Mackenzie Standing

My brother Travis played Joseph in the Christmas pageant this year. He was not excited about it. One of my favorite traditions of the Christmas season is that on Christmas Eve Eve, December 23rd -- ironically enough, Travis's birthday -- our church family gets together to begin the Christmas season with worship. Traditionally, this means we act out the Christmas story, with the roles getting assigned on the spot. People walk through the doors, having no idea that in a matter of moments they might just be led off to costuming to become an angel or shepherd or sheep. Even if they choose not to play a role, there still is opportunity galore for audience participation. There's no rehearsal, no guarantees that technology will work or the actors will get all their lines out, but there's a whole lot of laughter and an atmosphere that I think would have a strong correlation with the first Christmas -- a little chaotic and the sense that you really don't know what will happen

What can I give him, poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb; if I were a Wise Man, I would do my part; yet what can I give him: give my heart. --Christina Rossetti, "In the Bleak Midwinter" I love giving gifts. One of my favorite aspects of the Christmas season is the way it creates space to honor people and show them our appreciation. As much as I think that Christmas shouldn't be focused on the presents -- because it shouldn't -- and that there's great benefit that comes with being content with what you have -- because there is -- there's a certain beauty in being able to give my friend a present just for being  her,  and no one thinks it's strange. I appreciate that. The problem, though, is that I am  not  a fantastic giver of gifts. Attempting to find the perfect present that both means something to the other person and has sentimental value in our relationship (always a plus) stresses me out to no end. I still have no idea

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called  Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. -Isaiah 9:6 The first Bible verse I ever memorized was Matthew 6:34. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. My little twelve-year-old heart, still reeling from the fact that Jesus loved me  and desperately trying, in her own perfectionist way, to incorporate that love into her life, clung to this verse. Do not worry, the verse says. So simple. Except... When it's not. I have struggled with anxiety for years. Panic attacks. Hyperventilation. Sobbing myself to sleep over things that are really not important. Stressing for days over events that were in the past, or events that never happened. Over time, it's become much more manageable. As I've grown more into who God made me to be and placed my identit

There's a deep-set love in my heart for traditions. Whether it's hunting for a live Christmas tree with my family every year, stopping at the same gas stations on road trips, recreating pictures or making sure every trip home is marked by a Wendy's Frosty, my pattern-hungry brain can make any similar event or date important. I love traditions. Many of them are so silly that I refuse to mention them to other people (what, you don't feel a compulsive need to go to dinner at 6pm every Wednesday?), but trust me, I notice them. Perhaps that's the reason why I so appreciate the church calendar-- Advent and Lent in particular. I can root myself deep in these traditions that are far older than me and will last far longer than I will. They remind me that these times in the year have far more significance than my own personal calendar-- that December means more than last minute study sessions, final examinations, and gingerbread house building, as good as those tradit

Halfway through the worship set, the sound cut out. For a moment, it was actually quite funny. There was a loud pop, then suddenly all you could hear was a distant echo of the song. The slight strum from the acoustic guitar player's strings. The beat of the snare and the buzz of the trumpet, muted behind their plexiglass screens. The murmur of the lead singer's voice, barely carrying through the huge room. The sound cut out, and the worship team kept playing. And the Church kept singing. The problem was fixed before the song was over. Almost as if it was planned, the worship team naturally began to crescendo, when suddenly the sound was back. As if there had been no problem at all, the worship team kept playing. And the Church kept singing. All was well--until it wasn't. Halfway through the pastor's sermon, the sound cut out. For a moment, it was actually quite funny. There was a loud pop, then suddenly all you could hear was a distant echo of his voice.

When I was in high school, Disney Channel started a cartoon that quickly became popular. It was a witty show about two stepbrothers who spend their summer break using their brains and creativity to engineer some pretty epic adventures. I must admit that I quite enjoyed it when kids I babysat would want to watch Phineas and Ferb  -- and when I received my own Phineas and Ferb lunch box for Christmas, I insisted on using it for the rest of my senior year. The past couple of days the theme song has been running through my head: "There are 104 days of summer vacation / And school comes along just to end it / So the annual problem of our generation / is finding a good way to spend it." Ironically enough, this is my 104th day of summer vacation. Today also happened to be the day I went back to Bozeman. Class doesn't start for two more weeks, but summer vacation feels like it's over. School definitely came along just to end it. I'm wanting to cultivate gratitude th

One of my strongest memories is of watching a man cry. I was around fourteen or so and was attending a Bible camp up in British Columbia. During chapel one morning, we were playing a rousing game of "stump the pastors" with the camp director and the chapel speaker. Essentially, the purpose of the game was to provide us with a forum to ask the questions we'd always wondered about God, the Bible, and faith. I loved those chapel sessions. Here's the thing, though: It was a co-ed teen camp, which meant that some of the campers were, in fact, male teenagers. I'm not a big believer in gender stereotypes, but I must admit that more often than not, the less-serious questions were voiced by those fifteen-year-old boys. And so it goes that on this hot morning in July, as the pastors asked for questions, one of the young men shouted out, "Why?!" That was it. No elaboration. No other wording. Just a purely tongue-in-cheek, sarcastic question. Why? And on that

Dear Martha, The Bible records your story in Luke 10:38-42. Jesus is in town, and He's staying at your house. You're trying to get everything ready for your guests-- perhaps making dinner, maybe organizing sleeping arrangements, we don't really know. Whatever it is you're doing, you're serving. And you're frustrated. Your sister Mary, who probably helps you out in most cases, is no where to be found. You search for her, only to find that she's sitting at Christ's feet, listening to him. If you're anything like me, by now, you must be more frustrated. So you go to Jesus. "Lord," you say, "Don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!" Now , you think. Now I will get some relief.  Except it doesn't quite work out the way you expect, does it? Jesus looks at you. "Martha, Martha," he says. I can almost imagine him slowly shaking his head at you. "You are w

Today is the end of an era. Today was the last day that I woke up as Bri's roommate (okay, so we were hotel roommates today, but it still counts). I feel so amazingly privileged to have spent my first two years of college with Bri sleeping on the other side of my room. I'm even more thankful for the friendship that's developed because of it-- whether that friendship entails honest conversations or panicked moments when we think we're locked out of the car in the middle of Hayden, Idaho (thank goodness for spare keys, right?). I'm super excited to see where God takes you next year as you move into your sorority house, but know I'll miss having you ten feet away! And so, without further ado, the last of the Bri/Mackenzie Roommate quotes: Bri: I have a fantastic idea. Are you on Facebook? Mac: Yes. Bri: Good, ‘cause I’m going to need you to like something . Bri: Mackenzie, I had kind of hoped that you had come home from break with a New Year’s Resol

The greatest day in history Death is beaten, you have rescued me Sing it out, Jesus is alive! The empty cross, the empty grave Life eternal, you have won the day Sing it out, Jesus is alive! He's alive! -Tim Hughes, "Happy Day" There's something amazingly beautiful about Easter. There's something beautiful about corporate worship. I stood today in a beautiful new church building, oh so thankful for God's amazing blessings and oh so mindful that God is bigger and more beautiful than any building ever could be. There's something beautiful about standing in that gorgeous new building, 500 people strong, and worshiping. We were a people with backgrounds, stories, and perspectives far more vast than I could ever comprehend, and in that moment, none of it mattered. As we called to one another, "Christ is risen!", there was no discrimination in who would respond, "He is risen indeed!" There is something amazingly beautiful about a tra

Dear Columbia Grove Covenant Church , Happy birthday! Can you believe it? You're officially ten years old. I always get nostalgic on birthdays, and yours makes me feel exponentially so. I couldn't help but reflect on all that you've been through over the last ten years, and how much I've enjoyed being part of the ride.  It's been ten years in a beautiful valley-- ten years of being next to the Columbia river and ten years being surrounded by a Grove of orchard trees. It's been ten years of walking out of worship and getting the privilege of seeing one of the most breathtaking views God ever made. It's been ten years of the port-a-church lifestyle. Ten years of dedicated, servant-hearted volunteers generously showing up early to set up each week and patiently staying late to tear down. It's been ten years of learning how to make people feel warm, welcome, and comfortable inside a cafeteria. It's been ten years of intentional layout--t