Sunday I spoke at a church in the middle of nowhere.

It took me two hours and a handy GPS to find this little church in the middle of a single, square-block town buried in the Rocky Mountains. When we pulled up, my son and I both did a double-take.

Surely not.

But, surely YES. This was, indeed, the church I was booked to speak at. The entire building looked like something out of a Laura Ingalls Wilder book. A green and white, one room schoolhouse that morphed into a church building on the weekend. It could have fit on the main floor of my house. With extra space left over.

My pride would love to mask my true response, but authenticity requires otherwise:

What in the world am I doing here?

What transpired in the next 3 hours more than answered my question. Sure, I gave a 45 minute message, and it went “alright.” It was a brand new message, and still had some kinks to work out. But that didn’t even matter. It wasn’t about me and my silly little message. It was about a lesson I needed to learn. Again. This is what happened:

• I watched a group of 40 people — as different from each other as grapes and carrots — worship God in complete unity.
• I listened to several individuals talk about their incredible faith journey.
• I marveled at undivided attention and enthusiasm toward the Word of God.
• I sat at the edge of my seat as I listened to a group of teenagers tell me their stories of adoption (nearly all the youth in this church are adopted).
• I received a man’s words of encouragement as he scurried off to deliver food to a food bank in the community.
• I listened as a cancer survivor told her story about 4th stage breast cancer and the 6 kids she’s still raising (3 adopted).
• I sat slack-jawed as parents told me how God called them to adopt children who were not their own after raising many others.

Sometimes the churches closest to God’s heart and mission come in packages we don’t expect. This is a church of a few dozen people who are day-in and day-out living the Great Commission. They’re feeding the hungry, providing financial opportunities to the struggling, taking in the orphans, and preaching the Word, in season and out of season.

And I was brought to my knees in humility before the awesomeness of God.

Once again, God graciously showed me little corners of my heart still harboring pride and arrogance. Sometimes I think my big, shiny church is doing it better than everyone else. Shame on me. I realize that as much as I love Jesus and try to live for him, sometimes I can still be a church snob.

How about you? You might be a church snob if you:

• Judge the effectiveness of a church by the size of the building
• Esteem a ministry according to the prominence of its leader(s)
• Measure success solely by the Sunday morning attendance
• Determine the worth of the message according to appearance of its package

40 people in a remote, financially strapped community being Jesus to the poor, lost and lonely.

I could learn a thing or two from them about being the church. Like a widow with two pennies, sometimes it is the world’s invisible people that God sees most of all.

Have you ever caught yourself being a church snob? Have you ever been surprised by God’s activity in unexpected places? 

Have you ever had one of those weeks? You know the kind, when life is just plain hard. Nothing devastating, no funerals or catastrophes. Just difficult, draining. You wake up tired, go to bed tired, and wonder how you’re going to possibly wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.

The past few weeks have been hard like that for me. It has a little to do with our family transition and my struggle to rediscover a rhythm to life. But maybe your “hard” is meeting a book deadline, fighting a serious illness, raising a difficult teenager, grieving a dream or looking for a new job. It doesn’t matter what your hard thing is, it probably feels about as insurmountable as mine.

I’ve long believed the best lessons can be learned in challenges. But, boy, that sentence writes easier than it lives. This week, I’m changing my stance, facing my hard thing in a way that makes me more capable. How I approach the daily struggle can make all the difference in the day’s outcome.

Stance #1: Embrace, Rather Than Resist. I’m a fighter. When I don’t like something, I arm wrestle it into submission. I learned long ago (thanks, Dad) not to be a quitter. A good quality in many ways, but it can also make me fiercely resistant to difficulty. When facing something extraordinarily difficult, I get frustrated with its lack of submission. You might hear me say things like, “I wish it was like it was before” or “If only this and that would happen …” These are avoidant strategies, helpful for resisting reality, but prolonging the agony. However, some challenges are best mastered by leaning into them. Hard things often require accepting them for what they are. Only then do you have the upper hand to master them.

Stance #2: Set Your Pace to Walk — Not Run. When it comes to band-aid removal, I’m a quick ripper. I face pain with a let’s-get-it-over-with-as-quickly-as-possible mentality, teeth clenched, eyes closed and rrrrrrrrrrrip! I want to conquer. ASAP. And I’ll sprint to the end just to get to the finish. Most significant challenges, however, require a long, slow cooking. Like a roast in the crock pot, the heart and mind are tendered and flavored by the length of the process. If I try to speed up the process, I end up burned out and dried out.

Stance #3: Keep One Eye on the Potential, the Other on the Present. I used to think the key to success meant fully embracing a vision of the future — what could be. Then my pendulum swung the other direction, a commitment to be fully present in this moment, without regard for the next. There’s merit to both positions, and I don’t think either needs be exclusive. In fact, when facing an impossibility, the best stance is a combination of both. Right now, I wake up each morning with the goal of getting through today. Each day is nine-months-pregnant with responsibility. I can’t possibly thinking beyond today’s swollen calendar. At the same time, I have to keep reminding myself of the potential benefits 5 years, 10 years, 20 years from now. With one eye on the reward, I have enough hope to do what I need to do today.

What hard thing are you facing today? And which stance can you adopt to make a challenge more manageable?

Change.

It may be necessary, but I don’t enjoy it. I like order. Predictably. Schedules. Ask my parents and they’ll tell you my childhood bedroom was never in disarray: the bed always made, every knick-knack perfectly placed, and the clothes hung neatly in the closet.

I thrive on routine, and a calendar to keep track of it. Surprises? No, thank you. I prefer to know what’s coming. I almost always know what I’m getting for Christmas, and reading the last few pages of a novel is inevitable. I try not to, promise myself I won’t. But I can’t help it. I MUST KNOW.

Which is why I’m chuckling (one of those insane types) at the thought of our family suddenly raising three more children.

Now, I’m not one to question God, but … who am I kidding? I’m ABSOLUTELY one to question God. Or at least ask Him the burning question I MUST KNOW the answer to:

What were You thinking?!?!

Change is about as comfortable for me as pantyhose and family reunions. Adapting to huge life changes — like my son’s graduation from highschool, moving from our family home, a job change, or, YES, expanding our family by nearly double — is excruciating. There’s a good chance a padded room and mashed potatoes are in my near future.

Except I’ve finally learned change is inevitable. And after 40 years, I’m happy to announce I now adapt to change without quite as much trauma. Or drama.

This time around, I’ve implemented a few safeguards to help me and the rest of our family adjust to another major life change. If you’re reading this blog, you’re alive. And if you’re alive, there’s a pretty good chance change has colored your past and will impact your future. Who knows? You may be in the throes of monumental change right now.

Feel like you’re going under? Here are a few lifelines to keep you afloat until you learn to swim in your new ocean:

• Grieve the old. Change signals a loss of some kind. Even good change requires relinquishing something familiar or comfortable. About a month ago, my counselor/mentor gave me the single best piece of advice for adapting to monumental life change: “Let yourself grieve, Michele. It’s okay.” Although many wonderful things will come from this change, we’ve had to release a former way of life. I had to give some things up, and we’ve had to take new things on. Some of those losses are significant. But we lessened their sting by giving ourselves permission to grieve them. Not to dwell on the losses, but to acknowledge them. Only then are we free to embrace the beauty of the new.
• Accept offers of help. Major life change is usually too big to wrestle down solo. It requires the presence and assistance of others. Over the past few months, we’ve received second-hand toys, clothes and beds. Two friends in particular made it a habit to tell me again and again, “You’ve got this! You can do this!” Another friend sent me an email almost every day for a week asking, “How are you doing? I’m thinking about you, praying for you.” Others offered childcare help or the gift of their laughter and presence. All of these things have made a huge difference in our ability to adapt to change. But it started with us recognizing we cannot do it alone.
• Get plenty of rest. Adapting to change takes a physical toll. Adjusting mentally, physically, emotionally is exhausting. Whether you’re moving or changing careers, anticipate a drain. It may be energizing at moments, but learning something new will also require more of you. Allow extra time to rest, refresh, regenerate. The extra attention you give to taking care of yourself will help you adapt.
• Be generous with grace. I’m a recovering perfectionist, and the temptation is to think “You have to figure this all out right now!” Nearly every day I remind myself (often out loud), “One day at a time, Michele. Just take it one day at a time.” My ordered, scheduled self wants everything to feel comfortable. Like NOW. But adjusting to major life change takes time — for everyone involved. Breathe. Forgive. Allow grace to be the pillow on which everyone can fall, including yourself. You won’t do it right the first time, or the fifth time. But you’ve got this. You can do it!

What kind of change are you facing right now? And strategies have helped you adapt to it?