel known by them before we ever see them face-to-face.

Why? Writing connects us. Story is a human equalizer.

Writers are a part of culture, and they examine culture at the same time. Writers are participants and observers simultaneously, both in the arena and in the bleachers.

They live their lives in neighborhoods and living rooms and grocery stores like we all do. But their observations help us point a mirror back onto ourselves, lead us to understand our world and our own hearts more deeply.

Writers are connectors by trade.

Take, for instance, the magazine-editor-turned-nonfiction-writer who has spent his professional life soaking in the beauty of the world, the complexity of people, the character of cities and cultures. He has traveled across continents and interviewed some of the world’s most famous. But, after interviewing both celebrities and servants, he has decided that the path of honesty and simplicity is the one worth pursuing. He connects the themes of the world to the themes he wants to live by.

Or the career-woman-turned-mom who found that her home life contained the same degree of complexity as the corporate conference room. She connects the daily task to the sacred call on her life. She doesn’t belittle the small things, but finds beauty there.

Or the songwriter and divorcee who can, after years of striving, finally sit at her keyboard and share the imperfections of her journey in a way that doesn’t heap shame onto her, but shines the light of Christ onto her most tender places. She knows that the chapters of life are haphazard, but that they are connected in God’s redemption story.

This is the way of the writer — to connect. To help the world see itself clearly.

And this, really, is the way we are all called to live.

The call to connect and mirror is not just the call of the novelist or the national speaker or the person who has all the Twitter followers.

This week, the women in my small group reminded me that good writing can be a mirror by which we evaluate ourselves. But, even more importantly, we are all called to be mirrors to one another — to show our friends the beauty we see in them, and to allow them to mirror the real truth back to us.

This is the charge of each of us as Christ’s body in the world. To connect, to share, to make blank space for honesty in a world that celebrates facade. To live a life-examining life. To unpack and unfold.

Now this comes with some challenges.

When we agree to learn, we will learn things we wish we hadn’t. When we agree to receive, we will open ourselves up to hurt. When we reflect on our own lives, we might see the unpleasant truths buried deep.

But I think there is beauty in choosing to learn, receive and reflect anyway.

Writing can be a sweet and freeing way to practice all three. Writing is a tool that helps us connect to our most essential selves, and then hold up that essence to one another in the mirror.

For me, writing has been as much of a posture as it has been a practice in the last few years of my life.

So, entering a new year, here is to the writing — and to the writers. To learning, receiving and reflecting.

I don’t know about you, but I want to say yes to all that writing has to teach me.

The bell on the doorway clanged as I ducked out of the rain and into the shop. It was an unassuming place, but brightly decorated. Small window displays advertised new clothing arrivals, and neon signs told the sales of the day.

“Hello there!” cheered the woman behind the counter, smiling up from her calculator and stack of receipts. An old cash register clicked rhythmically beside her.

“Still wet outside?” she asked me, eyeing my raincoat.

“Only a little,” I said, following her gaze apologetically to my dripping sleeves. I took my coat off gingerly, and she extended her hand to hang it on a rack nearby.

“Well you picked a good night to come in,” she said, her warmth characteristic of the people I have met throughout the Englewood community. “Everything with a yellow sticker is 20 percent off.”

“Make yourself at home.”

I exhaled into her words, and her invitation. Home. If only she knew the weight those words held.

The week before I visited her small second hand store in Englewood, I had said “yes” to an opportunity to move into the city. I was preparing for the change. I was in the process of packing boxes and reflecting on the memories made in my previous home.

As I browsed the racks of sweaters and shoes, I thought about what the adventure of moving would bring, and what home would mean to me after I was in a new one.

When I was growing up, my definition of home was grounded — safe. I had the blessing and privilege of a stable home environment, reinforced by the fact that my parents never moved from the house they brought me home to as a newborn. Throughout my childhood, we attended the same church consistently, not to mention the same grocery stores, parks and Mexican restaurants as well. Home was steady.

As I explored faith for myself in college and beyond, my definition of home became more fluid. I observed how other people built their homes — some adventure-seeking, some frugal, some family-oriented — and started to form my own values.

As I have looked at the life of Jesus and the way of the early church, my definition of home has been influenced by the description of homes in scripture. Although Jesus’ life was transient, he gathered in homes and around set tables in small groups. He seemed to value place, knowing that it anchors our bodies and souls in tandem. The homes of the early church were characterized by warm invitations (Luke 10:8), shared resources (Acts 2:45), and bread broken (Acts 2:46). I want my homes to honor these simple yet powerful examples.

Today, my definition of home is more like a scrapbook than a set of ideals. With each new roof I gather under, each new roommate I call friend, and each new season of life, I am collecting stories and values that get added to the volume of the many homes I will occupy this side of heaven.

Today, my definition of home is largely influenced by the rhythms of our church community at The Sacred Grace. Our church is a home to me.

Because we as a church meet and eat together regularly, home means a warm and welcoming place to gather.

Because we as a church pray universal and ancient prayers, home means participating in the traditions of our faith, believing they are as powerful today as when they were first practiced.

Because we as a church are vulnerable with each other, home means space for honesty and truth-telling.

Because we as a church practice generosity, home is characterized by sharing and sacrifice.

By saying “yes” to moving in to Englewood, I felt I had the opportunity to literally and metaphorically live out these pillars of faith that have become so central to me and to our community.

More than ever, I believe that home is both where we hang our hat, and where we express what we believe. It is an extension of our heart as much as it is a space for our stuff. It is choice as much as it is circumstance. It’s who and where and what you make it. And I’m proud to make it here.

I handed the clerk my thrift purchases, and asked her if she lived in the area.

“I live in Denver, but not far,” she replied. “And you?”

“I am about to move to Englewood!” I answered.

Englewood. Warm, honest, welcoming, generous. Who and where and what you make it.

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” she said, effectively marking a new chapter in my faith and in my life.

This post originally appeared in our church’s weekly journal. 

Sunday comes. Church. I slow down after a full weekend.

The guitar sings come thou fount of every blessing, and my heart is stilled and reminded that each and every blessing has one source.

It is spelled on screens, sung by weary and united voices.

As I watch summer greens electrify our sidewalks with the first signs of yellow, the parable of the sower has been on my mind.

I’m struck by the words that tell us that the sower prepared to plant. “A sower went out to sow.” The planting was deliberate and planned. It took intention. Discipline.

I don’t like discipline. Historically, it’s not my strength. But sowing. This feels like an invitation, not an ultimatum. A rhythm and a routine.

Slow and sow, I seem to hear as the music swells.

Slow down enough to step into the current of grace. Sow seeds of that grace for yourself and others.

I read in the parable about the rocky ground, the thorns, the birds, the scorching sun. I see myself in it.

To me, these things sound like the small, fearful parts of myself that I don’t want to acknowledge. I am afraid that if I show my broken, God might not actually want to do anything beautiful there.

To me, the thorns, the birds, the hot sun — they sound like fear, doubt, depair. Where am I allowing the thorns to choke or the sun to sizzle? Where am I allowing the birds to pry and uproot?

I read in the parable about the soil, the growth process, the fruit. And I see myself there too.

To me, these sound like the parts of myself that I really, really want to be true. The beautiful, hopeful pieces that I pray God is really using. The pieces that I want to believe are not an accident.

The space, the soil the seed — they sound like love, faith, trust.

Essentials, really. The simplest ingredients to a life and faith lived well. Where am I inviting those in? Where am I making margin for the good soil?

Slow and sow. 

Confession, and celebration. Spelled on screens, sung by weary and united voices.

Come thou fount. Come, grace and growth.

Lord, help me to be a soil and seed kind of person. Help me to be one that willingly helps in the harvest.

Help me to trust that shortcomings in my sowing aren’t too much for you. Help me to welcome change with hospitality.

As fall settles into our streets and sidewalks, help me to believe that the sowing is already starting for next season. Help me to do the intentional work of making space and allowing your seeds in my life to grow.

Help me to believe against belief that you really are using the beautiful and the broken in me.

We were sitting in the sleek, stiff-backed chairs tucked around our small office conference room.

“Have I told you my analogy about the elephant and the sapling?” my boss asked me while clicking his ballpoint pen. I shook my head. The air conditioner hummed lazily.

“It’s the story of a baby elephant who is tied to a baby tree,” he continued. “The elephant is told that he can’t break the cord, and so he stays within the leash’s radius of the tree. As the elephant grows, it remains tethered to the tree, even though it has long had the strength to uproot it.”

My chair feels rigid on my spine. My boss doesn’t know that he’s speaking into sacred space for me.

“What holds people back from their true potential is not their ability, but their self-image. I see this in you. You are only as powerful as you believe yourself to be. Your old self is more powerful than your new self.”

It’s amazing to me how much these check-ins with my supervisor have become places where truth is put into words.

In comparing me to the elephant, my boss articulated my lifelong struggle with rebellion.

Not my tendency to rebel, but the opposite. My tendency to not rebel.

To quiet myself, to dismiss my gut feelings, to tuck away my outrage, to smooth the wrinkles I see in me.

I like the comfort of following the rules. I prefer the safety of the leash to the wild unknown of uprooting.

“You’re dependable,” my boss said to me. “You will follow protocol and expectations to a T, and people know they can rely on you. And that’s great.”

“But we can all get so stuck in the to-do list that we don’t allow space for creativity and risk-taking.”

Woah, right? (Who is this guy??)

It’s been a few months since he shared the elephant metaphor with me, and I’ve been trying to practice what he encouraged me to do.

I’ve been trying to be less of a to-do-lister, and more of a risk-taker.

I’ve been trying to be less prescriptive and more creative.

This has required grace, release, and space. I’ve needed more quiet time, more alone time.

This is okay, I think.

I am learning that I’m not actually leashed to the tree.

I wonder if I’m not alone in this. I wonder if this is the danger of our age, that we like our rule-following selves a little bit too much. 

It’s easier to meet what’s needed than to do what’s misunderstood. 

It’s easier to slide into apathy than rebel and reach new ground.

It’s easier to be complacent than creative. 

It’s human, I think. We’d rather stick to what we know. We like knowing what to do and what to expect. 

But God speaks to us in our ordinary, and it’s in our ordinary that he also calls us to rebel. This doesn’t have to be big work. But it’s hard work.

It’s harder to be the pioneer.

Harder to leave something when it’s good, or stick with something when it’s awkward.

Harder to admit that injustice is happening and say we’re not going to allow it. 

Harder to realize that the old rules aren’t working anymore.

Harder to get close enough to other people that our lives are changed as a result.

Harder to be vulnerable and risk the shaky conversation that follows.

The chair feels rigid on my spine. The air conditioner hums.

“I know you’re creative. I know you’re a risk-taker. Let people see it,” my boss says. 

And I decide right then and there what kind of work I want to be doing with my life.

The harder, messier work of rebellion. The work of releasing the leash.

Will you join me?

This post originally appeared on the blog at Qara.org, an online forum designed to equip, inspire, and empower twenty-somethings to embrace their season and live wholehearted lives.

According to a recent New York Times story, dissatisfaction is rampant among working Americans today.

Maybe you can relate.

When we are restless and unhappy at work, we will actually don’t do our jobs as well, researchers have found.

Here’s the hope, though. Although dissatisfaction breeds a lack of focus and productivity, the opposite is also true. Happiness — and far more importantly, gratitude — breed productivity and fruit in our work.

As in other spheres of life, gratitude does not always come naturally or easily.

When circumstances are frustrating, our bodies are tired, or wading through conflict feels defeating, practicing gratitude helps us focus on God’s truth and remember his presence with us in the mundane.

When happiness isn’t natural, joy is our choice. And work gives us this choice on a daily basis.

What is one thing you can do to start noticing and recording the parts of your daily work that you’re grateful for?

Whatever your method, I believe incorporating a gratitude practice into your daily work will produce something new in you.

Productivity, maybe. Joy, definitely.

GRATITUDE THROUGH STORY

As followers of Christ, we believe that our words have weight (Ephesians 4:29; Proverbs 15:4). They have the power to build up, to influence and to alter perspective. You have an opportunity to express gratitude for your job, your network, your coworkers, your daily tasks, and your sphere of influence through your words.

Craft your elevator pitch. In business classes and networking events, you have probably been asked to give an “elevator speech” — a summary of your job that’s short enough that it could be shared with a stranger in the time it takes you to ride the elevator. Use these short conversations to express gratitude for your work.

When someone asks you, “what do you do?”, lead with the good. Describe the opportunities you have, the people you work with, how your work helps others, or whatever else has been a blessing to you in this season. Speaking this gratitude aloud will take root in your attitude and serve as a reminder to focus on the good things God is up to.

Celebrate wins for yourself. When good things happen in your day, share them with your spouse, friends, coworker or even your pet. Voice your celebrations, no matter how small.

“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.” Colossians 3:15

Celebrate wins for others. I have a friend who is a brilliant architect and engineer, and he is in a leadership role with a team of fellow architects. After reflection, he realized that celebrating success was not a regular part of their company rhythm. They would conclude a project and quickly move on to the next thing. Out of his belief that God was calling him to rest and celebrate, he lead his team in instituting small celebrations at the end of projects.

I believe that celebrations like these remind us of the satisfaction of hard work and tune us in to the work God is doing through us. In celebrating, we can see the way that God is using people to bring life, foster creativity, help systems and smooth conflicts.

Track when people give you praise and feedback. If you have regular reviews with your manager, or even staff retreats or evaluations, use these work milestones as opportunities to record benchmarks of God at work. As you reflect on your own accomplishments and learnings, write down the ways that God has been faithful and helped you grow.

Several managers I’ve had in my career have spoken into my life in critical ways, and invited me into a posture of gratitude. As they have called out my gifts and weaknesses, I come away challenged to see both healthy and unhealthy patterns, and adjust my course for the better. Having affirmation and encouragement from team members helps me feel appreciated and grateful for the chance to be in a learning environment

Even if your day-to-day work feels mundane, trust that God is using each moment to shape you and show you who he is. Gratitude can take you to that space.

GRATITUDE THROUGH LITURGY

In my church family, we are liturgy people — in other words, we are people who believe in and practice ancient rhythms of faith to help our hearts and souls remember what’s true about God and what’s true about us. In church tradition, liturgy can be defined as ritual, sacrament or practice. It’s the rhythm by which we live, work and worship.

As a church, we pray and say some of the same things every week during worship, believing that what we say with our mouths will take root in our hearts and affect our actions.

I think this is true of gratitude. There are some natural work rhythms — or liturgies — that may be natural opportunities to incorporate gratitude.

Use your commute. I have a friend who says something she’s grateful for each time she passes a stop sign. I love that. When you’re in the car or on public transit, write or say aloud the things you’re grateful for. Pray for areas of conflict and pray for the people you will encounter during your work day. Thank God for the ways he has provided and protected you.

Set reminders. Whether it’s a calendar reminder on your phone, a desktop wallpaper, or framed sign beside your computer, give yourself visual reminders of what you are grateful for, or to remember to pray and thank God for what he’s doing.

Write it down. Although my boss and coworkers poke fun at the fact that I still use a paper planner every day, I like the tangible feel of old school pen and paper, and it helps me in my gratitude practice. My planner ends up being a splash page of not only appointments, to-dos, projects and coffee dates, but also quotes, verses and reminders.

I go to those pages to remember not only what’s necessary, but also what’s true.

In the far corner of each weekday in my planner is a box titled “daily gratitude,” where I scribble things I am grateful for each day. It’s a practice that has helped me to remember God’s provision in my life, and to refresh my attitude when I am frustrated or overwhelmed.

GRATITUDE THROUGH OPPORTUNITY

Seek mentors. In one of my previous jobs at a large company, I often felt like a small fish in a huge pond, caught in the system of projects with few personal connections. I quickly learned that I could reach out to senior staff in my office and other offices to do informational interviews and ask for their advice. I set up conference calls and coffee dates to pick their brains, and I asked each of them what they loved about our work and industry. Hearing what they were grateful for after so many years of service made me grateful to be a part of a bigger system and legacy of work. This helped me articulate my own passions even more clearly, and set goals around the work I wanted to do.

Seek perspective. Last year, I was part of a fellowship of young professionals that met weekly to share stories about our work and encourage each other in our faith and giftings. Sharing and hearing the daily tasks, struggles and celebrations of people outside my profession helped me gain perspective. I realized how much we were alike, and how we could learn from our differences.

Seek play. Make time for rest and play outside of work so you’re able to come to your tasks with appreciation and a rested mind and body.

“In every thing give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” 1 Thessalonians 5:18

As people following the way of Jesus, we have the gift of the Holy Spirit to help us see our life and work through a lens of hope and gratitude. We have the choice to see God in places that are ordinary and unexpected.

In our daily work, may we choose rhythms of recording where we see God working, even and especially in the difficult and the mundane.

When it isn’t natural, may joy be our choice.

I was sitting with a mom of three while the band warmed up at church.

As the sounds of tuning guitars echoed through the small room, my new friend expressed her relief.  She and her husband had just moved their little family across the country eight months before, and she was finally starting to feel like they were settling into a routine. Her bright-eyed, 8-year-old daughter leaned on her shoulder as we talked.

“Kids need some stable rhythms in life in order to feel safe and grounded. It’s a basic need. If they don’t have a stable rhythm, it’s hard for them to be their best selves,” she said.

And then she added: “I think the same goes for adults.”

If only she knew, I thought, my back rigid against the folding chair that held me.

I gave her what must have been a knowing, affirming nod. I was immediately reminded of how I react when change happens in my own life. On that day in particular, changes in my family, work and schedule had been making me feel unbalanced and unsteady.

I, too, was in a time of transition.

Just as the guitars in the worship band seemed to merge their notes into the beginnings of melody, my new friend gave words to the chord she had struck in my heart.

“It’s liturgy,” she said.

Liturgy. In church tradition, it’s defined as ritual, sacrament, rubric, practice. It’s the rhythm by which we live and work and worship.

As humans made in God’s image, we were created to flourish in the rhythms of the seasons. Daily tasks. The everyday cadence of sunrise-to-sunset, literally in-tune with how God made the earth.

“It isn’t just kids. We all need those essential rhythms,” my friend said, speaking about these things as if she was well acquainted with them – like she had learned these truths by walking closely with them.

And as I resonated with her words, I thought: I want to walk closely with these truths. 

I want to walk closely with the unchanging God and his unchanging truths when everything else shifts. I want to be grounded. I want to be connected to the way God created us, living into the rhythms of work and play and rest as he intended.

I want to be acquainted with the liturgy of my life.

What is the basic cadence of rest, prayer and worship that will enable me to live out of God’s truth, rather than running on my own empty tank?

Well, to start, I know how this doesn’t look.  I can tell when my life’s rhythm is tending toward unhealthy.

When I start to feel out-of-sync with my own life, I operate my body and mind at a pace that’s too fast for my soul.

Instead of resting or creating space in my schedule, I fill my days with commitments and people and experiences. I push and prove and perform for others, loving my to-do list and its satisfying check marks. I run from that quiet place where I might feel the discomfort of change.

And then, I crash.

Anxiety cripples me. I struggle to eat and sleep well. I wake up at night, over and over again, anxious about the day ahead before dawn even comes. I feel tired, out-of-sorts and frazzled.

My body gets my attention, almost saying “hey, we’re moving way too fast.”

 But, there’s a different way, I’m learning. The way of God-centered liturgy.

There’s a way of tuning our lives back to God’s melody, syncing our lives with the harmony in which we thrive.

There’s a way of allowing the quiet discomfort of change, looking it in the face, and therefore diminishing its power over us.

There’s a way that means that even if we move thousands of miles from home, we can still move at a pace that allows the still, small voice of God to break through.

We can – we must – return to basic rest and truth.

If you, like me, are feeling the discomfort of change and uncertainty, can I be the one to invite you to slow down in the process, rather than try to speed through it?

Can I be the one to encourage you to gather around your table, gather up your people, get some fresh air, and get some perspective?

If you, like me, are feeling out-of-sync, don’t allow the discomfort to scare you. It doesn’t mean that the

change is bad. It doesn’t mean that you need to force yourself into old routines and regimens just to regain (what feels like) stability.

It does mean you need to slow down and listen – to God and to your own soul.

It means you need to find your liturgy once again. Return to it.

Say no to the invitation to cram your day with activity. Plan for uninterrupted time with a friend. Fill your notebook with honest prayers.

Make a meal. Make a phone call. Make no plans at all.

Allow yourself to sleep. Allow your muscles to unwind. Allow the still, small voice to speak right to you.

Feel the companionship of meeting in the quiet with Jesus and feeling your soul refresh in the most essential ways.

Return to liturgy.

Return to the dance that was made just for you and God before your life even began.

Like the guitar strings searching for the notes of true worship, tune your heart back to grace.

“This whole universe is Grace University. And honouring one another is how you get an honorary degree at Grace University.  Everywhere, we get to learn. Everywhere is a class. Everything begins with the next face you see, the next person you stand beside.”
-Ann Voskamp, from “When You Want The Messiness of Things to Pass“

“Everywhere, we get to learn,” Ann Voskamp says.

About each other. About the world. About the Creator of each other and the world. To which I say, amen.

And this week, I got to learn about flour.

Me and a small group of others in the 5280 Fellowship program toured the Denver headquarters of a flour mill company that processes raw grains into the grain-based products that we eat each day.

Flour, I learned, is a big business.

As the first snow of the season fell gently outside, we toured the spacious test kitchens where the milling company tries out their products in cookies and breads and sauces. As cars slid down Lawrence street, we were shown rows and rows of bread loaves, fresh from testing, each with its own texture and integrity based on the flour that was used.

Not only was this tour eye-opening (who knew flour could be so cool?) and mouth watering (yes, we got some great samples)- it registered to me as metaphor.

It all feels especially poignant this Thanksgiving week.

Grain and grind. Milling and measuring. Feeding jobs, feeding production, feeding people.

I was in awe of the beautiful and complex way that basic ingredients are cultivated into nourishment. The way that things we take for granted are actually made possible by the work of thousands and thousands of other people. The way that a Denver-based office  and its employees make products that are consumed by more than 100 million people around the world every day.

The feast really just begins with flour.

The simple gives way to the sacred through the work of God’s people.

Our tour of the flour mill was lead by the company CEO – who is a follower of Christ. It isn’t listed on his business cards or touted in new client meetings, but the signs are deep and clear. He speaks with a quiet confidence and humility. He leads his employees to serve others before themselves. He casts a vision for a workplace where each and every person feels valued and seen each day.

“Good business principals are actually Biblical principals,” he tells us. “When we see our jobs as just paychecks, that’s called transactional thinking. And there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. But when we see our jobs as agents of good in the world, and good in God’s kingdom, that’s called transformational thinking.”

Transactional to transformational. Flour to feast. Midwestern city kid to CEO.

This, I think, is what the body looks like. This is the meaning we can find in our work. This is the ‘why’ behind our hours logged and long commutes driven.

With God, the transcational becomes transformational.

The simple gives way to the sacred through the work of God’s people. Grain and seed and crop becoming table and communion and feast.

“The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread,  and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.”
– 1 Corinthians 11: 23

He took bread – the flour, the mill sifting, the dough rising.

He broke it – he shaped it with his very-human-and-entirely-Godly hands.

He said, “this is my body” – and when Jesus uses a metaphor, I believe he means it.

Bread is just one sacrament. Flour is just one metaphor. The work that you do each day is your own way of cultivating beauty from the raw stuff of life. 

As the baker sifts flour between her fingers, so the home loan officer sifts out what the single mom sitting across the desk from her really needs.

As the chef kneads dough – once, twice, three times – the teacher gently repeats the problem, encourages the whirring brain inside that tiny head – once, twice, three times.

As the CEO of the flour mill shares donuts with his employees to encourage conversation, so the youth pastor brings donuts to group this week – to encourage a smile, an introduction, a glimmer of something newly discovered.

If we look for God’s fingerprints, we will find them. In the most unlikely places. In the board room and the classroom, the kitchen and the convention center.

I’m more convinced of this with every passing week. It fires me up just writing about it.

The simple gives way to the sacred through the work of God’s people.

In your work, you’re creating things where there once was vacancy. New from old. Something from nothing. Simple to sacred.

You are how that happens. 

Before we left the flour mill, the CEO dusted flour from his fingers, and joined his hands with ours in prayer. As the first snow of the season fell gently outside, our communion with one another in this creative space started a conversation with the Father.

We didn’t need to invite his presence -because he is presence.

He was there already.

In the grain and grind.

In the milling and measuring.

In the creation of beauty from the raw stuff of life.

The raw stuff of us is used by God, no matter how simple or small the start.  The simple gives way to the sacred through the work of God’s people.

Flour taught me that.

For these and so many reasons, I will feast this week with a reverent and grateful heart.

“I eventually realized my own humanity. Our message of God’s grace is exponentially more powerful when we embody a picture of the gospel instead of just preach it.”
– my friend Andrea Joy Wenburg

We couldn’t see the floor.

It was this time last year, and my friend’s living room was packed with air mattresses and blankets and pillows wall-to-wall.

Friends from all areas and seasons of my life had gathered to celebrate my birthday, and after making homemade pizza and laughing through several hilarious games of Taboo, we were challenging the clock toward midnight.

I looked around the room teary-eyed at God’s faithfulness to me in the form of my friends. My college girlfriends were huddled in one corner, catching up on their lives as small town teachers. The party hosts were settling on the couch with worn-out grins on their faces. Members of my small group were packing leftover treats to take home to husbands.

Friends of 16 years, 6 years, 6 months. All gathered to celebrate life with me.

I thought, “Surely, there is something sacred about this.”

There’s got to be something sacred when you can’t see the floor anymore.

When you’ve invited friends from across town and out of town to stay over, tucking everyone in all together. When the smell of pizza lingers and the table is still full of empty glasses and candles burning down. When the pillows are pulled out and friends allow themselves to rest. When you’re tuckered out from the good and hard of life, but you gather people together to celebrate anyway.

Here’s what I’ve come to believe in the year I’ve lived since that birthday.

Sacred happens together.

It happens when we show up fully in each other’s lives, whether that means crying or celebrating, grieving or laughing.

I want more together this year.

I’ve created a list of five truths I want to live by in the coming year – more guides than goals. Representative of how I want to live, more than what I want to do.

But, honestly, I just want to continue in the amazing, grace-drenched, laughter-filled pattern of the past year. I want to go deeper in knowing God and knowing myself. I want challenges and dreams and brave choices. But I wouldn’t change a thing about my community, my people, the way we do life together. I want more of that – a reprise.

I came home last night after a great birthday weekend and realized that I couldn’t see the floor in my room anymore. I laughed at the memory and at the disaster scene. If I can’t see my bedroom floor, this is a sure signal that my week has been insane. This means I’ve dropped my bags and mail and magazines and books and clothes and running gear and craft supplies everywhere on my way to elsewhere.

Just as the full floor represented the wonderful people gathered on my last birthday, my full bedroom floor this week also meant that I was doing life with others. I neglected to clean my room in favor of spending time with people, accepting invitations to learn and grow and hear people’s stories and share their tables.

Full floor means full life. And I’m all about that.

I’m all about weeks so full that they’re overflowing. I’m all about days where activities and meetings and work and plans string together like beads on a necklace, just barely overlapping, one thing after another, full of variety. I’m all about wearing myself out with activity, and then crashing hard into rest, knowing that I’m living life to the very fullest.

So, this year, I want to continue filling my floor (but mom, if you’re reading this, I promise that I will clean my room sometimes).

That’s first on this list of my truths to live by in year 25:

1. Fill the floor.
Keep your life full of deep friendships – deep, not necessarily wide. Invest well in a group of close friends, leaving the floor of your bedroom a disaster in the process. Show up for your people and invite them to gather together, seeking shelter from life’s hard and weary road. Practice love. And at every possible opportunity, cover the floor with air mattresses for sleepovers.

2. Do the hard, right thing
Believe you’re brave. You are. You have absolutely everything you need to do hard things. When you know the right thing to do, trust your instinct, and act. Don’t doddle and don’t be afraid. Hard is not a sign that you’re doing something wrong, but rather a sign that you’re living a brave life.

3. Go gently –  body, mind and soul.
Allow your body, mind and soul to stay true to each other, for this is the path to a WHOLE life. Don’t worry about what you ‘should’ feel – allow  yourself to feel how you feel. Pause before  you say ‘yes’ to anything, making sure you’re aligned with your values and boundaries. When you day is packed solid, remember to breathe and invite the Holy Spirit to help you slow down. Take a deep breath to check in with your own truth, and take a deep breathe before responding to a friend’s truth.

4. Lead
Trusting God’s design for you and the work of the Holy Spirit in you, be a leader this year. Own it. Say something. Start something. Invite opportunities to lead projects at work and to lead discussions with your people. Use your creativity in your work, and for God’s kingdom. Point the way to hope and light.

5. Love Christ’s Church
Whether “church” is an existing community, a new community, Christ’s body at large or just your close friends, love the church. Speak well of her. Trust that your service and stewardship are never in vain. Learn more about what “church” means to you, and then go love it.

Here’s to a full heart and full floor, this year and every year, by God’s grace alone.

Thank you to everyone who made my birthday weekend so special and FUN. 25 is already the best year yet thanks to you.