Woman Behind The Pulpit

Posts

Standardized Testing

Standardized testing--we all know about that. We all have taken part in the testing process and most of us know the outcome and how our scores affect our schools. But, for those of you who don't know, our scores on standardized tests end up affecting funding for our schools. If the majority of our fellow students did well on the test, it meant better funding for our schools--this means more computers, updated textbooks, even higher salaries for our teachers. But if the majority of our classmates did poorly on the tests, the schools did not receive as much funding and, as a result, we didn't benefit by receiving newer and better equipment. Essentially, our poor scores reflected on our schools--and let's face it, people don't want to throw money at any company or organization that isn't using their resources to perform better. So, if the schools aren't going to teach the material that the state requires, the state isn't going to give them more money. It

Progressive!

Progressive No, I am not talking about the insurance company. I am talking about Christianity. Over the last few years, I have been in a very interesting state of faith. This state is called “deconstruction” and it is a state when a believer begins to seriously take apart what they have always been taught to believe. Not because they want to stop believing in God, but because, at some point in everyone’s life, they need to stop being told what to believe and develop what they do believe. Now, I have watched numerous friends approach this state of faith and walk away from the faith entirely—and that is devastating for me. Because I know that they have walked away from the truth. But the fact is, I get it—at least partially. You see, when a believer approaches this state of faith and they are surrounded by a supportive group of believers who recognize the need for each person to work out their own salvation, it is easy to stick with the faith we know and love—while working out what

"Whom Shall I Send?"

When I was eight years old, I experienced God speak to me for the very first time. I remember, I was listening to my Bible on audiocassette and I felt the pull of God on my life strongly. I ran to my [now] adoptive mother and excitedly told her, “Mommy, God wants me to be a pastor when I grow up!” I distinctly remember her response because it was that response that drove the next eighteen years of my life. She smiled, and said, “Oh honey—” And you know the “Oh honey” that she said. It was the “Oh honey” that was saying, “There is no chance that you will ever live up to that dream—you are not capable of it.” But she continued. “Nicole, you can’t be a pastor. You’re a girl, and only men are allowed to be pastors. A girl pastor is just not done. The Bible even says so. It says that women must be silent in the church.” I never wanted to go against the Word of God, so I suppressed the call that I felt. For eighteen years, I kept reminding myself that God could not use me. God called men

Listening Through the Tantrum

I was a foster child. At seven-years-old, I was removed very suddenly from my birth family and placed in the home of a perfect stranger. Although my two sisters were placed in foster care as well, only one of them was placed in the same home as me. So, at seven-years-old, I had been ripped from my mom, my brothers, and two of my sisters. But as if that wasn’t enough trauma, that was only adding to the baggage I had already collected in the seven years I spent with my birth family. I had been severely neglected, physically abused, witnessed drug use and alcohol abuse, exposed to sexual situations at too young of an age, malnourished, and had two siblings and a niece die as infants. My mother had a revolving door of male companions and I had no idea what functionality looked like. So, when I was placed in foster care (and then a month later placed in the home which would ultimately become my adoptive home), I was already loaded to the brim with childhood trauma—and I didn’t know how to

The Comfort of Silence

Patiently wait for God alone, my soul! For he is the one who gives me hope. He alone is my protector and deliverer. He is my refuge; I will not be shaken. -Psalm 62:5-6 This week has been a rough one. Between ministry responsibilities, COVID-19, parenting, homemaking, homeschooling, and doing my own school work, by the time Thursday night rolled around, I was beside myself. I could not stop crying and I was emotionally, mentally, and spiritually spent. I sent a message to my instructors and told them that all my work for the week would be late--school was really the only area that had any give--I could survive if I didn't get the highest grade, but I was not going to last much longer if I did not take a break. Fortunately, my instructors understood and Friday I was able to refocus and rest. But, in reality, I never should have let myself get to that point of exhaustion. "He alone is my protector and deliverer. He is my refuge; I will not be shaken." But I wa

Writing off the Woman Pastor

Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her. -John 20: 17-18 I absolutely love this account of Jesus’ resurrection. Jesus, rather than immediately going to the men, counter-culturally had a woman carry the good news to his friends. I can just imagine Mary’s thoughts as she raced to the 11 disciples to tell them. There is not a doubt in my mind that she was seriously thinking “They will never believe me!” After all, a woman’s testimony during this time was not acceptable—But she did as Jesus had told her because it was JESUS WHO TOLD HER. It did not matter if the others believed her or not. Jesus had told her to share the good news with them, and by golly, she was going to follow Jesus. So many