The Next Step of Our Journey

We're going home. Arkansas that is.

In January of 2012 Michala, Mary Grace, Cliff, and I are moving back to Arkansas to partner with Michael Carpenter and his family to plant a church in the Argenta District of downtown North Little Rock. This is in many ways a dream-come-true for us. Cliff and I first began to dream of this day over three years ago as we laughed at the idea of starting a church together one day. Well the laughter soon gave way to hope and eventually calling.

We moved to Colorado with expectations of learning and stretching ourselves in a different culture. While here, we faced some rather difficult truths about ourselves, ministry, and life. But we also fell in love with our God all the more. As we prayed for vision and direction about possibly starting a new church here in Colorado, we felt our collective hearts being pulled home.

So when we were contacted by Michael Carpenter with this opportunity, we felt it an answered prayer. Since that initial talk, we have made the arrangements to leave Colorado and to accept this new call on our lives.

We do this humbly, knowing full well that we need much help for this to happen. First and foremost we have a renewed call to be with God in communion, prayer, and loving relationship. As we have contemplated this vocational calling, we realize that our primary calling is to simply be with God. This renewed sense of purpose has given us a new fire to pray and we ask for you to join us.

Your prayers are our most cherished asset as we move forward. While I will not pretend to understand the full mystery of what happens when we pray, it seems to us that while God is not limited to acting in accordance to our prayers he wants to do so. We ask for you to plead on our behalf.

We also need financial support. We have made this decision in good faith

but we have also counted the cost. There is great pain in leaving Colorado and the people we love here but the joy before us gives us strength to push forward. Likewise, there are several financial barriers before us but we press on in faith. If you are willing and able to help support us, we need help moving. Please email me at mchlgallup@gmail.com or Cliff at cliff.hutch@gmail.com and we will give more information in how to help us.

A little under six years ago, I was near death. A life of self-indulgence and addiction had taken its toll. As I prepared to take my life, love intervened. The love of Jesus spoken through the life of my mother saved me and gave me a new life and a new hope. From that day, I knew that my life would be about that one purpose: the love of Jesus. Pray with us that we could somehow share that life-altering, hope-giving love with our brothers and sisters in Argenta.

Divine Sorrow

Divine Sorrow from The Work Of The People on Vimeo.

I Am (becoming) a Pastor

I am a pastor. This is more of a promise than a declaration at this point. I have been walking this path long before I ever knew I was on it, each step an arrival. The foremost struggle of my soul is to live not for myself but for others, not some theoretical others but real people with names, jobs, fears and, Lord willing, some hopes as well. As the hymn goes, "Christ died to make men holy, let us live to make men free." This is the cry of my crucified heart, which still finds itself beating despite its demise, beating out of faith, faith in a God who set aside everything to be with us, to be like us so that we may be with Him and perhaps even become like Him.

From the moment I knew that the only path for me worth following was that of sacrifice, I knew that I was to be a shepherd of men. Yet somehow I denied this urging, labeling it as noble vocations. If I ever even hinted of the prospect of becoming a pastor, the hint always came with a disclaimer of "maybe or might." Yet in my heart I knew otherwise and today I see this all the more clearly.

I've been reading Eugene Peterson's story of becoming a pastor. In this story of his discovery of calling, I saw myself and and knew the timing was no accident. Just like Peterson 40 years before me, I found myself at a crossroads having to decide where to step next. One pat

h has a clear title, Pastor, and yet although I have always been on it, its trodden soil seemed foreign beneath my feet. And yet, the stirring of my heart could not be ignored. This is the path for me.

As I read Peterson put words to my soul's song, I dropped to my knees and felt a need to get lower. Laying on the floor, I looked up at the cracked and dirty tile in front of my fireplace and again saw my reflection. But while it was cracked, it was still white and it did its job, protecting our home from the flames. On those tiles sat some of Mary Grace's toys: a sheep surrounded by a lion and tiger. I grasped that sheep and knew it would always be my job to do so.

I brushed away the lion and sat the sheep back down on the tile, noticing its beauty and complexity, its wool ready to be sheered to make something of beauty and of use. I realized that it would keep me warm, that it was not the caricatured stupid-sheep I had expected but was all the more beautiful because of its vulnerability. I know now how much I will learn from these sheep, that in no small way it is the sheep who keep the shepherd.

I say of this before you as an act of public surrender. This is who I am, this is who I am becoming. I ask not only for your prayers but for imaginations also, to see each day, moment, or even tile as sacred. A Place or time where a mysterious God is breaking through and making life known, that you will join me and also lead me in seeking the adventure of hope. This is a journey where every step is a new arrival.

Autumn Kickoff

Football Season. The most wonderful time of the year. Well, at least in my house. This morning I woke up to 50 degree weather and dreams of running backs dancing in my head.

Since I was in the womb (no exaggeration here) the Fall was a season sanctified solely for football, not just the mere act of watching it but living and breathing it as well. My dad was a walk-on kicker at the University of South Carolina for his first two years and he's been addicted ever since. Our most fond memories have been in section 804 of Williams-Brice stadium rooting on our beloved Gamecocks.

Somehow, I became the Prodigal son and left not only the university but the state in 2005. After only missing 5 home games my entire life, I've missed all but one the past five years. In a way, the mourning never ceases because each approaching season reopens those wounds.

Yet technology has allowed me to not miss a snap. But while the actual game is what gathers us, it was the pageantry surrounding it that kept us coming back. I attended every single sold-out home game in the midst of a 21-game losing streak not because I was riveted by the product on the field but because I loved the people around me.

I cherished eating my weight in wings in between tossing the football with my buddy Rivers. I lived to make the rounds between fraternity tailgating lots, my dads' spot, and the cockabooses. The fare varied from kegs of beer to crab cakes to frogmore stew. Even if the cocks fell flat, the party never would.

But beneath all the fan-fare was an ache to see our boys finally live up to our other-worldly expectations. There were moments when they made us believe, players like Sterling and Sidney, but despite our flirtations they never got the girl. Until now.

Today we embark on a totally new experience for any gamecock fan. We are the defending East champions and have been predicted to not only reclaim that title, but according to some we have a good shot to play for it all. I keep pinching myself waiting to wake up from this dream. And maybe I will tonight, but I don't think I will. This will be a season that I will always remember even if it is with a clause of "if we'd just hit the tight end, he was wide open" because it has taught me to hope again.

And I know that our school and our passion is not unique, that across campuses nation-wide today others will be carrying out their own traditions wondering if this year could be the one, wondering if the drinking they'll be doing tonight will be in celebration or to drown their sorrows. But of course, if your team is playing the Gamecocks, there is always next year.

Go Cocks!!!