Do What You Love & Love What You Do

This picture is one of my absolute favorites of me in the midst of ministry. It pops up on my Facebook memories every year in late August.

It was taken on a quiet evening at one of Camp Magruder's outdoor campfire pits —sun filtering through the trees, dust rising from well-worn benches where people gathered for Mom's Pop's and Tots. In the middle of it all: me, holding my guitar, singing with my oldest child wrapped around me. I wasn’t “on the clock” in any official sense, and yet I was entirely in my calling.

"do all the things"

People often ask me how I manage to “do all the things.” Ministry, parenting, leading, preaching, showing up in the community, and still having time to breathe. The truth? I don’t.

Shonda Rhimes gave a graduation speech once where she talked about the balance of being a working parent - particularly when folks ask her how she "does it all." Her response: “I don’t.” When asked how she does it all, she explained that whenever you see her succeeding in one area, it almost certainly means she is failing in another. "That's the tradeoff—the Faustian bargain of being a powerful working woman and a powerful mother... And yet, I want my kids to see me and know me as a woman who works. I want to set that example for them."

I feel that in my bones.

I love what I do—not just because of what it is, but because it can’t be confined to one simple box. One day I’m deep in administrative work, navigating systems and structures. The next, I’m immersed in a theological conversation about God’s grace, or sitting beside someone who’s grieving, or singing at a campfire with my child on my hip. It is exhausting. And holy. And not easily explained in small talk.

But there’s a challenge here too. Ministry is a public profession. As a pastor, my life—my faith, my presence, my leadership—is something I live out loud. People watch how I preach and how I pray… but they also sometimes watch how I parent, what my kids say in Sunday School, or how many events I miss when a child is sick or melting down. There is a sacred vulnerability in that, and a heavy cost. Because while I am committed to showing up authentically, I also fiercely protect the private moments that belong just to us and our family.

I want to raise kids who know they are loved not because of how they behave in public or how they represent me or the church, but because of who they are. I want them to feel the freedom to be kids, not pastor's kids. I want them to feel seen, not managed. Known, not displayed.

So I do my best to walk that thin line. I work to keep sacred the moments that don’t need to be shared and to share openly when it helps others feel less alone. And I try to live in a way that my kids know they’re not secondary to my calling—they’re part of it.

I love my kids with a fierce passion. I cherish their uniqueness. I take joy in the fact that each of them has found something they love outside of school. I treasure our nightly family dinners, even when they’re chaotic or simple or filled with sighs or silly stories. Because that table is where we come back to each other.

This photo reminds me that it doesn’t have to be perfect to be holy.

It reminds me that “doing what you love” doesn’t always look glamorous—it often looks like messy hair, dusty jeans, and a child pressed close while you play a guitar. It reminds me that the call to ministry—and to parenthood—isn’t about balance, but integration.

So no, I don’t do it all. But I do what matters. And I love what I do.