Uncategorized – Page 2 – Kayley Chartier

Jesus the carrot farmer: on the New Year and slow sanctification 🥕

If I were to reflect on my 2023, I’d say what I often say to my Freshmen when they turn in an in-class essay five minutes after receiving it: What happened?

I think I wound up flying by the seat of my pants for most of 2023 as my way of trying to adapt to change. First, our schedules were constantly in flux when Calvin went through EMT school and later began working on an ambulance. I tried to balance work with volunteering and cooking (somewhat) balanced meals, learned that I am useless without a grocery list, and ordered from Instacart more than a few times…

We also adopted Liam the cat, who is everything good and chaotic in the world all rolled into one food-motivated cat. We didn’t sleep for about a month after we got him, but he’s definitely (mostly) calmed down now.

2023 was full of a lot of good new things, but I was reminded again and again that I am slowwww to adjust to new.

There was also an element of figuring out what to do with my grief that made the experience of 2023 a little different. I was still carrying the sadness of losing a dear friend the previous year, but nothing prepared me to face more of it when two more friends went to be with the Lord.

There was also the grief of my ongoing health struggles, which I won’t share, but I will say that I reached a bit of a breaking point.

In the spring, I was present during a traumatic medical incident at work, the unfolding of which I honestly didn’t think would affect me much. Little did I know that I would anxiously avoid looking at the parking space where it happened for months. (As a side note, my work did provide me with free counseling following the incident, and I am extremely grateful for that.)

I worried about health changes for my mom.

I worried I’d never be able to sing again when a respiratory virus stuck around for over two months.

Let’s just say that I spent a lot of time just worried.

So yeah, I was frazzled for lots of 2023, and I don’t think I handled all the changes very well. To an outsider, the only place I excelled was in the gym where I went from having the mobility of an 80 year old to being an 80 year old who is kind of able to squat now.

Was 2023 a waste? Was it a flop year? I asked myself this as the year wound down, and I think I have an answer.

Carrots

In 2019 and 2020, I was fully in my gardening phase. The thrill of watching something go from a seed in the back of the junk drawer to something I could actually eat taught me so many beautiful lessons about faith and waiting on the Lord. Perhaps the most important lesson I learned was one that only resonated with me recently–and that is the idea that slow, imperceptible growth is still growth.

In the season of daily getting my hands in the dirt, carrots were the most annoying crop to grow because I didn’t have a constant visual on them like I had with the broccoli and peas. Sure, there was a ballpark estimate for when they’d be done, but you had to be careful not to get ahead of yourself and uproot what was still developing beneath the soil.

And I think sanctification, the process of Holy-Spirit directed, godly growth, is a bit like growing carrots. If we are to have faith that God can shape us into the likeness of Jesus, then we can’t dig up the crop in haste. Our timelines are superfluous when it comes to the things of God.

Grace and goals and the God who does not give up on us

I didn’t *become* who I thought I would in 2023. I didn’t dramatically improve my guitar skills, and I didn’t perfect my strict pull-up in the gym. I didn’t achieve my goal of reading my Bible every single morning (though a few podcasts did help me to keep the scriptures in my ears all year). And I worried a lot.

My all-or-nothing part of my brain says it’s a waste if I didn’t get it all right, why try again? And yet, the grace of God is always greater when I come up short.

And even though I may not have met all of my external, measurable goals, I know that ever-faithful Jesus had good in store and still changed me in 2023:

After seeing Him come through in ways I didn’t know He ever would this year, I know that I trust Him more, specifically in His ability to provide!
I’ve learned that time spent earnestly talking to God in the middle of the night is sometimes better than checking 15 minutes of Bible reading off my morning to-do’s.
I’ve learned how to be vulnerable and bring Him my grief, even if I can only sit at His feet and weep.
I’ve learned that it is incredibly healthy to push myself beyond my limits—such as showing up to gym classes (still scary, but still doing it scared) and running the Wharf to Wharf with my amazing MIL.
I’ve learned that the church, the body of Christ, is truly a gift that Christ wants us to receive and accept, and to also choose to be part of. We are stronger together. I am stronger when I seek the help I need.

The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and rich in steadfast love and faithfulness (Exodus 34:6). He has good plans for us, but that doesn’t mean that his plans are always going to line up with our plans. He is the God who does not despise the day of small things (Zechariah 4:10). I think the adventure of learning to follow Jesus is not that we would try to twist his arm into following the map we’ve drawn, but instead following Him so far away from the shore that we have no choice but to trust that He’s leading us to a new country instead of the open sea. Trust is the key word there. I’m still praying about my word for the year (the last two were Peace), so maybe this year will be Trust.

I think He wants us to dream big and pray big, crazy prayers that seem so out of reach that only God could make them possible.

That’s what I plan to do in 2024.

Cheers to a grace-filled year of walking with Jesus, the very good and capable carrot farmer.

-Kayley

Also! If you want to listen to the podcasts I’m using to supplement my Bible reading, you can find them here!

Let’s Read the Gospels by Annie F. Downs

Lisa Harper’s Back Porch Theology

Daily Audio Bible with Brian Hardin

Are you leading somewhere good, God?

The first thing I learned about Iowa was that it does, in fact, exist. The second was that you can land a plane on a runway strip in the middle of a cornfield and nobody will think twice about it.

It was the trip we had been discussing for six months. Shortly after we got married, Calvin became interested in attending a local chiropractic college, but just after being accepted, the campus announced that they were shutting their doors. It was pretty heartbreaking. I was sure that meant it was the end of the road for that career, but soon after, he began to consider the same school’s sister campus in a little town in Iowa.

I didn’t want to move to Iowa. I didn’t even want to visit! I tried (and mostly failed) to be positive about it all, just trying to grapple with the idea that God could be leading me somewhere I was reluctant to go and it could still be good.

Per the advice of my counselor, I began to pray and to research. I found POV Youtube videos of people driving around every inch of the town (because apparently this is a thing?!) so I could get a better feel for where we might live. I looked for teaching opportunities at schools in the area and even across the river in Illinois. On sleepless nights, I stayed up to read just about every forum I could find on various Iowa-related things.

Before we knew it, we were on the plane. (You know… the one that landed in a cornfield?!). I’m glad we could laugh and goof off throughout the flight because it was a good distraction from my nerves. The entire time I was praying that the Holy Spirit would give me clarity and peace. That if we were meant to move, I would actually welcome the idea. I made a promise to myself that during our trip I would not say a single thing to sway the decision, and I pleaded to God that He would help me to uphold that promise.

We got an Uber at the airport and drove to a little river town full of friendly people and buildings largely made of red brick. Everything seemed different from California, but I liked that. Sometimes it’s fun to feel like foreigner! Plus, I liked how Iowans said cute things like “you bet,” and how they left off the ing from any word that naturally had one. I learned from the students I met that if it was snowin’, they were either walkin’ to the pub to hang with friends, or eatin’ ice cream at the parlor downtown.

That first night, we ran around the local museum and enjoyed some pub food as we tried to envision ourselves as Midwesterners.

This plate of Schnitzel made it to my list of best meals I’ve had in my life!

The next morning, Calvin and I took an all-day tour of the school. For a small campus, it was pretty impressive. I was intrigued at the fact that everything had to be indoors due to the harsh winters, another thing Californians don’t truly understand. Each hall was different but made with the same beautiful red brick and decorated with royal purple banners.

At the end of the day, Calvin and I sat on a curb and waited for our Uber. This town was so small that we rode with the same Uber driver twice!

“So, what did you think?” I asked, fairly certain I knew the answer. We held hands and chatted. I felt peace and safety, grateful for my husband’s love for me. We were in this together. No matter what we decided, we’d have each other, and we’d have the Lord to rely on.

One year later

Short story long, we actually didn’t move! Sometimes I wonder why we went through that season of waiting and wondering, only to decide not to go. Though reluctant, by the time we reached Iowa, I was so prepared to move that deciding not to felt strange. I know I’ve asked God more than once why the way forward wasn’t clear before had bought the plane tickets.

But perhaps it was all another opportunity to grow in trust of the God who always provides for where He leads. Perhaps the Lord was helping us to grow not only in our marriage, but in our faith in His faithfulness.

But I guess we can join the club, right? There are countless examples from scripture of men and women who learned how to trust the leading of the Lord, even when the way forward was unclear:

Noah spent years building the ark in faith when God said it would rain (Hebrews 11:7).
Abraham left civilization to follow God “without understanding where he was going” (Hebrews 11:8-9).
Even the disciples (whom I’m told more closely resembled a modern-day youth group than a bunch of wise men with beards) took a chance on the carpenter who said, “Come, follow me.” (Matthew 4:19).

Arguments made for the authenticity of these stories can be supported by the fact that the Bible writers don’t attempt to cover the fallenness of God’s human witnesses. After the floodwaters receded, Noah got drunk and naked (Genesis 9:21). Abraham trusted God to provide land and a son… until he didn’t and slept with his wife’s handmaiden in a misguided attempt to produce an heir (Genesis 16:2-4). The Apostle Peter was one of those twelve who left everything behind to follow Jesus, but if you’ve read the gospels, you’ll know him as the poster child for impatience, weak faith, and sometimes even weaker character. The point of these accounts is never the goodness of man but the great faithfulness and love of God.

I particularly wonder if we’re told about how Peter hesitated to walk on water with Jesus to paint a realistic image of the journey of faith (Matthew 14:22-33).

Where He leads, He provides

We didn’t move to attend the midwestern school with the purple banners, but I realized the other day that Calvin now drives around in a royal purple ambulance in a job that has been yet another example of the provision and faithfulness of the Lord.

I’m confident that if we had moved to Iowa, we would have found new jobs, a new church, and a new community. Heck, maybe we would have even come to like the snow! It would have been an adventure, for sure.

And yet, is it not still an adventure trusting the Lord with each day, hour, and moment, and to learn how to lean on His Spirit as we strive to be obedient in whatever He asks of us? Whether the Lord is asking us to lay something down or to take up a new role, we have to keep our eyes open and our hearts softened in order to trust that He is leading us somewhere good. I drive pretty much everywhere with my GPS on, but I pay much closer attention when I’m trying to just follow Calvin’s little green minivan. The same kind of attentiveness can be cultivated in us when we watch and wait for the Lord in uncertain seasons.

Flourishing in the house of God

The olive tree logo for my blog is actually based on a verse that has reminded me to stay close to the Lord and trust Him over the years:

8 But I am like an olive tree
    flourishing in the house of God;
I trust in God’s unfailing love
    for ever and ever.
⁹For what you have done I will always praise you
    in the presence of your faithful people.
And I will hope in your name,
    for your name is good.

-Psalm 52:8-9

May we pray that our hands stay open to what He has for us, knowing that God is good, and that we can trust Him wherever He leads.

God is not a man named Max who owns a garden store: on Ricky Bobby, G.K. Chesterton, and the gospel of Burger King

So… what’s up with this title?

I wish I knew the original thought behind it. Sometimes I wake up abruptly in the night with an idea that just MUST be recorded and, well, this was one of my recents.

There was also an elaborate dream about being a speaker at the Super Bowl, which should tell you how much my subconscious mind knows about the Super Bowl.

Despite being the product of 2am brain waves, I do think I can take a guess at where I was going with this. Perhaps my subconscious was picking up on something my brain has been processing lately: the nature and character of God.

I live in America: land of the free, home of the brave, but I must acknowledge that it is also the land of the Super-Walmart and the Big Gulp. Though I am grateful for the opportunity and freedom to make my life what I want it to be, I can’t apply that same “Have it Your Way” mentality to God and expect his character to be just as it is represented in the scriptures.

So basically, God can’t be whoever I want him to be and still be God.

Cradle to Cross

I first came to grips with this idea when I was preparing for the first-ever message I gave in a church. My pastor asked if I would give a short Christmas teaching and I, halfway through my Bible degree, was incredibly excited to share some of what I had learned. My message, titled “From the Cradle to the Cross” discussed the incomplete picture of Christ which results from keeping our ideas of Jesus limited to the tiny, helpless baby lying in the manger.

In the movie Talladega Nights, Ricky Bobby announces that he prefers to pray to Baby Jesus.

Jesus “meek and mild”

G.K. Chesterton wrote about this concept in The Everlasting Man, explaining how the picture of “Gentle Jesus, meek and mild” is an incomplete image. In a passage I find slightly humorous, but not the least bit untrue, Chesterton writes,

“If there is one aspect of the New Testament Jesus in which he may be said to present himself eminently as a practical person, it is in the aspect of an exorcist. There is nothing meek and mild, there is nothing even in the ordinary sense mystical, about the tone of the voice that says ‘Hold thy peace and come out of him.’ It is much more like the tone of a very business-like lion-tamer or a strong-minded doctor dealing with a homicidal maniac. But this is only a side issue for the sake of illustration; I am not now raising these controversies; but considering the case of the imaginary man from the moon to whom the New Testament is new.”

The idea that Jesus is meek is not untrue, but it’s not a wholistic picture. Jesus, the very image of God the Father (John 14:8-9) cannot merely be meek if he is to be Savior. Ricky Bobby in Talladega Nights might have liked the “eight-pound six ounce, newborn infant Jesus,” but we need the wholistic picture for God to really be God.

Don’t worship a guy named Max who owns a garden store

Back to that ridiculous but apt title.

My natural flesh-self (which always gravitates toward the path of least resistance) does not like the Jesus who asks me to submit to anyone’s will but my own. If I’m not paying attention to how God reveals his character to his children, I might invent a god.

The god of my invention likes who I like and hates who I hate.

He always agrees with me.

He is always “loving,” never convicts or corrects me, and doesn’t make me feel bad.

The god I invent most definitely would never ask me to do something I don’t want to do.

The god of my creation might as well be a guy named Max who owns a garden store: unoffensive, stays out of my business, nice. But this god is also powerless to change me, heal me, and save me. The god I invent is full of “grace,” but not truth. On other days, I might invent a god who is all about “truth” (read: very angry at me and everyone) but lacks the grace we see the true God bestowing all over scripture.

Sorry, Max.

If I am to follow the true God, I need to submit myself to all of him: all of his titles and character traits He himself has revealed through Scripture; to all of His sides and colors and flavors and fragrances, not just the ones I prefer. And the thing is, I actually want Him more, the real, true God. At least I do when I taste and see that He actually is as good as He says He is (Psalm 34:8).

In my eight years of reborn-ness, I have only just begun to dive into the mystery of the true God– the one who is better than anything I could make up. I know Him now to be the one who has healed my mother’s sickness and healed my heart of so much bitterness and fear.

When I was going through a breakup a few years ago, I begged God to remove my pain with a sort of spiritual codeine, but He didn’t. I didn’t get that for a bit. All I wanted to was bargain and moan and be numbed because I felt like my heart was split in two. There were some very tender moments in that season where I would cry out to Him, usually after reading in the Psalms, and though I still felt the pain, I could also feel Him coming close to me and feeling it with me. It was consistent with his character– how He sent Jesus in the form of man, not only to heal us and forgive us of our sins, but also to be WITH us. The God who does that… that’s a God I want to serve.

The closest thing to a “garden store” near me is the farm stand about a mile down the road from me.

For reasons unknown to me, the Lord may not remove every obstacle in my path, and I can trust Him even so because He has proven himself to be trustworthy, faithful, and true. He has named himself Abba (Father; Gal. 4:6), Shalom (Peace, Judges 6:24), Rapha (Healer, Exodus 15:26), and Jireh (Provider, Gen. 22:14). I may not know the depths of each of those names or characteristics yet, but I know they all describe the same God who somehow desires that I know Him.

It reminds me of when Mr. Beaver speaks to Lucy about Aslan in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. “He’s not safe,” he says. “Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

For the Beauty

For the Beauty of the Earth,

For the glory of the skies,

For the love which from our birth

Over and around us lies.

Lord of all to thee we raise

This, our hymn of grateful praise.
Elliot Sanford Pierpont

I’ve been sitting on this blog post for a week, terrified that I was not speaking truthfully. I started out writing about birds–about the surprise of finding forgotten or overlooked beauty and delighting in the Creator of it. I do think what I was writing was true, but I was in conflict with my own heart as it grieved. Now I think I’ve got it right.

I am a self-proclaimed beauty-seeker. The tagline for this very website is something that became sort of a motto for myself as I began writing in college: Found in Christ, Finding Him in everything. It truly is my heart’s cry. I see the Lord in the vineyards around my neighborhood and remember Jesus as the True Vine. I see Jesus when I throw together the three meager ingredients of flour, salt, and water and watch as they turn into bread that will sustain. My day is filled with prayers as I expectantly wait to see Jesus in everything.

And I usually do.

But this year, it’s been particularly difficult.

When life is not beautiful

The hard part of becoming a beauty-seeker is balancing hope with the present reality. It’s seeking the glimpses of Heaven, yet never painting the brokenness of the world to be what it actually isn’t. I’ve learned this this year after losing three friends who were like family. One I found out about only a week ago.

Death is disturbing, not beautiful. I don’t care how many times Disney tries to reframe it: death in and of itself is not beautiful. We who are too used to the world’s patterns of shatteredness will rationalize it as “natural” and “part of life,” but it’s flat not. Death was never God’s perfect plan for humanity, and I think accepting that theological reality is a necessary part of grieving well. The wrong-ness of death is why Jesus, just moments from pulling him from a grave didn’t just stand dry-eyed when his friend Lazarus died. He wept (John 11:35).

I knew these things, yet through all three losses, I was tempted to beautify death– to offer platitudes to grieving people in the name of comfort because I felt responsible to make things okay. And to be completely honest, I didn’t trust that God was interested in doing that.

All the sad things untrue

Recently I was listening to a podcast on anxiety that stopped me in my tracks. Speaking about his book The Anxiety Opportunity, author and theologian at Duke Divinity school, Curtis Chang explained that while anxiety is the fear of loss, the hope of the Resurrection in Jesus Christ makes it possible for one to endure anxiety because it ensures that all loss will be restored:

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:4)

Though the conversation focused on anxiety and not death, I found this point to be the very thing my heart needed to honestly grieve death before the Lord.

He shall restore.

The resurrection is the answer to death because Jesus’ victory is the death of death. Do you see how much emotional and psychological freedom comes from this truth? In the light of the Resurrection, we are free to let the losses truly be losses because we know a God who will restore.

In the light of the Resurrection, we are free to let the losses truly be losses because we know a God who will restore.

The Christian life does not guarantee the prevention of loss. It guarantees it (John 16:33). And some things will simply not be become fully beautiful in this life. Some people won’t get healed. The glimpses of glory and beauty we get in this life are all sweet visions of what await, but saying that everything will be beautiful in this life is misleading.

But God. How often I forget that it will be worth the wait to see what He is preparing for us. Sin wrecked this world bad, but the cross was an offensive move that tore apart every barrier standing between the King and his people. Jesus is not standing passively by in our pain. Just as God heard Israel’s cries from slavery, he will redeem us from the pain, the ultimate being separation from Him. The cross that cost him so much reminds us of the ugliness of death, but the empty tomb reminds us that God restores everything in the end.

This is no empty promise, no flimsy sales pitch, no bait and switch. It is something strong I can lean on even as I weep.

We can grieve fully because we know that the Beautiful Savior will restore everything to beauty once more.