His Vigorous Heart

I don’t know what the heck is wrong with me. I’m currently on my  [technically]  second job since deciding to step down from a ministry position at my dream organization. (The first lasted exactly 2 nightmarish graveyard shifts at 3am for a corporate dystopian warehouse where I had been hired to fulfill a completely different position.) The second is a perfectly fine position at a grocery store deli, working 8 hours a day and making the biggest paycheck of my life, cutting meats and cheeses and being friendly to customers. And I hate it. Because I don’t give a flying fuck about any of it. (Sorry about the language. Fair warning: there's more of it.) When I worked at OneLife (or any of the ministries and non-profits I've been involved with for that matter), I was frustrated by the financial situation I was in. I had food and housing provided, which was an incredible gift that's easy to overlook, but apart from that I was making pennies in a monthly stipend. And like, I get i...

Hey friends! I have been hesitant to share an update on my life, because it involves a job, and a job ( for me ) has always involved a mixture of pride and identity and an unhealthy fixation on money, and announcing that on social media just adds a dangerous new spin on all of those things--all wrapped up in the fact that it’s a ministry position and I want to be sure I’m doing it for the right reasons and not just so that I “look cool” or whatever. That said, I also think it’s a bit disingenuous to not share about what God has been doing in my life and in the lives of others through me. In light of all the things I’ve been learning about grace the last few years, it seems a bit weird not to share what is perhaps the biggest example of grace that I’ve experienced in this whole process. And it begins with a story. One Friday morning in August I was sitting at my office desk stuffing envelopes and researching cheap plane tickets in my downtime. I had just come to terms with the ...

They said, As a child, That if you held your eyes crossed too long They'd stay that way (But that never happened.) So I wonder Why, As an adult, Do I feel like my future is Wet cement About to dry? I wrote this poem at work today, approximately 3 hours before I put in my resignation. I turn 27 in a week. I know 27 isn't 30, and 30 isn't 50, and 50 isn't really that old, but somehow it feels like my life is just flying by. And it feels as if somehow, in the past few years of merely pursuing the next paycheck, I've missed the life I was made for. Somehow, at 27, I'm still waiting for my real life to start. So I’m choosing to start it now. More to come soon :) --JD