I recently had a counseling session where I was sharing how very upset I was with some people who still had some ties with IHOP. I have been struggling to get over my anger towards them. And in all honesty, a lot of my anger is justified.

I was sharing with my counselor how it’s hard for me to trust them and have compassion for them.

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She in no negated my anger, but she also gave me another perspective: be thankful that you are no longer bound under the same indoctrination as they are.

She’s right. I am no longer bound. The thread has been pulled, and I’ve become unbound from a system of abuse that planted seeds of mistrust in everyone’s heart and created an unhealthy loyalty to a system that cared nothing for them.

That helped me feel at least an ounce of compassion towards them.

Growing up at IHOP, relationships and friendships were always championed from the platform, but not in a normal way. “These are going to be your lifelong friends! These are your marvelous comrades! You’re going to walk through the fire arm-in-arm with these ones!”

Never just go have a BBQ and play cornhole. Never learn to get to know people outside of the pressure of the prayer room and The End Times. Never learn how to confide and be held accountable by your friends.

But I assumed these lifelong friends were just that, lifelong friends. I assumed they would believe us when my parents and others exposed Mike. I assumed that they would see the light.

But I didn’t know about the fine print.

“These are your lifelong friends!*

*As long as you stay loyal.

“These are your people for the next decades”*

*As long as you stay at IHOP.

“Here are your marvelous comrades”*

*As long as you never question or criticize the movement.

If you stay in line and follow the rules, you’ll have your “people”.

But that’s not much of a real friendship. It’s a relationship based not on trust or love, but on an unspoken set of rules dictated by people who don’t care for your well-being in the slightest.

So I guess I should not have been shocked when I lost so many friends when my family “broke the rules”. But I was shocked. I was shocked and hurt when I realized that the supposed unconditional love between my family and our friends had very specific conditions. Conditions that stated we were only friends if we followed the rules.

This is an oversimplification, of course. Many friendships at IHOP were real. But a lot weren’t. They were transactional and conditional while using beautiful language to lull us into thinking we had it all.

But I didn’t have it all. None of us did. We were deceived.

I’m so incredibly thankful for the friendships I’ve made that are real and true. That actually can withstand differences and conflict. But I’m heartbroken over all that has been lost, the relationships that I thought I had, the fine print no one told me about.

I can, however, say that I am so thankful that I am no longer bound, no longer under that system, no longer under that cloud. That might seem like an arrogant thing to say, but it’s come at much personal loss, so I think I’ve earned it.

And thank God that He is gentle with me, and He continually pulls loose the threads of lies and indoctrination in my heart, mind, soul, and body.

Photo by Jas Min on Unsplash

I have officially moved to Nashville and have been here for a few weeks. I still have another 3 weeks before school starts. I’ve been settling into my new apartment and trying to discover my new city in 90 degree heat.

My parents helped move me into my apartment before they left for South Africa. We had a sweet prayer time in my new home. My dad prayed something that gave me a much-needed perspective: thank you, God, for bringing Chloe’s dream to fruition.

In that moment, I was feeling overwhelmed by moving to a new place alone. My parents were about to move to South Africa. My anxious thoughts were clouding my ability to see what was right in front of me: answered prayer.

I am getting my MBA at one of the best schools in the country. I’ve been awarded an insane scholarship. My dreams are literally coming true. And I can confidently say that it was God who did it. I worked hard, but God opened the right doors for me. And just as importantly, closed the wrong doors.

I am living out Chloe’s childhood dream. And I am honestly so excited to begin school and jump into classes. It really is an answer to prayer.

But in these weeks of getting settled, trying to find a church, trying to make friends, and getting accustomed to life here, I feel untethered.

I am living out my dream while feeling untethered.

I am pulling on my root system in God to feel stable.

Even when everything is going in the right direction, I still need God. I still need God while living out my dreams. I still need God when I am living out my answered prayers.

I still need my daily bread.

I am leaning on my years of friendship with the Lord and pulling on my root system to feel stable and safe. The Lord really is my shepherd.

I am incredibly grateful and in awe of God’s ways in leading me, while I am simultaneously needing Him to sustain me. I guess that’s not a bad thing. Being an adult is harder than I thought it would be.

While I do my best to create my new home, I need the Lord’s constant presence and guidance in my life — even when life is good.

Life is good and hard and stretching and painful and fulfilling. Every chapter has good and bad. Grief and joy. Sunrises and sunsets.

I am thankful to be in Nashville, about to start my MBA at Vanderbilt. I am also grateful that the Lord continually gives me opportunities to lean on Him.

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P.S. Have any Nashville recs for me?

Photo by Sid Suratia on Unsplash

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I wanted a sweet, slow moment to say goodbye to my home of 5 years, but I didn’t get it. It was a mad dash out the door. None of the emotions of leaving a home hit me on moving day. Or the day after. My body was trashed, and I didn’t have the capacity to feel anything but exhaustion and sore muscles.

Even when exciting things are coming, saying goodbye to a home that was a sanctuary for years is always hard. Don’t mind me, I’m just getting a bit sappy over here.

I woke up Sunday morning unsure of whether I would go to church that day. As I said, I’m exhausted. But I looked at the calendar and realized that it was the last Sunday that I would be in Kansas City before I moved due to lots of travel coming up. I wanted one last Sunday at the Anglican Church.

I sat through the service reminiscing on all that the church had done for me, most likely without their knowledge. I attended Alpha there for 10 weeks, and I can honestly say it was one of the best things I’ve ever done for my faith. As I started attending Sunday services, I was honestly shocked by how kind everyone was. Pastors came up to me and introduced themselves and remembered my name later. When has that ever happened?

I’ve never been to such a hospitable church. I felt valued, not because I bring anything to the table, but because I am a human being loved by God.

As I got up to take communion for the last time, I felt emotional. Sad, even. In such a short amount of time, that simple church felt so real to me.

I said goodbye to my Alpha leader on the way out of the building and teared up. Few people have ever helped me feel so completely and authentically myself as Beth. She made it easy to ask big questions and removed any stigma around not knowing the answers.

I got into my car and looked at my phone.

“17 minutes to home”

Siri knew my regular church routine and that my home was only 17 minutes away. Except, it’s not anymore.

That is not my home anymore. That’s when the emotion finally hit me. Leaving behind a beloved home that was really a promise fulfilled. A home where dozens gathered every Sunday for church, a home where many tears were shed. A home where wars were waged. A home where many game nights were had. It feels surreal to say it’s no longer my home.

In this awkward in-between of moving out a month before I move into my new place in Nashville, I can’t mask the sadness of leaving KC with all the exciting stuff I’ll do once I get to Nashville. I have a month of living in suitcases and traveling to Brazil, where my routine is in constant flux.

You might think I’m being a bit overdramatic. “You’re just moving Chloe. You only sold your house. Who cares?”

But it matters to me. I’ve moved a lot of times in my life, and almost every move has been massive. So when I move anywhere for any reason, it’s like all the other moves are happening again.

Again, this post is a bit sappy.

I am going to miss Kansas City. I’ve developed many life-long friendships here. I’ve witnessed and endured some of the greatest heartaches of my life here. Many things I won’t miss, but I will miss my people. And that sweet Anglican Church that taught me that some people really are just kind.

Photo by Kadarius Seegars on Unsplash

After living in Kansas City for almost 5 years (for the second time), I am leaving. It feels just weird.

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I’ve moved around a lot in my life, and I can honestly say the process of moving just sucks. Packing. Going through your stuff. Getting moving trucks. Saying goodbye. All of it is the worst.

Moving comes with a lot of complicated emotions. Excitement for what’s ahead, sadness for what’s being left behind, and a lot of numbness.

And there’s another layer that I’m feeling right now. I’m not just leaving Kansas City, the Roberts are leaving Kansas City. My parents are making a super tiny move over to South Africa to do church planting.

I won’t be coming back here to see my parents over Christmas break, no quick jump back to KC for a holiday weekend. I am moving away from “home,” and home is being redefined at the same time. I’m not sure where “home” is going to be.

When we decide to make a change, we make all the changes that could be made at once. Very classic Roberts.

I would say the carpet is being ripped out from under me, but in reality, I’m ripping the carpet from under myself. I am choosing to go back to school and to move to Nashville. And to be honest, making the choice for myself feels kinda nice.

This transition is mine. I am going out on my own to pursue what’s in my heart. It’s really exciting. And sad. And stressful. But I’m ready.

I’m also learning that the excitement of a new thing doesn’t make the “sad” of change go away. In the past, I’ve used the excitement to mask the sadness. Then, of course, that sadness sneaks up on me 4 years later and I end up weeping while watching the Harry Potter reunion (story for another time). I want to feel the emotions as they come up. And then do my paint-by-number to help me chill out.

I’m not entirely sure what the point of this article is, just me using my Substack as my public diary.

Transitions and moves tend to make me feel numb for a little while; I guess it’s a survival mechanism. But if Raye knows anything, “The cold never last darling, it just teaches the heart to burn.”

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I am leaving Kansas City and moving to Nashville. I have been accepted into Vanderbilt’s MBA program and will be starting grad school in the fall. I am actually in Nashville this weekend for their welcome weekend for admitted students. If I wasn’t sure about Vanderbilt before, I definitely am now.

I am so excited. The day I got the call that I had been accepted was one of the best days ever. It came a few days earlier than I expected, and the nerves were seriously creeping in. I was nervous that I was not going to be accepted to any of my top school choices.

Thankfully, I was wrong.

I have been thinking about going back to school since last year. A lot of my friends started going back to school to get their master’s (thanks to Asbury’s generous scholarship), and it sparked an old desire of mine to go back to school.

This is partly why I haven’t been as active on this Substack page. Getting into an MBA program is like super hard. I started the process last fall and oh my gosh, it kicked my butt. And why I have to re-learn 10th-grade algebra to get into grad school is beyond me.

Anyways… I will most likely be moving to Nashville sometime in early July to get settled before I officially start in August.

I love school and I could say right now, but for now I’m just gonna share the exciting news.

Go Vandy!

It was only about an hour, but it was rich with deep meaning and symbolism about the cross and all that Jesus endured.

Most wore black or dark colors (I, unfortunately, missed that memo). The clergy were dressed in black robes, and all the sanctuary was stripped of many of its ornaments. All that stood at the front was a cross with a black sash.

The service started with the words popping up on the screen:

“All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way. And the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.”

The night took us through the events leading up to Jesus’ arrest, “trial”, crucifixion, and death. Several members of the congregation read John 18 & 19 in its entirety aloud. When it came to the part where the crowds demanded that Barabbas be released, instead of Jesus, and that Jesus should be crucified, the congregation joined in the storytelling. We cried, “No, not him— give us Barabbas!” And “Crucify! Crucify!”

It was a powerful moment to actually hear what was being yelled in that crowd. And I can’t honestly say that I wouldn’t have been among them if I were alive then. It’s only by the grace of God that I am saved, and I could easily have been in that crowd demanding that Jesus be crucified.

The service had several moments of silence and quiet prayer where I was able to turn my thoughts towards Jesus. I cannot fathom what He was feeling as He was betrayed, beaten, nailed to a cross, and mocked. “He can save Himself,” they cried. He could have saved Himself, but He chose not to. Why? So that we could be saved.

This story loses its power sometimes for me. I’ve heard it my entire life; we sing it in songs all the time. But this service and its symbolism helped bring me back to the enormity of what Jesus did for me, and for you. It reminded me of all the immense suffering Jesus went through. Something I take for granted.

As we ended the service, we prayed:

“We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you, because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world. If we have died with him, we also shall live with him; if we endure, we shall also reign with him.”

The service ended with a silent procession. Everyone was asked to silently get up, leave their seats, and exit the church in silence until you reached your car.

It was a beautiful funeral procession.

I stayed in the sobriety of the moment until I got home.

It was a beautiful service. Today, Silent Saturday, we sit in waiting. Tomorrow we celebrate Jesus conquering death and rising from the dead.

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This week’s topic was all about healing and inevitably touched on words of knowledge. What a topic these days.

I am guessing we’ve all been inundated with the latest stories of false prophets, fake healers, and liars. The stories feel so overwhelming. And so very disappointing. For those of us who have been in the charismatic world, we’ve prayed for healing and for words of knowledge. Some of the people I looked up to and considered righteous have once again been exposed as utter frauds. An unfortunately familiar feeling at this point.

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My dad has been doing a deep dive on John Wimber recently. Of all the people I grew up hearing about in the IHOPKC world, he might be the only one who has not fallen into ill repute. He passed away in the late 90s, and no stories of abuse, deception, or lying have come out. So I’m thinking we’re in the clear on that front, which is a relief.

So it seemed fitting that when I got to Alpha on Tuesday night, we watched a video on healing, during which John Wimber was mentioned several times. I heard new stories about healing, words of knowledge, and testimonies of miraculous healings that medicine cannot explain. I smiled as I heard the stories of people’s lives being utterly changed by the power of God.

I could feel others’ tension in the room. And I admit, the topic holds a lot of baggage for me right now. The topic of healing and the words of knowledge are not as cut-and-dry for me as they once were.

But I was surprised by my response. As I watched the video and heard stories, I started to tear up. Not because I was so triggered, I was moved to painful tears, not because I was angry and thought it was all lies, and not because I was hurting. I cried because I realized how much I missed it.

I was just as surprised as the rest of you.

I sat there remembering how much I loved praying for the sick when I was a kid. I thought about how I loved asking Jesus to share something about a person with me. I remembered my days of going to CEC (the children’s ministry at IHOPKC) and the healing services.

I missed how exciting and innocent it felt when I was 8, praying for someone. I missed living in the time before I knew that the world was filled with false prophets, liars, fakers, and deceivers. I teared up thinking of the good ol’ days when I had faith that God would heal whomever I was praying for.

I haven’t prayed for a sick person in a really long time. I don’t regularly ask the Lord to give me a word of encouragement for a friend anymore.

Is it even possible to go back to that innocence where I was excited and expectant to see the Lord move when I prayed? I secretly hope so. Because I do still believe that God heals.

As I thought more about this topic over the course of the evening and this week, I’ve been hit with the other side of the coin.

I loved praying for the sick as a kid, but was never pastored when the people we prayed for didn’t get better. I remember praying for a boy with severe cerebral palsy. We were all told to walk around him in his wheelchair and pray out loud. Pray in tongues, or words of healing, whatever. We did this for what felt like forever. We were encouraged to keep praying, pray louder, pray longer. It felt like we were walking around the walls of Jericho waiting for the walls to fall. But they didn’t. He never got healed. And no one at church ever sat us down and talked to us about what to do when someone doesn’t get healed. At least nothing more than a “let’s keep praying” message.

A teenage girl I looked up to tremendously at CEC got very sick. She was sick for years with an intense autoimmune disease. She was in and out of the hospital constantly. But I remember she would still show up to conferences and camps and preach with her oxygen tank by her side. She felt like one of my heroes. We prayed for her all the time. We prayed hard.

She died.

My children’s pastor didn’t reach out to those of us who had prayed for her for years. No one tried to console the children who prayed for her to get better. No pastoral care whatsoever to help us navigate her tragic, heartbreaking death. Not a word.

So I have mixed feelings about healing right now.

Part of me misses my childlike faith and reach for miracles. Part of me thinks of the girl I looked up to who died, unhealed.

I want to find the balance of asking God to heal and to speak to me, and learn how to be near to those who are suffering, even if they don’t get healed. How can I bring hope to the brokenhearted and bind up the broken and wrestle with the evil in the world?

I don’t have the answer.

But I want to try and find out.

Photo by Soff Garavano Puw on Unsplash

I’m not particularly proud of that line of thinking, but it definitely crossed my mind. I was definitely taught that 1) Jesus is coming back soon, 2) everything is going to go horribly wrong in the world, and pretty much everyone is gonna die a horrible death before His return, and 3) you should yearn for the return of the Lord more than anything.

If I want Jesus to return, wouldn’t that mean I want, or should at least let, everything go to hell?

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Hard to swallow that pill as a kid. So I guess I shouldn’t blame myself too hard for thinking of just letting the world fall into chaos (as if it were my choice). The very imminent return of Jesus was supposed to be the fuel and the reason for everything I did, how I lived out my entire life.

All that to say, I don’t think I turned a blind eye to wrongdoing or injustice I saw. But it made my internal dialogue and prayer life around major world issues feel muddy. I want to see racism and social injustice end, but won’t it getting better mean that Jesus isn’t coming back soon? Wouldn’t that be a bad thing? I want to see human trafficking end, but wouldn’t that mean the world is becoming a safer place? Will Jesus come back if we’re not constantly falling apart?

You can see my line of thought. Big issues that have truly weighed on my heart also came with a lot of internal dialogue. I hate seeing suffering. I hate the suffering I see all over the world right now. So much is broken and just plain wrong. What am I supposed to do with that?

I didn’t realize the enormity of all the internal dialogue I’ve had since I was a kid until this week's Alpha Group.

The topic of the week was “How to Resist Evil”. The video ended with a quick reference to a short verse that got my mind going:

“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” — Romans 12:21

It does not say “Do not be overcome by evil, but let the countdown until the rapture begin”. It does not say, “Do not be overcome by evil, just sit back and watch the world burn.”

It says overcome evil with good. With good, not cynicism or passivity.

The answer to the distress I see around the world is not to sit back and hope everything gets worse so Jesus comes sooner. It’s okay to want the world to become a better place; it’s okay to want the wrong things to be made right. It’s okay to pray for racism and social injustice and human trafficking to end now.

I do believe that things will only be truly right when I am with Jesus. But that shouldn’t be a stumbling block for me to pursue good here and now. And it doesn’t mean that Jesus isn’t going to answer my prayers about the brokenness I see all around me.

I’ve made this issue much more complicated in my heart and mind than it needed to be. I can fight for making the world around me better, helping those in need, pursuing righteousness and it not affect God’s timeline regarding His return.

Sometimes the evil around can seem insurmountable. Is there any good I can do that would make a difference?

Yes. Yes, there is.

Saying an encouraging word to a friend or helping someone carry their groceries to their car are still worthwhile things to do.

I found that the preceding verses to Romans 12:21 are a pretty good list of ways to do good:

“Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil. Cling to what is good. Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor giving preference to one another; not lagging in diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord; rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, continuing steadfastly in prayer; distributing to the needs of the saints, given to hospitality.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. Be of the same mind toward one another. Do not set your mind on high things, but associate with the humble. Do not be wise in your own opinion. Repay no one evil for evil. Have regard for good things in the sight of all men. If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men. Beloved, do not avenge yourselves, but rather give place to wrath; for it is written, “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,” says the Lord.

Therefore “If your enemy is hungry, feed him; If he is thirsty, give him a drink; For in so doing you will heap coals of fire on his head.” — Romans 12:9-20

It might just be me, but I can find many things on that list to work on. Imagine if even just half the people in our lives lived according to these verses? Wouldn’t the world be a better place? And wouldn’t Jesus be pleased by our long suffering and patience? Wouldn’t the heart of God be moved when we rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep? Doesn’t blessing my enemy move Jesus’ heart?

I think doing good to overcome evil is not only okay to do in light of Jesus’ Return, it’s the right thing to do always.

I don’t know when Jesus is going to come back, I’ve heard God keeps that one close to his chest. I don’t know if I will be alive, I don’t know if it will be in another 500 years. But I do know that while I am here now, I can overcome evil with good by the grace of God.

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All that changed last year when the house church I was a part of sunsetted. As sad as it was to see it close, it was the right decision.

I have not been to a Sunday service since last April. First time in my life to miss that much church.

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My house church was a safe place to process, to worship, to be vulnerable. My parents were the pastors; if I had a problem with anything, I had a pretty direct line to air my grievances. I’m not saying it was easy; there are issues at every church, but I knew everyone around me by name.

When the church closed, I decided to take the summer off from going to church. I didn’t even know where to start looking for a new church or even how. I’ve never been in this situation before. I was either born into a church or in my parents’ churches, wherever they may be.

I enjoyed the summer. I loved sleeping in on Sunday mornings and going to the pool or hanging out with friends.

The summer came and went. At the end of the summer, the idea of “church shopping” seemed more daunting than ever. When friends or family would ask about it, my palms would start to sweat.

“I don’t know how to just ‘attend’ a church.”

“What do I look for? What’s important to me?”

“I care so much about corporate worship, but the thought of walking into a worship service makes me panic.”

“What if I see something wrong? What do I do?”

If you had told me 5 years ago that I’d be in this position, I would have laughed in your face. There’s no way that I would ever be in that position.

Jokes on me I guess.

I would have thought of myself as a failure or backsliding. Church trauma was for other people. It seemed to find me.

But I can somewhat boldly say that I am not a failure and I have not backslidden.

I pray (my prayers sound very different these days), I read my Bible almost every day, I have regular fellowship with other believers.

But still church seems scary, unsafe to me. And that breaks my heart. I used to look forward to going to church every Sunday. I used to love worship and hearing someone preach. Now it makes my palms sweat.

Here’s the thing, though, I still believe in the Church. For some strange reason, Jesus chose the Church to be His vehicle. But as I look at his vehicle, it’s a broken-down vehicle on the side of the road, a smoky mess. My gosh.

Scandal, abuse, fraud. It’s everywhere.

Yes, I still have some hope. Jesus loves His church, so it’s His job to whip her into shape. Part of me wonders if all this exposure is said whipping.

A few weeks ago, a friend invited me to attend the Alpha Course at a local church. I’d heard lots about it, and several other friends had gone through it. It’s a 10-week course for people with questions. Questions about faith, Christianity, The Holy Spirit, healing. All of it.

I have questions, so I said yes.

I have thoroughly enjoyed it so far. I’m in a small group with a very diverse group of people, each with backgrounds and thoughts very different from mine. I can be open about my questions and my “church hurt” completely without judgment.

If I could describe it in a few words, it would be “completely non-judge-y”. No one is judging me for not having been to church in months or for having unanswered questions about my faith. In fact, I’m welcomed.

If you ever have a chance to go through it, I cannot recommend it enough.

Here’s what's remarkable to me, though. Alpha has given me permission to ask questions, be curious, and be honest with God, but I don’t feel unmoored by it.

It’s okay to have questions.

It’s good to tell God why I feel hurt by His chosen vehicle. He can handle it. And even why I feel hurt by Him.

I’ve been undone by what a local church can look like. The church hosting Alpha has been beyond what I’ve ever experienced. Exceptionally kind, generous, welcoming, and embracing of whoever comes in the door.

I’ve never thought I’d be here before; I would have thought myself a failure before. But the more I sit with my situation, I feel like I’m right where I am supposed to be.

Photo by Jason Krieger on Unsplash

When I saw Wakanda Forever a few years ago, I was not expecting it to be a serious tear jerker. It was an awesome action movie that was really about grief and mourning. Brilliant story telling.

With the holiday season come and gone, I was reminded of the movie. I had a great time with my friends and family over Christmas and New Year’s. I was also reminded of the people not at the table, who used to be. All the Christmas cards I don’t get anymore, the parties I’m not invited to. And although I don’t really want to get a lot of those cards, it still comes with some sadness. Sadness about all that has been lost.

In Wakanda Forever, the princess Shuri, is figuring out how to navigate life after the death of her brother. But she’s not really processing any of it, she’s trying to ignore it. This is the emotional undercurrent of the whole movie. And poor girl just gets grief compounded on her as the movie goes on.

The Wakandas have a tradition. After the season of mourning is over, you burn your funeral clothes. It’s an act of remembrance. At the end of the movie (spoiler alert), Shuri faces her grief and burns her funeral clothes. As she does, flashbacks of her brother go through her mind. She cries, she laughs, she mourns.

I sat in the theatre and cried. I cried because Chadwick Boseman was awesome and it was so sad when he died — I think the actress was not faking her tears. And I cried because I still had my funeral clothes hidden in my heart. I had not burned them yet. And mind you, this was before all the IHOP stuff.

I went home and laid on my bed and thought about that scene over and over. My tears came heavy thinking of all the goodbyes I’ve said. All the places I’ve left behind. The friendships lost. The what-could-have-beens long gone. In that moment I made a decision, it was time to burn my funeral clothes.

I laid there and pictured myself sitting next to a bon-fire on the beach burning a brilliant white funeral outfit. I thought of all that I had lost in Brazil. All the painful goodbyes I didn’t want to make. I let it come to my mind as I burned the clothes.

It sucked. It hurt. I cried gross tears.

But I also felt a release. Like a burden too heavy for me to carry was lifted from my tired body.

My prayer was simple “Jesus be with me.”

It was a turning point for me — I felt like I was now moving forward and not stuck in one place. I wasn’t looking back over my shoulder at my old life wanting it to be real again. I was able to be in my present life.

This was a few years ago. I probably needed to wrestle through those feelings so I could sort of kind of handle what was about to come.

I think it’s time for me to burn the funeral clothes again.

I need to free up space in my head and my heart. I need to let the grief go through me and out. I’m not saying I won’t feel sad or angry or confused anymore. But I don’t want IHOPKC to have such a hold on me anymore. Some things shouldn’t live rent free in my head.

Maybe 2026 is the year when I let my expectations that people will do the right thing go. Maybe I stop hunting for vengeance in my heart. Maybe it’s the year I truly learn to be wise as a serpent and innocent as a dove.

New year, new me right?

The sadness of what was lost and what could have been will never fully fade, I think. And that’s okay. Grief, in part, is proof that I loved. And I did love that place and those people. My little kid pure heart was all in on what it appeared to be. I loved my heroes and the people I thought hung the moon. And at least a part of my grief is letting that love die — they didn’t deserve it.

Hopefully this resonates with at least someone out there.

Maybe it’s time to burn the funeral clothes.

Photo by Vadim Sadovski on Unsplash

Anyways… I have been doing Advent this season. This is only the second time I’ve ever done it, last year was my first. I am doing the Daily Grace Co Advent Bible Study (this is not an affiliate link, not because I don’t want it to be, but I was denied an affiliate 🙄).

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The theme of Advent thus far has been simple: Jesus with us. The study has gone through numerous Old and New Testament passages demonstrating the nearness of God throughout all history, not just after the resurrection. God’s plan has always been to dwell with His people, it was just hijacked early on a little jerk named Satan.

God wants to be near us so much so that He sent His only son to die in our place so that we could be together.

As I’ve gone through each day of study, I’ve been reminded of this truth. Jesus really is with me, always. I may not always feel Him. I may not always see Him. But He is with me. He leads me, guides, and protects me. Lately, it’s been really easy to get swept up in anxiety over a million things. But when I lie down to sleep at night, I have to remind myself, “Jesus is with me.”

I’ve had to reorient some things in my brain as of late. It’s easy to question God and His goodness or His ability to protect and deliver. It’s easy to slip into an internal conversation of whether or not the Lord will keep His word or if He will really come through or if He’s gonna turn His back and ignore my pleas. Advent is helping with that. He cares about all the little things in my life that raise my pulse. He cares about all the big, scary decisions and the paralyzing indecision. He is with me.

He not only cares, He loves to care. I’m not annoying to God. He’s not tired of me praying for peace and direction while I fall asleep. He isn’t tired of the sound of my voice. He likes me, and He likes you too.

One of my favorite verses right now is Matthew 28:20: “….and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Amen.”

If I were to get a tattoo, it would probably be this verse, “I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Just for the record, I am not getting a tattoo, probably ever.

I am not alone. God is with me. He is with me because I am His daughter, and He delights in me. He enjoys me. He has good things prepared in advance for me, even if I have a hard time imagining it — He imagines it for me.

As I’ve gone through Advent, I have fallen more in love with the way that God has led His people for thousands of years. He has always been near, He has always cared. And now, because of the sacrifice of His son, I am a daughter of God. I am in His family, and He leads me and guides me.

This is a simple article today, just some Advent musings, even if you’re not doing Advent this year (like me for the first 24 years of my life), read a verse or two about the nearness of God.

He is with us always, even to the end of the age.

Photo by Max Beck on Unsplash

But I just keep getting smacked in the face by the depth of grief that is locked in my body and soul.

If you don’t want to hear me talk about IHOP, you can skip this post. I won’t be mad.

A friend in Brazil reached out to me recently. The church we planted in Brazil recently got a new building and is creating a timeline of the church on the wall of the entrance. Great idea. She reached out to me to get some photos of our departure from the US to Brazil and any photos I had of our early days there.

I scrolled way back in my photos app to find what she was looking for. And wow — I was not expecting so many emotions to hit me so hard.

I found a collection of photos of the day that we left KC. All of our friends and family wanted to say goodbye to us from the back parking lot of the prayer room. We drove up and I saw over 40 of the people who mattered the most to me. I can still feel my chest getting tight as I think of them all standing there, ready to say goodbye.

We hugged and cried and took some last pictures. And then we left for the airport to move to another continent.

As I looked at those photos, I was struck by a few different things. I can still feel the sadness of leaving. The sadness of all those goodbyes. Even though I am very glad that we left (especially now), it doesn’t negate that it was a tearing. A deep tearing. I was leaving the community I was born into.

Some of the people in the photos I am still connected with and have deep, deep love for.

Now comes the second round of feelings.

Anger. Deep anger.

I saw people crying in the photos because they were so sad we were leaving, who now would like to beat my family up in a parking lot (not kidding). People that I once trusted with no hesitation or reservation have betrayed me in the most intimate ways.

I saw people in those photos who are sexual predators, abusers, and liars.

I’ve seen these photos before, of course. But I haven’t looked at them since Mike was exposed and the snowball effect started.

I also dug around in my computer for the audio recording of our farewell prayer time and send-out from IHOP.

That was when the tears really came.

I only had about 40 minutes of the audio, and I didn’t listen to it all. I just skipped around. But immediately, tears welled in my eyes.

I couldn’t describe how I was feeling — to be honest, I still can’t.

In that moment, we felt so loved. At least I did. I felt seen and supported and loved.

But I’m going to be honest. It was just weird to hear Diane Bickle praying for me. Or to hear Misty praying for my sister. How do I reconcile that?

I skipped around some more and listened to part of a prayer where a couple that we used to be friends with prayed for my mom. The gist of the prayer was that the Lord would break off the spirit of intimidation that my mom felt related to her preaching.

If you’ve ever heard my mom preach, you’d know she’s the perfect blend of power, authority, and humor.

I teared up as I heard the prayer because the wife of the couple used to be a dear friend of my mom, and now they don’t speak — and for good reason. It also struck me that my mom was not “under the spirit of intimidation”. We lived in a high-control community where women who didn’t “fit the mold” or couldn’t be easily controlled were cast aside.

My mom wasn’t under the spirit of intimidation. She just wouldn’t bow to Mike and his minions and change who she was or the message the Lord had given her — whether she knew the battle that was raging against her or not.

So fascinating what a little bit of time and perspective gives you.

As I’ve been processing all these emotions, I’ve gotten a little bit of clarity on my own wrestle. I’ve been struggling a lot with the IHOP stuff in the last weeks, and I wanted to know why.

God ordained a structure for how His people would live in community. We are born into our nuclear family. Then we have the next layer of close friends and extended family. Then we have our broader community, our tribe, so to speak.

The tribe might seem somewhat insignificant, but as I’ve come to find out, it plays a huge role. It’s where we get our broader sense of identity; we get the social norms and rules from our community. It’s where a lot of our sense of belonging comes from.

Even when I lived in Brazil, I still felt very connected to my “tribe”. We visited at least once a year. I would FaceTime people in KC to get advice and many friends came and visited us while in Brazil. They were still my people. I looked up to them.

Now? Gone. All gone. The safety net I used to feel from that community is utterly gone. And I know now it was never a safety net. I was never safe there.

No wonder I’m struggling over here. Many people who were at IHOP came from other places first. They had a hometown, a family outside of the bubble, their home church. IHOP was my home church, my hometown is KC, and my family was deeply involved in IHOP for years.

I have no “earlier” experiences to lean on, no great church I grew up in before coming to IHOP. I was born 2 weeks before IHOPKC went 24/7. I used to think that was the coolest thing ever. I used to feel entitled, privileged, special that I was born into the IHOP world. Now? Not so much.

I don’t know what it looks like for my safety net to be rebuilt from the ashes. I don’t know if it ever will be. I am tremendously grateful that my nuclear family is intact, and my friendships that have remained have grown much, much deeper.

I am not really sure what healing all looks like moving forward. But a friend reminded me of a poem today:

Christ before me, Christ behind me,

Christ within my every breath.

Christ beside me when I falter,

Christ who steadies me from death.

Saint Patrick (paraphrased)

P.S. Think I’m kidding? Take a look at some of the pics. Such a strange mix of people I love so much and people who I love considerably less.

P.P.S. Only keep scrolling if you want to be triggered.

Told you I wasn’t kidding

Photo by Andrés Canchón on Unsplash

I am trying to write about IHOP less and less, but this week marks the 2nd anniversary of the scandal breaking and the very reason I started this Substack. So I think it deserves a post.

Honestly, I can’t believe it’s been 2 whole years. My life has changed more than I can quantify. The world is a different place than it was 2 years ago. I am less naive about the condition of mankind and the many wolves that lie in wait.

October 2023 was a very busy month. On October 9th, two members of the Executive Leadership Team (ELT) of IHOPKC were informed by my dad and Deborah Perkins’ husband of the abuse that Deborah endured at the hands of Mike Bickle. Oh, and Mike and Deborah’s husband also met earlier that day, and Mike yelled and threatened him for over an hour.

Those 2 ELT members said they needed more time. They did virtually nothing helpful with that time. They even allowed Mike to preach one of his most egregious messages the following week.

The week of October 24th is when things really started cooking. Those two ELT members said they informed the rest of the ELT. They did not. So again, my dad and Deborah Perkins’ husband went to the ELT and laid it all out to them.

I was hopeful that day. My dad relayed to me later that they were without words and actually had tears in their eyes. One member described it as the worst day of their life.

I actually thought they would do the right thing. Stand up against Mike and defend the victims.

But we all know how that went. The rest of that week will go down in history as an absolute nightmare. I think their response could not have been worse.

Now we are 2 years out, and I still remember that heaviness of it all. I was in Spain that week (thank God) and had a bit of distance. When I got back, the heaviness was tangible in my home, in the city. The world had changed. We could never go back to blissful ignorance.

I said to a few friends this week, “I need to just let go of hope that one day they’ll say the right thing”. The current leadership of IHOPKC released a couple of videos with their response to the Pastoral Recommendation Team's official report.

To be honest, I couldn’t watch it. My friend shared a few quotes from it, and I knew it was more of the same. Misusing the Bible to usurp their responsibility and endorse their continued life inside the bubble.

I really need to let go of hope that anything over there will truly, truly change. I have a sneaking suspicion that if everything were to happen again, their response would be the same.

I need to just let go.

It’s hard, like really hard. I loved that place. It was my home, and its people were my family. I still can’t get over the loss. Loss of lifelong friendships. The loss of supposed “status”. And the almost sudden loss of safety.

I felt safe knowing that I was somehow attached to the community of IHOP. I felt safe with many of those people. I felt safe knowing my heroes were across the room from me. Mike Bickle and his “authority” made me feel safe. But it was all a lie. I was never safe there. I was raised in a lion’s den, protected only by the grace of God.

How on earth am I supposed to get over that?

I miss that sense of safety. The sense of being a part of a community that was “going somewhere together”. But I saw a clip of the prayer room at IHOP recently, and something hit me. I don’t miss that, especially in its current state. As I watched the clip, I could almost feel a blanket of depression and heaviness. There is no joy in that house of the Lord, at least not for me.

The current version of the prayer room is very different from the version I remember as a kid. It used to be way more fun, more joyful. I think some of my positive memories of that place prove to me that God cares for His people. He visited so many people in that room, not because of Mike and his prophetic history or whatever, but in spite of Mike. It is proof of the goodness of God that even an ounce of goodness was derived from that place. The wheat and the tares grow up together, I guess.

I’ve thought, “What would it be like if we could just go back? Wake up from this nightmare?”

The cost, however, is just too high. Going back to ignorance is just not an option. 17+ victims would continue to live in a nightmare. Hundreds of students and staff members would continue to live under abusive, self-righteous leaders, and thousands of ex-community members would continue to gaslight themselves into thinking they are less holy now that they are out of IHOP.

The cost of my bubble of supposed safety is just too high.

My faith has shed many layers. I’ve trimmed the fat, more like God has trimmed the fat. My faith is simple and weak at times. I have a lot of questions. I remember the days when I had no questions, full of confidence and a healthy dose of self-righteousness bordering on arrogance (I’m assuming).

God took my faith seriously then; He takes it seriously now.

Moving away from the negative of everything… I want to note a few very positive things that have happened in the last 2 years.

I don’t feel guilty if I miss a day (or a few) in my Bible study. I don’t feel like a failure now that I don’t go to the prayer room every week. I don’t feel like I’m not doing enough, being spiritual enough anymore.

The yoke of heaviness has been exchanged for an easy yoke. It turns out that when you come to Jesus with your burdens in true transparency and weakness, He really does take them and give you a lighter burden.

I think I can honestly say that in the last 2 years, I’ve truly experienced that reality for the first time. I’ve been at my breaking point, and He gave me rest.

Rest used to mean going to the prayer room more, trying harder, reading more, studying more. But rest is in fact rest, not doing more to be more holy or trying somehow to earn rest. I’ve found true rest for my soul. Thank you, Lord.

In some ways, I wish I could erase the past two years. Forget the heartache, the tears, the betrayal. But I really have found life on the other side of IHOP. I have deep friendships that I never would have found otherwise. My relationship with the Lord is more real and honest. I’m not afraid to ask big, scary questions. I’ve learned to trust my discernment and intuition more than ever. I’ve experienced the love of healthy communities.

I’ve found God and hope on the other side.

I sometimes wonder, in my weaker moments, if God just sits back and lets evil and darkness run rampant. I’ve seen so much darkness in my own backyard. I turn on the news and see so much darkness.

Then I remember the fruit that the last 2 years have brought. Mike Bickle was exposed before the whole world as an abusive fraud. Many other leaders in the IHOP world were exposed as wolves. Then other leaders in the body of Christ have been exposed as abusive wolves. The domino effect has been a horrifying, beautiful thing to watch.

God is cleaning house. He is not letting the darkness rule in His Church.

So I don’t think God is up there twiddling His thumbs. He is answering the very prayers that we prayed in the prayer room, “God, purify Your Church.”

P.S. I’m curious. Has anyone else experienced something beautiful after IHOP?

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Photo by OC Gonzalez on Unsplash

I am in South Africa this week. I came here to visit my parents while they are on their sabbatical, and as a bonus, I get to see my brother for a few days while he takes a mini-break from his YWAM School of Biblical Studies (SBS) program.

I’m gonna be honest. South Africa is absolutely amazing. I am not working this week, and we went on a Safari earlier this week, and it absolutely blew my mind. A Safari has been a dream for a long time, and I was blown away by the beauty of the landscape and how freaking cool the animals were.

I have been to a lot of places, but the beauty here is different. It’s an interesting combination of dessert and lush green velvety mountains. It’s breath taking.

I was able to see 4 out of 5 of the Big Five (Lion, Elephant, Water Buffalo and Rhino — the leopard is nocturnal and pretty hard to see). I learned a lot about the animals and really enjoyed seeing how all the different animals interact with each other.

For example, Zebras and Hippos are buddies. Zebras have incredible eyesight and can see when predators are coming and shout a warning. The Hippos in return will protect the Zebras against the predators, particularly lions. Fascinating.

I know this isn’t a travel blog, but I can’t help but talk about it. It’s so fun.

As I was sitting in the game drive truck getting bounced up to high heaven, I realized, not for the first time, that there is so much more than my little life in Kansas City. I get so self-involved in my own little world when I’m in Kansas City. It feels like the only place that matters because it’s where I’m at. But there’s a whole big world out there and getting out of KC gives me some much needed perspective.

I watched the sunset over the mountains (and saw some girls get chased by a few baboons — it was kinda hilarious) and saw the majesty of God. He created all of this beauty and I get to enjoy it.

I’ve come to believe that natural beauty really does heal the soul. Seeing the greatness of God and the careful design He put into all of His creation reminds me of His majesty and control. It was a very restorative few days in the mountains outside of Cape Town.

Now I am in Cape Town proper sitting by the ocean.

The negative of all this is the stark reminder that Kansas City has no beach, mountains, or cool safaris. We have good BBQ though and a celebrity couple.

I like to travel (in case that wasn’t obvious) and I like the reminder that I am not the center of the world. So much happens everywhere that I have no idea about and it makes me think that my life is the end-all be-all. But it’s not.

In my short time here so far I’ve learned a lot about the culture here and the tremendous obstacles and pain that the South African people go through on a daily basis — it’s heartbreaking. It puts my life in perspective, I’ve got it pretty good.

The last few years in Kansas City have been so dang consuming. It’s hard to get myself out of the tide that keeps wanting to pull me back into it. It’s hard to forget and move on when you run into people or constantly look over your shoulder in Target. But being here I feel so far away from it all and it feels amazing. I am happy to breathe a little easier and rest a little more.

I am thankful that I get to see the world, see what the Lord has created, and rest. I am thankful that the Lord gives me perspective to see the bigger picture and shows me that my little world, although consuming at times, is in fact little. There’s a lot more to discover and enjoy.

I also want to state that this is a very privileged view. I get to travel to Africa, while some people have never been on an airplane. I am very lucky and I know that. I am so extremely grateful for this trip and the opportunity to see this beauty. I am thankful that the Lord opened some pretty cool doors and I got some insane deals.

But anyways… I want to end my ramble with this:

“The heavens declare the glory of God; And the firmament shows His handiwork.”

Psalms 19:1

I look out at the ocean and the mountains and see the glory and goodness of God, and just how very big He is.

I use lots of ways to avoid pain. I want to just “push through” so it magically goes away, or get so busy that I don’t have time to think about it.

I have found something out recently, though, and it’s honestly a bit of a bummer. If you ignore, push through, or try to circumvent pain or grief, it will stay quiet for a bit. But then it comes back two-fold and punches you in the face. It’s like a spring, you push it down and it comes back stronger and smacks you in the face.

I recently came across a few examples from a workbook for Story Work of ways that we humans try to avoid pain, and some of them were… well, accurate.

I’ve heard the term “spiritual bypassing” a lot recently. In my head, spiritual bypassing was saying things like “God is always good”, “God will turn this around for your good”, and “just forgive”. All of these things are true: God is good, God does turn things around for our good, and forgiveness is pretty darn important. However, just saying those phrases can feel like sticking a Barbie bandaid over a gunshot wound. If you don’t treat the wound, clean it out, and sew it back together, the Barbie bandaid won’t do much except look cute.

There were a few other examples of spiritual bypassing that were… new to me.

1. Quoting verses to silence emotion.

2. Rushing to praise when you’re still angry or hurt.

Umm, ouch. I read that and it struck me. I never thought that quoting scripture to myself could be spiritual bypassing. As soon as I read it, I knew it was true. Many times, I have felt pain or anxiety I have rushed to quote a calming verse to myself to make the emotions go away. “Jesus, make it go away!”

It’s funny how often I go to the Psalms for comfort, but ignore their structure and the story they tell.

David did not rush to praise or to sing comfort when he was in pain. A crazy amount of Psalms are about sorrow, pain, affliction, and suffering. David didn’t rush to praise; he sang about his pain.

He didn’t push through the discomfort and suffering. He let it out. He poured out and bared his soul to the Lord. He held nothing back. Most times, the Psalms of sorrow ended in praise, but not before He walked through the valley of the shadow of death. When you’ve faced your “negative” emotions, the praise becomes so much more real.

I am guilty of wanting to circumvent the process and jump right to the last few verses and go right to praise. I want the praise to make my pain magically go away. And the Lord is kind and brings comfort, but that pain might resurface later since it wasn’t actually dealt with.

When I truly bring the emotions to God and bare my soul to Him, including the ugly, my eventual praise feels weaker, but so much more real and powerful.

Take Psalm 55, for example. David brings his pain to the Lord; he doesn’t try to bypass it by rushing to the “happy” verses. He brings his deep suffering of betrayal to God; this psalm rings particularly true right now, as you might imagine.

David describes the symptoms of a panic attack, he writes about the betrayal experienced from his dear companion, he laments over wickedness, he asks for justice… then in verse 16, he says I will call upon God.

As for me, I will call upon God, And the Lord shall save me.

Psalms 55:16

I want God to come into my pain, I want to bring my suffering to Him. Spiritual bypassing attempts to ignore or walk around suffering and pain and slap a happy Bible verse on it. But that isn’t what David did, it isn’t what Jesus did.

Jesus’ example in John 11 shows this. Jesus had the perfect excuse to skip over Mary and Martha’s pain. Jesus was going to raise Lazarus from the dead; He knew that. But He didn’t rush in and tell everyone to cheer up and feel better cause it was about to get all better.

No, He sat in the dust and entered into His friend’s pain. Knowing full well of the redemption that was minutes away, He mourned, wept, and felt deep sorrow with His friends.

I want Jesus to sit in the dust with me, even when He knows the redemption that’s coming.

I am trying not to avoid every painful emotion that surfaces or memory that bubbles up, but it’s hard. I don’t want to feel any of it. But I am learning that ignoring it doesn’t make it go away. There comes a terrible point where you can’t stuff anymore, you can’t push any further — you hit a big cement wall.

I want to lament like David. I want to sit with the Man of Sorrows. I do want to praise, but I want to do it wholeheartedly, and that means being real with myself and my discomfort and pain. I do want to quote scripture, but I want to be real with where I am at.

There is a verse that I can quote to myself regardless of how I’m feeling.

“And lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age. Amen.”

P.S. My dear readers, I do apologize for the lack of recent consistency in my writing. Life is a bit full right now. I would like to ask you all something. What would you like to hear from me? Any topics you want me to write about?

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Photo by Leon Rohrwild on Unsplash

Song For My Children was a wild exception.

I first saw a clip of a video of Kristene DiMarco sharing about how the song was born. Hearing her talk about the planting and reaping of seeds and helping her children process leaving somewhere made me search out the whole song.

I listened to it over and over again as I sat in my chair and tears came to my eyes.

She took some of the most painful moments of my life and made them beautiful. I hate leaving, I hate saying goodbye. But sometimes it’s time to go. Sometimes it’s time to leave, much to my chagrin.

I’ve sown in places where I didn’t get to see the harvest. I’ve sown in places where people trampled on my seeds. I’ve sown in places where the orchard was burned to the ground.

It makes me think, why plant? Why care? Why invest?

But this song reminded me of a divine truth of the kingdom. We don’t always reap the seeds that we sow. And sometimes we reap from seeds that we didn’t sow.

I’ve felt the Lord whisper to me a few times in a few different ways, “Don’t regret planting your seeds”. Which is really hard when I look back and see a barren field that took my blood, sweat, and tears. It’s hard not to regret.

I think that’s why this song hit me so hard.

It’s not always about me. It’s not always about whether I will see my seeds come to life. Someone else will, it’s not always for me. Yet the Lord is gracious, and I often get to see the harvest that others spend their lives cultivating.

When Kristene started to sing the bridge, the tears formed in my eyes.

Someday it will be time to go, whether from the city you’re living in, the field you’re working in, or from your time here on earth.

So many times I’ve felt it, “it’s time to go”. Mostly, I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go. But I do, and it always hurts. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t right to leave, however, it just means that I did plant and it’s so hard to leave it behind and move on from what I know and where I’ve invested.

More than once, the Lord has had to help me let go once I leave a place. The grief of loss, of feeling like I left parts of myself behind, of seeing “everyone else” move on, feels like too much. But I’m not supposed to return and dig up the seeds I planted; I am supposed to leave them behind for someone else to reap. Such is the way of heaven.

But you won't regret losing all that you cannot keep

To gain what heaven holds

This phrase hit home, but at the same time was hard to hear. That verbiage was used so many times at IHOP in the hopes of people embracing poverty unto a greater purpose. When someone is in poverty, they’re easier to control and manipulate — especially if you hand out $100 like candy.

Just because that phrase is hard to swallow doesn’t mean it’s not true or biblical.

It is true.

And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands, for my name’s sake, will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life.

— Matthew 19:29

I can’t hold onto what really isn’t mine to hold. When God asks me to go, I have to believe that there is something good at the end of the path. I have to believe that God has good things in store for me, things that only heaven can give.

I don’t want to regret all that I’ve lost, all that the Lord has asked me to lay down, all the seeds left behind in different fields that I may never see prosper. I don’t want to regret the pieces of me that are scattered all over the world. I’m slowly beginning to see that I didn’t plant for me, I planted for others. The same way that others have planted for me.

I won’t regret giving my all to a place or a group of people. I won’t regret listening to the voice of my shepherd saying it’s time to go. I won’t regret the investments I’ve made into friendships, into amazing people.

I can’t hold onto what was never mine to keep. And wherever I’m planted? I’m gonna grow my flowers as if I’ll never leave.

Photo by Ja Kubislav on Unsplash

I feel like I should be “over it” by now. And some days I feel like I am. But then one post on Instagram, one comment, one memory resurfaced, and it’s all in my face again. The anger, the pain, the disappointment, the betrayal — it all comes crashing down.

It’s hard to give myself grace. It’s been almost 2 years, how come this is still in my face?

Well, I grew up at IHOP, and even after I left, we were still very connected to the community and would visit every summer. The people who took care of me as a child have been exposed as liars, abusers, and frauds.

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I guess that is reason enough to still feel the grief and the pain. I just don’t really enjoy it.

But so is the way of grief. It’s not linear. I don’t get to pass a level like in a video game and never have to look back. The more I shove it down, the more it wants to resurface. Great.

This last bout of drama involving Lisa Stribling (previously Bickle) was another unforeseen wave of grief and confusion. I still find it so hard to understand people like Lisa and Mike. From an intellectual standpoint, it truly baffles me. From an emotional point of view, it just hurts.

You would think that I’d be used to people doing everything in their power to resist repentance and godly behavior, but I’m just not. I am still shocked by people misrepresenting the gospel and the word of God. I’m still shocked when people willingly align themselves with individuals like Mike and Lisa (and by extension, their ministries). I’m still shocked by the betrayal.

Life is just not what I thought it was going to be. Being a believer is not what I thought it was going to look like. I always had an image in my mind of being surrounded by “like-minded” believers as we stood against evil, darkness, and deception. It was a real shock when I realized the people I was surrounded by were the evil, darkness, and deception. That wound is taking time to heal.

“Blessed are those who mourn, For they shall be comforted.”

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for My sake. Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

Matthew 5: 4,10-12

I am not saying that I’ve been persecuted like the prophets — far from it. I am saying that Jesus told us we would be betrayed and reviled for loving Jesus. I just didn’t expect it to come from the brethren.

Like I said, grief comes in waves. The waves respond to my internal life and external circumstances. And they often feel out of my control. But instead of always shoving them down or trying to ignore the grief, I am trying to feel it. That seems the only way to actually heal and move forward — move through the grief. Easier said than done.

Photo by Michael Benz on Unsplash

As a kid in Sunday school, this commandment basically meant one thing: do not say “Oh my God” or “Jesus Christ” unless you’re praying or speaking about him. I just thought it meant, don’t say ‘Oh my God!’ whenever I was shocked, stubbed my toe, or was being dramatic.

I am afraid to say that I think I missed the point of this commandment as a kid. It’s not just about not saying “Jesus Christ” when you drop your keys down the storm drain (although I don’t think you should), it’s about misrepresenting God while using His name.

When a soldier is going to war, he wears his country’s flag. In the case of a few hundred years ago, soldiers would have worn the crest of a monarchy or powerful family. When that soldier was wearing that flag or crest, he represented the country or monarchy he was fighting for. He’s seen as an extension of the country or the monarchy’s power.

His actions reflect back on the actions of the country or monarchy, both positive and negative. He also carries a certain measure of authority while he is a soldier at war.

When we become believers, we reflect our King. We wear His crest proudly, and when we use His name, it is in reverence. We also use His name with the authority that has been given to us as believers and heirs in His kingdom.

What, then, does the commandment mean? Does it only mean don’t say “Oh My God!”? I don’t think so.

I think the commandment condemns using our authority that we have as believers and the Lord’s name to further our personal agendas, feed our fleshly desires, and abuse others.

I think the commandment prohibits us from saying “Thus Says The Lord” when He is not speaking. I think it warns us of using our supposed divinely inspired wisdom or prophetic word to coerce, manipulate, and deceive others. I think it meant to keep us from using our spiritual authority and apparent anointing to get what we want.

Using the Lord’s name in vain is not a “mini” commandment; it’s not a cliff note. It is one of the 10 commandments. God saw the misuse of His name as such an egregious act that it is in the same list of sins as adultery, thievery, and murder.

“You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who takes His name in vain.”

That is terrifying. God will not forget those who misuse His name.

I have seen a few instances of people utterly abusing the name of the Lord in the past few weeks.

Lisa Stribling (formerly Bickle) preached two messages at Hope City a few weeks back. She thought that it was a good idea to stream the messages. Didn’t turn out so great for her, great for the rest of us who got to sit back and watch the insanity unfold.

Lisa spent her messages defending her brother, his legacy, and the prophetic history. “Gross” doesn’t even seem to cover it. It was such an abuse of her platform and an utter misuse of the Lord’s name. Below are a few quotes from Lisa:

(In reference to Mike) “This narrative is a false narrative. The Lord is retrieving this narrative right now, this very minute. The narrative now belongs to Jesus.”

“The Lord himself has given me a message, and he will be backing up my words very strongly to everyone; he will be backing up what I’m saying here”

“There is a pardon being offered right now to the global church concerning Mike, it’s being offered right now from heaven to the Body of Christ as a whole, regarding the name of Mike Bickle.”

“I’m saying this very, very strongly, it is over. I’m not asking anybody’s permission. I’m telling you from this moment on, these stories are over. They’re over. The pardon has been issued to God by God himself, to Mike and to the church.”

She very clearly didn’t ask anyone’s permission, including God’s.

She used up her precious airtime defending a man who would never do the same for her, clearly. She used the name of the Lord to spew her personal vendetta against the body of Christ, mostly those who “attack” Mike and defend the victims. She thinks that Mike is exempt from proper biblical protocol, does not need to publicly repent for his years of abuse, and that the rest of us need to knock it off.

At the heart of using the Lord’s name in vain is one thing: a total and utter lack of the fear of the Lord.

People like Mike Bickle and Lisa Stribling (and many, many others) have such an utter lack of the fear of the Lord that they think their words have no consequence in heaven or that God has a special code of ethics for them that is nowhere to be found in the Bible. They think that God will not hold them accountable for misrepresenting His nature, character, and voice. God have mercy.

God defends the broken-hearted, protects the victim, raises up the fatherless and the widow — He does not tell them to “knock it off”. He does not exonerate dangerous, unrepentant people because they think they are above the gospel or God’s Word.

He does not take it lightly when people misuse His name to further their own personal agenda.

He does not hold them guiltless.

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Photo by Maxime Gauthier on Unsplash

I have known Jonathan Hood well my entire life. The Hoods and the Roberts go way back. Jonathan and I (along with our siblings) grew up going to many of the same schools, the same church, and the prayer room (IHOP). I’ve really enjoyed Jonathan’s writing over the past few months. This interview was really insightful for me, and Jonathan was able to articulate a lot of the dynamics many of us have felt while exiting the IHOP world.

Q: Can you start by sharing a bit about yourself—where you grew up, your education, and where you're at now?

My name is Jonathan Hood. I grew up in Kansas City, Missouri, on the border of Kansas City and Grandview. If you know where Grandview is, then you know where I grew up.

I was homeschooled until fourth grade, then I went to The Daniel Academy (TDA), a small private Christian school that was adjacently affiliated with IHOPKC— the ministry our parents helped build. I went to TDA from fourth grade all the way through twelfth grade and graduated from there.

After that, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I thought maybe I was hearing the call of God, so I went to IHOPU (International House of Prayer University) for four years. If you don’t know what that is, it’s the unaccredited Bible college that was directly attached to IHOP— my father was actually the president of it for over a decade.

After I graduated from Bible college and got married, I went to Asbury Theological Seminary in Kentucky and graduated with an MA in Intercultural Studies. Then my wife, Christie, and I moved from Lexington, Kentucky, to South Florida to help pastor a small church community for almost two years. About 10 months ago, we moved to Jacksonville, FL — sort of restarting our lives and careers.

Chloe Roberts: I didn’t realize you went to TDA for that long.

Jonathan Hood: I was an OG Daniel Academy student. The year it started, I was there all the way until I graduated (4th grade through 12th grade).

I don't know if you ever experienced the prayer meetings at The Daniel Academy. Maybe they were similar to the prayer meetings you had at the schools you attended. But we'd have our morning assembly, and then it would often turn into an hours-long revival meeting. Sometimes we wouldn't even have a school day when that would happen.

Children 14 years old would be up on the microphone confessing their sins in front of the entire school. I look back on that now, and I'm thinking to myself, “What adult allowed this to happen?” That's psychologically damaging — even if in the moment, you're feeling the energy to do it!

Like, go have a conversation with your parents or an adult that's trustworthy. You're opening up about abuse or telling everybody you have a porn addiction. You're 13; of course, you have a porn addiction! You have an iPhone. What do you think is gonna happen? You don't need to tell the whole school about it. Go talk to the counselor. Go talk to your parents. Maybe get a flip phone, if you’re really feeling some sort of existential guilt about it, but don’t confess to 300 people.

Q: Fast forwarding a bit—what was it like for you in 2023 when the initial whispers of the IHOP scandal started coming out?

Oof, that’s a big question.

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It’s really interesting how much I change while God does not change. I change how I feel from day to day. My mood swings, my opinions shift like the sand, and I complain. I so easily lose sight of all that God has done and all that He is.

I’ve been reading about the Israelites under the leadership of Moses, Joshua, and the judges. I am so quick to judge the Israelites on how quickly they rebel and forget the absolutely insane things that God has done for them. “How could they complain against God after He literally sent food from heaven down for them?”

But in all reality, how am I that different? My circumstances dictate my attitude and my outlook on life and God way more than they should. I have story after story about God’s goodness and faithfulness towards my family and me. Yet I am so quick to complain or doubt God’s intentions towards me. Ouch.

During a specific bout of self-pity and inner complaining, I made myself read Psalm 103, specifically the first 5 verses.

Bless the Lord, O my soul; And all that is within me, bless His holy name!

Bless the Lord, O my soul, And forget not all His benefits:

Who forgives all your iniquities, Who heals all your diseases,

Who redeems your life from destruction, Who crowns you with lovingkindness and tender mercies,

Who satisfies your mouth with good things, So that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

Psalms 103:1-5

Forget not His benefits, Chloe.

I do forget, all the time.

I want a daily, massive reminder that God is good to me. And I expect that reminder to be a mysterious check that shows up. But I forget that I already have a massive daily reminder of God’s goodness. I am still breathing aren’t I?

God has forgiven all my sins and iniquities. I do not deserve that forgiveness. I would be dead in my transgressions if He did not save me. He not only saved me, He saved me by sacrificing Himself. What greater demonstration of love and goodness is there?

He’s not only forgiven me and brought me into the family of God, He heals me. He heals my broken heart and contrite soul.

I don’t understand why He doesn’t always heal all sick people when we pray for them. But I guess that’s a topic for another day. But I have seen Him heal. He has healed me.

This next one really gets me, though: “Who redeems your life from destruction, Who crowns you with lovingkindness and tender mercies.” I look back over the last few years, and I can honestly say God has redeemed my life from destruction. Just think about all that God has delivered you and me from. Imagine if nothing had been exposed? How many more people would be in bondage?

He has delivered us. He has redeemed my life from the ashes.

I just happen to forget this pretty quick. I get comfortable in my house, pouting about what I don’t have, and forget.

I am a new creation. I have been saved from my sins. I no longer owe a debt that I cannot pay. Praise God.

I am going to try and stop being a miser, always trying to measure just how good God is. He is infinitely good, and I can just look around and know that I only breathe because He allows me to. I am also not going to hell — that’s a pretty big one.

This week’s post isn’t a deep, awe-inspiring narrative. More like a slap to my own face to quit being so complain-y.

There’s a time to mourn, to grieve, to reflect. I do a lot of that. There is also a time to give yourself a pep talk and remind yourself of who God is.

Photo by Dameli Zhantas on Unsplash