Week 51: Back Where It All Began (Part 2)

I have so many thoughts and feelings about this picture. The first is that it TRULY captures how utterly exhausted we all are. (At least the three on the left!) You can see it in our faces, the kind of tired that doesn’t just come from a long week, but from years of showing up, giving everything you have, and still waking up to do it all again. The past six years have taken a lot out of us. Personally. Professionally. And honestly, those lines have always been a little blurry for us. The work we do is deeply personal, it’s not something we can easily clock out of at the end of the day. Every success, every heartbreak, every “why are we doing this again?” moment. It all runs together. But maybe that’s what this photo shows most clearly: the cost of caring deeply and the quiet resilience that comes from still standing side by side after everything.

This picture also tells another story.

Six years ago, I walked into Austin New Church with nefarious intentions, determined to find something wrong, something heretical, something that would confirm every stereotype I had already built in my head. But, to my surprise, I found none. That particular Sunday, the message wasn’t about politics or theology. It was about people. The pastor spoke about their ministry at the border, about compassion, about welcoming those seeking refuge, about love that moves beyond comfort zones and crosses boundaries. I remember sitting there, slightly disarmed, realizing that what I was witnessing wasn’t rebellion against faith.

It was faith lived out in its purest form.

And then, six years later, there I was, sitting on their stage, sharing that very story with their congregation. The irony wasn’t lost on me. To be welcomed back by the same community I once judged from a distance felt humbling, even holy. It reminded me that grace has a funny way of circling back, teaching us that transformation doesn’t always come in lightning bolts. Sometimes, it comes quietly, in the form of people who simply choose to love well.

The story I shared was one I’ve told many times before, including here. But it begs repeating, because I truly believe it’s the only way forward when it comes to where we are as a society. Six years ago, Jamie and I went to breakfast with Jason, eager to learn more about the work Austin New Church was doing at the border. We spent 90 minutes learning about the ministry and enjoying some of the best breakfast tacos I’ve ever had in my entire life… until Jason dropped a bombshell in the last five minutes of our time together.

With a wry smile, he mentioned that his denomination would likely be removing him for his decision to perform marriages for gay couples.

He went on to say that graduates of Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS) and churches like Dallas Bible Church refer to him as a heretic… and that statement landed heavier than he probably realized. For one, I graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary. And two, we just so happened to be driving to Dallas later that same day—to stay with a family who faithfully attended Dallas Bible Church.

It was a strange, almost divine irony. In the span of a few hours, we’d move from sitting across the table from a man accused of heresy to sleeping under the roof of people who might fully agree with that assessment. It was a quiet collision of worlds I once thought were firmly divided—one that forced me to reckon with what I really believed about faith, conviction, and who gets labeled “heretic” in the first place.

But, there was one thing I was certain of: I couldn’t dismiss the REAL fruit I saw in Jason and the work he was doing.

That evening in Dallas, we shared our experience at Austin New Church with a family from Dallas Bible Church. Their response was telling. They seemed genuinely perplexed, perhaps even unsettled, that we would attend a service there, let alone spend time with Jason. Their faces said everything before their words did. Confusion. Discomfort. Maybe even a little disgust. They couldn’t understand why we would step foot in a place like ANC, let alone share a meal with its pastor. That reaction stayed with me, because it revealed something deeper than theological disagreement.

It exposed a fear of proximity.

A couple of days later, I reached out to Jason. I told him I sensed God was about to lead me on a journey, and that I’d be grateful to have him as someone I could process things with—to ask questions, wrestle honestly, and maybe find some guidance along the way. His response was short and direct. He declined. (And, to be fair, I didn’t blame him.)

But a couple of day later, he circled back and said that he’d had a change of heart. Maybe he felt guilty, but I seriously doubt that was the case. Maybe he was curious. Maybe it was half a dozen other reasons. I’ve never asked him and, at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. But I can tell you that having that connection, that sounding board, was pivotal to my faith journey. There are moments from living on the road, seared into my brain, like the time I spent 30 minutes pacing in between rows of RV’s at a camp ground near the Montana and Canadian boarder. I was questioning so many things I had been taught through the patriarchal lens of scripture, pulling threads that would lead to unraveling.

Circling gravel loops under a cold sky, wrestling with questions I had never allowed myself to ask before. Those theological threads, woven through a lifetime of teaching, I could feel them loosening, one by one. It was terrifying and liberating all at once. That unraveling wasn’t the end of my faith; it was the honest beginning of it.

Going back to Austin was healing.

Being away from Chattanooga was needed.

And now that we’re back, it’s time to get to work.