Karen.

I grew up in Rapid City, South Dakota. It was and is a Christian home. I have 3 sisters who are all now married with kids. Growing up I learned about Jesus all the time. Feeling like the cliché boring story, yet blessed that my story is my own.  My mom is a prayer warrior, so we prayed about everything, from losing her keys (multiple times a day) to each person we saw who we didn’t know, for them to know Jesus. My dad wasn’t as out loud vocal about his faith, but lived it. My favorite memory of him is sitting in his chair every morning, drinking coffee and reading his Bible. He had it balanced on his knee with the worn pages open. Even when we were on trips, he would get up early and sit in the bathroom on the floor to read, so as not to wake us up.

I’m blessed with a special family. I worked at a ranch camp in middle school, of which I had attended since I was 6. It was hard work; a functioning ranch that allowed campers in on the everyday work, horses, watering trees with buckets, picking rocks, memorizing verses, and swimming in the stock dam. It was when my faith started the transition to becoming my own. Late nights and early mornings, more rules than grace, showed me a lot about who I wanted to be and how I wanted to live. Faithful, yet gracious, extending His heart whenever I could, memorizing Scripture not just to do it, but to hide it in my heart, soak in it, love it, let it change me.

This growth continued through high school. I was friends with a lot of people, but not close friends with many. My best friend always and forever was my dog, the most faithful, the best listener: never bullied me, never yelled at me, just listened and cuddled and loved me. High School was a turning point. I always loved having friends who knew Jesus, but I learned to love people who didn’t know him: to love them as they were, in their crap. We all have out story.

After high school, I wanted to go to Bethel University. My sister went there, I wanted to major in Biblical and Theological Studies, as well as Psychology. I visited and cried. These were not good tears. They were mad tears, confused tears. I thought this was my plan and I did NOT like my visit. My plan. What I thought would be best for me. Instead, that same special sister, encouraged me to look into a Discipleship School. 10 months. Ministry, Bible Classes, community.

Kansas City was a special place. Kairos Discipleship School was a piece of my journey that tore down what I believed and helped build it back up with Jesus interwoven in my story, with a faith that was not what I heard, but what I knew. What I could find in Scriptures and defend. What was now a part of who I was in a special way. Thanks Kevin. Lexey. Kaymi. Kaleb. Ericka. Kairos, meaning, a specific time or season, was a gift. I travelled overseas for the first time. For the second time. For a realization that I LOVED the feeling of different food, language, feeling uncomfortable and in the unknown, felt good. Now my heart just wanted to move. Move to an orphanage in east Africa and do whatever menial task I could to love and serve. Dad had other thoughts.

Back to Bethel. My dad, the original best man around, encouraged me towards college. He was a first gen college graduate. He knew what doors education could open. So I prayed. I let him force me to visit Bethel again. I loved it. I would go as an TESL major; teaching English as a Second Language. Bethel challenged me, grew me, and I made friends that are now family.

Following this season I got a job in a tiny little town that I had driven by countless times and never stopped in, this is where I’ve been for the past 9 years. I’m a 6^th grade ESL teacher and love it.  As a teacher I have been able to travel in the summers and teach overseas. I I have worked with over 30 languages and the humans attached to those have stolen my heart, each one. I have been married in this town, or just outside of, grown my family, and learned so much about community.

Our first few months of marriage my dad, my hero, my number one fan died. Death is not something that God created us for.  He was gone. The guy who was NOT a phone talker, always listened.. and talked. He was the first person to call when the school year was done, when the job interview was completed, when the next trip entered my head. He was the guy who gave the absolute best hugs ever, the best girl dad, flowers for every Valentine’s day, and the worst dad jokes that could make anyone laugh. He engaged me in theological conversations, he challenged me to think, he pointed me towards Christ. As a pastor, he didn’t marry any of his girls. He wanted to walk them down the aisle and be their dad. He made it down my aisle, not my little sisters’. He would be so proud of my little growing family heading out to follow Jesus to Kenya. He is missed every day.

Following Jesus doesn’t always look like moving to a different country. For us thus far, it’s looked like  cheering at sports games, opening our home, changing diapers,  going to the park, and loving each other well. I think it will look similar in a different country, it will look like us being who God made us to be, living out our giftings, our unique personalities, and using them to show Jesus in new ways.