Strange because in the midst of a global pandemic, the church building was almost completely empty when we went in that Sunday morning for our Redeemer family to pray over us. I went into the nursing mothers’ room when we first arrived to feed Evelyn and make an attempt at a nap. It was so eerie and quiet. Just me and a half dozen gliders that looked lonely without moms balancing their babies, smiling, humming along to the music, or chatting while their little ones nursed or bobbed on their knees. 

I never imagined how hard it would be or how lonely it would feel to embark on this church planting journey. While Daniel and I feel confident in our calling, the in-between: that space and time between setting out on the journey and actually launching a healthy, Christ-exalting church is daunting. The fear of failure is real. We’ve spent, or rather I have spent, many nights grumbling, complaining that we were better off in Kansas City. Things were easier there. We were safer there. Sound familiar? I revisit the Israelites’ journey from Egypt to the Promised Land… I must admit, I am also too easily compelled to make a golden calf to worship, to put my hope and faith and trust in when God takes longer to move than I find comfortable. I am also so easily tempted to cast blame, to cower, than to trust. But, even if we “fail,” God has not and never will. He will always perfectly accomplish His plans. Honestly, we’re just stoked to join in the small ways we can. 

Words by C.S. Lewis come to mind, that both comfort and scare me, from the majestic, Christ-figure, Aslan: “I’m not safe, but I am good.” We are not “safe” in the sense that everything from here on out is going to be straightforward, easy, or comfortable. No, no, no. I need to remind myself time and time again, God does not promise us an easy life when we put our faith in Him. He simply, unequivocally promises to be with us. As Daniel and I pray and pursue this calling, we are greatly, desperately in need of God’s presence and of the faithful encouragement, prayers, and support of many, many people. If that gets you pumped, we’d love to chat with you about joining us (in prayer, in presence, or in giving).

Back in the nursing mother’s room at Redeemer, I felt empty for a moment. In a mostly empty church. My daughter asleep in my arms, sitting one more time in our glider (that we gave to Redeemer), in an empty room. Just me and her and God. Surrounded by empty chairs, just the sound of her steady, beautiful breathing keeping me present. As I prayed, quiet, fearful, grateful tears slid down my cheeks:

Lord, thank you for this place. Thank you for the women I sat in this room with. Spoke with. Confided in. Thank you for the people who filled this church building not too long ago. It’s vastness and emptiness now reminds me that a church is a people, not a building. Thank you for reminding me that. These walls and hallways just caverns and canvases for beautiful, broken, redeemed people to fill and flourish (and yes, sometimes fail). Thank you for reminding me that. Thank you for the friends we made, the family we met, the leaders who challenged, comforted, loved, and blessed us. 

I came here kicking and screaming and in many ways, I’m leaving kicking and screaming. But I am not the same. Everything I once found comfort and solace and achievement in was stripped away from me when I came here. It felt like pieces of me were dying away and I kept wondering, what could be left beneath the wreckage? Well… Someone acutely, constantly in need of You. So, here we are: unadorned, exposed, and vulnerable. Use us as you see fit.

Our KC peeps, our Redeemer family, our wonderful neighbors and friends, we love you so much. You’ve taught us so much, loved us so well, and we are deeply grateful. Our other peeps, we love you too. Stay tuned for quite an adventure… “The road to life will expose you to terrible failure and crushing conflict. But only that road leads to the life you want, the life I give you.” Off we go.

Love, S.D.