Church, even if you lose, you’re still on the winning side.

Tuesday is coming.

Americans sprawled from the east to the west coasts will watch as ballots are counted. State by state, county by county, polling location by polling location, one by one. I imagine there will be an array of feelings sweep across the nation as the numbers inch higher and higher.

Some will celebrate at the end of the night, beaming with pride, “Yeah, that was my vote. The right vote.” There may be applause, or there might be a quiet sigh of relief in homes across the nation.

Some will be on the winning side and might wonder how anyone could have voted for that one.

Others will be disappointed, maybe even outraged. Heads will shake, “How are we going to get through these 4 years?” Surely there will be angry Facebooks posts, and maybe even tears shed for the loss.

Some will be on the losing side and might wonder how anyone could have voted for that one.

This Tuesday could be a Tuesday we always remember. We don’t know how it’s going to shake out, or what’s going to happen in the wake of the results. As we prepare for it, let us remember:

The sovereignty of God is not threatened,

the Kingdom is not in trouble,

and even if you “lose,” you’re still on the winning side.

There’s not a perfect savior on this earth, unless His name is Jesus from Nazareth, the Christ. That name was 100% not found on my ballot last week. And according to my Bible, He isn’t confined to one political system. In fact, He disrupted the political system of His time.

For me, as I prayed for this election, I thought foremost of my refugee friends and students. I considered how to make my vote count for them. Their faces came to mind every time I prayed for this election. I felt a deep conviction, as I have for a few years now, to speak up on their behalf.

I’m guessing you probably had other people and ideas engraved on your heart when you considered who to vote for. Someone came to mind. Something stirred you. It may not have been my refugee friends, but someone compelled you to vote for them.

Your and my convictions might have led us to vote for different people, but neither of us are more loved by God. Neither are we more approved. Let’s boldly believe that His hand of guidance was on me just as much as it was on you too.

It’s amazing to me how a church spread across a continent can pray about who to vote for. And still, there will not be one consensus. There’s room for people representing ideas on both sides of the aisle.

God will not send down an angel to command each of us who to vote for. He did not write that verse in the Bible. No, that is not His way. Why? Because He is not a dictator, tyrant, or bully. Our hope is not in the most powerful person in the world – not even the President of the United States.

Our hope is better; it’s in Christ.

As believers step into voting booths, we’ll find there will not be only one answer to prayers. I really believe that God, in His sovereignty, will lead his church to vote for more than one person. The church will represent every name on the ballot. The church will identify with more than one candidate’s story and heart.

You know, maybe even Kanye’s.

Friends, that is the sovereignty of God. The indescribable, unknowable plans of the master craftsman. I can barely comprehend it. He is not put into a single checked box. He is not a simple answer. The sovereignty of God leads a nation of believers to vote for different people, and still accomplish His plans. The systems and politics of this world don’t perfectly align with His heart.

Our hope for something better cannot be satisfied in one vote for a political leader; the hope He offers is far greater. We don’t hope in man to work things out for us. We hope in a God who is so intimately at work in the very minds, hearts, and souls of humanity that we can’t even begin to unravel His plans.

Your vote matters, and your voice needs to be heard. But you can’t mess this up. God is still here, fighting on behalf of His church in ways that we can’t even explain.

So what do we do on an election day?

We go to God. We pray. We definitely vote. We love our neighbors, brothers, and sisters despite their vote. And we stand with an unwavering resolved to seek His glorious face, knowing that His embrace will never be loosened. We might even remind ourselves  –  

The sovereignty of God is not threatened,

the Kingdom is not in trouble,

and even if you “lose,” you’re still on the winning side.

Only Jesus can uplift us from across a room, encouraging and teaching us without a word.

The church is meeting again, but the sanctuary feels more empty now. Our chairs are carefully measured 6 feet away from the next family’s, and we’re told to leave the room quickly after service ends so the room can be properly sanitized before the next service.

It’s different from the church I’m used to – the one where we’re packed closely together on long pews, the church where we look for those to wrap our arms around as soon as the music stops. It’s different from the days when we slowly watched others leave as we stood around talking, and looked for people to connect with.

Church may look different during this season, but one thing I am certain of: our gathering is not in vain.

Last week, I stood in that big sanctuary, swaying along to music. Under my mask, my face felt warm as I sang along to words I know by heart. My arms hung loosely by my side.

Out of the corner of my eye, movement caught my eye. I looked across the sanctuary to see a mom clapping with her young son. He was maybe 6 or 7. The lyrics continued spilling from my lips as I watched her carefully. This momma was clapping, swaying, air drumming along to the music with her little guy.

But not just her. Next to her, who I assume to be, her husband had a toddler on his hip. He wasn’t air drumming, but he was swaying and swinging her around. He was looking right at her, and he smiled broadly as their lips moved with the words of the music.

And together, this small family worshipped Jesus.

Even from across the room, their joy was evident. Each one of them were loving this moment together. They looked like they were having the time of their lives while worshiping Jesus, and I immediately thought: I hope I can be a mom like that one day.

The stream of hopes for the future came –

I hope I can teach the next generation the joy of singing to Jesus. I want to be bold enough to move for Him. I want to be that mom that sways and dances and smiles for Him too. I want my little ones to look at me as the momma who makes loving Jesus exciting, joyful, full of life. I hope, I hope, I hope. One day.

This family looked like there was nowhere else they’d rather be in the world than in this mask-filled, socially distanced sanctuary praising the Lord. And yet, here I was in awe of them, waiting for some distant day to suddenly worship in a way that reflects the true joy in my heart.

I was loving this family’s joy and counting myself out of it. My own arms suddenly felt stiff, hanging heavily by my side.

But a strange thing happened. I realized that joy is promised to all believers. No conditions or prerequisites, other than loving Him first.  

I continued singing, and I felt a smile draw on my face – I realized that I don’t have to wait for that joy. I have full permission in my Savior to celebrate Him joyously now. I don’t have to be a mom to let my happiness in Him be evident, or to encourage others. I get to live that now. I get to sway, sing, dance, air drum – if I so please – even now.

I get to enjoy worshipping Him today.

I looked around the sanctuary and saw other dads holding their daughters, sons standing on their seat with an arm around their momma’s neck – so many sweet pictures of gospel love. Our voices were lifted up to our King, and my arms raised in obedient joy. I didn’t air drum that morning, but I was refreshed in the Lord by this family’s simple desire to worship happily.

So to the moms and dads worried about making it to church during this season, I am watching from you and am learning so much from you right now. Children’s classes may be cancelled, but there is truly no need to worry what the rest of us think of your kids in the sanctuary. Your leading them in worship is leading me too. Your joy is filling the space; you’re setting an example for so many of us.

By the way, this is why we’re going to church right now. Only Jesus can uplift us from across a room, encouraging and teaching us without a word. There are challenges to meeting together, and it may feel strange to wear a mask while singing, but the joy of lifting our voices to the Lord together is incomparable.

I’m really grateful for family worship this COVID-19 season has unexpectedly lavished upon us, because we get to see love in new ways. The discomforts of the season are worth the opportunity to even be nearer to other believers, and to witness firsthand accounts of loving well.

Friend, whether you’re the mom air drumming or the shy girl just faithfully singing along, I bet your worship is encouraging others from across the room in more ways than you can see. Don’t shy away. Someone (me) draws so much strength from your love for Jesus.

It’s good to be back.

Hang On, Heaven is Coming

We are told to be alone right now, and I keep thinking about heaven.

We are hunkered down at home. Some of us have finally gotten around to, and even finished, those projects we never thought we’d start. Others of us have given an embarrassing amount of time to Words With Friends; I somehow land in both categories.

We can’t go anywhere, and it’s not normal. Well, I suppose it’s our “new normal.”

The loss still feels strange. All the coffee dates that never happened, and the concerts and weddings that were cancelled. Everything we used to do and not think twice about is gone for now. Every plan we dragged our feet about making was postponed before it even made it on the calendar.

Perhaps for the first time in our Westernized lives, we are experiencing what it means to have our wants, comforts, and everyday routines removed from us. We’ve never really treaded these waters before. In our culture that prizes comfort, where even our poorest live in luxury compared to others in the world and throughout history, having anything taken from us is hard.

But it’s not just our favorite coffee houses or local shops that have been taken. Our entire sense of normalcy has been uprooted. And as we get honest with ourselves in these quiet moments, we’re realizing how people – friends, family, coworkers, strangers at the grocery store – play a vital role in our daily rhythm.

We are a people who are learning to look ahead to the right things now, and the more I think on this, the closer it brings me to heaven.


Of all the losses, not being at church has been the hardest.

We can’t gather in the sanctuary to worship God. No one is crowding in living rooms with Bibles open. There’s not a host welcoming you in for dinner right now. This isn’t time to pull a friend into a hug as you pray grace over her, or look into someone’s eyes to ask, and wait for the response, “How are you doing?”

In its place is a schedule of Zoom calls and livestreams, a never-ending stream of Marco Polos and text messages.

At first it was exciting. Oh, let’s gather in our neighbor’s home to watch the church service. We’ll cook breakfast, and it’ll be fun.

Then we said, Let’s watch the church service in our living room, snuggled with the cats with a cup of coffee in hand, fresh cinnamon rolls in front of me. We can get through this. This isn’t so bad.

Weeks in and the coffee seems to get cold a little faster. And the cinnamon rolls? Not as fresh.

This seeps into every aspect of community. I usually share an office space with some of the God-loving women I most admire, but for 5 weeks now, my “office space” has been a blue plastic tote next to my dining room table and my “work attire” has been chinos and house shoes.

The coffee just gets colder when we’re alone.


Even the most introverted, home-bodied of us all need to be near others.

As I’ve settled into self-isolation, there is an aching growing at the center of me. It’s this humble confession: I long to be in community again.

I’m restless to raise my hands in worship with the congregation, and to be with my brothers and sisters again. I want to hear a whole body of believers lifting their voices in adoration to the Lord, and to feel the friend beside me scripting notes as the pastor leads us through a passage.

There has to be something, someone, some group you miss too? Not one of us has walked this season without giving up something.

We were not meant to be alone. I am understanding that now – in these wild days of global pandemic – more than ever. As I look ahead to the day when I can be in community again, away from this exile on the Persinger’s carpeted island with the olive wreath on the door, it’s all I can do to think how tightly I’m going to hug some people.

I have a feeling that when we go back to church, when everything gets back to normal, we will love the people when we walk through the doors more honestly and openly than we ever have before.

Can you imagine how amazing those greetings are going to be?


Friends, we are getting ready for a glimpse of heaven.

I know we feel alone and disconnected right now. Even the most introverted of us; I know because I’m one of them. We long for hugs and to lock eyes with another person. My soul feels it – that need to pull another person in close, to hear the voice of a brother singing, to see a sister’s face light up and hands raised in worship.

At the end of these days await once-in-a-lifetime reunions. And these will be glimpses of heaven we’ve not ever seen before. I really believe this.

Because at the end of this isolation are restored greetings with brothers and sisters, people we have missed. And not just any reunion; it’s going to be a reunion of tears. Tight hugs. Laughter and wide smiles. Waiting for us around this corner is a renewed love for the gifts we have, starting with the congregation of God.

I don’t have answers for most things in this life, including the whys and hows of this pandemic we are living in. But if there is one thing I am certain of in this life it’s that God doesn’t waste. He’s going to use this, and is already, to tell us something.

I’m not the first person to think this. I’ve heard other believers, both friends and leaders alike, voice this too. But, what if just one way that God is speaking to us right now is by giving us a unique opportunity to savor this moment of looking forward to being with brothers and sisters again?

What if He’s allowing us to truly miss and appreciate the gift of friendship and camaraderie that we take for granted every week? What if we are being beckoned into a deeper love for the community He has given us?


So this is how, as I sit in the quiet of my home, busying myself with tasks and spending extra time FaceTiming, I can’t help but feel drawn toward heaven.

We are looking ahead to the most rich, genuine earthly reunions we’ve ever been a part of. Our arms will be stretched wider than ever before, and our joy will run in tears down our faces as we finally feel together again. Sometimes when I imagine that first Sunday back at church, in some future day, that hope is enough for the moment; it’s only a snapshot compared to the glorious reunions we’ll experience in heaven, and yet, it’s enough.

They say we’re living in unprecedented times, but I think the remarkable thing about it all is that when these days of heaviness are lifted, the joy and gratefulness to follow will be unlike anything we’ve experienced here before.

So when this is over, when we’re a little wiser and patient and quicker to show our love to others, just remember that this is our glimpse into the heavenlies.

We’re eager to greet one another at the end of this season. There’s another day we’re eager for: it’s the day when our mourning and sojourning on earth will finally be brought to an end, and we’ll make it the glory of heaven we were created for. We’ll see our beloved brothers and sisters in restored bodies, and meet our Savior face to face. There will no tears or fear, but we will only know how to love and live in community without any disease or fear; there will be no comparison to that joy.

But hang on, because pretty soon, we’ll return to the sanctuary on earth and we’ll get to peer into the heavenlies disguised as long-missed earthly gatherings.

Let’s sit in the presence of this season, yes, but let’s also look ahead. Let’s not miss the opportunity to catch a glimpse of glory, even here.

When Betty Humbled Me

Smells of meat and rice interlaced with turmeric, coriander, and cumin wafted from the kitchen. Folding chairs lined the walls of the living room, save for a corner where a table of desserts covered the surface. Music with beats and tones that blended in the Middle East saturated the air we mingled in.

Travis and I had been invited to a feast, and the celebration would not be taken lightly.

Marking the end of a month of fasting, this feast would be a time to gather and make up for all the food missed out on over the weeks. Students of mine for nearly 2 years, the hosts – a Kurdish husband and wife duo – had invited their American friends to the party.

I should say, they only invited their American friends to the party.

When I slipped my shoes off just past the threshold of the front door, my eyes adjusted quickly to the realization that I was with white strangers. There were about a dozen Americans – adults and kids – occupying the seats and sitting cross-legged on the large area rug.

I would later learn that some of these folks had been invited by the other Americans in the room, and not our Kurdish hosts. Yet, it would take me most of the night to realize that these were most likely all the Americans my friends knew – even the ones they were only on meeting this night.

But honestly, a dozen American friends is more than most refugees and immigrants with limited English have.

Betty was one of these white women I met that night as we held foam plates nearly overflowing with food. She was older and reminded me of someone who had seen Nashville before it was what it is today. The lines on her face spoke of wisdom and her white hair boasted of a lifetime of work. This woman came over to the loveseat I sat on, asking to take the seat next to me.

All it took was a simple question about how I knew the hosts to start the words falling out of my mouth. I started from the beginning. Before I could even stop them from tumbling, I boasted in the sequence of events, leaving out no major detail of how I got to where I am now. It was the story of my cross-cultural work in the community; a familiar story I had heard myself say a hundred times.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe a “Wow” or a “That’s amazing.” Some follow up questions. A lot of others respond like that. Instead, she just nodded. When she asked who I worked for, I told her. To which she replied, “Hm. Never heard of it.” I described the office location to her, and she asked about its founding. Despite the effort, her answer remained. Nope. Never heard of it.

Just when I didn’t want to admit that I think some part of me was expecting a pat on the back, a voice within me prodded me to ask more questions. Turn it away from me. This work isn’t about me. What can she teach me?

And all it took was a fleeting humble thought and a couple open-ended questions to learn about Betty.

Betty has worked for this people group all my life and then some. In her life, she’s done incredible things like purchase real estate and rent to families in need. She’s taught English, helped people get important documentation figured out, and been a friend and a helping hand. She described the Kurdish weddings she’s been to and picnics she’s been invited to. Her name means something to this community of displaced people. Her legacy shouts of love and kindness.

She told her story – one I’m sure she’s told over a thousand times – and I was enthralled. Every time there was pause in the conversation, I asked her another question. I wasn’t thinking of my own story anymore. Hers was captivating. Hers spoke encouragement over this work, wonder in my mind, and gratefulness in my heart for a God who does this for us.

As she and I talked together, she helped me to see some things in a different light. They were simple truths, but I needed them to bring me back to earth that night.

We are the faithful planters.

All her years of laboring on the field, she had never been there when someone made a decision to believe in the story of Jesus. I was honestly surprised. She had been doing this for so long, all for the goal of witnessing lives be glorified. Surely at least one person had seen the light of Christ in Betty? I asked her how that felt.

Discouraging at times,” she said. Of course. What else?

But then she told me about the folks who called her months or years later. They reached out to her just to let her know that they’d discovered the Truth. They had decided to follow Jesus and wanted her to know. And even though she wasn’t there, she rejoiced with them.

“I realized how special it was that they felt it important to call me and tell me about their decision. I wasn’t there, and it took a long time, but they knew He was in my life. I got to help plant the seeds,” she described.

Where she could have felt sadness or felt that she missed those moments, she spoke this with joy and excitement. That’s when I realized she was genuinely doing this work for a purpose bigger than herself. That she knows this isn’t about her.

When the discouragement pressed in, she continued to show up for these people. Every day. What she thought was failure became a wellspring of hope.

She had worked laboriously for months and years, thinking it might all be a bust. When the discouragement pressed in, she continued to show up for these people. Every day. What she thought was failure became a wellspring of hope. She came to the field knowing her weaknesses, and that was plenty. Yes, even that was plenty. Her shortcomings were enough.

Because in the end, just by being a familiar face to this community of people, she had given them a glimpse of something bigger than themselves. And without her being there in those early days, they might never have opened their eyes to the Truth of the world around them later.

We work together.

Betty’s work caused people to wonder about life. The Light and the Love she carried with her every day sparked questions within the deepest parts of the people she served. And when they left Nashville or moved out of her rentals, the questions and wonderings her work began in them was completed by other believers.

She didn’t get to see the transformation of a person’s life; she only caught a glimpse of it over a phone call. The believers who got to witness it came to answer the questions that had started being asked, and they got to see the reward. They came to finish the work Betty had started. And they succeeded.    

The church is a team. We work together for the same goal. And the wonderful thing is it doesn’t matter who gets the glory because ultimately, it’s God’s to have.

Church, we are a team of imperfect people knowing we’re going to let each other down but come together anyways. We’re a group of people that forgive until we’ve forgotten the number of times we’ve forgiven. We come alongside people who are difficult and hurtful because we know they’re loved. Tremendously.

We can only handle so much before we tap out though. We can only keep up with our routines in this neighborhood at this job and with this exact circle of friends for so long. Our assignments are temporary. Eventually, things will change. Who will be there to tap us out when we’re worn thin? Who will come along to continue loving the difficult and the hurtful when it’s time for us to head toward the next place? Who will meet the ones we serve when they suddenly pack up and move states away?

I can’t always follow, and I can’t always stay. If I’m at this alone, I’m never going to make it. I need the church to help me. I need a community to fill in my weaknesses, serving and helping others in ways I can’t offer them.

I’m not responsible for saving the world. I’m barely responsible enough to save a single person. Maybe this is why we are called to live in community, and to labor alongside the likeminded. Because we pick up each other’s work. We work together, by whatever means necessary, to see a single soul purchased for heaven. Humbly, I admit that this is not up to me; it’s up to the work of God through His people. We can achieve far greater rewards together than we can in isolation.

We don’t give up.

I get bogged down when I don’t see progress in the day to day. Our modern-day culture has taught me to always feel satisfied, comfortable, happy. I’m expected to always feel like I’m getting something or going somewhere. If I’m not, I’m failing.

But what Betty’s story told me is that even when we feel like nothing is happening, we stay. We stick around. We’re faithful to the task ahead of us. It’s not always going to be easy or fun, but we stay. We have dinner with that family on our mind, knowing they won’t ask a single question about Jesus that night. We offer up our home to a woman in need, knowing she can’t pay it back what we think it’s worth. We do this all, and even more, walking in the confidence that God has brought us here and that changes everything. 

This is called discipline.

As long as God has assigned you to a place, the knowledge of having been called is all you need to keep going.

As long as God has assigned you to a place, the knowledge of having been called is all you need to keep going. It’s going to feel boring and sometimes you’re going to wonder if you’re making a difference; stay anyways. What we perceive as failure is often what God uses to changes lives. Don’t leave yet. If anything within your bones tells you to stay, listen. He’s still at work. And you can’t even put a number on the people you’re going to help by choosing to stick around. 

I’m really not as impressive as I think.

Here’s a humiliating thought: I’m not that impressive.

I’m going to type it one more time, because I really need this: I’m not that impressive.

When I’m tempted to think that I’ve made it and have it figured out, or that I’ve reached all that God has for me, I’m going to remember Betty. I’m going to remember the laborers I’m working alongside who have left more, sacrificed more, given more for the sake of our refugee friends. I’m going to hear their stories of leaving home, buying a home, doing something truly radical in order to make the gospel real to refugees in Nashville.

As long as there are people to help, my job is not finished. As long as I’m on this side of heaven, I’ve still got room for improvement. I believe this most when I meet people like Betty. It humbles me to realize that there are ideas and opportunities that I’ve not yet discovered and people I’ve not yet met. Slowing down now because I’ve “worked so hard to get here” would be detrimental to the completion of this task.

So, I’m going to roll up my sleeves and get back out there. There’s still work to be done. 

As Betty and I looked away, staring at the Kurdish music video on the TV and our eyes seeing but not really watching, a flicker of hope came across me. My eyes scanned the room and a question whispered within me: do my Kurdish friends realize every person they invited here tonight is a believer?

Betty’s words were still ringing throughout my body, seeping their way deep down into the quietest parts of my soul. As I realized that I didn’t fight the battle for my hosts’ hearts alone, a burden was lifted. Burdens that told me everything was up to me and what I accomplished seemed less believable. Lies that told me I worked alone were called out. In the place came a joy that my team was here – even here in this room – and that they hadn’t given up. It wasn’t time for me to either.

When I’m down, I’m going to remember the faces that made that large living room feel more cozy last week. We’re a team of people, planting seeds with a stubbornness that refuses to give up. Even when it doesn’t feel like it, I’m going to choose to believe that everything I can give to my hosts while I’m here might actually make a difference.