Dear Wendy…..

It’s after midnight and you’re sleeping, finally, after some last-minute packing of crates and duffels and some help from Tylenol PM. Good to see it working—tomorrow you will fly to Tanzania by way of Amsterdam, a 24-hour journey you’re dreading. Sleep is good.

I should be sleeping, too, but I may also need pills. Yesterday on a flight of my own I sat next to an Army private heading out for a tour of duty. I thought about the people who love him and wondered how they could say goodbye as he left for a year or longer. How did they choke down breakfast that morning? How did they endure the ride to the airport? How did they peel themselves away after the last hug?


Tomorrow morning I will find out, as I join your other friends and family to see you off for two or maybe even three years of missionary service in Africa.

Neither of us knows what those years will bring. By 2014 I could be married with triplets (please, no) or promoting my first book or fighting cancer. When you return you will be forever changed by years of learning Swahili, bonding with the young students you’ve taught, and witnessing God’s provision in the desert. Who will we be when we meet again? The changes are both unknowable and unstoppable, and even the positive possibilities overwhelm me as I sit thinking tonight.

But even as my mind races, I know some things will not change: My interest in your work. My love for you as a friend and adopted sister. The everlasting God who holds both of us in his hands.

Tomorrow you, too, will follow the orders of your Captain. You will fly off to war and confront not only the intangible spiritual battles of a country but also its too-real droughts and riots and danger.

And I will manage a few gulps of coffee, and endure the ride to IND, and let you go after the final hug. And I’ll be waiting at the airport when you come home.

new to you friday–how to stop worrying

Be someone other than Jennifer Taylor.

Kidding, of course, although this is a good first step since I have completely mastered worrying and could compete at a Worry Olympics with other champions.


It began early.

Jen, age 5: (holding paper and crayons, sobbing): Mom, I can’t make my fours right. I make them backwards. (More sobbing.) Mrs. Pence makes her fours the right way and I can’t do it!

(Mrs. Pence was my kindergarten teacher, a lovely lady who introduced me to turnips and wrote a poem about me that had nothing to do with turnips before retiring the next year. But I digress.)

Mom: (patient smile): How old is Mrs. Pence?

Jen (trying to breathe): Old.

Mom: How long has she been making her fours?

Jen: A long time. Because she’s old.

Mom: How long have you been trying to do your fours?

Jen (a dim light dawning in her tear-soaked little brain): One day.

Mom: Right. I promise before you are old you will make your fours just fine. You just need to practice some more.

Sniffling and hugs…………….end scene.


So the ability to turn small issues into huge crises is one of my biggest gifts.

But I’m now closer to 35 than 5 (gulp) and it’s time to get a handle on this. Although the situations are far less common now, I still tend to turn into that teary five-year-old (inside, anyway) when things I care about don’t go as planned.

Worry is one of those acceptable sins, like gluttony and gossip, that we minimize or say we can’t help. Sometimes we also cause ourselves more worry by believing if we could just “trust God more” we would stop fretting, and therefore we are bad Christians with little faith.

I disagree with both perspectives.


I think it’s a control issue.


Author and Christian psychologist Henry Cloud writes, “Worry is often the non-acceptance of situations that you cannot do anything about.”

This is an amazing insight, because it positions worry as the symptom, not the core problem. The real issue is an inability to accept our lack of control over other people and circumstances. We are unable to accept that we may not get the house we put an offer on, or the job we interview for, or the relationship we want. We can’t control the other couple making an offer or the opinions of the interviewer or the feelings of the potential friend or date.

We can do some things, of course: work with a good realtor and make a competitive offer, research the company and practice our interview skills, share our wishes for the friendship. But ultimately we cannot make anyone else do anything, and we certainly can’t control the timeline of their response. We must simply do what we can and let it go. (This is where the trust-in-God discussion becomes more helpful.)

You lucky non-worrier types are thinking, “What’s the big deal? Of course you can’t control everything. Why waste all that emotional energy?” To which I say to you, on behalf of all worriers everywhere, yes, we know, and thank you for pointing out that we are wasting time and energy on this because now that gives us something else to feel bad about. Also, please ask your spouse what aspects of your “laid-back” personality drive them nuts.


As for me, one thing I have accepted is it’s time to deal with this issue, this year. After all, I did finally learn to make my fours. I can do this, too.

new to you friday–the parent trap

When I was young, my parents determined what I ate, what I wore and—as much as is possible with a strong-willed child—how I behaved. (They also determined the punishments when I misbehaved.) That’s what parents do.

Now my folks and I relate as adults. I still honor their role, and I try to submit to them as I would to any other believer, but all three of us set boundaries and make our own choices. We even argue occasionally.

In a recent enews from Crossroads Christian Church in Anthem, AZ, lead pastor Steve Wyatt wrote about the difference between parent-child forms of interaction (in which one participant assumes a domineering role and the other passively submits) and the adult-adult form (in which two adults relate to each other as peers).


Steve says, “Far too often, the church traffics in the realm of the Parent-Child relationship. Leaders function in the role of the authoritative “Dad” and faithfully discharge their duties in a rather dictatorial fashion.

In some church traditions, Christians aren’t taught how to think, they’re told what to think. They’re handed a creedal statement and told to memorize it. Young people are given lists of ‘Do’s and Don’ts’ rather than schooled in the art of discernment and wisdom…..

The fact is, the single most popular approach in religion is the Jim Jones model of discipleship (remember him?). He’s the grape Kool-Aid cult leader who led nearly 1000 people to follow him right into the jaws of self-imposed death. That’s the approach of many in religious circles: Treat your flock like mindless children. Demand their acquiescence. Keep them dependent on you and you alone for life’s answers. Create dependency over discipleship.

That’s the Parent-Child approach to church leadership. And it works. In fact, dare I say it? Most of the so-called ‘megachurches’ in our culture function according to this model.”



These are bold statements. And, in some ways, correct ones. I know several megachurch ministers who prefer this parent-child method. (I’ll send you a list for $19.95 plus shipping and handling.)

I also know some who take this approach with their staff; in fact, just last week I heard about another one, a pastor who, without all the facts, belittled a staff member’s ministry and questioned the person’s key relationships under the guise of helping the person “be a good example.” Instead of acting like a spiritual leader, inviting the staff member’s perspective, or—at the least—treating the person like a team member, the pastor mandated conformity to his uninformed ideas of what the staffer’s life should look like.

But I also know senior leaders who quite rightly would bristle at the implication they want church members or staff to mindlessly follow them. Of course, they teach the scriptures unapologetically; adult-adult relationships are not about diluting the truth or making everyone feel good. But some issues really do have more gray than black and white, and many leaders really do want people to study, pray, and develop their own faith.


Which is also God’s preference. If anyone has the right to invoke a parent-child dynamic, it’s the Father, but he requires us to make choices, experience consequences and “work out our salvation with fear and trembling.”

It’s easier, quicker, and more satisfying in the short term to tell people what to think, how to behave, or how to feel; it’s much more difficult and time-consuming to dialogue, explain, and listen. It requires more maturity to accept conflict and messiness as part of the process, and to accept that the process may take decades.

Basically, it requires people to be adults, and the root problem is many leaders—in and outside the church—never learned to relate this way. In these situations we must still honor their roles and submit to their authority. But we can also set boundaries, make choices, and even argue occasionally. It’s what adults do.

what I learned this summer

It’s been a great summer—I vacationed in Martha’s Vineyard, planted my first garden and started several interesting work projects.


I also learned several things. For instance:

There was no need to plant that much cucumber.

Just because he kisses you doesn’t mean he wants to date you. (Yes, every other girl learned this when she was 15.)

Just because he says he wants to date you doesn’t mean he wants to date you. (This is the advanced version.)

It’s nerve-wracking to give announcements in front of 4,000 people at the NACC.

I have many talents, but playing kickball is not one of them.

11 email accounts is too many.

Maybe I don’t want to have kids, after all.

Very few things people call “epic” actually are.




We move in the direction of the questions we ask.

Working in the garden for two hours in 100 degrees gives you a headache that will not go away for two days.

I have an amazing, amazingly fun family. (I already knew that, but this summer’s been a nice reminder.)

There is never enough time for all the books I want to read.

The Artist is Present.

I’m unable to stop eating guacamole once I start.

I like not traveling all the time even more than I thought I would.

If you’re going to set off illegal fireworks and you’re not sure what they do, maybe don’t do it in your driveway.

INTJs are only 1-4% of the population. No wonder the rest of you don’t make any sense.


What did you learn this summer?

new to you friday–breaking news

It’s that time of year again, when I take a vacation from the blog (unless I’m inspired by videos like last year). Try to muddle through, and I’ll see you in a week.

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Yesterday at lunch a friend and I were discussing the relativism of money. I remember feeling adamant, as a know-it-all, black-and-white teenager, that “real” Christians would not be wealthy because they would give the extra away. Of course, as an adult I realize defining “extra” is part of the problem; if someone I considered rich lived a comfortable middle-class existence and donated the rest, he (and I) would still be wealthier than most of the world.

I’m more comfortable with the grey area these days, and I’m very comfortable paying a few hundred bucks for a week at the beach with friends and family. So I’ll be taking a little blogging break, returning next weekend a little tanner, a little calmer….and a little poorer.

new to you friday–read letters

My dad continues to make me proud—have you read his blog posts from Kenya??—and he continues to write me notes ending with, “You know we love you.” Love you back, dad.

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During a recent Barnes & Noble excursion I impulsively bought a copy of
Posterity: Letters of Great Americans to Their Children. It’s turned out to be a great read.

A dozen sections, arranged chronologically and by subject, include everything from Thomas Jefferson’s marriage advice for his newlywed daughter Martha to Samuel Clemens’ (aka Mark Twain’s) letter as Santa Claus to his three-year-old daughter Susie.

The letters are endlessly quotable. In one, author F. Scott Fitzgerald compiled a list of things his twelve-year-old daughter should and should not be concerned about. (“Worry about courage. Don’t worry about the past. Don’t worry about growing up.”)

“Consideration of others at all times, be they right or wrong, is an acknowledgment of your own limitations,” writes fighter pilot Eddie Rickenbacker before sending his son off to the Air Force.

Famous photographer Ansel Adams might just as easily have been an award-winning writer; “I am wondering, in the afternoon of my own life, just what your day will be,” he writes to his son.


In her prologue, the book’s editor mentions letters are dying art forms—the book includes few recent letters because email and telephone calls have replaced them. But I’m old enough to remember life before the internet and cell phones, and my own father wrote me a letter every week I was away at college. (Well, until my senior year, when we both got email.)

I still have a file folder crammed with those short notes and long epistles, plus many of the cards and letters he’s written since. They run the gamut from routine recountings of the previous week to serious messages from a dad watching his daughter grow into adulthood. And many, of course, included Standard Publishing stickers.

During college:
“Did you REALLY email us at 5:53 a.m.? Did you get up that early…or STAY up that late? Take care of yourself!”

“It’s exciting to anticipate how your life will turn out. Of course, I realize the bigger issue may seem to be passing pre-calculus this semester. So we’ll pray about that first.” (I passed with a C.)

When my roommates were noticed more than me: “Don’t feel bad about being ‘in the shadow.’ There’s probably more light there than you realize.”

As I struggled with my first year away from home: “All your mother and I want is for you to have and be and do what’s best for you. A large part of that is finding God’s will, which I’m convinced is often not just one answer. We anticipate that you will always be a source of light, wherever you choose to shine.”

Years later, in response to an email headed “Fun for your Wednesday,” asking for reasons why I shouldn’t date a cuter-than-snot atheist: “I was expecting a funny pass-along email or one of those silly cartoons, any of which I would have called ‘fun.’ This correspondence I would put in another category, something close to ‘life and death.’”

On a birthday card: “What a wonderful thing to call you…our friend! It is wonderful compensation for realizing how old we are, now that you are an adult.”

And always, at the end of almost every letter, “You know we love you.”


I’m a bit biased, but I think some of Dad’s letters rival the best of anything from Thomas Jefferson or Ansel Adams. I’m lucky to have them, and lucky to have him.

Thanks, Dad. Happy Father’s Day.

must see

I spent this past holiday weekend in New York City with my brother Geoff and sister-in-law Lisa, having more fun and eating more food than I could include here. (Oh, okay, twist my arm: picnics in Central Park and along Long Island City’s waterfront, walks through impeccably manicured gardens at dusk, tours of subway cars from the 50s, the Brooklyn Flea Market, and possibly the best cafe au lait ever).

But what I will remember long after my shin splints fade away and I work off the goat cheese omelets is Sunday afternoon at the Museum of Modern Art. Marina Abramovic’s special exhibition “The Artist is Present” was in its final weekend run, and we spent much of the afternoon viewing it (and much of the evening discussing it).

Abramovic is a performance artist who has scrubbed meat and blood off cow bones to protest the slaughter of war, taken mind-altering pills to explore unconsciousness during a performance, and fasted from food for 12 days while living on a shelf open to the public in a New York gallery.

But “The Artist is Present” included no such spectacle—instead, the 80-day performance simply featured Abramovic sitting silently, gazing into the eyes of a person sitting across from her. From the moment the museum opened each day until the last crowds left each evening, Abramovic sat without speaking and gave each person, in turn, her complete and focused attention.

And thousands of New Yorkers lined up each morning for the privilege of being in the chair across from her. Some smiled or giggled self-consciously. Some returned the unbroken eye contact. Several wept. Until the last two days of the performance, each individual could sit as long or as little as he wanted. Some stayed just a few minutes, others remained in the chair for hours.


In an interview before the exhibit, Abramovic said,

It’s really the idea of creating a moment of presence…… I want to create a stillness in the middle of the tornado, with just a tiny little table and two little chairs. And the chair opposite me is always empty, and any member of the audience is welcome to come and engage in the gaze with me. There will not be talking, there will not be anything, just the motionless gaze.

The eyes are the windows of the soul. You can see so much. And it will create an energy, a luminosity around it. The more time goes past with this piece, the more the piece will go where it should go – into that timeless state. It’s about the here and now. It’s not about future or past. It’s just about the present moment. I want to construct many present moments during the 600 hours, and be available and vulnerable for anybody in the audience. This will create a trust so that the other person looking at me can also be available and vulnerable, and we can create a contact which is very direct and very human.

This vulnerable human connection made the piece irresistible. Despite the huge closing-weekend crowds and the presence of two of my favorite Van Goghs on level 4, I returned to MOMA’s atrium three times during our three-hour visit. I watched Abramovic, I speculated on the stories of the people sitting across from her, and I considered the lessons this piece can teach us.

Because like all good art, this raises questions about the times in which we live and the timeless components of the human condition. Abramovic has said one reason she wanted to perform the work was to create a “center” of peace in the midst of our country’s largest and arguably busiest city.


But, of course, the hurried pace of life extends beyond New York, and so does another insight of this piece—people are ravenous for human connection.

Sure, some people sat across from Abramovic to say they had been part of one of the famous artist’s most ambitious works, but that’s not why dozens wiped away tears, or stayed for five hours, or returned several times. It’s not why the show has received worldwide attention or why MOMA’s live video feed of the experience received more than 800,000 hits.

By sitting in the chair you also received another person’s undivided attention. You became the focus of another person for as long as you needed it. You participated in something not only public but deeply intimate.

When is the last time someone gave you their attention–no cell phone glances, no mid-conversation texting, no checking the time, no looking over your shoulder for someone more interesting? When is the last time you gave that gift to someone else? The real lesson of “The Artist is Present” is how un-present so many of us are, to our own emotions and to the moment and to the people around us. Abramovic’s art reminds us that in a city propelled by image, in a nation focused on appearances, many people simply need to be seen.

new to you friday–McChurch

I estimate that last year I spent 100 days on the road. (In case you’re wondering, I’ve made some changes so I won’t be able to say the same about 2010.) In just the last few weeks I’ve been in Cincinnati and the far reaches of Kansas and I’m typing this from a moldy Hyatt in Baton Rouge. All this travel just reinforces my thoughts in this post—the franchising of America is not limited to its restaurants and clothing stores. A lot of our churches are starting to look a lot alike. Do you think it’s a problem?

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Yesterday was fun—my dad and I drove from Monterey, CA through Big Sur along the Pacific Coast Highway. We saw beautiful ocean views, walked through a forest of redwoods, and ate locally-grown artichokes and fresh shrimp.

After several hours enjoying this beauty, we turned off the PCH to take the 101 south to Los Angeles. Almost immediately a landscape of Home Depots, AMC movie theaters, and fast food restaurants replaced the views of rocky cliffs, beaches, and privately-owned B&Bs.

What struck me was not just the abrupt transition back to the land of a million Targets, but how similar the next 180 miles looked. Every exit ramp had some combo of the same national retail outlets and chain stores. Except for the palm trees, we could just as easily have been in Indianapolis, Kansas City or any other American suburb.

To find stories for Christian Standard, I spend a lot of time surfing around church websites, leafing through church papers, and even visiting different churches. And it strikes me that our congregations—and many other evangelical churches—resemble those exit ramps. Every church has many of the same programs and services—Celebrate Recovery, a youth group with a name like “Surge,” a kids-and-parents service modeled on North Point’s, a Christian preschool, a variety of men’s and women’s small groups (men studying Wild at Heart, women studying either Captivating or something by Beth Moore), a wanna-be Starbucks coffee area named “Hallowed Grounds.” Many even preach the same sermons, often based on popular TV shows like “Lost” and “Desperate Housewives,” in an attempt to reach that ambiguous goal of “cultural relevance.”

These are all okay, but as we adopt more and more of the same strategies our churches all start to resemble one another. Of course it doesn’t make sense for all of us to start from scratch on everything—we do well to learn from each other and adopt what works. But I find it concerning (and, frankly, boring) to see so many of our bigger and newer churches become so much alike.

I can go into any McDonald’s in the country and eat the same meal, prepared the same way and guaranteed to provide the same (minimal) nourishment. I’m not sure I want the same experience when it comes to spiritual food.

into africa: one question after a week in kenya

My dad just got back from his trip to Nairobi with Christian Missionary Fellowship, and writes one last blog post about his journey and the insights he’s still processing. Click here and here to read more about his trip.


Maybe Dick Alexander will ask Mary Kamau the question I posed to her in Nairobi about a week ago.

They’ll share the platform at this summer’s North American Christian Convention when the evening’s theme will be “Beyond Words: Global Impact.”

Dick preaches at LifeSpring Christian Church in Cincinnati, a congregation sponsoring work in one village in the sprawling Mathare Valley slum in Nairobi.

Mary is executive director of Missions of Hope International, an agency working to share Christ’s love among ten such communities jamming 800,000 shanty-dwellers in a 1.5 square mile labyrinth of oppression. Under her leadership an army of schoolteachers, social workers, and community development workers has been unleashed to share the gospel and combat the forces of darkness among people thirsty for hope.

Christian Missionary Fellowship has joined with the multifaceted mission Mary began to create a collaboration called Hope Partnership. This is one of CMF’s works I’ve just returned from visiting in Kenya.

Mary is a native Kenyan who came to the United States for her college education, which led me to my question.

“Many from the Majority World who study in the U.S. end up staying there,” I said to her. “Why did you return to Africa?”

She looked away and seemed to sigh before answering. “I believe I can be more useful here in Nairobi than there in America,” she said.


And even though I’ve flown away from the squalor and the sickness in the slum where she serves, I can’t get away from her answer.

It is something of a cliché, when comfortable Americans encounter abject poverty on the other side of the world, to speak of being overwhelmed by it.

It is also common, however, (perhaps subconsciously) for such mission-trippers to celebrate the “sacrifice” in their visit and then soon settle back, unchanged, into the luxuries of their middle class routines.


Mary’s testimony suggests a better response. Her answer to my question begs the question I must ask myself: “Where can I be used best?”

<> Am I convinced God is getting the greatest good from the opportunities he’s given me?

<> Am I working where I can have the greatest influence for him?

<> Am I spending my money where it will bring the greatest return for his kingdom?

<> How do my hobbies, my leisure time, or my entertainment contribute to my usability by him for others?


Considering such questions need not make us feel guilty. Not everyone can or should serve in Africa—or Haiti, or India, or Eastern Europe. There are many battles for God to be fought in the cities and suburbs—and yes, the slums—of America.

But after seeing some Christians doggedly bringing hope in a place like Kenya I’m convicted to listen for his answer to the question Mary Kamau dealt with many years ago.


“Where can I be used best?”

into africa: day two

Oh, Jesus, what a wonder you are!
Oh, Jesus, what a wonder you are!
I love, love, love you . . .
Oh, Jesus, what a wonder you are!


About 30 young grade schoolers sang the words with gusto and hand motions as we stood in their crowded, hot classroom and took it in.

I had never expected that such a place would offer me such a moment of profound worship.

I had been forewarned that visiting Nairobi slums would be difficult and emotional. But no one had predicted I’d be so struck with what our Lord is doing in one of the world’s unlikeliest of places.

Oh, Jesus, what a wonder you are to inspire dozens of educated, competent leaders to work in a place like this.

Oh, Jesus, what a wonder you are to fill hearts with enough love to share with whole communities trapped in squalor and oppression.

Oh, Jesus, what a wonder you are to inspire creative entrepreneurship that not only helps these people, but empowers them to help themselves.

Oh, Jesus, what a wonder you are that you can redeem life on earth as well as save souls for eternity—and use the church to do both.

The church has made possible Hope Partnership, Christian Missionary Fellowship’s enterprise in the Nairobi slums of the Mathare Valley. The work serves Jesus with a three-pronged approach, each of which needs at least a 1,200-word essay to fully explain. But maybe my little summary will help you worship too.

Schools educate orphans and other children of families in desperate situations.

Community Health Evangelism (CHE) trains volunteers to offer a future to those diagnosed with HIV/AIDS and recruit neighbors to address all kinds of basic health and sanitation issues.

Business Development Services provides small loans and skills training to those who will improve their situation by creating a business that can give them an income. (Read more about CMF’s microloan program here.)

As a result, children are being educated; in 10 years the school program has grown from 50 preschoolers in one rented two-bedroom home to an enrollment of 3,750 in 10 schools.

Meanwhile, 350 CHE volunteers have improved health and offered hope in ways too numerous to mention. Six support groups for those testing HIV-positive meet regularly.

And 457 clients are operating their own businesses in the slum, financed by microenterprise loans that now total about $100,000.

This holistic approach is demonstrating the love of Christ, not just talking about it. But preaching and teaching the gospel is also central to the strategy.

School children learn Bible stories and memorize Bible verses.

Adults seek a relationship with God when they are helped by relationships with his servants.

“Sharing Christ is the bottom line,” said Paul, a Business Development Services director.

And today there are five new churches in this slum, where there were none before the work began. And four of them started in the last two years alone!

Oh, Jesus, what a wonder you are!

(This is the second post from my dad during a “vision trip” to Nairobi with Christian Missionary Fellowship. Scroll down a bit to read part one.)