Stretch

Stretching.
Every athlete knows its importance.
Without it one loses flexibility, the chance for muscles to rebuild, and ultimately the ability to maximize workouts and gain strength.
Stretching is absolutely critical to the success (and progress) of an athlete.

The same is true in real life. Now, I'm not saying you need to stretch your quads and hamstrings before heading to work or church (although I guess you could)- this is a different kind of stretch.

A more uncomfortable (and sometimes painful) kind of stretch.

Imagine a stagnant life. Day after day the same routine takes place: you get up, work 8-5, eat dinner, watch the news, and head to bed. Sure, you go to church. Sometimes you even volunteer. Once a week you go to community group, open up about tough subjects, and work on your faith when the pastor's message is convicting.

Not hard to imagine, is it?

The greatest temptation in life is to let it stay stagnant.

Don't like the word stagnant? Then how about a different word.

Comfortable.
The greatest temptation in life is to be comfortable.

Throughout Jesus' ministry, the call that is placed before us is anything but comforting.

Take up your cross and follow me.

Lose your life, that you may find it.

You will be hated for my namesake.

And let us not forget that Jesus' very message... got Him killed.

Feeling uncomfortable yet?

I know I am. But I'm not alone.



A couple months ago, I started attending a "small group" at my church (Cross Point Church). Small was the last thing it was. Committed to being missional and intentional in all we did, two things became apparent about our "Not So Small" Community group that made us different than all the others:

First, we were a group of people committed to never feeling comfortable.

And second, it was extremely contagious.

Since first attending, the group has gone from about 30 to 140+ regular attendees. Like other "small groups", we break into groups and discuss the message, dive deep into the tough calling of following Christ, pray for each other, and do life together. Sure, our numbers make us different (small groups are typically capped at 12-15, not 140 and counting...) but what we do after we meet is the game changer: we respond.

The mission statement for us 140+ 20/30 somethings explains it perfectly:

"We are imperfect people, living inside our design, building enduring relationships with each other, actively serving the needs of others, and committing to grow deeper in love and faith with Christ."

A couple things were for sure about our "small" group:

We were no longer small...

..."Not So Small Community Group" was a mouthful...

...we were people of action...

...and we needed a name.

Enter: Stretch.

The word "stretch" is an action verb, defined the following ways:

To draw out or extend (oneself) to the limit of one's abilities or talents.

To hold out, reach forth, or extend.

To extend, spread, or place (something) so as to reach from one point or place to another.

To extend, force, or make serve beyond the normal or proper limits.

To be capable of expanding, as to a larger size.

What's amazing about Stretch is that its corporate. Yes, I stretch personally and challenge others to do the same, but my stretching allows for someone else to stretch as well, and so on and so forth. My life, when stretched, is much more impactful alongside others who are doing the same.


So what happens when you stretch?

Your time becomes more important.

Your actions have eternal impact.

You wind up at Safe Haven on Mondays.

You teach ESL to African refugees on Wednesdays.

You help rebuild Nashville through Habitat for Humanity.

You work the lunch shift at Nashville Rescue Mission on Saturdays.

And you do it alongside those you sit with on Sundays.

I have the unbelievable honor and privilege to lead a group at Stretch and serve alongside some of the most dedicated, dynamic individuals. One of our main leaders, Grant Jenkins, made this video to unveil our new name to the group this past Sunday:

Stretch from cpstretch on Vimeo.

I know you all don't live in Nashville, attend Cross Point, or are in the single "20-30 somethings" stage of life, but, just like us, you can stretch.

So go ahead.
Be stretched.
And stretch others while you're at it.

When God Provides

It was finally here. All summer it loomed over my head like a storm cloud, daily reminding me troubles were on the horizon. I didn't know when, but I knew that soon enough it would happen. And as I went to bed last Sunday night, I realized it was here.

For those of you who don't know, I'm currently a graduate student going to school at night and interning during the day. For my summer semester, I had the opportunity to intern full-time at D1 Sports Training, an elite sports training company known for its NFL co-owners such as Peyton Manning, Philip Rivers, and Mike Vrabel, and high-profile clients like Florida Gators (now, Denver Bronco) quarterback, Tim Tebow. There was no way I was going to pass this up. So, since April, I've been averaging 45 hour work weeks... for free. I had some money saved from coaching club volleyball and teaching lessons that would pay the rent for the summer, and ran a few volleyball clinics to help pay for groceries. I did what I could without burning out to survive. But the inevitable was bound to happen.

The money would, at some point, run out.

And last week, it did.

I knew the money was slowly disappearing with every tank of gas I filled and grocery run I made. But when I paid the electric bill and checked my account on Sunday, reality struck. $440 was left in my account with rent due ($419.66) on August 1st. No money for food, for gas, for.. anything. My loans for school were coming in, but not until the end of August. I was in trouble. Could I live for over a month on $20?

I haven't slept that poorly in almost a year. I tossed, turned, and was haunted by nightmares the entire night (most not even having anything to do with my current situation). I woke up multiple times and tried to create a plan for not only the current situation but also all of the uncertainties that lay ahead. That's how my anxiety works. It's never just the here and now. It's always the future, the plan (that I can't control), and all the uncontrollable factors that may come my way. I used to have serious problems with it in the past, worrying and stressing to the point of physical sickness, but I haven't had a flare up in a couple years. This one caught me by surprise.

I spent most of Monday in bed. After my morning run, I literally crawled back into bed and didn't move. I was paralyzed by all that I had to do to figure it out. My cupboards were empty, room was messy (which always adds to my anxiety), and I had no idea what I was going to do. I called my mom, cried a bunch, and listened to her every word of encouragement. (See my last blogpost.) It didn't take away all of my fear, but it did point my focus in the right direction.

Up.

The beginning of anxiety is the end of faith.
The beginning of faith is the end of anxiety.

As I read this phrase over and over (its on my desk, a birthday present from my mom), I realized (as I always do) that my worry adds nothing to my life, but only takes away my peace and ability to trust in God's plan for my life.

I decided to pray, consistently, for the trust that I have learned (from experience) to have in the Lord. Something will work out. He will take care of You, Christina. He always does. My Mom's words stuck in my head. I figured it was more important to pray for my faith and ability to trust than it was to pray for a miracle. I needed to trust Him - miracle or not.

Three days passed. No doors opened, no work came up, and to top it off, I found out the county wouldn't pay me for high school coaching until the end of the season. "I trust You" was the hardest phrase to utter each day.

And then, it happened.

Hi, Christina, it's Kim. Tracey gave me your number and told me to call you. I was supposed to run a volleyball clinic next week for a middle school, but no longer can keep my commitment. Can you run it for me? You will be paid $50 per girl. Give me a call back, we'll chat details.

I listened to the message probably seven times. Next week? Fifty dollars PER girl? Is this a joke? So I listened to the message again. I did the math in my head. I was just offered more money than I had made all summer.

I didn't call Kim right back. I couldn't. I was too busy sitting in my car, crying.

The words of Isaiah kept running through my mind:

Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you.
I've called your name. You're mine.
When you're in over your head, I'll be there with you.
When you're in rough waters, you will not go down.
When you're between a rock and a hard place, it won't be a dead end
Because I am God, your personal God.
Isaiah 43:2-3 (Message)

He is my God. My personal God. And He holds me in the palm of His hands.

---

I still don't have the words to articulate how I feel. I feel as though words might not be necessary here. Can you imagine how I feel? Have you ever been there? At the end of your rope, wondering if there is an answer for the problems you face? Is it money issues? Family issues? A need that hasn't been filled in years, let alone days?

Trusting in God isn't about the miracle that could happen; it's about the security that remains constant. You are in His hands. No matter how rough the seas or dark the sky, He holds you.

God will provide.

Do not fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God's wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It's wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.
Philippians 4:6-7 (The Message)

The Beginning of Faith

There are very few people I know that have a stronger faith than my mom. Regardless of what's going on in my life, she always has a steadfast trust that God is ultimately in control. She doesn't hesitate, question, or sit back and worry. It's simple to her: God is in control.

For my birthday, she sent me a magnet with a handwritten phrase on it (and kindly recites it when on the phone with me listening to my anxious thoughts):

The beginning of anxiety is the end of faith.
The beginning of faith is the end of anxiety.

I've heard it said that unrest and worry aren't stress problems but faith problems. Lucky for me (the worrisome, anxious stress-ball that I typically am) dealing with a faith problem is an easy fix.

Again, my mom kindly recites my "life verse" to me as often as I speak with her. It's almost as if she knew when I was born I would need the constant reminder:

Trust in the LORD with all your heart,
and lean not on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge Him,
and He will direct your path.
Proverbs 3:5-6

The writers in the Bible understood the importance of shedding the fear and worry, too. Again, fixing it is easy.

...cast all your cares on Him.

...do not be anxious about anything.

...fear not, I am with you.

...my peace I give you.


If this anxiety problem is such an easy fix, then why is it a daily struggle? If all I need to do is cast my cares on Him, why do I clutch on to them and let them affect every aspect of my life?


My anxiety problem is nothing less than a faith problem.

The beginning of anxiety is the end of faith.

What about you? Is your anxiety becoming a faith problem? What can you do to fix it?

...The beginning of faith is the end of anxiety.

I Have A Secret

I have a secret to tell you.

I'm a closet romantic. I love love.

I may put up a tough, "all about sports" front but catch me watching a chick flick and you'll see my heart swoon.

Last night, my roommate and I gushed over Mr. Darcy while watching Pride & Prejudice. I can't tell you how many times I've heard, "I love you, most ardently" or "You've bewitched me body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you." My reaction is still the same as it was in high school when the words jumped off the pages. The movie just makes it worse. I'm such a sucker for Mr. Darcy.

Another closet guilty pleasure? The Bachelorette. All through college I rolled my eyes at my roommate and her friends who would gush and swoon over the Bachelor and the contestants on the Bachelorette. I made it a point to be out of the room on Monday nights. Becca, if you're reading this now, I apologize. I get it now.

Thanks to my current roommate, Liz, I now love watching as Ali sorts through 25 men to find true love. Ali was my favorite on the Bachelor, and it broke my heart watching her leave during the top 4. (Yes, that is where I got my start on this obsession.) And now, I weekly watch her quest to find love and outwardly gush as every guy contends for her love. The romance, thoughtfulness, and downright adorable things these guys do for her is amazing. I always find myself on the edge of the couch, sighing, wanting a guy like that in my life.

What is it about love that is so addicting to behold? We cry when hearts are broken, swoon when a man rides in [sometimes literally] to save the day, then throw popcorn at the TV when the movie is over and we come to our senses. Is love like that real?

Then there's the Twilight obsession. Good LORD! Yes, I've read the books. Yes, I love Edward Cullen. Yes, I love Jacob Black. I LOVE them. They would do anything for Bella. No, I don't have any T-shirts, and no I'm not going to the midnight premier, but to be honest? Of course I want a boy like that (without the vampire/werewolf part)!


Okay, joking aside, I'm not crazy about boys and desperate to find love. I feel like I have a good, calm head on my shoulders when it comes to love in reality. Its elusiveness in my life, however, has been channeled into this guilty pleasure of chick flicks, romance, and all things love.


There, I said it.


Any guilty pleasures you're hiding? :)

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

I've been lucky enough to be blessed with an incredible dad. He doesn't typically enjoy the spotlight so today I figure I'd at least give him the spotlight on my blog.

My dad emulates Christ-like character on a daily basis - sure, he's not perfect- but he's a man that God has blessed with both wisdom and discernment in how to be a father, husband, and businessman. Life hasn't always been easy, but my father has continually placed his focus and trust in the Lord to lead him in the way he and his family was to go. He is always last, placing the Lord, my brother, myself and my mom constantly ahead of himself.

Obviously there are countless things a daughter learns from her father, but some things I am particularly thankful for:


-My love and knowledge of cars. Yes, having a mechanic/car-savvy father pays dividends.

-My extremely high standards for a husband. Watching a man live out the Christ-like qualities so many girls think don't exist is a daily reminder that I don't have to settle. Sorry boys!

-My love for hiking. When I was younger I cried the entire way, and once, my dad even pushed me up because I refused to go any further!

-My love (obsession?) with football. It sure helps having a partner in crime any time any game is on!

-My career pursuit. While watching a football game, Dad looked at me and just said "Ever thought of doing what you love for the rest of your life?" Smart thinking, Dad.

-My foundation in Christ. No, I don't live my parents' faith. My Dad (and Mom!) constantly pointed me toward the Lord to find my strength, hope, and source of life. For that, I am forever thankful to both my parents in never forcing a religion or boring set of traditions on me, but for living out a true relationship that I too wanted to have.


Now, typically on Father's Day, my family and I would go to Polar Caves in New Hampshire and go caving. From the Orange Crush to the Lemon Squeeze, my entire family would attempt to get ourselves through the tiny spaces and awkward turns in the caves. It always turned out that my dad had more work than play on his hands, trying to corral my brother and I, get us out of spaces we never should have explored, and tell us when it was time to go. We thought it was his favorite thing in the world. Hopefully he enjoyed it at least a little.


Nowadays, Father's Day is obviously different. I would love to say he's sitting out on the porch with the dog, enjoying a day off, but I know that's not happening. So, whatever you're doing with your time today, happy father's day, Dad! Maybe you can go to Polar Caves with Mom... but I doubt it would be as fun as it used to be.

The Elder Brother

"There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, 'Father, give me my share of the estate.' So he divided his property between them. Not long after that, the young son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living..."

If you're anything like me, you've heard this story a hundred times, typically brought up when a "sinner" has decided to "come back" to the Father. Each pastor that has brought this story forward has had the same emphasis: grace. The prodigal son wasted all he was given, lived a life of poor choices, and, while at the end of his rope, realized the need to return.

Most people find themselves in the story: running from the life we are called to have in Christ, squandering their inheritance in worldly pleasures and wasting all their energy on empty passions. I've heard some preachers go as far to stretch us all into the category of the prodigal son, addressing the congregation to search their hearts and find where it is they are running from the Father and wasting all He has given them. To be completely honest, I would sit in my chair and scan the room, picking out the people I thought needed to return to the Father (and probably should at that very moment). The story never tugged at my heart as much as it did others, but then again: I wasn't anything like the younger brother.

"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. 'For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' So they began to celebrate."

Some of us have never resonated with the younger brother coming home and being restored. Some have stayed at the House, working away and doing what they've been told. The prodigal son story was the week in church they could check out and passively sit, thinking "Oh good, its about time those sinners come back..." And therein lies the problem and the purpose for my writing this: the prodigal isn't the only character in the story.

"Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 'Your brother has come', he replied, 'and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.' The older brother became angry and refused to go in..."

A few weeks ago, Crosspoint did a series called "People of a Second Chance." For three weeks, our church unpacked the "Parable of the Lost Son," with each week dedicated to one of the characters: the prodigal, the elder brother, and the father.

When Jesus told this story, he was addressing both Jew and Gentile, Pharisee and sinner. Each had a role in the story, yet for some reason, the Church and religious do-gooders (still to this day) skip over the elder brother as if he has little importance. But oh, how important his role is.

The older brother did right by the father, staying and working as he was told. His inheritance was safe and sound right where it was meant to be: at home. Day after day he was with his father, working his fields, eating at his table, and conversing with him. Everything seemed fine until that night he came back from the fields... and he heard music...

"'Look! All these years I've been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!'"

I don't know about you, but I know a few older brothers.

Working to get approval from the Father.

Doing the "right thing" out of duty.

Living the "Christian life" feeling overworked and under-appreciated.

A slave in the Father's house.

Notice his choice of words to his father. I have been slaving...

Slaving doesn't bear fruits of comfort, willingness, or peace- traits that should be present between a father and son- but of anger, resentment, and a sense of duty. Slaving isn't family-like; not many welcome it with open arms. But for some reason, the elder brother was convinced he was a slave.

Are you slaving for the Father? Do you feel you have put in years of hard labor out of duty? Think about all that you do in the name of the Father: is it out of the joy of your heart or out of the sermons you've absorbed? Is it rooted in love for the Father or in the system of religion?

What he [and so many other "elder brothers"] didn't realize, though, was that he always had the blessing of the father.

"My son", the father said, "you are always with me, and everything I have is yours."

He could enjoy the many luxuries the father had to offer at any given moment... but he didn't. The elder brother was so focused on doing right and doing his duty that he missed the point all together: being a son to the father.

But another warped perception filled his heart:

"But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home..."

This son of yours.

Not brother of mine.

Not member of our family.

The young brother was disowned in his older brother's mind. There's no way they were in the same family tree.

Who have you disowned? How many times have you sat on the porch, refusing to go in and celebrate one's return because of their past sin? I can hear your excuses now:

But he cheated on his wife!

But she wears a scarlet letter!

You don't get it, he's an alcoholic. He relapses all the time!

He lied to me.

She gambled our money away and lost our house.

The list goes on and on. I know the excuses because not only have I heard them... I've used them.

But here's the catch: it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter what they did to you, who they betrayed, cheated on, or lied to. It doesn't matter how badly you think they "deserve" to suffer. They won't. Returning to the Father has only one catch- they get to come back in.

Every time.

Time after time.

There's no lock on the Father's door.


Be reminded of what the Father says:

"But we have to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found."

This brother of yours was lost and is now found. Celebrate.

A Confident Illusion

I couldn't fight it anymore. The river of emotions that I'd been holding back for weeks was ready to burst like a dam at flood stage. My roommate listened as every shortcoming, fault, and uncertainty that was rooted deep inside poured from my heart. With each confession, I began to see a picture of myself as I really am, solidifying what I've feared most: I am a mess.

--

Throughout my life, the common perception of Christina Ludwick was [and sometimes still is] "That girl's got it together."

In school.
In sports.
At home.
With my friends.
At church.
In planning my future.

And it's my fault people think that.

Having it all together is an illusion I have prided myself in for years. Since the moment I dribbled a basketball and served a volleyball, my identity has been defined by a hardwood floor and the bleachers surrounding it. Wins and losses alongside statistics and recognition built a foundation (and not to mention an ego) that was sure to break some day down the road. (And it did, but I'm not quite ready to revisit that just yet...). But as far as any bystander knew, I had it all and loved every minute of it.

Not quite.

Sure I was a top student and an All-State athlete; most people would kill to have one or the other, let alone both. The problem? That's how I defined myself. I had built up a false sense of self and rooted my security in accomplishments. The roar of the crowd and the pats on the back fed the need to keep the charade going. They thought I was confident, and I promised myself they would never know different.

But oh, how different it was.

Long nights of crying alone in my room. Mornings of staring at the mirror through tear-filled eyes and hating what I saw. Lunch times eating with friends and questioning what they really thought about me. Drives home from practice wondering if people would still like me if I gave it all up.

If I ever had a second of downtime, my mind raced. What if they find out? What if they realize I don't believe half the things people say about me (or that I say about myself)? So I filled my schedule.

The busier I got, the easier it got to drown out the fears. The more in my schedule, the less I thought about who I was letting down. The stronger I portrayed confidence in myself, the deeper my insecurities dug and the more they grew.

You think I would have taken a step back, realized the destructive pattern, and stopped it all together. But that's the problem. Then they would know. They would know I'm not perfect. That I might not love myself. That I was finding my security in people's praise because I couldn't find it in myself. They would know I was a fake.

So the cycle continued.

And it still continues today. As I realized a few days ago.

---

So there we sat, my roommate and I, by the pool as I cried and let every unbecoming thought of myself come out in the open. My dreams remaining stagnant. My goals left unattained. My heart still unfulfilled. My passions drying up. My strength wearing thin.

What if they know I'm not sure of myself? What if they realize I don't have it all together? What will they do when they find out I have open wounds and persistent fears?

My fights and struggles are different today than they were back in high school and college. Some are still the same raging storms returning to wreak havoc on my perfect put-together life. Others are new, unfamiliar fears creeping up on me during my busy life and airtight schedule ready to take me by surprise at any moment. I fought many battles against the insecurities of my past before, and still know them by name.

Success.
Stature.
Respect.
Approval.
Applause.

These monsters still grip me today, much like they did before.

But if I know anything, it is this: God's love is stronger than any insecurity that eats away at my self-worth. He is sovereign and with him I can conquer any obstacle facing me: even those rooted deep inside my soul that I so often choose to bury. I was beautifully and wonderfully made by a Creator who loves me for all that I am, all that I was, and all that I am supposed to be. He loves me in my failures, shortcomings, and biggest mistakes. I serve a God who looks at me regardless of my accomplishments, my strivings, and my good deeds. His love is unconditional, His perception unskewed, and He longs for me to see myself through His eyes.

And I think that's a good place to start.

When we embrace God's sovereignity we find that
confidence increases,
insecurities fade,
worries decrease,
and calmness replaces striving.
-Charles Swindoll-